Midnight is a Lonely Place

now he’s killed my Roger -’ She broke down in sobs.

Somehow Greg managed to pull her away. In the sitting room Cissy had managed to get to her feet, her face white. ‘Diana -?’

‘Dad’s dead.’ Greg steered his mother towards the sofa and pushed her down. ‘Please, Cissy, put on the kettle. She needs some tea. And some brandy.’

‘Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry.’ Cissy touched Diana on the shoulder, then she limped across the room to the Aga. She was shaking violently. Her arm, roughly bandaged and in a sling, hurt like hell, but she ignored it as she manoeuvred the kettle onto the hotplate. As she did so, there was a deafening bang from upstairs. She spun round. ‘What was that?’

Greg was standing over his mother. At the sound he had turned. In two painful strides he was at the door.

Behind him Susie curled up on her chair and buried her face in a cushion. Cissy ran to her and put a protective arm around her.

Diana’s face was white, her eyes glassy. ‘It’s begun,’ she whispered.

‘What has?’ Greg opened the door and peered up the stairs.

‘Your father and Marcus.’

Greg swung round. ‘You don’t believe that – ’

‘Your father is trying to protect us.’

Greg stared at her for a moment. Then he turned, and hauling himself with difficulty up the banisters, he disappeared upstairs. There was a long silence. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on the door. Then they heard him coming back. He appeared and closed the door behind him. He was shaking with the effort of negotiating the stairs on his injured foot. ‘Nothing,’ he said. The words were no sooner out of his mouth when there was another bang, louder than the first.

Diana let out a sob. ‘Roger. Be careful.’

‘Ma -’ Greg went and sat down beside her. Putting his arm around her he pulled her against him tightly. ‘It’s probably the house timbers expanding or contracting in the cold. It’s not Dad – ’ He glanced at Cissy. ‘The brandy.’

Cissy, her face white, nodded. She collected bottle and glasses from the dresser and brought them back to the fire. Her hand shook so much as she poured it that the liquid spilled on the hearth. She handed Diana half a tumblerful. Not noticing, Diana took a sip. She coughed violently and handed the glass to Greg who drank in turn. They were all waiting, ears straining for another bang.

The silence lengthened. It was several minutes before they realised that the familiar smell of woodsmoke and polish in the room had been replaced by the scent of jasmine.

LXIX

He saw her often in his dreams, the wife who had betrayed him. He saw her laughing. He saw her in her lover’s arms. He saw her again and again in her blue gown, the splash of scarlet dripping down her skirts, her eyes open in wild agony and hate. And again and again he heard her curse him. A woman’s curse. A dying curse, made before the gods themselves. He would awaken shivering, sweat sheening his body and if Augusta woke, he would claim it was a touch of the marsh fever. He was scared of dying. While he was alive she could not touch him, but in death they would be equals. And the priest. Her lover. What of him? Was he there too, waiting? Waiting to avenge the greatest betrayal of all, a false message from the gods. He stared into the darkness and he was afraid.

The second time they stopped to rest Kate felt for Alison’s pulse. The girl was getting weaker all the time, her life force draining visibly as they watched. She glanced at Anne. ‘What can we do?’

Anne shrugged miserably. She felt helpless. All her knowledge of the human mind had deserted her. She had no basis to work from. This was not covered by any category she had read about. This was no chemical imbalance of the brain; it was not multiple personality disorder; it was not schizophrenia; it was not any kind of manic state. Marcus was an external force, a parasite implanted inside the girl’s head and she had no parameters within which to work. ‘I wish I was religious. I feel a priest would be more help than anything else,’ she said slowly. ‘Or a medium of some sort as a go-between. Our culture doesn’t give us weapons to fight this any more. I don’t know what to do.’ She looked at Jon and then at Pete, kneeling in the snow. The sleet, driving into their faces had turned without their realising it to rain. The wind, stronger than ever, had a warmer feel now. Behind them, like an ever- present enemy, the water lapped higher, flowing in amongst the trees, stealing imperceptibly through the undergrowth.

‘Is he still there?’ Kate murmured to her sister. ‘Is he still inside her?’

Anne shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. She’s calm; her strength has gone.’

‘Then where is he?’ Kate looked up into Jon’s eyes as he bent over her to look at Alison.

Jon gave a wan smile. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

Anne stood up, stiffly. The woods were very silent; the trees seemed to be listening, shrugging off the hissing rain and wind.

‘Perhaps with the grave flooded, he’s left completely.’ Patrick stood up too. Jon and Pete bent to pick up the stretcher and slowly the small procession began to move on. Kate paused a moment, staring back the way they had come. He wasn’t here now. The woods were empty. But that didn’t mean he had gone for good. Something deep inside her told her that he was still around, somewhere. Waiting.

LXX

‘Dear God, what’s happening!’ Diana shrank against Greg. The room had grown dark. The rush and roar of the wind filled the chimneys, scattering ash into the room.

‘Susie!’ Cissy shouted suddenly, her voice shrill with panic. The girl had fallen from the chair. She was struggling on the ground, her hands to her throat as if she were trying to prise fingers loose from her neck – fingers they could not see. The candle which had stood on the table beside the sofa flared suddenly and went out. An acrid trail of smoke drifted across the room.

‘Susie!’ Diana flung herself towards them. ‘Oh God, it’s happening again.’

Susie was thrashing backwards and forwards on the rug, beating her heels on the ground, fighting for breath.

Mine

I have her

Mine

HATRED

ANGER

She could see nothing, feel nothing but the pain inside her head as three formless shapes tried, parasitic, greedy, to fasten their empty, gaping souls to hers.

‘Mummy -!’ Her shriek of pain and fear died in her throat as she writhed once more in a spasm of agony.

‘Susie!’ Cissy was on her knees, pulling at the girl’s wrists, trying to drag her hands away from her face.

‘It’s what happened to Allie.’ Greg knelt down beside them. He looked at the girl for a moment then he stared round the room. ‘He’s here. He’s here, in the room with us.’ He turned back to his mother.

‘Stop her hurting herself, Cissy,’ Diana commanded, her voice surprisingly strong. ‘You bastard, Marcus!’ She turned and shouted at the ceiling. ‘Can’t you see, there’s no point. It’s over. We know. We know what you did – ’

‘That is the point,’ Greg put in quietly. He was holding Susie’s small hands in his own. ‘We don’t know what he