Free Clancy of the Undertow by Christopher Currie Page B

down to a clearing at the bottom of the slope. ‘It’s just down there.’
    I can’t see anything special at first but when we get down there I notice there’s sort of a crude hideout covered in sticks and leaves, teepee-shaped and really not at all camouflaged.
    ‘This is the base of my operations,’ says Angus. ‘Have a look inside.’
    I take off my backpack. Up close, I see that underneath the covering it’s a tent. I unzip the entrance and poke my head inside. The floor’s covered with a blue tarp, and there’s plastic tubs stacked up everywhere. I lift the lid on one. It’s got a bunch of exercise books in it and a torch. Angus’s sleeping bag is rolled up in one corner. There’s a strip of hessian taped to one wall and when I pull it up I realise Angus has cut a hole where you can peer through and see the clearing.
    Angus crawls into the space. There’s hardly room for both of us. ‘Pretty cool, huh?’
    ‘Are girls even allowed in your special fort?’
    Angus ignores me, pulling his backpack and tape player in behind him. ‘Check this out.’ He pulls a black contraption out of the pack and unfolds it. It’s a tripod, which he sets up beneath the hole in the wall. Then a camera, which he fixes onto the tripod.
    ‘Where’d you get that from? Looks expensive.’
    ‘Bought it.’ He sticks a cord in from the digital recorder to the camera.
    ‘With what?’
    Angus switches on the camera and it makes a little whirring noise. ‘Money.’
    ‘What money?’
    ‘I need you to go outside and help me test this.’
    ‘What money, Angus?’ Why the hell is he arguing with me over twenty-five bucks when he’s got the dough to buy cameras and tripods and audio recorders?
    Angus flips a little screen out from the side of the camera and I can see the clearing in miniature. ‘From Grandpa,’ he says.
    ‘The money Grandpa left us? That’s in the bank.’
    ‘ Was in the bank. There’s still some there.’
    ‘But that was for uni, or investment or whatever.’
    ‘I’m not going to uni. This is my investment. I’m eighteen so I can do what I want with it.’
    ‘And you spent it chasing made-up monsters?’ I make a dismissive sound with my mouth that horrifies me because it sounds just like Mum.
    ‘The Beast of Barwen is well-documented,’ he says, like he’s reading from a script. ‘I’ve done a lot of research. This is where it should be. No one’s going to say it’s made up when I get proper photographic evidence.’
    ‘And what if, for instance, you don’t find the beast?’
    ‘I will.’
    ‘Uh-huh.’
    ‘Do you want to keep arguing with me, or do you want to help me test the audio so we can get back to town?’
    ‘It’s your money.’ I clamber outside. ‘What do you want me to do?’
    ‘Go to the edge of the clearing and walk past the hideout,’ says Angus from inside the tent. ‘Make some noise while you’re doing it.’
    ‘What sort of noise?’
    ‘Just some sounds. Loud and soft. I want to see what I can pick up.’
    I backtrack to a nearby tree and walk forward like a zombie, arms held out in front of me. I go, ‘AAAAHM THE BEEEAST OF BAAAAAHRWENNN. AAAAHM GONNA WALK IN FRONT OF THIS NATURAL LOOKING PILE OF STICKS WITH A CAAAAHMERA POINTING OUT OF IT.’
    ‘Very funny,’ says Angus’s muffled voice. ‘Keep going.’
    ‘NOBODY’S EEEEEEHVER SEEEEN ME, WHICH IS WEEEEEIRD BECAUSE I’M AAAAHLWAYS WALKING AROUND SAAAAHYING MY NAAAAME. AAAAHM THE BEEEST OF BAAAAAHRWENNN!’ I’m past the hideout now, so I turn back around. ‘Why is the beast going to walk through this clearing, anyway?’ I say.
    ‘Look in your backpack,’ says Angus.
    ‘My backpack?’
    ‘Open it.’
    I do as I’m told. I open it and pull out a heavy black bin bag. It unrolls in my hand, and the sound it makes is not pleasant.
    ‘What’s in here?’
    ‘Open it.’
    I untie the handles and look inside. Two eyes stare back at me. It’s a pig’s head, its mouth gaping open. I scream.
    I hear