Haunted Fields by Dan Moore Page B

leant against the bale and the seventeen-year-old Noel from the photograph in the pub.
    â€˜I’m going for a walk when it stops chucking it down,’ he said to Elizabeth, shaking his head to rid himself of the memories.
    â€˜I didn’t sleep well either,’ she said, eyeing him in the same concerned fashion Rhona so often did. ‘Can’t stop thinking about that poor kid. He must have been scared out of his mind.’
    Here we go , thought Freddie, preparing himself for another of Elizabeth’s tales of the supernatural. ‘And down at Rose Farm, of all places–’ she continued.
    â€˜Hmm.’
    â€˜You heard the screams,’ Elizabeth said, unperturbed by Freddie’s interruption. ‘Were you frightened?’
    â€˜You know, the children of this village live in fear, tiptoeing around every corner. They’re terrified because their parents – their role models – fill their heads with garbage about ghosts,’ he said, slapping the table top. ‘Noel Davidson’s ghost isn’t haunting this village because ghosts don’t exist!’
    â€˜Now, now,’ said Greg, kicking his boots off as he strode into the kitchen, ‘let’s not fall out.’
    â€˜Sorry,’ Freddie said, his cheeks burning. ‘But fear is feeding the rumours.’
    â€˜Speaking of feeding,’ said Greg, opening the fridge. ‘I’m going to have a bacon sandwich.’
    He couldn’t meet Elizabeth’s eye as she walked past him. As she slipped out of the kitchen, Freddie thought sourly that she was probably going to search for werewolves in the living room.
    â€˜Have you thought anymore about the old outbuildings?’ Freddie asked.
    â€˜I don’t have time to think, Fred lad. I’m too busy!’
    He’d pressed Greg plenty on the roadside stall plan, and though he still thought it his best idea for saving Ridge Farm, why not pitch another proposal?
    â€˜Since you’re only using three of the six bedrooms in this house, why don’t you start up a bed and breakfast? You and Elizabeth are always around; it’d be easy money.’
    â€˜We’d only be using two of the bedrooms if I sack you and send you back home, lad.’
    He couldn’t help but laugh. Greg’s reply was funny, it really was, but in it he sensed something else – a threat. Greg might as well have replied with, ‘Don’t push it!’ Freddie was wasting his time.
    The bell above the door jingled as he entered the village shop. He’d been enjoying the stroll down the hillside, the freedom allowing him a chance to ponder recent events. He’d listened to the local birds singing; paused to watch a hare lift its ears above the grass verge before scampering away. The exercise had loosened his body, which had been still stiff and aching from his first few days of work. It was only as he’d reached the shop that he realised he’d have to scale the hill to get back to the farm. What a chore that would be!
    â€˜What can I get for you?’
    He squinted, the dimly lit shop taking a moment to come into focus. A short, bespectacled lady with curly grey hair was studying him from behind a dusty counter.
    â€˜Something sweet,’ he said, releasing the handle so that the door clicked shut behind him. ‘I’m Freddie. I’m staying with Elizabeth and Greg up at Ridge Farm.’
    â€˜Ah, so you’re the young lad I’ve been hearing so much about,’ she said, her eyebrows narrowing as she pushed a set of thick reading glasses further up her nose. ‘I’m Dorothy.’
    â€˜What have you heard? Who’s been talking about me?’
    â€˜Not to worry. Nothing bad. Surely by now you’ve noticed that this village has ears. And I’m well-tuned in to those ears, being as old as the village.’
    He glanced around the shop, taking in the array of products crowding countless shelves.