Cherringham--The Curse of Mabb's Farm Read Online Free PDF

yearly festivals and times of worship …”
    No wonder Dad didn’t bring me here. That’s scary even now.
    She turned to Jack. “Happened right here. On this spot.”
    Jack looked around. For him, this was maybe a different and unbelievably ancient crime scene.
    “You know, with a little bit of imagination you can guess what that looked like. People standing around, watching, waiting for the victim to be sacrificed to whatever pagan god was in fashion.”
    He kicked at a pile of ashes. “Guess now just kids come up here, light up a joint and relive the good old days.”
    “Never did that myself but—”
    She had turned around, to see off to the side of the circle of stones something looking right at them.
    “Jack — look.”
    “Hmm … what is that?”
    The Wicker Man.
    They had missed seeing it, hidden by trees until they walked into the centre.
    “Now that’s spooky.”
    And it was. Created from carefully bent and entwined braches and wood vines, the man was a towering figure with legs, a body of brambles, a grotesque head — and one arm jutting out and pointing right at them.
    “I’m beginning to understand why some people think this place is cursed. This spot alone could make anyone superstitious,” Sarah said.
    “Yup. And we’re here in daytime. Imagine if it was night, full moon, wind blowing, and—”
    Sarah heard a click from behind.
    And then a voice.
    “Now you two — you just turn around, nice and slowly.”
    She caught Jack’s sideways glance, a signal she knew by now to mean … follow my lead on this.
    When they turned, Sarah saw a man pointing a shotgun right at them.
    “You two. I saw you walking on my land. Trespassing.”
    She saw Jack nod. “Charlie Fox?”
    The man held the gun steady.
    “What if it is? I want you off my land now.”
    Sarah had a hard time believing that this ancient site was part of Charlie’s property. Maybe it was, but people probably had a right to walk on a footpath here.
    She thought of saying that they just wanted to see these stones, which might be a lie but it could get Charlie to lower the gun.
    But Jack spoke first: “Charlie, we were going to come down and see you.”
    The man shook his head, the gun wavering as well.
    How steady was his trigger finger? Sarah wondered, wishing that the farmer would just lower his damn weapon.
    “See me? What the bloody hell for?”
    Now Sarah: “People have heard about the bad things that have happened to you. To the farm. We thought we might help and—”
    “Don’t need any help . I help myself. I take care of my family.”
    Sarah thought of Emily describing her disturbing chat with Charlie’s frightened wife, Caitlin.
    “People are talking about a Curse. That you and your wife are scared.”
    Charlie shook his head violently.
    “That damn Curse talk again? Look, I’ve had enough with you and everyone else. I don’t want help, you understand? I didn’t need—”
    His speech was interrupted by an explosive noise from behind. Sarah felt … heat.
    And before she turned around she saw Charlie lower his gun, his eyes wide, mouth agape, looking as if a fiery ghost had reared up from the stones behind them.
    Jack swung round in surprise, trying to work out what had happened. But nothing made sense.
    The Wicker Man seemed to have spontaneously combusted: every twisted branch was alight and the whole structure roared and crackled with the intense heat. A whoosh of sparks made him back further away.
    With an angry yell, Charlie raced past him toward the fire, shotgun waving in one hand.
    “For Christ’s sake, Charlie,” said Jack. “Put the gun down.”
    Charlie turned, for a moment hearing sense — and placed the gun against one of the ancient stones. Then he again ran toward the fire, arms stretched out as if in despair.
    “What do we do?” he shouted.
    “You got any water up here?” said Jack as calmly as he could.
    The farmer turned and shook his head in a panic.
    “Up here? No!”
    “Then I’m