by Peter Laws
He frowned and checked his watch.
Ten minutes had passed since she left, maybe fifteen. Why was her car still here? Then he figured it out. Those few sips of wine had been too much, and she’d called for a taxi home instead. Or worse, walked to the bus stop. They should have called a cab for her and paid for it too. Now her car was taking up their drive.
Then the engine of her car started.
He jumped and pushed back, but then he quickly leant forward, so he could get a better look. His nose hit the glass and he looked down.
She was looking up at him through the windscreen.
His entire body stiffened, and though he wanted to pull himself back again, he didn’t. He just noticed how the light made her face look as white as paper. He held her gaze and he wondered why her mouth was moving. Like she was whispering something to him. But then of course, she looked away, and the headlights finally clicked on.
He watched her back out onto the street, and slowly, very slowly, she drove away.
Eventually he crawled into bed, exhausted. Wren was pretending to sleep. He touched her shoulder. An apology. She shrank from it and turned away. He stared at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of questions. Sleep was desperate to come, but his busy brain refused it entry. So, he grabbed his phone and the glow filled the room. Wren tutted, so he pulled the covers over his head, and started tapping the screen.
He typed the words: Old Moat Farm, Nr. Speen, and there it was. A pixelated dot, floating on its own in a mass of green. He gradually zoomed out, and eventually spotted a long thin black line. An actual road. And then another which led off it, and a B road that led off that. It was quite isolated in one sense, but actually not that far from the surrounding villages. He tapped the phrase Old Moat Farm into Google Images, and kept misspelling it repeatedly as his thumb slid and his head bobbed.
He felt the screen touch his forehead and slept.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
There were four of them in the van, with Uncle Dust driving. Prosper sat in the passenger seat, and Ever in between. Milton sat in the back. As they headed up the ridge Ever stared at the wing mirror, where his field, stream, farmhouse, home and everything he knew shrank in the reflection. Then they tipped over the ridge and the black hills split open and devoured it all.
Somewhere in the belly of those hills would be Mum, Pax and Merit. They’d be praying by the fire tonight, with heads and hair resting on each other’s shoulders. An all-nighter, Mum had said, with duvets strewn and pillows stacked. There was a version of himself that ached to be there. He called that version of himself ‘little boy Ever’ and he was the one who hadn’t killed a demon last night. It was this version of Ever who kept begging Jesus to make them turn the van around and send him back. That version of Ever said ‘Take this cup from me’. But the older Ever, the wiser one, the one who dropped the fire and saved a life … that version was quietly sitting here, trying to regulate his breathing. This Ever knew that sometimes the right thing could be the hardest thing of all.
It took him a long time to pull his eyes from that mirror, and when he did, he saw what he expected to see. A jet-black world swooping around the van. They looked eager, these shadows, and were probably whispering to other shadows, further away, saying Spread the word! Pass it on … Ever is out.
It was just a waiting game, he knew that. At some point he was bound to see the flash of demonic eyes in the darkness but so far, there was nothing. Once they got through the main front gate, the van rolled up onto the smoothest stretch of road Ever had ever known. Even the tyres fell silent. The headlights fell across two buildings over the smooth road. Not just buildings, either … they were houses. The skin of his arms grew into bumps and he stared at the two little cottages passing by. He saw full gardens and chimney smoke and − freakiest of all – glowing windows.
‘Hollows live there?’ Ever was awestruck. ‘Right at the end of our track?’
‘Just one or two,’ Dust clicked the indicator. ‘Most are in the villages and the towns.’
The smooth, silent, unearthly road curved round and he soon saw the distant lights of the next village. Only they weren’t so distant any more. Then lights zoomed towards them, loudly whizzing by. It was way too dark to see the creatures behind the wheel, but he wasn’t an idiot. Cars didn’t drive themselves. There were Hollows hurtling past him, right at this very second, and it was more than just frightening. It was confusing.
‘Why don’t they drive into us? They could run us into the trees …’
‘They can’t,’ Prosper said. ‘Jesus is keeping us protected.’
Just as he said that, a Hollow appeared at the side of the road. A thin, lolling creature, leaning over and holding its thumb out. It held a strange plate of numbers and its cold eyes flashed as the headlight struck its face. Milton suddenly leant through and pushed the steering wheel towards it. ‘Watch this, Ever.’
‘Hey,’ Dust shouted, gripping the wheel. ‘Don’t.’
Prosper said, ‘Milton, he’s right. Don’t.’
Milton shrugged and let go. Instead of smashing into the Hollow, the van just sprayed dirt all over it instead. Ever watched it in the mirror, glowing red in the tail lights, hopping up and down and raising a claw.
‘Speed up,’ Ever said. ‘It’s angry.’
‘Angry? That’s nothing,’ Milton said. ‘You know one of the angriest I ever saw was Hope’s husband.’
‘Wait …’ Ever’s mouth dropped. ‘Pax’s dad was a Hollow?’
‘Course he was. And he got way more angry than that one did. Did some proper bad things to her and Hope. Beat Pax senseless, for a start. Used an old cricket bat, too. When Prosper found them both, Pax’s head looked like a squashed tomato. Isn’t that right?’
Prosper nodded, silently.
‘You know, if Pax hadn’t been smacked so much, that girl could have been a doctor or something.’
‘She will be, one day.’ Prosper turned to the window again. ‘Felt good to watch her turn that bat on him.’
Dust cleared his throat. ‘Remember, I’m going to have to stop here for diesel. All right?’
Prosper nodded. ‘That’s fine. We’ll be okay.’
Up ahead a very strange large box of lights appeared, with a bright red strip glowing on the roof.
Ever’s eyes bulged. ‘What is that?’
‘It’s where we get fuel.’
The indicator clicked, and the van pulled in under a glowing red and yellow roof. Hollows were everywhere. Climbing out of cars, walking the pavements and drinking what could well have been hot blood from steaming cups. He felt his heart shrink like never before as terrifying figures passed the windows. At one point, he even heard the zips of their jackets and coats scrape against the van.
‘I suppose we could just kill them all,’ Milton said. ‘Before they rape us and stuff. We could run them down with the van. Blow this whole place up.’
‘Shut up, Milton,’ Dust said, just as a laughing demon passed the window. ‘Just pray for me, because I have to get out.’
Hands slapped together as Uncle Dust stepped out of the van. Ever watched him chug the fuel in, looking over each shoulder constantly. Thankfully, no Hollows were coming near. Then once he was done, Dust took a deep breath and walked away from the van towards a little glass window. Ever saw something astonishing. His uncle was standing in front of a woman Hollow who sat behind the glass. It smiled at him, and even started to talk.
At the same time, Ever saw a little Hollow girl standing near to Dust. She had long straggled hair, and wore what looked like pyjamas. She chewed her thumb hard and stared at the van, at Ever particularly. He caught her eyes and saw her mouth edge up at the corner. Then she turned and walked through some doors and amazingly, she used her powers to open them without even touching them.
He felt dizzy for a few seconds and realised that he’d looked at that little girl for far too long. He could already feel the corruption of it, the bloom of their clever mind control. His min
d was filling with ridiculous, corrupting ideas.
They look just like us, he thought. It’s like they’re just people.
A chill went through him. Then he looked back at Dust who was handing money to the Hollow behind the glass. She said something, and Dust seemed to step back from her. Then he turned and quickly jogged towards the van.
He slammed the door shut and fired up the engine.
‘What did it say?’ Ever asked. ‘You should tell us.’
Dust pulled out onto the main road again. ‘It asked if I’d like some chocolate.’
‘Huh?’
‘I said no.’
They drove the rest of the way in silence, until the van slowed so it could head up a dark, lonely road. For a silly, immature moment, he thought they were back at the farmhouse, heading up their track. But then he saw a very long wall made of stacked stones and large pebbles, and beyond it, a sight more terrifying than anything he’d seen so far.
‘Is that …’ He put a hand across his chest.
Dust nodded. ‘It’s one of their churches.’
The church cut a black hole in the sky and it had the strangest slope to the roof. Like it was falling down. And right on top was a cross, upright and prominent. It was so blatant. So obvious. Like the murder of Jesus was something to venerate and be thankful for. Like a parent had stabbed their baby to death then mounted the knife on their mantelpiece and wrote songs about how wonderful it was. He felt nauseous, and for a while, terribly sad.
‘The church … it’s so big.’
‘Alright, we’re here. Everybody out.’ Dust parked behind a dark, old house, then they popped the doors open and dropped into the mud outside. But not Ever. For a moment he simply couldn’t move. The van door lay wide open, but he was frozen to the passenger seat.
‘Okay so we’ll just …’ Dust turned back. ‘Ever? It’s time to get out.’
Ever stared at the dashboard and felt Dust’s reassuring arm patting his knee.
Prosper turned too. ‘Right now, Ever. We need to get to the church and pray.’
‘We’re going in there?’
Dust nodded. ‘But we’re protected, remember?’
‘How do we get in?’
‘Hope left us a key,’ he said. ‘She says it’ll be empty all night and all day too. So how about you relax, and we get things ready for Jesus?’
Prosper took a step forward, his voice calm. ‘Get out of the van, Ever.’
Ever didn’t move. ‘Is Hope coming tonight?’
‘No,’ Dust said. ‘In the morning. She’s busy tonight.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Ever …’ Prosper’s voice. Another step.
‘Watching over someone …’ Dust caught the dread in Ever’s face and soothed his tone with a smile. ‘But hey, just think, this time tomorrow it’ll all be over—’
Prosper suddenly exploded. He slammed one hand against the van and with the other he reached up into the van, frantically grasping at his jeans. ‘Dammit Ever, I’ll drag you out, I’ll drag you out.’
Dust’s jaw dropped, and Ever spasmed against the clawing fingers, ‘I’m coming. I’m coming out now. Prosper, I’m sorry.’
Prosper grabbed Ever’s jeans and yanked him out, his voice a pure whiplash snap. ‘You’ll do as you are told and you will pray.’
Ever tumbled from the van and dropped into a clattering heap on the track. His palms slammed into the dirt. Dirt, he realised instantly, which wasn’t from his valley. He was deep into the Hollow world now. Touching, smelling and hearing alien things. Around him, what felt like a hundred gigantic trees of pure dark swayed towards him and giggled against the black night.
Prosper got his breath back and ignored Dust’s glare. Instead he started walking to the church, one hand swiping back across his bald head, as if he still might have hair there. He did that when he was stressed.
Ever sat there, trying not to cry, though when Uncle Dust hurried to hug him and help him to his feet Ever thought he might just burst into tears. But he quickly reminded himself of an important fact. The frozen boy in the van just now was Little Boy Ever. The real Ever, the true Ever, calmed his heart down and said, Focus. Breathe. This time tomorrow, this’ll all be paradise. He took his uncle’s hand.
They walked in silence as the looming, black monster of a church grew and leant across them. They had to wait for a moment in the porch while Prosper scrabbled under rocks, looking for the key. As he searched, Dust, Milton and Ever stood there in the moonlight, saying nothing. They just watched the breeze pushing and tugging at all these grey and withered flowers that sat scattered in various pots, standing near these weird stone markers that were around the building. Some were shaped like crosses, some had angels on them. All had names. He didn’t ask what they were for. He didn’t want to know.
Then just as Prosper found the key he heard the breeze again, only this time a voice was on it. A familiar, melodic moaning. It was the voice from the farm. The one that told him to walk down the staircase and offer himself to help. The cold, distant and lonely voice of Jesus, he assumed.
Ever … it said … come inside and let me look at you …
Then louder.
Come inside and look at me.
Then the key finally clicked, and the door slowly opened with an animal creak. The others took a breath and hurried inside.
Everrrr … loooook …
He turned towards the voice coming from the doorway, knowing he was about to see the spirit of Jesus, waiting there. And Jesus was a very tall black shadow, standing in the doorway, curling a finger to welcome him inside.
TUESDAY
THE THIRD DAY
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Matt sat in the car, engine running. He’d been here for about three minutes. Maybe even five. Just tapping his fingers on the wheel and listening to the voices in his head. At first it was Wren’s voice, or more specifically, her text message. She’d left for work early this morning, so he hadn’t seen her all day. But her text was loud enough.
Don’t forget. Miriam’s invited us to that prayer thing at Chervil at 8 p.m. Don’t be late. YOU OWE HER!
Then, he heard the cautious tones of Bowland in his head. She kept telling him to step back from all this and relax. That the last few days had been nothing more than another dip into life’s great crapola. To be honest, he’d taken her advice so far. All morning and all afternoon, he’d been living the normal Matt Hunter life. He’d dredged through a pile of work emails and answered annoying student questions like ‘please can I submit my coursework as a vlog?’ He’d finished a magazine article about the many-breasted statue of Artemis in the Vatican Museum in Rome. His main point: they weren’t really boobs after all. She was laden with bull testicles. Yeah, it’d been a fairly normal morning.
But the main point was that he’d given plenty of time for the police to do their thing. They’d have been to Old Moat Farm by now and if Zara East really was there, she’d know all about her dead son, and nearly dead husband. He just wanted to know why Zara was up there, that was all. And what she might know about Micah and Miriam – two folks who seemed into Jesus but had some issues with eyes and the cross. It wasn’t rocket science. It wasn’t unreasonable. He just wanted an answer to the very first question of this whole experience. Why did Micah East take an axe to his dad? Besides, David East had specifically asked Matt to pass a personal message to Zara. That the church wasn’t crooked. Ironic that he should deliver such words but deliver it he would. It was such a nifty excuse to get up there.
So he shrugged, decision finally made, and pulled out of his drive. Old Moat Farm wouldn’t take too—
He slammed the brakes.
Right over at the other end of the road, he saw it again. Miriam’s car.
It was sitting at the far side of the church. That damn Rover.
‘Right,’ he said and surged the car forward, ready to pull up alongside her and stomp right out. But as he drove closer he realised it wasn’t hers at all
. It just looked like hers. Sitting in the front seat was actually a chunky-looking old man, looking at his fingernails. There was no Miriam sitting in the back. No bag of liquorice on the dash.
He sighed and let the most important voice of all take the lead: the Hal-9000 voice of the satnav. It led him from Chesham, through Great Missenden and then up towards the Chiltern Hills. God it was beautiful up here, with long swooping hills peppered with golf courses. He saw a few little villages which reminded him of Hobbs Hill – and millionaire houses nestled at the end of long drives. The mad weather was finally playing nice today, so he had the window down. A fat sun baked his arm and a breeze ruffled his hair.
Twenty-five minutes later, the car announced they were on the final main road, but he noticed the signal on his phone grow intermittent. Then it cut out completely. He turned a curve and saw two white cottages at the side of the road. Across from them, a wide wooden gate blocked a dirty track leading up.
He crunched his tyres, stopping right in front of the gate, and stepped out to see a hand-painted sign. KEEP OUT– STRICTLY NO VISITORS. There was no mention of the words ‘Moat’, or even ‘Farm’, so he just stared at it, hearing those cautious voices telling him to head back home. But then he heard a series of hard, echoing slaps from across the road.
He turned to see that one of the cottages had its front door open. A white-haired woman was in her garden, smacking a pair of walking boots off the doorstep. Even from here, he saw chunks of dry mud flying everywhere.
Matt hurried over the road, calling out a cheery greeting, ‘Nice to see a blue sky again, isn’t it?’
The smacking stopped, and the air filled with a Cornish accent. ‘Well make the most of it. The radio says it’s the only slot of sun we’ll get all week. They reckon it’s gonna chuck it down, tonight.’
‘Shame …’ He nodded to her boots. ‘Been walking in the hills?’
‘Yep. Though at my age, it feels more like they walk on me.’