by Patrick Ness
‘Charlie?’ she calls out. This is the second time tonight he’s seemed to be missing. What if the real Charlie was the one that turned to dust and the fake one attacked Matteusz while she was busy? That doesn’t make sense either. ‘Matteusz!’ she shouts. ‘Anyone! I’m stuck up here and I’d like to get down.’
‘Hello,’ a voice calls up from the bedroom. Tanya knows that voice. She’s heard it here before.
‘Who’s that?’ Tanya says, her voice trembling very slightly.
‘I told you my name. I can help you,’ Amira says, although Tanya can’t see her or anything other than a spotlight on the carpet below.
‘How?’ Tanya asks. ‘Can you get the ladder?’
‘It’s been taken away. The house wanted you up there. It likes you up there.’
‘So how are you going to help me?’
‘Jump,’ Amira says.
‘What, and you’ll catch me? Then we’ll both have broken limbs.’
‘You came to find me, didn’t you?’ Amira says.
‘So that means I should trust you?’
‘Just jump,’ Amira whispers. Tanya jumps.
THIRTY-TWO
SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR
She’s in complete darkness. The one other time Miss Quill has seen such darkness was in a cell. No windows, no lights, sealed doors, food that she couldn’t see, delivered in a black box through a black hatch. At the time, she’d at once admired their thoroughness and couldn’t wait for revolution when she’d lock up her captors and show them how thorough she could be.
She got out of that place, and she’ll get out of this one too, if she can only work out where she is and which way up she is. Miss Quill has a terrible feeling that she is upside down in a spider’s web.
‘Miss Quill?’ April says somewhere to the left in the darkness. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Of course I’m not OK,’ she snaps.
‘No, you don’t look okay,’ Ram says.
‘How can you say that when you can’t even see me?’ Miss Quill says.
‘We can see you fine,’ April replies. ‘I think it might help if I just . . . bear with me, Miss Quill.’
Muted sounds of footsteps, as if April had covered her shoes with velvet. Something tears near Miss Quill’s face. ‘What are you do—’ She stops talking. The darkness has been thrown off, along with a web that now hangs to her left like a discarded bridal veil. The rest of her has been spun round and round, hoisted up and held on her side, making everything in the torch-lit room seem distorted.
‘I couldn’t tell what was going on, but you touched a hand that was reaching through the web.’
‘And turned it to dust. Well done, Miss Quill,’ Ram says, giving her still-trapped hand a high five. He wipes his hand on his shirt.
‘Did you see whose hand it was?’ Miss Quill asks. April has the grace to look sheepish. ‘As I said, we couldn’t really see. We only had one torch and we were caught up in nightmares. Ram saw his leg being—’
‘Alright, you don’t have to go over it,’ Ram interrupts.
‘And I was trying to explain to my parents how I failed physics,’ April says.
‘If you fail physics then you’ll be explaining it to me first,’ Miss Quill says. ‘Now help me get out.’ Ram and April stand there, staring at her.
‘You really are useless, aren’t you? Use one of my knives. And be careful. The last person who messed with my knives only understood their significance when his head was rolling across the floor.’
‘Is that true, Miss?’ Ram says. His face says he’d like it to be.
‘Make sure you don’t find out. Football without a head is difficult. Not impossible, of course. Stop gaping and cut me out.’
Ram and April carefully take two knives out of the leather holder and begin the job of removing her from the web.
‘Thank you,’ she says at last, taking back her knives, promising them that she’ll clean them later. She looks back into the hole that’s been sliced into the webbing. There’s nothing there. No long-lost friend, no web-making creature. If these are palpable illusions, then they are very convincing.
Covered in webs, her smart suit now looking like a Halloween costume, she moves back to the ladder. The readings on both the EMF meter and the artron pen have dropped. ‘We should find the others,’ she says as she climbs. ‘So what have we learned?’
‘Do we have to do the reflective learning thing every time?’ Ram says below her. ‘We can fill out an Individual Learning Assessment when we get back if you really want.’
‘We’ve learned,’ April calls up, ‘that the apparitions, or whatever they are, can be turned to dust, that we each had separate encounters that meant something to us but that we all could see, and that something is creating webs.’
Out of the cellar, they dust themselves down. ‘Thank you, April,’ Miss Quill says as they walk back through the kitchen and into the hall. ‘That was an adequate assessment.’ April showed a good understanding of the basics of knife work, too—grip, muscle use, letting the knife and gravity do their jobs. Must be her physics knowledge. With training, she could be a useful warrior.
Footsteps on the path outside. Lots of them.
Lights shine through panes in the front door. Male voices. The door crashes open.
Miss Quill pulls April and Ram into the deepest shadows. ‘Time for that game of hide-and-seek,’ she says. But there isn’t time at all.
Constantine Oliver shines a light at them and smiles.
THIRTY-THREE
AMIRA
Tanya doesn’t want to get up. After crouching in the cold attic, it’s a relief to be lying on a mattress in the bedroom, covered in a blanket.
‘Are you feeling better?’ Amira asks. ‘You were shaking when you first fell.’ Her voice is soft. She places a large camping lantern next to Tanya. Amira looks about fourteen or fifteen, maybe younger. She’s wearing clothes that were designed for someone older and bigger. Her sleeves hang over her hands. She has an accent that Tanya can’t place.
‘Much better, thanks,’ Tanya says, sitting up. Her hands are still trembling, though.
‘Please,’ Amira says, reaching behind her. She turns back with a tin of beans and a spoon standing upright inside it. ‘Eat this. That should help. I’d give you one of the sandwiches the workers left, but they’ve gone rotten already.’
‘Do you know why that happens?’ Tanya asks.
‘The house,’ is all Amira says.
Tanya pokes at the beans then remembers the cake. She opens her bag, takes the cake out of its box, and breaks off a piece. It’s gone dry already, but it tastes amazing. Dense with spices and sugar. She gives a chunk to Amira who eats it as if she hasn’t eaten cake in months. Maybe she hasn’t.
Tanya looks around the room. The mattress she’s sitting on has been dragged from one of the beds and positioned under the hatch. Blankets and clothes had been thrown on top.
‘Did you do this to break my fall?’ Tanya asks.
‘Yes.’ Amira laughs. There’s some sadness in it. ‘There’s no one else in here.’
‘But my friends were. Charlie and Matteusz. Did you see them?’
Amira nods. ‘I saw them come in here with you. I was sitting on the bed. They helped you up into the attic and then the house gathered them to itself.’
‘It what now?’ Tanya says.
Amira’s looking at her as if there’s nothing odd in what she’s said.
‘You know that’s crazy, right?’ Tanya says. She begins to stand up. She doesn’t even know Amira. ‘“The house gathered them to itself”? That’s one of the scariest, most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard and you say it as easily as if talking about taking a walk.’
‘If I were to take a walk, I’d speak about it with joy,’ Amira says.
Tanya’s about to ask why, then stops, just in time.
‘Because you’ve been trapped here for so long.’
‘Because of many things,’ Amira says simply. She looks st
raight at Tanya. She has amber eyes that say things that Tanya can’t interpret. Amira looks away. She fiddles with her headscarf.
‘Where has “the house” taken my friends?’ Tanya asks, walking to the door. It slams shut. The lock clunks. There was no key in the lock.
‘I told you,’ Amira says. ‘We’re like dolls in a doll’s house. The house wants you to stay.’
THIRTY-FOUR
INTRUDERS
Constantine Oliver’s smirk is so irritating, it’s lucky that Miss Quill’s wearing handcuffs.
One of the officers turns to Miss Quill. ‘I’m Detective Constable Carpenter, this is DC Turner. Can we have your name please?’ she says.
‘This is the solicitor I was telling you about,’ Oliver says. ‘Apparently she’s so intent on protecting her client that she breaks into my property on his behalf.’
Miss Quill ignores him. ‘My name is Miss Andrea Quill and these young people are here at my request. I’m their teacher and all fault should lie with me.’
A noise comes from upstairs.
‘Is anyone else in the building, Madam?’ DC Carpenter asks.
‘There’s no one else,’ Miss Quill says.
The sound of something falling comes from an upstairs floor.
‘It’s an old house. It makes noises,’ Miss Quill says.
‘Stay here,’ DC Carpenter says to DC Turner. She shines a light up the stairs and follows it.
‘Doesn’t look good for you, does it, Miss Quill?’ Oliver says.
Miss Quill turns away so she doesn’t have to see his face.
DC Turner’s radio crackles. ‘I’ve got two lads here, tied up in the hallway,’ DC Carpenter’s voice comes through. ‘Possible kidnap.’
‘Tied up?’ April says.
‘Do you need help?’ DC Turner asks.
‘My bodyguard will assist,’ Oliver offers.
‘That won’t be necessary, Sir,’ DC Turner says.
‘Not yet,’ DC Carpenter says. She sounds breathless.
‘They’re covered in some sort of material. Like webs. I’d hate to see the spider if this is the web it makes.’
Constantine Oliver’s smirk falls. He goes pale beneath his fake tan.
‘Spiders?’ he says.
‘Can you be quiet please, Sir,’ DC Turner says, impatience showing in his voice.
‘Well, I can see you have this all under control,’ Oliver says, nervously looking at the skirting boards.
‘Something troubling you, Mr Oliver?’ Miss Quill says.
‘Not at all. I’ve got to return to my dinner party. I left in a hurry when I heard that a group of suspicious-looking characters were let into the house. You know my new night guard, I presume?’
‘He really should sue,’ Miss Quill says. ‘This house is full of dangers.’
Oliver glares at her and is about to speak when a scuttling sound is heard above them. ‘Thank you, DC Turner,’ he says. ‘If you need anything further, please don’t hesitate to call my lawyer. She’s a real one, unlike Miss Quill.’ He hands over a card and walks out, avoiding the cobwebs.
Charlie and Matteusz appear at the top of the stairs. They’re in swaddling made of webs.
Ram takes out his phone and starts taking pictures.
‘How’s the Prince feeling now?’ he asks.
‘Don’t you dare put any of those up on Mr Turnpike’s site,’ Miss Quill says.
Ram takes a few more snaps, then puts his phone in his pocket. Charlie glares at him.
DC Carpenter holds each of them by the shoulder. ‘I found them on the landing, all wrapped up. It took a while to get them upright,’ she says. She tries to help them down the stairs. They can only take small steps.
‘Miss Quill’s got a knife you can use to cut them out, haven’t you?’ Ram says. His eyes have malice in them.
‘A knife?’ DC Turner says.
‘Lots of them, actually,’ Ram says. ‘Sharp ones.’
‘Stop it, Ram,’ April hisses.
DC Turner searches Miss Quill. His eyes widen when he finds the knives. ‘I don’t think these are legal,’ he says.
‘What?’ Ram says, turning to April, all feigned innocence. ‘She’s the responsible adult here. Would we all be here without her?’
‘We wouldn’t be here without Tanya,’ Miss Quill says.
‘Where is Tanya?’ April asks.
‘There’s someone else here?’ DC Carpenter says, her voice sharp, urgent.
‘How old is she?’ DC Turner asks.
‘Fourteen. She was upstairs. Charlie and Matteusz were supposed to be looking after her,’ Ram says. He stares at Charlie.
‘You don’t care about her,’ Charlie says. They glare at each other.
‘Stop it, both of you,’ Miss Quill says.
‘He’s right about one thing,’ Charlie says. ‘We wouldn’t be here without you. You are supposed to protect me and you sent me upstairs to this.’ He looks down at his wrapped-up form. He seems so serious and looks so ridiculous, that, despite everything, April giggles. Charlie looks at her, wounded.
There is a dangerous silence. Even the police officers look a little embarrassed by it. Eventually, April breaks it.
‘Maybe it’s best if we keep away from each other,’ April says. ‘For a while at least. My parents aren’t going to let me out of the house anyway, after this.’
‘Perfect,’ Miss Quill says. Her voice is completely flat. ‘That suits me.’
‘Anyway.’ DC Carpenter moves back up the stairs. ‘I’m going to look for this kid. Charge Miss Quill with possession of dangerous weapons. For now.’
As DC Turner cautions her, the others won’t look her way. It doesn’t matter. She’s been alone before. It’s the best way. Safest, for everyone.
THIRTY-FIVE
CONCENTRATE ON THE WEB
‘Did you see that detective’s face?’ Tanya says, turning to me. ‘When she got stuck on the stepladder and tried to pull her foot away? Angry trout pout or what? She looked like she was posing for a selfie with an ex’s new girlfriend. Brilliant!’
‘Why is that brilliant?’ I ask.
‘People who take themselves too seriously are funny,’ Tanya says. ‘Anyway. We should introduce ourselves properly.’
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Telling you to jump wasn’t the best way.’
‘No problem. It worked,’ Tanya says. ‘We leapt straight over the awkward getting-to-know-you phase into the saving-me-from-a-broken-neck phase. Very important phase that, for me. And my neck.’
‘You’re probably right. I was too shy to do anything other than whisper to you last time and tell you my name.’
She holds my shoulder. It is such a solid, warm touch. ‘I knew that you told me your name. I couldn’t hear when I was here. Then I dreamed about it when I got home.’
‘The stone house does that,’ I tell her, looking around the room. ‘It draws you to it then sets up house within you.’
‘There I was thinking it was you who’d set up house within me. I only came here to help you.’
‘But I told you to leave.’
She slaps her hand down on the mattress. ‘And I knew that was you, too. I. Am. On. FIRE. Next time Miss Quill doubts me, I’m gonna remind her of this.’
‘Miss Quill is the sharp woman who looks like she hates everyone and everything?’
‘She has her bad days too. She’s alright. Clever. And, yeah, sharp is the word. Far sharper than that police officer. She didn’t even see us when she looked under the beds. What kind of detective does that make her? A rubbish one, that’s what. You know who’d make a great detective? Me, that’s who. I look great in hats.’ She pauses. ‘Sorry, I’m nervous. I talk a lot when I’m nervous.’
‘Then we balance each other out,’ I say. ‘I don’t say anything when I’m nervous. She didn’t see us, though, because she couldn’t. Same reason you didn’t see me when I was sitting on the bed when you came in.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tanya says.
> I don’t want to scare her. She’s like my little sister, who acted tough and as if she knew everything, until the day we left and she knew how bad everything could be. She became very quiet after that. I don’t want that for Tanya. The house will never let her go, anyway. It will keep those men away from its walls and from us. It likes Tanya, I can tell. The same way that it likes me.
‘The house is clever,’ I tell her gently. ‘It hides people. Wraps them in a cobweb that stops the world from seeing. You can see them, of course, but you’re safe.’
‘So we were invisible?’ Tanya asks.
‘We still are,’ I say. ‘Place your hand ten centimetres above your skin.’
Tanya does so and looks at me. ‘Now what?’
‘Concentrate on what you’re feeling,’ I say.
She closes her eyes. ‘It’s like there’s very fine thread or something barely there but slightly fuzzy,’ she says. She smooths her way up above her arm, her fingers brushing against the same kind of gossamer web that the house has wrapped around me since the day I got here.
‘That’s it,’ I say. ‘It’s protecting you, keeping eyes away.’
‘How can we both see each other, then?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know.’
‘And what if you don’t want eyes to keep away from you? Does the house give you a choice or do you fight it all the time to try to get help?’
‘Do you remember when you saw me in the window?’ I ask. Of course she remembers. It was only days ago; it just feels like longer.
‘It’s where this all started.’
‘If I don’t want to be invisible, then I brush off the layer of web. It’s easy. Although even then, few people look up and, even if they do, their eyes fly over me.’
‘I saw you.’
‘Yes, you did. And I’m very glad, although I wish you hadn’t come here. I don’t want my friends in a house full of nightmares.’
‘Do you know how they happen?’ Tanya asks.
‘I wish I did.’
‘I’ve seen several nightmares since I’ve been here,’ Tanya says slowly. She looks as if she’s finding it difficult to find the right words. I understand how she feels.
