The Shadow House(28)

‘We should’ve told you sooner,’ said Mariko.

A shiver trickled unpleasantly down my back of my neck. ‘Told me what?’

‘The only downside about living at Pine Ridge,’ said Mariko, ‘is that damn witch. Her and her gang of forest monsters. Pesky buggers. Better get used to them, though, they’re a pretty permanent fixture round here.’

I looked at them each in turn, trying to read their faces.

‘Look, as long as you don’t bother her, she won’t bother you.’ Layla said, wide-eyed and solemn. ‘Although, she does enjoy a sacrificial ritual, so if you get time you might want to slay a goat on an altar, just to keep her happy.’

There was a nauseating moment of silence. And then they all started laughing.

‘Obviously, we’re kidding,’ Layla said.

‘It’s a little village joke,’ said Mariko. ‘We get a lot of possums and foxes at night. They make the strangest noises, and the kids all say it’s the witch, just to scare each other.

‘It’s like a game. They dare each other to go into the woods and call to her, that kind of thing.’

‘But it’s just a bit of fun,’ Layla said quickly, catching my expression. ‘They know she’s not real.’

Shannon shook her head. ‘It’s cute, but we don’t encourage it.’

‘Unless they haven’t done their homework or whatever,’ said Mariko. ‘And then it’s like, do it or the witch will get you!’ She curled her hands into claws and drew her lips back over her teeth. ‘Raaaaaahh!’

My skin tightened. The witch took the farmers’ kid.

‘Oh, your face!’ Shannon patted me on the back. ‘You really must be tired if you believed that rubbish.’

Crazy. Batshit. Fucking mental patient, you should be locked up.

‘Have a drink, Alex,’ said Layla. ‘It was just a joke.’

I made myself smile as if I thought it was funny.


By the time I left, the day was nearly done. The shadows were lengthening, and the sun was sinking behind the ridge as I pushed Kara’s pram towards home. Passing Ollie on the road, I waved and signalled to him that I was leaving.

‘Make sure you’re home for dinner,’ I called as he skidded to a stop next to Violet. He flipped up his board and caught it, making a show of rolling his eyes to demonstrate exactly how daggy and excruciating I was. Violet giggled, and the adoring look he gave her sent a small knife through my heart.

The other kids, I noticed, were keen to impress her too. Whether they were out riding or tossing a footy, they orbited her like little moons, keeping an eye out for opportunities to win her attention. She was just one of those girls, I realised: a natural queen bee who stuck out purely because she fitted in so well, who effortlessly transcended the social hierarchy because she’d inherited all the right genes and knew exactly what to do with them. It was a shame her younger sister hadn’t been so lucky. It wasn’t hard to imagine why Amy preferred the company of her mother; Violet’s shadow would be a tough one to live in.

As she let out another peal of cool-girl laughter, I made a mental note to watch her. I wanted so much for my son to make friends; I just had to make sure that it was with the right people this time.

I took the scenic route home, pushing Kara’s pram on the cycle path that ran around the dam, singing mindless nursery rhymes to her as I went. The moon had risen, bathing everything in a silver light. The farmhouse shone white on the hill and I stopped to admire it; creepy history or not, I couldn’t believe it hadn’t yet been renovated. If Pine Ridge needed money, they couldn’t go wrong with a lovingly restored, picturesque Airbnb. I wondered if they might consider selling it.

Suddenly a light flashed in one of the windows – a flat bluish glow, like the sweep of a torch. And then, just as quickly, the light was gone.

I stared, waiting for it to come back on, wondering if I’d imagined it … but the house remained still and dark.

And then Kara squawked – Come on, Mum, what’s the hold-up? – and I dragged myself away, soothing her with more songs before she cracked it and started wailing.

When we reached our steps, I unclipped Kara from her seat and carried her on one hip while I dragged the pram up behind me with the other. I paused at the top to catch my breath, spots swimming in front of my eyes, then slid my key into the lock. As I did, Kara squealed in my arms and arched her back so far and so unexpectedly that I nearly dropped her; I stumbled, and my foot hit something. I looked down.

There was a box. Sitting against the wall next to the drainpipe. Brown cardboard. Unmarked and unsealed, exactly the same as the one before.

Furtively, I scanned the house, the garden, the road below. No one around. No noise, except the swish of the trees above my head and the railway-line song of the cicadas.

Unlocking the door, I took Kara inside and placed her down among her toys. Then I went back outside, picked up the box and brought it into the kitchen, closing the front door behind me. Holding my breath, I put it down on the counter and pulled back the flaps.

Inside was a sheet of bubble wrap. Tentatively, I lifted one corner and took a peek underneath. No feathers, no blood. Just a pile of sticks, and some lumps of material. Reaching in, I poked one of the lumps. It felt inanimate, so I picked it up.

It was a doll – of sorts. Two twigs pressed together into a cross shape and bound by gauze wrapped so thickly that it looked like a lumpy body, out of which the twigs stuck like two arms and a single spindly leg. A head had been made from a ball of wax and wrapped in the same way, so the doll appeared to be wearing a hood. Crude indentations in the wax formed a face: two eyes and a gaping mouth.