The Shadow House(45)

ALEX





18


By the time the sun rose, I’d been up for hours. As the temperature soared and the village began waking up, I sat in the kitchen with my phone in my hand, scrolling through old messages from Stuart.

In front of me on the island bench, the two packages sat side by side: the doll box that I’d dug out of the cupboard, and the one that had turned up overnight. The dead bird was long gone, taken away with the rest of the village rubbish.

Lifting my tired, stinging eyes, I gazed around the room. The wall was still wet from where I’d attacked the thick red smear with soap and hot water. I’d made enough Halloween costumes and patched up enough scrapes to know the difference between real blood and fake – but still, the sticky substance, slapped on with an open palm and wiped in a wide arc, was extremely unnerving. The substance, whatever it was, had come off for the most part, but there were still traces on the skirting board and the floor where the liquid had dripped and pooled in the cracks. My nailbeds were red rimmed too, even though I’d scrubbed them almost raw with a scouring brush. Out, damned spot.

The back door still stood open, allowing a soothing flow of morning noises. Birdsong, crickets and the occasional slam of a car door. Soft guitar music, floating through an open upstairs window along with the gentle rattle of crockery.

In the dark of night, I’d been convinced: the witch was on her way. But now the sun had risen, my rational brain had kicked into gear. There was not a malevolent supernatural being stalking the forest at night. I did not, could not, believe that. There were so many more likely explanations. Ollie, for one. He’d ordered dark-web mystery boxes for his YouTube videos; the resemblance of the contents to the Pine Ridge myth was just a coincidence.

Or Stuart. Maybe he knew someone in the village, or he’d had me followed. He’d found us and was toying with me. But why would he go to the effort of the boxes? Wouldn’t he just skip straight to the part where he ripped me to shreds? Show up and strongarm me into the car? That was more his style.

I looked back at my phone. Stuart’s calls and texts had been incessant since we’d left, a barrage of threats and abuse mixed in with declarations of feigned indifference – I’m done with you, bitch, happy to see the back of you, take your kids and piss off, couldn’t give a shit what happens to any of you. Then, three days ago, they’d stopped abruptly. What did that mean?

I drummed my fingers on the lid of one of the boxes. I brought up my contacts and stared at Stuart’s number. I dialled – then immediately hung up again.

‘What’s for breakfast?’ Ollie stumbled into the kitchen and stuck his head in the fridge.

‘Are these yours?’ I said, ignoring his question.

Ollie blinked. ‘What?’

I nodded at the boxes on the benchtop. ‘Are they for you? Did you order them?’

He stared at the boxes. ‘No.’

‘You sure?’

‘One hundred per cent.’

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Alright. Tell me again about the boxes in your videos. The truth this time. Where did they come from? What are they?’

Ollie looked as if his brain was running a million miles an hour. But then he seemed to sag. ‘They’re not anything,’ he said, turning back to the fridge.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean they’re not real, I made it all up.’ He grabbed the milk and drank straight from the carton. Then he sniffed the air. ‘Why does it smell like soap in here? Have you been cleaning?’

‘You made what up?’

He wiped his mouth and shrugged. ‘The mystery boxes are fake. I made them myself.’

‘Fake?’

He nodded. ‘Loads of people are doing it. It’s like that unboxing thing everyone was into years ago, with the make-up and toys and games, except this is supposed to be from dark-web sellers. Like, stuff they needed to get rid of, or couldn’t sell any other way? But it’s all just staged.’

I frowned at him. ‘The white powder, the lunch bag. You did all of that?’

‘It wasn’t hard. The powder was just cornflour. I found the lunch bag in a park, dressed it up a little.’

‘But … why?’

‘To get viewers. To make money.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Look, it’s not a big deal, alright? There were a few kids at school who were YouTubing. They were making heaps of cash through subscribers and ads and stuff. I just thought, like, okay, that doesn’t look hard, I could do that. I thought we could use the money. It was pretty easy, I just copied one of their videos, filmed it on my phone, posted it and that was it. Everyone loved it so I made a couple more.’

‘Wait, wait, wait.’ I ran my hands over my face. ‘So, what was all that stuff you said the other day? About the dark web, and not knowing who sent the boxes? You made that up, too?’

Ollie shrugged again.

‘So you’ve never even been on the dark web?’

He looked down at his feet.

‘Oliver,’ I said. ‘You said that whoever was sending those things knew where we lived. You said we could be killed in our beds, that our throats would be slit. Why would you do that?’

He mumbled something.

‘What?’

‘To scare you.’