Harrow Lake

by Kat Ellis

  Mister Jitters is coming.

  I need to run. I plunge blindly over the side of the boat. Icy water wraps around my limbs, but I keep going, wading away from those awful specks of light. His noise still surrounds me. The pool grows shallower, falling away until I’m on damp rock.

  Where to? Which way?

  It’s impossible to see anything in this dense blackness. I feel only cold rock at my back. But there’s another sound beneath the chatter—something else climbing out of the water.

  I scream, pull back my arm, and throw the jitterbug shell at it as hard as I can. It hits its target with a crack.

  The monster roars. I clamp my hands over my ears, but I still can’t keep him out. He’s not all that’s inside me, though. Despite the cold, the fear, I feel something molten building in my gut, surging against him. It is a hot, venomous tide.

  Because my fear isn’t enough. Being trapped and alone in the dark isn’t enough. Nothing that I am or that I do is enough for him, and so I let the venom out.

  “LET. ME. GO!”

  And my roar is louder than his. Louder than my heart trying to batter its way free of my chest. Louder than the world ending.

  And now the rock beneath my feet and at my back and all around me begins to tremble. It is roaring back at the monster, too. There’s a crack like thunder, and then a boulder falls from the sky. Then another. Then ten more.

  The cave is collapsing around me.

  I wrap my arms over my head and press myself back into the cavern wall. Whisper to the dark to let me go, let me go, let me go, let me go, let me go!

  Shrapnel and dirt bounce off me. The rumbling goes on and on as though there will never be anything else. But then it begins to fade. Slowly, the tremors dwindle until finally I look up. Night air drifts into the cave. Dust clouds the air around me, but I can see. In front of me, where there had been an underground lake a moment ago, is now a mound of earth and rocks, all piled up in a slope toward the moon.

  Under that pile is Mister Jitters. And, I realize with a sob, my mother.

  I stumble over to the slope and begin scrabbling for a foothold, a handhold, almost digging my way up toward the sky. Soil rains around me. My wrist burns, my ankle threatens to give way with every inch I climb, but I’m almost there now. I grab on to a tree root and pull myself up, up, over the lip of the sinkhole. Up into the dawn.

  I watch the light creep over the tops of the trees and I rasp in painful, beautiful breaths, lying on grass and grit and a backbone made of stories. Stars fill the sky above me, echoes from some long-dead part of the universe, stories from long ago.

  The stars watch as I get to my feet and walk into the trees. Perhaps they are all monsters’ eyes. Perhaps they are not there at all.

  ONE YEAR LATER

  NOLAN

  TRANSCRIPT OF INTERVIEW WITH NOLAN NOX, DIRECTOR OF NIGHTJAR, FOR SCREAM SCREEN MAGAZINE (NIGHTJAR TWENTIETH-ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL FEATURE)—CONTD.

  CJL: I heard a rumor you’ll soon be returning to Harrow Lake to make a follow-up to Nightjar—any truth to that?

  NN: Yes. The plan was for it to be released for the twentieth anniversary, but there was a scheduling issue, so obviously that hasn’t happened.

  CJL: Because you were attacked by a stranger in your penthouse apartment last year?

  NN: I . . . what? We’re not here to talk about that. Move on.

  CJL: What shall we move on to? Your wife’s murder? Or your daughter’s mysterious disappearance after you sent her away when you were stabbed multiple times by a—quote-unquote—stranger?

  NN: [Pause] What the hell is this? Are you trying to shock me or something? Grow up. Honestly, what were Scream Screen thinking sending some obnoxious child to interview me?

  CJL: [Laughs] Scream Screen was happy to let me interview you when I promised I could deliver a no-holds-barred exclusive. Now answer the questions, Nolan.

  NN: [Yelling] What goddamn exclusive? This is entirely inappropriate, Ms. [paper crackle] Lahey. Wait, Cora Jean Lahey . . . why do I know that name? You’re not any relation to that boy the cops looked into after Lola went missing, are you?

  CJL: Carter is my brother, and—as I’m sure you’re well aware—he was cleared of any involvement in Lola’s disappearance. But how closely did the police look at you, Nolan? Or the people who work for you? Who did you have to pay off to get them to stop questioning why the women in your life have a habit of . . . disappearing?

  NN: [Pause] What are you trying to achieve here, Ms. Lahey?

  CJL: [Laughs] Oh, we’re back to formality, are we? Okay, Mr. Nox. Let’s talk about the fact that your wife—who you said walked out on you thirteen years ago—was murdered.

  NN: Well, no, Ms. Lahey. If you’d done your homework, you would know that my wife went to visit her hometown—your hometown as well, right?—and she was never heard from again. If anything happened to her, it had nothing to do with me. Lorelei was declared deceased in absentia, which is just standard procedure for a case like this. For all I know, she could be living it up in Mexico right now.

  CJL: Now that’s funny, Mr. Nox. You see, my dad died soon after Lorelei disappeared. Sad, yes, but he was a real asshole to my mother—

  NN: Did I ask for your life story? Either make your point or get the hell out of my office.

  CJL: Oh, Mr. Nox, you really are dead set on ruining this, aren’t you? Lola was one for telling stories—I figured you liked that. Anyway, I’ll get to it. I was recently going through some of my dad’s things and I found an envelope full of photo negatives. I had the photographs developed, and would you believe what was in the pictures? Go on, I’ll let you guess. [Pause] No? Okay, then. How about I show you instead? [Sound of shuffling papers] Now, I’d say that first shot quite clearly shows your assistant, Mr. Lawrence Brown, next to a car previously registered in your name when you lived in Chicago. And, knowing Harrow Lake pretty well, I’d also say the car is parked up near the abandoned quarry there. Are we agreed so far? Good. And would you also agree that the body he is struggling to haul out of the trunk looks an awful lot like your missing wife?

  NN: [Pause] What do you want?

  CJL: Now, let’s not rush this! We have a couple more pictures to go through first. This one, for example—I think that really captures the wound on Lorelei’s head rather well. [Pause] But I think this is the really interesting one, and I’ve had to take a little creative license with my interpretation, but I’m sure you’ll bear with me, right? Great. You see, my mother has always told me how my dad was simply obsessed with Lorelei; I’m sure you can relate to that. But I’d lay money down that dear old Dad couldn’t bear to think of poor Lorelei lying in the water, getting all bloated and puckered, so he dragged her body out of the quarry and laid her out in the boat as you see in the last picture. It’s almost romantic, isn’t it, how he folded her arms like that? Her hair swept away from her face? Or maybe Dad just wanted something more concrete to hold over you than these photos, so he made sure he could find her body again if he had to. Of course, he died before he had the chance to use that against you, didn’t he?

  NN: [Laughs] Oh, so I murdered your father now, too? I say “too” as I gather I’m meant to have killed Lorelei and had my assistant dispose of her. Do I have that right? This is really quite the story, Ms. Lahey. I wonder—how does it end?

  CJL: Now that’s the good part, Mr. Nox. It ends with you paying for what you did to your wife, and my dad. And to Lola, because I’m betting you know what happened to her when she disappeared. And if you’re wondering why on earth you would admit to any of this—because I’m sure you must be—then consider this: If you don’t, I will do it for you.

  NN: [Laughs] You’re going public with this nonsense? I will shut you down before you’ve even left the building, Ms. Lahey. I’ll also be on the phone to your editor to make sure you never work for him, or for any oth
er magazine or media outlet, again. How’s that for an ending? Because what you have there are photos of an actress rehearsing for a part in a movie I ended up scrapping. My assistant was helping her run through a scene. Anything else?

  CJL: Well, there’s Lorelei’s body.

  NN: [Pause] What?

  CJL: Oh, you didn’t know about that? Funny. See, it’s been a lot of work trying to rebuild Harrow Lake after last year’s landslide. Long, slow work. In fact, they only got around to reinforcing the tunnel entrance at the back of the fairground a couple of weeks ago. Can you guess what they found floating in a gondola right inside the cave mouth?

  NN: [Muttered curse]

  CJL: I hate to be the bearer of bad news—because I’m betting this is bad news, even though there’s no way it’s a surprise to you—but my brother was working with the crew that found the gondola, and he tells me they discovered a woman’s remains in there.

  NN: That is quite a shock, Ms. Lahey. Though I wonder why the authorities aren’t here to break the news if the poor woman was my wife, as you seem to be suggesting?

  CJL: [Laughs] Forensics take time. They’d have to be real sure before they came to talk to the legendary Nolan Nox about something like this, right?

  NN: Then I don’t see what you’re expecting to gain from this little . . . chat.

  CJL: I’m getting to that. See, I know you weren’t too impressed by the photographs I just showed you, but do you know who was?

  NN: Not the police, otherwise I assume they would be here to save me from this excruciating waste of my time.

  CJL: No, the police weren’t convinced by my photographs, you’re right. But Moira McCabe was.

  NN: [Pause] You showed these to Moira?

  CJL: Yes. And I’ll tell you, her reaction was a little different from yours. She seemed to think Lorelei had left Harrow Lake thirteen years ago—with you—after taking Lola there for a brief visit, and Lorelei then committed suicide in your apartment in Chicago the next day. Mrs. McCabe was adamant that that was what you told her. And I’m wondering why, if Lorelei simply left you, as you say, would you call her mother and inform her that her daughter was dead?

  NN: Well, I . . . I was upset about my wife leaving me, and . . . and no—Moira is making this up. She never liked me, never forgave me for taking her precious daughter away from her. She’s lying. Besides, why would she keep quiet about it all these years if she knew Lorelei was dead? Can you explain that?

  CJL: I can, Mr. Nox. Mrs. McCabe said you told her she was the one who drove Lorelei to kill herself. She didn’t go into details, but I gather she was deeply ashamed for turning a blind eye to the abuse Lorelei suffered growing up. That was what Lorelei went back to confront her about thirteen years ago, and what you held over Mrs. McCabe to keep her quiet. That’s pretty callous, Mr. Nox; but you’d have to be a callous sonofabitch to get your assistant to take your dead wife’s body back to Harrow Lake and dump it there, wouldn’t you? Was it so she’d really be stuck forever in the town she wanted to escape? Or just so you could claim she’d never left Harrow Lake if her body was ever found—and that you hadn’t been the last one to see her? No one else knew you were in town, did they? I wonder what would’ve happened to Mrs. McCabe if she hadn’t taken your hush money.

  NN: No . . . I . . . Shit. SHIT. [Pause] What’s your angle here? Money? You want a part in my next movie? What?

  CJL: You’re not listening, Mr. Nox. I don’t want your money, or a part in your shitty movie. You have nothing I want. I’m doing this for Lola.

  NN: [Laughs] You think you know my daughter? You think you’ve got her back, little girl? You don’t know anything. Lola’s an ungrateful brat who ran away to Harrow Lake while I was recovering in the hospital just to piss me off. I haven’t seen or heard from her since. She’s probably shacked up with some hillbilly by now—again, just to piss me off. That’s what she’s like.

  CJL: Why don’t you fill in some of the gaps while we wait for the cops to arrive? I’m sure they’re on their way. With the forensics report, my photographs, Mrs. McCabe’s testimony, and this interview, I think at the very least they’ll have enough to arrest you for your wife’s murder, even if I haven’t found out what you did to Lola yet. But, if you want to put forward your side, now’s your chance.

  NN: I did not do a damn thing to my daughter!

  CJL: But you admit you killed Lorelei?

  NN: No! Of course not! Look, take your damned photographs and your lies and get out of here. Scream Screen won’t print a word of this without evidence, so your interview isn’t worth shit.

  CJL: I might agree, except I’ve been livestreaming it ever since we sat down.

  NN: You’ve . . . what? [Sound of a chair scraping across the floor]

  CJL: [Loudly] Mr. Nox, I’m carrying a Taser that’ll knock you on your ass and leave a puddle on your nice carpet. Sit down unless you want me to demonstrate. [Sound of distant sirens] Ah, good. So, do you have any last words to say to your fans about all this before the gory details come out?

  NN: You little bitch! You don’t get to threaten me! YOU DON’T GET TO DO THIS—[Thud, followed by garbled noise]

  CJL: I did warn you, Nolan. Well, it looks like our listeners won’t get to hear your side right now. But I expect they’ve heard everything they need to hear from Nolan Nox. Listeners: I’m Cora Jean Lahey, livestreaming this somewhat unorthodox interview on behalf of Scream Screen magazine from the office of movie director Nolan Nox. It sounds like our friendly neighborhood cops are just about on the doorstep, so for now from me—you all have a delightful day. And Lola, if you’re out there, I hope you’re writing that damn book, girl.

  [END OF RECORDING]

  Two years later . . .

  STAR READS REVIEWS

  BOOK OF THE MONTH: ALICE IS GONE BY L. EVANGELINE

  Suffocated by dark family secrets and an overbearing father, Alice embarks on a mind-bending journey to a world of monstrous creatures and terrifying magic to find her missing mother. A feminist nod to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and inspired by events in the author’s own life, this exceptional debut offers an ultimately hopeful insight into a young woman’s recovery from a violent trauma. With a big-screen adaptation also scheduled for release next year, Alice Is Gone is sure to make its mark on movie-goers and readers alike.

  5 STARS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Reader, if you’ve made it this far, you deserve to know who’s to blame for Harrow Lake. That’s me, of course—this story is my beastly child, and I take full responsibility for its bad behavior, be that in the form of typos, factual errors, or liberties taken with the small matter of realism. But there are many more puppeteers behind the scenes, and I would like to offer them my thanks for enabling this nightmare to take physical form:

  To my editors, Emma Jones at Puffin, and Kathy Dawson at Kathy Dawson Books; it was a pleasure working with you both to unleash this monster on the world. Huge thanks also to the teams at Penguin Random House UK and US for their part in shaping this book inside and out, and getting it into the hands of readers: Stephanie Barrett, Jane Tait, Sarah Hall, Michael Bedo, Simon Armstrong, Geraldine McBride, Becki Wells, Amy Wilkerson, Karin Burnik, Anne Bowman, Jacqui McDonough, and Alex Murray at Puffin in the UK, and Rosie Ahmed, Regina Castillo, Mina Chung, and Elaine C. Damasco at Kathy Dawson Books in the US.

  Thanks as always to my agent, Molly Ker Hawn, for being a kind, brilliant, unstoppable force, and to my early readers: Jani Grey, Kate Brauning, Jeanmarie Anaya, and Dawn Kurtagich. And love and thanks to my husband, friends, and family for indulging my dark brain and supporting my huge dreams.

  Finally, thanks to Literature Wales, who saw promise in an early draft of this book and awarded me a Literature Wales Writers’ Bursary supported by the National Lottery through the Arts Council of Wales. Without the bursary, I’d probably have one less kidne
y right now. So thank you, from the bottom of my kidneys.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kat Ellis studied English with Creative Writing at Manchester Metropolitan University before going on to work in local government communications. She now writes young adult fiction full-time and, when she’s not writing, can be found exploring ancient ruins, watching horror movies, and spoiling her cats.

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