The Owl Service (English / Inglés)

CHAPTER 1

"How's the bellyache, then?"

Gwyn stuck his head round the door. Alison sat in the iron bed with brass knobs. Porcelain columns showed the Infant Bacchus and there was a lump of slate under one leg because the floor dipped.

"A bore," said Alison. "And I'm too hot."

"Tough," said Gwyn. "I couldn't find any books, so I've brought one I had from school. I'm supposed to be reading it for Literature, but you're welcome: it looks deadly."

"Thanks anyway," said Alison.

"Roger's gone for a swim. You wanting company are you?"

"Don't put yourself out for me," said Alison.

"Right," said Gwyn. "Cheerio."

He rode sideways down the banisters on his arms to the first floor landing.

"Gwyn!"

"Yes? What's the matter? You OK?"

"Quick!"

"You want a basin? You going to throw up, are you?"

"Gwyn!"

He ran back. Alison was kneeling on the bed.

"Listen," she said. "Can you hear that?"

"That what?"

"That noise in the ceiling. Listen."

The house was quiet. Mostyn Lewis-Jones was calling after the sheep on the mountain: and something was scratching in the ceiling above the bed.

"Mice," said Gwyn.

"Too loud," said Alison.

"Rats, then."

"No. Listen. It's something hard."

"They want their claws trimming."

"It's not rats," said Alison.

"It is rats. They're on the wood: that's why they're so loud."

"I heard it the first night I came," said Alison, "and every night since: a few minutes after I'm in bed."

"That's rats," said Gwyn. "As bold as you please."

"No," said Alison. "It's something trying to get out. The scratching's a bit louder each night. And today – it's the loudest yet – and it's not there all the time."

"They must be tired by now," said Gwyn.

"Today – it's been scratching when the pain's bad. Isn't that strange?"

"You're strange," said Gwyn. He stood on the bed, and rapped the ceiling. "You up there! Buzz off!"

The bed jangled as he fell, and landed hard, and sat gaping at Alison. His knocks had been answered.

"Gwyn! Do it again!"

Gwyn stood up.

Knock, knock.

Scratch, scratch.

Knock.

Scratch.

Knock knock knock.

Scratch scratch scratch.

Knock – knock knock.

Scratch – scratch scratch.

Gwyn whistled. "Hey," he said. "These rats should be up the Grammar at Aberystwyth." He jumped off the bed. "Now where've I seen it? – I know: in the closet here."