Leave This Place by Spike Black Page B

frame.
    The skeleton in the tweed jacket glared back at her as he always did, but this time she thought she detected a glint in his eye. He knew he was winning.
    And that was true. Except that she was about to deliver the knockout blow.
    She turned the latch on the window and flung it open.  
    “Leave!” she screamed.
    She threw the picture out. As it sailed through the air she had a flash of doubt: have I made a terrible mistake? But then it hit the gravel below with a satisfying smash, and for the first time since she’d been at Cairn Cottage, she felt free.
    There, she thought, closing the window. Good riddance, you awful old bastard.

21

    “S ilas…”
    (Tap-tappety, tap-tappety, tap.)
    “Silas, wake up…”
    (Tap-tappety, tap-tappety, tap.)
    “Silas, wake up. There was a bang.”

    His eyes snapped open. Huh?  
    “What did you say, hon?”
    “A loud noise. From downstairs.”
    He was groggy as hell as he slid off the bed, but he knew the drill by now. “It’s fine. It’ll be the cat again.”
    “That’s what I thought, but…”
    “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
    The bedroom door rattled in its frame as Silas approached, as if blown by a breeze. Must have left a window open , he thought.
    A cold rush of air hit him as he descended the stairs. Something clattered in the wind.
    He saw much of the kitchen before he made it to the bottom but there was nothing obviously wrong. It was only when Silas reached ground level that he discovered the cause of the loud bang.
    The front door was swinging open, hitting repeatedly against the doorstop.
    How the hell…?
    He had locked it before bed, he knew that without a question of doubt. Turned the key and bolted it twice, as always. He’d been particularly careful about that, every night since they’d been here.
    “Oh, shit. Oona?”
    A bolt of fear slammed into him like a heavyweight boxer’s right hook. He was almost too afraid to finish his thought.
    “Oona…? It’s not the cat.”
    He closed the door. Turned the key. Pulled across the two bolts and the chain. Then a terrible thought: I’ve locked us in with whatever just entered.
    He looked around the kitchen. Marched through the hall to the living room.
    Nothing. He turned to leave.
    The cat was curled up, asleep on the armchair.
    Silas rolled his eyes. “You again…”
    At that moment there was a loud bang from upstairs.
    Oona . Why was she slamming doors?
    Or maybe…
    Maybe it wasn’t Oona at all.
    He raced back to the kitchen and bolted up the staircase, hurdling the tall steps. “Oona? Oona?”
    But his stride wasn’t wide enough for the last stair and he slipped, his legs buckling beneath his weight. He slammed his knee on the stone step and a jolt of pain coursed through his body.
    His screams echoed up the dark staircase.
    “Oona!”
    No response.
    His knee convulsing, Silas hobbled up the remaining stairs. When he reached the top he found the bedroom door closed.
    He was suddenly terrified at the thought of opening it, his heart thumping so hard in his chest that it made his vision pulse.
    He took a deep breath and turned the knob. The door swung wide.
    Oh, fuck…
    Oona was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes huge, staring orbs, her face a mask of undiluted horror.
    Silas limped inside, hesitant. “Oona?”
    His wife didn’t respond. She was frozen in position, a ghastly statue.
    “Oh Christ, Oona, what’s wrong?”
    He stumbled forward, wincing as his bodyweight pressed down on his swollen knee.   He tried to catch her attention but her eyes were locked. A gurgled moan escaped her trembling lips.
    “What’s wrong, Oons?” He reached out a hand and touched her face.
    Her arm shot up and grabbed his wrist, squeezing it tight, her fingernails embedding into his flesh. The fear in her eyes was so intense that it churned his guts.
    A tear trickled down her face. “We have to leave this place,” she said. Her head turned and her eyes followed, fixing on him.