House of Bones (21 page)

John hesitated for a moment. But then the statue grasped Lucy's throat even more tightly, and she began to turn pink. John ducked his head down and rolled forward on the floor, in the same way that he'd seen cops on American TV shows do. He ended up right behind Mr Vane, back on his feet again, the pickaxe clutched in both hands.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. John had never imagined that he would be able to do anything like this and he wasn't sure that he could
do it even now. He saw Mr Vane turning his head, his yellow teeth bared in surprise. He heard Lucy choking again. He lifted the pickaxe sideways and swung it behind his head.

“
Nooo
!” cried Mr Vane. But John whacked the point of the pickaxe right into his back. It pierced his chest and drove deep into the statue.
Crunch – thud
. Mr Vane said nothing more than “
Uggh
!” and tried to reach behind him with one bandaged hand to pull the pickaxe out of his back.

But the statue threw back its arms and let out a roar of pain and fury that sounded like a thousand voices all roaring at once. Courtney snatched Lucy well away from it as it staggered around the living-room with Mr Vane pinned to its back, his feet scrabbling helplessly on the floor.

The statue gave one last bellow and then he and Mr Vane toppled sideways with a deafening crash.

Mr Vane lay with one hand resting on the statue's charred shoulder. A thin stream of blood ran from the side of his mouth.

Courtney knelt beside him and said, “Hold still – I'm going to try to get the pickaxe out.”

“No, no … don't do that. It's too late now, and I don't want any more pain.” He looked up at them with dimming eyes. “I'm glad it's over,” he whispered.

Lucy turned away and John held her very tight. Courtney got to his feet and said, “Blowing up the
house was bad enough. How are we going to explain this one?”

But even as they watched, it looked as if the statue were beginning to sink into the floor, and Mr Vane with it. Gradually its pointed stump disappeared, and then its shoulder. Within a few minutes there was nothing left of either of them except two arms, one wooden and one human, lying side by side on the floorboards.

Then, without a sound, they were gone.

John said, “We broke the stone. How come they could still be sucked into the floor?”

“Ah – look. We broke it in half, but the lettering's still intact. That's a lesson we need to learn when we go around and get rid of all the rest of them.”

“Right now,” said Lucy, “all I want to do is to go home.”

They finished the job two weeks later, knocking the Druidic runestone from a large family house overlooking the Derbyshire Dales. Courtney gave it to Lucy and said, “Make sure you break it up as small as you can.” Lucy took it out into the garden while John and Courtney took a last look around the house.

“Well, I'm glad this is all over,” said John, unconsciously echoing Mr Vane's last words.

Courtney clapped him on the back and said, “Come on, let's get out of here. I could do with some lunch.”

It was a warm, breezy afternoon as they closed the garden gate behind them and walked back to Courtney's car. Lucy was already waiting for them.

“Well, what are we going to do now?” asked Courtney. “Now that we've stopped being saviours of the world as we know it, all we are is three out-of-work estate agents.”

“Perhaps we should start our own agency,” Lucy suggested. “The three of us could get together and rent an office, surely?”

“I can see it now,” said Courtney. “Tulloch, Mears and French. The slickest estate agents ever. Glossy colour brochures, weekly ads in
Country Life
…”

“No,” said John. “I've got a better idea. ‘Gaffs'… the estate agents who tell you exactly what's wrong with a house before they sell it to you. Noisy neighbours? Subsidence? Dry rot? We don't hide anything.”

“What about skeletons in the wall?” said Lucy.

A large cloud passed over the sun and suddenly the afternoon seemed chilly. They climbed into the car and they were well on their way home again before it began to brighten up.

The following afternoon, Lucy went round to see Uncle Robin. He was out in the garden, shaking nuts and raisins on to his birdtable. A little red-and-green windmill whirred in the afternoon wind.

“Did you get it for me?” Uncle Robin asked her.

She handed him the padded postal bag, and he hefted it in his hand to feel its weight. “Well done, Lucy. You're a very good girl. You always were.

“Do you know something?” he said, turning away from the birdtable. “The Druids were cruel, and merciless, but they were the greatest magicians that this country has ever known, or ever
will
know.”

Once inside the kitchen, he reached inside the bag and took out the stone, with its runic inscriptions. He turned it this way and that, examining it from all sides, and finally put it down.

“It won't cause any trouble, will it?” asked Lucy. “You only need it for research. I mean, there won't be any more sacrifices, or anything like that, will there?”

“Of course not,” said Uncle Robin, his eyes bright with anticipation. “But now I can study the Druidic spirits directly … at first hand. Now I have a way to
communicate
with them. This is like finding a way to talk to the Ancient Greeks, or the lost people of Atlantis. It would have been a disaster to lose such a civilization completely.”

“I have to go now,” Lucy told him. “I'm meeting John this evening. He's taking me to a club.”

“Nice chap, John,” said Uncle Robin. “But you won't tell him about
this
, will you?”

Lucy shook her head.

“Good,” Uncle Robin said. “This can be our little secret…”

Graham Masterton (born 1946, Edinburgh) is a British horror author. Originally editor of Mayfair and the British edition of Penthouse, Graham Masterton's first novel
The Manitou
was published in 1976 and adapted for the film in 1978.
Further works garnered critical acclaim, including a Special Edgar award by the Mystery Writers of America for
Charnel House
and a Silver Medal by the West Coast Review of Books for
Mirror
. He is also the only non-French winner of the prestigious Prix Julia Verlanger for his novel
Family Portrait
, an imaginative reworking of the Oscar Wilde novel
The Picture of Dorian Gray
.
Masterton's novels often contain visceral sex and horror. In addition to his novels, Masterton has written a number of sex instruction books, including
How to Drive Your Man Wild in Bed
and
Wild Sex for New Lovers
.

Discover books by Graham Masterton published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/Graham Masterton

Burial
Corroboree
Feelings of Fear
Holy Terror
House of Bones
Lady of Fortune
The Hell Candidate

For copyright reasons, any images not belonging to the original author have been
removed from this book. The text has not been changed, and may still contain
references to missing images.

This electronic edition published in 2012 by Bloomsbury Reader

Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square,
London WC1B 3DP

First published in Great Britain 1998 by Scholastic Ltd

Copyright © 1998 Graham Masterton

All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise
make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
(including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying,
printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

The moral right of the author is asserted.

eISBN: 9781448210572

Visit
www.bloomsburyreader.com
to find out more about our authors and their books
You will find extracts, author interviews, author events and you can
sign up for
newsletters
to be the first to hear about our latest releases and special offers.