Hollow Pike

by James Dawson

  Lis’s stomach growled. ‘Do you wanna head to the canteen?’

  ‘Yeah, cool, I’m starving.’

  ‘OK.’ Lis sighed. ‘I’ll just get my kit ready for next session. Some of us have netball.’ They moved down to her locker, ominously close to where Laura’s was now sealed up with wasp-coloured police tape. Both fell silent. The tape made the red box look like a gift-wrapped Christmas present.

  ‘That’s grim,’ Jack said, chewing on a nail. ‘What do you think was in there?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Lis paused, fumbling for her padlock key in her bag. ‘I guess the police cleared it out.’ Only then did she see the padlock on her locker hanging open. She unhooked it and gave it a squeeze. The lock was broken, refusing to click shut.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘My padlock’s broken . . .’ Her voice trailed off, her hand reaching for the handle. Broken or been broken? Her heart was suddenly in her mouth. She started to open the locker door.

  ‘Lis . . . Maybe we should—’

  A messy black shape swung out at her. Lis could only freeze as her mind tried to process the image. It was Jack who cried out first, jumping away as if he’d seen a shark’s fin in the water.

  Crudely stapled to the inside of the locker door was a dead crow, its wings grotesquely snapped open, crucified. Feathers tumbled from her locker and scarlet blood had soaked into her PE kit and textbooks. The bird’s lifeless eyes gazed at her accusingly.

  It took Lis a second, but then she screamed.

  She fell back into Jack’s arms, flooring him, as Ms Dandehunt emerged from her office.

  ‘What on earth is all this noise?’ she started, but seeing the terrified pair flailing about on the floor, she crouched to help them.

  Mr Gray flew out of G2 and reached Lis at the same time. By now they were attracting attention from milling pupils.

  ‘Lis?’ Mr Gray grabbed her by both shoulders, trying to steady her. ‘What’s happened? Tell me!’

  ‘Look,’ she hissed. ‘My locker!’

  Ms Dandehunt looked up at the locker.

  Mr Gray teased open the door, before whipping it shut again in disgust. ‘What the—’ he gasped. ‘Lis, Jack, are you OK?’

  Jack nodded, dumbstruck.

  Lis struggled to her feet. ‘Yeah. I’ll be fine.’ It was sick, what kind of person would do that? With the teachers there, she felt calmer, but dirty, very dirty. She had dry blood on her hands, sticky and brown. ‘Can I go and wash my hands?’

  Mr Gray looked to Ms Dandehunt, who nodded approval.

  ‘Yeah, sure. I’ll get someone to sort this out for you,’ Mr Gray told her. ‘Jack, will you make sure she’s OK?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said quietly, cripplingly shy in front of the teachers.

  ‘God, why would someone do that?’ Mr Gray grimaced.

  Ms Dandehunt took another peek inside the locker. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘Hmm,’ was all she added.

  As Jack led Lis away, she threw a glance back at the crow. She could think of only one reason why there would be such a morbid gift in her locker: it was a warning. From someone who knew she’d been seen somewhere she should never have been.

  Even after a shower, the unclean feeling lingered. In her mind’s eye, blood still coated her fingers. Lis wrapped her soaking hair inside a twisted towel and flopped down on her bed. Grabbing a Spanish textbook, she hoped to fill her head with the language, blocking recurring flashbacks of the mangled crow. Her paranoia was working overtime. All she could think was that it was a message from the phantom in their video, the hand on the tree – I saw you, keep your mouth shut.

  Jack’s locker had been fine, and she’d texted Kitty and Delilah. They hadn’t got a warning. Just her. She’d been chosen specially.

  Lis released the towel, letting her damp locks fall down her back. Someone tapped on the door and she jumped, knocking a cup of tea off her dresser. She couldn’t go on like this. ‘Come in,’ she said, mopping up the spill with a handful of tissues.

  ‘You left your phone downstairs in your bag, honey. It keeps ringing,’ Sarah announced, holding the phone out.

  It had to be Danny. Lis crossed the room in a second. ‘Thanks, Sarah.’ She raised her mobile to her ear, her heart pounding. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, darling. It’s Delilah.’

  Lis’s face fell and she had to steady herself against the bed. She was pleased to hear from Delilah, but it was Danny she really wanted to call her.

  ‘How are you feeling? Any better?’ Delilah asked.

  ‘Oh, hey. Getting there. Two showers,’ Lis told her.

  ‘Oh, you poor thing. Jack described it. It sounds simply horrific.’

  ‘Yeah, it was. I just don’t get why someone would do that.’ She tucked her legs underneath her. ‘Do you think it’s a Laura thing?’

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. ‘I honestly don’t know, darling. It could just be a very, very sick joke.’

  ‘You don’t really buy that, do you?’

  ‘No,’ Delilah admitted. ‘There are only two things I don’t believe in and coincidence is one of them.’

  ‘What’s the other?’

  ‘The government.’

  Lis managed a wry laugh at that.

  ‘Darling, this might not be a random bird. It could be like an offering. A sacrifice.’

  Lis scowled. What was it with the people in this town? ‘What?’

  ‘You know, Pagans, witchcraft, Satanism . . . Some spells require an offering. A blood offering.’

  ‘A blood offering to my locker?’

  Delilah snorted down the phone. ‘It was only a theory. The sacrifice is usually to the Horned God. After you mentioned witches, I started to think there might be something in it, that’s all.’

  ‘Yeah, well, witches are one of the things I don’t believe in, at least I don’t think I do,’ Lis said, increasingly uncertain.

  ‘Darling, you shouldn’t be so closed minded; it’s so last season,’ Delilah purred.

  Two pieces of a puzzle connected in Lis’s mind. ‘Dee? Did you take the book from Mrs Gillespie’s shop – An Occult History of Hollow Pike?’

  ‘No,’ Delilah mumbled. ‘Not guilty.’

  Lis sat up straight on the very edge of her bed, suddenly tense again. ‘Do you think Kitty could have it?’

  ‘It’s not really her thing, is it? You don’t still think we had anything to do with Laura’s murder, do you?’

  Lis shook her head. ‘No, no, of course not.’

  ‘We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise,’ said Dee. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. If there was someone else in the woods, they certainly don’t want to be found out, do they? Why would they draw attention to themselves by leaving dead things in your locker? It doesn’t add up. The police will catch Laura’s killer. Until then, we lay low. Quiet as mice.’

  Sighing, Lis flopped back onto the bed. ‘OK. I can do that.’

  ‘Good, now sleep tight. Sweet dreams, my love.’ Delilah blew her an air kiss and hung up.

  Lis massaged her aching temples. Rolling over, she buried her face in the pillow, muffling a scream that kicked inside her like a wild horse. When was she going to wake up from this nightmare?

  At the other end of the line, Delilah hung up on her friend and gently put her mobile phone down – on top of an old, leather-bound volume entitled An Occult History of Hollow Pike.

  The Babysitter

  The tall, stained-glass windows scattered beams of multicoloured light throughout the cavernous library. Lis wistfully watched tiny specks of dust pirouette through the rays. Now that it was November, more and more pupils were piling into the study rooms, escaping the exposed outside areas. It was becoming a struggle to maintain their hold over the toasty cushion corner, however much Daphne, the librarian, tried to reserve it for them.

  Alone at a study bench, Lis flicked through her Spanish textbook, reading a feature on Mexico City. The Aztec ruins looked incredible
– what was left of them. She imagined a time when she’d have the money to go exploring. How far away would that be? Ten years? Fifteen? An optimistic fragment of her mind allowed her to imagine that by then, the albatross that was Laura Rigg might have unwound itself from around her shoulders. Christ, she had a new-found understanding for Lady Macbeth – guilt sucks, and she hadn’t even murdered anyone.

  A pair of hands covered her eyes. ‘Guess who?’

  ‘Banquo?’

  Danny sat down next to her, obviously baffled. ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind,’ she told him, thrilled to see him. ‘You never text. I was waiting up all last night!’

  ‘Sorry. Match against Blackheath Grammar. We lost.’

  Lis giggled, did he think she was one of those girls? ‘I’m kidding! Sorry about the match.’

  ‘Nah, it’s OK. And I did mean to text, honestly. I wanna know when you’re free.’

  Across the room, Daphne raised a finger to her lips before wagging it at them.

  ‘Whenever,’ Lis admitted. She was so over playing games. ‘The last thing I need is me-time right now.’

  His heavy brows dipped. ‘What’s up?’

  Lis shrugged, not knowing how to put it into words. ‘Uh, where to start? You heard about the dead bird in my locker? All a bit scary.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. It was probably Connor O’Grady; he’s proper mental. Why don’t we do something tonight to take your mind off it? I’ll keep an eye on you!’ he said with a grin.

  She pouted. ‘I can’t. I’m babysitting my nephew.’

  Danny wrinkled his nose for a second. ‘OK, what if I came over to help? Would your sister mind? We could watch a DVD or something.’

  In Bangor, DVD had been code for only one thing. ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘Not like that!’ So DVD meant the same thing here, then. ‘I’ll behave. I could download Hacksaw 2 for us,’ Danny suggested. ‘Highly illegal, but you’re worth it!’

  Lis smiled – Danny was once again taking the edge off her problems. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ she told him. ‘But I’m not promising to behave . . .’

  What to wear for a DVD/babysitting date? Everything she’d tested looked try-hard. In the end, Lis stole Max’s ancient Guns N’ Roses tour T-shirt and stuck it over some leggings: slouchy, cool and a little bit rock. She’d put Logan to bed already and now waited in her room, calming music playing in the background. Danny would be here in about an hour. Deep breaths, Lis, deep breaths.

  Standing in front of the mirror, she messed her hair up, eager to look like she hadn’t spent an hour getting ready. Downstairs, she heard a clatter of paws and raucous barking as Sasha tripped over her own legs to get to the door. Oh, God. He was early.

  Lis crossed the hall and skipped down the stairs, swinging off the banister and into the kitchen. And then she frowned; Sasha was bouncing up and down at the back door. The porch had one door leading to the drive and another that connected to the back terrace. But there was no access to the back garden from the street. Then she realised she hadn’t heard the doorbell, just Sasha. Odd.

  ‘What’s up, you crazy dog? You wanna go out?’ She opened the door, putting it on the latch. A blast of cold November air flooded the house.

  Sasha pelted onto the patio, barking like a thing demented. She shot up the stairs that led onto the back terrace, the one outside Lis’s bedroom. Lis stepped onto the dark patio, the paving slabs icy through her socks.

  ‘Sasha, do not run off,’ she called. ‘Do your business and get back inside!’

  The rotating clothes line screeched as it turned in the breeze, a few old towels hanging on the line. Lis rubbed her arms against the bitter cold while Sasha continued to bark at the top of the garden stairs. With a glance back at the house to make sure she hadn’t locked herself out, Lis jogged up the steps. The family dog was barking at shadows, a perfect little sentry. Thinking back to the shadows outside her bedroom all those weeks ago, Lis scanned the garden carefully. The only movement was Logan’s plastic windmill twirling in the breeze.

  ‘What has gotten into you?’ Lis grabbed Sasha’s collar. ‘Come back in!’

  Dragging the reluctant, shaggy creature behind her, Lis descended the stairs and pulled the dog back into the house. ‘Stupid animal,’ she said, ruffling her fur. She slammed the door shut and dropped the latch. As an afterthought she twisted the key to the mortice lock, just to be on the safe side, then pulled the keys out of both front and back doors and drifted back into the kitchen, tossing them into the fruit bowl where keys lived.

  Checking the kitchen clock, she saw she had fifty minutes until Danny was due to arrive. What was she meant to do with herself until then? Pace? Glee, that was the answer. Episodes of Glee always chilled her out. Wiping her clammy hands on her T-shirt she entered the lounge and turned the TV on.

  But Sasha’s weird behaviour continued. She was now darting between the windows of the house, trying to look out into the night.

  Lis wasn’t about to let a hyper dog ruin her evening with Danny. ‘That’s enough,’ she said affectionately. ‘In your basket.’

  She led the dog through to the conservatory, just off the lounge, where her basket was kept. ‘Go to sleep, you nutcase.’ Leaving Sasha, she re-entered the lounge. ‘Right, what was I doing? Oh, DVD.’

  She scurried up the stairs and burst into her room, locating the Glee box set on her bookshelf. She pulled it out and turned to leave. Only then did she notice that something was wrong. Even in the dim light of her bedroom lamp, she could see subtle changes. Her wardrobe door was ajar. The drawers in the chest by the door were pulled open – just an inch or so, but she always pushed them shut or they looked untidy. Even in a rush, she always pushed them shut. Someone had been in her room.

  Her stomach turned over. Was there any way she could have done it? No. Had Sarah been in her room? No. Her hand flew to her mouth. The back door. She’d left it wide open while she fetched the dog. Oh, God.

  She punched the off switch on the iPod dock. The house was silent, save for the noisy TV downstairs. Her eyes fell on the centimetre gap in her wardrobe door. No one could fit in there with all her clothes, could they? She looked around her room, grabbing a wrought iron candlestick from her desk.

  She felt lightheaded and realised she’d stopped breathing. Eyes watering, she took a step towards the wardrobe. Her finger traced the line of the open door. Like ripping off a plaster, Lis flung the door open and stepped back, raising the candlestick, ready to strike. Nothing. Just a rail of coats and dresses. She pulled the clothes aside, but she already knew nobody could fit in there.

  She heard a creak downstairs. A foot weighing heavy on a floorboard. They were in the house. Where was her phone? She had to call the police. Her mobile was nowhere to be seen. What had she done with it? She had to get out of the house! That’s what she always screamed at those girls in horror films – get out of the house! She considered the French windows onto the terrace. No, that way only led into the copse.

  She inched onto the landing. The coast was clear. The doors to the study and Logan’s room were dark. Oh, Lord, Logan! Forgetting her own safety, she dashed into his nursery. Inside, a dainty night-light twirled, casting fairy tale silhouettes over the ceiling. In his cot, her nephew was fast asleep. Lis closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. He was safe and sound.

  There was a crash. It sounded further away, like a door banging. A glimmer of courage ignited in her gut. She had to know who had been in the house, get a look at them. Instinct told her this was the watcher – the one from outside her home. Maybe the one from behind the trees. She closed the door to Logan’s room and tiptoed towards the stairs, still gripping the candle holder. Looking into the lounge she saw it just as she’d left it: TV blaring. Sasha in the conservatory. There was no motion and no shadows to hide in. From the lounge there was access to the balcony, but that was always locked, except on the hottest summer days. That left only the kitchen as an escape route.

  She slipped down
the stairs and through the saloon doors into the kitchen. It was lit up like Christmas, white light gleaming off the stainless steel surfaces. Crouching down, she looked under the kitchen table: nothing. What’s more, both the front and back doors were deadlocked, the keys jumbled up in the messy fruit bowl where she’d thrown them. There was only one remaining option.

  Behind her, the internal door leading down to Sarah’s workshop stood ajar. A black two-inch gap leered at her. She rested the candlestick on the counter and pulled a kitchen knife from the block, the cool blade flashing in the light.

  The cellar door groaned as she pulled it fully open. The stairs descended into a still, dark underworld. Lis pressed the light switch and far below strip lights flickered into action, filling the room with a jittery blueish glow. Knife in front of her, she crept down the first two steps. From this angle she still couldn’t see into the basement. Anything could await her. This was Hollow Pike, after all.

  Squatting down, she took the last steps like a tiger, ready to pounce. The smell of sawdust and varnish was overpowering; normally she loved the aroma, but not tonight. In the murky light, Lis made out four vintage wardrobes, all ready for Sarah to restore, all with their doors ajar. She backed away from them, leaning on the wall. This was a nightmare. Four empty boxes standing like coffins. An urge to laugh, or cry, or both shook her body.

  This was a mistake. She should turn, run up those stairs and straight out the door. Her mind was screaming at her to get out, yet her feet carried her towards the first wardrobe. With the carving knife outstretched, she reached towards the edge of the door . . .

  There was a loud clatter to her right. Lis yelped, slicing through the air with the blade. She ducked behind the wardrobe. Another crash. Peeking out, Lis saw the workshop window wide open, the wind swinging it to and fro so that it slammed against the frame. That’s how he’d got out, then. Lis tore over to the window and peered outside. She saw only Max’s van on the tarmac, but somewhere in the distance, she heard footsteps sprinting across gravel.