by Shaun Hutson
Ronni was left alone.
She heard Alison’s footsteps as they echoed away down the corridor.
Then she turned and picked up the first pile of letters.
BARBARA EUSTACE PULLED the blanket around her legs as a fresh gust of wind swept across the front of Shelby House. She shifted position in her wheelchair and manoeuvred herself closer to the end of the path. There was a concrete ramp there, but she decided to remain where she was.
Ronni made her way down the gentle slope from the path to the drive.
Helen Kennedy thought about following, but then decided against it.
Barbara’s dog scuttled across the gravel drive and onto the lawn beyond. The little terrier hurried after its small rubber ball as fast as its stumpy legs would carry it.
Barbara looked on and smiled.
When she shivered slightly, Helen tucked the blanket more tightly around her.
Night was less than an hour away.
The wind shook the trees on either side of the drive. Ronni turned up the collar of her coat and glanced up at the darkening heavens. Thick banks of cloud were scudding in from the west, threatening more rain.
“Hurry up, Molly,” Barbara called, ‘or we’ll all be soaked.”
The little dog raised its head at the sound of its name, then trotted off across the lawn towards the thick privet hedge to retrieve its ball.
Ronni smiled as she watched it, then turned to see that Helen was guiding Barbara’s wheelchair down the ramp. The two older women joined her.
“What’s the news on your father, Veronica?” Barbara asked.
Ronni looked vacant for a moment.
“Alison told us what happened,” Helen elucidated.
“We’re all very sorry.”
“She shouldn’t have told you,” Ronni murmured, picking up the rubber ball and throwing it for the dog to chase.
“You shouldn’t keep things like that to yourself,” Barbara observed.
“It does you no good to bottle them up.”
Ronni didn’t answer. She merely dug her hands in the pockets of her coat and walked slowly.
Why the hell did Alison have to mention it?
Helen pushed Barbara along beside her.
“If there’s anything we can do, Ronni...” Helen offered, but the sentence merely trailed off.
“I appreciate it, Helen. But there’s nothing anyone can do except wait.”
“What did they say at the hospital this afternoon?” Barbara enquired.
“That he’s stable. There’s been no change.”
“I’ll say a prayer for him tonight,” Barbara offered.
Ronni smiled gratefully and took the ball from Molly when the little dog trotted back to her. She handed it to the dog’s owner.
Barbara threw it and the little terrier set off again.
“We heard about the letters too,” Helen said flatly.
“What letters?”
“The abusive ones,” Helen told her.
“Did Alison tell you about those too?” She sighed.
“No. Mr. Errington did,” Barbara said.
“I asked him to keep it to himself.”
“We had a right to know, Veronica.”
“I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t realize keeping secrets around here would be so difficult.”
“Do the police know?” Barbara continued.
Ronni shook her head.
“Are you going to tell them?”
“Not yet.”
Barbara was about to say something else when she heard barking.
“Molly,” she called.
The dog was standing facing the high privet hedge that enclosed the lawn area.
Its high-pitched bark arrowed through the growing gloom.
Ronni spun round in the direction of the sound.
“Molly!” Barbara called again.
“Come here.”
The dog continued barking, then suddenly hurried off through a gap in the privet.
“I’ll get her,” Ronni said, setting off across the lawn.
She passed the discarded rubber ball.
The barking subsided into a low growl.
“Come on, Molly,” Ronni called as she drew nearer the hedge. She could hear the guttural sound more clearly now.
“Come on, you little sod,” she murmured under her breath, looking for a gap in the privet through which she could squeeze.
There was sudden movement behind the hedge.
The rustle of leaves and branches.
Then silence.
“MOLLY?”
Ronni picked her way along the hedge, still looking for a way through.
She called the dog’s name again.
Only silence greeted the shout.
No growling.
No barking.
Nothing.
There was a break in the hedge about ten feet ahead of her and she found that she could just about edge her way between the branches. Stems of privet scratched at her face, but she slipped through and emerged on the far side.
There was no sign of the dog.
Another pathway ran to her left and right, but here the hedges and flowerbeds were not so neat.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
She made a mental note to have a word with the gardeners next time they came.
Ronni turned to her right and headed back in the direction she had last heard the growling.
Weeds grew thickly and the grass beyond the path was ankle high, festooned with thistles in places. The trees towered over her, their lower branches occasionally swiping at her when the wind buffet ted them.
The path led to a paved area where some wooden garden furniture had been placed to provide somewhere else for the residents to sit during the summer months. But the wood was cracked and warped. There was an arm missing from one of the chairs. The nails that had held it in place were rusted the colour of dried blood. A tall, thick hedge of rampant bramble surrounded the area like natural barbed wire.
“Molly!” she called again, moving on through the paved area, cursing when she caught her sleeve on a low-hanging branch. The thorn cut her skin and drew blood.
“Shit,” she muttered, sucking at the welling crimson fluid.
A crow, perched on one of the lower branches, squawked loudly. Its black eyes were fixed on her as she moved.
There was movement to her left.
Ronni spun round, but saw nothing.
She was aware of how dark it was becoming. She was forced to squint in the rapidly advancing dusk.
She wondered why her heart had begun to thump harder.
“Molly!” she snapped, her patience beginning to fray.
No barking.
No growling.
Then she heard a snuffling.
She stood still, gazing in the direction of the new sound.
A hedgehog?
No. It was too early in the day.
So what the hell was it? A stray cat? A rat?
The thought made her ‘;07-‘ shudder.
It had to be Molly.
Didn’t it?
This is bloody ridiculous. She can’t have disappeared.
The dog wouldn’t have run out onto the driveway, she reasoned. Even if it had, it would never reach the road beyond. The poor old thing would collapse from such a long trek.
Ronni turned back. She moved once more through the paved area with its warped garden furniture.
Then she heard the barking.
Ronni sighed relievedly and followed the strident noise.
She made it back to the path and hurried along towards a large oak tree that thrust upwards as if attempting to drag the clouds from the sky.
The barking subsided into growls.
“Molly!” she called.
The dog was at the base of the tree.
Ronni looked up and saw a squirrel. It was nibbling contentedly on something it held between its paws. That’s what must have made the noise beyond the overgrown hedge, s
he told herself.
“Come on,” Ronni said, scooping the dog up into her arms.
“He’s not doing you any harm, is he?”
Molly barked once, then licked Ronni’s face. She grinned and headed back towards the gap in the privet.
As she reached it, the dog suddenly twisted in her grip and jumped to the ground.
It hurried back the way it had come, barking loudly once more.
“For Christ’s sake, Molly,” Ronni hissed angrily.
She watched as the dog scuttled back towards the tree and began growling again, its head tilted upwards.
Ronni waited a moment (I should leave, you there, you little bastard) then trudged off after Molly again.
The dog was barking incessantly now. It rushed backwards and forwards as fast as its little legs would allow, occasionally stopping to growl in the direction of the tree.
Ronni looked up. There was no sign of the squirrel.
“Come on,” she snapped and picked up the dog once more.
She didn’t notice the two cigarette ends lying on the damp grass near the foot of the tree.
Not even the one that was still burning.
THE PAIN WAS unbearable. Jack Fuller had put up with the headache for most of the day but, finally, it had become intolerable.
He eased himself slowly off his bed, keeping his eyes closed until he was sitting upright. Then he stood up.
The dizziness hit him as hard as the wave of nausea.
He stood still for a moment longer, then took his first faltering steps towards the door of his room.
Down the corridor, he could hear the sound of the television blaring away in the day room. There was a subdued sound of chatter also coming from the room.
He leaned against the corridor wall as a fresh wave of pain enveloped him. He was still standing there when Alison Dean emerged from the day room.
Fuller tried to smile, but it came across as a grimace.
Alison hurried to his side.
“Bloody headache,” he told her.
“I haven’t got any tablets in my room.”
“I’ll get you something for it,” she told him.
“You go back to your room, Jack.”
“I’d rather come with you,” he said.
Together they walked to the end of the corridor and rode the lift to the first floor.
She offered him her hand as they stepped out, but he merely smiled and walked on slowly.
The rooms on the second floor were empty except for the single occupied by Donald Tanner and the double that housed Harry and Janice Holland. The other double on that floor served as staff quarters for whoever was doing the night shift.
The first floor was also home to the pharmacy and a second linen cupboard.
Alison fumbled in her pocket for the necessary key.
“It’s cold up here,” she said, shivering.
There was a draught sweeping up and down the corridor. It made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
Fuller was also shaking slightly. He rubbed his hands together gently and watched as Alison opened the door.
She slapped on lights and stepped into the pharmacy.
The walls were lined with shelves and every one of those shelves was stacked with pharmaceuticals; every kind of drug needed for the welfare of the Shelby House residents.
Alison found him 300mg of fenoprofen and disappeared into the staff quarters for a second, returning with a glass of water. They’ll start to work soon, Jack,” she said as she handed them over, shivering again as she watched Fuller swallow the pills with the water, then wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.
Alison turned and realized that the draft was coming from inside the room. She crossed to the window and noticed that it was open a fraction.
“Who the hell left that open?” she mused, pushing it shut once more.
Fuller pointed at something on the window sill.
“Wait a minute,” he said and joined her beside the window.
There were several flecks of white paint on the sill.
Fuller pushed open the window and peered out.
The paint around the lock was scarred and scratched, the wood of the frame deeply gouged in places. Fuller ran his finger over the marks.
It was as if a tool of some kind had been used on it. From the outside.
RONNI GLANCED AT her watch: 8.53 p.m.
She massaged the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger for a moment, then closed the file before her.
Her mind hadn’t been on her work anyway.
More than once during the evening she’d sat staring at the phone on the corner of the desk wondering if it would ring.
The hospital?
No news is good news and all that crap.
She wondered about ringing them. Just to see if there’d been any change in her father’s condition from earlier in the day.
If there had been, they’d have let you know.
From downstairs, she could hear the sound of the television.
Ronni decided to join Alison and the residents. At least when she was surrounded by people it gave her less opportunity to brood.
She got to her feet.
It was as she rose she heard the noise.
A muted crack.
Like ... Like what?
She wasn’t sure what it was.
She pushed the file back into the drawer.
The sound came again.
That same muted crack like ... like something striking glass.
That was it. The sound was like an object hitting glass.
A small stone or something.
It came again.
This time she was sure the noise was close by.
She walked to the window and peered out into the darkness; nothing but the trees blowing in the strong wind.
Perhaps it was one of the branches scratching against the window.
Even though the trees are twenty yards away?
There were marks on the window.
No bigger than the tip of her little finger, but still noticable.
Holes in the glass, as if something pointed had been tapped hard against the pane.
Three marks.
Ronni wondered what the hell they were. She was convinced they hadn’t been there when she’d begun working that evening.
She contemplated opening the window to get a better look, then thought better of it.
For long moments she stood there, silhouetted against the window, framed by the light from behind her.
She cupped her hands around her eyes. Still she could see nothing in the grounds but the wind-blown trees.
Something smacked into the glass, level with her right eye. It drilled into the window, creating another hole like the other three.
The impact almost made her scream.
She jumped back from the window, turning to switch off the light.
She felt suddenly exposed.
Her heart was thudding hard against her ribs.
Ronni backed out of the room, eyes fixed on the four cracks in the glass.
For what seemed like an eternity she stood motionless in the doorway.
Waiting for a fifth.
It never came.
She waited until her heart slowed its frantic beating, then closed the office door and headed downstairs.
As she made her way to the day room she sucked in several deep breaths, trying to compose herself.
Ronni swallowed hard as she walked into the day room and saw that the curtains had not yet been drawn.
They were gaping wide, spilling light from the room into the gloom outside.
Donald Tanner, Helen Kennedy, Colin Glazer and Janice Holland were sitting at a table close to one large window playing bridge.
Ronni crossed immediately to them and pulled the thick velvet curtains closed, glancing out into the night.
“Help me with these, will you, please, Alison?” she called, trying to make her tone as light as possible.<
br />
The other residents were sitting watching television.
Molly, laying close to Barbara Eustace’s wheelchair, raised her head and watched as the two women set about their task.
The little dog barked once.
George Errington reached down and patted her.
“What’s wrong with you, girl?” he wanted to know, peering over the top of his glasses.
The dog barked once more.
Ronni heard the sound and moved to the next set of curtains. She was aware of Alison’s eyes upon her and when the two women locked stares, she merely shook her head gently.
Alison looked puzzled.
Molly was barking incessantly now, facing the window where Alison stood.
“What’s wrong with her, Barbara?” Harry Holland asked.
Barbara Eustace patted her lap and called the dog’s name.
The little terrier continued to bark.
Alison reached for the curtains, a bemused smile on her face.
As she did, the window exploded inwards.
FRAGMENTS OF GLASS sprayed into the room like crystal shrapnel. The sound of the shattering window was accompanied by a scream of pain and fear from Alison, who stumbled backwards, blood running from two cuts.
Ronni saw a stone the size of a man’s fist bounce onto the floor in the centre of the room. She rushed towards the exposed window, the cold wind rushing through the shattered pane. Grabbing handfuls of velvet, she dragged the curtains shut, then turned her attention to Alison.
A piece of glass about six inches long had cut her cheek just below her right eye.
There was another gash on her left forearm, but apart from that she seemed uninjured.
The residents seated near the windows hurriedly moved away.
Others either struggled to their feet or remained rooted to the spot in shock.
Molly continued to bark madly.
Another window was shattered.
Helen Kennedy screamed this time.
“What’s happening?” Alison gasped in terror, tears and blood mingling on her cheek.
Ronni folded a handkerchief and pressed it to the cut, forcing Alison to hold it there.
There was a third explosion of glass as another window pane was obliterated.
Colin Glazer opened a gap in the curtains in an attempt to see what was going on.
“For God’s sake!” shouted Jack Fuller and pulled him away.
Seconds later a stone crashed through the glass and smacked into the far wall with enough power to dent it.
Tut all the lights out!” Ronni shouted.
