The Magic Cottage

Midge collapsed against the rough bark of the tree and I collapsed against her.

'Best we keep going,' I advised, breathing heavy and slumping onto the trunk.

She ran her hands down her face, continuing down her neck. 'Was it them, Mike? Or was that just Mycroft's trickery too? Their voices . . . they sounded so much like . . .'

I hesitated before answering. 'I'm pretty sure it began as a fake. But later on . . . hell, I don't know what happened later on.'

'At the end it was my parents. I know it was them! Their warning brought me to my senses. Everything I'd believed about Mycroft just fell away . . .'

I slid over the tree trunk and extended an arm back for her. 'There's too much to think about for now, Midge. Let's just get back to the cottage while we can still see our way.'

She scrambled over and took time to kiss my neck before we hurried on. I don't think I'd have found my way back without her, the trail was becoming so dim; but she kept on, only occasionally stopping to examine a choice of direction or a particular landmark (a cluster of red toadstools beneath another, virtually hollowed, fallen tree was the only one I recognized). My back was damp with sweat and a stiffness was developing in my thighs; ahead of me, Midge was beginning to falter, her steps losing rhythm.

Our nervousness hadn't abated either, and when a huge white-streaked shape blundered across the path we both nearly jumped out of our skins. The badger was equally alarmed and quickly scooted into the bushes on the other side of the track; we watched and heard the animal's progress as he bludgeoned his way through the undergrowth, foliage shaking violently as he went.

Further along I tripped over a creeper or root that I hadn't noticed Midge hop over, going down heavily and sprawling on the earth. I gasped in air as she knelt beside me, her hand gripping me beneath an arm in an effort to lift. I rose unsteadily and stood there, bent like an old man, one hand on my knee, the other on Midge's shoulder.

'How much further?' I asked in between labored intakes of breath.

Her features weren't clear, so shaded had they become, and she sounded almost as breathless as me. 'It can't be too far—we've come a long way.'

'Yeah, about a hundred miles. You ok—?'

The shadow I saw as I straightened was nothing more than a tall bush shaped like a cowled figure, lurking behind a tree. The sighing I heard was nothing more than a newly born breeze passing through the leaves. The thumping in my chest was nothing more than my own heartbeat.

'Christ, I've got the jitters,' I admitted.

Her voice was soft. 'Are we dreaming all this?'

'My bruised knees say no. My head's not so sure.'

Now arm in arm, squeezed together by the narrow track, we carried on the journey, not caring that movement was awkward in this manner, needing the closeness for mutual encouragement and to keep the wood spooks away. Darkness had settled into the forest like smoke in a lung.

We hobbled, we held each other steady, we moved as fast as we could, and soon, thank God, we saw gaps in the trees ahead of us, the lighter grays of open space. Relief gave strength to wearying limbs and we broke into a jog once more, hurrying, running, hand in hand, with me shouting my elation and Midge laughing at my shouting.

We burst from the wood like popped peas.

Dusk had practically thickened into night, but at least the air was several shades lighter than under the cover of trees. We sprinted toward Gramarye, eager to be behind locked windows and bolted doors, and it was only when we drew closer that we began to realize something was wrong, that what we saw in the dimness wasn't making any sense. We slowed. We walked. We looked at Gramarye in dismay.

My foot kicked something soft lying in the grass and I stopped when I saw the dead rabbit, small, no more than a baby, a rictal smile of terror fixed to its tiny face. A choker of blood stained its neck. Midge's fingers stiffened in mine and I saw the other slumped form that she'd discovered. This rabbit was larger than the one at our feet, maybe the mother, and its body was raked from head to tail, the fur stiffened with drying blood.

We didn't speak. We guessed a fox might have killed them, but we didn't put the thought into words. Around us there were other slumped bodies. We walked on, our steps cautious.

And couldn't comprehend Gramarye's transformation.

The walls, reduced to gray in the ailing light, showed only in odd patches.

Black was the dominant color now.

And still we couldn't understand.

Until we saw the walls were swollen with life.

Black, furry life.

Wings stretching and retracting.

Bodies, grossly bigger than before, pulsating as the creatures breathed.

We could only stare numbly at the clinging bats engulfing Gramarye.

HOME AGAIN

FOR A WHILE we stood and gawked, our flesh creeping and our senses not quite together. How could there be so many? They couldn't all have been from our loft, many of them had to have come from other places. Maybe it was a bat convention. And how could they have grown to monster size? Most serious of all: what was their intent? These were questions we asked ourselves, not each other—we didn't want our voices to disturb their rest period.

The inclination, you'll understand, was to make for the road, jump in the car, and get away from that bat- coated place as fast as possible. The only problem was that the car keys were inside the cottage where I'd left them earlier, and when I mentioned that to Midge (in a very low voice) her body kind of sagged.

'You go sit in the car,' I told her in a whisper.

Even as I spoke, though, two bats detached themselves from the wall and fluttered around to the other side of the building. The moon was up, unclouded but showing only a profile, and in that clean, eerie light the size of the bats' wingspans froze me. We found ourselves crouching, ready to head back into the forest.

'Get going, Midge,' I urged again.

'No, Mike,' she whispered. 'I'm staying with you; we'll get the keys together.'

'That's stupid.'

'I won't let you go in alone!'

Her voice was so forceful, although hushed, that my shoulders jerked upward and my neck sank in.

I drew in a breath and squeezed her hand. 'Okay, okay. But if they get busy I want you to head straight for the car without waiting for me.'

'What will you do?'

'I'll be ahead of you.'

She returned the squeeze, but couldn't manage a smile.

'Let's skirt around and try the kitchen door,' I suggested. 'Maybe there won't be so many down there.'

Her breathing was fast and shallow as she summoned the nerve to follow me and it wasn't just the moonlight that gave her face such an unnatural pallor. My own skin tones probably matched hers pretty well at that moment.

We slunk away slowly, bodies bent, not wanting to draw the slightest attention to ourselves. It seemed to me that a whole section of wall rippled, the movement black, a wave in an oil slick. We kept going, retreating, then moving toward the embankment. Everything was still and somehow unearthly around us, the dark mass of brooding forest behind, while in front was the bizarre spectacle of the smothered cottage, wearing bats like a tattered hood. Half-moonlight revealed more bodies prone in the grass, the sickening aftermath of the rabbits' before-bed gambol.

We reached the short but steep slope and I quietly slid down, reaching back to help Midge once I was on the flat again. She fell into my arms and stayed there for a few moments, reluctant to leave them. The gray strip that was the garden path leading to the gate beckoned invitingly, the road beyond representing manmade normalcy, a