Cherringham--The Curse of Mabb's Farm by Matthew Costello Page A

said, as if he was speaking to a spooked animal. “It’s okay.”
    And Sarah watched as a hooded figure appeared out of the darkness and trudged up the hill towards them, head bowed. At first she didn’t recognise who it was — but Charlie was quicker.
    “Caitlin?”
    Caitlin walked into the pool of light from the still-burning flares, and pulled back her hoodie. Sarah could see she was covered in mud, her hair matted, her face streaked.
    “What’s happened, love?” said Charlie. Then, anxiously, “Where’s Sammy? Where is he?”
    “He’s all right, Charlie. Don’t worry,” said Caitlin. “He’s with Ali in the village. Asleep probably by now. If she’s lucky.”
    “B-but what are you doing here Cait?” said Charlie. “You’ll catch your death.”
    Sarah looked at Jack. This didn’t make sense. What was happening?
    Jack nodded at her. She could see his jacket was covered in dirt, too.
    Caitlin came further up the hill until she was standing just a yard from Charlie.
    “It was me, Charlie.”
    “What do you mean, love? I don’t—”
    But instantly Sarah knew what Caitlin was saying.
    “It was me ,” Caitlin repeated. “I’m the one who did all those things. The fire. The footprints on the roof.”
    Sarah saw Charlie shake his head. This didn’t compute …
    “No,” he said. “It’s other people. Tom, I reckon — or one of them other bastard farmers. Or this lot, taking advantage—”
    “No, Charlie,” Caitlin said firmly. “I’m telling you. It was me.”
    “But why?” said Charlie. “That doesn’t make sense.”
    “I wanted to leave. Go back to the flat. Back to how it used to be. We were happy there. Remember?”
    “You should have … could have told me.”
    “You didn’t listen … wouldn’t listen.”
    “So you burned the farm?”
    “You changed, Charlie. Minute we moved here. You turned … bad. Horrible. This place. The Curse,”
    “She’s right, Charlie,” said Tamara. “It’s the Curse!”
    Sarah had forgotten Tamara and the Gifted Ones: she could see them now huddled together at the stones with their burning flares, looking just like a Greek chorus.
    “No, Tamara,” said Jack. “There’s no Curse — is there, Charlie?”
    Charlie turned to Jack, then back to Caitlin.
    “I thought — if the farm makes you unhappy,” continued Caitlin. “I could get rid of the farm. Then we could just leave.”
    “It’s not as simple as that, love,” said Charlie.
    “Because it’s not about the farm,” said Jack. “It’s about your brother, isn’t it?”
    Now it was Sarah’s turn to be surprised. Jack often kept his thoughts and cards close.
    Like now…
    “What do you mean?” said Caitlin. Then, turning to Charlie, “What does he mean?”
    “It’s about Ray,” said Jack. “Isn’t it?”
    Again, Sarah saw Charlie turn and peer at Jack as if it were Jack who was now haunting him.
    “Ray,” said Charlie, almost to himself. “My brother. Yes, it is about Ray.”
    “So let Ray look after the place,” said Caitlin — as confused as Sarah was. “His farm. He buggered off. If the place needs looking after, he can come back and—”
    “He can’t though, can he, Charlie?” said Jack.
    Jack’s figured something out, thought Sarah.
    The contract with Cauldwell & Co; Ray vanishing; Charlie changing, becoming different.
    But what?
    “No, he can’t,” said Charlie. Charlie lowered his torch as if defeated. “He can’t … because he’s dead.”
    Sarah heard a sudden intake of breath, in unison, from the Greek Chorus.
    She watched as Charlie took a breath himself and his arms dropped at his side.
    “And I killed him. It was my fault.”
    With the flames from the torches swirling behind him, the robed figures lined up before the stones, his wife standing alone in front of him and Jack Brennan at his side, Charlie Fox finally told his story.
    And Sarah felt that they were all somehow taking part in a Stone Age ritual, all participants in an ancient