by Jacob Grey
“But you remember something?” she said.
Caw bit his lip. He’d already trusted Lydia with more secrets than he’d ever confided in anyone else – why not this?
“The dream I have,” he began. “Like I told you, it’s more a memory than a dream, I think.” He thought he’d feel foolish saying it out loud, but as he told her about the crows carrying him away from the open window, about his parents abandoning him, she listened carefully.
Before Caw knew it, he was telling her more, about the early days, when the nest was barely big enough to hold him, about how the different crows had come and gone, about gradually exploring more and more of Blackstone.
As the words spilled out of him, about how hard it had been, how lonely, he felt the old familiar feeling building in his chest. Anger at his parents for making it so hard. Why couldn’t they have kept him close and loved him like real parents? He saw how Mrs Strickham had hugged Lydia when Benjy was dying, heard the despair in her father’s voice during the alley fight when he’d thought she was in danger. How could his parents have done what they did? All the times he’d gone hungry, or taken a fall from the branches, when he’d shivered with cold on wintry nights … Where were they?
“Hey, Caw, are you OK?” said Lydia.
Caw realised his fingers were balled in fists. It took a few seconds to let the anger drain away. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
He felt her hand creep into his and give it a squeeze. “I understand,” she said. “You’re welcome at our house, any time.”
Caw smiled. “I’m not sure your parents would say that.”
But Lydia’s eyes had focused on something past him. It was a newspaper kiosk. “Check it out!” Lydia said. She walked over, picked up a paper, paid the man inside, then came hurrying back. She unfolded it so Caw could see.
The words meant nothing to Caw, other than the one at the top of the page – BLACKSTONE, which matched the park gates. The pictures were clear enough though – the faces of the three escaped convicts. Lydia pointed at the one with the tattoo. “His name is Clarence Trap, aka Jawbone,” she said. “The woman is Eleanor Kreuss, and the small one is called Ernest Vetch.” Her eyes scanned the tiny writing. “It says all three were jailed in the Dark Summer for crimes including murder, robbery and kidnap. They were serving life sentences with no chance of parole. I guess that’s why they were in maximum security.”
“What’s the Dark Summer?” asked Caw.
Lydia looked at him like he’d just asked which way the sky was.
“You really have been keeping to yourself, haven’t you?” she said. “The Dark Summer was this crime wave a few years ago. Tons of attacks and unexplained murders, all over Blackstone. Packs of wild animals roaming the streets. Really weird stuff. Apparently Blackstone was pretty nice before then – at least that’s what my dad says. He says the city never recovered.”
Caw let the information sink in. His heart began to race. “How many years ago?”
Lydia’s brow wrinkled. “Maybe … seven or eight?”
“Eight years,” said Caw. “That was when my parents sent me away.” The Dark Summer, his parents, the escaped convicts. The spider.
“Really?” said Lydia. “Do you think it’s a coincidence?”
Caw didn’t answer. He quickened his stride, and Lydia jogged to keep up. He felt as though the threads of a mystery were starting to come together, connecting in a web that entangled every part of his life.
And at the centre of that web lay a spider.
The benches outside the library were empty.
“That’s weird,” said Lydia. “There are normally loads of people here on a Saturday morning.”
When they got to the top of the steps, Caw saw a sign hanging around the doors. Lydia stopped. “Oh, it’s closed!”
“It can’t be,” said Caw. “Miss Wallace told us to come back today.”
“Well, that’s what the sign says. What do we do now?” asked Lydia.
“Let’s check the back,” said Caw. “That’s where she normally leaves my books.”
As they set off round the side of the library, a squirming, sick sensation began to build in the bottom of Caw’s stomach.
Miss Wallace’s car was parked in its usual space. He knew the little blue vehicle was hers because he’d watched her drive in on the days when he arrived early, anxious for his weekly cup of hot chocolate.
Dread swelled up through his chest. And as they turned the corner, he saw that there was something spray-painted across the wall.
Lydia gasped, and her hand shot to her mouth.
Caw suddenly felt very cold.
It was a spider, freshly drawn, the paint still glistening. Just like the one in his dream.
Caw ran to the back door, and tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. He put his finger to his lips and stepped inside.
Utter silence reigned within. The light was on in Miss Wallace’s office and the door was ajar. Caw peered in. No one.
“Maybe we should call the police,” whispered Lydia.
“Not yet,” said Caw.
The main lights in the library were off, but there was a strange smell in the air. It reminded Caw of the park after heavy rain. Damp and earthy, like dead leaves.
He rounded the shelves at the back of the library. There! Miss Wallace. Relief flooded through him. She was sitting at her desk, side on to him, her glasses hanging around her neck.
“Miss Wallace!” he called, walking over.
She didn’t move.
“Miss Wallace?” Caw said more quietly.
As he reached the front of the desk, horror gripped him by the throat. Behind him, Lydia gave a small moan. Miss Wallace was sitting upright, looking straight at them with eyes wide open and unfocused. Something was wrong with her mouth. Pale silvery threads covered her lips and nose like a mask. Spider silk. Trails of blood had dripped down from her face on to her cream blouse, creating a macabre design in shades of crimson.
Caw felt dizzy, and the room seemed to wobble. It was like something from a nightmare seeping into the real world.
Lydia’s voice brought everything back into focus. “Is she … dead?” she said.
Caw went to Miss Wallace’s side. Her odd, lifeless expression made her resemble a shop mannequin. He could hardly bear to look into her eyes, once so full of kindness. He checked her wrist to make sure. No pulse. Her skin felt cold and waxy.
“Why?” he said. “Miss Wallace never hurt anybody. She helped people.”
Caw sank to her side. As he did so, he noticed that one of her hands was clenched tightly closed, and inside he caught a glimpse of something white.
“There’s something here,” he said. “She must have been holding it when she was …” It was too horrible to say.
Lydia came round the desk, hovering as though she was afraid to approach the body. Caw gently loosened Miss Wallace’s fingers and a ball of paper fell free. As he opened it, he realised what it was – Lydia’s drawing of the spider. His pulse began to race and his mouth went dry. There was a single word written beneath the image. He looked up at Lydia.
“‘Quaker’,” she read. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” whispered Caw. His eyes were drawn back to the mask of white strands across Miss Wallace’s face. He felt sick imagining how she must have struggled for breath.
“I’m phoning the police,” said Lydia. She went to the desk and picked up the receiver, then frowned. “There’s no dial tone.”
A booming laugh echoed through the mouldy air. Caw whirled around and saw the big prisoner – Jawbone – standing on the balcony above. He’d swapped his prison garb for a blood-red T-shirt and jeans. Light from the windows caught his gleaming bald head, so Caw could make out the thick plates of his skull beneath the skin. His tattoo stretched from ear to ear, looking even more clown-like and chilling than before.
“You!” said Caw.
“Joining the party, boy?” barked the prisoner.
/>
Suddenly Lydia grabbed Caw’s arm and pointed. “Look!”
The dark-haired woman was approaching from the back of the library, where Caw and Lydia had just entered. She wore a black floor-length gown, her hair pulled into a thick ponytail that curled once around her neck like a black scarf, then hung over her shoulder. In her hand she held a long, silver sewing needle. “Don’t worry, children,” she said. “I was gentle with her.”
Caw’s anger almost broke through his fear. He and Lydia ran towards Miss Wallace’s office, but a stunted shape scurried across their path. He was wearing a beige trench coat, at least two sizes too big.
“Scuttle, at your service,” said the man, licking his lips grotesquely. “I believe you’ve met my associates Jawbone and Mamba.”
Caw shot a look towards the front doors and his heart sank as he saw a huge chain looped through the handles, fastened with a padlock.
They were trapped.
owhere to run, children,” said Mamba.
“Why did you kill her?” shouted Caw, pointing to Miss Wallace’s limp body. “She never hurt anyone!”
“We had to,” said Jawbone. His grin widened. “Not that we didn’t enjoy it.” He looked at the others. “Let’s finish the job, shall we?”
The short man sniggered and clicked his fingers.
Caw heard a strange chattering sound, then something dropped from the cuff of Scuttle’s trench coat. It darted across the ground. A cockroach.
Lydia stumbled back into Caw. “Gross!”
“There are more where that came from,” said Scuttle.
He closed his eyes, as if he was praying. Then insects began to pour from both sleeves in a hideous wave of black shells and wriggling legs. Hundreds of cockroaches, climbing down his clothes and landing on the floor. Caw gasped and stumbled backwards as they fell from Scuttle’s trouser legs too, piling on top of one another in an endless stream.
“Caw?” said Lydia, her voice a terrified whisper.
“That’s not possible,” he muttered. Where were they coming from?
The cockroaches swarmed across the ground, straight towards them. Lydia screamed. Caw grabbed her hand and yanked her towards a side door. The cockroaches veered after them in a squealing, rustling mass.
They’d almost reached the door when Lydia yelped, “Caw, stop!”
Caw skidded to a halt as she tugged him back. Then he noticed movement in the corridor beyond the door. Three huge shapes emerged, padding through the doorway. They were dogs, their bodies thick with muscle beneath short fur, yellow eyes glaring over wrinkled snouts. Deep growls reverberated from their chests and drool spilled from black lips drawn up over jagged teeth.
With their exit blocked, and the cockroaches sweeping towards them, Caw jumped on to a table and pulled Lydia up beside him. She gripped his arm hard, her eyes full of panic.
“Cockroaches can climb, you know!” she said.
The black slick of insects covered the table legs and crept over the edge. Caw kicked at them, scattering the first wave on to the floor. But more followed, closing in from all sides. Lydia jumped down from the table, and Caw leapt after her, landing with a crunch among the broken shells. Almost straight away, the cockroaches climbed over his feet and legs, in a tickling, scratching tide.
Caw hopped to the edge of the seething mass, crushing more with every step. He heard Lydia scream again, then something slammed into his side and he fell. Foul breath washed over him as he realised it was one of the dogs. Its forepaws pinned his shoulders and its weight crushed the air out of him. The dog’s jaws snapped and snarled centimetres from his face. He was sure at any second it would sink those teeth into the soft flesh of his cheek. He felt the cockroaches scurry off him, as if even they were afraid.
“I wouldn’t move, if I were you,” said Jawbone. Caw turned his head away from the teeth and saw that Lydia was pinned down too. The third dog was sitting obediently at Jawbone’s side, licking his hand. “My dogs could tear through your throat like candyfloss.”
The dog on top of Caw lowered its snout and growled. Caw froze, his eyes glued shut. He could sense the dog’s vicious hunger. It wanted nothing more than to rip him to shreds, but something was holding it in check.
The woman’s voice came next. “No crows to help you this time?” she said.
Caw opened his eyes again, and saw her standing beside Lydia, eyeing her like a curious specimen. Lydia’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, and her features twisted in disgust. A snake, just like the one that had killed Benjy, was coiled around Mamba’s arm. Its neck and head rested on her wrist and she stroked its scales with the points of her long black nails. Its tongue flickered, shivering in delight.
“What have you done to them!” cried Scuttle.
He was crouched over a patch of squashed cockroaches, scooping them into his hands and letting their broken bodies fall through his fingers. Tears ran down his face. The rest of the cockroaches seemed to have vanished as quickly as they arrived.
Who were these people?
The hunchbacked man glared at Caw and Lydia, eyes wet and angry. “Let me kill them!” he snapped. “Let my little ones crawl into their mouths and eat them from the inside!”
He staggered towards them, but the third dog blocked his path, snarling, ears drawn back.
“Not now,” said Jawbone. “Remember why we’re here.”
Not to kill us then. Despite his fear, Caw tried to think clearly. We’d be dead if that was their plan.
The dog on top of Caw suddenly lifted its head, its ears cocked. The other dogs copied.
A second later Caw heard sirens. Hope flickered in his heart.
“Cops!” hissed Mamba. “How did they know?”
Jawbone turned his massive head towards Miss Wallace’s corpse. He grunted. “She must have pressed the panic button right before she died.”
Cars screeched to a halt outside and through the frosted glass of the windows Caw saw the flash of blue and red lights.
“Help!” yelled Lydia. “Help us!”
“What do we do?” Scuttle asked, eyes darting around.
The door of the library thudded and the chains rattled.
“We go,” said Jawbone, calmly. His eyes fell on Lydia. “Bring the girl.”
Mamba and Scuttle rushed forward and Caw felt the weight of the dog lift off his chest. He rolled over, just in time to see Scuttle haul Lydia off the ground and throw her over his shoulder. She kicked and screamed, her red hair coming loose from its plaits. Caw lunged after her, but a stinging blow caught him across the cheek and he fell back against Miss Wallace’s desk, stunned. Mamba stood in front of him – he hadn’t even seen her move, let alone strike him. Close up, he saw her face in more detail. High cheekbones. Lips that were almost black. Eyes that glittered like precious jewels. She turned quickly and followed the others.
Jawbone reached into his pocket and pulled out something the size of an apple. He clicked a button on the top and tossed it spinning into the middle of the room. A rush of smoke poured out, spreading quickly from the ground up.
“Get off me!” cried Lydia.
Caw scanned Miss Wallace’s desk and saw her paperweight. He snatched it up, took aim and hurled it across the library. It hit Scuttle’s head with a sickening thud and the man fell to his knees, letting go of Lydia. She scrambled away, as Mamba rushed to Scuttle’s side. Moments later they were hidden by smoke.
“That little wretch!” snarled Scuttle. “Where’d she go?”
“Leave her!” came Jawbone’s voice. “We can’t afford to get caught.”
Caw heard a bang and through a gap in the drifting smoke he saw the front doors burst open. A cop went down on one knee as light flooded in. Torch beams lit up the smoke, and shouts filled the air.
“Police!”
“Don’t move!”
Caw froze beside Miss Wallace’s body. He spotted Lydia’s shadow moving between the shelves ten metres away.
A torch dazzled him.
/> “Hands where I can see them!” yelled a cop.
Caw ducked and plunged into the waves of smoke. A single gunshot cracked and the shelf beside his head exploded into splinters. Two more bullets whizzed past and smacked into the wall.
“Wait!” said Lydia.
By the time he reached her side, Caw could barely see a thing. He sucked in a lungful of the acrid smoke and coughed, his lungs burning.
“Come on!” he said, tugging Lydia towards the door the dogs had emerged from.
More shots ripped through the air overhead.
“Hold your fire!” shouted a voice. “There might be hostages!”
The gunfire stopped as Caw dragged Lydia along the corridor. They passed several doors before they reached a set of stairs leading downwards. He took them three at a time, and Lydia stumbled after him. At the bottom Caw pushed open a door with a picture of a man on it and found himself in a bathroom. There were windows at head height over the sinks.
“Caw, stop!” said Lydia. “The police are on our side.”
“No they’re not!” said Caw. He climbed up beside a sink and opened the window lever, but couldn’t budge the pane. He slammed a palm into it.
“We’ll just explain what happened! They’ll believe us!” said Lydia. She wasn’t climbing up beside him.
“Help me!” said Caw, punching the window frame again. It gave a fraction.
Lydia looked back towards the door. “Caw, they’ll think we’re guilty of something if we run!”
Caw drew his hand back and whacked the window again. It opened about half a metre and dried paint flaked off the frame. He held out his hand to her. “Please Lydia,” he said. “You don’t understand. If they take me in, I’ll never get out again. They’ll put me in an orphanage.”
Lydia stared at him, and softened. She knew it was true.
Caw took her hand and helped her up. “You first,” he said.
Confused voices sounded from outside. “Take it one room at a time!”
