The Hollows(81)

Now, looking at it more closely, he sees blood on the blade.

Darlene notices him noticing. ‘It’s Dad’s,’ she says with something like pride. Like if a cat could talk and tell you it’s brought you a mouse.

‘Greg’s? What the hell are you talking about?’

‘It seemed like the perfect time,’ says Buddy.

Carl takes a step back. The bow and arrows are outside. He has no other weapon to hand.

‘You want to spend the rest of your lives in prison?’ Carl says, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice.

‘We’re not going to prison,’ says Buddy.

‘We’re innocent,’ adds Darlene.

‘Innocent children.’

‘Oh yeah? So who are you going to blame for killing Greg?’

‘You,’ says Darlene.

Carl attempts to force out a laugh but it gets stuck. Instead, a weak croak emerges and dies in the air between them.

There’s a flash of contempt in Buddy’s eyes before the bored expression returns. ‘You came to our house, killed our dad, forced us to come here with you.’

‘You and the woman from the bookstore.’

The icy drip of dread has grown to a trickle. Where is Nikki? He hasn’t seen her for a couple of hours, since she came in from having a smoke outside earlier. Her cigarettes and lighter are still by the door. He thinks she’s sleeping in the bedroom but can’t be sure.

Buddy goes on in that bored tone. ‘You’d gone crazy. You were ranting about how some woman called Abigail told you to do it. Kill them all, she said. Kill Greg. Kill the twins. Kill the kids in the basement and burn this place down.’

Darlene snickers.

‘We begged you to let us go but it was obvious. You were insane. You told us you murdered those teachers too, and Everett Miller. You hid his body in the basement. All these years.’

‘This is bullshit,’ Carl says. He takes another small step back towards the table. Maybe if he can get outside he can use one of the arrows as a weapon. Get it against Darlene’s throat.

‘Don’t even try it,’ Buddy says, stepping in front of the door to block Carl’s exit, and he takes the gun from his pocket, aims it at Carl’s chest.

Carl blinks. There’s sweat running into his eyes. He attempts a smile. Changes tack. ‘Come on, kids. You’re not seriously going to hurt me, right? After all I’ve done for you. All the fun we’ve had together. I gave you the run of the camp, let you take whatever you wanted.’

‘Except the pills.’

‘Well, taking those pills was dumb. It drew attention. But yeah, sure, maybe I was a little hard on you. It won’t happen again, all right?’

‘No, it won’t,’ says Darlene.

Buddy’s eyes have fallen upon Abigail’s altar. Carl follows his gaze.

‘It’s dumb,’ Buddy says.

‘Such crap,’ adds Darlene.

‘Ghosts,’ Buddy scoffs. ‘Spirits.’

Darlene giggles and puts on a high-pitched voice. ‘Oh Abigail. I must protect your woods from all these scary tourists.’

Buddy locks eyes with Carl. ‘We’re the scary ones.’

‘And these woods are ours,’ says Darlene.

Buddy marches over to the altar with its framed photograph of Abigail at its centre, and picks up the photo. He examines it with a sneer on his face.

‘We’re the big bad wolves,’ he says, and he chuckles at the expression on Carl’s face. ‘What big eyes you have.’

Darlene grins. ‘All the better to see you with, my dear.’

‘What are you doing?’ Carl asks. The icy trickle is a flood now, filling his insides. Buddy is concentrating on the altar and Darlene is behind Carl. They are both distracted. Of course they are. They have the attention spans of kittens. Carl calculates the distance between himself and the door. He could get to it within a second. Another second or two to get an arrow. Then what? He can’t run because then everything will be ruined. He pictures what he needs to do: press the sharp tip of an arrow against Darlene’s throat, tell Buddy to drop his gun, take back control. Or he could simply run. Get the fuck out of here.

He hesitates. All this planning. He can’t abandon it now. Can’t abandon Abigail.

‘What big ears you have,’ says Buddy, taking a step towards Carl, prodding the air with the barrel of the revolver.

From behind Carl, Darlene laughs again. ‘All the better to hear you with, my dear.’

Carl is paralysed by indecision. The door. The gun. He waits for Abigail to tell him what to do, to advise him, but she is silent. With a shudder, he realises he can no longer feel her presence.

‘What big teeth you have,’ says Buddy.

The door. He’s going to go for the door. He braces himself, inches closer. Behind him, Darlene is breathing heavily. She sounds excited. Panting like the wolf in the story.

‘All the better to eat you with.’

They both laugh like this is hilarious.

He’s going to do it. On the count of three. He’s going to run. But . . . the plan. The ritual. He can’t let Abigail down.

Except he must. Survival comes first.

One.

‘What big claws you have,’ says Buddy, his back fully to Carl now, facing the altar.