“I see you sit here often,” Laysia said. The question floated unsaid into Kate’s head.
“I’m just listening,” Kate told her.
“Ah. You hear it, too.”
“Not only that.”
Laysia’s face was unreadable in the dark, and Kate didn’t say anything. The woman’s presence had driven out the sounds of the wood, and again there was nothing much but the mist. But in time, as they sat quietly, Kate relaxed, and her ears opened up again.
Together they sat watching the fireflies glitter in the crown of trees, and listening to the calm beneath the mist, the life of the wood going on.
Clouds of birds rose from the wood and swept toward the sea as the sun drifted westward in late afternoon. Kate watched them swirl out over the water and curve back, chattering hordes of them that rose, and then settled in the trees at the edge of land. Again and again, they swept up and then down, cresting hills of air that rolled across the sky.
“I like that sound,” Jean said, looking up from her spot in the grass. She had set her Barbie across from her and was playing a game of four stones with it. “It’s a lot better than the other.”
Kate had not realized Jean could hear the mist. She’d never said anything about it before.
“You’re right,” she said. “Much better.”
It was also the signal to start back, and so they walked beneath the noisy trees, barely aware, at first, of the persistent hiss of the valley. But as they left the birds behind, they heard it. And then it changed, its pitch rising. Kate cringed.
“Someone’s coming through,” Laysia said.
Everyone’s head came up.
“Let’s go!” Susan said. “It’ll be him — I know it!”
They began running, leaping roots and dodging branches, toward the growing sound. Relief made Kate fast. Now everything would be all right again. Now Max would be back.
She outstripped the others, running through the clearing where the cottage lay, running toward her brother. She had reached the edge of Laysia’s garden when she saw the figure lurching through the wood.
Not Max.
She froze. The slasher still wore clothing, a dress of light fabric that extended past its knees. A girl, then, but one who had grown horrible, twisted and furred, with wild eyes swirling in her head, her mouth open to show dangerous teeth. At the sound of Kate running toward it, the thing swiveled and howled.
Kate’s head rang with the sound. Too much was in that howl. A strange wildness, terror, hunger. Kate heaved, her chest bursting, and gaped at it. Without warning, it swung forward, something bright flashing in Kate’s eye.
Her legs would not move fast enough. Disappear! she thought furiously at herself. Evaporate! The thing lurched toward her, terror blaring from it, and Kate scrambled to grab the light, light like dust, like the cloud of birds, pieces and pieces. She saw it; she pushed it. The light wavered and bent. She felt the crackle in the air, and the hair on her arms rose. It seemed suddenly as if she looked through water. On the other side of that rippling wall, the slasher paused, blinking. Kate clutched the light, fragile as blown glass, balancing, balancing . . . and then that flash of reflection came again, and Kate saw it for what it was — a copper pendant.
“Wista!” Nell screamed from behind.
The wall of light dissolved, and the thing that had been Wista — pretty, cheerful Wista — turned and growled low in its throat and leaped.
Gray. A gray wall fell between them so suddenly that the thing slammed into it, and Kate could hear it squeal in pain. She was too stunned to move. Frustration, rage, terror. On the other side of the barrier, the slasher howled. Blankly, Kate lifted her hand to touch the wall. This wasn’t light. This was —
“Stone,” Laysia said behind her. “It was the best I could think of. I hope I haven’t hurt him.” She took Kate’s hand. “Come,” she said. “Quickly.”
“Her,” Kate said blankly. “It’s a — her.”
Nell came running. She pounded on the wall. Behind the stones, the thing that had been Wista screamed. In horror, Kate closed her ears. She wouldn’t hear — she wouldn’t! Her own terror shoved the other out, and she could hear Nell again, shouting.
“Let her come. Let me talk to her!”
Laysia put a hand on Nell’s shoulder, tried to pull her back. “She can’t hear you now,” she said. “Come away, child. There’s nothing for her.”
But Nell wouldn’t come away.
“No! No! You can’t just let her go with those others. I saw them! We saw them in that cave!”
They stood there, all of them, staring at the stones, Nell shouting and insisting, until Laysia finally agreed to catch the thing and keep it, at least for now, from running farther into the woods.
“Fetch me a basket from the cupboard by the door,” she said. “And put whatever food is left in there. Quickly.”
Kate turned and ran before the others could and found the basket. It was lined with blue cloth. She filled it with bread and cheese and new tomatoes just as Susan and Jean, both looking sick, stumbled inside.
“She says to wait here,” Susan said. “But Nell won’t go. Give me the basket. I’ll take it.”
There was no use arguing with Nell; Kate knew that. But Susan looked like she might pitch over.
“I’ll take it,” Kate said. “I’m not afraid.” She ran out without waiting for an answer.
The gray wall loomed at the edge of the garden, prematurely darkening the day. Nell was shouting Wista’s name through the stones.
Laysia took the basket, laid it in the grass, and pulled Nell from the wall. They stepped back, and Kate watched the stones crumble to dust. The slasher that had been Wista stood a moment, bewildered, her hands bloodied from slamming the wall. Then her head swiveled to the basket, and she pounced on it. As she did, the wall returned, growing
