The Stalker

by Sarah Alderson

  ‘I don’t know. I thought you had them.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I put them in here,’ he says, gesturing at the bag and then hunting through his pockets. ‘At least I thought I did. Damn. Shit.’ He swears loudly and then, unable to find them, he gives up and pulls a cigarette lighter out of his pocket. He clicks it and a tiny flame appears which he cups his hand around to protect from the wind. He tries to set it to the wood pile but the wood refuses to light. It’s too wet.

  Cursing some more, Liam pockets the lighter and rummages again through the bag. He pulls out the map of the island and I wonder for a moment what he’s doing but then he sets the lighter to the corner of it and the map bursts into flame. Quickly, Liam shoves the flaming paper into the centre of the bonfire; he fans the flames desperately as I stand huddling close in order to feel the meagre heat.

  Eventually the map catches on a piece of dryer tinder inside the stacked tepee and ignites. It’s a feeble fire though, coughing out smoke and hissing in protest, the rain doing its best to fight it into submission. I glance once more out across the Loch toward Arduaine. I imagine one of the faint pinpricks of light is the pub – but no one will be out in this weather, so what are the chances they’ll notice this tiny dot of fire in the distance on Shura?

  I keep the thought to myself; Liam has not yet given up hope. He keeps fanning, trying to protect the flames by using his coat to shield it as best he can from the driving rain. It’s a losing battle though and eventually the fire splutters out and dies.

  Liam drops his arms to his sides and stares out across the water as if hoping he’ll see the lights of a boat heading our way, a sign of rescue on the horizon. We’re both drenched through now; my jeans are sodden and sticking to my skin and my feet are numb. The rain feels like needles being flung into my eyes. Thunder booms overhead, followed almost immediately by lightning striking the ground not twenty feet from where we’re standing. I scream but it’s cancelled out by another crack of thunder.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Liam says, shouting to be heard over the storm.

  The moon is invisible, offering not the faintest shred of light, and we make our way slowly down from the cliffs, slipping and sliding on now muddy paths, blinded by the rain, the thunder continuing to deafen us at regular intervals, shaking the earth. It feels as if the universe is a raging beast, opening its jaws and tearing into to the earth.

  I am almost as frozen cold as I was when we fell in the loch. We trudge through the unrelenting rain until we reach the wood, Liam clutching on to me for balance. I almost stumble and fall several times and Liam swears under his breath, no longer able to hold in his frustration and pain. I try to gather my bearings and orient myself, despite the darkness and storm.

  ‘So much for summer in Scotland,’ I mumble to myself. Liam doesn’t hear as my words are drowned out by yet another sonic boom of thunder rolling overhead and a flash of lightning momentarily lighting up our surroundings. I jerk on Liam’s arm and pull him to a stop. He looks in the direction that I’m pointing in. I saw something moving in the wood, heading in our direction, but now I can’t see anything at all. We’ve been plunged back into the shroud-like dark. I have the torch in my pocket, but I don’t want to turn it on, in case it gives our position away.

  A few seconds later another crackle of lightning illuminates the wood, and I spot him again, lit up brilliantly just for an instant. His face is ghostly white and he’s wearing a black hood and standing not fifty feet from us. I’m not sure if he’s seen us as we’re shielded partly behind a huge fir tree. Liam’s seen him too.

  ‘He must have seen the fire,’ Liam whispers to me through a clenched jaw.

  Leaning his weight on his one good leg, he unstraps the shotgun and hefts it to his shoulder.

  But we’re swimming in darkness again, and the rain is torrential so it’s hard to make anything out or to hear anything. We wait, battered by the elements and poised for an attack. Liam grips the gun tightly, rainwater cascading down his face in waterfalls.

  The next moment a fork of lightning spears a tree not far ahead of us, and it’s as though we’re standing beneath floodlights.

  I see him at once. He’s standing still, staring right at us. Liam sees him at the exact same time. He swings the shotgun in his direction and pulls the trigger, but nothing happens; there’s no blast, no recoil. I look at Liam. He takes aim again, trying to focus through the rain, but the man has dissolved into the black. Liam fires anyway, into the void, but once again there’s no bang, no crack of a bullet. The gun isn’t working.

  Liam snaps open the gun’s twin barrels. He tips the shells out. ‘Give me another shell,’ he shouts.

  I put my hands in my pockets but as I do, I catch a streak of movement coming our way.

  ‘Liam!’ I scream.

  Liam turns to where I’m pointing, bringing the gun up and swinging it over his shoulder, ready to use it as a club. But nothing happens. The darkness is full. The ghostly echoes of the lightning are burned on my retina and I blink several times, but I feel as though I’ve been blinded. ‘He was right there,’ I say to Liam. ‘Right in front of us. About fifteen feet away.’

  I stand frozen, clinging to the oak tree beside me as though it’s a rocky outcropping in a storm-tossed sea – the only thing keeping me from drowning. I don’t dare move an inch, but I sense Liam stepping away from me and moving forwards. I try to reach for him, but my hand clutches at air.

  ‘Liam?’ I whisper, struggling to make my voice loud enough to be heard over the wind.

  Liam doesn’t answer. But then I hear a godawful, ear-splitting scream of agony as though someone is being eaten alive by wild beasts. I pull out the torch from my pocket, no longer caring about giving myself away, and with fumbling fingers I switch it on and swing it in a wide arc around the wood.

  The beam lands on Liam. He’s on the ground and, at first, I can’t quite make out why – did he fall? But then I see that his leg is caught in a huge gin trap – the same one we saw in the castle. It’s snapped around his right calf. He’s clutching at it in complete shock and is howling in horror and pain. I’m too frozen to respond. All I can do is stare at the bloody metal teeth eating through his flesh and the blood pooling around him and his stricken face, but then I lift the torch and shine it straight ahead, to where the person was standing not seconds ago.

  And there they are, still standing in the exact same place, watching me across the distance: a ghost.

  PART TWO

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Eight Months Earlier

  Mia

  It’s the kind of Christmas Eve you only ever see on Christmas cards. Snow fell this morning, covering the fields all around, inches deep, blanketing everything in such a profound silence it feels like we’re cocooned in a world of our own.

  Will and I went out for a walk this afternoon. The hedgerows were crusted with snow as thick as royal icing, and the only splashes of colour came from the red holly berries, which looked like drops of blood scattered on top.

  Now, as evening falls, Will stokes the fire and I arrange presents under the tree and hang two stockings from the fireplace, singing along to ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham!, not caring that I’m out of tune. Will’s laughing and singing along with me, and I have to stop for a brief moment to recognise how perfect the moment is.

  Will’s family are all down south and he was on call over the holidays, so we decided to stay put and I’m glad about it. It feels special – magical even. It’s our second Christmas together but last Christmas we’d only been dating for a month and Will went to his mum’s for Christmas. When he found out I had no family other than a half-sister in Australia, he invited me to come with him; but I didn’t feel like I could.

  Now I look around at the blazing fire Will has set and the coloured lights flashing on the tree and I find myself grinning uncontrollably from ear to ear.

  I never thought I would ever feel this way: so loved and so happy. And yet, here we are. Will’s perfe
ct: good-looking, kind, thoughtful. He’s patient, not just with his patients, but with me. I sometimes worry he’s too perfect and that he must be hiding something.

  ‘I told you I had my Boy Scout badge,’ Will says, happily admiring the fire he’s made from the logs he cut earlier in the winter.

  I moved in with him a few months ago, when we decided to take the next step in our relationship. Up until then I’d been living in a room that I’d been renting from an old couple who had a big farm and no family. In exchange for room and board I’d help them with chores, and I became a de facto carer. It’s how I met Will, who was their GP. The cottage belongs to Will – he bought it when he moved here a few years ago – but I’ve come to think of it as mine too, because he has made sure that I feel it’s my home as much as his. There are photos of my parents on the side alongside ones of Will and me, and, though I didn’t have much to bring with me, we chose the new sofa together and I made the curtains.

  I finish hanging Will’s stocking, singing ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’.

  I am still working for a few people in the valley, as a carer mainly, but also nannying for a GP at the same surgery as Will. At the same time, I’m applying to do a master’s in psychology; Will’s encouraging me to pursue a career as a therapist.

  I look at him and smile and notice that he’s still on his knees in front of the fire. And he’s holding something in his hand.

  ‘Mia,’ he says as my heart starts to race. ‘I love you. Will you marry me?’

  My mouth falls open; I blink as he opens the little box and I see the engagement ring inside. I look back at Will, whose expression is halfway between hope and fear.

  All I can do is nod.

  He stands up. ‘Is that a yes?’ he asks, looking nervous.

  ‘Yes,’ I finally manage to shriek as Will sweeps me into his arms. ‘Yes.’

  We’re both beaming so widely our teeth clash when we kiss. ‘I love you,’ he says again. ‘And I’m always going to love you.’

  I laugh contentedly; five minutes ago, I thought that I couldn’t possibly be any happier than I was in that moment, but now I’m realising I was wrong. ‘I love you too,’ I say, my arms looping around his neck.

  Will stops kissing me only long enough to push the engagement ring onto my finger. I stare at it in astonishment and shake my head. For some reason I never thought this life was permanent. I thought of it as temporary, even I after I moved in with him. But now it’s like I’ve been gifted a future: a life shared here in Cumbria, in this village among the lakes. We’ll be happy. We’ll have children. We’ll grow old together. Even as I think it, I’m aware of a tiny spark igniting in my mind – the idea that nothing this good, nothing this perfect, can last. I try to smother it out, but it’s taken hold now and I can’t shake it off.

  Will pulls me to the sofa and lays me down on it, curling beside me, cradling me in his arms and kissing me, and soon my worries melt away. I sit up, laughing and tug off my top; Will joins me, laughing too, and we strip in seconds, frantically tearing at each other’s clothes and falling into each other’s arms.

  We’re so caught up in making love and in our happiness that, at first, we don’t hear Jet’s growls, but after a while they become so loud and insistent that we break off from kissing and turn our head to look. Our dog is standing with her paws up at the window, a low rumble emanating from her throat.

  ‘Jet,’ I say. ‘What are you growling at?’

  The curtains aren’t drawn and all we can see is a black square of nothingness; we live deep in the countryside, surrounded by fields, and our nearest neighbour is half a mile away down a rutted lane.

  Jet’s growl becomes even louder.

  ‘It’s probably a fox or something,’ Will says. ‘Jet, be quiet.’

  He gets up and crosses to the window and I shiver, aware of my nakedness now he’s not there to warm me.

  Will draws the curtains but now Jet is barking, relentlessly and aggressively, which is unusual. She’s a good guard dog, but otherwise mild-mannered, even though she sounds frightening, which is exactly what I was hoping for in a dog. I grab the blanket draped over the back of the sofa and wrap it around myself, feeling a sudden sense of foreboding.

  Will pulls on his jeans, commando style, and then his sweater.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I ask him, unable to disguise the tremor in my voice.

  He walks to the kitchen and Jet bounds after him, racing past him, still growling and barking. She bats her paws against the back door, impatient to be let out.

  I stand up, my legs feeling shaky. ‘No,’ I say to Will. ‘Don’t let her out.’

  Will looks at me with a frown. ‘It’s just an animal or something. She can chase it away and then she’ll stop barking.’

  I open my mouth to protest but Will is already unlocking the door. Before it’s even partway open Jet is shoving herself between Will’s legs and darting out into the dark.

  My heart is beating rapidly, and I feel faint. I’m breathing fast, almost hyperventilating. I try to tell myself to calm down. Will’s right; it’s no doubt a fox, or maybe even a sheep, escaped from the neighbouring farm. It’s happened before. I’m being silly. It’s that old fear that happiness must always be paid for rearing its head again, and I just need to quash it back down.

  Will waits at the back door, shivering in the freezing cold, hopping from bare foot to bare foot. We can hear Jet outside in the distance barking, but all of a sudden there’s a whimper and then silence. I hurry over to Will and grip his arm, peering past him into the blackness. My fingers grip the blanket around my shoulders as the frigid air pierces through to my bare skin.

  ‘Jet?’ Will shouts. ‘Jet, come here!’

  ‘Jet!’ I call, adding my voice to Will’s.

  But she doesn’t respond or come running. Will exhales loudly and moves to pull on his boots, which are lying, muddy, by the back door. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask. ‘Where are you going?’ I still can’t shake the gut feeling that something is very, very wrong.

  ‘Outside,’ he says, as though it’s obvious. ‘See where she’s gone. She’s probably got her head stuck in a burrow.’

  I frown. It’s not likely; the snow is so deep.

  ‘Or maybe she’s fallen in a ditch,’ he offers. ‘Silly dog.’

  ‘Jet!’ I shout again, hoping against hope she’ll finally come running inside, excitably shaking off snow, but she doesn’t appear. Damn dog.

  Will grabs his jacket from the hook and pushes past me. I snatch for his arm and he turns to look at me with a quizzical smile, but when he sees my anxiety, he pauses and kisses my cheek. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a sec.’

  And with that he’s gone, leaving me standing in the kitchen, wrapped in a blanket, still feeling the pressure of his lips and the scratch of his stubble against my cheek. I put a hand to my face and hold it there. The anxiety keeps buzzing within me, like a fly hovering over decomposing meat; I can’t bat it away and with every second that passes without Will returning it just grows louder and louder until it’s an incessant hum in my head. My stomach is tied in knots and even though I’m shivering from the cold I can’t move from the back door, peering through the glass to see if I can spot Will outside in the dark.

  Why isn’t the outside light on? I wonder, blithely. It’s a motion sensor security light. It should have come on when Jet raced outside, and when Will stepped into the yard too. That’s odd.

  The anxiety I’m feeling cranks up another notch. My fingers dig into my arms. Where is he? Where’s Jet? I glance at the oven clock; he’s been gone for ages.

  I move across the kitchen towards the counter where the knife block sits, but just then the back door opens, and I let out a gasp of relief as Will walks in.

  ‘Oh, thank god!’ I say, a warm smile spreading across my face. ‘I was getting worried. Did you find—?’ I break off, my smile fading.

  Will’s expression is blank; his eyes are wide and filled wi
th terror. He stumbles inside the cottage, tripping over the doorstep. I look up and see, over his shoulder, the shadow of a man, his hood pulled to hide his face.

  He’s holding a knife to Will’s neck, forcing him inside.

  I draw a breath, my knees going weak, and stagger backwards as the man forces Will towards me, gripping him by the shoulder and moving the knife to point into his back. He kicks the door shut with his heel and then he turns to look at me.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ he says.

  Oh, dear god, no. My mind scrambles, thoughts dissolving into blankness, as I stare at the man I now recognise as Ethan. How is he here? How did he find me? He has a knife in his hand. My eyes flick from that to Will’s face to Ethan.

  ‘Hello, Mia,’ he says, smiling that familiar smile, one muscle twitch away from being a grimace. ‘Did you miss me?’

  My mind is white fog; a distant primal urge to flee or to fight stirs in my gut but my body has entered a state of paralysis. I am floating outside of myself. A sluice gate opens, and adrenaline floods my veins, but all it does is make my heart pound violently, while gluing my feet to the floor and sealing my lips shut.

  I blink hard, wishing him away, but he’s still here when I open my eyes. How did he find me here? And what does he want? I fixate on the knife in his hand, wondering what he plans on doing with it. Will’s face is ashen. His eyes are saucers and he’s staring at me with a warning, urging me to do something. But what? He knows who Ethan is. He knows all about him. I told him everything – about how I’d married a man who fooled me into thinking he was a prince when really he was a cruel bastard who took pleasure in inflicting pain. I told him how he beat me, humiliated me, starved me, controlled me; until one day, after planning in secret for months, I escaped him.

  It took me a long time to open up to Will, because back then I didn’t think I’d ever trust anyone again. But perhaps, even though Will has seen and kissed my scars, he didn’t quite realise what Ethan is capable of. And now, I see from the terror on his face that he has finally understood. His expression is enough to bring me out of my frozen state.