Read Spook's Secret (wc-3) for Free Online

The sink was piled high with unwashed pots and there was half a loaf of bread on the table, green with mould. There was also a faint, sweet, unpleasant smell, as if something were slowly rotting away in a dark corner. Next to the fire was a rocking chair similar to Mam's back at the farm. Draped over the back was a brown shawl that looked in need of a good wash. I wondered who it belonged to.
        'Well, lad,' the Spook said, 'we'd better get to work. We'll start by warming the old house up. That done, we'll set about cleaning.'
        At the side of the house was a big wooden shed heaped with coal. I didn't like to think how so much coal had been brought up the clough. At Chipenden I'd been sent for the weekly provisions and just hoped that fetching sacks of coal wouldn't be one of my jobs here.
        There were two big coal scuttles and we filled these and brought them back into the kitchen.
        'Know how to get a good coal fire burning?' asked the Spook.
        I nodded. In winter, back home at the farm, my first chore each morning had been to light the kitchen fire.
        'Right, then,' said the Spook. 'You attend to this one and I'll see to the one in the parlour. There are thirteen fireplaces in this old house, but lighting six should start to warm things up for now.'
        After about an hour we managed to get the six fires alight: one in the kitchen, one in the parlour, one in what the Spook called his 'study', which was on the ground floor, and one in each of the three upstairs bedrooms on the first floor. There were seven other bedrooms, including an attic, but we didn't bother with those.
        'Right, lad, that's a good start,' the Spook said. 'Now we'll go and fetch some water.'
        Carrying a big pot jug each, we went out through the back door again and round to the front, where the Spook led the way to the stream. The water was as deep as it had looked so it was easy to fill our jugs; and clean, cold and clear enough to see the rocks at the bottom. It was a quiet stream and hardly did more than murmur its way down the clough.
        But just as I'd finished filling my jug, I sensed a movement somewhere far above. I couldn't actually see anything; it was more a feeling of being watched really, and when I glanced up to where the rock formed a dark edge against the grey sky, there was nothing there.
        'Don't look up, lad,' snapped the Spook, an edge of irritation in his voice. 'Don't give him the satisfaction. Pretend you haven't noticed.'
        'Who is he?' I asked, feeling very nervous as I followed the Spook back towards the house.
        'Hard to say. I didn't look so I can't be sure,' said the
        Spook, suddenly coming to a halt and putting his jug down. Then he quickly changed the subject. 'What do you think of the house?' he asked.
        My dad had taught me to tell the truth whenever possible and I knew the Spook wasn't a man whose feelings were easily hurt. 'I'd rather live on top of a hill than like an ant in a deep crack between paving stones,' I told him. 'So far, I prefer your house at Chipenden.'
        'So do I, lad,' said the Spook. 'So do I. We've only come here because it has to be done. We're right on the edge here, on the edge of the dark, and it's a bad place to be in winter. There are things up on the moor that don't bear too much thinking about, but if we can't face them, then who can?'
        'What sort of things?' I asked, remembering what Mam had told me but interested to see what the Spook would say.
        'Oh, there are boggarts, witches, ghosts and ghasts a-plenty and other things even worse ...' 'Like Golgoth?' I suggested.
        'Aye, Golgoth. No doubt your mam's told you all about him. Am I right?'
        'She mentioned him when I told her we were heading for Anglezarke but she didn't say that much. Just that he sometimes stirs in winter.'
        'That he does, lad, and I'll be adding to your knowledge about him at a