The Drustone

Chapter One 

A Prehistoric Cave? 

A shroud of mist covered the crest of the moor. Three sodden, bedraggled figures slowly inched their way up the steep incline, hindered by their gleaming yellow oilskin capes and dripping sou'westers. 

"Are you sure this is where we're supposed to be going, Henry?" 

"Sure, Rev! Uncle Steve said that if we just kept going up to the highest point on the moor we would be bound to find it." 

"Yeh, but Uncle Steve has played tricks on us before. I think this idea of wearing a Spanish onion round our necks to protect us from the evil spirits on the moor is just another of his jokes. Look what it's doing to poor old P.C." 

P.C. was certainly having difficulty. He was the youngest of the three ten-year olds, the tallest, the most athletic, but unfortunately the unhealthiest. Name any childhood illness from chickenpox to scarlet fever and P.C. was bound to have contracted it at some time or other. Now he seemed to be having trouble with his breathing. His round, freckled face, was bright red from exertion, and awash with a combination of onion tears and summer rain. 

"Nearly there, P.C.," encouraged Henry. 

One last surge through the sodden, knee-high bracken to the summit, and there it was - a grassy knoll surmounted by weathered stones seemingly set up for a giant game of croquet. 

"This is no Stonehenge!" sneered Rev. 

"What do you mean?" gasped P.C. 

"Stonehenge is an ancient monument somewhere in the south of England made up of humongous stones. They are much bigger than us, and are arranged in a circle just like these here. Nobody knows how it was built, or who built it. The stones here are so small anybody could have built it. I bet it's somebody's idea of a joke." 

"Not so! Uncle Steve says that the stones have always been here, and that this is a magical place," protested Henry. 

"Do you believe everything your Uncle Steve tells you, Henry?" 

"Usually. He knows a lot. Anyway let's map it like he asked." 

"That's going to be hard," interrupted P.C. 

He was right. The incoming tide had caused a marked deterioration in the weather. The fog had thickened, restricting visibility to less than one hundred yards in any direction, making it impossible to line up the stones with any landmarks in the surrounding countryside. 

"The weather always improves when the tide turns, so let's find some shelter and eat our sandwiches while we wait," suggested P.C. 

"Good idea. Uncle Steve said that if it rained we would be able to shelter in a cave near here." 

"And where might that be?" asked Rev.  

"See the dip on the far side of the circle that looks like a curled up tongue. If we go down there it's on the left hand side, hidden behind some brambles." 

"I can see some brambles from here," yelled P.C.

The entrance to the cave was a long horizontal slit that could be entered by laying face down on the wet turf, and wriggling sideways through the hole. The interior was pitch black, and the prospect of coming face to face with some wild animal in its lair, or of entering a chamber infested with vampire bats caused the boys to hesitate. Luckily they had been told to bring along flashlights, and P.C., the bravest of the three, volunteered to investigate. 

First he probed the inky interior.  

"It seems to be empty. I'm going in."  

P.C. after removing his rain gear and rucksack squirmed through the hole, firmly gripping his torch. There was a loud thump and a scream as he disappeared from view. P.C. rarely swore, but the air was blue as he recovered from his fall. "Be careful. When you come through, there's about a three foot drop down to a rocky floor. Pass me your things and then I'll help you."