Darkhenge

C. COLL: HAZEL

In the attic room, he dragged furniture across the door. The window shutters creaked, despite the bar across them. Branches slithered. The stairwell must already have been choked.

“They’re coming!” I screamed. A tendril of ivy slid under the door; he stamped on it, tore it up. Another came, and another.

I backed against the window. Putting my hands behind me, I fumbled for the shutter catch. If I could open it I could scream for help. To Mum and Dad. To Mac, because surely Mac would hear.

Before I’d found the catch, the ivy was around his wrists and ankles; he yelled, kicking and twisting.

Gently, I unlatched the shutter.

It burst wide.