Sadie Madison and the Boy in the Crimson Scarf

19 | The Stranger In The Snow

By the time Michael Madison had clambered out of the automobile, the man had vanished.

Cold, ragged breath jetted from his mouth in plumes of white cotton.

Larissa shook. Her hands spread against the window, watching her husband stagger in the snow.

"What happened?" she asked, stepping out of the automobile. "What did you see?"

"It's nothing, Larissa. Get back inside."

Michael grabbed her, forcing her against the vehicle door.

"You're hurting me."

Michael grunted, his grip softening.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Michael abandoned the search for the mysterious man and shot her a horrified glance; his eyebrows digging into the bridge of his reddening nose. "What did you see?"

Larissa struggled for a moment. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Michael, you're scaring me!"

"I'm scaring you?"

They stood for a moment locked in a terrified embrace. The automobile engine spluttered and choked as it idled beside them. Larissa inched forward and placed her head on his shoulder. She pulled him close, but Michael's body became rigid and started to quiver.

"You have to go," he told Larissa, swinging the automobile door open and pushing her inside. "Now!"

In the distance, automobiles trundled along Leviathan Crook, horns honking, tyres juddering on the snow.

"What is it Michael?" Larissa implored him. "There's...nothing here."

Across the gravel road, the man had appeared again, his greatcoat flapping in the wind.

"Drive," Michael hissed.

"But I don't know how—"

"Right pedal is faster, left pedal is slower, the wheel steers the damn thing," he barked, slamming the door. "Drive now and don't look back! Get her in the house. Get them all inside!"

Larissa shifted awkwardly into the driver's seat, gunned the engine amateurishly and hurtled off, fish-tailing in the snow.

The stranger didn't flinch as the automobile passed within inches of hitting him.

"Michael," he began, methodically fastening his greatcoat. "Where are they off to in such a hurry?"

Michael inched back. He could feel the emptiness of the dizzying drop into the quarry behind him.

"An excellent performance tonight," the man enthused. The Madison's automobile turned out of sight, brake lamps flashing red on the white snow. "Most impressive, I have to say. It's been a long time since I've seen talent to rival hers."

Michael turned on his heel and dashed through the snow. Emerging on Leviathan Crook, he skidded, breathlessly grasping a gaslamp, his lungs on fire.

The man stepped in front of him and frowned.

"You know," he continued. "The last time I heard a talent like hers it wasn't under spotlights. Glitter, champagne, fame, fortune. Never had those sorts of things back then. Far more humble and...private. Probably for the best. Don't you agree?"

Michael spun, looking up the hill. His footprints were set deep in the snow. His and no others. He felt like screaming, but fear had wrapped itself around his throat. With a burning reticence, he turned to face the man.

"I'm guessing this is all your fault," he continued, standing no more than three feet from Michael. He sounded agitated, as if fate had dealt him a cruel hand.