The Retreat(75)

She was so engrossed in her fantasy that she wasn’t sure if she was going in the right direction. Megan’s house wasn’t this way, was it? She paused, trying not to panic.

Something moved in the trees.

Lily went absolutely still. It’s just a bird, she thought. A big bird. Probably a magpie. There were loads of them around here.

Crack.

Lily tried to make her legs move, but it was as if her soles were superglued to the path. Her whole body had gone cold.

It’s a crow, it’s a crow, she told herself, staring into the thick tangle of branches where the noise had come from, praying that she’d see black feathers, the bird flapping towards the sky.

Instead, she saw a face.

Eyes, peering at her through a gap in the branches.

Lily tore her feet from the path and ran, blindly, realising within seconds she was still heading away from her house, but unable to stop and turn.

It’s the Widow! The Widow!

She crashed through low-hanging branches, leaves clawing at her hair, almost slipping over in a muddy puddle that sucked at her Converse. Tears blurred her vision. She could hardly see where she was going. The path branched left and right and she stopped, paralysed, unable to work out which way to go. She could sense the witch behind her. She tensed her shoulders, convinced that at any moment cold, clawed hands would reach out from the bushes and grab her.

In the picture book Megan’s grandad had given her, the Widow was a young woman, dressed in red rags. She had long black hair and was as slim as the women on the covers of Mum’s workout DVDs. She would be beautiful if it weren’t for her face. Her eyes were as black as Big Cat’s fur, and her mouth gaped open like a shark’s, with long, needle-like teeth. Lily had discussed this with Megan: the Widow would be old now, so old, and the girls imagined her skin would be as wrinkled as a crocodile’s. Her lips would be stained with the blood of all the children she’d eaten. Her breath would smell like kids’ bones and there would be torn flesh beneath her fingernails.

There was a rustle behind her and Lily gulped down a scream. She ran, heading left along the path, trying not to slip or fall, leaping over a knotty tree root that tried to grab her toes, like it was the witch’s helper. Now she imagined the trees had faces, that they were watching her, laughing at her. Why had she left her house? It was all Mum and Dad’s fault. Well, when the witch caught her and ate her up and her bones were never found, they’d be sorry, and they’d wish and wish they hadn’t fought, that they’d spent their time loving their only daughter instead.

It would almost be worth it.

Just as she had resigned herself to being caught, convinced the trees were closing in on her, forming a wooden cage around her, she saw a clearing up ahead. Light entering the woods; buildings beyond. She sped up and, heart bursting with relief, flew out of the trees onto the estate where Megan lived.

And there was Megan, standing outside her house. Jake was there too. They were playing a game of tag on the front lawn.

Lily ran across the road to them.

‘What’s the matter?’ Megan asked. ‘You look like someone’s chasing you.’

Lily panted. She couldn’t speak for a moment. Her lungs burned and her heart was going bang bang bang.

‘It’s the Widow,’ she said. ‘I saw her.’

Both Megan and Jake gawped at her.

‘What was that?’

Lily spun round. It was Megan’s grandad, coming out of the garage. There was another man with him, but he was concealed by shadows.

‘Lily saw the Widow,’ Megan told him.

‘Do your mum and dad know you’re here?’ asked Mr Collins, ignoring what Megan had said. Lily was surprised. He was acting like she’d said something silly and childish.

She shook her head. ‘I ran away.’

‘Really? Well, I’m glad you didn’t go too far. Do you want to go home? I don’t know how long you’ve been gone, but I’m sure they’ll be worried about you.’

Lily tried to stop the tears coming, but she had no control over them. She could feel her face going bright red too. She hated crying. She knew it made her look like an ugly red frog. Everyone was staring at her.

‘Tell you what,’ said Megan’s grandad, handing her a clean handkerchief. His voice was kind. ‘You go inside and play with Megan for a little bit and I’ll call your parents. How does that sound?’

This time, all she could do was nod.



As soon as Megan shut her bedroom door, she said, ‘I can’t believe you saw the Widow. What did she look like?’ Unbelievably, she sounded jealous.

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Oh, come on. Don’t be a baby. Did she look like she does in the book?’

Lily sat down on Megan’s bed and pulled Megan’s giant teddy bear towards her. Megan’s grandad had bought it for her. It wore a little rosette that said World’s Best Granddaughter. Lily stifled another sob. She didn’t have any grandparents. Maybe if she did she could go and live with them.

‘Tell me,’ Megan urged. She had found her copy of Folk Tales and Urban Myths, which fell open at the page they were always poring over. ‘Did she look like this?’

‘I only saw her eyes.’

Megan’s voice dropped to an awed whisper. ‘Were they black?’