‘Call me if you need me,’ she said, ‘and happy Halloween!’
He looked back out and saw nothing but trees and shapes and shadows that were shadows and nothing more. There was a thick signpost that could have been the shape. Could have been.
Not could have been, his mind shouted, was!
Still though, he wheeled himself back to grab his tea. He wanted to laugh at his moment of weakness, because that’s what he felt it was. A weakness. An ironic dose of belief.
But he didn’t laugh. And he didn’t grab the tea either. Or the empty bottles of whisky.
In fact, he didn’t even stop to do anything, because he would prefer to be away from that window and was wheeling himself fast from the cafe and into the reception. He’d wait for Wren there, and when she turned up they’d talk about Amelia and Lucy and he’d find out what they’d been up to today. He’d ask her how work was. They’d plan a meal for all four of them. A restaurant. Ice cream. Bowling. All things normal. All things good.
And until Wren and the real world returned he’d wait in this bright reception near the nurse and her goofy smile. Where his brain wouldn’t scramble around for meaningless data. Where there was sound and there were people. Heels on floor. Words in the air. And where the lights would stay on and do what light did best. Keep the lying shadows away.
For now.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Rabbit resting in the soil,
Turning over, crumbling in.
Letting out its veins and sinews.
Growing flowers in its skin.
Folding in its limbs and fingers,
Hiding every stick and pin.
Making shadows dance and spin.
Weeping is its violin.
Till he climbs back up again.
to
Wake
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’m filled with thanks to the trusty team who unhooked this novel from my head and installed it into yours. To my agent, Joanna Swainson, whose bright-eyed wisdom brought the story life and definition, and to my fine publisher, Allison & Busby, who gave Unleashed a home, particularly Lesley Crooks, Susie Dunlop and Daniel Scott. It’s been fantastic to have genuine, proper ‘book people’ champion Matt Hunter and his quirky tales of fright and crime. I also thank my editors Kelly Smith and Fliss and Simon Bage, who were amazing at spotting my mistakes, both large and small (such as the fact that Sugar Puffs changed its name to Honey Monster Puffs in 2014. I had no idea! In the end I made the Hodges eat Coco-Pops for breakfast instead). Thanks also go to Christina Griffiths, who not only designed the cool cover image, but has also given this series such a striking visual identity on the shelf. I want to thank Emma Finnigan too. She’s a PR whizz with a terrific superpower, she can open all sorts of media doors. Thanks go to all the magazines, newspapers and book bloggers who reviewed my first novel, Purged. Seeing such widespread praise was quite the tonic, after years of getting publishers’ rejection slips.
The next one on the list isn’t really a thanks … it’s more of a businesslike acknowledgement of the demon black rabbit that a vicar claimed was standing next to me one Sunday evening. Yeah, that’s right … in the early years of my Christianity, a church minister insisted he’d seen a tall black shape following me around and that it was standing at my shoulder in a Lancaster church. Imagine my shock when I even saw it myself a few weeks later, walking toward me in a hotel room in Blackpool. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so surprised by its arrival. After all, it looked so very similar to the frightening black figure my friends and I saw crouching on a roof one night, back when we were teenagers. We’d hopped the fence of a former hospital for miners and were looking for ghosts. We saw a black humanoid shape standing on the roof, and when it turned its head to stand, we ran too, just like Rachel Wasson and her friends. ’Course, whether all these appearances of a tall black rabbit were real or just the product of collective apophenia, who’s to say? But hey … I got a book out of it, at least, along with images that I’ll never, ever forget.
Thanks go to Mikayla Shuttleworth, a lovely dog behaviourist I met on the ‘parent and toddler circuit’. After much coaxing in a playgroup, she finally explained to me an effective way to kill a dog barehanded. I’ve always wondered if any of the other parents overheard that conversation, but the RSPCA are thankfully yet to call. I want to thank some of the folk who read Unleashed in its early form, too (when its working title was Black Rabbit), and my gratitude goes once again to Jan Evans, who looked after my young son a few days a week so I could actually get out and write this thing. She’s one of life’s gems.
Heartfelt thanks goes to that extra special treasure, my mam, to whom this entire book is dedicated. Even in the thickest darkness she manages to find something to joke about, a skill I hope you see reflected in Matt Hunter sometimes too. To my sister Julie and my brother Norman, I say thank you. They’ve shared and reshared my book stuff so much, they’re like a little PR team in themselves. They rock, and I’m blessed to have them in my life.
And of course my thanks go to you, the reader, who has tugged this off a shelf be it digital or real. Writing novels is a team effort, a joint journey, as you’ve seen above. But let’s face it … you’re the one that truly matters, because you were always the destination of this story. Even before I knew it myself, it had your name written on it. It was written for your brain, your bag, your shelf, your device, your heart, and I just hope it threw a few shadows into your world, at
