In a Dark, Dark Wood(49)

‘All right.’

I followed her back through the kitchen door, and closed it behind us.

‘Lock it, please,’ Flo said shortly. She looked up from the dishwasher. Her face was bleary, her mascara halfway down her cheeks, her hair straggling down her face.

‘Flo, leave it,’ Nina said. ‘Please. I promise we’ll help in the morning.’

‘It’s fine,’ Flo said tightly. ‘I don’t need any help.’

‘All right!’ Nina threw up her hands. ‘You said it. See you at breakfast.’ She turned and then muttered, ‘Fucking martyr,’ as she left the room.





19


NINA FELL ASLEEP almost instantly, and lay there, sprawled out like a tanned daddy-long-legs, snoring away.

I lay awake, trying to go to sleep, but instead I was thinking about the evening and the strange little group Clare had gathered around her this weekend. I wanted to leave so badly it hurt – to be back at home, in my own bed, with my own things, in the blissful peace and quiet. Now I was counting down the hours, and listening to Nina’s soft snores and behind that to the silence of the house and the forest.

Not quite silence though. As I was drifting off there came a quiet creak and then a bang, not a loud one, just as if a door was banging in the wind.

I was almost drowsing when it came again, a long slow ekkkkkkk, and then a staccato clack.

The strange thing was, it sounded like it was inside the house.

I sat up, holding my breath, trying to hear the noise above Nina’s snores.

Ekkkkkkkk … clack!

This time there was no doubt. The sound was certainly not coming from outside the window, but floating up the stairwell. I got up, grabbed my dressing gown, and tiptoed to the door.

When I opened it, I almost screamed: a ghost-like figure was standing on the landing, bending over the bannisters.

I didn’t scream. But I must have made some kind of choked gasp because the figure turned and put her finger to her lips. It was Flo, dressed in a white nightgown with pink flowers, bleached pale in the moonlight.

‘You heard it too?’ I whispered.

She nodded. ‘Yes, I thought it might be a gate in the garden, but it’s not, it’s inside the house.’

There was a creak behind us and we both turned to see Clare coming out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes.

‘What is it?’

‘Shh,’ Flo whispered. ‘There’s something downstairs. Listen.’

We all paused.

Eeeeekkkkk … clack!

‘It’s just a door in the wind,’ Clare said, yawning. Flo shook her head, vehemently.

‘It’s inside the house. What wind could there be inside the house? Someone must have left a door open.’

‘Impossible,’ Clare said. ‘I checked them all.’

Flo put her hands over her throat looking suddenly frightened. ‘We’ve got to go down, haven’t we?’

‘Let’s wake Tom,’ Clare said. ‘He looks tall and menacing.’

She tiptoed into his room and I heard her whispering, ‘Tom! Tom! There’s a noise in the house.’

He came out, bleary-eyed and pale, and we all crept slowly down the stairs.

There was a door open, you could tell it as soon as we reached the ground floor. It was cold as ice and a breeze was blowing through the hallway, coming from the kitchen. Flo turned completely pale.

‘I’m getting the gun,’ she whispered, her voice so slight you could hardly hear.

‘I thought you said,’ Clare mouthed, ‘that it was loaded with blanks?’

‘It is,’ Flo whispered crossly, ‘but he won’t know that, will he?’ She jerked her head at the living-room door. ‘You first, Tom.’

‘Me?’ Tom said, in a horrified whisper, but he rolled his eyes and edged his head very quietly around the living-room door. Then he beckoned silently, and we all followed him, in a sort of relieved rush. The room was empty, moonlight flooding the pale carpet. Flo reached up above the mantelpiece and took down the gun. Her face was pale but determined.

‘You’re sure about the blanks?’ Clare asked again.

‘Completely sure. But if someone’s there it’ll give them a pretty good scare.’

‘If you’re holding the gun I’m going behind you,’ Tom hissed, ‘blanks or no blanks.’

‘All right.’

Whatever I’d thought of Flo, I couldn’t fault her courage. She stood for a moment in the hallway, and I could see her hands shaking. Then she took a deep, shuddering breath, and flung open the kitchen door so hard it crashed back against the tiled wall.

There was no one there. But the glass kitchen door was standing open in the moonlight, and a light dusting of snow blew across the tiled floor.

Clare was across the room in a moment, her bare feet soft on the cold tiles. ‘There’s footsteps, look.’ She pointed out across the lawn: big shapeless prints, like those made by wellies or snowboots.

‘Fuck.’ Tom’s face was pale. ‘What happened?’ He turned to me. ‘You were out of that door last. Didn’t you lock it?’

‘I— I’m sure I did.’ I tried to remember. Nina offering to help, Flo’s angry crashing. I had a clear memory of my hand on the lock. ‘I did. I’m certain I locked it.’