Thirst

A chilling new young adult novel about a cursed river and a village’s dark secret, perfect for fans of Stranger Things!

The North American debut of 2-time UK Carnegie Medal nominee Darren Simpson.

Nobody talks about the strange happenings in Maimsbury. No one speaks of the hooded figures glimpsed in the woods, nor the children's game that went so horribly wrong. But most of all, nobody dares whisper their doubts about the river they have worshipped for centuries.

Like everyone in Maimsbury, Gorse is used to the sacrifices made every spring to the River Yeelde. The life of a farm animal - in return for a year of plenty - seems a fair trade. That is, until a tragedy leads him to a blood-curdling discovery.

Because this year is a Brim Year, and after giving so much, the river needs more than an animal's life to sate its thirst...

Thirst is a gloriously spooky, folklore-inspired novel perfect for YA horror fans. Blending page-turning storytelling with powerful social commentary, 2-time UK Carnegie Medal nominee Darren Simpson delivers a savage critique on how we justify sacrificing others for our own good, and the importance of pushing back against the status quo when it is harmful or outdated.

Brilliant and bloodthirsty, this breathless narrative creeps up on you just like the infernal river that encaptures Maimsbury’s inhabitants in its deadly thrall.1 Hounds and Hares 9
ALMOST FIVE YEARS LATER
2 Dauntley 23
3 Yeldthanc 29
4 Waste Not, Want Not 39
5 A Brim Year 45
6 The Bridge 55
7 Needs Must 58
8 With the Fairies 62
9 Bone and Boil 69
10 Sorry 73
11 Silver and White 78
12 Aglimmer 82
13 Whittle 88
14 Beneath the Surface 101
15 Stitches 109
16 In Ruins 121
17 Branwen and the Stones 127
18 As Such 136
19 For a Walk 143
20 Bearing East 150
21 Small World 153
22 Heartwood 158
23 Saved 162
24 A Name 167
25 Twilight 173
26 In the Ivy 181
27 Blood and Claw 186
28 Blackthorn 190
29 Meat on Bone 192
30 The Spoil 203
31 Warren 209
32 Outfoxed 212
33 Die Every Time 218
34 Black Waters 224
35 Barley and Bones 227
36 Meat for the Forest 230
37 Like Prey 234
38 Tar and Gnarl 237
39 Dark Sliver 239
40 Heathen 242
41 Wade and Wake 246
42 Slow to Fall 252
43 Slain 255
44 Bluebells 260
45 Tomorrows 264 the next dAy
46 More Besides 273
47 Homecoming 278
Acknowledgements 283"Darren Simpson’s Thirst draws on folk horror, with its focus on the evil that men do in service of tradition and superstition, and combines it with quintessential coming-of-age quandaries... Creepy and thought-provoking."
—Irish TimesDarren Simpson is the critically acclaimed author of Scavengers, The Memory Thieves, Furthermoor and Thirst. His award-winning books have been translated into several languages and he's been nominated twice for the prestigious Carnegie Medal. He also once won a budgie at school. Darren lives with his wife and sons in Nottingham and loves long walks with headphones, playing the drums and reading in bed on rainy Sunday mornings.Gorse felt the scratch of thorn, the trickle of blood. But still he ran on, ducking along the undergrowth and diving through bramble. The forest’s canopy rolled by above his head, and though his breaths came loud and hard, he could hear his pursuer gaining on him, kicking through shrubs not far behind.

“Hop with haste, oh little hare,” sang a panting voice. “This hungry hound your flesh will tear.”
Gorse couldn’t outrun Burdock—he’d always been the slower of the two—so he tried to outmanoeuvre him by gripping a low branch and swinging himself around its tree. He was sprinting suddenly in the opposite direction, and Burdock—skidding to a stop as Gorse whipped by—swore and stretched out his fingers. He grasped at empty air, just short of Gorse’s sleeve.

Gorse thought he’d gained a decent lead until a misjudged step sent him staggering across some roots. He cursed himself for tripping—he knew these woods so much better than that—and tried to recover his pace. Burdock howled, his laughter growing shriller as the distance shrank between them. Gorse heard a grunt, felt hands grasp his ankle. Burdock had thrown himself forward to grab his leg; they tumbled together through dirt and scrub.

“Got you!” cackled Burdock.

Gorse laughed with him—the music of boys not quite a decade of age. Still floored on the mossy ground, he tried to pull his leg free. But Burdock held fast.

“Sing it,” said Burdock. “I won’t let go ’til you sing it. You know the rules.”

Sighing, Gorse sang the old song. “Oh hungry hound, tear the ears from my skull. Together as dogs these hares we’ll cull.”

“That’s right.” Burdock let go and slapped Gorse’s arm as they got to their feet. “You’re a hound now. We need to find the last hare.”

Gorse turned on the spot, searching the dimming woods. “Tansy,” he said, then felt Burdock touch his cheek. He glanced across to see Burdock tilting a finger towards him. A streak of blood was glistening on its tip.

“You’ve cut yourself,” said Burdock, a note of concern in his voice. His eyes were wide beneath his ruffled hair, which had a touch of strawberry to it, compared to the blond of Gorse’s long curls.

“Just brambles,” said Gorse. He dabbed his stinging cheek, then eyed the blood before sucking it from his finger. The taste was like copper on his tongue.

“Looks deep. Does it hurt?”

“A bit. It’ll heal.” Gorse shrugged. “Let’s get Tansy.”

The pair of them scanned the forest. While they stood back-to-back, the chirps of birds, the sighs of leaves, and all the rustling of creatures unseen filled the lull between the boys.

“She ran the opposite way,” said Burdock, “when I found you both hiding in the ferns. That way.” He pointed deeper into the woods, which stirred with shadows as the sun continued to fall.

“No.” Gorse nodded in the direction of Maimsbury. “That way. Back towards the village.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

His friend scoffed. “Then you’re a fool and you’ve got stones for brains.”

“Let’s split up, then. And if we don’t have Tansy before the day’s near-done, we’ll holler a truce and get home.”

Burdock’s eyes flashed with his grin. “Keen to get back, are you?” He peered theatrically over both shoulders, then wriggled his eyebrows at Gorse. “You scared Dandyclogs’ll get you?” He mimed the slicing of a blade across Gorse’s chest, hissing all the while.

Gorse gave him a shove. “Even if Dandyclogs were real, I’d be more scared of my mother. She told me to stay home tonight. She’ll be mad enough that I snuck out to play—and all the madder if I’m out after dark.”

Burdock shrugged. “Let’s get a-hunting, then.”

With that, the old friends exchanged grins. Gorse dashed one way, back towards the forest’s edge, while Burdock ran the other, deeper into the woods.
*
A short spell had passed; Burdock was already sure he’d prove Gorse a fool. He’d found a trail left fresh in someone’s wake, marked by disturbed leaves and twigs on the ground, and by ruffles and folds in the bracken and ferns. These tracks were too big for the forest’s boars, badgers and deer. They could only belong to Tansy.

The snap of a stick pierced the forest’s whispers. Burdock peered ahead, searching for the source of the sound.

There. Quite some distance away. Just the briefest flash of a face, pale against the gloom of trees, and gone as quickly as it came. Burdock didn’t quite catch its features but was sure he’d glimpsed long, dark hair.

He’d have Tansy soon enough.

So Burdock began to run—though not as quickly as he could. He wanted to draw out the chase. At least for a little while.

“Hop with haste, oh little hare,” he sang again. “This hungry hound your flesh will tear.”
*
Gorse continued slowly in the opposite direction. The sun had sunk further, its bronze speckles now dimming on the forest floor. So Gorse listened intently, relying as much on his ears as his eyes while stepping across ivy and roots. He breathed as softly as he could, taking in the scents of earth, sap, blooms and wild garlic.

He tried Tansy’s usual hiding places as he went. The hollow in the oak tree with the swing on a rope. Beneath the ivy on Fable’s Hill. The tunnel of briars by the lichen-flecked cairn, which locals said would crumble were it ever given a name. Nothing.

Something darted over Gorse’s head, fluttering between leaves, and he looked up to see a rook watching him from a nearby branch. Gorse gave it a respectful nod, raised his finger to his lips. And when the rook blinked its beady eye, Gorse smiled to himself; he’d just thought of somewhere else to look.
*
Burdock was still heading deeper into the woods, though he’d slowed to a trot and then to walking pace, for something bothered him about the trail he was following.

He crouched by a patch of ground clear enough to allow a footprint. And indeed, there was a print. It wasn’t as he’d expected, though, for it had the faint outline not of a shoe but of a bare foot. And not only that—the footprint was damp.

That’s what had been puzzling Burdock. Though twilight now wove its way between trees, there was light enough for him to see the water drops scattered along Tansy’s trail, darkening the earth and glimmering on brambles. But it hadn’t rained in days.

He put a finger to the footprint, felt the wetness in its heel. Why was Tansy barefooted and wet?
No matter. The darkness was thickening, and the forest’s sounds had started to change, the way they always did when nightfall came. An owl hooted in the distance. Insects toiling out of sight started buzzing all the louder.

Time was running out, and Burdock was determined to catch his hare before dusk forced a truce. He’d caught Gorse and would have Tansy too.
*
Gorse skulked, quiet and low, closing in on a ring of trees known as the Seven Druids. He was careful to avoid any twigs that might snap beneath his feet, for he was eager to catch Tansy and end this game, and even the slightest sound of approach—assuming she was in the bowl of roots between those trees—would see Tansy fleeing like a mouse from a fox.

He knew he’d have to give her warning. Those were the rules of the game. He’d have to sing the song. But the closer he got before doing so, the less of a lead she’d have.

When he glimpsed dark hair between those circling alders, he almost gave himself away with a sigh of relief. This game would soon be over; not long now before he’d be heading home. He might get back before his mum returned from wherever it was she’d rushed to. Perhaps his dad hadn’t noticed he’d slipped away.

Perhaps he’d get away with this. His mum had been particularly stern about Gorse staying home tonight, even though she’d been too distracted to give him a reason why. It didn’t seem fair to Gorse, to be trapped indoors without good cause. But he knew his mother would take it badly if she found out he’d disobeyed.

Gorse was close now. He could see Tansy crouched in the hollow. Luckily she had her back to him while she kept a lookout between two trunks. Gorse resisted singing until he was right next to the trees. “Hop with haste, oh little hare,” he began, already launching himself from his haunches. “This hungry hound your flesh will tear!”

Rather than tackle the hollow’s roots, Gorse dashed around the circle’s rim, just quick enough to grab Tansy’s waist while she scrabbled over the cavity’s edge. “Got you!” he cried, and Tansy laughed, wriggling in his arms.

“Fine,” she giggled. “Fine! You got me.” When she finally stopped squirming, Gorse let go.
Getting to her feet, Tansy clapped the soil from her summer dress and hands. “Is that all the hares caught?” she asked.

“It is,” replied Gorse, before joining her in the song that declared the game’s end. “Hounds we’ll all be, for the hares are dead. Anon we’ll find prey to hunt in their stead.”

As soon as they’d finished, Tansy frowned at Gorse’s cheek. “What happened to your face?”
Gorse touched the cut. It was sticky now, just starting to crust. “Caught a thorn. It’s nothing.”
Tansy shrugged. “If you’re sure.” She glanced about. “So where’s Burdock?”

“He was convinced you’d run the other way. Went looking in the other direction.”

Tansy frowned. “Really? He’d better be heading back by now. It’s almost dark.”

“Almost. Come on.” Gorse led the way, back on the course he’d come from. “Hopefully he’s given up and we’ll meet in the middle.”

So Gorse and Tansy left the Druids behind, calling out for Burdock as they went.