Blacklands

Chapter 6

STEVEN LAY IN THE HEATHER, HIDDEN FROM EVERY EYE BUT THOSE of passing birds. His spade lay beside him, but without fresh soil on it. The unusual gift of February sun warmed his eyelids and made the breath that flowed evenly from his nostrils feel uncommonly cool.

Under his lids, his eyes flickered minutely as he dreamed a dream…

In his dream, he was hot and it was stuffy and he could hardly move. His arms were pinned to his sides and soft darkness pressed on his face; a slight pulling sensation on the top of his head…

From somewhere he felt Davey’s tiny hand touch his, groping for comfort; he squeezed it, but could not otherwise move. He could feel the fear coming through Davey’s hand, the small, hot fingers sliding through his, the boy’s body pressed against his legs…

Steven knew they must be wound in the heavy green curtain in the front room, the musty cloth wrapped around his head and spiralling upwards to the pelmet, taking a twist of his hair with it. Then Davey’s breathing jerked and his own breathing stopped and suddenly all he could hear was the sound of his own heart thudding in his ears, and Steven knew Uncle Jude had entered the room. Steven didn’t move—he couldn’t move—but he could feel Davey tense against him, and their intertwined hands gripped so hard it hurt.

Uncle Jude wasn’t ho-ho-ho-ing. He wasn’t giving them any warning. But Steven and Davey could hear the floorboards creak under his enormous feet, closer and closer, and Steven was suddenly seized by a terrible knowledge that what was coming to get them was not Uncle Jude at all, and that an old green curtain was their only protection from the evil thing that now moved towards them… Then Davey was crying, “I’m Frankenstein’s friend!” and breaking cover and giving them away but Steven felt no relief—only terror that this time the game was not about to end. This time it was only just beginning.

He jerked awake with a whimper.

He knew what he had to do.