The air was colder here at the top of the house and the perspiration from her labors began to cool on Marla’s skin. She crept across the landing to the door where she’d left Adam what seemed like an age ago. He’d managed to get the door open and just like he said, there was another door behind it. As she neared the door, Marla whispered Adam’s name. No reply came. She whispered it again, repeating it like a mantra. But all was silent, save the muffled banging of Fowler’s men from far below outside. She pushed against the inner door now with her trembling hand and it slowly swung open, emitting an agonizing creak as it did so. The air beyond smelled musty, old somehow, and there was something else. A sweet smell, like caramelized onions. Past its “use by” date whatever it is, thought Marla as her nose wrinkled. She stepped through the door.
“Adam?”
Her whisper was less a question, more a plea for help. But once more her plea went unanswered as she found herself standing alone in a vast attic. A shaft of silver blue moonlight lit the attic via an open skylight at the far end of the room. Sure enough, a broken shutter rattled in the wind, banging against the skylight’s frame—it must have been the source of the banging she and Adam had heard earlier. Where the hell was he? Perhaps he’d wriggled out through the skylight? No. Even if he could fit through such a gap, he wouldn’t just up and leave them here. Or maybe he would after seeing them drunk in the kitchen. Whatever, she was alone up here now and she’d have to decide on her next move before that nightmare thing came back.
The open skylight. She had to check it out, see if it was a viable exit. Dirt and debris lined the floor as far as she could see in the scant moonlight. A lump rose in Marla’s throat as she noticed that many of the floorboards were missing ahead of her. She would have to tread carefully here for fear of falling through the floor. Looking for signs of rotted wood, she began the long walk, treading as gently as she could and clenching her teeth at every creak and groan of the attic floor beneath her feet. Halfway across and the light dipped as clouds swam across the moon. Marla held her arms out, steadying herself like a tightrope walker as she continued across the rotting beams. She tried to ignore the stench. That sickly sweet smell had grown more intense the further she’d traveled across the floor. Then, something round squished beneath her foot. Another object brushed the ankle of her other foot and she almost cried out in fear at the sensation. As she took a reflexive step back, the floorboards seemed to moan, mocking her fear of this new unknown. The clouds drifted aside like a curtain, unveiling the moonlight once more, and now Marla could see exactly where she was standing and what she was standing in. Carcasses littered the floor around her feet. Her astonished eyes could make out the rotting forms of birds, rodents, a cat here and a dog there. That sickly sweetness was the stench of their decomposition, a rank herald of the foulness and rot within their bursting little stomachs. Maggots writhed in the skull cavity of what use to be a parakeet, feasting on the pools of jelly in its eye sockets. Marla bit on the knuckles of her right hand to keep from gagging. Focusing on her closest chance of escape from this hideous attic, Marla looked toward the skylight and to her horror and dismay she could see yet more tiny dead forms lining the roof supports and crossbeams. These animals had been nailed to the wall, or lashed to the wooden beams with wire, furry limbs and slick-feathered wings pinned out in cruel mockery of their anatomy. Whoever, whatever, had created this menagerie had torn the other dead animals limb from limb, breaking their little bodies and splitting them open. But those in the roof space seemed special—totems or offerings to something Marla could scant understand, nor have any desire to. Pinpoints of moonlight reflected in the cold, still eyes of the creatures as she moved past through their graveyard. She felt accused here, part of something dreadful just by walking through it to the other side. The skylight was almost within reach now. Just a couple more steps.
Floorboards creaked, split and cracked beneath her. She was falling. Marla grabbed for the roof beam above her, nails digging into rotting wood. Gaining purchase on the beam, she swung her body weight upward and tucked her knees around the beam, which creaked like the hull of an old boat beneath her weight. She looked down at the floorboards where she’d trodden just seconds ago. They’d fallen away, opening up into a void below. She shifted on the roof beam, inching her way to the skylight and welcoming the cool kiss of night air on her cheek. As she moved out of the path of the beam of moonlight for a moment, she saw a reflection through the hole in the attic floor. Black goggle eyes, looking up at her from a room far beneath. Perhaps a dead animal, fallen down there with the rotten floorboards, poor thing. But then the eyes moved, slowly, deliberately, and Marla knew what was looking at her.
She scrambled along the beam in clumsy crawling movements, scuffing the skin of her knees and wrists. The pain didn’t even register. That hulking thing had seen her and was charging up the stairs for her right now. She had to get to the skylight. Her fingers brushed the dark, wet wing of a dead crow. She had no desire to join the poor creature, pinned out up here until her own dead organs blossomed with maggots. Marla heaved her upper body off the beam and out through the skylight, legs kicking up dust and animal filth below. Fresh night air choked into her, such a tonic after the corrupt honey of the attic. A moth flitted by, dust from its wings billowing like falling snowflakes in the moonlight. She was frozen in time for a spell, watching it. Then, with an almighty crack, the skylight frame gave way beneath her and she tumbled down the sloping roof, a scream caught in her windpipe as she fell.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Marla felt her body relax, her heart thudding distantly in her chest as she tumbled down off the lip of the roof. The weight, shape and trajectory of her body caused her to turn slightly in her freefall. She was in a reclining position, hands and feet a little higher than the rest of her. A lock of hair got caught in the spittle at the corner of her mouth and she felt a clear urge to brush it aside. Then she hit something hard. The shock of the impact was enough to delay any feeling of pain. Dazed, Marla tried to sit up and look around. Her body was reluctant to perform such a complicated task, and so she lay there on her back and reached out with her hands to touch the floor instead. The surface that answered her sensory investigations was wooden, not the dirt and foliage of the ground she’d expected. This surprising sensation gave new impetus to her muscles and soon she found herself sitting up and dusting herself off on a second-floor balcony, which had broken her fall. More of the strangely intricate driftwood carvings loomed from the moonlight shadows. Rising to her feet, she peered up at the house looming above her, half-expecting those dreadful eyes to peer back from the spot from which she’d fallen. Marla glanced nervously at the windows to the rear of the balcony. The shutters were still closed behind them, but if they were to open suddenly… Nothing was certain anymore, save for the urgent need to get off this balcony and go look for help. She turned and looked over the edge of the balcony—elated that she was still alive but dumbfounded as to how the hell she’d be able to get down to ground floor level. She scanned the area, no one around. Fowler’s men must have given up; she was all alone here. Then a solution quickly presented itself in a shadow that moved across the balcony’s gnarled, knotted handrail. Tree, big tree. Her eyes focused on it—her closest chance.
Marla had never been a good judge of distance, and lost count of the number of times she’d nearly been killed by angry London cab drivers in the past as a result. As she teetered on the edge of the balcony, ready to take a leap into the void between it and the thick branches of the great tree, she considered ditching the idea and just waiting it out on the balcony. The concept made her shudder. Every instant she’d delayed on the balcony had put the fear of God into her—a palpable fear of that hulking pursuer crashing through the walls of the house to drag her back in. She licked at her dry lips, balled her hands into fists then released them, bent her legs and flung herself toward the tree. Her fingers were outstretched like a cat’s claws and she felt cool air pass through them as she began to plummet, down, down. Branches cracked loudly as she snapped her way through them, her legs flailing in an attempt to break her fall—to hit the ground running. Then she made contact with a larger branch, as thick as a smaller tree’s trunk. It struck her in the stomach as she fell hard against it like a clumsy gymnast. Her body folded and wrapped around the branch on impact and she clutched at its rough surface, feeling the welcoming texture of the bark under her fingernails. The branch held, and she onto it. The tree was her savior—a living, breathing thing. She wanted to kiss it just for being there. Catching her breath, she craned her neck to better afford a look at the layout of the tree and the branches below. It would be a precarious climb, but she felt more than up to the task after hurling herself off the side of the Big House.