Trespass: A Tale of Mystery and Suspense Across Time (The Darkeningstone Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

magic to deal out this grief, this unbearable hurt.
    Burlic opened his eyes and stared up into the sky. Why had Waeccan done this terrible thing to him? Why? There was no reason, no way to know. Burlic could make no sense of it, and it bewildered him, made him weak.
    Burlic scowled. “Weak?” he growled. “Never.” He clenched his fists, pushed them into the ground. He didn’t need to know why Waeccan had done this—he only needed the strength to deal with the old man. My anger will be my strength , he thought. The rage surged through his blood. He jumped to his feet. “I will have my revenge on you, Waeccan,” he snarled. The old man must die. It was the only way.

Chapter 5
    2010

    I SKIRTED AROUND THE EDGE of the pit floor, keeping the steep slope on my right. I didn’t want to march through the middle of the quarry. It was too open, too exposed. And as I walked, I figured it out—how the car got there. The public footpath, the one I’d been walking along, had once been the road to the quarry. They’d tried to rename it River Walk, but everybody still called it Pit Lane. The place where I’d jumped over the fence (OK, the place I’d fallen) was the original entrance to the quarry. I could dimly remember an older fence—posts and barbed wire. Back then it would’ve been easy to break into the quarry. Someone had just driven the car in there and abandoned it. Joyriders probably.
    I was a clever guy. I smiled up at the sunny slope of the quarry’s sides, admired my new kingdom and congratulated myself on finding this amazing place. And stopped. Over to my left, as the long grass moved in the breeze, a flash of bright red caught my eye. I looked back toward the car. It wasn’t going anywhere. Why not look around on the way?
    But as I waded through the long grass, I slowed, frowned. I could make out the curve of red plastic: a bulky, vaguely familiar shape. And then a gust of wind parted the grass, and I saw them. Chemical drums. A clutch of them, lying on their sides. Some had been smashed wide open; others were cracked and split. None of them were in one piece. Something fluttered in the breeze. A label, peeling, faded. It had once been bright orange, but the bold black symbols were still plain to see: a cross, a hand with a chunk missing. I felt the soft ground give a little beneath my feet. What had leaked from those drums? What was I standing on? “Bloody hell.” I wasn’t waiting to find out. I backed away, turned, marched back to the path I’d made through the grass.
    I shook my head. “No more exploring,” I told myself. “No more wandering off.” I looked over to the car. I wanted to see it, wanted to touch it, make it real. I wanted that photograph. I took out my phone, tried the camera. The car was no more than a blob from this distance. It could have been anything. “OK,” I said. “Straight there and back.” I put my phone back in my pocket. “And on the way, find something to stand on.” I nodded. I’d be sensible and look where I was going. I’d be cautious.
    So when I came across the piece of mouldering carpet, laid out as if for a long-forgotten picnic, I didn’t walk across it. Instead, I carefully lifted one corner with my toe, then kicked the carpet back. Nothing dangerous. Just some old wooden fence posts, quietly rotting. I almost laughed in relief. But then I saw the nails. Long, thick, crooked, rusting nails, pointing upwards from the posts. I had a sickening vision of standing on the carpet, feeling a nail puncture the sole of my trainer, pierce my foot. I could picture it bursting out through the top of my shoe in slow motion, covered in blood. I shuddered. Who would leave something with the points upwards like that? And why cover them over with the carpet? It was almost like they’d done it on purpose. Almost like…I had to say it out loud to believe it: “Like a trap.”
    And now, when I looked around me I didn’t see an inviting, natural amphitheatre. I saw a