by Amy Cross
“I'll scream,” I continue, and now my voice is trembling. “Whoever you are, if you touch me again, I'll scream and then you can explain yourself to the police. Is that understood? I won't -”
Suddenly I hear a bumping coming from above. Turning, I look up at the top of the beach hut, and I swear I see a shape pulling out of sight. I step back a little further, terrified that somebody's actually up their on the hut's roof, but after a moment I realize that there's definitely nobody there.
I look around, but all I hear now is silence.
“Okay, that's enough,” I stammer. “Do you hear me? I'm done playing games.”
I wait, and then suddenly I hear footsteps on the pebbles. Turning, I realize somebody seems to be walking straight toward me, but I don't see anyone at all. Hesitating as the steps get closer and closer, I try to force myself to stand my ground, but at the last moment I step aside as the steps seem almost to pass straight through my center.
Hearing a faint snarling sound, I pull away, only to bump against the beach hut.
“I don't know who you are,” I continue, “but -”
Before I can finish, something slams into my back, sending me stumbling forward until I bump against the beach hut. Immediately spinning around, I look out across the beach, but there's still no-one nearby. My heart is pounding so fast, I feel as if it might actually burst out of my chest at any moment, and I'm starting to think that I really don't want to stay out here and confront whoever's pulling this particular stunt.
“Okay, I'm done with this,” I say as firmly as I can manage, before turning and starting to walk toward the pub.
After just a couple of steps, I feel something bump my shoulder.
Refusing to give this asshole the satisfaction of any more attention, I keep walking, but seconds later there's another bump, this time against the small of my back.
“Cut it out!” I shout, turning and looking over my shoulder, but still seeing no-one. “Don't -”
Just as I start to turn and look ahead, something brushes against the left side of my face. I pull away, and a fraction of a second later there's another impact, this time on my right cheek. I raise my hands and try to push the attacker away, but I don't feel anyone and a moment later I bump against the fence that runs around the edge of the pub's beer garden.
“I mean it!” I shout, turning and looking across the beach, and then toward the car park. “If I find out who you are, I'll call the police!”
I wait, and then I spot movement in a nearby window. Turning, I'm shocked to see that Dora Ohme is watching me. I see her worried face for a moment, and then she pulls her curtains shut.
“Yeah, thanks for the help,” I mutter, turning and heading to the pub's front door. As I reach out to turn the handle, however, something whacks the back of my head. Wincing, I push the door open and step inside, and then I turn to look out at the beach.
I wait, and for a few seconds I hear harsh, rasping breaths.
And then the breaths fade, leaving only the crash of distant waves.
“Shut the door, love,” a man calls out from a stool at the bar. “You're letting the cold in.”
I stare out for a moment longer, before finally pulling the door shut. That last hit on the back of my head was pretty hard, harder than the rest, and it actually hurt a little. Still, I don't want to make a fuss, so as I head over to the bar I figure that maybe I just won't mention what happened.
Besides, maybe they're all in on it.
Maybe they decided to make me the butt of their jokes tonight.
“You alright, darling?” the landlady asks. “I checked on the kids a couple of minutes ago, and they were sleeping like logs. You've got no worries there.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, although I can't help glancing back at the window, just in case I spot a face grinning at me from outside.
There's nobody, of course. In fact, I'm starting to think that maybe there never was anyone. Maybe I've just been losing my mind here in Curridge. In which case, I can't wait until morning comes, so I can get the girls out of here forever.
Heading up the stairs, I stop in the bedroom doorway and look through at the beds. Alice is fast asleep, and I quickly find myself looking at Kate's face. She looks peaceful and happy for once. I swear, I'm going to make these girls have perfect childhoods.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Alice
Today
“Careful!” I say as I maneuver myself backward through the door, into one of the pub's guest rooms. “Watch her head!”
“I'm watching her head,” Graham gasps, clearly struggling to hold onto Kate's arms. “Let's just get her in place!”
It takes a moment, but finally we managed to get my sister onto the bed. She immediately mumbles something under her breath, while rolling onto her side. She keeps her eyes closed, however, and it's clear that all those glasses of wine have caught up to her. She passed out on her stool in the pub about twenty minutes ago, and I couldn't wake her at all. I guess she's going to have a hell of a headache in the morning.
“So is she always this... merry?” Graham asks.
“She's not usually this bad,” I mutter, staring down at Kate as she starts snoring. “Something must have...”
My voice trails off as I realize that I'm to blame for this. If I hadn't come rushing down to Curridge, or if I'd at least lied to my sister about where I'd gone, Kate would never have come barreling after me. I've always known that she struggles with her memories of Mum's death, and now it's clear that I've caused all these old wounds to reopen. Leaning down, I move some strands of hair from the side of her face, and I realize that there's only one way I can even begin to put this right.
Tomorrow morning, first thing, I'll take Kate back to London. And the mystery of Curridge, and of Dora Ohme and of whatever else has been happening here, will have to remain just that.
A mystery.
Not a game or a puzzle, and certainly not the plot of one of my books.
I guess I'll never know how or why somebody was using Dora Ohme's account to post reviews. And that's just something I'll have to live with.
“I'm going to be leaving tomorrow,” I tell Graham as I head out of the room with him.
“Why?”
“Because this has gone on for long enough. The past is the past, and not everything can get dredged up.”
“But you said -”
“I don't care,” I reply. “My sister's health is more important than anything else, and it's hurting her to even have to acknowledge the existence of this town.”
I pull the door shut gently, making sure not to make a sound that might wake Kate.
“What about the vandalism at the church?” Graham asks. “What about the dead dog on the door of Dora's cottage?”
“I'm not -”
“What about whatever caused the damage to the underside of your car?”
“That was probably just bad luck.”
“What about him?” he adds, pointing toward the door at the far end of the corridor. “What about this guy who showed up the other night, and who you still haven't set eyes on?”
“I admit that a lot of weird stuff has happened,” I reply, “but I already told you, I'm not in a position to play detective. I have to take Kate and get her out of here.”
He stares at me for a moment, before slowly nodding.
“I get it,” he says finally, “but if you're leaving in the morning, that means we still have tonight, doesn't it?”
“I should probably get some sleep.”
“Let me show you something,” he adds. “Just one more thing, something that might change your mind. I held back before, because I didn't want you to think that I was stupid, but there's something I want to show you. Are you up for a twenty-minute walk to a spot along the coast?”
“I'm not really -”
“It's something that happened thirty years ago,” he continues, interrupting me. “From what I've heard, it happened right about the same time your
mother died. And when you see it, I think you might agree with me that it's not a coincidence.”
***
“Just a little further!” Graham calls out as we make our way along the dark beach, with only the beams from our flashlights to guide us. “It's right up here!”
“You've been saying that for a couple of minutes now,” I point out, before almost slipping on a wet patch of pebbles. I manage to steady myself, but Graham is already a long way ahead. “Hey, wait up!”
Struggling across the rough ground, I can't help thinking that this is all a huge waste of time. If Graham had anything important to show me, I'm sure he'd have brought me out here before now. I can't help wondering whether the excitement of the past few days has stirred something in his soul, and maybe he's reluctant to let it end so easily. In which case, he's just going to have to accept the inevitable.
“There!” he shouts, stopping ahead of me.
As I reach him, I see that he's aiming his flashlight straight ahead. I aim mine in the same direction, but all I see is the vast white cliff-face rising high above us.
“It's a cliff,” I point out.
“Look at it, though!” he continues. “Look at the cleaved section!”
Just as I'm about to ask what he means, I see that there is indeed a deep, jagged cut in the cliff, as if somebody took a huge knife and took a section out. Aiming my flashlight down a little, I see a large pile of boulders.
“Looks like there was a collapse,” I say finally, shivering a little in the cold evening air. “I'm sure that happens from time to time.”
“There's another spot like this,” he replies, “a little further along.”
“Two collapses, then.”
“There's also a patch of forest nearby that was flattered at the same time.”
“Okay, but -”
“And then if you go the other way, past the town, several beach huts were shattered one night. And shattered isn't even the right word, they were obliterated. From what I've been told, all that was left was a shower of splinters.”
I can't help sighing.
“And the beach gained an extra rise.”
“A rise?”
“One of the shelves of pebbles. The whole layout of the beach was fundamentally changed one night, as if something massive had slammed against the shore.”
“I still don't see what this has to do with me.”
“It all happened thirty years ago, right around the time your mother died here. Within a few days. Some of it before, some of it after.”
“Now you're reaching,” I point out. “Seriously, there's no -”
“I found this in Dora's things,” he adds, taking a small, tattered book from his pocket and starting to flick through the pages. “It's called Observations, and it was written a long time ago by a guy named Marcus Tramelfacht.”
“Dora Ohme made a note about that book,” I tell him, “but I still don't see why -”
“You mentioned soul auctions,” he continues, “and they're in here. I mean, they're mentioned. They're one of many things that this Tramelfacht guy goes on about.”
“Sounds like fun,” I mutter.
“According to him, a soul auction is an event that takes place every ninety years or so. Something further apart. It happens far away from here, in another realm, where dark spirits gather to bid for the souls of humans.” He flicks frantically through the book's pages, clearly trying to find a certain section. “The humans are selected based on a range of factors, mainly related to how tempting their souls are. People who are especially conflicted or troubled, or pained, or whatever... Those are the humans whose souls are most coveted by these dark creatures, so they gather and bid for the right to come to our world and claim those souls.”
“You've got to be kidding me,” I reply. “You don't seriously believe this stuff.”
“According to calculations in this book,” he continues, “a soul auction was scheduled to take place in the late 1980's. Tramelfacht explains that precise dating is difficult, due to variations in how time runs in our world compared to the world of the demons. But if he was right, then a soul auction took place around the time that your mother died, and around the time that all this damage was done to the coast here.”
“That doesn't prove anything,” I point out.
“He writes about damage,” Graham adds, still furiously looking through the book. “When a demon, or whatever these things are... When a demon wins the right to a coveted soul, he or she travels to the place in our world where that soul can be found. And then he takes the soul. Sometimes quickly, or something very slowly. These creatures are all different, so some like to torture their victims while others like to swoop in and consume them as fast as possible. Some are more patient than others. Some can't fight their needs. But the point is, in the aftermath, the surrounding areas often bear scars, due to the fact that these things came here from their world.”
“Scars?”
“Changes to the landscape. And you can't deny that there were huge changes to the landscape here in Curridge, just thirty years ago, right around the time that the last soul auction was supposed to be taking place.”
Sighing, I realize that he's absolutely serious about this.
“I know it sounds crazy,” he continues, as if he's read my mind. He shines his flashlight back up toward the damaged cliff. “I know it sounds like the raving of a madman, but the facts all line up. We have to keep digging, and we have to -”
“No,” I say firmly.
“No?”
“No. I'm not digging into anything.” I hesitate for a moment, but deep down I know that I'm making the right decision. “I have to think of my sister,” I point out. “So long as I'm here in Curridge, poking into all this stuff, she's going to be suffering. I'm sorry, Graham, but this is one mystery I'm just going to have to forget about.”
“Even if your own mother was -”
“I'm sorry,” I add, before turning and walking away.
“I thought you wanted to know the truth!” he calls after me. “I thought this mattered to you!”
“I'm sorry,” I whisper again, but I don't turn back. I don't even look back. I keep walking until I spot the pub's lights in the distance, and then I start making my way along the pebbly beach. I desperately want to go back to Graham and look through the book he found, but I know that by walking away, I'm doing the right thing.
I'm putting my sister's health first.
Chapter Fifty
Lizzie
Thirty years ago
When I wake up the next morning, I immediately realize that the headache has come back.
Sitting up in bed, I feel a pounding pain running right around from my left, across my left temple, and down to my right eye. I swear, it's as if there's a long, thick vein throbbing with barbed wire in its center. Wincing, I lean forward in an attempt to ease the pain slightly, but then I realize that my eyesight is a little off.
Blinking several times, I find that there's a kind of bright white light flashing right in the center of my vision.
“What the hell?” I whisper, rubbing my eyes in a vain attempt to fix the problem.
Finally, after several minutes, the light fades and the pain starts to subside. I remain in bed for a little while longer, however, before looking across the room and seeing that Kate and Alice are still asleep. Hauling myself out of bed, I wander over to the door, and then I creep out onto the landing. After gently bumping the door shut, I head to the bathroom, where I lock the door and then turn to take a look at my reflection in the mirror.
Wow, I look awful.
I swear, I've never had such obvious bags under my eyes.
Checking my watch, I see that it's only 6am. That's way too early to wake the girls, so I fill the sink with some water and start washing my face. I still feel exhausted, but I figure some coffee over breakfast should wake me up, and then I need to get us on the road. Even the cold water helps a little, so I spend a few minutes freshening up
before grabbing a towel and wiping my face.
And then I look at myself in the mirror again, and I freeze.
My face is discolored and bloated, and there are hundreds of tiny maggots wriggling through the rotten flesh around my jaw and cheek. At first I tell myself that I'm simply hallucinating, but a moment later I realize I can actually feel the maggots burrowing through my face. A few seconds later, I feel a tightening sensation just below my left eye, and to my horror I watch as some kind of small, pale white crab starts snipping its way through from deeper in my face.
“No,” I gasp, but suddenly I can feel thin, cold worms wrapped around my tongue. “Wait...”
I lean forward, resting my hands on the sink. Looking down, I watch as several maggots drop into the soapy water. I open my mouth and try to spit the worms out, but most of them are still wrapped tight around my tongue so instead they simply dangle from my mouth. I can still feel small pinpricks of pain as maggots chew through my face, and a moment later my vision suddenly becomes blurred as something starts pressing against the underside of my left eyeball. The pain is immense, and I let out a faint groan as I lean forward. My forehead presses against the mirror as I feel twitching worms still wriggling in my mouth.
Suddenly the knot of worms comes loose, falling into the sink and splashing soapy water onto my hands. I pull back and bump against the wall, and when I look at my reflection I see that the maggots are still crawling through holes in my cheek. A moment later I feel something large and heavy in my throat, and I start retching as a bulbous, sharp-tipped shape starts poking against the back of my tongue. Something's trying to wriggle out of my body, trying to get into my mouth, and I can't breathe as I reach up and touch my neck. I can feel the large mass inside, and finally I drop to my knees and lean forward. When that doesn't shake the creature loose, I reach my trembling hands into my mouth and try to grab hold of whatever's blocking my airway.