Then the wind blew up behind me and almost knocked me off my feet. Not for the first time, it sort of pushed me along.
I’d gathered my courage and kept walking into the woods. My torch wobbled in my hand but showed me the way well enough. I crunched along the inner path, my boots unnaturally loud in the silence. That had struck me as odd: weren’t forests meant to have sounds? Owls calling, foxes yelping, animals rustling through the undergrowth. Here the only sound was the wind, rattling those pines.
After a while, and maybe a mile, I stopped in a natural clearing, about a third the size of a football pitch. Not because of some sixth sense or anything like that: it was the wind again. As soon as I entered that space, glowing under the moonlight, a gust blew up around me, swirling like a genie, throwing dust in my eyes. I felt it was telling me, this is the place.
The clearing was oval shaped, covered in long grass and dirt, with trees on three sides and a wall of rock on the other. The rock face was cut sharply at both ends and stepped in shape, making the whole place resemble an ancient amphitheatre that’s been let return to nature. Like something they might visit in a TV show about the Greek islands.
I looked around and picked a spot: there, by the far end of the ‘wall’. I skipped over and got low, making sure I couldn’t be seen by anyone approaching from outside. I killed the light and put it in my bag. I couldn’t smoke and couldn’t sleep. So I waited, and thought.
What was I doing here? God, if only Rattigan and everyone else saw me now. They really would think I was a complete freak – and maybe they’d be right. Hiding in the dirt of Shook Woods after midnight. For what? Some magical writing I may or may not have seen on my window. Rattigan would almost take pity on me, I looked so pathetic. Yet again, I wondered if I was going crazy.
I didn’t kill myself. Had I really read those words? I couldn’t have – it was simply impossible. I’d been so sure, though. I’d looked and looked again, running my fingertips over the ice as it rose off the glass. I hadn’t just read Sláine’s message, I’d felt it. It was as real as the hand that touched it.
At least, I think it was.
Okay, I told myself, hang tight here for another while. If he doesn’t show by two, go home. What have you got to lose? Apart from your life if you get hypothermia, ha. I was well wrapped up, layered like an onion: thermal vest, long-sleeved tee, rubbed-cotton hoodie, parka with goose-feather lining, wool cap with ear flaps. I was toasty. Everything was set. All I had to do was wait.
Easier said than done, though. This was tedious. It was also unsettling and physically uncomfortable. And I was tired. Long day, short night’s sleep before it. My eyelids rolled down heavily and I blinked myself into alertness again. I looked around for visual stimulation, anything to keep me awake.
I looked at the moon, half-hidden from this angle. It was spectacularly beautiful. Amazing, really, how a lifeless chunk of stone, hanging up there, can become something heavenly when reflecting light from the sun. The moon didn’t create anything – it merely beamed back what hit it. But it was beautiful. A giant silver coin suspended in space and time.
I wondered if Sláine noticed the full moon on her last night. We’d both have been looking at the same satellite: me being distracted from my wish to die, her dying whether she wanted it or not. Creepy thought.
A raven landed across the clearing and gave me the dread eye. That didn’t help. I barked, as loudly as I dared, ‘The hell’re you looking at? Get lost.’ The bird waddled a few steps in my direction – heart rate spiking – then changed its mind and flew off. Heart rate slowly coming back to earth.
But this was good, I was doing all right. Holding my nerve. Now all I had to do was stay awake for another few –
I woke with a violent jerk – I think I yelled out. I put a hand to my mouth. Christ. Did anyone hear that? No sound, no sign of any movement. The place was as lifeless as a grave.
And as cold. My body realised the temperature had plunged and began violently shivering. It was freezing now. The clearing was like a huge icebox. But how could I be this cold, with my layers and thermals and goose-feather parka … ?
What time was it? Ten to two. I’d been asleep for over an hour. How could I have been so stupid? Anything could have gone on in that time. My faceless killer could have returned, seen me, cut my throat and smeared the blood all over his bare backside, and I wouldn’t have noticed. Out for the count, lost in the sleep of the dead.
I patted my body, up and down – nothing unusual, no tears or cuts. No wounds, no blood. I stopped myself: what are you doing? Nobody had been here. This place was as bare as that bloody moon, and I was an idiot with an overactive imagination.
I clambered up the rock wall and sat there, rolling a cigarette. I’d imagined the writing on the window. There hadn’t been any murder. Poor Sláine had simply lain down to die, and I’d never understand why.
Being here in the middle of the night, on my hare-brained stake-out: that was ridiculous. I was ridiculous.
I lay on the rock, eyes closed, feeling more foolish than I’d ever felt. I blew out a long plume of smoke and felt tears beginning to well up. I thought about the bridge. Suddenly, it seemed inviting once more.
Then I heard a voice and my heart just about stopped beating in my chest.
‘Behold, I will bring a flood of waters upon the earth to destroy all flesh in which is the breath of life under heaven. Everything that is on the earth shall die.’
Who said that? I feared I was going to wet myself. The voice was strange, kind of a whisper but at the same time louder than that. It seemed to fade in and out, as though someone was fiddling with the volume on a stereo. And it sounded like a human being but somehow not; warm but icy; like a girl but old, even timeless. A noise coming from a throat and the rush of wind through tree branches.
That voice was as much a feeling as a sound.
I was still too afraid to sit up and look in that direction. I didn’t want to know who or what was talking. I wanted to wake from this terrifying dream.
The voice spoke again and I bit my tongue to stop myself crying out. ‘Flood. That’s your surname, isn’t it? Aidan Flood.’
Oh God. It knew my name. Forget the bridge, I was already doomed, I was dead meat.
The voice said, ‘You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream.’ A gentle laugh, the sound of dried-out autumn leaves. ‘I didn’t know those lines when I was alive. Isn’t that funny? I know them now. I seem to know lots of things now. Sit up, Aidan. Look at me. I won’t hurt you.’
After a million years I forced myself to obey. I pulled myself into a sitting position and slowly, slooooowly, opened my eyes. There, in the clearing, stood Sláine McAuley, looking more beautiful and brilliant than the moon ever could.
She was glowing. I mean literally. Not like a neon sign, something gaudy: this was softer, a diffuse glow surrounding her whole being, as if she were shrouded in mist. Oddly, she was dressed all in black but it felt as if she was in white, if that makes sense. Her clothes were dark but this light seemed to be emanating from deep inside, from the core of Sláine. Or this presence in front of me that looked just like her.
‘You dropped your cigarette.’ She pointed to a spot next to me. I went to pick it up and hesitated.
She said, ‘Go on, it’s all right. I’m pretty sure second-hand smoke can’t harm me now.’ That uncanny, lovely laugh again.
I relit the cigarette and looked at her. Sláine was wearing what she’d been buried in. Full-length coat, high collar, intricate patterning, closed from neck to thigh with antique-style buttons. Trousers and long pointed boots, also adorned with old-style buttons. Her hair held in an elaborate bun by various pins and grips; one lock curling past each ear, brushing her cheeks.
She looked as young as me but simultaneously older. Her skin was extremely pale. Her lips were bruised red. Her eyes were dark and shining. She was breathtaking.
‘Are you going to say anything? Or just stare at me.’
I blinked. Tried to think of something, make my mouth form the correct shapes and my lungs breathe the words out of me. Then I said the first dumb thing that popped into my head: ‘Your clothes. Not the usual things people get … um –’
‘Buried in?’
I paused before nodding.
‘My cousin Carmel dressed me for the funeral,’ Sláine said. ‘She knew what I’d have wanted to wear. We used to talk about it a bit, you know – how would you like to be buried, if you had to choose … People have a fascination with all that stuff when they’re young, don’t they? I suppose because you never actually believe that one day it’ll happen to you for real.’
She gave me a steady, piercing look, her head slightly tilted. I wondered if she somehow knew I’d considered that very thing myself, a week before. How could she know, or get inside my mind? Then again, how was this possible anyway? How could she stand here before me as – what?
I said uncertainly, ‘Are … are you a … a ghost?’
She smiled softly. ‘I’m not sure what I am. All I know is that I died a week ago. Now I’m … here.’ She spread her arms wide and gestured around her.
‘In the forest?’
‘Yes. Mostly.’
‘You – live here now? Sorry, that sounded so stupid.’
Sláine laughed. I went on, ‘You’re here, though? This is where you … stay now?’
She nodded and thought for a moment. ‘It’s hard to explain. I don’t … Time doesn’t seem the same as it used to be. It’s not as if I spend all day and night walking around Shook Woods. I don’t get bored the way I might have … before. I sort of just exist now. I’m aware of my own existence and in control of it, but it’s not how it was when I was alive. It’s a strange feeling. Almost more a state of mind than an actual thing. Can you understand any of that?’
‘I don’t think so. I’m sorry, I wish I could.’
‘It’s all right. Are you still afraid of me?’
I realised that I wasn’t. I said, ‘No. I feel … comfortable talking to you, I think. Does that make sense?’
‘It does.’
‘So the forest, is this a state of mind to you? Is that what you meant?’
‘You know how I’d describe my existence now? Like a waking dream. I don’t sleep any more but all the hours feel like I’m walking through a never-ending dream. Except the dream, as you see, is very real.’
She gave a little ironic bow. I rolled another cigarette and said, ‘It is, isn’t it? It’s really real. Christ. Weird and all as this is, I’m glad you’re real. I thought I was going mad. With the sign on my window, what you wrote on the glass, the message … That was you, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you can leave here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Whenever you like?’
She thought about this. ‘Mm … sort of. Yes. I’ll say yes, to all intents and purposes.’
‘And go where you want?’
‘No. I can’t – something seems to be stopping me from actually entering places. Buildings, or even an enclosed space, like a yard or someone’s garden? I can come right up to them, and no further. Don’t know why.’
‘But you can touch them. I mean you must have touched my window, the outside. Made the ice do something on the inside. I don’t know. Caused some parts of the glass to get very cold or whatever. Made the words form like that, turning condensation into little streaks of ice?’
Sláine nodded and smiled. She seemed pleased I’d worked out the mechanics of it. So was I: surprised and pleased.
A crucial question marched to the front of my brain, begging to be asked. ‘Why me? Why did you contact me? We hardly knew each other.’
‘I saw you here, that day. You came to the tree where they found me. You seemed … lost. Alone. And I was alone, so … ’ She shrugged. ‘I reached out to you. Do you wish I hadn’t?’
‘No. Definitely not.’ A thought struck me. ‘My bag. You moved it.’
Sláine giggled playfully. ‘My little practical joke. I didn’t lose my sense of humour when I lost my life.’
I wanted to ask her about that but I couldn’t, it felt too early, as if I’d be intruding somewhere I didn’t yet have the right to go. Instead I said, ‘Your voice – it’s amazing. Sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard. Hard to describe.’
She looked proud, and happy, that I’d said this. ‘Yes. I like it. It reminds me of wind chimes. But wood. Not the metal ones.’
‘Yeah, I can see that. Can I ask you something else?’
‘Anything you like.’
‘Are you physical? Do you have, like, a physical body any more?’
‘In a way. Watch.’
All of a sudden I was hurled backwards by a strong force, whoomp, landing me flat on my back. It hadn’t hurt, though, that was the thing. It was the closest I’d ever come to an out-of-body experience. Sláine had shoved me but hadn’t seemed to move herself. And I’d felt the shove but didn’t feel it. It was as if she’d acted incredibly quickly, pushing me, then rushing around behind and catching my fall, before tearing back to her starting point.
A line from some book came to me: ‘The dead travel fast.’ Unexpectedly, I found myself laughing. I sat up and said, ‘That was, uh … interesting. How did you do that?’
‘I’m not sure. Yet.’
‘Was it speed? You went so fast I didn’t see it?’
‘No. That’s the funny part. I didn’t really move at all.’
‘Ha. Well, it was impressive. So is that your only party trick, then?’
She smiled like a poker player who’s full sure she’s got an unbeatable hand. ‘I think I have a few more up my sleeve.’
I hopped off the rock and brushed dust from my coat. She moved away from me in a weird sort of gliding motion. I couldn’t really say that I saw her doing it – one moment she was here, the next over there – but I saw her do it.
I think I did. This was all a lot to take in. I shivered inside as a shadowy premonition of something great and dreadful ran through me. I felt a little afraid, but not of Sláine.
I asked, to get this feeling out of my mind, ‘What was that you said earlier? Something about a flood.’
‘It’s from the Bible. Noah and the Ark, all that. I thought it might be a good way to … introduce myself. Doesn’t mean anything – just some lines I liked the sound of. It didn’t scare you, did it? Maybe I should have picked something less ominous.’
‘No, it was … To be honest, you could have been reciting The Three Little Pigs and I would have nearly peed in my pants. You gave me some shock.’
‘Your name is Flood, right? I’m sorry, I only knew you to see you around town, really. I wasn’t sure which one you were.’
I said bitterly, ‘What, you don’t know Aidan Flood the dickless loser? I’m a celebrity – how could you not know all about me? Shit, they put up a Facebook page in my honour.’
‘I’d heard some vague stories. I didn’t pay any attention. They seemed pretty mean-spirited.’
‘They were.’
‘Your girlfriend went off with someone else, I think?’
I sighed heavily. Raking over the ashes of my Caitlin disaster wasn’t pleasant, even under such unusual conditions. ‘Yeh. She shifted this guy behind my back. Guy from the carnival. We were supposed to be a couple. Supposed to.’
‘I remember him. I went there one evening with my niece. He was very good-looking.’
She was smiling mischievously. I smiled back, in spite of myself.
‘He was. Ah, you know what? I think it was the best thing for us anyway. Looking back now. I’m not just, I don’t know, making excuses for her or whatever? I mean I hated her for what she did, and what it brought on me. Maybe a bit of me still does. But if Caitlin cared that little for me to make an asshole out of me like that, then … Pff. Feck it. No loss.’
‘Caitlin. Is that how she pronounced her name, that American way? It’s all wrong.’
‘Yep.’
‘You should have told her it’s “Cat-leen”.’
‘I couldn’t. I was in love.’
Sláine regarded me with a cool eye. ‘Were you, though?’
‘Wha—? God, I think so. I mean I thought I was. I don’t know … maybe not? I don’t know much of anything. Sorry, that’s not a very good answer. I wish I wasn’t so dumb.’
‘You’re not dumb,’ Sláine said. ‘You’re unsure, and a little timid, and you don’t like yourself – in fact you partly hate yourself. But you’re not dumb, Aidan. You’re just normal. Like the rest of us, ha.’
I laughed too, both at her joke and the craziness of where I found myself. How typical, I thought: I finally meet a confidante and she’s a dead girl who spends her days and nights haunting a creepy old forest. But I was going with the flow, not fighting it, not worrying or overthinking. My brain told me this was fantastical and absurd, but my guts told me it felt natural. It felt right.
‘What about you?’ I said.
‘What about me?’
‘I mean your … this. Your situation, what happened to you. What did happen?’
‘Leave that for a minute. Tell me about the bullying.’
‘Oh, so you have heard about the famous dickless loser.’
‘Tell me.’
I sighed again. ‘What’s there to tell? I used to be a geek that everyone ignored. Then the thing with Caitlin happened and I became a geek everyone picked on. That’s it, full stop, nothing more to say.’
‘I think there’s a lot more to say.’
I snapped, ‘Yeah, well I don’t really feel like talking about it.’ I looked at her nervously. ‘Sorry. You’re not going to wallop me again, are you?’
Sláine said, laughing, ‘Not unless you ask me to. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. Raking over old coals – there’s no point, I can see that. No point dwelling in the past. Life has to go on, right?’
‘Yeah,’ I drawled. ‘So, uh … You. What’s the story? You said you didn’t kill yourself. Then who did?’
Shiver the Whole Night Through Page 5