The Hollows(76)

‘The secret cabin,’ I said as I crouched beside the children. I couldn’t think where else my daughter and Ryan might be. ‘Do you know where it is?’

In tandem, they pressed their lips together and shook their heads.

I got my wallet out of my pocket and pulled out all the money I had. Around fifty dollars. I showed it to them. ‘If you can tell me, I’ll give you all this.’

Their eyes widened but the girl said, ‘We don’t know.’

‘Nobody knows,’ said the boy.

I stood up straight and swore under my breath.

‘Have you seen Buddy and Darlene today?’ I asked.

Tight lips, shaking heads.

I went back into the house and upstairs, avoiding Greg’s bedroom and the bloody bathroom. I headed straight into the room with the KEEP OUT sign on the door. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to find. Something that would give me a clue to the location of the hidden cabin. A diary. A map that had been passed down through the generations. I knew how unlikely it was, but I was desperate. Frankie was there. She would be terrified. They could be doing anything to her. Things I didn’t want to think about.

Buddy’s room looked like any other teenage bedroom. An unmade single bed. A computer on a desk. The funky smell that teenage boys exude. Nothing that screamed ‘a psychopath lives here’. The posters on the walls looked like they’d been there since his childhood. WWF wrestlers. Minecraft.

I rifled through the drawers of his desk. I pulled out exercise books, pens and other stationery, ancient Pokémon cards and Lego mini-figures, tangled headphones and broken charger cables. Detritus, none of it useful. No diary. No map with a big arrow that said Secret Cabin.

I went into Darlene’s room. It looked like it had been ransacked by burglars. Pens and scissors and glue sticks scattered across the desk. Dozens of perfume bottles, many of them almost full. I picked one up. Chanel No. 5. Where had these come from? I knew immediately. She had taken them from cabins at the resort. Using Greg’s keys to go in and help herself.

There was a glass tank in the corner. Inside were several black and brown insects. I bent down to take a closer look. Madagascar hissing cockroaches. I’d seen them in a pet store once and wondered what would possess anyone to want to keep such creatures as pets. I took a step back, disgusted, and heard a noise outside the room. Something scraping. A breath?

Someone was here. Upstairs. And it was way too soon for it to be the police.

I looked around for a weapon, wishing I’d picked up a knife from the kitchen. Surely Darlene would have something lethal in her room? There was a glass paperweight on a shelf. It contained the body of a scorpion. I picked it up, hefted it in my hand. It was solid enough to knock someone out.

I peered out of the room. There was no sign of anyone in the hall. No shadows creeping up the stairs. All was silent and still.

Slowly, with the paperweight raised, I left Darlene’s room. I kept my back to the wall and crept sideways along the hall, back towards the top of the stairs and Greg’s bedroom.

I looked down the stairs. Was someone down there? Maybe I had imagined it. Maybe it was the wind, or the little kids outside. Perhaps David had come back. I stood still, barely breathing, feeling my heart thump inside me.

The noise came from behind me and I whirled round. It sounded like somebody trying to speak. A noise deep in someone’s throat.

I rushed into Greg’s room and saw his eyelids flicker.

He was still alive!

I crouched beside him. ‘Greg?’

His eyes flickered again.

‘There’s an ambulance on its way,’ I said, scrambling to get my phone out of my pocket. ‘I’ll tell them to hurry.’

‘I tried,’ he said.

‘To call an ambulance?’

He gave his head only the tiniest shake, but I could see his frustration. His eyes were still closed but his lips were moving, just, like he was trying to say more. I spotted a glass of water beside the bed and leapt up to grab it. I brought it to his mouth and let a little trickle between his parted lips. It dribbled down his chin and he made a horrible gasping noise.

‘I tried my best,’ he said.

Was he talking about Buddy and Darlene? His eyelids moved again and he tried to open them, squinting like the light hurt him.

‘Abigail?’ he said.

‘It’s Tom,’ I said. ‘Tom Anderson. Greg, do you know where Frankie is? Where Buddy and Darlene might have taken her?’

His breathing was slow, ragged. Somehow he had survived so far. Perhaps his flesh had protected his organs to an extent, but he had lost so much blood it was a miracle he was still alive.

‘This . . . my . . .’

I leaned closer.

‘My punishment,’ he said. ‘What . . . we did.’ He tried to focus on me again. ‘Abigail?’

‘Greg,’ I said. ‘Please. Can you hear me? Where is the cabin? The secret cabin?’

Blood bubbled from between his lips, swelling and popping.

‘Greg?’

‘My name . . . my name is Goat.’

‘Greg. Please. The secret cabin. Where is it?’

He tried again to open his eyes, squinting at me.

‘Carl?’

Carl? Did he think I was the archery teacher?

‘You,’ Greg said, attempting to lift his hand, like he wanted to point a finger at me. ‘Your fault.’