Meg's Secret

By Nancy Lou Deane

Dartmoor in Devon is Englands last southern wilderness. Covering 365 sq miles of boggy marshland, forests and ancient craggy Tors, it is famous for its treacherous mists and ghostly legends.
Elly Johnsons father has bought Moor House a mysterious granite building in the middle of Dartmoor. Unable to go to school until September, Elly wanders over the moor with her dog Finn. One day she finds a lost kitten and goes into the forbidden woods to find its owner. There she meets Meg and her cat Percy. Thats when strange things begin to happen.
Is Meg a witch? Is Percy a magical cat? Does Elly get the horse shes always wanted?
Find out in Megs Secret, a mysterious and spooky adventure story for youngsters aged 9-12.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456788872

Nancy Lou Deane

Nancy Lou Deane has travelled widely, living in Australia, UK and Trinidad. Writing adventure stories for children began when she lived on Dartmoor in Devon UK, (Englands last southern wilderness) and became fascinated by the moor's legendary ghosts and spooks. Currently she is living in Hampshire in UK and writing every day is the life she now enjoys. Her third book, Gold Fever, (ages 8-13) is set in Australia and continues her theme of spirits and strange happenings. Her other books are: Terror at Ullick Farm and Island of Spirits. Those who have asked to know more about Percy (in Terror at Ullick Farm) will be interested to read Megs Secret out soon. Nancy Lou Deane can be contacted via her website: www.nancyloudeane.com

Book preview

ONE

An icy blast

A sense of chill

A long high wail

And time stood still

‘Elly Johnson gazed through the window at the warm February sunshine. Dartmoor would be cold, wet and bleak. ‘Well I’ll never like it and you won’t make me,’ she muttered under her breath.

‘I’m sure you’ll like Dartmoor once you’re there,’ her father said gently, crossing the sunny sitting room, standing behind her.

‘No I won’t. It’ll be horrible,’ she replied, shrugging his hand from her shoulder.

Losing patience, he turned away, hardened his voice. ‘You knew when I accepted the post of lecturer in Plymouth we would be moving to Devon.’

‘Yes, but not to the middle of Dartmoor,’ she hit back. ‘Dartmoor is so… wet… and… spooky and there’s nothing there but a prison,’ she stuttered, imagining wild eyed men fleeing across the moor.

Wearily her father shook his head. ‘I don’t understand what you’re getting so upset about. We won’t be living anywhere near the prison.’

‘Well you can say what you like, but prisoners do escape and they do hide on the moor,’ she retorted.

As a last resort she turned to her 15-year old brother.

‘What about you, Nick. You haven’t said anything. What do you think?’

Deep in an armchair, Nick looked up. Slowly he uncurled his long legs, pushed a mop of curly black hair off his forehead and fixed his midnight blue eyes on his sister. At fifteen he was aware of his good looks and gave Elly one of his winning smiles. For a brief moment she thought he was going to agree with her. Then he said, ‘Well, if you really want to know, it doesn’t bother me one little bit. I’ll be at school in Plymouth most of the time, hopefully playing cricket and…’

‘Well that makes it even worse then, doesn’t it?’ Elly interrupted her voice shrill. ‘You’ll be in Plymouth and I’ll be stuck in the middle of nowhere, on my own as usual.’

Disappointed she looked away. If her mother were here, she would… but she wasn’t, she was dead—now she must fight her own battles. Deep inside she hurt so much she wanted to cry but, determined not to allow herself that comfort, she pushed her grief to one side, swallowed hard and glowered at her father.

‘We’ll be moving at the end of term Elly,’ he said, cutting across her thoughts. Grim faced, he walked over to his desk and sat down heavily in the leather armchair. Wearily, he rubbed his hand across his forehead.

Eyes filled with resentment, Elly watched him pick up a family photograph and stare at the laughing faces. ‘Well mum wouldn’t have agreed so there,’ she taunted and before he could reply, she had fled through the door, slamming it so hard the whole house shook.

TWO

A cold March wind charged across Dartmoor.

Inside her thatched cottage, Meg Saunders clenched a stained clay pipe between thin dry lips and gazed into the dying embers of the fire.

Her cat, Percy, rose from his spot in the hearth. Purring softly, he stretched his back legs and scrambled onto her lap. Her gnarled fingers stroked his short black fur.

The wind whistled through a gap under the door.

‘This artheritis’ll be the end of me Percy,’ she groaned, rubbing one booted foot against the other. Sighing, she reached for her walking stick and stood up.

Percy fell to the floor with a thump. Tail waving angrily, he strutted back to the fire.

Meg pushed an old rug against the door, threw a log on the fire then shuffled to a shelf at the back of the room. Peering at the neatly labelled bottles, she selected three and threw a handful of each into a pot of water hanging over the fire.

‘This should fix the aches and pains eh Percy?’ she said, rocking to and fro in her chair.

Percy meowed and rubbed his body against her legs.

After a while, Meg dipped a chipped enamel mug into the pan, tossed back her head and poured the fiery liquid down her throat.

‘Now we’ll have five minutes rest Percy,’ she said and, closing her eyes, was soon fast asleep.

She couldn’t breathe.

She was choking.

Thick smoke filled the room.

Coughing and spluttering, Meg woke.

From the fireplace Percy yowled, his green eyes narrowing.

‘It’s nothin’ Percy, only the dream again,’ Meg said, seeing the old cat’s concern. Slumped in the chair, she waited for her heart to stop pounding, then pulled a crumpled handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her damp forehead. Ignoring the smoking fire, she struggled over to the sink and gulped down icy cold water straight from the tap. After a while she splashed her face, took down the iron bar that secured the door and stepped outside.

Percy followed.

A gust of cold air swept over her. ‘That’s better,’ she said, gripping the porch rail. Eyes screwed, she stared across the moor. The blackness of a Dartmoor night was already filling the sky, but the familiar outline of the ragged tops of Beck and Tarn Tors* comforted her. When finally she stopped trembling, she staggered to a stool in the corner and sat down.

After a while, she lowered her head to her hands and a single tear dripped from the end of her nose.

‘The time is near, Percy, my old friend,’ she said, softly.

* Tors—Dartmoor’s granite rocks and hills

THREE

On the back seat of the family’s 4 x 4, Elly crouched beside Finn, the family’s Irish Wolfhound and buried her blond head in his curly grey fur. ‘You’re my only friend now Finn,’ she whispered.

Finn nuzzled her hand, his brown soulful eyes echoing her unhappiness.

Elly glanced at her brother, hoping he would say something, but Nick had ear phones plugged in and was listening to his favourite pop band.

‘All right don’t talk to me—see if I care,’ she muttered. Forbidden tears squeezed from under her long eyelashes. ‘I won’t cry, I won’t cry,’ she repeated over and over again. Eventually the tears disappeared, but the fear remained. Dartmoor would be horrible, she just knew it.

The 4 x 4 slowed and turned off the main road. Elly stirred and looked out at the sparkling river that wound its way beside the narrow road. Heavy spring rains had caused the river levels to rise and flood the marshy fields. Ahead, their removal van struggled through a ford flooding the road.

All too soon they turned inland and the sparkling river was left behind. Eyes blank, Elly stared through the car window and let her thoughts drift back to the latest argument she’d had with her father. She’d only asked if she could have a horse. He’d said no, of course,—that she was too young and wouldn’t look after it. Remembering her harsh words, she wriggled uncomfortably. Looking over her shoulder at Nick, she wondered how he always managed to get what he wanted. He was going to a school in Plymouth and she wasn’t because the doctor had convinced her father that fresh country air would be good for her cough. Now she had to go to a school in Tavistock. And what was even worse, there wasn’t a place for her until September!

‘Life’s so unfair, isn’t it Finn,’ she said, cuddling the dog. ‘Well, if I’ve got to live on Dartmoor, I’m going to have a horse. You just wait and see,’ she vowed, clamping her lips in a grim smile.

In silence they drove on.

The sun disappeared behind scudding clouds and a blustery wind gusted across the moor.

‘It’s horrible out there now,’ Elly moaned to no-one in particular. Stretching her cramped legs, she stared wearily out of the car window. What would she do all summer?

FOUR

Tyres screeched.

The 4 x 4 juddered to a halt.

The removal van skidded across the road.

‘Sorry, Mister Johnson, I think the clutch has gone,’ the removal man said, taking off his cap, scratching his bald head. ‘I saw a garage in the village we’ve just been through so I think we’d best go back and see if there’s a mechanic there who can fix it. If not, I’ll have to ring for another van, but that’ll take time and I don’t suppose another van’ll be here till morning.’

‘Well, we can’t stay here—it’s after four already,’ Paul Johnson answered, temper short. Turning to the van driver, he made a quick decision. ‘OK, you go back to the village and see if you can find a mechanic. If you can’t, organise another van. There’ll be a B & B somewhere in the village where you can stay the night. We’ll leave the car here and walk the rest of the way. We’ll see you at the house in the morning.’

‘Yes, Mr Johnson,’ the removal man said and touching his cap, strode down the hill. His