The Magic Cottage (41 page)

‘If you say so,’ I said grimly.

We moved on, keeping to a fast walk, ears and eyes open. Sometimes there’s a hush in a forest when the light’s on dimmer that’s almost church-like, where a cough or even a whisper seems irreverently loud; I kept my voice low, not wishing to disturb anyone.

‘I can’t help wondering what went on between old Flora and Mycroft, why she went to the trouble of putting that clause in her will barring him from ever taking possession of Gramarye. What difference would it have made to her once she was gone? And why the hell did he lie to us about never having been there unless he had something to do with her death?’

‘You really think they tried to frighten her into selling?’

‘I think they succeeded in frightening her so much it killed her. We’ve seen for ourselves what Mycroft’s mental powers are capable of. Making rabbits and rats appear out of thin air is nothing to him. Wine? I bet I could’ve drunk the stuff without realizing it was an illusion. And making us believe he could bend light beams. He’s ace, Midge, a
numero uno
illusionist. I hate to consider what he might have made that poor old lady imagine. A tiger on her doorstep? The kitchen on fire around her? Her own heart crumbling to dust inside her chest? He wouldn’t have had to lay a finger on her.’

‘I don’t believe she was that helpless, Mike.’

‘Matter of fact, neither do I. She’d have put up quite a struggle, but then her age was against her. Maybe her old heart just gave up of its own accord.’

We’d reached the fork in the track and I stepped aside to let Midge take the lead. ‘It’s up to you, Chingachgook. You’ve got the nose for direction. You sure it’s right?’

‘If we don’t come across a fallen cedar on the path within two minutes then you’ll know I got it wrong.’

‘I remember. It’s lying head-down in a gulley.’

‘That’s the one.’

She went ahead of me and I followed her slim form through the forest, our footsteps never slackening for a moment, both of us eager to be out in the open as soon as possible. I didn’t like the feel of the woods and the way Midge constantly looked around her instead of straight at the path in front; neither did she. And although we’d left the Synergists far behind, the prickly sensation of being followed was still with me.

Midge pointed and I saw the dead tree about a hundred yards further along. We broke into a trot as though the barrier were a goal to be reached, and our footfalls were mushy-loud in the stillness. I caught sight of a tawny owl, perched high on a branch and watching us with aloof interest, lids occasionally descending like camera shutters over the big round eyes as if recording the event.

Midge collapsed against the rough bark of the tree and I collapsed against her.

‘Best we keep going,’ I advised, breathing heavy and slumping onto the trunk.

She ran her hands down her face, continuing down her neck. ‘Was it them, Mike? Or was that just Mycroft’s trickery too? Their voices . . . they sounded so much like . . .’

I hesitated before answering. ‘I’m pretty sure it began as a fake. But later on . . . hell, I don’t know what happened later on.’

‘At the end it
was
my parents. I
know
it was them! Their warning brought me to my senses. Everything I’d believed about Mycroft just fell away . . .’

I slid over the tree trunk and extended an arm back for her. ‘There’s too much to think about for now, Midge. Let’s just get back to the cottage while we can still see our way.’

She scrambled over and took time to kiss my neck before we hurried on. I don’t think I’d have found my way back without her, the trail was becoming so dim; but she kept on, only occasionally stopping to examine a choice of direction or a particular landmark (a cluster of red toadstools beneath another, virtually hollowed, fallen tree was the only one I recognized). My back was damp with sweat and a stiffness was developing in my thighs; ahead of me, Midge was beginning to falter, her steps losing rhythm.

Our nervousness hadn’t abated either, and when a huge white-streaked shape blundered across the path we both nearly jumped out of our skins. The badger was equally alarmed and quickly scooted into the bushes on the other side of the track; we watched and heard the animal’s progress as he bludgeoned his way through the undergrowth, foliage shaking violently as he went.

Further along I tripped over a creeper or root that I hadn’t noticed Midge hop over, going down heavily and sprawling on the earth. I gasped in air as she knelt beside me, her hand gripping me beneath an arm in an effort to lift. I rose unsteadily and stood there, bent like an old man, one hand on my knee, the other on Midge’s shoulder.

‘How much further?’ I asked in between laboured intakes of breath.

Her features weren’t clear, so shaded had they become, and she sounded almost as breathless as me. ‘It can’t be too far – we’ve come a long way.’

‘Yeah, about a hundred miles. You okay—?’

The shadow I saw as I straightened was nothing more than a tall bush shaped like a cowled figure, lurking behind a tree. The sighing I heard was nothing more than a newly born breeze passing through the leaves. The thumping in my chest was nothing more than my own heartbeat.

‘Christ, I’ve got the jitters,’ I admitted.

Her voice was soft. ‘Are we dreaming all this?’

‘My bruised knees say no. My head’s not so sure.’

Now arm in arm, squeezed together by the narrow track, we carried on the journey, not caring that movement was awkward in this manner, needing the closeness for mutual encouragement and to keep the wood spooks away. Darkness had settled into the forest like smoke in a lung.

We hobbled, we held each other steady, we moved as fast as we could, and soon, thank God, we saw gaps in the trees ahead of us, the lighter greys of open space. Relief gave strength to wearying limbs and we broke into a jog once more, hurrying, running, hand in hand, with me shouting my elation and Midge laughing at my shouting.

We burst from the wood like popped peas.

Dusk had practically thickened into night, but at least the air was several shades lighter than under the cover of trees. We sprinted towards Gramarye, eager to be behind locked windows and bolted doors, and it was only when we drew closer that we began to realize something was wrong, that what we saw in the dimness wasn’t making any sense. We slowed. We walked. We looked at Gramarye in dismay.

My foot kicked something soft lying in the grass and I stopped when I saw the dead rabbit, small, no more than a baby, a rictal smile of terror fixed to its tiny face. A choker of blood stained its neck. Midge’s fingers stiffened in mine and I saw the other slumped form that she’d discovered. This rabbit was larger than the one at our feet, maybe the mother, and its body was raked from head to tail, the fur stiffened with drying blood.

We didn’t speak. We guessed a fox might have killed them, but we didn’t put the thought into words. Around us there were other slumped bodies. We walked on, our steps cautious.

And couldn’t comprehend Gramarye’s transformation.

The walls, reduced to grey in the ailing light, showed only in odd patches.

Black was the dominant colour now.

And still we couldn’t understand.

Until we saw the walls were swollen with life.

Black, furry life.

Wings stretching and retracting.

Bodies, grossly bigger than before, pulsating as the creatures breathed.

We could only stare numbly at the clinging bats engulfing Gramarye.

Home Again

For a while we stood and gawked, our flesh creeping and our senses not quite together. How could there be so many? They couldn’t
all
have been from our loft, many of them had to have come from other places. Maybe it was a bat convention. And how could they have grown to monster size? Most serious of all: what was their intent? These were questions we asked ourselves, not each other – we didn’t want our voices to disturb their rest period.

The inclination, you’ll understand, was to make for the road, jump in the car, and get away from that bat-coated place as fast as possible. The only problem was that the car keys were inside the cottage where I’d left them earlier, and when I mentioned that to Midge (in a very low voice) her body kind of sagged.

‘You go sit in the car,’ I told her in a whisper.

Even as I spoke, though, two bats detached themselves from the wall and fluttered around to the other side of the building. The moon was up, unclouded but showing only a profile, and in that clean, eerie light the size of the bats’ wingspans froze me. We found ourselves crouching, ready to head back into the forest.

‘Get going, Midge,’ I urged again.

‘No, Mike,’ she whispered. ‘I’m staying with you; we’ll get the keys together.’

‘That’s stupid.’

‘
I won’t let you go in alone!
’

Her voice was so forceful, although hushed, that my shoulders jerked upwards and my neck sank in.

I drew in a breath and squeezed her hand. ‘Okay, okay. But if they get busy I want you to head straight for the car without waiting for me.’

‘What will you do?’

‘I’ll be ahead of you.’

She returned the squeeze, but couldn’t manage a smile.

‘Let’s skirt around and try the kitchen door,’ I suggested. ‘Maybe there won’t be so many down there.’

Her breathing was fast and shallow as she summoned the nerve to follow me and it wasn’t just the moonlight that gave her face such an unnatural pallor. My own skin tones probably matched hers pretty well at that moment.

We slunk away slowly, bodies bent, not wanting to draw the slightest attention to ourselves. It seemed to me that a whole section of wall rippled, the movement black, a wave in an oil slick. We kept going, retreating, then moving towards the embankment. Everything was still and somehow unearthly around us, the dark mass of brooding forest behind, while in front was the bizarre spectacle of the smothered cottage, wearing bats like a tattered hood. Half-moonlight revealed more bodies prone in the grass, the sickening aftermath of the rabbits’ before-bed gambol.

We reached the short but steep slope and I quietly slid down, reaching back to help Midge once I was on the flat again. She fell into my arms and stayed there for a few moments, reluctant to leave them. The grey strip that was the garden path leading to the gate beckoned invitingly, the road beyond representing manmade normalcy, a concrete reality, and the temptation to hoof it was strong; but the village was a long way off and the road ran through miles of woodland. Better to take the car.

I’d been right about the bats on this side: they clung mostly to the upper reaches, a dark thatch that twitched and bristled with life. Cautiously, eyes ever upwards, I led Midge towards the kitchen door.

A bat fluttered away from the wall above us. Then another followed. Another.

The urge to rush for the door was almost overwhelming, but the thought of alarming them
all
into flight held us in check.

Take it easy, I kept telling myself. They’re only flying mammals, not a vampire among them.

Tell that to the bunnies, came my own wicked reply.

The door was on the latch and my hand was trembling when I stretched to press the catch. I thumbed it down as smoothly as I could, but the click still made me grit my teeth; I expected fangs to puncture my neck at any second.

I pushed the door and the smell of must and rot wafted out as a forewarning that things weren’t quite so well inside Gramarye, either; as I widened the gap, the waiting blackness was as welcoming as the stench. If shadows could grin, then they’d have been beaming their darkest right then.

The interior was menacing, and yet . . . and yet it was somehow
alluring
. I felt as I had as a kid, standing there at the first door of the funfair ghost house; scared, but I’d paid my money and I was sure as shit going
in
.

I almost tripped over something on the doorstep. Committed to stepping in, I didn’t stop to investigate. I went through, pulling Midge with me, and immediately turned to scrabble for the light switch. I brushed it down and, momentarily blinded, reached back to slam the door shut. Midge caught my arm before I did so.

I blinked questioningly at her, anxious to set the barricade between
them
and
us
; she was staring at the doorstep.

Rumbo was lying there, his furry little body discoloured with blood, his jaws locked open in shock. His eyes were corpse’s slits.