The Shadow House(44)

Drip. Drip. Drip.

She turned her head into the pillow and got a mouthful of it, soft and smothering. The material tasted sickly sweet: neroli and orange blossom.

That boy is in danger.

Two red eyes, two huge horns.

The devil has claws.

Four long cuts. Four sharp talons.

I’d hate for him to sink them into my grandson.

Renee sat up in a rush, throwing off the blanket with the last of the dream. She sat for a while on the edge of the bed, breathing hard. Her nightgown grew cold and, realising how damp it was, she looked up at the ceiling. No water, no leak. Just sweat.

She let her eyes roam in the darkness, skimming over the solid walls of her bedroom, the picture frames and the tongue-and-groove wall panelling. In between Michael’s snores, she heard something else. A high-pitched whine, like a mosquito but much further away.

Renee stood up. Padded to the bedroom door and opened it. Across the hallway, pale light shone from under Gabriel’s door. The whine started up again. It was coming from inside her son’s room.

She stepped forward. Knocked softly.

‘Gabe?’ she whispered.

The noise stopped.

She knocked again but there was no reply. She tried the handle, but the door was stuck. Not stuck. Locked. Again.

‘Gabe?’ Renee pressed her ear against the wood and heard a faint sniff. The swish of bedsheets.

She tried the handle again, pushing her shoulder up against the door. It wouldn’t budge.

‘Gabriel, are you alright?’

She kept on turning the handle, pushing against the door. ‘Gabe, please, I know you’re awake. Let me in.’

Finally, there was a scuffle. Then the latch clicked, and the door cracked open.

Renee peered into the room, expecting to see Gabriel standing in front of her, or sitting at his desk. But he was in bed, sitting with the covers pulled right up to his neck.

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

The room was dingy, the only light coming from the gaming rig. The monitor was on, the nebulous screensaver swirling and pulsing with purple and pink light. The thing next to it, the ‘case’ or the ‘tower’ or whatever it was called, was also lit up, the fluorescent tubes shining like glow sticks.

Goosebumps sprang up on Renee’s arms, and she realised a breeze was coming through the window. ‘What’s that doing open?’ she said. ‘It’s freezing out there tonight.’

She crossed the room and tugged the sash closed, then went back to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, trying to think of the right thing to say. She’d held her son’s little body through ear infections and tummy bugs, comforted him when he’d lost his favourite cuddle toy at four years old. She’d cleaned up scrapes, wiped away tears, pressed bags of frozen peas to swelling bruises and cradled him on her lap. She’d always been the first person he would turn to, the first pair of eyes he would seek. There, she would say. All better now. Mummy’s got you. These days, though, none of that worked.

‘Are you still upset about your birthday?’

After Dom had somehow coaxed Gabe out for lunch, she’d been so happy. The day, it seemed, had been rescued. But then Michael caused a scene and the atmosphere fell flat. She did her best to resurrect it, but it wasn’t long before Gabriel scuttled back behind his locked door. In the two weeks since, he’d somehow managed to retreat so far into himself it was as if he wasn’t even there anymore.

‘I’m so sorry that it didn’t … well, it wasn’t quite the celebration I’d planned.’

But Gabriel didn’t even seem to be aware she was speaking. She studied his face. Under the sheets, she realised, her son was shirtless and shivering.

‘Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you sick?’ She reached for his forehead, but before her fingers could touch his skin Gabriel pulled away. He lurched backwards and as he did the blanket fell away, revealing his chest.

Renee gasped. Gabriel scrabbled at the sheets, but she grabbed hold of the other end and pulled. His naked torso was covered in dozens of new scratches. He looked like he’d been in a fight with a rake.

‘Gabe … oh my god, what happened?’

The lines were long and raised. His skin was smeared with dried blood. He snatched back the sheets and pulled them up to his neck.

‘It’s just a rash,’ he said.

‘A rash? Are you sure? Let me see.’

Gabriel flinched again. In the dark, his eyes looked flat and black. He was silent for what felt like hours. And then a tear slid down his cheek. ‘There’s something coming for me, isn’t there?’ he said.

Renee pressed her hand to her heart. ‘What? No, of course not. What are you talking about?’

Gabriel swallowed thickly. His breath was shallow, faltering. ‘All that stuff … Ivory, the angel thing, the paint. It’s about me, isn’t it?’

Renee shook her head. ‘No. Absolutely not, it’s got nothing to do with you.’

‘What is it, then?’

She bit her lip. ‘It’s just a … I’m sure it’s just …’ She trailed off, wishing she had the words.

‘It is. Something’s coming.’ Gabriel curled up into a ball and covered his head with his arms. ‘Don’t let it get me. Mum. Please, don’t let it in.’