and cities to a halt. No one could leave Dunadd. They were completely isolated, with no prospect of escape. The moor was unrecognizable, like an Arctic wasteland. The whole of Sheriffmuir lay under a thick blanket, which all but silenced the rushing of the Wharry Burn. The Burn itself had become like glass, caught in strange fantastical shapes.
Even Mrs Morton said she had never seen anything like it, in eighteen years of living at Dunadd.
“I wonder how they’re coping down at Lynns Farm?” Granny commented, staring out of the window. “MacFarlane will have enough to do, clearing the snow from his yard. And he’s hardly young.”
Mrs Morton gave her a strange look and left the room.
After she’d gone, Granny Hughes shook her head and sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t try! You would have thought she’d look out for her own neighbour.”
Samuel looked up, mystified.
“Who?”
“MacFarlane, down at Lynns Farm. You’ll have seen the house. Down by the waterfall?”
Samuel shook his head.
“Ach well, I suppose you cannot see it all that well ‘cos ofall the trees round about it. It’s hidden away, right enough.”
Fiona looked up from her plate. “That’s another of Mum’s weird rules. She doesn’t like us going there.”
“Had a disagreement with him once,” Granny went on. “Don’t know what
that
was about, but she won’t hear mention of him again. Her nearest neighbour too. Her
only
neighbour in fact. I daren’t suggest one of us going along to see if he’s all right in all this snow.”
Charles, who was sitting at the other end of the table, looked up and met Samuel’s eye. “He’s meant to be off his head,” he informed him, with a touch of glee.
Samuel turned and stared at the frozen grounds of Dunadd beyond the kitchen window, icicles hanging like daggers from the sill. It was one more mystery to add to the many surrounding this place.
After a week of raging blizzards, the moor at last fell silent. Samuel woke up one morning and realized that the wind had stopped howling.
Big flakes of snow fell out of the sky, feathering the dry-stone walls. Samuel shovelled lumps of coal into the tin bucket, listening to the sudden stillness outside. Poking his head out of the barn door, he thought how beautiful Dunadd looked. All around him the branches of the trees had frozen solid, reaching out white fingers of glass that looked as if they would shatter in any breeze, or chime like musical bells. The world looked strangely magical. Stones and fenceposts were capped with ice. At the end of the garden stood a small fir tree, its branches bent with snow, and Samuel realized with a pang of affectionthat it had already become a familiar landmark of home. Whenever he looked out of their sitting room window, he could see that tree, beside the crumbling stonewall.
The coal bucket was a heavy load to drag back to the cottage, and he stopped half-way to listen to the silence.
As he stood there, an odd feeling overcame him. It was as if he were no longer alone. Surrounded by the loneliness of the moor he had the sensation that he was being watched.
He looked down at the snow at his feet. A long shadow had thrown itself in front of him, which meant that someone was standing right behind him. He spun round. As he did so, the shadow vanished. Leading away from him were footprints in the snow, as crisp and clear as if they had just been made. They led in a long line away from him, and stopped in the middle of the lawn. Then … nothing.
All around him silent snow-covered trees stood sentinel. He peered into the darkness between the dense pine forest to his left, then across at the barn to his right. Nothing. Just him in all this emptiness.
Was someone playing a trick on him?
He shook his head, picked up the heavy bucket of coal, and made his way back to the cottage. His footsteps crunching in the snow were the only sound.
I am definitely going insane
, he thought.
Charles stood in the snow,
Even Mrs Morton said she had never seen anything like it, in eighteen years of living at Dunadd.
“I wonder how they’re coping down at Lynns Farm?” Granny commented, staring out of the window. “MacFarlane will have enough to do, clearing the snow from his yard. And he’s hardly young.”
Mrs Morton gave her a strange look and left the room.
After she’d gone, Granny Hughes shook her head and sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t try! You would have thought she’d look out for her own neighbour.”
Samuel looked up, mystified.
“Who?”
“MacFarlane, down at Lynns Farm. You’ll have seen the house. Down by the waterfall?”
Samuel shook his head.
“Ach well, I suppose you cannot see it all that well ‘cos ofall the trees round about it. It’s hidden away, right enough.”
Fiona looked up from her plate. “That’s another of Mum’s weird rules. She doesn’t like us going there.”
“Had a disagreement with him once,” Granny went on. “Don’t know what
that
was about, but she won’t hear mention of him again. Her nearest neighbour too. Her
only
neighbour in fact. I daren’t suggest one of us going along to see if he’s all right in all this snow.”
Charles, who was sitting at the other end of the table, looked up and met Samuel’s eye. “He’s meant to be off his head,” he informed him, with a touch of glee.
Samuel turned and stared at the frozen grounds of Dunadd beyond the kitchen window, icicles hanging like daggers from the sill. It was one more mystery to add to the many surrounding this place.
After a week of raging blizzards, the moor at last fell silent. Samuel woke up one morning and realized that the wind had stopped howling.
Big flakes of snow fell out of the sky, feathering the dry-stone walls. Samuel shovelled lumps of coal into the tin bucket, listening to the sudden stillness outside. Poking his head out of the barn door, he thought how beautiful Dunadd looked. All around him the branches of the trees had frozen solid, reaching out white fingers of glass that looked as if they would shatter in any breeze, or chime like musical bells. The world looked strangely magical. Stones and fenceposts were capped with ice. At the end of the garden stood a small fir tree, its branches bent with snow, and Samuel realized with a pang of affectionthat it had already become a familiar landmark of home. Whenever he looked out of their sitting room window, he could see that tree, beside the crumbling stonewall.
The coal bucket was a heavy load to drag back to the cottage, and he stopped half-way to listen to the silence.
As he stood there, an odd feeling overcame him. It was as if he were no longer alone. Surrounded by the loneliness of the moor he had the sensation that he was being watched.
He looked down at the snow at his feet. A long shadow had thrown itself in front of him, which meant that someone was standing right behind him. He spun round. As he did so, the shadow vanished. Leading away from him were footprints in the snow, as crisp and clear as if they had just been made. They led in a long line away from him, and stopped in the middle of the lawn. Then … nothing.
All around him silent snow-covered trees stood sentinel. He peered into the darkness between the dense pine forest to his left, then across at the barn to his right. Nothing. Just him in all this emptiness.
Was someone playing a trick on him?
He shook his head, picked up the heavy bucket of coal, and made his way back to the cottage. His footsteps crunching in the snow were the only sound.
I am definitely going insane
, he thought.
Charles stood in the snow,
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