TAINTED LOVE

by Anna Chilvers

  Half an hour would be enough to rest his limbs. Not proper sleep, not deep rejuvenating sleep, just a pick-me-up. The equivalent of an energy bar.

  His heart slowed and his muscles softened. He dreamed of Lauren. She was standing at an open window and curtains were blowing about her as though there was a gale. She stood perfectly still although her hair whipped about her face. She was wearing a white dress or nightgown that billowed and flapped, but she didn’t seem to notice any of that. Her face didn’t move. Peter realised that she couldn’t see because she had no eyes.

  She lifted her hand and put two fingers into her mouth. She whistled, once, twice, three times. The wind grew more fierce and the curtains beat against her body. Her hand dropped back to her side.

  Peter woke. It was no good, he couldn’t stay away. She was the other half of the equation; he didn’t make sense without her. He had to talk to her, at least. He drank some water and ate chocolate from his pack, then set off towards the south.

  At Malham Tarn someone started running beside him. He turned and looked at the dark figure, the strong legs and worn hooves.

  ‘Dad! I thought you were in Greece.’

  ‘We have to get back quickly.’

  ‘But how did you find me?’

  ‘We need to hurry. Lauren is in danger.’

  Peter sighed. ‘She’s left me. She’s seeing Richard, the boy from Hough Dean.’

  His dad snorted at that, and cold air streamed visibly from his nostrils. ‘Has he bitten her?’

  Peter looked sideways at his father. His hair had grown longer while he was in Greece. His skin glowed from the winter sun and the hairs curled on his chest. Peter decided to ignore his question.

  ‘I got into Cambridge.’

  His dad looked sideways at him, and nodded. ‘That’s great, son.’

  ‘How’s my mother?’

  His dad snorted impatiently. ‘Your mother’s fine. Has Richard bitten her?’

  ‘Dad, that’s kind of weird.’

  ‘You know what he is?’

  ‘What he is? Smart, good looking.’

  ‘No, Peter. He is a child of Death.’

  Light glimmered on the horizon, and the broad back of the Pennines waited for the day to begin. As they ran, Peter’s dad talked. He told Peter about Meg Crossley, who had made a pact in the dark of night, about Richard and his lost Laura, and the sad story of three drowned boys. He told him about Frances Greenwood and her ill-fated trip to Paris, the return visit when Meg met Andy who refused her, and the havoc that was left in its wake.

  ‘I remember Laura, his first girl. She was a lovely lass who wanted a straightforward life. Even as a human Richard was too intense for her. Lauren has a passing resemblance to her, physically.’

  ‘And you think he’s bitten her?’

  ‘It sounds that way. Does she have a mark on her neck?’

  Peter shook his head. Then he remembered finding her asleep in the woods, her hair heavy on her neck. When she woke and sat up she held it close, not letting it fall back, as though shy of what it revealed. She’d played with her hair a lot recently, pulling it forward from her face in a new way. She wasn’t normally self-conscious.

  ‘I feel like an idiot.’

  ‘I should have warned you.’

  When they arrived at Hough Dean the morning was bright and cold. The windows of the house reflected the sun, making it look blind with fire.

  The doors were locked. There was no noise.

  ‘Do you think they’ve gone?’ Peter said quietly.

  His dad shook his head. ‘Meg’s car is at the front.’

  ‘There’s a window, next to the kitchen. We could get in that way.’

  He remembered the awful smell which had come out of the darkness. He’d smelled it even before Lauren, before she’d shot back out choking.

  The window was smaller than he remembered.

  His dad gave him a leg up and he wriggled through. That day with Lauren they’d been filled with the fear of something unknown, of danger hidden in the darkness, discovery in trespass. Today his fear had a name and a face.

  He slithered in across the work surface and onto the white tiled floor of the kitchen, and sat still in the crumpled heap where he’d landed. He’d made a lot of noise, but he waited and there was no sound.

  Outside the sun rose red and bright in the winter sky. He unfolded his limbs and, trying not to let his hooves clatter on the kitchen tiles, he went into the hallway. Light from the leaded windows fell in patterns across the floor and there was no trace of the dead smell he remembered. A bowl of pink roses sat on a table next to the door and their scent was light in the air.

  The door had two locks and a chain. He slid the chain across and tried the door. If the Chubb was locked he would have to find the key. But it opened, letting in a slice of cold air and the smell of winter leaves.

  His dad was waiting on the doorstep. As Peter opened the door to let him in, there was a loud hissing noise behind them, followed by a deep growl.

  Meg Crossley was standing at the bottom of the stairs wearing a silk robe. Her lips were drawn back, baring her teeth, and her eyes were wild and bloodshot. Her hair was dishevelled and there were streaks of blood on her robe. She looked like a wild animal cornered in its lair.

  Peter froze. His dad very slowly took a step towards her. The movement was smooth, his right hoof sliding in front of his left. She was still growling, deep in her throat, and Peter’s dad kept his eyes fixed on her face.

  Peter saw what she had in her hand and shouted.

  ‘Dad, watch out!

  Before the words had left his mouth she had covered the distance. She raised her hand and plunged the knife straight into his father’s heart.

  He fell with the force of the blow and she collapsed into a heap near the doorway, crouching like a child, hugging her knees and looking out from beneath her hair.

  Peter rushed to his father’s side. The knife was sticking out of his chest and blood was spreading across his skin, blackening the hairs. There was no pulse. His eyes were closed and his heart had stopped beating.

  ‘You’ve killed him!’

  She rocked on her heels and made a low keening noise. She didn’t look at Peter.

  He pulled the knife out of his father’s body and it made a sucking sound. It was smeared with his blood. The sharp smell filled Peter’s nostrils, seeped into his brain, coloured his vision.

  Anger made him stupid. He leapt to his feet but she was ready. She seemed both to grow bigger and to lose substance. Though he stabbed at her the knife met no resistance. She growled again and when he ran at her she lifted him bodily and threw him into the yard. The door slammed shut.

  The force of the fall shook his spine, but he jumped up and ran at the door. It was locked fast.

  He sprinted to the back of the house, but the kitchen window was closed now. He banged on it with his fists, then with a piece of stone, but it didn’t shatter.

  Lauren was inside as well as his dad.

  He circled the house, trying all the windows, the back door, even the coal hole. Everything was barred, shut fast, impenetrable. He stood on the lawn at the back of the house and shouted.

  ‘Lauren!’

  But the only sounds were the bleating of distant sheep, the caw of a crow in the field.

  He looked up at the house. A window right at the top was open. There was no ivy, no clematis; nothing to climb up. He clambered onto a window ledge and tried to get a toehold between the stones of the wall, but his hooves slipped and he lost his balance.

  He returned to the lawn. There had to be a way.

  The house sat quiet in the glow of the morning sun. Frost glistened on the roof and a pair of jackdaws hopped about on the chimney top. Peter realised what he needed. Who he needed.

  In the front yard a bike le
aned against the door of the barn. It was green and new. Peter leapt into the saddle and pedalled as fast as he could down the track into Hawden.

  49. Suky

  They were having breakfast in bed when Peter started banging on the door.

  Jimmy had just kissed her and said ‘I’m going to take special care of you now, my love.’

  She was kissing him back, and the plate of toast was in danger of falling on the floor when the noise began. It was terrific, a rain of blows, and Peter shouting: ‘Suky! Suky! I need you! Please come. Suky!’

  And then more banging, loud enough to wake the dead.

  They looked at each other, then, without speaking, got out of the bed and pulled on their clothes.

  Peter was incoherent at first. ‘Suky, bring the rope. Only you can save her now.’

  She fetched a glass of water and made him sip it. He tried again.

  ‘It’s Lauren, she’s trapped at Hough Dean. If she’s still alive that is. If she’s still human.’

  And he told them what he needed them to do.

  Jimmy ran to get Andy and Mr Lion, as he thought there might be value in numbers. Suky collected what she needed, and started up the van, with Peter in the passenger seat. Andy and Mr Lion were waiting with Jimmy outside their house. As they set off, they passed Cassie walking up the road, and they stopped for her too.

  ‘Did you see?’ she said when they opened the door. ‘Someone’s dug up Lauren’s herb garden. It’s a complete mess, all the roots dug up to the surface.’

  Peter was panicking. ‘Hurry, hurry. Get in. We may be too late.’

  They filled Cassie in, and Suky drove as fast as she could, the van rattling and shaking on the bumpy track.

  Hough Dean seemed peaceful. It was hard to believe Peter’s tales were true. There was no wind and no one about. Just a few jackdaws cawing on the roof and the fence posts.

  Suky thought: surely it’s impossible for Peter’s dad to die. He can’t, because he is life.

  They leapt out of the van and ran round to the back garden.

  Peter pointed at a tree.

  ‘That one. If you climb up, then throw the rope over to the chimney, you could walk across. Once you’re on the roof you can get to the window.’

  There was no point in thinking about safety nets, rotten branches, slippery tiles. Or even the fact that last night she and Jimmy had agreed that Suky wouldn’t be walking the wire any more. Not for a few months, anyway.

  Jimmy squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll help you,’ he said.

  He’d told her about Meg and her enchantments, and about Steph too, and although there had been some shouting and a lot of tears, they’d come through. They’d weathered the storm.

  Jimmy went up first with the rope tied round his middle, leaning down every now again to pull her up to the next branch. It was a tall tree, but she needed to get right up near the top to be level with the roof of the house.

  It was different from climbing the ladder in a big top. This was more solid, more organic, less predictable. She had to concentrate on where to put the next foot. When they were high enough, Jimmy unwound the rope and tied it to the trunk of the tree. It was not so thick here as further down, but it was still strong. Strong enough, she hoped.

  The other end of the rope was shaped into a lasso. Neither of them were rope throwers. Catching the chimney with the end of the rope was the weakest part of the plan.

  Suky’s throw was hopeless. Jimmy had a go and although he hit the roof of the house in vaguely the right part, the rope flopped uselessly against the tiles and slid to the ground.

  This wasn’t going to work.

  Jimmy pulled the rope back in and tried again. This time he touched the chimney.

  He started to haul the rope in again, and as he did so the tree shook. Mr Lion was leaping from branch to branch like a cat and in a moment he was beside them.

  He took the rope between his paws, looked at the house, blinked, tossed his hair out of his eyes and threw the rope. It landed neatly around the chimney.

  After that it was business as usual. Jimmy pulled the rope taut and retied the end around the trunk. Suky stood on the branch and tested it with her foot.

  ‘Ok?’ Jimmy whispered.

  ‘Ok.’

  She shifted her weight forward.

  ‘I love you,’ said Jimmy.

  She stepped out onto the wire.

  She’d walked longer ropes before, and higher ones too, but this was different. The tree swayed and the rope moved. Twice she had to stop and regain balance. She could feel tension from the watchers below. They had faith that she could do this, but if she slipped and fell, they wouldn’t be able to catch her. She closed her eyes for a second, reopened them, thought of Lauren in the house, and carried on.

  She was nearly there when the rope slipped. The lasso hadn’t caught right at the bottom of the chimney and as she approached, her weight pulled it the last few inches. It was more than a wobble. She lost her balance and fell.

  Someone screamed and she grabbed out for whatever she could that would save her. She caught the rope with one hand. The wrench on her shoulder was excruciating.

  ‘Suky, grab the rope,’ she heard someone call. She raised her other arm, felt for the rope with her finger tips until she had purchase and pulled herself until she was hanging from both hands. She was five feet from the house.

  ‘You can do it Suky.’ She looked back to the tree and Jimmy was smiling at her from among the branches and the dead leaves. He looked like a monkey and she laughed.

  Suky swung her body back up, using the strength in her shoulders, until her feet were on the rope again, and slowly straightened to standing. The rope was even slacker now, but she quickly walked the last stretch, stepped onto the roof and grabbed hold of the chimney stack. She shuffled to the left until she reached the open window, then, resisting the temptation to look back at the others, she slipped through and into the room.

  It was freezing in there. Even colder than outside. The walls were white, but the sun was on the other side of the house. A narrow bed was pushed against one wall, and on it a body, its face covered with a white sheet.

  ‘Lauren?’ she whispered.

  She pulled back the sheet. Lauren’s face was as white as the room, her skin smooth and unbroken. Suky felt for a pulse but there was nothing.

  She put her hand over her mouth and stifled a cry. ‘Lauren,’ she whispered again.

  Then she remembered the others waiting in the garden, and rushed out of the room and down the stairs. She’d been here before with Jimmy, when he started working here, and knew where the back door was. She didn’t see anyone, didn’t stop to look. She dashed from the foot of the stairs to the back of the house, pulled back the bolts and opened the door. The others knew straight away that something was wrong.

  ‘Where is she?’ Peter demanded.

  Suky pointed upwards. ‘The attic.’ It came out as a whisper.

  Peter dashed past her and up the stairs with Andy and Cassie close behind him.

  Jimmy and Mr Lion looked at Suky and she shook her head. ‘Too late,’ she said.

  Jimmy opened his mouth to speak, but there was a loud crash from the hallway.

  Suky took his hand and together they ran through to the hall.

  Meg was sitting on the floor near the bottom of the stairs. She was hugging her knees and rocking back and forth. Scattered across the carpet were shards of glass and pink roses. Water pooled on the wooden table and dripped onto the floor beneath.

  At first that was all they saw. Then they saw Peter’s dad. Suky was right: he was far from dead. He was coming forward from the shadows. His chest was bare and she could see the wound, but already it was healing. He looked taller, angrier than she had ever seen him before. She held on to Jimmy’s arm.

  Peter’s dad didn’t seem to notic
e them. He was looking into the corner to the left of the front door. They followed his gaze and there was something moving in the darkness.

  ‘How dare you!’ he roared. ‘How dare you say you have come for me? You will never take me. You have no business in this place.’

  ‘Ok, you’ve made your point.’

  The voice was smooth and a little scared. Suky peered, but couldn’t make anything out, it was so dark. Darker than it should have been, considering the sun was shining through the stained glass windows on either side of the door.

  ‘I’ll just take what’s mine and go.’

  Peter’s dad roared again. ‘There is nothing here of yours. Except her.’ He waved his arm angrily towards Meg, who was whimpering. ‘Take her if you must, but get out of here.’

  Peter appeared on the stairs carrying Lauren’s body in his arms, with Andy and Cassie close behind him.

  ‘That one is mine,’ said the voice.

  There was a whistling and a rushing noise, and a chasm opened up across the hall: a tunnel of darkness, separating Jimmy, Mr Lion and Suky from the others. It was fantastically cold, and as they breathed out their breath caught in the air and hung in frozen clouds that obscured the view.

  Mr Lion swiped a paw impatiently and the ice tinkled to the floor.

  Something was trying to wrench Lauren’s body from Peter’s arms.

  ‘Leave her and go!’ Peter’s dad’s voice was louder than any sound Suky had heard. The walls of the house trembled and the chandelier fell to the floor with an enormous crash.

  The figure was still trying to get hold of Lauren.

  ‘It’s too late,’ it said. ‘She’s been playing with my toys; she’s already mine. You can thank her for that.’

  Something lashed out at Meg and she gasped in pain.

  The darkness laughed. It gathered and condensed into a human shape. It shimmered and moved, its limbs and its face moving in and out of focus. It left Lauren and came to crouch next to Meg, its arm around her shoulders. Its lips brushed against the side of her face. ‘You should have obeyed the rules, my angel.’ It let out a slow hiss and licked Meg’s cheek with a black tongue. She shuddered. Andy started forward on the stairs but stopped when the creature turned and stared at him. ‘She thinks she’s in love. She thinks she can use the daughter as bait for the father. She should have known she couldn’t finish off what someone else had started.’