Any pretence of sleep was gone. The rest of the children were listening now, all of them staring at Eve in fear and fascination, struggling to process the words, to cope with the information.
‘Miss Parkins, stop this nonsense at once.’
Jean was staring at her, eyes blazing. She turned to the children. ‘These are lies, children. Miss Parkins is trying to fill your head with rubbish and lies.’
‘No,’ said Harry. ‘They aren’t lies. Eve is telling the truth.’
Jean shook her head and sank back into her chair. But before she could come back with an argument, Harry spoke.
‘I’ve had enough of lies,’ he said. ‘Enough of secrets. There are bad things out there. People that want to kill you, to kill all of us. These are dangerous times. And we don’t get through dangerous times by ignoring them or pretending they’re not happening. We get through them by working together. That’s how we stop them.’ He looked round at the group, then found Eve’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘All right?’
Eve smiled at him.
The children said nothing as they took in the information. Eventually Fraser, face screwed up in concentration, spoke.
‘So, Miss, is the ghost Edward’s mum, Miss?’
Eve shook her head. ‘No, Fraser. This has nothing to do with—’ She gestured over at Edward, about to say his name, but stopped dead.
In his hand was the Mr Punch doll. And from the way he was playing with it, it seemed to be talking to him.
Eve stared in horror. ‘But I took that off you. We left it at the house …’ She crossed over to him. ‘Did she give it back to you?’
Edward ignored her. Just kept on playing with the doll.
‘Tell me, Edward …’
He put the doll to his ear, listened, then nodded.
‘Tell me!’
He didn’t answer. Silence fell. Even the rain seemed quieter.
Then, in the distance, Eve heard a familiar song.
‘Jennet Humfrye lost her baby …’
Harry stood up, looked round. He could hear it, too. ‘What’s that?’
‘Died on Sunday, seen on Monday …’
The voices grew louder, echoing round the metal walls of the room. The children were all sitting up, fear etched on their faces.
All except Edward, who just lay there.
‘Who will die next? It must be YOU!’
Eve’s heart was hammering. ‘She’s here. Oh, God. She’s here …’
Harry still held her hand. ‘But nobody saw her. You said she only appears if …’
Eve looked down at Edward, still playing with the Mr Punch doll. ‘She’s come for Edward.’
Jean was on her feet. ‘Now stop it. You’re scaring the children.’
Eve turned to her. ‘Did you not hear that?’
Jean stared back at her, ready to argue.
‘You did, didn’t you? What was it then? What were those voices?’
Jean’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
Before anyone else could speak or move, there came the sound of machinery rumbling into life from outside.
Harry ran into the generator room. The switches and dials on the control panel had come to life and turned themselves on.
‘Someone’s set the pyros off.’
‘Pyros?’ asked Eve.
‘The fire baskets outside.’
He made to grab the controls, but before he could the board short-circuited and sparks flew out from it. Harry shielded his eyes. He reached out, tried the switches once more. Nothing responded.
‘They won’t turn off …’
In the main bunker, one of the overhead bulbs blew. The children screamed, hugged each other. The remaining bulb began to flicker and fizz.
The bunker was almost in darkness.
Around the walls, in the corners and the crevices, the shadows grew.
The Circle
Jean looked at Harry and Eve, standing by the control panel, talking to each other, deciding what to do next. Not even consulting her, pretending she was invisible. Or, worse, stupid.
‘What do we do?’ asked Eve.
Harry ran back into the room, having given up trying to alter any of the switches and dials by the generator. ‘Stick together. That’s the best thing we can do.’
Jean had had enough. ‘Oh, please,’ she said. ‘You’re being ridiculous. Quite ridiculous.’ Her voice was becoming shrill and hysterical. She took a couple of breaths. ‘Superstitious rubbish. It’s just a … a fault. An electrical fault. We’ll get out of this by being rational, not giving in to—’
‘Everyone hold hands,’ said Eve, ignoring Jean.
Eve and Harry moved the children into a circle. Eve made sure Edward was next to her, and took a firm hold of his hand.
‘Right,’ said Eve, trying to sound calm. ‘We’re all holding hands. If anyone lets go, two of us will know about it.’
Jean kept her hands at her side. ‘Miss Parkins, this is—’
‘Jean, please,’ said Eve, cutting her off.
Jean felt anger rising within her. ‘Don’t be so—’
‘Do it!’ Harry shouted at her.
Jean, speechless and cowed by the authority in the young man’s voice, meekly did as she was asked.
They stood in the circle. Unmoving, hardly breathing.
The ghostly nursery rhyme started up again.
‘Jennet Humfrye lost her baby …’
The children all looked terrified. Eve wasn’t letting herself feel the same way. Someone had to stay calm and rational, think of a way out. Concentrate, she thought, ignore it and concentrate …
‘Jacob,’ she said, thinking aloud. ‘He was the only survivor … Blind … What did he say? He survived because he couldn’t see her …’ She looked round the rest of the group. ‘That’s it. Close your eyes. Everybody, close your eyes …’
‘Died on Sunday, seen on Monday …’
‘Now,’ shouted Eve. ‘Do it now …’
They all closed their eyes, even Jean. She felt ridiculous doing it, but something nagged at her, told her it was the right thing to do. Collective hysteria, she thought, going along with everyone else. But she didn’t open her eyes.
‘Miss,’ said a voice that Jean identified as Fraser, ‘Miss, I’m scared …’
Before Jean could answer, Eve said, ‘It’s all right, Fraser. Let’s say our bedtime prayers. That’ll help.’
‘Don’t let her get me … please …’ James was sobbing.
Jean tried to open her mouth, speak, say something authoritative that would calm the situation down, but found that she had no words.
‘Come on, everybody,’ said Eve, ‘all at once … “There are four …” ’
‘Who will die next? It must be YOU!’
‘Come on,’ said Eve, ‘ “There are four corners …” ’
The children joined in. ‘ “… to my bed, four angels round my head …” ’
‘Jennet Humfrye lost her baby …’
‘Louder,’ said Eve.
The children chanted louder. ‘ “One to watch and one to pray …” ’
‘Died on Sunday, seen on Monday …’
‘ “And two to bear my soul away …” ’
‘Who will die next? It must be YOU!’
Silence fell. No one dropped their hands or opened their eyes. The only sounds they could hear were the rain on the roof and the fire baskets igniting outside.
Jean tried not to listen to any of that. She just concentrated on her own breathing. Blackness and breathing. That was it. That’s what would get her through this. Blackness and breathing.
Then she heard footsteps. Slow, measured footsteps.
‘Don’t let go, Edward …’
Eve. Jean thought that the boy must have dropped his hand, tried to get away. From the strength in Eve’s voice, she wouldn’t let him.
The footsteps were getting closer.
Blackness and breathing … Blackness and breathing �
�� Jean screwed her already closed eyes even tighter.
‘Don’t look,’ said Eve. ‘Don’t anyone open their eyes …’
Jean heard the footsteps slowly encircle the group. She desperately wanted to open her eyes, to see who was there. It was probably that gruff sergeant back again, ready to say something that would make them all feel ridiculous, make her feel stupid for joining in.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Jean said.
‘Jean …’ A warning in Eve’s voice.
The footsteps still walking, still circling.
‘No. I’m sorry, but this is …’
‘Jean, don’t. Please, don’t …’ Desperation in Eve’s voice now.
The footsteps came to a halt.
‘Madness,’ said Jean.
She opened her eyes.
And there was the woman in black, her dead white face in Jean’s, screaming right at her.
Pandemonium
Jean fell backwards, panicking, adding her screams to Jennet Humfrye’s. As she fell she knocked into Eve, who, caught off balance, stumbled against one of the metal chairs, hitting her head as she fell to the floor. She lay motionless.
‘Eve,’ shouted Harry.
He rushed over to her and tried to pick her up. She lay there unresponsive, eyes closed.
The children screamed and ran, scattering into any available space in the semi-darkened room.
Harry looked round. Jennet seemed to have vanished once more, but that fact didn’t seem to have calmed anyone down.
James had curled into a ball, hands over his head. He was sobbing, repeating the same phrase over and over again.
‘Please don’t punish me … please don’t punish me …’
Harry saw Edward standing still, like the eye of a storm while chaos swirled around him. He lifted the Mr Punch doll to his ear once more, nodded, then ran towards the ladder.
‘Edward! Wait!’ The boy ignored him.
Harry looked down at Eve. She was breathing but unconscious. There was nothing he could do for her at the moment. He turned to Jean.
‘Jean, look after the children. Keep them close.’
Jean didn’t seem to have heard him. She sat in a corner, eyes wide and staring. Seeing nothing.
‘Jean,’ said Harry, sharply. ‘The children …’
She nodded, numbly.
Harry gently placed Eve’s head on the floor, stood up, and followed Edward up the ladder and out into the night.
The Shadow of a Child
Edward ran through the phantom airfield, as fast as his legs could go. The fake planes loomed, black birds of prey silhouetted against the dark grey storm-heavy night sky. The canvas flapping free in the wind and rain, slapping the wooden frames like the beating of large leathery wings. The shadows of huge, grotesque carrion crows following him wherever he went.
All around him the huge fire baskets caught and flared up, sending out vast blasts of light and heat; short, sharp bursts of intense illumination, sudden against the darkness, like ruptures from an exploding sun. And all the time, the rain poured down in near biblical torrents.
‘Edward …’
Harry flung open the hatch and climbed out. He stood up, looked round. No sign of the boy. He was lost from view among the planes. Harry started running, searching.
A fire basket flared up and Harry, instead of shielding his eyes, used the sudden burst of light to scan the area.
There, up ahead, the shadow of a child through the canvas of a plane. Seen briefly, then gone.
Harry ran towards the plane.
No one there.
He looked round, trying to get his bearings, see which way Edward could have gone. Another burst from a fire basket, then another. Harry was disorientated, confused. He couldn’t see Edward anywhere, couldn’t see anything for a few seconds, apart from the after-image of the intense blast dancing on his retinas.
Harry waited for his sight to return to normal, then scanned the field again.
‘Edward …’
There. He caught another glimpse of the running boy as he went behind one of the fake bombers. He gave chase and reached it, panting, head spinning from the explosions.
Another basket went up, the sudden flash illuminating the inside of the nearest bomber like an X-ray. And there he was. Inside the bomber, Harry saw – for a second or two – a child-sized shadow, huddled into the nose cone.
‘Edward,’ Harry shouted, ‘it’s all right … It’s me, Harry … You’re safe now …’
There was no reply. The light had disappeared and Harry couldn’t see or hear anything from inside the plane. He walked round until he found the small maintenance hatch in the underside of the fuselage and pulled himself in.
Harry blinked. Again. And again. At first he thought the rain had blurred his vision, coming down so hard and fast outside, but inside the plane it was only trickling from leaks down the canvas seams. His head still spun from the proximity of the blasts, the rain exacerbating the pain by hammering down insistently on the plane’s shell like nails against his skull. It was dark inside, darker than he had thought it would be.
He looked over to the nose cone where he had seen the shadow of the child, made his way slowly towards it.
‘Edward …’ He spoke softly so as not to alarm the boy. ‘It’s all right … you’re safe now …’
Flames shot up outside, casting shadows against the canvas wall. The silhouette of a child appeared. Then another. And another. Then more, all seemingly standing outside the plane, waiting.
Harry blinked. No, he thought. It’s a trick of the light. His eyes weren’t yet accustomed to the sudden changes of light and dark.
And then he heard the singing.
‘Jennet Humfrye lost her baby …’
Harry’s head swam. ‘Don’t listen, Edward. Don’t listen …’
More silhouettes appeared on the other side of the plane, lit by flashes of light. The singing became louder.
‘Died on Sunday, seen on Monday …’
‘Don’t listen to them …’ Harry shouted. ‘Don’t give in to them …’
The voices became louder still.
‘Who will be next? It must be YOU!’
Then silence. The shadows disappeared. The singing stopped. All Harry could hear was the hammering of his heart, the pumping of blood in his ears. He breathed a sigh of relief.
‘It’s all right, Edward,’ he said. ‘They’ve gone. We’re safe. Now, give me your hand …’
Harry reached out, touched the shoulder of the boy, tried to turn him round.
It wasn’t a boy.
The corpse, waterlogged, bloated and decayed, stared at Harry with its one remaining eye.
‘Help me, Captain, help me …’
The Fire Basket
Harry screamed and jumped away from the apparition, landing on his back. He couldn’t breathe; his chest had a tightening steel band wrapped round it.
The corpse had gone. In its place were only a bundle of unpainted canvas and half-empty tins of paint.
Still shaking, he looked round. He was alone.
He got out of the plane as quickly as he could.
Edward was still running. He no longer knew where to or what from, all he knew was that he must keep running.
The perimeter fence stopped him getting too far. He had crashed into it at one point and turned round to go in the other direction. That route had led to the hill that he was now running up. He hoped there was a way out on the other side.
A fire basket went off. He found himself exposed on the hill’s ridge, silhouetted against the night sky.
‘Edward!’
Harry was sprinting towards him.
No, he thought. Have to get away, got to keep going …
He ran on, over the crest of the hill, down the other side. He turned round to see that Harry was gaining on him.
Then he lost his footing on the wet grass, slipped and went tumbling down the hill.
Edward didn’t know where he was. He
couldn’t see anything. His glasses were gone, knocked off in the fall.
He felt around him, squinted. He was lying on a bed of wood, and he could smell oil. He sat up, felt wire mesh by his fingertips.
He could just about make out the rise of the hill above him and quickly worked out where he was.
He had fallen into a fire basket.
He got to his knees, desperately trying to scramble out of it before it ignited.
Harry saw him fall, saw him land in the basket.
‘Edward …’
He ran even faster, ignoring the tiredness in his body, pushing himself on. He had to get to Edward before—
Harry was thrown backwards as the fire basket exploded.
This Is Your Fault …
Eve opened her eyes. Abstract, blurred images coalesced, began to form into something solid, corporeal and sharply defined. Muffled, distorted sounds became correctly pitched and distinct. She made out a face looking down at her, a worried, concerned expression.
‘Harry?’
She sat up, looked round, her head throbbing as she did so. Made out the dimly lit concrete and corrugated metal of the bunker, heard the incessant drumming of the rain. Everything looked grey and washed out. Or perhaps that was just how she felt.
Eve saw the children and Jean huddled together. They all looked terrified. The way the older woman clung to them, it was hard to see who was comforting whom.
Eve rubbed her head. It hurt. ‘How long have I …?’
‘A couple of hours,’ said Harry.
Eve looked round once more, urgently, ignoring the pain in her head this time.
‘Where’s Edward?’
Harry was holding something in his hand. He opened his fingers, let Eve see what was there. In the palm of his hand, all singed and twisted, the lenses shattered, were Edward’s glasses.
Eve shook her head, increasing the pain, but she didn’t care. ‘No … no, no, no …’
‘He ran. I chased after him. He … fell into a fire basket, I …’ Harry’s voice wavered. ‘I couldn’t reach him before it … I tried … I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry …’
The Woman in Black Page 14