“Look at that, Mina,” he says, nodding toward the road. “It’s like the Rapture.”
I follow his gaze. The street is deserted, the small crowd having dispersed presumably because of the curfew and the flat, stifling heat. A few toys litter front gardens; bikes and balls and water pistols, a Hula-Hoop hanging from the branch of a tree. There’s a can of drink spilled on its side and an empty car parked at the side of the road, all the doors left open. Someone has been drawing in pastel chalk on the ground just outside thefront gate—strange symbols, tadpole-like, with bloated heads and long, tapered tails. The same chalk has been used to writebE Not afrAIdalong the wooden fence. I notice more offerings have been added to the pile just outside the front door; flowers wrapped in cellophane, a foil chocolate heart softening in the midday sun. A laminated Bible verse has been propped against the wall. The heat makes the pavement shimmer, a fine hazy mist floating over everything. My father would be thrilled.The End Is Nigh.He’s been hoping to get swept up in the Rapture ever since we put Eddie’s body into the ground.
I shiver despite the way the small glass porch traps heat and holds it like a miniature greenhouse. There are no plants in here however, just a tumble of assorted shoes and boots and a stack of yellowing newspapers.
“They must’ve gone indoors.”
Sam grunts.
“Hopefully for good. Did you see that guy throwing salt on the ground? You know why people do that, right? It’s protection against witches.”
“How do you know that?”
“In my job I’ve met a few ghost-hunters, Mina. It’s part of the kit. Salt, for the doorways and windowsills. Talcum powder for the halls.”
I must look puzzled because he laughs. It is a rich, easy sound.
“They dust the ground with it to catch footprints.”
“I don’t think Lisa would want us sprinkling talc around the house.”
His face becomes serious again, eyes darkening.
“No, you’re right. Listen, stay away from those people outhere, Mina. Not just the salt guy, all of them. There’s something not quite right about the way they’ve been drawn here, I don’t like it. I don’t likethem.”
There is a pause as we both turn to look out through the dusty glass. There is no breeze to stir the trees or the long, yellow grass.
“Did you listen to the tape?”
I handed Sam the Dictaphone after I came downstairs from Alice’s bedroom.
“Sure. I thought it was interesting what you said about, uh, what was it? ‘Psychogenic illness.’ It would make sense that Alice thinks she’s the victim of some sort of curse; plus it abdicates her of any responsibility.”
“Did Tamsin and Billy reveal anything?” I lean against the glass. It is hot as sin against my back and makes me think of Alice saying“It feels like biting into ice.”Sam thinks on the question for a moment, still looking out into the road.
“Billy seems to treat the whole thing like a bit of a joke. I get that, he’s five years old. Tamsin on the other hand, she had a little more to say. She mentioned about Alice dropping out of school, the episodes of sickness. There’s this belief that Alice can talk to the dead, which I think has come more from those folks in front of the house than any actual evidence. Tamsin said she hadn’t seen any proof of it. She did say one thing though.”
This pricks my interest. I peel away from the window.
“What?”
“She said, ‘The witch watches Alice through the cracks in the bricks.’”
“Okay, well—we know that. Alice told us that.”
“Exactly, and Tamsin used the exact words Alice did. It’s on the tape you just gave me. She doesn’t say ‘the hole in thechimney,’ or ‘the witch looks through the cracks.’ They both say it the same way—‘she watches through the cracks in the bricks.’”
“So?” I shrug, as Sam rubs his throat thoughtfully and sighs.
“A more suspicious man would suggest the words were rehearsed. Averysuspicious man would bet if we compared my interview footage with your tape there’d be more of that same phrasing.” He looks at me, his eyes avid. “They’re being coached, Mina. I’m sure of it.”
Sam doesn’t tell me who he thinks is coaching the children but I could hazard a guess. I saw the way Paul’s body language changed last night at the mention of being moved from their home, the intent way he’d leaned forward asking,“What’ll it take? For a worst case scenario?”
Sam checks his watch, face suddenly earnest.
“It’s eleven-thirty. Curfew starts at twelve. I don’t know about you, Mina, but I need to get out of this house for a bit. Do you think Lisa has a map of the local area?”
“I can ask her. Where are you thinking of going?”