Page 36 of The Memory Wood

How foolish – how naive – to think she could challenge him. She can barely breathe for the pain in her wrist, can hardly see past her tears.

Where is her mum? Where are the police? She’s been here two days. Why hasn’t anyonefoundher?

Her vision fragments, a million glass shards. For a moment she thinks it’s some kind of seizure, until she realizes that the lighting rig’s been switched on.

Blinking away tears, her eyes slowly adjust. Details bleed out of the miasma. In E4, placed over the iron ring, is a chair that wasn’t there before. It’s rickety as hell – thin wooden legs and a simple curved back.

Invisible, the ghoul retreats behind the camera. A red LED winks on.

‘Sit on the chair,’ he hisses. ‘Say you understand.’

V

She wasn’t expecting this. Not the chair, nor the instruction to sit. She doesn’t know how to interpret it. ‘I unner’thand,’ she splutters, blood spilling over her chin.

Abruptly, the light blooms into different colours, a rainbow spectrum of such beauty that she gasps. For a moment, Elissa wonders if it’s God, announcing His presence. She’s never had much time for religion, but she knows from RE that God can be merciful, even to those who don’t believe in Him. It’s a nice idea, but a darker one follows it; perhaps this isn’t God at all. Perhaps it’s just her body shutting down. Perhaps she’s simply dying.

Thatthought is so shocking that she kicks out her feet and tries to right herself. She can’t die in this filthy cell. Taking shallow sips of air, she pushes up.

Elissa stagger-crawls to the chair, rainbow colours swirling around her. It feels like she’s in a TV ad for Skittles, or some crazy cartoon. She places her chin on the seat, persuades her legs to scissor out. Something is wrong, but she doesn’t know what. Her vision jitters, kaleidoscopic. Her skin feels fuzzy – prickly and delicious. Her heart is racing, but no longer from fear.

She clambers on to the chair. It’s an effort to keep her head up, and when it nods against her chest for the third time in as many seconds, she bursts out laughing.

Nothing funny about this, so why is she suddenly so carefree? The ghoul, flickery and lizardy, emerges from behindhis equipment. ‘Say you understand.’ His words are rich, melodic, as if his voice is a xylophone crafted from the world’s finest wood.

‘I UNNER’THAND!’ Elissa screams. She belches, tastes spaghetti sauce and, beneath it, something else: something chalky and bitter. He’s drugged her, she thinks. Some kind of hallucinogen, mixed into the food.

The ghoul walks to the chair. Leans close.

He’s going to kiss me, and if he does I’m going to puke in his mouth.

Elissa howls with laughter. But the ghoul doesn’t kiss her. Instead, with one thumb, he lifts her eyelid.

She blinks, or tries to. His face is a black porridge, host to two runny-egg eyes. He smells atrocious, and when her stomach grips she belches again.

The ghoul mutters something she doesn’t catch. He raises his left wrist. Ribbons of light bounce off his watch.

‘TIME ITH IT?’ Elissa hollers. ‘TIME ITH IT, YOU FUCKABOO?’

Elijah

Day 4

I

I walk through the Memory Wood like I’m floating, as if the Earth’s gravity has entirely drained away. Above me, low-hanging clouds still threaten rain, but the air tastes fresh and clean. I don’t look at Bryony’s yew when I pass it, nor the other Memory Trees. Soon, I find myself following one of the deer trails that criss-crosses these woods. It leads me, as I knew it would, to the ruined cottage.

Because Annie’s magic still runs through me, I step into the clearing with none of my customary caution.

Bad instincts.

Kyle is leaning against the building’s front wall. Thanks to my carelessness, there’s no avoiding him.

My brother displays little of his usual swagger. If anything, he seems weighed down. His face is smeared with whatever gunk he uses to disguise his scent, but beneath the streaks his skin is pale, washed out. For a moment, as I look at him, I wonder if he’s here at all. The sun has fled behind a covering of cloud; Kyle casts no shadow upon the ground.

He grips his rifle in front of him, as if he’s making a last stand. When our eyes meet, his chest heaves.

Then he raises his weapon and points it at my face.

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