by Derek Landy
By the looks on their faces, Amber knew that none of them harboured any hopes that Gretchen was still alive.
“Jacob’s not responsible,” said Amber.
“Bull!” cried Faith. “You don’t think we’ve talked about every single possible thing that links us? Jacob Buxton is someone both Honor and I made deliveries to. Juliana called by his cabin to talk about the local elections. Iseul spoke to him outside her store. Deb went on two dates with him, for God’s sake! We all spoke to him and, a few days later, we end up here!”
“Jacob wasn’t the only thing we had in common,” said Deb, sounding like they’d had this conversation a hundred times before. “There were six other people, there were eight locations … We live in a small town, Faith.”
Faith jabbed a finger in Amber’s direction. “But now she’s saying Jacob Buxton is involved!”
“He’s involved,” said Amber, “but he’s not responsible. He probably doesn’t even know that you’re missing. How long have you been here?”
“Gretchen was the first,” said Deb, “a few weeks before me. It’s April now, right? So I’ve been here ten months. Nearly eleven.”
“I’ve been here four,” said Honor. “I was the newbie, until you.”
“How do you know all this about witches?” asked Juliana.
“The witch,” said Amber, “because that’s what she is, was sent by someone, it doesn’t matter who, to basically make Jacob’s life hell. The cabin is the only place he’s safe from it.”
“But why were we attacked?” Honor asked.
“I don’t know,” said Amber.
“Who are you? How do you know so much about this?”
“I needed to speak to Jacob. I didn’t know him before yesterday. But does it matter? The only thing that matters right now is getting out of here.”
“These walls are solid stone,” said Honor. “The floor is hard-packed. We can’t dig our way out, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“And the shawl-women only ever let us out one at a time to use the bathroom,” said Iseul.
Juliana smirked from the gate. “I love it that you still call it the bathroom.”
Iseul grinned back. “I’m a civilised lady, what can I say? Hole in the ground doesn’t have quite the same sense of grandeur.”
“Who are the shawl-women?” Amber asked.
“They work for the tree-monster,” said Juliana. “Or the witch, whatever. We’ve never seen their faces. They never talk. They bring us game that we have to skin and cook ourselves.”
“How many of them are there?”
“At least five.”
“Have you ever tried overpowering them?”
“Yeah,” said Juliana, wincing at a painful memory. “I wouldn’t advise it. Maybe if we all jumped on one of them at the same time … but they’re never alone. We’ve never had the chance.”
“Well, don’t worry,” said Amber. “You’ve got me now.”
The sunlight glinted off the metalwork in Honor’s smile. “I like this girl already,” she said. “She’s funny.”
Amber stood, fighting a wave of dizziness that passed as quickly as it arrived.
“You’re going to be woozy for a few minutes,” said Deb. “We’ve all been there.”
“What did she do to me?”
“It has a stinger,” said Faith. “You’ve been poisoned. It doesn’t last, don’t worry. That’s how it got all of us.”
“And why is she keeping us alive?”
“Ah,” said Iseul, “we’re back on that cheery topic, are we?”
“We don’t know,” said Deb. “Why did it take Gretchen? Why did it take the others? Why not us? Why doesn’t it just kill us and get it over with? Why doesn’t it let us go? If we knew why we were here in the first place, we might be able to figure out an answer or two.”
“Shawl-woman,” said Juliana, backing away from the gate, and everyone who had been sitting got to their feet.
The shawl-woman came shuffling out of the darkness of the corridor, and Amber could see how the name had come about. Her clothes seemed to consist entirely of shawls, filthy, dirty and ragged, stitched together with twine, of varying fabrics and lengths. Her hands were lost in huge sleeves, and her face was hidden. A flick of her wrists and two skinny rabbits were tossed between the bars.
Juliana scooped them up, gave them a cursory examination, and called out after the shawl-woman as she shuffled back where she’d come from. “These are rabbits. I distinctly asked for duck!”
“She did!” said Iseul. “I remember!”
The shawl-woman didn’t respond and didn’t turn round.
Juliana held the rabbits out to Amber. “Dungeon tradition – the new arrival skins and cooks breakfast.”
Amber’s eyes widened. “Uh …”
“She’s joking,” said Deb.
“Oh, thank God.”
“You guys are no fun,” Juliana grumbled.
Amber watched as the women skinned and cooked the rabbits over a fire. They sat in a circle and ate, sharing cups of rainwater, collected in a bucket under a small hole in the ceiling. The rabbit was chewy. She did her best not to gag on the gristle. It occurred to her that her demon teeth would have no problem shearing through her meal, but thought it best not to shift in front of these women – not unless she had to, at least.
“Tell us about yourself, Amber,” said Deb. “Where are you from?”
“Florida.”
“And how come you know so much?”
Amber crunched on something. She pulled a bone from between her teeth, and swallowed the rest. “Me and my friend, we’re looking for Jacob Buxton’s father. My friend is the expert in all this.”
“How does a teenaged girl from Florida fit in?” Juliana asked.
“I’m, uh, I’m in trouble. There are some people after me.”
“Witches?”
“No. No, these are … different things. But they’re after me, and that’s why we came to Colorado, and that’s why I’m here now.”
“What kind of trouble are you in?” Deb asked.
“The bad kind.”
Deb looked at her, gave a little shrug, and didn’t ask any more. Amber got the feeling the real interrogation was yet to begin.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she announced.
“You mean the hole in the ground,” said Honor. “You sure? You’ll be alone with the shawl-women. They won’t hurt you if you don’t try anything, but they’re pretty creepy for someone who’s just arrived.”
“I really have to go,” said Amber.
“A girl’s gotta go, a girl’s gotta go,” said Deb, getting up and walking to the gate. She drank the last of her water, and rattled her cup against the bars. “Bathroom break!” she hollered. “Call of nature!”
She stayed where she was for a moment, looking out into the corridor, then she turned to Amber. “They’re coming. Two of them. One’s gonna walk in front, one behind. They’ll take you straight to our luxurious hole in the ground, and when you’re done they’ll take you right back. You want my advice? Don’t try to escape. They’ll be expecting it, especially with someone new.”
Amber stood, and nodded. “Thank you.”
The shawl-women shuffled up. Without a word, the women went to the far wall, and stood with their foreheads pressed against the stone. The gate creaked heavily, and the shawl-women beckoned Amber out. Nerves sparking in her belly, Amber slipped out, and the gate was closed and locked behind her.
The shawl-women smelled of leaves and earth. They didn’t say anything as they walked the length of the corridor, Amber between them. She tried to peek at their faces, but their hoods were too low. The darkness was punctuated by slivers of daylight. The wooden ceiling had been blackened by the blaze that had felled the rest of the house.
They passed the turn into another corridor, and Amber was brought to a small chamber. When they passed through the doorway, she was dismayed to discover that the hole in the ground was an actu
al hole in the actual ground.
The shawl-women stood in the door, waiting.
Amber hovered beside the hole. “Uh, would you mind turning around?”
The shawl-women didn’t move.
Amber blushed as she manoeuvred herself into position. It took her half a minute to relax enough to pee. When she was done, she straightened up, careful not to fall into the hole, and pulled up her jeans. The shawl-women parted and they escorted her back the way they’d come, one in front and one behind.
When they passed the junction to the other corridor, however, Amber slowed to a stop. “What’s down there?”
Neither of the shawl-women responded.
She did her best to keep it friendly. “Hello? Can you talk? I think I’m supposed to go down that way. Do you mind?”
She tried to step out of their little procession, but the shawl-woman behind blocked her way with one arm, while the shawl-woman in front turned.
“Please,” said Amber. “I’m only sixteen. I’m a kid. All the others are women. Can’t you let me go? Please? I promise I won’t tell.”
The shawl-women didn’t respond.
Amber smiled. “I really tried to be nice,” she said, and shifted, feeling the power flood her.
They grabbed at her, but she shoved them away, running down the other corridor. It widened to a room and she ran in and the smell hit her, made her stagger back.
The room was filled with flayed bodies. Here and there she saw animal carcasses, rotten and decaying, but it was the human remains that made her scream. They hung from the wooden beams, held in place by twisted and rusted nails. Their insides, the guts and organs, the meat and the bones, were nothing more than blackened heaps on the ground, long since picked over by rats and birds and maggots. It was the skins that the witch obviously valued, as shredded as they were.
No other door in here. No way out.
She turned and the shawl-women came at her. She swung, her talons digging into the first shawl-woman’s chest. Panic biting her nerve endings, she ripped the shawls away, snarling into the face beneath. She was prepared for a human face, she was prepared for a monster’s face, she was prepared for any face – as long as there was one. But instead of a face, instead of flesh and blood, she was greeted by a mass of tightly twisting sticks that writhed under her grip.
Something lurched in Amber’s mind and her thoughts jammed for a long, desperate moment, and then the second shawl-woman wrapped an arm round her throat and pulled her backwards.
She grabbed at the arm, feeling nothing but more sticks through the fabric. The stick-thing in front of her reached out, those twigs lengthening, working their way around Amber’s body, scratching and cutting her skin, tightening round her ribs. It was hard to breathe. Hard to stay upright. Her black scales did their best to protect her as thin branches wrapped around her head like vines, forcing her eyes closed. They were in her hair, coiling around her horns. Her arms were trapped, her claws useless. She wanted to shriek, but couldn’t draw the breath that would let her. She wanted to shout, wanted to give up, wanted it to be over, but she didn’t have a voice and there was no one to listen. She was going to die. They were going to kill her.
She fought against her own fear, fought the wave of panic that threatened to wash all rational thought away. A notion flashed through her mind – that of a Chinese finger puzzle, where the more you struggle, the faster you’re caught. She focused on one thing. Just one thing.
She reverted.
The branches around her midsection tightened, but everywhere else they loosened, and she sucked in a breath. Amber resisted the urge to struggle and instead went limp, and gradually the pressure eased.
The branches moved from her face and she opened her eyes, just in time to see the witch enter the room.
THE WITCH APPROACHED LIKE a curious cat, her head tilted to one side. Even though her spine was curved, she loomed over Amber, her knotted hair almost touching the low ceiling. There was something behind her eyes as she examined Amber, a kind of intelligence, her long, sharp fingers poking and prodding. The shawl-women’s branches moved subtly to clear a space in anticipation of every poke. No words were spoken, no obvious communication passed between them. The shawl-women moved independently of the witch but also with her, as if they were all part of the same body.
The witch peered closer. She scraped her fingers through Amber’s hair, searching, Amber realised, for the horns that had just been there.
Her curiosity far from satisfied, the witch scratched and scraped deeper and harder, and Amber gritted her teeth against the pain.
There was a voice now, coming closer. One of the women from the cellar.
“Where are you taking me? Please. Please, let me go back to the others. Oh God, please …”
Faith came into the room, dragged by two more shawl-women. She saw the witch and shrank back, but was unable to stop the shawl-women from dragging her to Amber’s side. She finally fell silent.
The witch reached out, her coarse fingers turning Amber’s head one way and then the other. Dirty fingernails pried open her mouth, and Amber had to resist the urge to bite down. She nearly gagged as the witch explored. All of a sudden, the witch switched her attention to Faith, went through the same routine, and then came back to Amber, fingers prodding her chest and belly.
“What’s it doing?” Faith whispered.
“Examining us,” Amber said.
The witch snapped her head up and Amber shut her mouth.
Tears flowed down Faith’s cheeks, but her soft voice was surprisingly steady. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name …”
The witch left Amber and moved to Faith, started squeezing and poking her body the way she had Amber’s, but Faith didn’t stop her prayer.
“Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven, give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who—”
All at once the witch stopped, and stepped back, and for one crazy moment Amber though the prayer was working. But then she knew. The witch had made her decision.
Tree roots burst from the dirt at Faith’s feet and tore through her tattered jeans, burrowing into her legs. Faith screamed, nearly pulled free of the shawl-women, but they clung on and the roots kept coming. Amber cursed, cried out, tried to help and then tried to pull away, but there was nothing she could do but stand and watch as Faith’s agony reached new heights, dragging her screams along with it. Branches bulged under her skin and twigs poked through, spraying blood, opening up gashes and wounds, from which fell her steaming innards. And then the screams were cut short and Faith made one last gagging sound and died.
Her chin dropped to her chest, but she didn’t fall and she didn’t stop moving. The roots continued to fill her, discarding the organs and the bones and the meaty essence of her body at her feet. The skin at her neck bulged, and a moment later she raised her head.
Amber stared.
The thing that had once been Faith took a step, breaking free of the roots that had pinned it to the ground. It dragged its other leg behind it. That one wasn’t working right.
The witch examined the Faith-thing, inspecting her handiwork. As she did so, her mouth moved, like she was talking to herself. Then the Faith-thing’s mouth started moving, a perfect mirror to the shapes formed by the witch. There were no words, however. Instead, a series of sounds became audible – a hollow rush of air and a distant creaking.
The witch turned her head towards Amber, and the Faith-thing mimicked the movement exactly. The witch raised her left arm and its new puppet did the same.
But the movement caused a tear in the skin along the underside of the Faith-thing’s upper arm, a tear that joined with another rip and became a gaping hole from which sharp twigs protruded. The Faith-thing tried to hold itself together, but the rips were appearing all over now, and every tear led to two more, and in seconds the Faith-thing fell apart, the sticks tumbling to the floor.
The wi
tch gazed down at her failed puppet, and the shawl-women dragged Amber backwards. She didn’t resist as she was taken back to the basement. They flung her inside, then closed the gate behind her.
The other women rushed forward.
“What happened?” asked Deb. “Did you see Faith? They came in here and took her and then we heard screaming.”
“She’s … she’s dead,” said Amber. “I’m sorry.”
There were no gasps and no arguments and no tears. The women just stood there, the reality settling upon their shoulders, almost too heavy to withstand.
“What happened?” Deb asked again.
“She examined us,” Amber said dully. “The witch. She examined us both and then made her choice.”
“What did it do to Faith?” Juliana pressed.
“Filled her with branches,” said Amber. “Roots and twigs and branches. Filled her up. I found a room full of … full of that stuff.”
“Gretchen?” said Deb.
“I don’t know,” Amber answered. “Probably. She’s been doing this for a while. Experimenting. Trying to get it right.”
“I don’t get it,” said Honor. “Filled her with branches? What does that mean?”
“The branches are alive,” Amber said. “The witch controls them, or they’re part of her or something. The shawl-women aren’t women, they aren’t people. They’re just sticks. They’re all extensions of her, I think. When she was finished with Faith, it was just Faith’s skin, her face and her skin, filled with branches, doing whatever the witch was doing.”
“But that’s insane,” said Iseul.
Amber nodded. “I think she wants to – the witch – I think she wants to be … us.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why’d she let you live, and not Faith?”
Amber hesitated.
Juliana seized her arm. “What are you hiding?”
“Juliana,” said Deb.
“No!” Juliana shouted. “She’d hiding something. Look at her. She’s not even denying it.”
Amber shook her head. “I don’t know why—”
“Liar!”
