Big
’
uns
? No, that wasn’t it, but something they’d said suggested they knew there were bigger worms.
Not in that ditch, of course, but perhaps in a nearby river? Or a pond? Maybe no more than a patch of swamp in a farmer’s field. Worms didn’t need deep water, but just enough to keep their skins wet, their bodies at the right temperature.
Annie could have gone out to get some for another act of mischief. Or vengeance for some imagined slight. Perhaps she had a grudge against the police for daring to question her. He remembered her tough, childish face and hard bargaining. She was well capable of popping a couple into a policeman’s helmet.
At home he tried telling Helen about it as they shared the washing-up after supper, but she wasn’t interested. Her eyes betrayed that hurt look which haunted her whenever he mentioned worms.
‘Tired?’ he asked gently.
‘Wouldn’t you be?’ she retorted, brushing a wisp of blonde hair back from her eyes. She began putting the plates back in the cupboard. ‘You realize you’ve been away practically a fortnight and ever since you got home you’ve talked about nothing but those bloody worms? You’re scaring the life out of Jenny.’
‘I warned her not to play near any ditches or streams.’
‘Where’s she going to find ditches or streams round here? It’s getting us both down, Matt. That girl’s very fond of you. She really used to look forward to you coming home, but not these days. It’s worms, worms, worms – nothing else!’
She hung up the tea-towel to dry and went into the living-room.
Jenny was doing her homework and Matt sat at the table with her, wanting to help. She looked up and smiled at him, but said nothing. Her long hair was scattered like a veil over her shoulders. Same age as Annie, he thought uneasily. He had a sudden picture of her pressing back against a tree somewhere in the midst of a vast swamp, surrounded by large worms advancing on her, their heads elevated above the water.
They should be sending out search parties, people who knew what they were up against… That girl could be anywhere.
When Jenny went to bed he switched on the TV for the news. The nude swimming party was mentioned, with his shots of the house and pool, together with the report that one of the children allegedly involved had run away from home. Helen glanced across at him; it was almost a gesture of apology for her outburst. Then her expression hardened again.
‘You saw Fran this morning.’
‘At the lawyer’s. You could’ve been there.’
‘I’m sure you enjoyed yourself better without me.’
‘Darling, it was business, nothing else,’ he reminded her wearily.
‘So you keep saying.’
‘The orders are rolling in.’
‘I don’t understand you, Matt.’ She spoke calmly enough, without obvious dramatics, but her bitterness was unmistakable. ‘The way you talk about these worms, you’d think they were one of the plagues of Egypt, sent by God to punish us all for our sins. You’re scared of them, aren’t you? Yet you can’t keep away from them – as though you’re hypnotized! I think you’re in love with them in some horrible, perverted sort of way.’
‘I’m in love with you.’
‘Are you?’
He went over to sit with her on the sofa and put his arm round her. ‘Yes, Helen,’ he told her seriously, ‘whatever else is wrong. If only I weren’t away on location so often.’
‘That’s your job.’
‘We could move down to Westport – throw up the job.’
‘And do what? Breed worms?’ Abruptly she went to the TV and switched to another channel. ‘It’s not that I mind you going after skins. If that’s all it was, I’d say good luck and get on with it. But you never talk about anything else, Matt, there are nights I lie awake worrying about your sanity. And my own.’
According to the radio the following morning, Annie was still missing. The police had contacted all known friends and relations, but without success. They were appealing for information from anyone who’d seen her.
Matt made up his mind as he put on his shoes ready to drive Jenny to school.
Helen had already left. Her agency had found her work that week typing a lengthy report on product control for a firm of management consultants.
‘I hope Mummy changes that job soon,’ Jenny said brightly as she settled in the car. ‘She always comes home bad-tempered.’
Without telling her what he was planning, he dropped her off at the school gate, then returned to the house for his usual worm-hunting gear – waders, gauntlet gloves, ice-boxes, cotton wool and chloroform, a couple of heavy walking-sticks, a sheath-knife and a change of clothing.
Then he scribbled a brief note to Helen saying he’d been called out on a job and propped it up against the clock.
The phone rang as he was about to leave; he hesitated before answering it. If it was Jimmy…
‘Hello, Matt?’ Fran’s voice – businesslike, but with a tremor of excitement which she was trying to conceal. ‘I need another fifty skins, urgently! We’ve landed a big order from Harrods!’
‘Harrods?!’ He congratulated her; then, because she seemed to be assuming he could drop everything and go down to the sewers right away, he explained about Annie.
She understood immediately, questioned him, concerned, and then said she’d like to come with him. He refused, putting every objection he could think of – except the real one: Helen
– but she overrode them all. In the end he gave in and arranged where to pick her up.
He’d call at Television Hall on the way, he decided. Collect a camera and some spools of film. One never knew.
Rodney Smith knew the neighbourhood better than anyone else and it seemed sensible to call on him first. Maybe he’d even come out with them if he smelled a story. They found his address easily enough in the phone-book, but had to stop and ask the way several times before eventually they got to his cottage in one of the villages on the outskirts of Middlehampton.
Half a dozen well-laden apple trees dominated the garden and from somewhere around the back came the murmur of hens. Thick ivy covered the walls and encroached on tie windows, which looked as though no one ever opened them.
‘Anyone at home?’ The door was unlocked and Matt poked his head in; the air smelled stale. ‘Hello?’
‘Who is it?’ The familiar, high-pitched whine came from upstairs. ‘Say who you are. State your business.’
Fran glanced at Matt, then choked with laughter. She withdrew into the garden again.
Matt announced himself and was summoned upstairs where he found Rodney Smith in bed with a high fever, a muffler round his neck, his arm in a sling, a skull-cap on his head, and a half-drunk glass of water in his hand. On the bedside table was a scattering of different-coloured pills.
‘After that girl, I suppose? Can’t help you. Confined to bed, as you see. Doctor’s orders. My contact at the hospital says I’m lucky they’ve no beds, or I’d be in there.’ He took another sip of water. ‘Refill my glass, will you?’
‘D’you have a contact in sewage?’ Matt asked.
‘What if I have? If you think they’ve seen any sewer worms, forget it. I’ve checked.’
Matt pulled a chair across and sat down, tired of stooping under the low ceiling.
‘Cards on the table, Matt. Your best policy if you want my help.’
Matt explained his idea briefly. Somewhere there must be other worms; the two kids had implied as much. In any case, the water in that ditch would connect up with other streams, or a river, but only people familiar with the neighbourhood would know where.
‘If you’re right, why has no one else seen the worms?’ Rodney Smith demanded.
‘They probably have, but it’s only when people get bitten they start talking about them.’
‘Could be.’ Smith conceded grudgingly.
He throught it over for a moment, then told Matt that he would find a map in the curtained alcove in the corner of the bedroom, somewhere under the pile of newspapers on the shelf. Matt fetched it and spread it across the eiderdown. Rodney Smith, forgetting his fever, traced the course of the various streams and rivers that might be linked with the ditch which bordered the rubbish dump.
‘This is where you might start.’ He marked the place with a red felt-tip. ‘Know how to get there? I’ll explain…’
Before he left the cottage armed with the map and several pages of notes, Matt went to the kitchen for a jug of water and refilled the bedside glass. He also drew the curtains. The patient lay back in his bed in the darkened room, his eyes closed.
In the garden he found Fran munching an apple she’d stolen from one of the trees. ‘He’s ill,’ he explained to her, ‘but he gave me some idea where to go.’
The roads were empty but he drove slowly, anxious not to overshoot the various turnings Rodney Smith had described. He felt oddly contented that Fran had come with him. He hardly knew her except on a business level, yet being with her eased some of the tensions in his mind. They’d not talked much during the drive, just a few remarks now and then, but she’d told him a bit more about herself. She’d married young, and very much in love. During the eight years it lasted she’d given up her friends, her interests, everything, till one day she’d discovered he was involved with someone else. That had been the last straw. On that same day, she said, she’d ceased knuckling under and hit out. He was in Australia now, remarried.
‘I sent the bride a condolence card,’ she added. ‘Deepest sympathy.’
At last they came to a dark, twisting lane where the treetops came together to obscure the sky. A few leaves dropped from the branches; one landed on the windscreen. He pulled up beside a five-barred gate. Beyond it was a lumpy, sloping field punctuated with patches of cow dung; over in one corner was a gleam of water.
‘Boots,’ Matt instructed. ‘And gloves.’
By the time he’d pulled on his own waders and slipped the sheath-knife into his belt, she was tucking the bottoms of her jeans into red Wellingtons. He wondered vaguely whether worms reacted to bright colours. Well, they’d soon know. They climbed the gate and tramped across the uneven field.
‘Obviously no worms,’ she declared emphatically as they approached the pool. ‘Look at the cow shit! Would cows come here to drink if they had their noses bitten every time?’
‘You may be right.’
‘I am.’ She was adamant.
He took the packet of offal from his pocket, waded in, and scattered some of it over the water. Then he waited. After a while, he tried again, scanning the surface for the slightest evidence of worms.
‘You win,’ he conceded. ‘Now let’s try the stream.’
It ran sluggishly through a ditch skirting one side of the field. Overhanging branches cut out much of the light, but he tested two or three different places with offal while Fran made her own search for Annie, calling out her name from time to time in case she was lying injured somewhere among the bushes. But they found no Annie and no worms.
Back in the car he studied the map once more before continuing along the lane till it joined a wider road. Eventually he stopped again and checked their position.
‘Over there,’ he pointed, folding the map. ‘The other side of that field.’
Another stream, livelier and wider, but still no worms. They returned to the car and proceeded to the next place on the list. Again they drew a blank. There was no evidence that Annie had been anywhere near these streams and ponds – nor that
they were inhabited by worms. After their fourth stop, Fran suggested diplomatically that they might be wasting their time. Matt shook his head stubbornly and drove on. Somewhere, he was convinced, they’d find a colony of worms.
And that was where Annie must be.
The last pond, according to Rodney Smith’s instructions, was hidden away among the trees on a stretch of land belonging to the Electricity Board. What he hadn’t mentioned was the high wire fence and warning notice. But the Board had obviously not been too interested in the wood where they’d built their sub-station; they’d cleared away the nearest trees but left the rest undisturbed.
They followed the fence around. Down one side it bordered on a ploughed field, though separated from it by a rough track leading to farm buildings whose rooftops were visible a couple of hundred yards farther on.
Staying with the fence, they soon left the track and entered thick woodland. The heavy undergrowth made the going difficult; it must have been many years since it was last cleared.
‘This is it!’ Matt announced grimly.
‘How can you be sure?’
He didn’t answer, but every nerve in his body warned him that the worms were somewhere nearby.
At first he looked out for a tree actually overhanging the fence, thinking Annie might have crawled along a branch and dropped down on the other side. What he found was much simpler. Close to one of the concrete posts but well hidden by the undergrowth, someone had broken through the mesh with wire cutters, no doubt some bright local lad seeking a quiet spot where he could take his girl friend. Annie could easily have known about it and gone there to hide. The corner of the wire mesh was bent back.
‘Annie!’ he called softly. ‘Annie, it’s me – Matt – the man from TV, remember? We’ve come to help you!’
No reply.
The breeze rustled in the branches. A twig snapped under his feet. In the distance a tractor engine throbbed steadily.
‘Annie?’
Fran stooped to crawl through the makeshift entrance. Once on the other side she stood up and called out again.
A movement, perhaps?
No – only the wind. Matt dropped to his hands and knees to follow her through. The rusting wire scraped over his back and the fence rattled against its concrete posts. The noise seemed alien. Fran looked at him, disturbed.
‘Annie?’ he called, more quietly this time.
The whispering among the branches changed pitch as the wind grew suddenly gusty, but it settled down again. No birds – that was it! He couldn’t hear a single bird anywhere in the wood.
Fran pointed out what appeared to be a path between the trees where the undergrowth was thinner. He hesitated, examining the ground. No animal droppings. Nothing wanted to live here except insects and…
They had to find out; no going back now. He nodded to Fran and indicated his intention of going first. In her red Wellingtons and jeans she seemed unprotected, exposed. His own high waders and gauntlet gloves looked a lot safer – let them bite through that lot if they could!
Bramble tentacles snatched at their legs as they pushed slowly through the wood. Twigs reached out to scratch against their faces. Matt’s height forced him to walk stooped where the trees grew close; he began to feel hemmed in and clumsy. Behind him he could hear Fran’s unvoiced gasps of exasperation.
She seized his arm and he swung around defensively. If only they’d brought the sticks…
Through the trees on their left she had spotted the glimmer of water. It was still, almost stagnant, with patches of vegetation floating on it and a dead branch, half submerged.
As they approached, the ground became more uneven, broken in several places by damp-looking gullies. Somewhere not far away Mat was convinced the worms were lurking. Perhaps even watching them.
Out of the comer of his eye he caught an unexpected movement and turned quickly. It was only a leaf. They’d begun to
fall late that year and most of the trees were still green. The thick foliage cast a deep shadow over the pond.
Attempting to conceal his fear, Matt smiled nervously at Fran. She grinned confidently, almost cheerfully. But then, he thought, she’d not yet encountered a live worm. Not yet been initiated.
Not till that moment.
They heard the sound of something squirming towards them through the undergrowth, following the route they’d just taken. Then he realized this was no sinister slithering, but something bigger.
‘Annie?’ he said, half believing.
‘No, look, it’s a dog!’ Fran’s voice was warm with relief. ‘Oh, isn’t he lovely!’
The dog trotted towards them, its eyes bright, its tail wagging with pleasure at meeting them. A fox-terrier, almost. Fran, delighted, squatted down to say hello, not noticing the two worms sliding out of the adjoining rain gullies.
‘Fran, keep clear!’ Matt yelled at her. He grabbed the back of her collar to pull her upright, desperate to get her bare throat and face out of reach of those jaws. She staggered against him, struggling and furious; it was as much as he could do to prevent them both falling. ‘Fran, don’t!’
‘What the hell d’you think you’re up to?’ she began to protest vigorously. Then she stopped, her body tense and quivering with terror as she saw them.
The two worms must each have been three feet long, the biggest he’d ever seen. Their skins were a scintillating, menacing green with shifting hues of blue and purple rippling across them at every undulation of their bodies. They seemed to flow over the ground with a wave-like movement, elegantly, almost a ballet… Then they raised themselves and waited with heads poised, their eyes fixed on the cowering dog.
It was only a second or two before they struck, though it seemed much longer. Matt found himself willing the little dog to turn and run; instead it remained there paralyzed, as if its paws were rooted to the spot. All the anguish of Matt’s own experience flooded back into his mind. Maybe he even achieved some degree of telepathic contact with the dog, for he became
aware that it was pleading with him, its eyes fixed on his, pleading for…
But for what? The yelp was ear-piercing as the first worm’s teeth fastened into the dog’s upper leg, and the pain broke the hypnotic spell. Suddenly it was fighting for its life.
Fran gripped Matt’s arm as they watched, her fingers digging into his muscles. ‘Oh no,’ she was muttering to herself, horrified. ‘Oh no, Matt. Oh Matt, now I understand what you… Oh Matt, my love…’
He stood there helplessly, holding on to Fran and wishing there was something he could do to help the dog; but there was nothing. The second worm had wrapped itself around the writhing, furry body and was attacking the hindquarters. The other was still gnawing at the front leg.