the back.’
She walked quickly, head down, around the side of Arthur’s old stone house. Just before turning the corner, she heard the sound of people chanting. She ducked low behind a wooden fence.
An enormous giant wooden tripod had been erected behind the house. It stood tall and proud, higher than the roof. Ropes had been tied to the top and a long coffin-shaped cage dangled down in the centre between the struts. Inside the cage was a cigar-shaped object that reminded Louise of a cocoon. But it was large enough to take a full-grown adult.
Behind the tripod a bonfire blazed, illuminating a gathering of a hundred people or more crowded into the yard. Louise recognised most of them as townsfolk from Wake Wood. There were so many present she doubted that anyone had been excluded – except herself and Patrick.
As she watched, Arthur picked up bottles of liquid and poured them over the cigar shape inside the cage. He moved back, took an ember from the bonfire and touched the saturated casing.
Flames flared instantly; rising high, they roared into the air. Buckets were passed down a human chain that ended with Arthur. One by one he emptied them over the cocoon, quenching the flames on the dangling burning artefact.
Clouds of white steam rose, obscuring the faces of the crowd, but not before Louise spotted Mary Brogan. Although she looked through the throng, she couldn’t see anyone who resembled Mary’s painfully thin niece Deirdre.
Arthur dropped the last bucket. The cage was lowered and the object inside was lifted out and placed on trestles. Arthur picked up an axe. He swung it two-handed high in the air before bringing it crashing down on the cocoon. Blood spurted out in a fountain, drenching the ground, Arthur and those of the crowd standing closest to him.
Louise shuddered. She stuck her fist in her mouth to stop herself from screaming. The blood – the violence brought back memories. Images that floated never far from the surface of her mind rose in heart-rending agony. Alice’s face, white in death … her eyes closed … her small, slim throat torn out, the ugly gaping wound below her chin dark with blood clots …
The crowd chanted in deep, low voices. The music they made pounded with a primitive, sonorous rhythm that entered Louise’s bloodstream, keeping time with her heartbeat.
An attractive young blonde woman stepped forward. She held out a white towelling bathrobe. The cocoon broke, shattering from the force of an internal pressure.
A hand emerged, fingers waving. It was red, drenched and dripping with blood. Arthur placed his hands either side of the gap in the object, forcing it wide open. Someone came to help him. A minute later a naked man slid out like a fully grown embryo. There was even an umbilical cord that Arthur sliced through with a flash of steel.
Like his arm, the man’s entire body was blood-soaked, as though he’d bathed at an abattoir. Working together, Arthur and the blonde woman helped the man to his feet. The woman wrapped the robe around him tenderly, as if dressing a baby. After wiping his face with a cloth, she kissed him.
The crowd gave a collective sigh before applauding. The man and woman turned and faced the witnesses to the strange ceremony. Arthur stood behind them like a priest – or proud father.
The man who’d emerged from the cocoon drifted away with the blonde woman. Two men tipped buckets of water on to the bonfire, adding to the steam in the atmosphere. Another brought a shovel and scraped the mess of the shell the man had emerged from into a pile.
Sensing she was being watched, Louise scanned the crowd. Then she saw Arthur standing slightly to one side of the others, staring right back at her.
She backed into the shadows. When she couldn’t see Arthur any longer she turned and fled. Head down, she charged around the side of Arthur’s house and ran right into a soft, pliant, warm body.
Stopped in her tracks, she finally let out the scream that had
She walked quickly, head down, around the side of Arthur’s old stone house. Just before turning the corner, she heard the sound of people chanting. She ducked low behind a wooden fence.
An enormous giant wooden tripod had been erected behind the house. It stood tall and proud, higher than the roof. Ropes had been tied to the top and a long coffin-shaped cage dangled down in the centre between the struts. Inside the cage was a cigar-shaped object that reminded Louise of a cocoon. But it was large enough to take a full-grown adult.
Behind the tripod a bonfire blazed, illuminating a gathering of a hundred people or more crowded into the yard. Louise recognised most of them as townsfolk from Wake Wood. There were so many present she doubted that anyone had been excluded – except herself and Patrick.
As she watched, Arthur picked up bottles of liquid and poured them over the cigar shape inside the cage. He moved back, took an ember from the bonfire and touched the saturated casing.
Flames flared instantly; rising high, they roared into the air. Buckets were passed down a human chain that ended with Arthur. One by one he emptied them over the cocoon, quenching the flames on the dangling burning artefact.
Clouds of white steam rose, obscuring the faces of the crowd, but not before Louise spotted Mary Brogan. Although she looked through the throng, she couldn’t see anyone who resembled Mary’s painfully thin niece Deirdre.
Arthur dropped the last bucket. The cage was lowered and the object inside was lifted out and placed on trestles. Arthur picked up an axe. He swung it two-handed high in the air before bringing it crashing down on the cocoon. Blood spurted out in a fountain, drenching the ground, Arthur and those of the crowd standing closest to him.
Louise shuddered. She stuck her fist in her mouth to stop herself from screaming. The blood – the violence brought back memories. Images that floated never far from the surface of her mind rose in heart-rending agony. Alice’s face, white in death … her eyes closed … her small, slim throat torn out, the ugly gaping wound below her chin dark with blood clots …
The crowd chanted in deep, low voices. The music they made pounded with a primitive, sonorous rhythm that entered Louise’s bloodstream, keeping time with her heartbeat.
An attractive young blonde woman stepped forward. She held out a white towelling bathrobe. The cocoon broke, shattering from the force of an internal pressure.
A hand emerged, fingers waving. It was red, drenched and dripping with blood. Arthur placed his hands either side of the gap in the object, forcing it wide open. Someone came to help him. A minute later a naked man slid out like a fully grown embryo. There was even an umbilical cord that Arthur sliced through with a flash of steel.
Like his arm, the man’s entire body was blood-soaked, as though he’d bathed at an abattoir. Working together, Arthur and the blonde woman helped the man to his feet. The woman wrapped the robe around him tenderly, as if dressing a baby. After wiping his face with a cloth, she kissed him.
The crowd gave a collective sigh before applauding. The man and woman turned and faced the witnesses to the strange ceremony. Arthur stood behind them like a priest – or proud father.
The man who’d emerged from the cocoon drifted away with the blonde woman. Two men tipped buckets of water on to the bonfire, adding to the steam in the atmosphere. Another brought a shovel and scraped the mess of the shell the man had emerged from into a pile.
Sensing she was being watched, Louise scanned the crowd. Then she saw Arthur standing slightly to one side of the others, staring right back at her.
She backed into the shadows. When she couldn’t see Arthur any longer she turned and fled. Head down, she charged around the side of Arthur’s house and ran right into a soft, pliant, warm body.
Stopped in her tracks, she finally let out the scream that had
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