There’s always some fairly intense training involved in fighting supernatural creatures, I’ve seen the TV programmes. There are usually punchbags, and some running in the rain with music. I look at myself in the mirror – I don’t look like one of those girls. I look a bit scrawny, and my hair is sort of floating around my shoulders in a frizzy static mist. But anyway. I’ve thought about it long and hard, since I saw Bavar up on the roof with that monster, and I figure this is what I’m here for. This is why I ended up with Mary and Pete, in this town. It was some kind of meant-to-be thing. I always told myself I would have fought them, if I could, and now here they are. So I’m going to help him, whether he likes it or not, and it starts today.
Actually, it was supposed to start first thing, in that pre-dawn murky light, but I had an accidental lie-in, and then Mary cooked bacon and eggs, so now it’s afternoon, but that’s fine. Today is still the day. I put my headphones on, and my trainers, and tuck the catapult into my pocket, and I don’t really have running gear as such, but I’ve got leggings and a hoody so I reckon that’ll do.
‘Going out?’ asks Mary, coming out of the sitting room as I get downstairs.
‘For a run,’ I say. ‘Is that OK?’
‘It’s fine,’ she says with a smile. ‘Actually, hang on . . .’ She goes to the kitchen and starts rummaging in a cupboard. I’m a bit surprised by the rummaging, to be honest – everything always looks so neat and tidy here. Anyway, she comes back eventually with a water bottle that has a hole in the middle. ‘I bought it a few years ago,’ she blushes. ‘I thought I’d take up running.’
‘And you didn’t?’
‘Don’t have the right sort of knees, apparently.’ She shakes her head and thrusts the bottle at me. ‘Go steady out there. Looks like rain to me.’
‘I don’t mind that,’ I say, opening the front door. ‘Might be out a while; going to pop in on a friend.’
‘Oh yes?’
I know she wants more, but I have no idea where I’d start, so I just pretend I didn’t hear her and get out of there.
‘Don’t be late!’ she calls out after me.
It starts to rain just as I get to the top of the road. I put my music on and head past the old, crumble-down church and up the hill, and for a while it’s feeling pretty good, and I could almost be one of those girls in the movies, but the closer I get to Bavar’s house, the wilder the weather gets, and black birds tumble in the sky over my head, shouting as they wheel about each other, and it all gets a bit spooky. I try to make myself head up the slope, but the house looms over me and it’s not yellow in this murk, it’s just a dingy shadow on top of the hill. When I look up I can see the ghosts of Bavar and the monster, from the other night. He’s big enough to fight the nightmares. I wish I’d been that big.
I wish I hadn’t hidden in the cupboard. More than anything.
Anything.
I stop, winded, and put my hands on my knees, looking up at the house, the backs of my eyes throbbing. Breathe. I can’t change that now; all I can do is keep going. Keep breathing, keep moving, keep fighting. I have to know how it’s all connected, who Bavar really is, and why the monsters are here. Why did they come to our house, that night? Why my parents? Was it because of Dad, and his work? Did he find the monsters, the ones that are here with Bavar? Did he somehow lead them back to our house? It’s been there for a while now, that little niggle. Ever since I first saw Bavar, it’s been getting stronger. What if it was Dad’s fault somehow? What will I do then?
I put the thought to the back of my mind and stare up at the leaden sky, picture those great monsters circling the house. There must be a reason they come here – a reason Bavar was out on that roof. But he’s not exactly forthcoming with stuff, so maybe I’ll have to find out for myself. I stand there for a moment, looking from the house to the woodland that stretches out for miles behind it, and an idea comes to me. Instead of ringing that ridiculous doorbell, I’ll just have my run through the woodland. I might stumble upon something, some old structure with strange symbols, maybe an ancient gardener who knows the family secrets. Or I could just find the back door, and sneak in by myself.
The wind howls and leaves spill like confetti from the branches of the trees as I climb over a stout iron gate and trip through low branches, trying to find a path. Brambles catch at my clothes, and tangled roots stretch across the ground. It gets darker as I go, and there are shuffling, creeping noises that make my ears ring. I turn, but I can’t see the way back. These woods are alive in a way that’s not like any other wood I’ve been in. From every angle it feels like eyes are watching, creatures hiding. I push my way through the trees, faster and faster, until finally they open out into a damp, cold clearing.
I have no idea where I am, or where I’m heading. A little shiver winds up my spine, and my breath steams out in front of me. ‘Which way now?’ I ask in a whisper, turning and turning, hoping something will become familiar. As though in response, the air lights up with pale green sparks; fireflies, perhaps, that dance all around me and make the shadows retreat. I step forward as they dart ahead, and the trees make an archway over a narrow path. I hold my breath and tread as quietly as I can, and after a while the living things begin to show themselves: a rabbit, shuffling through the undergrowth; a white-tailed deer, making me jump as it leaps across the path; and then a pheasant, which waddles in front of me, feathers glowing green-white in the light of the fireflies. The dancing lights spin in the air in front of me, always just out of reach, and then the path opens out, and down a steep bank I pick my way over the roots of the trees and down, down to a cemetery, where a familiar figure crouches, his back turned to me.
‘Bavar?’ I whisper. He jumps up, the fireflies scatter, and now it’s only the light of the moon, casting him all in silver.
Nobody comes here.
Nobody ever comes here, and yet here she is. The fireflies scatter over our heads and a million points of light shine down on her, and I am sure there has never been another like her here in these woods, where all things are dark and hiding in the deep.
‘Angel?’
‘I came for a run,’ she says, pushing her hair back, looking around her with wild eyes. ‘And I thought I’d see the woods, and then the fireflies led me here. What is this place, Bavar?’
‘It’s the cemetery,’ I say. ‘That’s all.’
‘It’s creepy!’
I look back at it as she steps further in, and I suppose maybe it is creepy, if you don’t know it. But I grew up coming here, where it’s quiet and everything rests, and I climbed the old yew trees that tangle overhead, and counted stars, and looked out over the town, watched the lights go out as night grew deeper. It always felt good here.