and twitched the curtain back to see the rain was being driven nearly horizontal, and the barely visible trees in the distance were thrashing like waves.
The storm continued all through dinner, but by the time I had made a mug of hot tea and retrieved the book I was reading, the downpour had settled to a thick drizzle. I sat on the couch, the blanket bundled around me, while I tried to fall into the world of Margot, my novel’s heroine. It wasn’t easy; she was trying to solve a mystery, but I found I couldn’t focus on it while I had such a bleak, infuriating mystery of my own.
That dream I’d experienced when I was unconscious had felt incredibly real—so real, in fact, that I was finding it hard to convince myself it hadn’t actually happened. That family, wordlessly obeying the thin man… What power did he have over them? Why did they put up with his apparent brutality?
I still hadn’t come up with an answer by the time I’d drained the last of my tea. I considered getting up to make another cup, but I was too tired and cozy in my temporary bed to bother, so I lay back and watched the rain create strange patterns on the window.
(TWO)
I walked down the stairs with the others, following the tall man’s candle. The stairwell led into the basement, terrifically dark and coldly hostile. I heard a scratching noise under the stairs. Rats?
The man continued towards the table at the back of the room. His followers—I was sure they were followers of some weird backwards cult—each stopped to take one of the mats from the table. They then fanned out along the walls to create a circle, placed their mats on the floor, and sat down.
Unseen, I walked between them, curiously watching the mixed looks of resignation and anxiety on their faces. Once they were all seated, their leader opened the box on the table.
“You’re Jonathan Gillespie, aren’t you?” I asked him. He neither heard me nor replied. Instead, he took the book out of the box, opened it and began reading.
“We were begat of darkness, and to darkness, we must return. The Others who live in the shadows have many gifts to bestow; court their favour, and we will be rewarded handsomely. We will be given freedom and see the limits of this mortal world melt away. We will be given life and be awake to witness the passing of the millennium. But spurn the Others of the shadows, and you shall feel the sting of their wrath, and you shall know suffering like none other before your spark is extinguished and you are claimed by your grave.”
He closed the book with a crisp snap. “May the Lord have mercy on you all,” he growled, then blew out the candle, plunging the room into complete darkness. Somehow, I could still see. I glanced up at the ceiling, which doubled as the floor of the room above, where even the thin spaces between the floorboards were filled with plaster.
The family sat shivering in the cold. The youngest children fought their impulses to squirm, and the older family members stared ahead with dead, sightless eyes.
In the dark, insects and rats began to make their appearance. They scuttled between the frozen bodies, obviously familiar with this silent, still circle. Several of the family members closed their eyes as cockroaches crept across their legs.
At the table, Jonathan’s cold grey eyes scanned the room, and I was suddenly struck with the idea that he could see in the dark. The twisted metal skull hovered behind him, a reflection of Jonathan’s unwavering surveillance.
A rat ran past my feet, and I jumped backwards. The room had felt ominous when I’d left the rat traps and poison there that morning—had it really only been half a day ago?—but right then, it felt filled with pure malevolent energy.
The minutes stretched on. How long does Jonathan expect them to stay down here? How long do I have to stay down here? The atmosphere was making me want to gag.
A rat was sneaking up on Genevieve. She had her eyes scrunched
The storm continued all through dinner, but by the time I had made a mug of hot tea and retrieved the book I was reading, the downpour had settled to a thick drizzle. I sat on the couch, the blanket bundled around me, while I tried to fall into the world of Margot, my novel’s heroine. It wasn’t easy; she was trying to solve a mystery, but I found I couldn’t focus on it while I had such a bleak, infuriating mystery of my own.
That dream I’d experienced when I was unconscious had felt incredibly real—so real, in fact, that I was finding it hard to convince myself it hadn’t actually happened. That family, wordlessly obeying the thin man… What power did he have over them? Why did they put up with his apparent brutality?
I still hadn’t come up with an answer by the time I’d drained the last of my tea. I considered getting up to make another cup, but I was too tired and cozy in my temporary bed to bother, so I lay back and watched the rain create strange patterns on the window.
(TWO)
I walked down the stairs with the others, following the tall man’s candle. The stairwell led into the basement, terrifically dark and coldly hostile. I heard a scratching noise under the stairs. Rats?
The man continued towards the table at the back of the room. His followers—I was sure they were followers of some weird backwards cult—each stopped to take one of the mats from the table. They then fanned out along the walls to create a circle, placed their mats on the floor, and sat down.
Unseen, I walked between them, curiously watching the mixed looks of resignation and anxiety on their faces. Once they were all seated, their leader opened the box on the table.
“You’re Jonathan Gillespie, aren’t you?” I asked him. He neither heard me nor replied. Instead, he took the book out of the box, opened it and began reading.
“We were begat of darkness, and to darkness, we must return. The Others who live in the shadows have many gifts to bestow; court their favour, and we will be rewarded handsomely. We will be given freedom and see the limits of this mortal world melt away. We will be given life and be awake to witness the passing of the millennium. But spurn the Others of the shadows, and you shall feel the sting of their wrath, and you shall know suffering like none other before your spark is extinguished and you are claimed by your grave.”
He closed the book with a crisp snap. “May the Lord have mercy on you all,” he growled, then blew out the candle, plunging the room into complete darkness. Somehow, I could still see. I glanced up at the ceiling, which doubled as the floor of the room above, where even the thin spaces between the floorboards were filled with plaster.
The family sat shivering in the cold. The youngest children fought their impulses to squirm, and the older family members stared ahead with dead, sightless eyes.
In the dark, insects and rats began to make their appearance. They scuttled between the frozen bodies, obviously familiar with this silent, still circle. Several of the family members closed their eyes as cockroaches crept across their legs.
At the table, Jonathan’s cold grey eyes scanned the room, and I was suddenly struck with the idea that he could see in the dark. The twisted metal skull hovered behind him, a reflection of Jonathan’s unwavering surveillance.
A rat ran past my feet, and I jumped backwards. The room had felt ominous when I’d left the rat traps and poison there that morning—had it really only been half a day ago?—but right then, it felt filled with pure malevolent energy.
The minutes stretched on. How long does Jonathan expect them to stay down here? How long do I have to stay down here? The atmosphere was making me want to gag.
A rat was sneaking up on Genevieve. She had her eyes scrunched
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