The Origin Stone

Chapter 2-3

Ru’s in the kitchen when I get down there a few hours later. I’m not really surprised; it’s the Easter holidays, prime time for bug hunting.

“You know, most boys your age sleep in until late afternoon during the holidays,” I say, grinning at him. “But I suppose you plan on catching those super rare beetles you’ve been on about before they scurry away for the day.”

He shuts the insect encyclopaedia sitting in front of him and looks away sheepishly.

Mum breezes through the room a moment later, her face hidden behind an enormous statue of a bat. “Ah, I’m glad you’re both up early,” she says, turning enough for the details of the bat’s face to hit me full on. Ru grabs me quickly as I fall sideways off my chair. “I don’t suppose you want to take the dogs for a walk, do you?” she carries on, oblivious to my terror. “I found this glorious sculpture in the attic, and it’s in urgent need of some restoration.”

“Sure, we’ll take them,” Ru replies as she drifts out the door. “Here,” he says, as soon as mum’s out of earshot. “Drink some orange juice, you’ll feel better.”

I nod mutely, taking the glass he offers me and gulping it down. It helps, but I’m still shaking.

Dad rushes into the room, takes one look at me and curses. “I was hoping you wouldn’t see her carrying that thing around. I told her to be careful with it, but you know what she’s like.”

“It’s alright, dad. I’m okay now.”

“Good. And don’t worry, I’m not having her display that thing anywhere near you when she’s finished.” He checks the clock. “I’ve got to go out now, I’ve got a new client who wants an estimate. I’ll be back this afternoon to finish your room.”

Ru and I set off a while later, with Brennan, Honey and Cheyenne in tow. As an afterthought, we take Mrs. Swanson too. With mum busy and dad out, it’s not wise to leave her roaming around the garden on her own. Last time we did that, she ate part of the shed.

“Shall we take them through the woods?” Ru asks, as I tie a rope around Mrs. Swanson’s neck collar in the hope I can guide her along with it.

My insides go cold. “The woods?”

Just the sight makes me shiver. It’s not because of the bee I saw disappear, or even how Mrs. Swanson looked at them yesterday and the strange sensation I felt. It’s more like there’s something in there wanting to draw me in.

“You don’t want to?” Ru says, noticing my hesitation. “We can go to the park if you prefer, I know the way.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say, taking a breath. “The dogs will love it in there.”

We pass the bunker on our way down, and the strange blur I saw in the night suddenly comes back to me. I stare at the bunker hard, taking in every inch of crumbled, moss covered stone, but there’s definitely nothing there now. As the dogs sniff around it curiously and Mrs. Swanson makes to eat a w**d growing near the entrance, I notice the ground is completely undisturbed. There’s no sign anything has been there at all.

I can’t have imagined it. Brennan reacted to it, so it must have been real…mustn’t it?

“Em? Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, just a bit tired. I didn’t sleep well again last night,” I reply, gently tugging at Mrs. Swanson’s rope to lead her over to where Ru’s waiting by the gate leading into the woods.

He nods and carries on through, with Brennan, Cheyenne and Honey close on his heels. “We’ll go slow, okay?” he calls back over his shoulder, already sliding his magnifying glass out of his pocket. I can’t help but grin as he automatically tunes in to the scurrying of insects around him.

My smile fades as I approach the gate myself. The feeling of being lured in, of something seeking my attention, is even stronger now, but every one of my senses is tingling, telling me to go back, to leave this place.

Mrs. Swanson has other ideas. She’s spotted a particularly leafy bush several feet behind the gate, and pulls hard, giving me no choice but to go through with her.

Goose pimples rise on my skin the moment I step through, but they vanish again not even a second later. It’s as though a spray of ice passed right over me, washing away the feeling of dread I had about entering. My senses are calm now. I’m not even the slightest bit afraid.

“Em, quick!” Ru whispers in front of me. He’s by an old tree stump, long overgrown with ivy. On it is a tiny beetle with chestnut-brown wing casings. I suppose it’s pretty in that buggish kind of way.

“What’s this one called?” I ask, more to humour him than out of my own interest.

“It’s a Garden Chafer. They’re not usually seen until around June. Can you watch the dogs a moment while I make a quick sketch of it?”

“Sure,” I grin, heading on with Mrs. Swanson.

It’s cool under the ancient trees. There’s giant elms and oaks, ash and hazel, and even a few willows. The paths are overgrown, making me trip over loose roots. My clothes snag on brambles every other step.

The dogs disappear in and out of the foliage either side of me, and by the time Ru catches up with us, Mrs. Swanson must have devoured at least a dozen fern tendrils. Eventually, we both have to tug her along to avoid her making herself ill. It requires such effort, we have to stop and rest every five minutes.

“What’s that?” I ask Ru as we take yet another breather. He’s standing on something, an old piece of metal covered in mud. It’s hard to tell what it is. He picks it up gingerly, wiping away some of the grime.

“Hold on a moment,” he says, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinises it. “Looks like a sign for the village green. A mile and a half West of here, apparently.”

“Then we can get to the village this way?”

“I suppose so. Let me look at my compass, I think I’ve got it with me.” He roots around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a round brass fob. He presses the button on its side and it flicks open, revealing the compass face. “That’s bizarre. The needle won’t settle. It keeps pointing in different directions.”

“Maybe we’re near a magnet or something,” I say, scanning the floor to in case someone’s dropped one.

“It’d have to be a big one to interfere with it like this.” He closes it and puts it away. “Let’s walk a bit further and try again.”

We walk on, but the path forks out suddenly. Ru tries his compass once more. “It’s this one,” he says, pointing to the fork on the left.

“Is it working now, then?”

“No, there’s another sign hidden in those bushes. This one’s got an arrow on it.”