The Shadow House(80)

First, the dead bird. Renee had seen it in the bin the morning after Alex had moved in; the box was the same, the contents so familiar it had been like a slap to the face. Then the footsteps had started up again: that slow tread outside her window, the crunch and rustle in the trees. She’d listened with growing alarm as, downstairs, Alex had argued endlessly with her son about technology, screen time and his involvement with the dark web. Her phone had rung constantly. It was all exactly the same.

So then one day, while Alex and the kids were out and the unit was empty, Renee had used the opportunity to pop down and have a good look around. When she’d discovered the second box with the waxy doll inside stuffed in a kitchen cupboard, she hadn’t been all that surprised. But she had been scared. You can’t stay here, she wanted to scream. You have to get out. Oh, those beautiful children! She’d racked her brains trying to come up with a way to warn them without telling the whole story, to get Alex to take her kids and leave without blowing her cover. It hadn’t been that hard; Alex was a predictable kind of person, she wore her heart on her sleeve, and when Renee saw her staring at the farmhouse one morning, she’d known her neighbour was beginning to make the connection. She’d left the note in the hope that Alex might be curious enough to go up there – and, lo and behold, she was. Renee had been beside herself when Alex asked her to babysit; she’d stood at the window with Kara in her arms and watched her sneak up the hill. Clever girl. And afterwards, when she checked, the note was definitely gone.

But then Alex surprised her by staying. Not so clever.

On another secret trip downstairs, Renee found traces of red on the walls, little scarlet shards stuck in the skirting board. And then Ollie came home with a bloody great scratch on his arm, and she knew for certain. It was too late. It was happening again.

This time, though, she’d been listening. This time, she was ready.

‘I’m so sorry about what happened to your family, Jenny,’ said Alex. ‘I can’t even imagine the pain. But you have to believe me, none of what is happening now is the same as what happened back then. And even if it is, how does bringing my son up here help?’

Renee swallowed. Inside the bedroom, Oliver was moving around, pacing the room, shifting the furniture. She heard the drag of the desk across the floorboards and knew he was positioning it under the window so he could climb up and try forcing the lock. ‘I’m keeping him safe,’ she said.

‘But putting him in the same place, in the exact same position as Gabriel was the night he vanished – how exactly is that keeping him safe?’

Renee flinched as Oliver hammered on the door again. She opened her mouth to reply but the words got stuck in her throat: I want to see what happens. She did want to keep Oliver safe; of course she did. But she also wanted to see the thing she knew was coming, the evil her parents warned her about so many times. She wanted to face it and take it down.

From outside, there was another scream – bloodcurdling and horrifyingly close – and then a second sound, a breathless choking noise like someone was being strangled.

Alex gasped. ‘What the fuck was that?’

‘I think …’ Renee tightened her grip on the axe. ‘I think it’s coming.’

She took a step towards the front door. Through the glass panels, she could see a faint light. Slowly, the light became brighter – and she could hear a low guttural roaring, like a wild animal. She gripped the axe.

‘Jenny …’ Alex whispered.

Renee ignored her.

Movement. Heavy footfalls on the driveway, coming closer. The bright light flickered as a shadow passed in front of it, a black lumbering shape, climbing the porch steps …

Adrenaline coursed through Renee’s veins; fear rose in her throat like blood, filling her mouth and cutting off her breath.

This is it, she thought as the door swung open. It’s here.





RENEE





39


Renee lifted the axe. Silhouetted in the doorway, the thing looked almost human. She held her breath as it came closer – was this what she’d slept through all those years ago? Beams of light, and the very devil at her door? – but then her eyes and brain slowly began to calibrate the picture before her.

The light was coming from a car parked on the driveway; the roar had been its engine. And the thing was familiar. She recognised the slump of its shoulders, the angle of its neck, the dangle of its arms. It was a person.

She held up the lantern. ‘Michael?’

‘Renee,’ said her husband, stepping into the light.

His voice sent her reeling, crashing back in time, back to when the house was warm and soft and filled with furniture. She hadn’t seen him in so long, years, and even though he was diminished in ways she couldn’t begin to catalogue, he was the same man. Same ruddy skin, same green eyes, same straw-like hair.

For a moment, Renee felt foolish, and grotesque. She wanted to hide, run away, disappear right into the ground. The last time they’d seen each other, she’d had muscle tone. Curves. Hair. Not much of it – by the time they’d left the farm, her scalp had already started to show – but this would be the first time he’d seen the full extent. Now she was all hollow spaces and sharp edges, a barren place where things no longer grew. Burning with shame, she touched her head, searching for the scarf, trying to pull it back into place like a hood.