Lamplight

by Benjamin Appleby-Dean

  "Where were you before?" Tom leaned on the doorpost.

  "I've been here all along. Didn't you see me?" Steven shrugged, stayed lying where he was. Tom could see that the rest of the room was in a mess – the bedding was bundled and twisted, and there were scuff marks on the carpet as if something had been dragged across it.

  "No, mate, I looked in earlier and you weren't here." Tom thought back to the dark room before, but he'd not been mistaken – there'd been enough light coming through the curtains to make the bed out. Had Steven been hiding under it or something, trying to scare him?

  "Then I must've been in the loo." Steven grinned. "Really, I've been lying here all day. You need your eyes tested."

  Steven didn't look quite right – there was something waxy about his face, not enough depth to it. Tom wondered if he were ill – that at least would explain why he'd not been down all day.

  "Mate." Tom reached for the light switch. "I know what I saw. I stuck my head in before, with the lights off, like this–”

  Click. Off went the light.

  Tom forgot what he'd been saying.

  The room was darker than before, the window black, but light streamed in from the landing behind Tom and clearly showed the floor, the boxes, the bed.

  The bed was empty. The bedclothes were still crumpled, but there was no sign of Steven among them.

  Tom looked at his feet, then back at the room. No change. No movement.

  He reached for the light switch, then thought better of it and shut the door instead. His legs had gone all funny and he nearly didn't make it down the stairs.

  What. What had that been. It didn't fit anything.

  No report Tom had ever read matched that –

  – except maybe those paranoid rants from the last few days –

  – but what use was that? What good was all his precious knowledge and years of research if it left him feeling like this like a little baby wanting to hide his head under the blankets?

  Living room. Light still on. Tom switched it off, and all the others he could reach for good measure.

  Did the Steven-thing stop existing without light? Or did it just become invisible?

  He didn't want to think about that or he'd go mad.

  Company. Jenny had said being alone attracted them. Jenny had been right. He needed company.

  Amy was out of the question, Jenny was with her, Donald was at work, Lynette was furious and that left Terry. Smug git Terry. The last thing Tom needed was a laugh but if that was his only shot he'd take it.

  Get out of the house. That was the other thing. What was he doing still sitting there, even if his legs didn't work?

  Tom grabbed his shoes. His coat. Staggered to the door. Phone in one hand, texting as he went.

  "Alright mate what you up to, fancy meeting up?"

  Terry had been stuck with the police another two hours, facing the same questions hidden under different words. Half-a-dozen times he'd thought of flipping them off and walking out, but Terry's considerable appetite for stirring up trouble didn't extend to the police. The best way to wind up the police, he knew, was to give them as little as possible.

  Besides, now they had Steven's name as well as Hazel's and had managed to unearth those public posts and arguments, Terry was concerned they might actually arrest him if he pushed it too far. Best to play it safe for now, work out how to get back at them later.

  By the end of the two hours, he'd finally convinced that middle-aged policewoman that Steven had been Hazel's ex and not him, Terry, that someone had given them his own name to get him into trouble – and as soon as Steven found out who that was, he inwardly swore there'd be hell to pay – and that he hadn't known about Steven going missing.

  Jessica's name had come out eventually. Terry hadn't had any choice in the matter. All he could do was try to get to her first, make things up to her before the coppers came tramping in to ruin it all.

  Now he was free. Tom had sent some message about meeting, but Terry had bigger things on his mind. Better, grander things. His flowers were dishevelled and wilted after hours on a warm table, but in the gloom of the evening they still looked fancy enough.

  Jessica hadn't answered, but Terry wasn't going to be put off anymore.

  He'd got one of those anonymous messages, saying "I don't know where anyone is." Terry deleted it.

  The rest of the college had gone dark by the time the police left, and it was a long walk round to Campion Road. Terry wouldn't be put off that either. The exercise would warm him up, get his adrenalin going for whatever might happen.

  Another anonymous text popped up on the way over. "I don't want be be alone, can you come over?" Terry looked at it with narrowed eyes before he got rid of it. Was Tom or someone trying to mess with him?

  Some streets later, he rounded the corner and saw Jessica's place, lights gleaming and curtains wide. Every room in the building was lit up, upstairs and downstairs, and it gave Terry a feeling of being out-of-place, as if the house itself were watching him.

  He swallowed his misgivings and walked to the door. Knocked at it. It swung open under his hand, unlocked.

  His phone went, and another nameless message came up on the screen. "Is that you I can hear downstairs?"

  Jessica. It must be her, but why would she talk to him this way? Was she scared he'd show people afterwards?

  Didn't matter. All he had to do was get in there, and the situation – and the girl – would be his. Terry tucked the flowers back into shape, opened the door.

  Compared to the night street, the hallway was like daylight. Terry was half-blinded, and as he covered his eyes he caught sight of movement above. Someone was walking down the stairs.

  He dropped his arm. Nearly dropped the flowers.

  "Hi, Terry," said Jessica.

  She rolled her tongue on his name as if she were tasting it. She was barefoot, and her feet sprung lightly off each step. Her hair flowed behind her and her eyes were bright and she was smiling at him with all the warmth he'd ever wanted.

  "Hello," Terry said, staring helplessly up at her. He recovered, held the flowers out. "Got you these, y-yeah?"

  "Thank you. That's really sweet of you." She took another step down, almost on his level. "You should have told me you were coming."

  "I thought I'd surprise you." Terry grinned helplessly at her. She didn't move to take the flowers, so he put them down on the hall table, wondering what to say next. Being lost of words wasn't like him at all.

  "Hey," said another voice from the side, and Terry turned to see a strange boy standing in a doorway. Panic hit him for a moment, then he spotted the resemblance and realised of course this must be her brother.

  "Alright." Terry gave a little nod, getting his composure back.

  "You didn't come to see him," Jessica called from the stairs. "Come up here and talk to me properly."

  Had he heard her right? Was it really going to be that easy?

  "Later," said the brother, not moving from his spot.

  Jessica had turned away and was heading back up, and Terry hurried after her. He could see lights on the landing, open bedroom doors, and – yes this was it, this was what he'd finally been working towards. Jessica alone, all to himself, that beauty filling up his eyes and his mind and – maybe just maybe –

  – his hands.

  Even in his moment of triumph Terry couldn't help but snigger. Everyone had tried to stop him one time or another, Steven Tom Amy Jenny all getting in the way. Steven and Amy had tried so desperately to have Jessica for themselves and look where it'd got them.

  Look where it'd got him.

  Bet it was Steven who'd given his name to the police. It was definitely Amy who'd messed his plans with Jessica up last night. He owed both of them payback.

  "Coming?" Jessica paused at the top of the stairs, turned and used that smile on him. Terry's knees went weak.

  "You bet," he croaked, but she was already moving ahead to one of the bedroom doors, beckoning him insi
de.

  There was a moment where she was out of sight, and in that moment Terry went for his phone. He had to savour the moment properly.

  Finding Steven and Amy's numbers he texted them both.

  "Haha guess who's with your precious Jessica tonight?"

  Phone away, he hurried forward.

  Jessica was sitting on the bed, waiting for him. Terry was about to do the gentlemanly thing and take the chair– no harm playing it safe – but she patted the mattress beside her and he didn't need to be told twice.

  The bed was bare. A little bit of Terry thought that was weird, wondered why all the blankets were hung across the window, but most of his concentration was thoroughly elsewhere.

  "So," said Jessica. The word trailed invitingly.

  "So, yeah." Terry wasn't sure what to add but she was right next to him, smiling right into his eyes, almost touching distance.

  "Thank you for coming to keep me company."

  "My pleasure." Terry did his best to sound sophisticated but it was hard with those eyes piercing into him, filling his world up.

  Her face was so smooth. So perfect. Not a shadow on it.

  He shifted, and his foot tapped against something that clinked and rolled. Terry glanced sideways to see a pair of lightbulbs resting on the carpet. He wondered why they were there –

  – if the bulbs were down there where was the light coming from? –

  – but pushed those thoughts away. Priorities. Seize the moment.

  Terry reached out. He tried to put his arm around those shapely shoulders. A funny feeling ran up to his shoulder and the arm went numb, like he'd dipped it onto cold water.

  "What's the matter?" Jessica asked.

  "I dunno." Nerves, he thought. Terry tried to work out where his arm was, move it upwards –

  – and his fingertips interlaced with Jessica's cheek. Darkness rippled under her skin, black pools welling beneath her eyes.

  Jessica smiled, and each tooth was perfectly outlined. Terry tried to pull his hand away but it had become dead weight dangling off his shoulder.

  "Come on," she said, "touch me," and the voice wasn't coming from her mouth but from next to Terry's ear.

  Cold air tickled the back of his neck.

  Unseen fingers wrapped around his shoulder.

  Jessica flickered along the bed and she was a shadow only a shadow of what stood behind him.

  Terry's legs twisted up. He threw himself off the bed, and the floor hit his shoulder with such force that all he could think was pain.

  His head swam. Acid clawed at the back of his throat.

  Not-Jessica rose from the bed, towering over him. Terry scrabbled with his heels, kicking himself towards the door but that was wrong she wasn't the danger no she wasn't there at all –

  Pain struck between his shoulder blades. His ear stung, and his cheek was wet.

  Terry doubled himself up and jack-knifed onto the landing, trying frantically to find his feet.

  He couldn't see it. He couldn't see it. There were noises behind him, scratches and scufflings –

  – the stairs were straight ahead –

  – felt hands on his back. Cold on his skin.

  Terry pulled his legs under him. Kicked out. Catapulted himself across the landing, over the lip of the stairs and –

  – bad idea bad idea –

  – fell headlong. Rolling. Cracking. Banging. A chorus of drums saw him down to the hallway.

  The light was so bright it hurt. His head felt like it might split in two, and Terry tried to stand he tried to move but every bit of him was bruised and broken.

  He rolled over. Saw Not-Jessica at the head of the staircase.

  "What's going on?" Terry looked to the source of the voice, saw the brother standing in the doorway in exactly the same position.

  No shadows on him. On either of them. After all how could shadows have shadows?

  Terry sniggered despite everything. Pain lanced through his chest.

  The front door was right behind him, still wide open. He could feel the night breeze.

  "No, don't go." The voice was coming from above him, and Not-Jessica was descending the stairs.

  Terry managed to get one leg to obey him. One arm to reach behind him and grab the threshold of the house, lock around the wooden step that ran under the front door.

  Pull. Kick. He was somehow moving backwards.

  "Hey, don't leave." The brother was moving, flowing between footsteps as if he were made of water. Not-Jessica was halfway downstairs, skipping with her naked feet.

  Terry rolled over onto his front and hauled himself towards the door. The night beckoned. Somehow he knew that outside would be safe, must be safe –

  – thin fingers latched onto his ankle, pulling him back –

  -Terry kicked blindly. His trainer flew off, and something bit into his foot but he was free, free and tumbling out into the freezing night air and the rough gravel of the garden.

  He kept crawling. Hearing sounds behind he didn't dare pay attention to. Hearing voices calling, laughing, breaking into meaningless noise.

  Terry reached the gate, hauled himself upright, and only then did he turn around.

  The front door was wide behind him, yellow light spilling out across the garden. The doorway was empty, and so was the hall behind.

  Limping, shoeless, Terry headed down the street with his heart and his breath going so hard he thought he might faint. Finally found his phone, dialled his parents down south.

  Hang his course. Hang the police. Hang this whole town. He was getting out tonight, putting as many miles between that house and himself as possible.

  Flinching at every shadow he passed, Terry Martin ran for his life.

  Amy was getting impatient. She'd found what she had to do, it was obvious, so why were the other two muddling and hesitating over it?

  This decisiveness wasn't normal for her.

  Maybe she knew that if she stopped to think about any of it her cowardice would leak through and her resolve would go to pieces. Maybe that was why she had to do it now.

  Best not to dwell on it. There was too much waiting, and it was sending her thoughts in all directions.

  "He's not replying." Jenny put her phone away.

  Amy didn't want to think about Tom either in case the anger came back, but she managed to gloss over with a smile and say "Maybe they already got him."

  "Amy, this isn't like you." Cordelia looked at her, concern gleaming in her eyes. "This ritual–” she pointed to the page " – is just the scribblings of one family. It doesn't match anything you or I believe, and I don't think latching on like this is good for you."

  "Then why did you find it for me?" Amy was done with nice tonight. Nice had only led her into disaster.

  "Aren't you jumping to conclusions a bit?" Jenny was being just as bad – since when had Jenny been so cautious, so adult? "I've never heard of this Lightbearer-whatever-it-is, and you wouldn't have either if it wasn't for a couple of old books. Why're you so sure?"

  "Because it fits." Because she'd failed and dithered until Jessica was taken from her. Here, at last, was something she could do.

  Because she'd believed in the unseen world her whole life – not just the balances and harmonies Cordelia talked about but all of it, every fairy and fiend and folk-tale.

  Because for all Jessica had said the light was dangerous, Amy was sick of sitting helpless in the dark. Sick of being ignorant, feeling helpless. It was the time to light a candle if any time was. Time for that new fire.

  "I'm doing this," she said, "whether either of you wants to help me or not. Will you? Please, won't you?"

  Those manners of hers kept creeping back, habits of a lifetime.

  "Hang on a minute." Jenny again. "Why do you think this is a good idea? Isn't calling it up the last thing we want to do?"

  "Normally if you call something," Amy explained, "you control it. If we summon the Lamplighter properly, we can trap it. Make it leave us alone."r />
  She hoped for more than that. What if the people it took could be given back? What if she – if they – could force it to return Hazel, Steven, Jack.

  What if she could bring Jessica back?

  "It's not really that simple, Amy." Cordelia now, adding her objections to the pile. Why were they so against her? "Conjuring something up isn't like calling down the moon or invoking the guardians. I thought you knew that."

  "Don't you know how to do it?" Amy turned on the woman she normally looked up to.

  "Well." For the first time since Amy had known her, Cordelia looked unsure of herself. She seemed older, cracks showing around her eyes and mouth. "I've – I've never done anything like this. I know the rituals we use, but this is nothing like our Coven, Amy, don't you see? This is dabbling in dark powers, and I've never done more than read about it. Why would I?"

  "But shouldn't the same rules still apply?" Amy wouldn't be put off. "If the wand and sword can command other spirits of air and fire, why not this one?"

  "This is crazy." Jenny interrupted. "If being alone is so dangerous, then we should be trying to find other people. As many as possible. That's what'll keep us safe, not screwing around with demons and magic candles."

  "You don't believe, do you?" Cordelia turned to her. "I don't mean this Firebringer – you've got no faith in anything. No wonder Amy's never mentioned you before."

  "She didn't mention you either." Jenny didn't wait to hit back, and then both of them were looking to Amy with hostile faces.

  Amy shivered, but managed to hang on to her resolve.

  "I need to do this. I know we can. And I can't wait for morning – they could take someone else if we do."

  "Well, I can't." Jenny stood up. "I won't, I mean. I'm going somewhere where there's people and light and nothing happening to me."

  "Jenny–" Amy thought to persuade her but the other girl's face was set, her mouth determined.

  "No, you should come with me instead," she said. "You could, too. There's nothing stopping you. Amy, why're you set on this insane behaviour?"

  "Because this is our only way out. Can't you see that? If we run and hide we'll keep on running and hiding until we run out of places."