By Midnight

by Mia James

  Suddenly a sharp cry went up, making April skitter back a few steps. This time the sound was unmistakable: a creature - a person? - in pain. Then she heard a quieter sound, like sobbing. It was close, too, just inside the gates.

  ‘Hello?’ she said, trying to force her voice to sound strong. ‘Is anyone there?’

  Now there was another cry, softer this time, weaker.

  ‘Do you need help?’ she asked. Despite her fears, despite her parents’ dire warnings, April couldn’t run away. What if someone was really hurt? What if they needed an ambulance?

  She walked forwards again, close enough to touch the gates, and reached out and pushed the one hanging ajar further open. It creaked inwards and, in the shifting shadows, April could see something lying in the centre of the overgrown path ahead. A small body. As her eyes adjusted she could see it was moving, its side heaving up and down.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she said softly, taking a step inside the gates. As her body brushed against the metal the gate it creaked loudly and the shape jumped, trying to struggle to its feet. Now April could see what it was. A fox. It was trying to get up, but it couldn’t.

  She crouched down a few metres away from the animal, but immediately leapt back to her feet. Her hands had touched something warm and wet on the grass. She held her fingers up and in the milky moonlight she could see a glistening black liquid on her fingers. Is that blood? she thought, her heart leaping. She looked back at the fox. It was lying still as a statue, but she could still hear a whimpering coming from its throat.

  In the dim light she felt uneasy being so close to this wild animal, but the fox sounded so distressed she couldn’t just ignore it.

  ‘Who did this to you, little guy?’ she whispered. ‘What’s out there?’

  She peered into the darkness. Just trees and gravestones, nothing except … And then something caught her eye. A shadow that wasn’t a shadow.

  She gasped, her hand jerking to her mouth. There were eyes looking at her. Dark, piercing eyes, staring out from the shadows. She began to back towards the gate, the fox forgotten, but found she could barely move her legs. Then there was a deafening roar and the rush of wind, as if something was coming straight at her. She tensed, expecting to be knocked to the ground, but instead she was lifted into the air and yanked backwards, her legs kicking out uselessly. She barely had time to register the sound of the rusty gate screeching wide open before she looked up and found herself lying bruised in the middle of Swain’s Lane.

  What the hell … ?

  ‘Go! Quickly!’ whispered a voice in front of her. Scrabbling to her feet, April looked towards the voice, but all she could see was a silhouette framed in the shadow of the gateway.

  ‘Get out of here!’ hissed the voice. ‘Go on - run!’

  As the figure turned, the moon caught his face and April felt her head swim. It was the dark-haired boy from the square, from school: Gabriel Swift.

  ‘GO!’ he shouted, slamming the gate shut. April turned and sprinted up the hill as fast as her feet would take her.

  April had been under the shower for ten minutes, turning the heat up into the red, but she still couldn’t drive the cold from her bones. Her legs were still shaking from her full-pelt dash up the hill, and her teeth were chattering despite the clouds of steam in the room. She stepped out reluctantly and wrapped herself in a towel, sitting on the edge of the bath until she felt the shivers leave her body. She tried to make sense of what had just happened. What had she seen out there? Was it just a dead fox? Or two dead foxes? There had been an awful lot of blood for just one. Had it been hit by a car? Had it been attacked? Why was the gate open when she was sure it had been chained shut earlier in the day? So many questions whirling around her head and no answers, especially not the one she really wanted: what was Gabriel doing there and why had he yanked her out? Had she been in danger? What on earth had possessed her to go into the cemetery anyway - was she mad? She shook her head, admitting that for once her parents had been right. She’d been an idiot to go out alone, in the dark, in an area she barely knew. She dried herself and dressed quickly, then grabbed her phone, speed-dialling Fee’s number.

  ‘It’s me again.’

  There was a pause. ‘What’s up?’ asked Fiona, worry in her voice.

  ‘The weirdest thing happened to me when I went for a walk around Highgate.’

  ‘Okay, switch over to the webcam,’ said Fiona urgently. ‘I need to see your ugly mug.’

  Fiona had always been a bit of a computer genius - she’d had wireless before most people had broadband - and when April had told her she was moving south, Fee had promptly turned up at her house with a gift-wrapped webcam. So sweet. But as April fiddled with her laptop, she had the time to pause and think about the events in Swain’s Lane: what had she really seen? She’d seen an injured animal and been shouted at by a strange boy. When it came down to it, she didn’t really have a clue what had happened out there. At last Fiona’s face flicked up on the screen. It was fuzzy and jerky, but it was so good to see her that April wanted to cry.

  ‘Come on,’ said Fee sternly, ‘tell me what’s the matter. And don’t leave anything out, I can see you now.’

  ‘Well, I heard this strange noise,’ started April slowly. ‘It was coming from the cemetery. So I went in to see and, well, it was a fox.’

  There was a long pause before Fee spoke. ‘That’s it? That’s the weird thing?’

  ‘Then I fell backwards,’ she offered, realising how stupid it would sound to tell her friend that she thought she had been lifted off the ground. ‘And there was this boy there and he yelled at me to run.’

  ‘Well, I think I’d want to leg it too if I saw a half-dead fox in a spooky graveyard,’ said Fee. ‘But who was this boy? Why did he shout?’

  April began to backtrack. ‘It was probably just some practical joke or something. I suppose what with Alix’s murder being just down the hill and everything, I’m a bit jumpy. It was probably nothing.’

  ‘I guess,’ said Fiona, not sounding convinced. ‘But you don’t need to get too worked up about Alix. I’ve been following the story all day and they’re saying his murder’s probably a crazed fan or something to do with his private life. It’s terrible, of course, but it’s one of those one-in-a-million things. It’s not as if a bloody murder happens every day, is it? Or aren’t I helping?’

  April laughed. She could feel a bit of the tension in her shoulders easing.

  ‘No, you’re helping a lot,’ she said. ‘And it’s brilliant to see you.’ She looked at her friend’s face. ‘How are you feeling anyway?’

  ‘Oh, bearing up. I tried to wear a black scarf into school and Miss Batty went mental. I mean, it’s not as if I was dressed like Queen Victoria, or something.’

  ‘So did you get detention?’

  Fiona laughed. ‘No, just the opposite. Turns out she’s not a big music fan, so when I told her I was in mourning for Alix Graves she assumed that he was a relative and went into sympathy mode. Apparently her door’s always open, if I just want to go in for a cry.’

  April’s eyes widened. Knowing her friend’s love of the dramatic, that was like a red rag to a bull. ‘Fee, you didn’t take her up on her offer, did you?’

  Fiona pulled a face. ‘I’m not that daft. She’ll find out who Alix is eventually and she’d go ballistic if she thought I’d been taking advantage of her good nature.’

  April laughed and shook her head. She missed Fiona and her uncanny ability to get in and out of trouble. There was rarely a dull moment when she was around.

  ‘So what are you up to tonight?’

  ‘I was just going out actually,’ said Fiona. ‘Me and Sophie are going over to Juliet’s to talk tactics. She wants to get back with lain.’

  April felt a sudden pang of jealousy. She wanted to be up there plotting with her friends, spending hours deciding the perfect wording for a text, working out what to say on the phone. Doing normal, everyday things, not like here … Suddenly the image o
f those dark eyes blinked into her mind. She shuddered.

  ‘April? You still with me?’

  ‘Yes, yes, sorry.’ April realised that she hadn’t heard a word of her friend’s last sentence.

  ‘I can see that you’re busy,’ said Fiona, pointing at the boxes still piled up in a corner of the room. ‘I’d better let you go. I miss you, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ said April sadly. ‘Have a good time at Juliet’s. But not too good a time, eh?’

  Fiona laughed. ‘Promise.’

  April closed the laptop and looked around her little bedroom. It was small and a bit cramped even without packing crates taking up all the space. It certainly didn’t look like home. She got up and walked to the window, half-hoping to see a lone figure with dark hair standing in the little park, but the square was empty. Or at least she was pretty sure it was empty; maybe one of those shadows wasn’t all it seemed. No, that was silly; what she had seen in the graveyard must have been a trick of the light or something. Sighing, she walked downstairs and wandered into the kitchen. Her father was home, sitting at the breakfast bar munching on some cheese on toast.

  ‘When did you get in?’

  ‘A couple of minutes ago,’ he said, pouring her a cup of tea from the pot. ‘Hungry?’ he asked, offering her a slice of toast.

  April shook her head.

  ‘How was school?’

  ‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘How about your new job?’

  ‘Interesting.’ He smiled. ‘Where’s your mum?’

  April shrugged. ‘She left me a note to say she was meeting friends.’

  William grabbed two books that were in front of him and got up to leave. ‘Well, back to work.’

  ‘Sit back down for a minute at least.’ April laughed, pushing him into his chair. ‘You’re such a workaholic.’

  April had noticed that he had already set up his study opposite the living room; books and papers, files and more files, she didn’t know what drove him. Perhaps it was a desire to have a book hit the best-seller charts; one of his old university friends was a big newspaper editor who had a lucrative sideline in popular history books and April could always hear the trace of envy in her dad’s voice whenever he got in touch. But then maybe her dad was simply trying to provide Silvia with the kind of life he knew she wanted: a nice home, a fast car and a social life packed with glamour. Yeah, like even that would make her happy.

  ‘So what are you working on this time?’ she asked her father.

  He ran a hand across his stubble. ‘I’ve got to get a proposal in to my publisher by Friday. My agent thinks we might be able to get a decent advance this time. Maybe some film interest, too.’

  ‘Fantastic.’ April smiled, feeling guilty for challenging his work ethic. At least he tried. ‘What’s the big idea?’

  ‘It’s the London East End book I was telling you about on holiday. My theory about the plague pits.’

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry, Dad, but you can’t expect me to keep up. One minute it’s Egyptian cults, the next it’s human tracking.’

  He laughed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise quite how boring I’ve become.’

  ‘Not boring,’ said April affectionately. ‘Confusing.’

  He pulled a long string of cheese off his toast and pushed it around his plate. actually, it’s connected to this area. If your mother knew about it, she definitely wouldn’t let you out at night.’

  April felt her skin prickle and looked away, glancing at the window, now running with rain.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing, it’s just …’

  ‘What?’ he said, touching her hand. ‘What is it?’

  It’s just I saw a monster with glowing eyes and got covered in blood, she thought to herself.

  ‘I was walking up Swain’s Lane and I thought I saw something. But don’t worry - I think I’m just a bit nervy because of the Graves murder.’

  ‘Swain’s Lane? When was this?’ he asked sternly.

  ‘Oh, after school, but it was getting dark,’ said April quickly, suddenly remembering she could get into trouble for breaking her curfew. But she was sure her father’s expression had changed the moment she mentioned Swain’s Lane. ‘Were you alone? What did you see?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure, I just …’ she stuttered, wondering whether to tell him. She so wanted to share it with someone and who better than her conspiracy-theory-debunking dad? After all, a man who wrote books about the abominable snowman would surely believe her when she said she’d seen a … a what? What had she seen, exactly? A spook? A spirit? A zombie? It was ridiculous when you thought about it.

  ‘I saw an injured fox,’ she said lamely.

  William chuckled with a note of relief. ‘I thought you were going to tell me you’d seen someone hanging around or something.’

  ‘What sort of someone?’

  He tapped her hand reassuringly. ‘No one, darling. Highgate is one of the safest suburbs in London.’

  ‘Not for Alix Graves, it wasn’t.’

  ‘No, but then it looks like his murder was an isolated incident. The police think it might have been connected to his business interests - you know, his record label and that Full Moon Festival he used to organise, they think it might have something to do with a shady financial investor. So I doubt that has anything to do with the area.’

  William was smiling now, but April wasn’t convinced. There was something about the way her father was talking and avoiding her eyes.

  ‘But who would be hanging around here?’ she persisted. ‘Someone from another school or something?’

  ‘No, no, the schools in this area, Ravenwood, Highgate School, they’re far too posh for knife-wielding teens, darling.’

  ‘So what made you think there might be?’

  ‘Footpads and brigands are a bit on my mind at the moment,’ he said, tapping one of his books. April craned her neck - the top one was called The Dark Victorian Age. He shrugged. ‘Just a bit of research for the new book. Back in the Victorian period, London was an absolute cesspit of thieves and murderers cutting each other’s throats for a swig of gin.’ He paused and held up a finger as he noticed April’s look of distress. ‘But that was a hundred and fifty years ago, remember. They had no police force to speak of, people were incredibly poor and London itself was crammed into a few square miles around the City and Covent Garden. Back then, anything beyond the city walls was countryside.’

  ‘Even here?’

  ‘Well, yes and no. No: Highgate was a separate village built around the school; it’s been here for four hundred years. Yes: they chose to build the cemetery here because there was land and because the graveyards in London were overflowing and poisoning the water supply. Which is what this book’s about, more or less.’

  April felt another chill. ‘Graveyards?’ she asked.

  Her father leant back and looked up at the ceiling.

  He’s avoiding my eyes again, thought April. What’s he not telling me?

  ‘A bit. It’s more about disease - plague pits and sewers and so forth,’ he said vaguely.

  ‘What, no monsters this time?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no monsters, darling.’ He laughed, but when he finally looked at her, his eyes were serious. ‘There’s no such thing.’

  Chapter Six

  There had been a time when April could lose herself in magazines. She would pore over red-carpet pictures and soak up celebrity gossip, then swap it with her friends as if they all personally knew the actresses and singers they were reading about. She would read the problem pages and horoscopes, half-believing that they had some sort of sound advice to give her about boys or exams or how to tell if you were a good kisser. Now she couldn’t even work up much excitement about a scandal involving an A-list actress getting caught necking with both girls and boys in a seedy Soho goth club. She threw the magazine down onto the bed and flopped back onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling. The digital clock by her bed said it was past midnight bu
t April just couldn’t sleep. She was anxious, on edge, and there were endless things going around in her head. It had been a pretty weird day, all in all. A first day at school was traumatic enough, but seeing … whatever it was she had seen was enough to keep anyone wide-eyed. She began to reach for her phone, but then stopped herself. Who would she call so late? She could go online, but where was the fun in that when she knew all her Edinburgh friends would be in bed or, worse, out having fun? She lay back and stared out of the window; the sky was almost purple and she could see the moon peeking through a gap in the rain clouds. She remembered how her dad had pointed to the night sky when she was little and said the man in the moon was watching her.