Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery (3 page)

To go
through the small gap, he would have to be quick and run directly
in front of the man in black. He would almost certainly be
noticed.

But I will be noticed anyway
Archie
thought,
if I continue to stand here like
a codswallop!

He
didn’t stop to think. Bursting through the hedgerow, he took off
down the lane as fast as his legs could carry him. Ignoring the
muffled shout from behind, he lengthened his stride, tearing down
the lane as though the hounds from Hell were on his heels. Dust
kicked up in his wake. His feet pounded the tightly packed earth of
the single cart track with jarring thuds. Panting heavily, he
became increasingly aware that the man was following. Even through
his loud breathing, he could hear the heavy thumping of the
murderer’s booted feet.

The man
was considerably taller than Archie. His longer legs would eat up
the distance between them in no time. Archie only had age on his
side. He knew that he could probably outrun him. The possibility
that he might not, was something Archie could not stop to consider;
not after what that man had just done to poor Mr
Harriman.

With his
gaze fixed firmly on the small cluster of rooftops in the distance,
Archie lengthened his stride. He had never considered just how far
away from home the spinney really was. Until today, when he had to
run the distance at full speed.

Archie’s
lungs began to burn. He gasped for air. His legs felt as though
they belonged to someone else. His arms began to tremble. Keeping a
steady eye on the ground beneath his feet, he tried hard not to
fall on the uneven ground. He was determined not to learn for
himself if the man had a second piece of cloth to bring about
Archie’s death.

A sob
lodged in his throat; he fought the panic that almost overwhelmed
him. He desperately wanted to look behind him.

Was the
pounding getting louder? Or was that his heart? He couldn’t
tell.

Tears
pooled in his eyes and mingled with the sweat that trickled slowly
from his brow. Swiping a hand down his face, he lengthened his
stride as much as his legs would allow. He tried his very best to
increase his speed. He seemed to be running and running, yet
getting nowhere.

“
No!” he wailed, as the back of his shirt was tugged harshly.
He dodged to one side. Throwing his arms wide, he desperately tried
to dislodge the hand that was holding the back of his shirt, and
spun around.

In doing
so, he caught a horrifying glance of a tall, cloaked figure looming
with dark menace behind him. A small cry of fear escaped Archie as
he began to twist and turn, frantically struggling to break the
monster’s hold. He glanced upward into the pale cadaverous, almost
featureless face that glared back at him. The black holes of his
eyes were so cold, so merciless, that Archie shivered, a scream
locked in his throat.

One look
was enough. With renewed vigour, Archie began to squirm violently,
ignoring the tearing of his shirt as he sought to gain his freedom.
When the hold didn’t break, Archie was left with no choice. He
stopped wriggling enough to aim a well placed, and very hard kick
at the murderer’s shins. When that didn’t get the murderer to
release his hold, Archie tried again, aiming higher. This time, he
was rewarded for his ingenuity when his shirt was immediately
released.

Desperately grabbing his chance of freedom, Archie quickly
spun around, heading once more in the direction of home. He ignored
the fluid curses and thumps behind him and, on legs that wobbled
alarmingly, lengthened his stride and headed toward
home.

He was
fairly sure the man had fallen over. For a few moments, he couldn’t
hear the thudding of the man’s heavy boots. When they did restart,
they seemed much further away. In spite of his suspicions, Archie
couldn’t – wouldn’t – stop to find out.

His
lungs burned until they felt they would burst out of his chest. His
legs had turned to jelly. A dark haze began to build in the corner
of his eyes. Could he make it? He tried desperately to listen for
the heavy thudding of the man behind him, but couldn’t make
anything out except for the rushing of his own breath and the heavy
thumping in his chest.

Was he
going to die tonight?

Not if he had anything to do with it
, Archie thought, and ignoring the pains in his legs, gave
another small burst of speed. He didn’t slow down, or stop, until
he turned into the small road leading to his front door.

It was
growing darker by the minute. He had been out a lot longer than he
should have. He would be lucky if his dad didn’t take the strap to
him for going against his word and not returning in time for
tea.

Archie
felt tears burn. He reluctantly slowed his pace as he approached
the front door of home. Jumping over the low fence that ran around
the front garden, Archie landed just outside of the front door with
a heavy thump. His wobbly legs struggled to hold his sudden weight
and he slumped gratefully against the rough-hewn wood. Lifting
trembling fingers to the latch on the front door, he almost cried
aloud when the heavy wood swung silently inward. It wasn’t locked,
and allowed him to slip inside the reassuring familiarity of home
without a sound. He paused only briefly, to glance quickly behind
him, down the small road. Hoping he had left the murderer behind,
Archie quietly closed the door. With the remaining shreds of
strength he had left, he carefully slid the heavy iron bolt across
the door.

The
realisation that he was safely at home began to sink in, and with
his back to the door, he slid down to sit on the floor. Chest
heaving, he drew his trembling legs upward and wrapped his arms
around his churning stomach. Tipping his head backward, Archie sat
in the darkness of the front room and, as he gasped for air, let
the tears trickle down his pale face.

He was
trembling so much he struggled to keep his arms still.

Should
he go into the back room to tell his dad? If he did, his dad would
want to go outside and look for the murderer. Given what the
murderer had just done to poor Mr Harriman, Archie couldn’t take
the risk of the same thing happening to his dad, even if he was the
village constable. Archie knew that as soon as his dad was told, he
would leave the house to go and round up the villagers to go in
search of the murderer before he left the area. But that would also
mean that until his dad got to someone else’s house, he would be
outside – all alone – like Mr Harriman was. With a horrified
shudder, Archie sucked in a sob at the thought of the same thing
happening to his dad. He felt the hot sting of tears on his cheeks
as the image of Mr Harriman’s face rose in his mind, and he winced
at the memory of the blank stare the man gave him as he
died.

Sitting
curled up in the darkness of the front room, Archie waited for the
pains in his chest to ease and his legs to stop trembling, and
tried to decide what to do.

In the
back room at the rear of the house, he could hear the unconcerned
chatter of his family as they set about clearing away the tea
things. His brothers were squabbling over who took the scraps out
to the pigs; his dad scolding them for arguing all the time. Betsy
and Emilie were chatting about girls' things, the plates chinking
together merrily while they tidied the table.

It was
several moments before Archie’s breath began to settle into a more
normal rhythm, and the tightness in his chest eased enough to allow
for him to take a deep breath.

He was
about to stand up, when the soft scuff of footfall outside the
front door froze the blood in his veins. Tipping his head back, he
watched in horror as the latch began to silently lift clear of its
holding. The gentle pressure of the door against his back as it was
pushed made him tremble again. The door didn’t rattle as it usually
did when it was windy because Archie was still leaning against it,
but he could feel the pressure against him as it was pushed from
outside.

The
latch hung for several agonizing moments, before it was slowly
lowered back into its rest.

Trembling, Archie’s eyes remained glued to the latch for any
sign of further movement. It was a long time before he felt
reassured enough to stand on trembling legs and move to the window.
He tried to look outside, but it was too dark to see anything but
his own reflection. Quickly drawing the thin curtains closed, he
turned back toward the room, unsure what to do next.

The
lively chatter coming from the back room of the small terraced
house he called home sounded so normal and ordinary, that he
suddenly couldn’t stand to be apart from it any longer. The
darkness of the front room seemed to close in on him, driving him
toward the sitting room and the light, and warmth, of his family.
Suddenly, he remembered what usually happened after tea. The girls
cleared the table, his mum washed the dishes, and one of the boys
took the scraps out to the pigs. Outside. In the dark. Which
ordinarily wouldn’t be a problem - and wouldn’t be tonight, if it
wasn’t for the murderer on the loose.

The
desperate need to stop anyone going outside was enough to send
Archie barrelling into the candlelit room, his eyes wide with fear.
He was unaware of how he looked and was oblivious to the startled
gasps from his brothers, and the soft squeal of Emilie when she
clapped eyes on his trembling state, and almost wild eyes. Archie’s
gaze locked on his dad, who lurched out of his chair in alarm when
he set eyes on his eldest son, calling for Marjorie, his
wife.

Ben was
standing by the back door, a plate of apple cores and peelings in
his hand.

“
Wait!” Archie shouted. “You can’t go out there!”

“
Archie? What on earth is the matter?” His dad studied him
from head to foot. “Why can’t he go out there? What’s the matter
with you? What’s happened?”

Archie’s
mind raced in search of an excuse. In his panic, he couldn’t think
of one. Gasping for air, he glanced frantically around the room,
but couldn’t see anything except for the concerned faces of his
family.

“
Because it’s dark,” he replied weakly, swallowing against the
need to scream out what he had just witnessed. He didn’t want to
encourage his younger brothers, Ben and Sammy. At five years old,
the twins would be out of the door, going on a murderer hunt before
his dad was across the room. They had little fear of danger, and
had no qualms about investigating anything and everything that
intrigued them – no matter how much trouble it got them into; and
they were always in trouble. Even working at the corn mill, they
would find something mischievous to capture their attention and
inevitably ended up being scolded for their daring. The last thing
Archie wanted was for that adventurous side to bring about their
downfall. Although they were a pain, Archie couldn’t bear the
thought of anything horrid happening to them like – well – he
immediately closed the thought off with a shudder.

Archie
swallowed. Sickness loomed at the thought of the body lying in the
spinney only a few hundred yards away, and he felt the rising tide
of fear sweep through him once more.

“
Boy, he is only going to the pig pen,” his dad replied,
frowning at his oldest son. Archie was normally as dependable and
sensible as any young boy could be. It was strange for him to be
late in, especially when he had been told to be back before dark.
But Jack couldn’t find the heart to be angry with the boy. He
worked hard in the corn mill and had clearly gotten carried away
playing for once. Although, judging by how upset Archie looked now,
the boys had apparently had a falling out. Shaking his head at the
folly of the young, he settled back in his chair with his boot and
polish, determined not to get involved in any more childish
squabbling.

“
I’ll do it,” Archie gasped, his stomach churning at the
thought. He wanted to cry again. Going out into the darkness was
the last thing he wanted to do, but he couldn’t stand back and
allow anyone else to go outside.

Squaring
his shoulders; his heart thumping loudly in his throat, Archie took
the plate off a stunned, yet delighted Ben, who relinquished the
plate with so much enthusiasm he nearly toppled the contents onto
the floor. He was all too happy to hand over the chore to someone
else and didn’t care who took the scraps out, as long as he didn’t
have to go outside into the dark, by himself.

Archie
paused by the back door, his knees trembling with fear.

Could he go outside? Should he? He knew he should be telling
his dad what he had just seen, but couldn’t bring himself to say
the words. Especially in front of the others. They would be
gossiping about it and have to analyse and ask lots of questions;
questions that Archie wasn’t sure he could answer. His mind was
racing in a confusing mix of images and thoughts that refused to
settle into any kind of sense. He didn’t know
how
to explain what he had just
seen.

His mum
was busy bustling about the kitchen. Archie’s gaze landed on the
scrubbed dresser beside the door, and the small paring knife that
sat beside a bowl of apples. It was small, but would cause enough
of a wound to make any attacker let him go. With a deep breath,
Archie threw a quick glance at his mum before swiping the knife off
the dresser and easing the kitchen door open. He wasn’t a thief. He
wasn’t planning on keeping the wicked-looking object, he was just
going to borrow it to make sure he got home safely. Swallowing
loudly, Archie fought the tears that threatened to spill down his
cheeks and wrenched the door open.