The Deceit Read Free Page A

there.’
    He was surely right. The noise appeared to be coming from the moors
above
them: from Zennor Hill, with its great granite carns and its brace of ruined cottages.
    They’d walked around that forbidding landscape the day before, in the driving rain and blustering wind. The hilltop was druidic and malignant, even by day.
    Freddy’s eyes flashed in the dark.
    ‘Shall we go and have a look?’
    ‘
What?
Are you nuts?’
    ‘No. Are you
gay
?’ Freddy laughed. ‘Oh come on. Let’s
investigate
. It’ll be
fun
.’
    Malcolm hesitated: quite paralysed. He was seriously unkeen on investigating that noise, but he also didn’t want to appear a wuss in front of Freddy; he was wary of Freddy’s cruel sense of humour, his lacerating jokes. If he didn’t show he was up for this, Freddy might just humiliate him the next time he was feeling a little bored at the union bar.
    Malcolm tried to smile.
    ‘All right then. Let’s see who’s the real gaylord.’
    ‘Excellent.’ Freddy rubbed his hands together. ‘We’d better get coats and stuff. This is like Enid Blyton, only with ritual murder.’
    When they went back into the house, they found that Jojo had disappeared. Probably gone to bed? Malcolm was glad, in a protective sort of way. They turned off the music, grabbed their coats, boots and a pair of torches.
    The path up to Zennor Hill began just outside the grounds. It had been treacherous the previous day; in the moonlight it was even trickier. Ferns and brambles dragged at them, tussocks of grass tripped every step. Above them, the imponderable carn glowered, framed by myriad stars.
    But the horrible noise had stopped.
    For five, ten minutes they ascended the silent, narrow path up the hill. The view of Zennor village below, its Christmas lights twinkling in the wind, was beautiful and sad. Malcolm began to wonder if they had imagined it. Maybe it had been some curious sound effect, perhaps the fierce January wind whistling through the rocks: there were many strange rock formations up here.
    But then it came again, and this time it was even worse. The sound curdled the thoughts in his mind. This scathing and animalistic wailing was surely the sound of somebody – or some
thing
– in terrible and angry pain?
    Freddy turned, just ahead, his face a blur in the gloom.
    ‘Pretty sure it’s coming from the ruined cottage, the big one, Carn Cottage. Is that a fire inside?’
    Malcolm desperately wanted to go back now. This had been a daft idea; and yet he was still scared of Freddy’s put-downs. He was stuck.
    The noise came, and went. This time it was so close it was like an exhalation – you could
feel
the scream on your face.
    ‘There, look!’ Freddy pointed his torch beam excitedly. ‘Scoundrels!’
    Figures.
There were people walking away – no,
running away
– down a lane across the top of the hill, dark shapes. How many? It was too difficult to see. Who were they?
What
were they?
    Freddy was laughing.
    ‘Do you think it’s devil-worshippers? We might be turned into newts!’
    The figures were already out of sight, swallowed by the darkness. Had they been spooked by the noise? Or by the fire? Or by Malcolm and Freddy?
    Malcolm waved a desperate hand. ‘Look. Please. Can’t we just go? This is dangerous. Let’s just go, please. Call the cops.’
    His protestations were futile; Freddy simply vaulted the low garden wall of the half-ruined cottage, and ran across the garden; he was followed by Malcolm, much less briskly.
    As they neared the cottage, Malcolm could see there was indeed a fire burning inside the building. And it was a large fire, too, casting eerie orange shadows on the windows. The heat from within was palpable in the cold winter air.
    ‘Freddy – wait – don’t—’
    It was too late. His friend was kicking at the old door; even as the infernal shrieking went on, and on.
    ‘C’mon – open up!’ Freddy laughed, ‘Open up, in the name of all that’s holy!’ Now Freddy stepped