The Retreat

by Mark Edwards

  Jake, who had finished the birthday card and moved on to something else, showed him the paper.

  ‘Woah, what’s this?’

  Lily peered over Olly’s shoulder. The paper was covered in drawings of bare, spiky trees. At the centre of the drawing was a dark figure with arms and legs like wobbly spaghetti, a long body, and a fat head with cat’s eyes. Jake had pressed so hard with the pen while drawing this figure he’d almost gone through the paper.

  ‘It’s the Widow,’ Jake said in a hushed voice.

  Lily expected Olly to laugh, but he didn’t. His voice was as serious as Jake’s when he replied.

  ‘The Red Widow, eh? My dad told me about her.’

  He repeated all the stuff Lily already knew. Even Megan appeared a little bored of the topic, but Jake gawped at Olly as if it was the first time he’d heard it.

  Olly looked sidelong at the girls.

  ‘I saw her once,’ he said.

  That grabbed their attention.

  ‘You didn’t,’ Megan said.

  ‘I did, actually. When I was about your age. It was just before that little girl disappeared. Carys.’

  Lily stared at him, as did Megan and Jake. He settled down on a beanbag.

  ‘I was in the woods, near here, with my friends, building a camp. Parents weren’t so paranoid about letting kids out to play on their own in those days. Anyway, we’d built the camp and then one of my friends announced that he needed the loo. A number two.’

  Megan giggled.

  ‘Yeah, gross, huh? He went off to do what bears do in the woods, and a minute later he came running back, shouting and screaming, saying someone was chasing him. A woman. And that’s when I saw her – between the trees. She had eyes just like that’ – he tapped the drawing – ‘and they glowed white, like she was blind. I got the impression she was sniffing the air, that she could smell us. Thinking we smelled sweet.’

  Megan grabbed Lily’s hand and squeezed it. Jake made a low moaning sound.

  ‘And then she pointed at us and said, “It’s time.”’

  There’s no such thing, Lily reminded herself. No such thing.

  ‘What did you do?’ Megan asked.

  ‘What do you think we did? We ran like our bums were on fire.’ He laughed and the children stared at him.

  ‘It’s time,’ Megan whispered.

  ‘Yeah,’ Olly said. ‘Because the witch demands a sacrifice once every thirty-five years, according to the legend. When that little girl Carys vanished, that’s what we all thought. The witch took her and gobbled her up.’

  It was silent in the playroom. All Lily could hear was Jake’s heavy breathing.

  Olly looked at each of them in turn.

  ‘You know that happened in 1980,’ he said, and Lily realised he was just like Megan’s grandad. He enjoyed winding up kids, seeing if they’d believe his scary stories. ‘Next year it will be thirty-five years and it will be time again.’ He looked at their gaping mouths and saucer eyes. ‘She’s going to be looking for another child.’

  Chapter 30

  As soon as we heard the scream, Julia took out her phone and switched on the flashlight, the weak light casting her in a ghostly glow. She headed for the stairs and I followed. I wished I hadn’t left my new phone in my room.

  It was dark in the hallway too. Somebody appeared in the Thomas Room doorway, a black silhouette. Julia pointed the beam of her phone flashlight at the door. It was Max.

  ‘What was that scream?’ Julia asked.

  ‘Suzi. Ursula was in the middle of telling us this really creepy story about a dark spirit – you know, the usual nonsense she comes out with – and suddenly the lights went out. It was brilliant. It was as if she’d staged it.’

  Julia stepped into the doorway and shone her light inside. Ursula sat in an armchair, apparently frozen to the spot, holding a glass of wine.

  ‘Where’s Suzi now?’ I asked.

  ‘She disappeared. I think she was embarrassed. She’s gone to her room. Do you think it’s a local power cut? Does that happen a lot round here?’

  ‘Not since I’ve lived here,’ Julia replied.

  ‘It might be the fuses,’ I said. ‘It probably just needs resetting. Where’s the box?’

  ‘In the utility room.’

  We left Max waiting by the Thomas Room and went through the kitchen to the little room where Julia kept her washing machine and dryer. She shone the flashlight at the fuse box, which was on the wall by the back door. I opened it.

  ‘It’s not the switches,’ I said. ‘It must be a power cut. Have you got any candles?’

  ‘I think so. Hang on . . .’ We went back into the kitchen.

  If this had happened in my flat in London, we would have been fine. Priya had been obsessed with scented candles and most of them were still around. Sometimes I lit them to remind myself of her, if I was feeling strong enough. The smell of jasmine or cinnamon would always remind me of her. But Julia wasn’t into candles. The only candles I’d seen since coming here were the ones on Lily’s birthday cake.

  She searched through the kitchen drawers. Loads of junk, but no candles.

  ‘I think they’re in the cottage,’ she said.

  Max had come into the kitchen, holding his phone, the flashlight switched on.

  ‘I’ll go and fetch them,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll come too,’ said Max.

  ‘There’s no need.’

  But he was already heading out the back door. Julia handed me the key to the cottage and I went after him.

  It was cold outside, and overcast, a few stars peeking through the gaps between the clouds. We only had Max’s phone to illuminate the way, but as we moved towards the cottage my eyes started to grow accustomed to the darkness. Black shapes against a grey backdrop.

  Max stopped walking.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

  ‘I actually wanted a chance to talk to you,’ he said. ‘Listen, Lucas, I swear I didn’t take your pen on purpose. I actually have no recollection of picking it up but, you know, we’d all had a drink.’

  I could hardly see his face, but he sounded sincere and my emotions were reverberating from the encounter with Julia. I really didn’t want another argument. ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. I’d had a difficult day.’

  ‘I apologise too for what I said. I know it’s no excuse but I’ve been under a lot of stress too. Some marital issues, which is why I’m staying here a little longer. My wife doesn’t want me to go home.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I didn’t sleep with Suzi, though, whatever you think. I’m guilty of many things, but not that.’ Again, he sounded sincere.

  ‘I’m sorry if it seemed like I was judging you.’

  He laughed. ‘I hope no one overhears. They might think we’re bonding.’

  ‘Heaven forbid. Come on, we should try to find these candles.’

  We headed over to the cottage and I opened the door. Max led the way, going into the kitchen first. I began to look through drawers while Max held the flashlight.

  ‘The power will probably come back on the moment we find them,’ he said.

  There were no candles in the first drawer, or the second, though I found a cigarette lighter which I pocketed, thinking it would come in handy.

  ‘You know, I kind of wish I wrote horror like you,’ Max said. ‘Or ghost stories, anyway. Think of all the inspiration I’d have had since coming here. Your creative synapses must be on fire.’

  He didn’t know the half of it. I was tempted to fill him in, but then he said, ‘Something weird happened to me the other night.’

  I paused halfway through searching the drawer. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I got up in the middle of the night to go to the loo, and heard someone singing.’

  I waited.

  ‘It was a woman. At first I thought it must be Julia, but it didn’t sound like it was coming from her bedroom. It sounded like someone was inside the room with me.’
r />   ‘Was it this song?’ I sang a couple of lines of ‘Un, dau, tri . . .’

  ‘Yes, that was it!’

  ‘I’ve heard it too,’ I said. ‘So did Karen. It was one of Lily’s favourite songs, apparently.’

  Max puffed out air. ‘That matches what Ursula said . . . You don’t believe in ghosts, do you? Even though you write horror?’

  ‘No. I don’t.’

  I knew we ought to head back to the house, or look elsewhere in the cottage for candles. But Max seemed keen to talk. ‘Me neither. Except . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Talking to Ursula, it makes me wonder.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you start. She’s making it all up.’

  He leaned against the worktop, looking out at the night. The clouds had cleared a little, revealing more stars, silvery light glimmering across the lawn, with trees and shrubbery emerging from the darkness.

  ‘She’s very convincing,’ he said. ‘I told her about the singing I heard and she said it could be Lily’s ghost, trapped here in this house, unwilling to move on to the next realm because of her mother’s unhappiness. Ursula’s going to consult her spirit guide. She said . . . Hang on, what was that?’

  ‘What?’ I joined him at the window.

  ‘I saw someone. Over there, on the driveway. Look.’

  I peered into the darkness. The clouds shifted, revealing the moon.

  There was someone standing near the top of the driveway, facing us. It was too dark to make out their features, to even tell if it was a man or a woman. But a suspect immediately came to mind.

  Before I could say anything, Max dashed from the kitchen and out of the front door. He called out, ‘Hey!’

  The person moved, down the driveway, away from the house. Max headed after them. I followed, catching up and falling into step beside him. The figure was running now, only just visible as a flickering shape on the horizon of my vision.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a power cut,’ Max said. ‘Look – there’s a light on in a house over there, on the hill.’ He pointed towards the nearest neighbour.

  The person we’d seen on the driveway had stopped running. I couldn’t see their face, but I was certain they were watching us, waiting to see what we did. Could it really be Glynn Collins? A knot of fear formed in my stomach. If I was right, he’d already dealt with three people who’d threatened to expose him. I hadn’t even stopped to think that I was the obvious next target.

  In which case, I was walking straight into his trap.

  ‘Come on,’ Max said, and broke into a run. The shadowy figure ran too. I had no choice but to follow.

  There were pot holes on the path, and I stumbled into one. Max grabbed my arm to stop me from falling. I glanced across at him and saw that he was grinning. He was enjoying it, like it was a game. He increased his pace, leaping over a huge puddle. I guessed this was an escape from his other worries: money, his career, marital woes. This was a little adventure.

  We reached the narrow lane that bisected the trees and stopped. The lane stretched left and right, and directly ahead of us was a copse. The main road was beyond that, and a little further on, the river. Our quarry was no longer in sight.

  ‘Which way did they go?’ Max asked.

  I held up a finger. ‘Listen.’

  Rustling came from the copse ahead. ‘This way,’ I said, jogging into the trees where I was swallowed by darkness. The ground beneath my feet was mulchy, slippery, and I grabbed a skinny tree for support. I waited for Max to catch up, as he was carrying our only source of light. He stopped beside me and swung the phone left and right, light bouncing between the trees like a will-o’-the-wisp. Tentatively, we pushed through the branches, Max swearing as something scratched his face. He lowered the flashlight and I hurried blindly on, the lizard part of my brain screaming at me to get out of these trees, even if greater danger lay further ahead. I was sweating and my heart was beating faster than ever before.

  I crashed through the final line of trees and stumbled, my knees hitting the rough tarmac.

  Max pulled me to my feet. ‘You all right?’

  I was too high on adrenaline to feel pain. I heard a twig snap ahead of us. ‘I think he’s heading to the river.’

  Max nodded once, and strode into the final thicket of trees, their branches still bare from winter. I took a deep breath and joined him, pushing through until we emerged on the path that ran alongside the river.

  ‘This is where Julia’s husband drowned,’ I said in a hushed voice. ‘The exact spot.’

  The water swept around the bend, sucking in starlight and snuffing it out. A curtain of mist hung over the far bank, casting the trees on that side as shadow play. Max looked around while I stared at the water, then hissed, ‘There!’

  Max dashed off to the left, vanishing into the copse. I did the same, pushing through into a clearing between a circle of trees. I strained to locate the light from Max’s phone. There it was, to the right, dancing among the branches. I drew in a breath, afraid to speak.

  I heard Max say, ‘Show yourself!’ A pause, then, ‘What are you doing?’

  It seemed he had come face to face with the person we’d been pursuing.

  There was a scuffling sound, the crunch of twigs breaking and cracking. A grunt and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. The spot of light from Max’s phone disappeared.

  ‘Max?’

  I was frozen to the spot. I muttered to myself, ‘Come on, come on, move’, and managing to unstick my feet, I started towards the place in the trees where Max had been standing, pulling aside a pair of saplings that guarded the spot.

  And then: noise behind me. Footsteps on wet leaves. I started to turn.

  An explosion of pain in my head. I fell, blind. Hit the earth.

  Darkness.

  Chapter 31

  I awoke in a world of pain and cold. My eyes opened but I was blind. My lungs tried to suck in air and my body flooded. My arms flailed but there was nothing to hold.

  Maybe it only took a second for my brain to make sense of where I was, what was happening, but it felt like much longer. An eternity of confusion. By the time I figured it out, my palms felt solid ground beneath them.

  The riverbed.

  I was in the water.

  The pain in my head was indescribable, like hot knives in grey matter. Inside my head, a wave of blackness tried to drag me under, my brain wanting to shut my body down, but a shred of survival instinct fought against it. I was drowning. Somehow, I marshalled the forces of my body, pushing against the riverbed and kicking upwards, flailing in the black, freezing water, feeling it dragging me back down like a creature—

  Sweetmeat, come to me, my sweetmeat . . .

  —had hold of my ankles. I screamed an inaudible scream, kicked and pulled, fought to escape this liquid grave. Give in, said a voice inside me. Let go, accept it. Sink into nothingness. No more pain. No more suffering—

  Let me make you better, my sweeeeetmeat . . .

  No. I refused to let go. I refused to die.

  With the last of my strength, I pushed upwards, towards the stars that shone high above the surface and called to me, told me to keep going, to not give up.

  I burst through.

  Snapped at the air.

  Fought the desperate screaming pain in my skull and kicked towards the bank. I grabbed at weeds that tore away in my hands. To the left, I saw the flat stones on which Julia had stood, unable to save her husband. I dragged myself towards them, finally crawling from the water. Gasping and shivering, I lay on my back on the stones, eyes shut, blackness rushing over me again. I surrendered to it.

  ‘Lucas? Lucas!’

  I didn’t wake suddenly this time. Darkness slowly retreated. Someone was saying my name.

  A warm hand touched my face and something was laid over me.

  ‘Lucas, it’s me, Julia.’

  My eyes opened and I saw her looking down at me. I tried to speak but my teeth were chattering too much. She h
eld my hand, squeezed it. Above her head, the stars that had saved me.

  I realised she had covered my soaking wet body with her coat. I tried to push myself up but a lightning bolt of pain flashed through my skull. I gasped and a look of concern flitted across Julia’s face.

  ‘I came looking for you,’ she said, ‘when you didn’t come back from the cottage. What happened? Why were you in the water?’

  I tried to speak again, but coughed instead, river water running from my mouth. Julia knelt beside me, gently turning me onto my side so I didn’t choke. She repositioned the coat.

  ‘I’ve called an ambulance,’ she said.

  I coughed and spluttered again, more water spilling from my lungs. I was trembling all over and didn’t think I would ever feel warm again. But I needed to speak, to ask her something.

  ‘Max,’ I managed to say. ‘Where is he?’

  Once again, before she could answer, I blacked out.

  I woke up in hospital. The pain in my head had subsided – they must have pumped me full of painkillers. I tested my arms and legs, fingers and toes. Everything seemed to work. I was still nauseous, shaky, cold. But I pushed myself into a sitting position, careful not to disturb the tube that ran from a drip into my arm. I gingerly felt the back of my head, which was covered with a bandage. Morning light streamed through the window.

  A nurse spotted me and headed over.

  ‘Mr Radcliffe. You need to take it easy.’ She had an Eastern European accent and kind eyes.

  ‘Is Julia here?’ I asked.

  ‘Is that the woman who found you? She’s nearby, don’t worry. The doctor’s going to want to take a look at you. I’ll let him know you’re awake.’

  She was about to go when I said, ‘Wait. Max Lake? Is he here?’ I strained to look around the ward but couldn’t see him.

  She attempted a reassuring smile which didn’t quite come off. ‘I think the police want to talk to you as soon as the doctor says it’s okay.’ She hurried away.

  The doctor came, gave me the once-over, and told me I was fine but they were going to keep me in for a little while for observation. They were mostly concerned about my head injury.

  ‘It’s not as bad as it must have felt,’ the doctor said. ‘Your skull isn’t fractured. We’ve already carried out an X-ray and scan and there doesn’t appear to be any internal damage. You have a tough head, Mr Radcliffe. But we want to monitor you for concussion and so on. There’s a risk of a subdural haematoma developing, but I think you’re going to be okay.’