Chapter 1

“No, Mum, I won’t!” Pete said for the hundredth time.
“Peter Henry Wilson, you will wear this shirt if it’s the last thing you do! Now, sit still or you’ll end up with a pin in your arm again.” Mrs Wilson retorted angrily. However, it wasn’t the shirt that was bothering Pete. He and his mother had been invited to the parish picnic, a tedious event that happened every year, as a way of welcoming new people to the village.
“Mum, why do I have to go? Everyone knows me already! Besides, I don’t even go to church” argued Pete.
“That may soon change, Pete. I do expect you to talk to the vicar and his wife, and be polite for once, will you?” said Mrs Wilson. But Pete thought that would be all the more reason for him to stay at home. What was the point in meeting the vicar? Pete had no interest in dull, old men.
“Oh, and Pete, the vicar will bring along his son, Simon. Perhaps you could get to know him. I’m sure he’s very interesting, with the upbringing he’s had.” said Mrs Wilson cheerily. But Pete had other ideas. Great, I have to spend my afternoon with a religious nerd, he thought moodily, as he sat picking at the threads on the sleeve of the hideous shirt he was wearing.
“Alright, I’ll go... just promise you’ll let me walk home if I get bored.” Which I will, he added in his head.
“Peter, you know how I feel about you going through town by yourself. You are only twelve! But, I’ll allow it. Just, please, be careful!” said Mrs Wilson with a stern edge to her voice. Pete knew that this was a one-off agreement. It was fragile, and if he misbehaved he might end up staying with the vicar permanently. Feeling that this was an acceptable compromise, Pete went to his room in the attic. That was the only thing wrong with the house, according to Pete. He hated living in the roof. But the rest of their home was simply beautiful.
It was only one floor, but that suited Pete and his mother. After all, it was only them living there. Like many of the houses in the village, it had no electricity, and no running water. But there was a large pump outside in the yard, and several buckets by the back door. So when Pete needed a bath, or Mrs Wilson needed to wash dishes or clothes, the pair of them would grab a bucket or two, march across the yard to the pump together, and collect as much water as they could carry, whilst carefully avoiding the numerous chickens scattered around the front of the house. Once inside, they would tip it all into a huge pan over the fireplace in the kitchen.
But bothersome as this may be, it meant that Pete had soon become used to carrying water around, and was much stronger than an average twelve year old. He was also very fast. He had won the race at a recent village charity event, and the prize had been a pie from the local bakery. Pete had then eaten the entire pie in one go, following a particularly disgusting concoction from his mothers cookery book.
Pete looked across now at the empty plate in his room where the pie had once stood. He wished he hadn’t eaten it all, because he was now rather hungry. So he quietly changed out of the horrible shirt his mother had been fitting and into an old, comfy t-shirt, and climbed down the ladder from his room and stepped into the hallway.
He went to the kitchen door and saw his mother starting the washing up. He knew he couldn’t get past her without being accused of being a thief. Beyond his mother the pantry door stood, looking so very inviting to Pete’s hungry eyes, so he made a plan.
He silently unlatched the front door and went around the front of the house, making sure to dodge chickens to avoid drawing attention to himself. He let himself through the side gate and crouched down underneath the kitchen window so his mother wouldn’t see him. He then carefully crawled to the back door and into the pantry. He looked up at the door that went through to the kitchen. He could still see his mother happily washing dishes through the frosted glass in the door. Feeling confident that he had successfully escaped from his mother, he stood up, turned around and started to raid the cupboards.
And then, without warning, Pete had knocked a saucepan that was hanging on a shelf, and it went crashing to the floor.
“What the...? What on earth is going on in there? I’m gonna kill those blooming raccoons!” Pete’s mother’s voice came ringing from the kitchen. Pete looked around. He had nowhere to hide. He could go back out of the back door... but he had shut it when he came in. Would Mum hear it open? He thought, but he didn’t have time to move before the kitchen was flung wide, and Mrs Wilson came bursting through. Pete froze, like a rabbit caught in headlights.
“Peter! What do you think you’re doing?!” Mrs Wilson was livid.
“I... I –" stammered Pete. He could see how much trouble he was now in. Slowly, the image of him coming home alone for once, perhaps stopping at the bakery to pick up a pastry, was fading in his mind.
“You can stammer all you like, it doesn’t change the fact you were STEALING!” Mrs Wilson was hysterical with fury. She grabbed Pete by his ear, which wasn’t unexpected, and dragged him into the barn behind the house. “You can stay in this barn until you learn that NO-ONE steals from MY pantry! And while you're here, you can clean up this dump! When I get back I want to see this place tidier than it has ever been!” and with that she stormed out, bolting the barn doors as she went. “And you will stay at that picnic for as long as I do!” Pete heard her add as she marched away across the yard.
Pete looked up gloomily and wandered slowly around the barn. There were cows tethered around the edge of the barn. Pete had brought them in yesterday for milking. Also scattered around were a few sheep. Pete stopped when he reached his favourite cow, Molly, and said hello. She was watching him in a lazy sort of way. Pete liked that about cows. They always seemed so relaxed, and unbothered by the troubles of the world. Bomb-proof, Pete called it. Molly was opening and shutting her eyes very slowly and Pete knew that this meant she was happy. Pete understood more about animals than his mother ever would. Sometimes, when his friend Harriet was away, and Pete was feeling lonely, he would come into the barn and let the animals keep him company.
Harriet, on the other hand, had no time for animals. Her parents shared a shop in the village, selling fabric and repairing clothes. Mrs Wilson also had a shop. She sold farm produce. Every drop of milk from the cows, and every egg from the chickens that Pete had so diligently collected went into the shop.
However, Pete had learnt not to argue, unless he wanted to spend the day in the barn. Initially, Pete had thought that this was a brilliant punishment! He loved watching and talking to the animals. But the fun soon wore off, after a whole week of being locked in with the cows and sheep. He now found himself very bored, which he was sure was the point of the punishment, so instead of talking to the animals he would climb up into the hayloft and watch them as he wrote stories and poems to amuse himself.
His favourite story was one he had written after hearing an old local legend about a mountain that spat fire, and drowned anyone who tried to climb to its summit. According to the legend, there was a pool of golden water at the top, and if anyone drank the water they would become very strong. The story Pete had written was about him and Harriet, and in his story they climbed the mountain and brought down the water for everyone to drink. They became local heroes.
Pete had shown Harriet the story once it was finished, but she laughed at him. She didn’t believe in the legend. After that day Pete never showed anyone else his work.
So once again he settled himself down amongst the straw, and dust, and spiders. He watched Molly as she slowly chewed her hay. All thought escaped Pete as he sat there. He had nothing to write about.
Molly was making a very strange noise. It had happened quite suddenly and it made Pete jump. He leapt down to see what wrong with her. As he got closer, he could see fear in her eyes. She was staring at something. He tried to see what it was, but clearly Molly could see something Pete couldn’t, because there was nothing there. Slowly, the other cows in the room noticed it too, and also started making the strange noise. It was a sort of yelping, but it sounded horribly strangled, as if it pained the cow to make the noise.
Pete looked wildly around the room, desperate to know what was frightening his cows so much. And finally, he saw it too. In the centre of the room, there was a dark patch of air. Pete walked round it. It was about the size of a man, but it had no shape. And yet, as Pete stared in horror, the air seemed to condense into a thick black cloud. The cloud became darker and darker until it was solid, and it was no longer just air. There now stood a man where the cloud once was. A very old, very wild looking man. The man looked around briefly, before spotting Pete and turning to face him.
“Hi” he said to Pete.