Sarah Pinborough - Into the Silence

Something shifted in the trees outside and, her eyes drifting and only half-focused, Adrienne waited to see a bird fly away in search of twigs to nest with or worms for its babies' hungry mouths. Nothing emerged, but the branches shook again, with more energy than the first time, as if someone were violently forcing its fruit to fall. Frowning, the throb in her skull for a moment forgotten, she leaned forward. Was there someone in there? Why the hell someone would be up a tree in this weather she couldn't guess, but then, with the children at the autism centre, you could try for ever and you'd never know their reasoning. She stared. Surely the nurses wouldn't let the children out to play in this weather.

'Ceri,' she said softly. 'I think there's a child in that tree.' She pointed at the swaying and jerking branches. 'See?'

Coming alongside her, the nurse nodded, her face puzzled. 'That doesn't look right. I'll bet it's Peter Allwood. He loves sneaking out into the grounds. I'll go and check.' Bustling out, she closed the door behind her, and Adrienne was about to look away from the grounds when a stream of dark shadow oozed out from the branches like a thick tendril of smoke. As her breath held itself locked in her chest, Adrienne's mind went blank as it scanned itself for any clue or explanation as to what was causing it. It came up with nothing. The cloud of blackness hung alone between the earth and sky, until another ghost of emptiness emerged, creeping round from the back of the tree to meet up with the first, two dark snakes intertwining and becoming one. Adrienne stared, her mouth falling open. That wasn't a child in the tree. This was something else. Something strange. Something other .

Her brain felt like glue, and she briefly glanced back at Ryan, oblivious on the floor. Oblivious to what, she wondered, curious at her own choice of words, and then her eyes turned back to the shadow forming against the backdrop of the old oak tree, the darkness that seemed to leak like rotten sap from within the space between its limbs. Oblivious to that . Something flashed at the core of the black mass as it seemed to jerk and writhe, pulling itself into some kind of solid form. Adrienne's breath formed steam on the window and, watching the thing in the rain on the other side, she wondered if she should try to scream or call out. But she couldn't find the mechanics in her chest.

Behind her, her baby was still singing. Her baby . Those words stayed solid in her head, fighting the flow of language and thought that fled her mind, leaving it hollow with only herself to fill it.

Her baby. The thing was coming for her baby. And in that thoughtless moment, Adrienne Scott realised she loved her son very much.

Gwen pressed her foot down on the accelerator so hard that the pedal was in danger of bursting through the floor of the car. Horns blared as she weaved dangerously through the traffic, cutting across cars coming the other way with so little space to spare she could almost smell the shavings of their paintwork. Fighting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, she pulled out to overtake a van and hoped she'd make it past. Holding her breath until she was back in her own lane, an orchestra of yells and curses coming at her from every driver's window, she glanced at the clock. Thirty seconds until the eight minutes were up.

Pulling into Havannah Court, the colourful sign of the autism centre just about visible at the other end of the road, Gwen wanted to scream and beat the steering wheel.

She wasn't going to make it. Damn, she wasn't going to make it.

Her baby.

Somewhere in the corner of her vision, Adrienne saw Ceri emerge onto the wet lawn, first of all looking at the tree, and then freezing as she caught sight of the black shadow that was moving towards the building, changing its shape as it did so. The nurse turned and fled. Standing on the other side of the glass, Adrienne didn't blame her. She knew she was breathing because of the damp mist blurring the window, but she couldn't feel the air moving through her lungs. She couldn't feel anything except the awful isolation coming from the creature on the lawn.

And it was a creature now.

The writhing mass had pulled itself together, solid patterned limbs almost human under its bald scarred head.

Almost human

If Adrienne had still understood the concepts of sanity and insanity, she would have thought she had finally flipped, or all the wine she'd drunk was making her see things, or come up with some other vain, desperate attempt at rationalising the monster coming towards her, but those concepts had fled when the terrible isolation invaded. If it wasn't for Ryan, she would have slipped silently and forgotten, even by herself, down the wall and into a heap on the carpet.

Ryan. Her baby . Those words carved themselves into her skull, fighting to stay acknowledged in the growing chasm of nothing. She loved him. When there was nothing left, that became so obvious.

Lifting her arms, their weight like dead flesh, she spread them wide across the thick glass. It wanted her baby. She could feel it in every cell in her body. Fighting the emptiness that threatened to consume her, she met the red glare from the monster's eyes and she felt the hum in the air as it prepared to come at her. She didn't need words to know these things. It was a mother's intuition. The thing that faced her let out a silent roar that ripped at the very existence of her consciousness and, flinching against its power, the remnants of her individuality clung to the inside of her skull.

She stared through the glass.

Over my dead body.

For a moment there was stillness and, locked in that moment staring at each other, Adrienne thought that even the rain slowed, the drops hanging in the air, waiting and watching, sucked into the frozen conflict between monster and mother.

And then the creature tilted back its head and let the dark cavern of its mouth stretch horribly wide, exposing the empty nothing within; a darkness that would suck you in and lose you there, and Adrienne felt hot tears on her cheek.

The creature moved. And moved again, too quickly for her to see.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Ryan.

And then the glass smashed.

Gwen's arms pumped, sweat and rain mixing on her face as she sprinted down the corridor of the autism centre. Somewhere up ahead, glass smashed. Nurses peered out from their rooms, the adult faces alive with curiosity and worry and the need to get involved.

'Get back inside and shut the doors!' Gwen yelled at them, dimly aware of figures starting back as she shouted. 'Stay back!'

Following the narrow corridor, Gwen turned the corner, peering quickly into each room. Where the hell was it? Three doors down, right towards the back of the centre, she finally stopped.

Staring into the small room, she very slowly raised her hand to her ear. 'Jack?' she whispered. 'Hurry up. We've got a situation.'

'Oh my God.'

The voice made her jump and, turning, Gwen grabbed the woman's arm and pushed her gently but firmly away from the door. 'I told everyone to stay back. I need you to go and wait in the reception area.' Gwen hoped her own hand wasn't trembling too much. Blood rushed through her veins, its content almost pure adrenalin.

'I'm his nurse.' The woman's round face wobbled as she swallowed back shocked tears. 'I'm Ceri Davies, Ryan's nurse. He's severely autistic. I've cared for him ever since he came in. That… that woman's his mother, Adrienne. She was visiting.' She paused. 'Oh my God.' A hand went to her mouth and she stifled a sob. 'What is that thing? Is it going to hurt him? I can't leave him. I can't.'

Gwen rubbed the woman's arm. 'Stay here. We might need you.' She didn't answer any of her questions. She didn't have the answers. Leaving the woman leaning against the wall, Gwen peered slowly round the door and into the little boy's room. Nothing had changed.