wounded animal.
Hannah was completely shaken by the image. The boy couldn’t have been more than six or seven – and he seemed to have witnessed some horror he could barely comprehend. She felt an intense cold, a numbness, take hold of her as she tried to decipher the text surrounding the image. ‘Eight-year-old child discovered after spending a week alone, locked up in a dark basement,’ read the caption. Hannah looked at the boy’s face again. There was something vaguely familiar about his features, perhaps in his eyes . . .
At that precise moment, Hannah thought she heard the echo of a voice whispering behind her back. She turned round, but there was nobody there. She heaved a sigh of relief. The soft rays of the candles trapped specks of dust floating in the air like a purple haze. She walked over to one of the large windows and wiped away some of the condensation. The forest was submerged in mist. The lights in Lazarus’s study, at the end of the west wing, were on, and she could clearly see his profile silhouetted behind the curtains.
Suddenly she heard the voice again, this time clearer and closer. It was whispering her name. Hannah turned to face the dark room and, for the first time, she noticed the glow coming from a small glass flask. Black as obsidian, it stood in a tiny niche in the wall, yet it was enveloped in ghostly radiance.
The girl slowly moved towards it. At first glance, it looked like a bottle of perfume, but she’d never seen one as beautiful as this, nor had she seen glass so delicately cut. Its stopper formed a prism, casting a rainbow of colours all around it. Hannah felt an irrepressible urge to hold the object and touch the perfect lines of the crystal.
With utmost care, she placed her hands around the flask. It weighed more than she expected and the glass was icy cold, almost painful to touch. She raised it to eye level and tried to look inside but all she could see was an impenetrable blackness. And yet, when she held it against the light, Hannah had the impression that something was moving inside it. A thick black liquid, perhaps a perfume . . .
With trembling hands she clasped the cut-glass stopper. Something stirred inside the flask. Hannah hesitated. But the perfection of the bottle seemed to promise the most exquisite fragrance she could imagine. Slowly, she twisted the stopper. The dark contents stirred again, but she no longer cared. At last, the stopper yielded.
An indescribable sound, like the shriek of pressurised gas escaping, filled the room. In less than a second, the black mass issuing from the mouth of the flask had flooded the air, like an ink stain unfurling over water. When she looked at the bottle again, Hannah realised that the glass was now transparent and that, thanks to her, whatever had been lodged inside it had been released. She put the flask back in its place and felt a draught of cold air sweeping across the room, blowing out the candles one by one. As the darkness spread, a new presence emerged through the gloom, a dense form covering the walls like black paint.
A shadow.
Hannah slowly tiptoed backwards towards the door. She placed a trembling hand on the doorknob, then carefully, without taking her eyes off the pool of darkness, she opened the door, ready to sprint away. Something was advancing towards her, she could feel it.
As Hannah left the room, pulling the door towards her, the chain she wore round her neck got caught on one of the carvings. At the same time, a piercing sound echoed behind the closed door. It sounded like the hiss of a large snake. Hannah felt tears of terror sliding down her cheeks. The chain snapped and she heard the pendant fall, freeing her. She turned to face the tunnel of shadows before her. At one end of the corridor, the door leading to the staircase of the rear wing was open. There was that ghostly whistle again. It was closer now. Hannah ran. A few seconds later she heard the doorknob starting to turn behind her. She
Hannah was completely shaken by the image. The boy couldn’t have been more than six or seven – and he seemed to have witnessed some horror he could barely comprehend. She felt an intense cold, a numbness, take hold of her as she tried to decipher the text surrounding the image. ‘Eight-year-old child discovered after spending a week alone, locked up in a dark basement,’ read the caption. Hannah looked at the boy’s face again. There was something vaguely familiar about his features, perhaps in his eyes . . .
At that precise moment, Hannah thought she heard the echo of a voice whispering behind her back. She turned round, but there was nobody there. She heaved a sigh of relief. The soft rays of the candles trapped specks of dust floating in the air like a purple haze. She walked over to one of the large windows and wiped away some of the condensation. The forest was submerged in mist. The lights in Lazarus’s study, at the end of the west wing, were on, and she could clearly see his profile silhouetted behind the curtains.
Suddenly she heard the voice again, this time clearer and closer. It was whispering her name. Hannah turned to face the dark room and, for the first time, she noticed the glow coming from a small glass flask. Black as obsidian, it stood in a tiny niche in the wall, yet it was enveloped in ghostly radiance.
The girl slowly moved towards it. At first glance, it looked like a bottle of perfume, but she’d never seen one as beautiful as this, nor had she seen glass so delicately cut. Its stopper formed a prism, casting a rainbow of colours all around it. Hannah felt an irrepressible urge to hold the object and touch the perfect lines of the crystal.
With utmost care, she placed her hands around the flask. It weighed more than she expected and the glass was icy cold, almost painful to touch. She raised it to eye level and tried to look inside but all she could see was an impenetrable blackness. And yet, when she held it against the light, Hannah had the impression that something was moving inside it. A thick black liquid, perhaps a perfume . . .
With trembling hands she clasped the cut-glass stopper. Something stirred inside the flask. Hannah hesitated. But the perfection of the bottle seemed to promise the most exquisite fragrance she could imagine. Slowly, she twisted the stopper. The dark contents stirred again, but she no longer cared. At last, the stopper yielded.
An indescribable sound, like the shriek of pressurised gas escaping, filled the room. In less than a second, the black mass issuing from the mouth of the flask had flooded the air, like an ink stain unfurling over water. When she looked at the bottle again, Hannah realised that the glass was now transparent and that, thanks to her, whatever had been lodged inside it had been released. She put the flask back in its place and felt a draught of cold air sweeping across the room, blowing out the candles one by one. As the darkness spread, a new presence emerged through the gloom, a dense form covering the walls like black paint.
A shadow.
Hannah slowly tiptoed backwards towards the door. She placed a trembling hand on the doorknob, then carefully, without taking her eyes off the pool of darkness, she opened the door, ready to sprint away. Something was advancing towards her, she could feel it.
As Hannah left the room, pulling the door towards her, the chain she wore round her neck got caught on one of the carvings. At the same time, a piercing sound echoed behind the closed door. It sounded like the hiss of a large snake. Hannah felt tears of terror sliding down her cheeks. The chain snapped and she heard the pendant fall, freeing her. She turned to face the tunnel of shadows before her. At one end of the corridor, the door leading to the staircase of the rear wing was open. There was that ghostly whistle again. It was closer now. Hannah ran. A few seconds later she heard the doorknob starting to turn behind her. She
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