Authors: Gillian Cross

The Nightmare Game (10 page)

BOOK: The Nightmare Game

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“How would I know?” Emma shrugged. “I just saw him crouching at the windowâonly his headâand then I was running. By the time I came out of the front door he'd disappeared.” She leaned back in her chair and drank down half her coffee in a single gulp. “That's better. Chuck the cloth over here, Rob, and I'll clean up this mess on the table.”

She started wiping energetically.
Not much wrong with her,
Robert thought. For once he was glad to see her organizing things.

She balled up the cloth and tossed it into the sink. “At least I got across to the park before it happened. I've stacked up a load of wood for them.”

“Is that where he saw you?” Robert said. “Did he follow you back?”

Emma thought it over. “I don't think so. I checked very carefully before I went into the woods. There was no one around at all. And I checked again when I got to the cavern, just to be on the safe side.”

“It's probably just some random snooper,” Tom said mildly. “Nothing aimed specifically at you. Forget about it, Em.”

Emma nodded. “That's what I want to do. I'm sick of all this drama. I'd just like things to be
normal
again.”

Tom looked hard at her and Robert thought he was going to say something else, but he didn't. After a second, he stood up, pushing his chair away from the table. “I'm off then. Before Helga goes completely berserk and thinks I've abandoned her. See you tomorrow.”

He waved a hand and let himself out of the kitchen door. As he closed it behind him, Emma looked up at Robert.

“D'you think he's right?” she said. “Was it just some random intruder?”

Robert hesitated. “I don't know. It seems a bit of a coincidence, having so many weird things happening at the same time. I wondered if it wasâ”

“One of the Armstrongs?” Emma said quickly.

“Ye-es. Or maybeâ” Robert glanced down. “What about the man we saw yesterday?”

“For goodness' sake!” Emma stood up impatiently. “Why do you keep going on about him? Don't complicate things. There's enough to worry about without that.”

She walked out of the kitchen, leaving Robert staring miserably at the table. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her about Tom's bruise, and the odd way he'd been behaving. But she obviously wasn't going to listen. And Tom had gone off, too, without answering any questions. No one was interested in talking about the strange man.

But Robert was sure he was important.

THAT NIGHT, HE HAD A SLOW, DETAILED NIGHTMARE, FULL OF dark images. He was in the woods, unable to move or speak, but seeing everything around him with agonizing clarity.

He saw Mr. Armstrong standing beside the ditch, looking across at the low hedge bank and the tiny cavern entrance. Everything was utterly, unnaturally silent. There were no car sounds from the road. No leaves rustling as a fox padded through the undergrowth. The woods were motionless, holding their breath around the dark, menacing figure beside the ditch.

And then the figure moved. One instant it was on the far side of the ditch. The next it was kneeling in front of the hedge bank with its huge, brutal hands going out like grabs toward the earth. It pushed the soil aside so fast that a great pit opened up in seconds. And thenâand thenâ

Robert saw Lorn's tiny, defenseless face gazing up in horror as the ground opened over her head and the cold air flooded in. He saw the dark figure reach down into the earth and scoop her up.

For a split second, she was there in the palm of the great left hand. Lorn. Hope. The friend he would have given anything to rescue.

Then the giant fingers closed around her living body, not clenching tight and squeezing her to death, but trapping her forever. With its hands cupped, the massive, ugly figure strode away into the trees.

Robert woke suddenly, sweating and appalled. For the first time, he understood that being small put Lorn into a new kind of danger. If her father got hold of her now, he would be able to hide her in his pocket. Or keep her in a matchbox. Or shut her into a tin. No one would ever be able to rescue her again.

For five or ten minutes, he couldn't do anything except lie still, paralyzed with fear. But gradually he became aware of sounds coming through the wall. It was before four o'clock in the morning, but someone was moving around in Emma's room.

Why was she awake? Had she had a nightmare, too? He listened for another couple of moments and then he slid out of bed and went to find out.

HE TAPPED ON EMMA'S DOOR AND SHE OPENED IT CAUTIOUSLY. When she saw who it was, she stepped back quickly to let him in. Her room was dark and the curtains were pulled wide open.

“What are you doing?” Robert whispered.

She put a finger to her lips and shut the door behind him. “It's them,” she muttered, nodding at the window. “They're outside. Go and take a look. But keep out of sight.”

Ducking down, Robert crept across to the window and knelt down to one side of it, peering out at the orange darkness of the street. Emma slipped into place on the other side, frowning as she stared down. For a few seconds, there was nothing to see. Then Emma tapped Robert's arm and pointed.

Someone was coming along the pavement. A person in a long coat, with the hood pulled up. The dark figure stopped opposite them and looked up, scanning the front of their house.

Robert's heart twisted and he caught his breath. That was how Lorn moved. That was how she lifted her head.

“It's too small for Mr. Armstrong,” Emma whispered.

Did she really not see who it was? Robert could hardly believe it. There was only one person he knew who moved like Lorn. Who looked exactly as Lorn would look in forty years' timeâif she managed to live that long.

“It's
Mrs.
Armstrong,” he whispered back. “And if she's here, he can't be far off. They're not going to let go, Em.”

“Then we'll just have to be smarter than they are,” Emma said stoutly.

She sounded as though it was a game. Something they could “win” if they tried hard enough. Robert didn't know how to explain what it was like to be caught up in something that might not end.

It was like the moment in the nightbird's tree when he'd realized, for the first time, that he was trapped in a body the size of a bean. That he could be stuck with being small for the rest of his life. What worried him most, then and now, was the idea that he might justâgive up.

If protecting Lorn became too dangerous, too much of a burden, would he shrug his shoulders in the end and give up on the whole thing?
Because I'm never going to see her again. . . .
He couldn't bear the thought of that.

“We've got to get rid of them!” he said fiercely.

Emma pulled a face, warning him not to raise his voice, but she was too late. They heard a door open and feet came toward them across the landing. There was a soft tap on the door.

“Emmie?” It was their mother.

Emma went across to open the door. “Sorry, Mom. Didn't mean to wake you up.”

“You're in the dark,” Mrs. Doherty said.

No direct question, of course. She never asked questions aloud, even when the air was thick with them. Robert went across and turned on the light.

“It's my fault,” he said quickly. “I had a nightmare and I came in to see Em. But I'm fine now. I'll go back to bed in a minute.”

“So will I,” Emma said. “We were just having a bit of a chat.”

“You should close the curtains,” Mrs. Doherty said faintly. “The room will get cold. And if you're not all right, Robbieâ”

“It's OK,” Robert said. “Honestly. It was just a stupid dream.”

Emma grinned brightly. “We're absolutely fine, Mom. You can go back to bed.” She stood in the doorway smiling and waiting for her mother to leave.

It felt disturbingly like bullying. Robert turned away toward the window. As Emma closed the door and flicked the switch, his eyes adjusted and he saw the hooded figure outside, staring up at him.

He felt a brief flicker of pity. Then he remembered Hope scuttling backward in her hole under the floor and every drop of sympathy drained away. That woman down there had helped to keep her a prisoner. Whatever Mr. Armstrong had doneâwhatever had gone on in that black roomâhis wife had been part of it.

Abruptly he went across and closed the curtains. “I'm going back to bed. There's nothing we can do about
her
.”

He went out and back into his own bedroom, padding across the floor in the dark, without bothering to switch on the light. As he reached the bed, he trod on the trousers he'd taken off the night before.

Something crackled slightly between his toes. Not cloth, but paper. For a second he couldn't think what it was. He bent down and picked up the trousers, feeling in the pockets. As soon as his fingers touched the crumpled note, he remembered. He pulled it out and turned on his lamp to read it again.

What kept you? Did you meet him again?

He still didn't understand it. Tom had written the note before he knew anything about the phone calls and the recording. Why would he jump to the conclusion that Robert must have met Mr. Armstrong on the way into school? It didn't make sense. The question went around and around in Robert's head as he went back to sleep.

It was only when he woke up in the morning that he realized the note had nothing to do with Mr. Armstrong. Tom was asking him about the man from the airplane.

ONCE HE'D UNDERSTOOD, HE KNEW THAT HE AND TOM HAD TO talk straightaway. In private. It was no good waiting until they were at school, with hundreds of people milling around. He had to catch Tom on his own, while he was out walking Helga.

Robert was up and dressed by seven. He slipped out without telling anyone where he was going and went off to Tom's house. When Tom came out with Helga, Robert was waiting for him.

Tom looked surprisedâand oddly wary. “What's this about? Has something happened?”

“We need to talk,” Robert said. “But not here. Where are you going?”

“Along the canal.” Tom gave him another odd look, but he didn't ask any questions. He just set off down the road, leaving Robert to follow.

They reached the bridge and walked down to the towpath. Helga was fizzing with excitement when Tom undid her leash, clearly delighted at having two people to play with instead of one. As soon as she was free, she raced ahead, stopping every couple of seconds to look back and wag her tail.

Tom started along the path, not saying anything. Just waiting for Robert to begin.

“You know that man?” Robert said carefully. “The one we bumped into outside school on Tuesday morning?”

Tom's eyes were wary. “What about him?”

“You were talking to him on Wednesday night, weren't you? When you were waiting for us to go and fetch the bikes?”

There was a tiny pause. Then Tom said, “So?”

It was like trying to squeeze a hard, dry lemon.
Why don't you talk to me?
Robert wanted to shout.
We're supposed to be friends. You're supposed to trust me.
But he knew that wouldn't work. If he wanted Tom to trust him, he had to explain.

“I know you think he's important,” he said. “Because you wrote that note, asking if I'd met him again. I haven't, but I think he's important, too. Becauseâ”

Tom was listening now. Watching him with cautious, glittering eyes. “Because what?”

“He was the man I met on the plane,” Robert said steadily. “And when he stared at
me
, I landed in the cavern. So I wondered . . .”

Tom stopped dead, staring at him. And then he began to laugh out loud.

“What's so hilarious?” Robert said.

“You think I've become a zombie? Without any feelings?” Tom shook his head as though he couldn't believe it. “You think I've changed the way you did?” He was still laughing, but there was an odd, uncomfortable edge to it now.

“It wasn't funny when it happened,” Robert said stiffly.

“I know. I'm sorry.” Tom gave him a rueful smile. “I'm only laughing becauseâwell, you couldn't be more wrong. There's no Tiny Tom out there in the park, hiding under a heap of leaves. I'm all here. So you can stop worrying.” He looked up the path. “Hey, Helga!”

Snatching up a stick, he threw it for her, obviously meaning to end the discussion. But the stick flew sideways, erratically, over the canal. It dropped into the water with a splash and Helga jumped in eagerly, paddling toward it.

Tom made a small, irritated sound under his breath. Helga was too small to jump back up on the bank by herself. When she came swimming back, he had to bend down and haul her out. By the time she landed on the towpath, they were both wet and Tom's hands were covered in mud.

Robert looked at him. “You didn't mean to throw the stick there, did you?” he said quietly. “What's the matter with you?”

The moment the words were out, he knew that was the question he should have asked in the first place. Tom was suddenly very quiet.

That didn't matter. Robert knew he would get an answer if he waited. They turned and walked silently back along the towpath and up the steps onto the road. Tom didn't speak until they had almost reached his house.

Then he said, “I can't see properly. It was like that at the practice, too. I getâdistractions.” He frowned miserably.

Robert had no idea what he was talking about. “What sort of distractions?”

Tom shrugged. “Wellâremember that boy we passed on the way here?”

BOOK: The Nightmare Game

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