The Retreat(18)

I spent the afternoon working on my novel. It was about a father who believes the world is coming to an end. He takes his family – his wife and daughter – to live in a shack in the middle of a forest, away from danger. The twist is that the world really is ending, a plague is sweeping across the planet, turning people into hungry monsters (I avoided using the word ‘zombies’). And these monsters begin to close in on the family in the woods . . .

After dinner, I went into the Thomas Room to find something to read. Julia had an impressive collection of books – mostly classics and contemporary literature, with the occasional thriller dotted around the shelves. I could see a line of brightly coloured spines on the top shelf.

Intrigued, I climbed the library ladder and saw that most of these books bore the Jackdaw logo. That was the publisher Julia had done most of her work for. Standing on the middle rung, I took down a book called Twelve Little Beasties. It was, indeed, illustrated by Julia Marsh, a parade of comical monsters in bright colours. I was impressed. Julia was talented. If she’d stopped work, that only compounded the tragedy of what had happened to her.

At the end of the shelf, a book with a tatty spine stuck out at an angle. Feeling compelled to straighten it, I pulled it out and found an illustrated edition of Edward Lear’s poem ‘The Owl and the Pussycat’.

The book looked old and I wondered if it had belonged to Julia when she was a child. I turned to the first page to see if there was an inscription, but the title page had been torn out.

I flicked through the book, and something fell to the ground beneath me. I descended the ladder and picked it up. It was a faded Polaroid of a couple: a tall, skinny man in his forties standing stiffly beside a shorter woman. Despite their late-seventies/early-eighties haircuts and clothes, they reminded me of the couple in that painting American Gothic. I studied the photo, trying to work out where it had been taken, but the background was too dark, the colours muted and blurred.

‘What have you got there?’

It was Max, coming into the room with Suzi. They appeared to have made up. I slipped the Polaroid back into the book and stuck it between two books on the nearest shelf.

‘Nothing.’

Max eyed the bookcase. ‘I’m sure if we pushed this in the right place it would rotate to reveal a secret passageway,’ he said. ‘It’s that kind of house.’

‘Like something from The Famous Five,’ added Suzi.

‘No, creepier than that,’ said Max. ‘Like something from one of Lucas’s books.’

They sat on the sofa and I perched on the armchair opposite.

‘Someone told me this house is cursed.’ I explained what the taxi driver had said.

Max’s eyes shone. ‘How exciting. I love stories like that. Modern folklore. A friend of mine comes from Hastings, where Aleister Crowley lived. Apparently, he cursed the town so it’s impossible to leave unless you take a pebble from the beach with you. Nonsense, obviously. But fun.’

‘Where’s Karen?’ I asked.

‘I think she went up for a smoke.’

‘Maybe we should join her,’ Suzi said.

‘Good idea. What do you think, Lucas? Shall we go and see if Karen’s willing to share her stash?’

He was so naff, but I nodded. ‘Why not?’

Upstairs, Max knocked lightly on Karen’s door. I was a little embarrassed. We were acting like a group of naughty schoolchildren, sneaking around the dorm.

I wasn’t expecting to hear a gasp of fear from inside the room.

‘Leave me alone!’ Karen cried.

Max and I exchanged a worried glance.

‘Karen?’ I said through the door. ‘It’s Lucas. Are you okay?’

I heard footsteps, then the key turning in the lock. Karen pulled open the door and stuck her head out, looking left and right.

‘Come in,’ she hissed.

We trooped into the room. Karen had retreated to the edge of her bed, clenching her fists. The window was open but the room stank of cannabis. Karen’s pupils were huge, dilated like black pools.

‘Shut the door,’ she said. ‘Lock it.’

Suzi sat beside her. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Somebody was trying to get into my room.’

Automatically, I looked at Max.

‘Hey! It wasn’t me,’ he said.

‘No,’ said Suzi. ‘He’s been with me the whole time.’

‘Karen,’ Max said, ‘are you sure you didn’t imagine it? What exactly are you smoking?’ There was a little bag on the bedside table. Max picked it up and held it to the light, as if he’d be able to tell how strong it was.

Karen continued to stare into space. ‘They whispered something through the door.’

‘Really? What did they say?’

‘You’re not welcome here.’

We all looked at each other.

‘Male or female?’ I asked, thinking about the singing I’d heard.

But Karen appeared to have gone into a stupor, staring in terror at the door. Her face was as pale as the moon that shone through the window.

‘I’m going to be sick.’ She rushed from the room and we heard her running down the hall towards the bathroom.

‘She’s stoned, that’s all,’ Max said. ‘Pulling a – what do you call it? A whiteout?’