Secret Heart Read Free

sour scent, its vicious tongue, its teeth. It all seemed so familiar. Like a memory, not a dream. Joe turned and saw the summit of the tent against the sky.
    “Used to be always like that,” said Stanny. “Man against nature. Survival of the fittest. Kill or be killed. But today…You've never killed nothing, have you?”
    “No.”
    “You strike hard. You do it fast and clean. Joff'd show you. He likes you, you know.”
    “L-likes?”
    “Says there's something about you the other kids round here haven't got. Says he wants to help you to get tougher. He likes your mum and all. He says…”
    Joe's head reeled. He didn't listen. He saw the teeth of the tiger sinking into Joff's throat, heard the tiger's growl of pleasure. He sighed.
    “There was bears and wolves round here once,” said Stanny.
    “Ages back.”
    “Aye, ages back, but there's tales of panthers and things still living out there.” He lowered his voice, as if in secret. “And we've heard them, Joe. Me and Joff. We've heard them things.”
    “Heard?”
    “We're lying in the heather in the dead of the night and we hear the breathing. ‘What's that?’ I go. ‘Keep still,’ goes Joff. Dead dead still. Think me heart'll explode. The heather's rattling and trembling. There's something in the dark, something blacker than the night, something moving, creeping to us across the heather. There's something shining there, a pair of eyes. Joff's got his knife out and it's shining too. He hisses like a snake. He holds the knife up. ‘Be off!’ he goes. ‘Be off!’ And it stops, it just stops dead still and watches us. Then it turns and we see it like the blackest shadow moving off again.”
    “A panther?”
    “I was little then. I said it was a devil. But we've talked about it since and said it must have been a panther, like they say is out there in those places.”
    “Or a d-dream.”
    “No dream. I saw its eyes. And its teeth. I know it would've killed me if Joff hadn't been there….You've got to come, Joe. If you come, you'll hear, and you'll mebbe even see.”
    Joe narrowed his eyes, saw the winged creatures wheeling in the air. He imagined stepping through the Silver Forest, climbing through it to the Black Bone Crags. He felt the undergrowth beneath his feet, smelt the forest flowers. He lived in a dream, his mother said, and she was right. It was so hard to separate what existed in his head from what existed in the world. He blinked, shook his head, came back to Stanny Mole.
    “We're going to kill it,” whispered Stanny.
    “Eh?”
    “Kill it. If we come across it again. We're going to cut its bloody head off and bring it home.”
    Joe stared at him. He knew they would kill. Stanny already had skulls in his bedroom, boiled and bleached: sheep skulls, rat skulls, badger skulls. They stood in a row on his windowsill.
    “Why k-kill?” said Joe.
    Stanny screwed his face up, like he was thinking.
    “What kind of question's that?” he said. Hethought again, then he laughed. “How else'll we get the bloody head off it?”
    His eyes shone, then he swiveled, with a knife clutched in his fist. There was a squealing from behind them, a high-pitched squeal of pain. But it was only a rabbit, attacked by a stoat. The rabbit was three times bigger than the stoat, but it lay there useless and jerked and squealed and let the killer do its work. Soon there was silence. Slick and bendy as a snake, the stoat ripped the flesh, lapped the blood and quivered in excitement. Maybe it caught the boys' scent. It turned its bloodied head and eyes and stared at them for a second, then darted off.
    Stanny laughed. “See? Nature in the raw, Joe. Cruel, cold.”
    Joe knelt up, tried to see the stoat again.
    “Back in its hole,” said Stanny. “It'll be licking its fur, tasting the rabbit again, living the thrill again.” He thumbed the shining blade of his knife. “That's what it's like out there. Back here, we're soft and getting softer. Just like Joff