Adam Nevill - House of Small Shadows

‘I just want my car back and my things… and then I will go.’

‘Go? Where, dear? Back to where you came from? Preposterous. Why would anyone want to go back over there? It’s been quite the ordeal, I can assure you, just tolerating the place again for a short while.’

Catherine approached the old woman. ‘I have a life—’

‘A life? Why, really.’

‘A family—’

‘Not your real family, dear.’

Catherine reached out her hand and steadied herself against the back of a chair. Her thoughts scrabbled. She was at the heart of a cruel conspiracy. She was asleep and this was a nightmare in which she was endlessly persecuted. ‘What do you know about me?’

Edith smiled and softened her voice to a tone of patient understanding when speaking to a confused child. ‘You were given away, dear. And picked up again. That was very kind. But you didn’t get far because you were born in Magbar Wood. The last child, no less, practically within the shadow of the First Known Martyr’s tomb. So you could hardly fit in anywhere else, could you? Our people never did. You may never have amounted to much, but nonetheless there are those for whom you were always special.

‘And since my uncle returned enchantment to our little corner of the world, there are some opportunities that are granted to so few. We mustn’t spurn opportunity, dear. Don’t you agree? Your little friend, Alice, has known marvels since she joined us on your behalf.’

Catherine sank to her knees. She needed to be close to the floor before she collapsed. She was so tired now her breath shook its way out and her legs trembled. Once she’d got her wind back, she would set off again, with or without Mike, through the garden gate and across the fields. Eventually she would reach a road. On a road there would be cars with people inside them. People that belonged to the world she knew. She found herself staring at the hem of Edith’s long, antique dress.

‘Try and understand, dear. All my uncle ever tried to do was startle us awake. Into wonderment at what lay beyond us. After us. We all became party to what chose us to see such sights. Things that had not performed in this part of the world for many years.’

‘Please, I don’t want to hear this. You are mad! Your uncle was insane—’

‘Perhaps he lost his way at the end. And he lost his nerve, dear. He was old and tired. But he was once a man of God, let’s not forget. It was perfectly natural for his old faith to return when it was too late. You must understand, as we have all had to accept, that what was fetched out from those hills, and from the church, my dear, was not so easy to put back — it was too late for that.’

‘What are you saying? I don’t understand. My car. My friend, Mike—’

Edith gazed into the middle distance. ‘When my uncle opened his throat, he only seemed to tighten his relationship with it. You could say he even strengthened the whole family’s association. He was the first to be saved. My mother was next. I can’t even remember when. And then it was my turn.’ Edith smiled her yellow smile. ‘And we’ve all made a great effort to welcome you, too. But we’re tired now. It’s very demanding on us to be here, even for a while.’

‘Please, what is happening?’

‘How many little girls were ever offered such a gift? That is what you should consider.’

Catherine gripped the wheelchair, as if a closer proximity to the old woman would add weight to her pleading. ‘Gift? I’m not well. Please. I need help now. Edith, please.’

‘It would have been better if you had come across with your friend, Alice. We saved that little stowaway because you weren’t ready. You still wanted to fit in somewhere, out there, in a world that despised you, rejected you. But all of this unpleasantness could have been avoided if you weren’t so stubborn! Their arms are always open for the lame, and the forsaken. Of course, you may find it strange at first. We all do. It’s much easier for the little ones.’

Beyond Catherine’s hot tears, Edith’s shape blurred to a shimmer, itself vanishing into the dark mantel and fireplace. The wheels of Edith’s chair squeaked. Something clicked above her head. She briefly thought of knitting needles as small fingers, cold as porcelain, combed through her tangled hair and touched her scalp.

‘I want to leave. Where is Mike?’

‘Hush.’ Edith’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I tried to leave once. When I was twelve I ran away. I didn’t get far. About as far as my poor father did before me, though I never met him. When my mother caught up with me, she remarked at how I had followed my father’s footsteps, into the meadow you’ll never find the end of. Then she put me in a room with Grizell Killigrew for a day, and I never ran again. I can tell you.’

Catherine raised her head, frowning so hard it hurt the muscles around her eyes. She pushed herself to her feet, swallowing the constriction in her throat that seemed determined to render her mute. ‘What are you doing… what… to me?’

‘Enough of my old tales. Your young man, your beau, is waiting for you.’

‘Mike?’

‘He came with that girl who had too much to say for herself. Maude was the same once. Compared to your friend, I’d like to say poor old Maude got off lightly, but then I doubt Maude would agree with me on that matter.’ Edith tittered.

Catherine’s voice was more intention than sound. ‘Mike’s here? Tara?’

‘Strangers have never been welcome. How could they understand us, Catherine?’ She said us and looked at Catherine in such a way as to include her. ‘We have made a rare effort for you and your needs.’

‘Needs? I don’t—’

‘All must learn there are consequences for what they desire.’

Catherine wrung her hands together until her fingers hurt. She stepped away from the mad old thing in the chair. ‘Stop this! Stop it now! I don’t want to hear any more of your crazy shit!’

‘When you were mooching in my uncle’s room, did you not come to a better understanding of our history? We hoped you would. It’s why we let you go in there. So you could see how my uncle was tutored in the Great Art.’

‘The girls. Those girls from Ellyll Fields, what did he do to them?’

Edith continued reminiscing, as if Catherine had not even spoken. Nothing had changed between them, even now. ‘To my uncle, I think they returned changed. Much changed. They were not so gentle then. No, dear. You see, in their beginnings, the troupe hid while the savagery of this world was unveiled. Oh, they saw injustice and tragedy unfold upon those they loved, and those who loved them. Tragedy that you can’t imagine. It’s why they made the cruelty plays to remember those who were murdered. But my uncle found the troupe damaged. As children are disturbed. As we are all changed by adversity when we are tender and innocent. By terror. By cruelty. Such things change us, dear. Shape us.’

Edith spread her spidery white fingers. They were back inside the tight silk gloves, for which Catherine was glad, as they had been so cold upon her scalp. She wasn’t sure who Edith even spoke to any more, but the woman kept on talking. The brittle voice filled her head. She briefly imagined being trapped inside the Red House, listening to the woman’s words, for ever. She wanted to scream.

‘They recognized my uncle’s suffering. It was akin to their own. And he put a troupe of those wretched shadows back together, as others had done before him. Through him they continued the tradition. And they are very much looking forward to picking up with you too, from where they left things. A long time ago. But not so long for them, dear. Or Alice.’

‘Stop it, stop it, stop it! You don’t know me. Who I am. You know nothing about me. You are frightening me. Please. I just want to go home.’ She looked at the window as the discord of ‘Greensleeves’ neared the Red House. ‘You’re sick. Your uncle was sick. This house is sick. You took those girls. Alice.’