The Sacrifice Box Read online

  Contents

  0: Sacrifice: 1982

  Part 1: Four Years Later

  1: Morning

  2: Late

  3: Midtown

  4: Tench

  5: Class

  6: Daniels

  7: Roots

  8: Mario

  9: Broken

  10: Claws

  11: The Others

  12: Patience

  -2: Sacrifice: 1982

  13: The Old Way

  14: Crow

  15: Bones

  16: Mack

  17: Visit

  Part 2

  -5: Morning: 1941

  18: Footprints

  -1: Choices: 1982

  19: Truth

  20: Maguire

  21: Cats

  22: Morning

  23: Caught

  24: Change

  25: Tracked

  26: Hadley

  27: Ward Seven

  -4: Visiting: 1941

  28: Wobie

  29: Breathe

  30: Messenger

  31: Swallow

  32: Arkle

  33: Tarot

  34: Lamb

  Part 3

  35: Barkley and Snuggles

  36: Truck

  37: Miracle

  38: Forgiveness

  39: Escape

  40: Confession

  41: Guidance

  -3: Love: 1941

  42: Bonding

  43: Storms

  44: Slipping

  45: Rosemary

  46: Flight

  47: Fox

  48: Autopsy

  49: Pliers

  50: Barn

  51: Crabs

  52: Surgery

  53: Footprints

  54: Sacrifice: 1986

  55: Love

  56: Mainland

  Acknowledgements

  Follow Penguin

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Sep, Arkle, Mack, Lamb and Hadley: five friends thrown together one hot, sultry summer. When they discover an ancient stone box hidden in the forest, they decide to each make a sacrifice: something special to them, committed to the box for ever. And they make a pact: they will never return to the box at night; they’ll never visit it alone; and they’ll never take back their offerings.

  Four years later, the gang have drifted apart. Then a series of strange and terrifying events take place, and Sep and his friends understand that one of them has broken the pact.

  As their sacrifices haunt them with increased violence and hunger, they realise that they are not the first children to have found the box in their town’s history. And ultimately, the box may want the greatest sacrifice of all: one of them.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MARTIN STEWART has previously worked as an English teacher, university lecturer, barman, recycling technician and golf caddie. A native of Glasgow, he now lives on Scotland’s west coast with his partner, daughter and a very big dog. He enjoys cooking with eggs, running on the beach, re-watching his favourite films and buying books to feed his to-be-read pile.

  Martin’s critically acclaimed first novel, Riverkeep, was shortlisted for the YA Book Prize and the Branford Boase Award, and longlisted for the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize.

  Follow him on

  Twitter: @martinjstewart

  Instagram: martin_j_stewart

  Praise for Riverkeep:

  ‘A cracking, startlingly original story … It would be an extraordinary book by any author - but it is Martin Stewart’s first’ Spectator

  ‘Relentlessly brilliant … Stylish, precise, limitlessly evocative of landscape, atmosphere, guilt and terror … That he has packed enough detail, talent and skill in there for three books can hardly be a criticism. His characters lived for me by the end’ Guardian

  ‘Extraordinary … Stunningly original’ Evening Standard

  ‘Completely absorbing’ The Bookseller

  ‘Brilliant’ Sunday Express

  ‘Outstanding’ Scotsman

  ‘Utterly compelling and masterful’ Booktrust

  ‘A stunning debut’ Sunday Independent (Ireland)

  ‘Exquisite’ New York Times

  For Mum and Dad

  I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, did you?

  The Body, Stephen King

  0

  Sacrifice: 1982

  Sep knelt beside the box. The forest was tight with heat, and sweat prickled on his skin.

  The clearing around him was a blanket of root and stone, caged by silent trees and speckled by dark, leaf-spinning pools that hid the wriggling things of the soil. And at its heart, as though dropped by an ebbing tide, was the sacrifice box.

  Mack was hopping in anticipation behind him. Arkle, Lamb and Hadley stood on the other side of the box’s stone, their sacrifices complete: a scatter of burnt dragonflies, a little mirror and a diary.

  ‘Sep,’ said Arkle, then louder: ‘Sep!’

  ‘I’m doing it,’ said Sep.

  ‘No, it’s not that …’

  ‘Shut up!’ whispered Lamb.

  Sep squeezed Barnaby. The little teddy’s plastic snout was fixed in a smile, and his eyes were deep and brown.

  ‘Are you OK?’ said Hadley.

  ‘What?’ said Sep, turning his good ear towards her.

  ‘I said, are you OK?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Hadley, lisping through her braces. Sep could hear the wheeze on the edge of her voice. ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘Yeah, he does,’ said Mack, chewing. ‘We said we would. All of us. And it was his idea.’

  ‘Are you eating another sandwich?’ said Arkle. ‘Pac-Man with legs, you are.’

  Sep looked at Barnaby’s matted fur and pudgy limbs. The teddy was a ruined thing – dragged through briar, thorn and rain until his tummy split. Sep’s mum had stitched him up with an old shoelace, the summer before she got sick.

  As he thumbed the lace Sep’s good ear hissed with the treetops’ breeze – then the wind died, and there was no sound but the pat and chuckle of the recent sunshower as it dripped, leaf by leaf, down to the earth.

  ‘Sep, c’mon –’ said Arkle.

  ‘Shut up!’ said Lamb. ‘You’re interrupting his sacrifice!’

  ‘Sep!’ Arkle hissed again, even though people normally did what Lamb said since her mother died.

  Sep sighed, and looked up at Arkle’s sweaty grin. ‘What is it?’ he said. The air was green and sticky, and dandelion seeds clung to their faces.

  ‘You’re kneeling in poo,’ said Arkle. ‘It’s just there. See? There?’

  Sep looked.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘D’you see it? It’s brown.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got it.’

  ‘Under your right knee.’

  ‘That’s my left knee,’ said Sep, wiping his jeans on the grass.

  ‘Same difference.’

  ‘Are you putting the bear in or not?’ said Lamb.

  Sep looked at tall, strong Lamb – shoulders back, her mother’s headscarf tied round the plaster cast on her wrist. She met his stare evenly, and he saw Arkle nod and Hadley smile, the trees behind them split by the recent lightning.

  Barnaby had been a gift from his mum. Sep had tucked the bear beside her in the hospital bed when she was sleeping after the operation – and he’d wondered, on the way home in his granda’s car, whether her dying would mean he’d get to stay on the mainland forever.

  He’d never forgotten the way the thought had felt in his head. Hot. And guilty.

  He reached out to the box’s cold stone, squeezed Barnaby one last time – then tossed him after the other sacrifices an
d stepped towards the others.

  ‘Finally!’ said Arkle.

  Mack raised his sacrifice.

  ‘You’re putting in your watch?’ said Lamb.

  ‘Why not?’ said Mack, shrugging. ‘There, I’ve stopped the hands. It’ll always show the time of this perfect moment, when we did this together.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you put in,’ said Arkle. ‘Right? It’s just a thing.’

  ‘It does so matter,’ said Sep. ‘We’re doing this for each other – whatever you sacrifice has to mean something.’

  ‘All right, Seppy. So now what do we do?’

  ‘Close it,’ said Sep.

  Mack’s dark brows furrowed low as he heaved on the box’s stone lid. Sep looked for Barnaby, but the box was deep, and there was only darkness inside.

  He thought about the broken wrist that had kept Lamb from hockey camp, the holidays abroad that had isolated Hadley, Mack and Arkle from their usual friends; the way they’d bumped into one another on the beach, and how they’d drifted into such perfect happiness over the last couple of weeks.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’ve loved this summer. I’ve never really had anyone to … I mean –’

  The lid slipped. Mack swore and snatched his hand away, gripping his fingers.

  ‘Are you OK?’ said Hadley. ‘Are you bleeding?’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ Mack flexed his fingers and swore again. Then he laughed. ‘I think it bit me.’

  They stood back and looked at the sacrifice box. As the lid darkened in the rain it disappeared into the forest’s skin, seeming like nothing more than a small, turf-sunk boulder. The world smelled bright and fresh and green.

  ‘It’s kind of amazing we found this,’ said Lamb.

  ‘It was the storm,’ said Sep, twisting his headphones. ‘The box wasn’t here last week. The rain must have washed it out.’

  ‘How old do you think it is?’ said Hadley.

  ‘Hundreds of years. Maybe thousands.’

  ‘Maybe millions?’ said Arkle.

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ Lamb muttered, then flicked his ear.

  Arkle grinned.

  ‘I still think we should’ve made it into a fire pit,’ he said, flipping the lid on his lighter up and down.

  Sep saw Hadley watching him from under her fringe. Her tormentors, Sonya and Chantelle, had chased her to the forest and along the edge of the ravine, and her eyes were still red. He looked up through the trees at the clouds – great towers of pearl that flattened to anvils on the sky and spread out over the island. The tide crashed on to the rocks, and he thought of his mum listening to the waves through the open window of the living room.

  ‘Now what?’ asked Arkle.

  ‘We say Sep’s words,’ said Mack.

  ‘They’re not really mine,’ said Sep, remembering how the words had come to him, like a knife driven into his skull – a waking dream so vivid he’d cried out in the bright sunshine.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Lamb.

  ‘I kind of dreamed them. They’re just … they’re the box’s rules.’

  ‘All right, so we say them. Then what?’

  ‘Then we’ll always be friends,’ said Sep.

  ‘How does that work?’ said Arkle.

  ‘Because we’re making a promise to each other.’

  ‘And it’ll be our secret,’ said Hadley, gripping her inhaler. ‘We can’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think we should talk about this at school,’ said Arkle. ‘I mean, it is kind of lame.’

  The rain started again, cold drops on their hot skin.

  ‘Let’s say the words then,’ Sep said.

  ‘Bagsy not stand next to you, poo-legs,’ said Arkle.

  They arranged themselves around the box as the rain grew heavier, draping the clearing’s edge in grey sheets and closing them in.

  Sep tried to peer through it.

  Something was moving in the shadows between the trees. He narrowed his eyes, focused on a shifting speck.

  There was a sound like someone whispering – or shouting from far away – and a long moment hung in the clearing. Sep felt his skin crawl as he sensed other figures around the box, their shadows closing in.

  Then Hadley said, ‘Sep?’ and the moment lifted, and they were alone again.

  Two crows spun through the rain. They settled on a branch high above them, shaking the drops from their feathers and shuffling their feet.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Sep.

  Hadley took his hand in hers and lifted it over the box, joined their palms to the others’. Sep felt how warm her skin was, caught her soft scent on the forest’s breath, and closed his eyes.

  ‘Ready?’ said Mack. ‘Remember what to say?’

  Lamb nodded, her jaw muscles tight.

  Something’s really happening, Sep thought – then Hadley squeezed his hand, and he forgot about everything that wasn’t her.

  ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Before Roxburgh finds us.’

  They spoke the words – the rules of the sacrifice.

  ‘Never come to the box alone,’ they said, hands unmoving.

  ‘Never open it after dark,’ they said, fingers joined together.

  ‘Never take back your sacrifice,’ they finished – then let go.

  Part 1

  * * *

  FOUR YEARS LATER

  1

  Morning

  June 1986

  Even as the sun was creeping over the trees and lighting the sky a delicate pink, the moon’s ghostly scimitar shimmered on the edge of sight. Sep thought of its dark side as he peered into his telescope, searching once again for the comet and, once again, finding nothing.

  He tumbled out of bed and pulled his Pink Floyd T-shirt over his head, giving the armpits a sniff. It would do, he thought, breathing in the burnt toast and sea salt as he went down the stairs.

  The house was calm – coloured by the muted dawn, gulls padding on the flat roof. But his mum was asleep in her chair again, halfway through dressing and breakfast, her patrol belt loose on her knees, coffee cold under a rainbow of oil. Her nose was twitching. Sep flicked the hair from her face, then switched on the radio.

  Static hissed into the room. He frowned, then twisted the dial, trying to tune into something – anything but silence.

  But all he could find was empty, wobbling noise. He clicked it off, then pressed the flashing light on the answer machine.

  Hi, darling, it’s Matt. I was wondering if –

  ‘Oops,’ said Sep, stabbing the delete button.

  Checking quickly over his shoulder that his mum was still asleep, he opened the cereal cupboard, but the second he put his bowl on the worktop she said –

  ‘Morning, pet. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up early, but I must have dozed off. Put that down. You’re not eating that rubbish on a school day.’

  ‘I like cereal,’ said Sep.

  ‘That’s not cereal, it’s sugary gunk stuck together with sugar – only for weekends. You need brain food.’

  Sep reread his application form under the table while she spooned fresh coffee into the pot and opened a tin of white crab, singing under her breath as she mashed the meat in a bowl.

  ‘What’s that you’ve got?’ she said.

  ‘What?’ said Sep, turning his good ear towards the kitchen.

  ‘I asked what you’re looking at.’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Sep, folding the pages into his bag. ‘Homework.’

  ‘You’ve always got homework.’

  His mum piled the crab on to boiled eggs and slid the plate across the table.

  ‘Crab. Just remember – they can’t hurt you if they’re in a tin.’

  Sep suppressed a shiver. ‘Haha.’

  ‘You feeling better today?’

  ‘My head’s still a bit funny, and I’ve got a toothache.’

  ‘That’s been three days. Four now, actually. Early night for you tonight.’

  She looked out of the window, tipped some salt into h
er palm and tossed it over her shoulder. ‘Couple of crows on the grass.’

  ‘That’s for magpies,’ said Sep with his mouth full. His mum’s walkie-talkie crackled, and he jumped.

  ‘It’s crows,’ she said. ‘Magpies stole it from them. We’re in trouble if they go on the roof.’

  Sep flexed his jaw. The crab was sweet and good, but it hurt his sore tooth. He wondered how much longer he could avoid the dentist. ‘Superstitions are stupid,’ he said.

  ‘They have to come from somewhere.’ She shook pepper on her egg and sipped her coffee. ‘Crow on the thatch, soon Death lifts the latch.’

  ‘What does Death do with Yale locks?’

  His mum rolled her eyes.

  ‘Save us from the cleverness of children.’

  Sep watched her face. Her eyes were pink and heavy, he thought, and her skin was pale.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he said. ‘You’re not eating anything.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then it’s not the same as –’

  ‘No!’ she said firmly. ‘Definitely not, I’m fine. Now, remember I’m on double-shift today, so you’ll need to get your own dinner.’

  ‘I’m working after school anyway. I’ll get something from Mario’s.’

  ‘Well, you can’t eat chips every day, so get something healthy-ish. And I wish you wouldn’t work so much. You should relax.’

  ‘And do what?’

  ‘I don’t know. You’re fifteen. Watch a film. Go out.’

  Sep looked up from running a finger over his plate.

  ‘With who?’

  ‘What happened to that crowd you used to run around with? The boy named after the racehorse, and the sporty girl?’

  ‘Arkle and Lamb?’

  His mum clicked her fingers. ‘Arkle! I kept thinking of Shergar. Who were the others?’

  ‘Hadley. And Mack. I haven’t hung out with them in years. As soon as we started back at school they just … went back to their real friends. They don’t even speak to me. Or each other. What made you think of them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ His mum shrugged. ‘My dream last night … they knocked on the door, looking for you. And I wondered about it when I woke up. They were nice. Are they still at your school?’