The Hollows(64)

‘We won’t bury you together, either,’ said Buddy. ‘You’ll be all alone.’

‘You’re freaks. Psychopaths.’ Ryan looked like he wanted to spit in their faces.

‘I said shut up,’ said Buddy. ‘I don’t want you to speak again until you meet Crow.’

Frankie was glad of the silence. Their voices were making her sick and she was scared, so scared. She reached out and found Ryan’s hand, squeezing it. She could hear wind chimes close by again, and was sure they were near the clearing where she had got lost last night. But there was no Nikki here to save her now.

Buddy had a flashlight that illuminated the path – the spidery, black patterns of the branches connecting directly with some primal part of Frankie’s brain. Something moved near her feet and she jumped backwards, letting go of Ryan’s hand.

‘Get a grip,’ hissed Darlene.

They reached the clearing. The wind chimes were louder now. It sounded like the forest was laughing at them.

‘We’re going to be okay,’ Ryan whispered to her.

Darlene laughed and told him to shut his mouth.

They reached the other side of the clearing. The wind chimes were clear and close. Buddy stopped and scanned the dense vegetation with his flashlight, searching for something. Then he pulled aside a low branch to reveal an overgrown path.

‘Follow me,’ he said. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

Branches reached out to claw at her as they pushed their way through, thorns catching on her clothes, something clinging to her hair. Frankie sucked in a breath as Buddy bent another branch out of their way. And then they reached the end of the path.

The flashlight revealed a cabin, the wood rotten and covered with what looked like moss, as if it had some terrible skin disease. Wind chimes hung from the porch roof, twisting slowly in the gentle breeze. The front windows were broken, most of the glass fallen away. The front steps up to the porch had rotted too.

The cabin was surrounded on all sides by trees. Abandoned. Long-forgotten. Protected by the woods. Looking up at it, Frankie found herself swaying and she had the first sharp stirrings of a headache. The diseased facade of the cabin appeared to shift, as if it were alive.

She couldn’t take it any more. She turned and threw herself at Darlene, hitting her with her shoulder, convinced she would hear a gunshot at any moment. But that would be better, wouldn’t it, than being taken to the man they called Crow – presumably their dad? Better than being buried alive, dirt in her mouth and up her nose, centipedes and ants crawling all over her, feeding on her . . .

Darlene had hit the floor and Frankie was running, straight into a wall of vegetation. Where was the path? She tore at branches, came away with handfuls of leaves, but there was no gap, nowhere to go.

She was yanked backwards by her hair and Darlene stuck the gun in her face.

‘I’m going to kill you,’ Darlene hissed, and Frankie braced herself. This was it.

‘What the fuck is going on?’

Darlene lowered the gun and Frankie turned.

There was a man standing on the porch. It was so dark she could hardly see him, though she could just about make out the shape of his mask. She knew it had to be Greg.

‘Take them inside,’ he said. ‘Now.’

The path to the cabin was almost blocked by a tree that looked like it had fallen a long time ago. Buddy and Darlene forced them to clamber over it, then followed. The man – Crow, Greg – had vanished, presumably inside the cabin.

The twins made Frankie and Ryan walk up the porch steps.

‘Careful,’ Buddy said. ‘Keep to the left.’

She did as he said, clinging to the handrail. She reached the top of the stairs and staggered.

‘For God’s sake,’ said Buddy. ‘Stay on your feet.’

Frankie wiped her brow. Her face felt wet and her sweat was cold and thick.

The front door stood open and darkness spilled from within. She didn’t want to go inside. She really didn’t want to go inside. But her legs were carrying her forward, Ryan holding her hand again, and Darlene was behind her with the gun. She had no choice.

The front door opened straight into what must have been the living room. In the dim light, she could make out a sofa and an armchair. A dresser in the corner with a photograph propped on a shelf and, what were they – candles? Piles of rubbish on the floor and the smell of something sweet and rotten. It was noticeably colder in here too, like summer hadn’t reached inside this place.

She heard the front door shut behind her.

All she could hear now was her own breathing.

‘Take them to the basement,’ said Crow. She could see his mask properly now. He stood in the doorway on the other side of the room; a doorway that led deeper into the house. With his mask, he looked grotesque – a demon. Something otherworldly. Something from another time, when the world was ruled by superstition. When people believed in dark gods.

Buddy grabbed hold of Frankie’s arm and tried to pull her further into the room. She resisted. Not the basement. She didn’t want to be taken to the basement. She stamped on Buddy’s foot and he cried out.

‘Jesus,’ said the man. ‘I’ll do it.’

He moved towards her. She could smell him, the sour-sweetness of body odour, and he took hold of her arm, his grip hard, digging into her bicep. He was strong. He dragged her towards the doorway. Towards the basement. Behind her, she heard Darlene hiss to Ryan, ‘Follow.’