The Dark Inside by Rupert Wallis Page B

shoulder, squeezing hard, as if to stop himself from falling.
    ‘What if we made a devotion to St Hubert?’ asked James, eyes racing across the text he had highlighted and starred in the margin.
    The young vicar folded his hands together in a ball of graceful fingers. His smile was small, but warm and wise.
    ‘What sort of dark and evil things do you need to be cured of?’
    ‘I’ve been done wrong,’ said Webster. ‘Someone’s done me a great wrong. And now I’m dark inside because of it. I’m something else. Broken apart then put
back together.’ He wiped his hands over his greatcoat and placed them in his pockets. And then he took them out again and wiped them again. And then he folded his arms tight across his chest,
unsure how to stand.
    The vicar nodded. As if everything was suddenly clear to him.
    ‘The best and the simplest way to defeat dark and evil things is through love,’ he said.
    ‘Love? Who am I supposed to love?’ asked Webster.
    ‘Whoever has done you this wrong. It sounds simple, but it’s not easy. It’s the best advice I can give you.’
    ‘What about asking God?’ asked James. ‘Could you do that? For us? Just to be sure.’
    The vicar pressed his hands together harder and squeezed his lips white, and James thought he might be about to pray. But then he peeled his palms apart and just smiled. Bigger than before. His
lips pumping themselves pink again. ‘There’s no need for that. You’ll find out for yourselves that it’s true.’
    They walked back up the path through the gravestones, crunching gravel. Webster kicked out hard, sending stones skittering into the grass.
    ‘What the hell does he mean?’ he asked in an angry voice. ‘What do we do now?’ He stopped and stared down at his feet then threw back his head and blew out a long
breath.
    ‘I think he means you have to forgive whoever attacked you.’ James looked through his sheets of paper until he found what he was looking for. ‘According to most legends, and
what the travellers told you, if someone is attacked on the night of a full moon and survives then they’re cursed just like the one who attacks them.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘So, if the vicar’s right, you need to find the person who left you cursed and forgive them. They must be out there somewhere.’
    ‘And that’ll work? I’ll be cured?’
    ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
    ‘A vicar like that wouldn’t lie, I suppose.’ Webster kicked out at the gravel again. ‘It’s all shot to shit then. Everything happened like that.’ He slapped
his palms together with a bang. ‘I don’t remember anything.’
    ‘Can you remember the place where it happened?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Then we’ll have to start there,’ said James. ‘See if that helps.’
    Webster looked up at the sky. Cupped his hands round his mouth.
    ‘Hey!’ he shouted at the blue and the clouds hanging in it. ‘Up there! Is this what we’re supposed to do? Is this all part of the plan? Well, is it?’
    The sun beat down.
    Birds flickered and hopped.
    The trees hissed as a warm breeze blew.
    And it was all they heard.
    James took Webster’s shaking hands in his and held them until they were steady.
    Only then did they walk on down the path.

16
    Billy unlocked the steel door of the wagon and glared into the empty corners, just as he had done on the day Webster had vanished. And then he spat into the dirty, brittle
straw that covered the wooden floor.
    He had checked the boards under his feet and not one of them was loose. All the black iron bars along the front were intact. And the panels on the back wall and at either end were made of hard,
solid oak. The ceiling was a flat bed of steel. The only way Webster could have escaped was if someone had let him out.
    He turned round when he heard her walking over the grass towards the wagon, the charms and amulets clinking inside the small leather pouch strung around her neck.
    ‘Airght?’
    ‘Airght, Ma,’ replied Billy. Her silver hair was