Shiver the Whole Night Through by Darragh McManus Page A

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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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