by Dan Scottow
‘I think the power is out!’ she shouts as she descends to the hall. She stands beside the older woman, who leans on her stick, looking exhausted.
‘It’s the storm. Must have taken out some power lines. There’s an emergency generator in the outbuilding opposite my studio, around the side of the cottage.’
Lucy listens to the rain battering the windows and roof, not relishing the idea of having to go outside.
‘I’ve got some wellies in the utility room,’ Diana says, eyeing Lucy’s bare feet, as if she has read her mind. They hurry to the kitchen, and Lucy shines her phone around, searching for the boots. The beam flashes over something bright yellow. She shines it back, finding what she’s searching for in the corner. Crossing the room, she slides her feet into them. They are cold, uncomfortable. She shudders. Back in the kitchen, Diana rummages about in a drawer.
‘It’s padlocked. You’ll need the key… I’m sure it’s in here…’
Lucy joins her.
‘Aha!’ Diana says, pulling three small keys on a wire hoop from the drawer.
‘It’s one of these, I think!’ She holds it aloft, and Lucy snatches it from her fingers, hurrying away. As she unlocks the door, pushing the handle, the wind blows it, almost throwing it wide open. Lucy grabs at the knob, holding it tightly to stop it swinging and smashing the glass panel.
Rain blusters in through the doorway, soaking the tiles around her feet. With one last look back towards Diana, she slides her phone into her pocket and steps outside into the onslaught, closing the door firmly behind her. The wind and rain batter against her face. She holds her hands up, shielding her eyes. It’s so powerful, she struggles to walk against it. She pushes through, hair whipping at her cheeks. She pulls her hood up, pushing the tangled mess inside to keep it under control. Within seconds, her clothing is soaked. She shivers as the sodden garments cling to her skin. Glancing around as she moves, she sees the branches of the old willow, flailing manically. The noise from its rustling leaves is deafening on top of the howling wind. She spots that a few of the smaller trees on the perimeter of the woods have come down and lay strewn on the grass like discarded dolls. And still she pushes on.
A slate tile comes loose from the roof, hurtling down before she has time to react, slamming into the ground beside her feet. She shudders… an inch to the side, she thinks. She moves a little further away from the wall… just in case.
The banging she heard from her room grows louder as she edges around the side of the house.
As she reaches the lean-to, she sees the source of the clattering. The padlock lies on the ground. The door, splintered and broken at the edge, swings in the storm. The noises collect together like a horrendous symphony. The boat knocking against the jetty. The trees, swaying back and forth, the leaves of the willow, the outhouse door, banging.
So much noise.
Lucy holds her hands to her ears, wishing it would all stop. She steps inside, and instantly things feel calmer, but it doesn’t last. The latch is broken, the door swings, crashing against the wall outside.
The outhouse is pitch black; smells musty and damp. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she lights up the space. Her cold, wet hands struggle to grip the handset.
She swings the beam around in an arc. It falls upon rusty buckets, tools, rolls of tarpaulin. A room filled with mouldy old junk. Towards a far wall, she spots the generator, taking a few steps towards it.
As she does, something in the corner of her eye stops her in her tracks. A dash of movement. The clatter of a metal bucket being knocked.
She spins around, shining her phone in the general direction.
The rain pounds on the roof, like the sound of a thousand snare drums. The wind continues to howl.
And Lucy is certain she is not alone. She cranes her head forwards, peering into the darkness, but sees nobody. Too afraid to investigate further, she hurries back to the generator. It sits on a large workbench against a wall. Some handwritten instructions are taped beside it.
Chunky green metal valves and pipes are covered in thick dust. Cobwebs decorate it from top to bottom.
She suspects it has never been used and hopes it will work.
Again, something in her periphery moves, scurries across the hard ground, rattling against the collection of junk on the floor as it does. She spins, just in time to see an old tarp move in one corner.
Heart pounding, she calls out.
‘Hello?’
Swinging her phone light from side to side, hand trembling, she quickly scours the room.
‘Is somebody there? Diana?’
But in reality, she knows that Diana could never move that fast. She turns back towards the generator, trying to make sense of the instructions. She brushes her hand over the cold metal, wiping dirt away.
The door bangs noisily behind her. Placing her phone on the bench, she grasps a cord between her fingers, and yanks, sharp and hard, as the directions state. Nothing happens. A few sputters, but not much else. She tries again. It purrs a little more this time. Petrol fumes fill her nostrils.
One last try, and the generator rumbles to life. A plume of smoke rises from the top, and a strong fuel smell fills the space. It chugs and sputters on the bench. Satisfied, she rubs her hands together, expelling the dust and grime from them. Picking up her phone, she steps away from the bench, turning back to the door. Again, something bangs to the far side of the space. She turns once more and sees the old roll of tarp now lies on the floor, knocked from where it was standing. A bucket beside it rocks back and forth. Reaching to her side, she grabs a screwdriver. She’s not sure it will offer her much protection… but it’s a weapon, at least.
Stepping forwards, both hands held out in front of her, one lighting the way, the other to defend against an attacker, she feels stupid. They’re in an isolated location. It’s the middle of the night.
Who the hell would be here?
Mylo’s face flashes into her mind. She shakes it away as quickly as it arrived.
She edges slowly forward. There is definitely movement behind a pile of boxes to her left. She creeps towards it. The hum of the generator fills her ears, but there’s something else… A peculiar scraping sound. Below it… panting. Quick, panicked. She holds her breath. Resists the urge to drop the screwdriver and run as fast as she can back to the house.
‘There is no danger,’ she whispers to herself.
So why does she feel so afraid? Behaving in a much braver fashion than she feels, she takes a deep breath and steps around the pile of boxes.
76
Diana
As the wind howls, she hears a thousand voices screaming her name.
Diana, Diana, Diana…
We’re coming, we’re coming, we’re coming…
Dappled moonlight casts patchy shadows across the floor through the window. They dance manically, creeping up the walls, like skeletal fingers reaching towards her. She steps away, afraid they might actually be able to grip her ankles if they get too close.
Slowly, she crosses the kitchen. Lowering herself into a chair, she groans. She hasn’t been awake long. Her body takes time to come back to life. Something clatters against the windowpane. She spins towards the sound, skin prickling with fear.
There’s nowhere to hide, the voices sing.
For a second, she thinks she sees a face pressed against the glass, but in the blink of an eye it is gone.
A flash of lightning. A rumble of thunder. She peers into the darkness.
‘There’s nothing there,’ she says firmly to the room, but she’s not sure she believes herself. Her head swims, eyes dart around. The entire house seems to groan under the immense pressure of the storm. Floorboards creak above her. Outside, the rough water of the loch breaks over the jetty, waves crashing onto the shoreline. The little red boat bounces on the surface. She tries to focus on it. It’s tiny, insignificant in the distance. But at least she knows it’s real.
And the voices continue to scream. With each moa
n of the wind comes a new phrase.
We know.
We’re coming.
You’ll pay.
She balls her fists into her ears, but she still hears the terrifying choir singing to her.
‘Please,’ she whispers. ‘Please stop. Leave me alone.’ She watches in horror as a shadow creeps across the floor, twisting towards her, resembling some sort of serpent. She raises her feet. To her surprise, the black mass wraps itself around the leg of the chair, spirals it like a jungle vine, creeping up closer to her. She looks about the room; a thousand spiders scour the walls, crawling over the ceiling, dropping down on silky threads above her. She brushes her arms, but there’s nothing there, of course.
She splays her hands across her face, pressing tight, shaking her head. Pulling her hair between her fingers, she tugs until she can’t bear the pain any longer.
‘What do you want from me?’ she screams.
The spectre is gone. Simply shadows of branches on the tiles once more.
She lets out a slow, steady breath. The lights flicker on, and Diana feels the tension ease from her shoulders immediately. With the yellow glow comes a feeling of comfort. She regards the kitchen, satisfied that she is alone. No creatures scurry across the ground. None dangle from the ceiling.
All is as it should be. The storm rages on outside, but for now she is safe.
Standing, she smooths down her robe and crosses to the workbench, flicking on the kettle.
77
Lucy
She stares down, initially confused by what she sees. Having half expected to find a maniac with a chainsaw, or something similar, her brain struggles to catch up.
The poor pathetic creature huddles in a corner, with its back pushed against the outhouse wall, and the cardboard boxes it hides behind. Orange fur soaked in blood, a bushy, white-tipped tail. Ears down, it snarls, baring sharp teeth. One hind leg is splayed on the floor, at an impossible angle. Even with its broken limb, the animal attempts to scurry away. Poor thing must be in agony.
She places a foot in front of it, and it backs itself into the corner once more. Lucy shines the light across the ground. A wet trail of red shows the animal’s exact path to where it now rests, quivering with fear.
She’d missed it earlier because she wasn’t shining her phone on the floor. But there’s a lot of blood.
She suspects that the fox has been hit by a car or run over by a farm vehicle. It is terrified.
She crouches, and it scrambles against the wall, trying to get away, but it is cornered, trapped. Helpless.
‘Hello, buddy,’ she whispers gently, propping her phone against the wall. ‘You look in a bad way, my friend.’
Sadness fills her voice, for she knows the animal stands no chance of survival. It is soaking wet, shivering. She wonders how far it has crawled in search of a safe, sheltered place to die.
Its head is matted with blood, trickling from the corner of its mouth. It whimpers as she reaches towards it. She stops, holding her hands up slowly, palms out. She doesn’t want to cause it any further distress.
Reaching down, she strokes it gently on its side. It twists and turns, eventually settling, resigning to its position. She edges closer, its eyes widen.
‘Don’t be scared… please…’ she says soothingly.
But the animal will not calm down. Scooping it up as quickly as she can, she sits on the floor, cradling it in her lap. It struggles, tries to escape, but she holds her hand firmly on its body, keeping it in place. Its petrified eyes stare about the space, searching for a way out. They settle on her face. She wishes with her whole heart that it would understand.
‘I’m trying to help you… please don’t be afraid.’ But the fox can’t comprehend. Too scared, too hurt.
Its only instinct is to escape.
She holds its head still so it can’t bite her. It whimpers as she takes its leg in her other hand, feeling along the bones. It’s shattered; hangs limply across her palm. She shudders.
‘There’s nothing I can do for you,’ she breathes sadly, leaning in closer. She reaches down, cradling it gently, stroking the sides of its face with her thumbs. Her fingers are wet, sticky with blood.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says quietly, as she twists quickly, and with a sharp crack, snaps the creature’s delicate little neck.
78
Diana
She is sitting cradling a steaming cup of coffee in her hands when Lucy arrives back. The lights have been on for a while, so she can’t imagine what’s taken the girl so long.
Diana stands as Lucy drips in the doorway, water splashing onto the tiles below her.
‘Oh, you poor thing! Quickly, you must get those wet clothes off!’
She hobbles through the hall to the bathroom, grabbing her spare robe from the hook on the back of the door.
When she returns to the kitchen, Lucy is still standing in her sodden garments. Diana frowns.
‘Here, let me help you.’
She takes a step towards the girl, reaching her arms to the bottom of her hoody. Lucy shrugs away, a look of sheer panic on her face.
‘I’ll go to the bathroom and change,’ she says moodily, snatching the robe from Diana, before rushing away. Diana crosses to the worktop, pouring Lucy a hot coffee. She pulls a half bottle of whisky from the cupboard, tipping in a shot for extra warmth, and sits, waiting.
When she comes back, her hair is scraped into a ponytail. Diana’s robe pulled tightly around her neck, cinched at the waist with its belt. She carries her wet clothes into the utility room. Diana hears them slap into the sink. Lucy strolls into the kitchen, picking up the coffee that Diana poured for her, blowing on it.
‘Thank you,’ Diana says softly. ‘I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.’
‘No problem.’
Diana looks at her, narrowing her eyes.
‘What took you so long?’
Lucy glances at her.
‘The generator needed a few attempts to start.’
‘No, I mean… the lights were on a while ago. At least five minutes before you came back.’
The girl walks to the sink, putting her coffee down on the counter. She places both hands out to her sides, resting them on the edge of the worktop, staring out through the window.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a storm quite like this,’ she says flatly. Lightning flashes, but with the lights on now, it doesn’t seem so terrifying anymore. Diana waits patiently but does not repeat her question. Eventually Lucy turns around, leaning against the counter.
‘There was a fox.’
She stares directly into Diana’s eyes.
‘A fox?’ Diana cocks her head, awaiting more of an explanation.
‘Injured. In the outhouse. Poor thing was terrified. I think it had been hit by a car or something.’
Diana’s hand flies up to her mouth as she gasps.
‘How terrible!’
Lucy nods.
‘I tried to calm it down, but it was petrified.’
‘And where is it now?’
‘I dealt with it,’ Lucy says, sadly.
Diana’s mouth hangs open, she doesn’t know how to respond.
‘I think that’s the kindest thing to do in these situations. Don’t you?’
‘You mean… you killed it?’
Lucy picks up her mug, taking a large gulp.
‘It was dying anyway. It would have been far crueller to leave it to suffer for hours.’
Diana places her coffee on the side, lacing her fingers together in her lap. She doesn’t look at the girl. Feels suddenly afraid to.
‘I suppose.’
‘Really… it’s not easy to kill something. But it was the only way.’
Lucy’s eyes drift towards Richard’s bedroom door.
‘There are times… I honestly believe there are… when to put something out of its misery is the humblest thing you can do.’
Diana watches her every movement, a slow sicken
ing feeling washing over her.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll head up to bed. I’m freezing.’ Lucy stands, placing her empty mug in the sink.
‘No, that’s fine. I think I will too. I’ll be exhausted tomorrow after a night like this.’
Lucy nods, smiling, before retreating down the hall. Diana listens as her bare feet pad up the stairs.
She watches across the ceiling as the floorboards above her creak. Lucy’s bedroom door clicks shut.
Diana sits for a moment, staring into space. She suddenly has an overwhelming urge to check on Richard. She pulls herself up out of her chair, heading to her husband’s room. He lies with his eyes closed. Unaware of the drama that has been unfolding around him.
She takes a few steps towards him until she can see his chest rising up and down, and her shoulders relax. She lets out a long breath, scolding herself for being so ridiculous.
Of course she wasn’t talking about Richard, she thinks… She was simply referring to the poor fox.
She pulls the door closed and returns to her own bedroom.
79
Lucy
The following morning she wakes early, after a night of little sleep. She’s tired. Groggy. Feeling irritable. She had been straight down to get Richard out of bed, without dressing. With him fed, washed and dressed, she retreats to the bathroom to try to make herself feel human.
She showers for longer than usual, letting the hot jets of water pound her body. She scrubs with a loofah until her skin is red raw, trying to wash away the events of the previous night. She tries to hum a happy tune. But the fox flashes into her mind. Eyes wide, filled with terror, as she snapped its neck.
Not understanding that it was for his own good.
