Loren tried to lift her head from the pillow and found she couldn't. It was as if she were paralysed. Paralysed with fear.
For there was something at the end of the bed. She could sense its presence.
In the periphery of her vision she could make out a shape at the foot of the bed. A hunched shape. The dark shape of a body leaning over her feet. Pulling at the duvet.
Loren managed to open her mouth to scream, but no sound came. It was as if her voice were paralysed too. She attempted to rise, but still couldn't move: fright held her pinned to the bed.
Lying there on her side, she felt the cold on her bare arm, then down her side, penetrating the sleeveless cotton nightie she wore. Her flesh crept.
The duvet slithered over her hip, down her bent legs, left leg over the right; the hem of her nightdress had risen as she slept, and now her thigh and calf were stippled with goosebumps. She fought against the fear that bound her there, desperately tried to raise her head—she needed to see what lurked at the end of the bed. Her head lifted, came off the pillow, just a little, only a bare inch; and then, Loren fighting all the way, it gained two inches, three, more. And now she endeavoured to twist her neck so that she could confront her tormentor.
Who could it be there pulling, dragging, her bedcover? Not Cally—she was too small, so much smaller than the figure hunched over her. Besides, Cally was opposite her, fast asleep, unaware of what was happening. And not Mummy and Daddy—they wouldn't do such a thing, they wouldn't frighten her so! Who then? That smell, that horrible smell of nasty soap.
Now her head moved, but her shoulders were stuck to the bed as if a heavy weight pressed them there. Her face came round to the dim light.
And she saw the figure rising from its bent position, standing erect. It was silhouetted by the light behind so that she could see no features, nothing she could recognize. And it was raising an arm into the air, over its head. And the arm was holding something long and thin whose tip nearly touched the ceiling. It seemed to vibrate at its zenith.
Loren heard the swish as it came down, but she didn't hear the thwack! as it lashed her naked thigh.
The blinding, scorching pain released her voice because it overrode all else—all fear, all confusion, all thoughts of fright.
Loren screamed and the sound ripped through the night.
Again the stick came down and again she was jolted by excruciating pain. Now she did not even hear the swish as it swept through the air.
She screamed each time the cruel stick, with its splayed end, cut into the flesh of her legs, marking them, the agony streaking through her whole body.
And then, it stopped. Although the terrible pain lingered. And when, through tear-soaked eyes, through her hysteria, she looked towards the light again, the figure had gone and Cally, awakened by her sister's tortured cries, had started screaming too.
34: SCREAMS
Gabe was roused from his slumber as soon as the first scream came from his daughters' room. Eve, who had got into the bad habit of sometimes taking a Zopiclone to help her sleep at night, was slower to wake. She grabbed Gabe's arm as he scrambled to get out of bed.
'What is it?' she asked as the last dregs of sleep were banished by alarm.
'Loren,' he said urgently, throwing back the bedclothes. 'Something's wrong.' In bare feet he rushed to the bedroom door, Loren's agonized screams almost causing his limbs to lock and freeze. He was along the landing and tearing into Loren and Cally's room before Eve had even left their bed.
Although consumed by fear for his daughter, he could not help but register the deep iciness of the room—it was like plunging into a mountain lake or stepping inside a freezer storage unit—and it almost stopped him dead. In sheer reaction, he flicked on the light switch by the side of the door and saw Loren lying uncovered on her bed in a foetal position, her shoulders curled inwards, her arms round her legs. As she screamed, billows of breath vapour were expelled from her open mouth.
Cally was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes as if just awakened, and her cries were not as forceful, nor as shrill, as her sister's.
Before going to Loren, Gabe quickly checked out the bedroom, looking for an intruder. It took but a second to see there was none. He ran to his daughter, Eve coming through the door behind him, and went down on one knee beside the bed.
Loren's eyes were closed and her pale face was drenched in tears. He reached out a hand to her shoulder and she flinched away, her eyes snapping open, a wild hysteria in her glare.
'Loren, it's me, Daddy. What's wrong, what happened?' He pulled her close and comforted her as Eve moved round to the other side of the narrow bed to reach her.
'He-he-hit-me!' Loren cried through chest-heaving sobs. Gabe did his best to calm her.
'Easy, Loren, easy now,' he soothed. 'You've had a bad dream.'
'N-no, Daddy. He hit me. He hit me.'
Eve moved nearer and when Loren felt her presence, she turned and buried her face into her mother's chest.
'There's no one here, Loren,' Eve told her gently. 'There's no one who could have hurt you.'
Gabe grabbed Cally from her bed and held her in the crook of one arm. She stopped screeching immediately, intuitively aware that it was her sister who needed attention.
'What is it, baby?' Eve was saying quietly to Loren. 'What frightened you? Did you see something?'
Loren's panted sobs went on.
'It must've been a nightmare,' said Gabe, his voice equally quiet. 'There's nothing in the room.' Just to make sure, he ducked his head under both beds. 'And nothing could've got past me in the hallway.'
Loren gave a great shudder as if the frigid air had got into her flesh. But Gabe felt it was no longer as cold as a moment before. The room was still chilled, as was the rest of the house, but when he breathed out there was no misty vapour.
Eve hugged Loren tight against her and began a soft rocking motion. 'It's okay, Loren. You're safe now. Mummy and Daddy are here. Tell us what you dreamt.'
Loren suddenly jerked away from her mother, although she stayed in Eve's comforting arms. 'It wasn't a dream, Mummy,' she implored, wanting to be believed. 'Someone hit me. Hard. With a stick.'
She buried her head back against her mother again, and Gabe and Eve's eyes met, both thinking the same thing.
It couldn't be, thought Gabe. That would be crazy. He gave Eve a little shake of his head. He'd left the bamboo cane he had found earlier that day locked up in a downstairs cupboard, along with the Punishment Book.
Eve stroked Loren's hair. 'But there's no one else here, baby. Nobody could have hit you.'
Loren yanked herself away again, her tears held for a moment. She twisted round to Gabe as if for support. 'He hit me across the legs, Daddy. He hit me really hard.'
'Who did, honey?' he asked. 'Who hurt you?'
'The man. He was standing at the end of the bed. He was holding a stick and he hit me with it, on my legs. I think he made me bleed!'
As one, Gabe and Eve looked down at Loren's bare legs. There wasn't a mark on them.
Loren followed their gaze and searched her own skin for the wounds the long stick should have inflicted. 'But he hit me, he did hit me! It was as if the stick was scalding hot and the pain spread out, like he was hitting me with a lot of sticks.'
Both Gabe and Eve remembered the cane they had examined that afternoon was split several times at one end so that it would act as a flail when struck against anything.
It was Eve who asked, 'Does it hurt you now, Loren?'