Backwards Into Hell

Part One: The Lodge

Gingerly, and slowly enough so the others didn't notice, I turned my head in the direction of the noise, which led me to the dark, oak bookcase squashed in the corner of the room. Something was leading me there, but I couldn't check yet.

We finished eating quickly, and with dark rings growing under our eyes, everyone filed back to their rooms as Darren and Anais left to clear up.

I went to stand, and Abe put a firm hand on my wrist.

'We need to talk,' he whispered, and I sat back down. The buzzing was still there.

No one but Lily noticed, and she shot me a questioning look.

I shrugged.

She nodded slowly before slipping out of the room, leaving Abe and me alone in the candlelight.

'What's this about?' I asked once the footsteps had receded.

'I think she knows.'

Abe's blue eyes were creepier in the light, the red of the flames flickering in the colour. Regardless, I sighed and sat back, listening to the buzz. At least he hadn't kept me for anything serious.

'This is important!' He whispered harshly, almost spitting in my ear. 'If she finds out before I'm ready, then...'

'I thought you were going to tell her anyway?'

'It's not the right time.'

I worked Abe out by then: he was a coward.

His knee bounced under the table as there was a sudden bang from the kitchen. We glanced at each other. What were they up to in there?

'Anyway,' I continued, 'she probably doesn't know.'

Abe shook his head. 'She's suspicious. She keeps hinting at something.'

'Like what?'

'Like...' He gathered his thoughts. 'Like this morning, just before we left, she turned to me and said, "Let's find out what Harriet was hiding." And then she looked at me like... like—' he stuttered like a child.

'You're reading too much into this.'

'You really think she doesn't know?'

I nodded. 'How could she?'

Abe ran his thumbs along the edge of the table.

'Just get some sleep,' I said. 'You'll feel better in the morning.'

'Okay.' The chair scraped as he got onto his old feet. 'You're not coming up?'

'I'll be a minute.'

I smiled, trying not to seem suspicious, but Abe eyed me anyway as he left. As soon as he was gone, I bolted from my chair and faced the bookcase. It was thin and tall and full of old, flaking books.

The sound was right in front of me now, earthquaking through my entire head. I held out my hand, feeling over the books for... something.

I found it.

As my fingers hovered over the centre of the middle shelf, right in front of an A4, red, leather-bound book, the noise reached its height. It was almost unbearable, the bones in my skull shaking as my fingertips neared.

Then they touched it, and the sound was gone.

I nestled it from the shelf and dropped it on the table with a bang as my aching arms couldn't hold it. Fingers finding the cover, I peeled back the first page. I had to be quick—Darren and Anais were probably seconds away.

'You found it, then,' said The Old Man.

My soul jumped from my chest as he appeared in front of me, guarding the door to the kitchen.

I nodded, trying to stay calm even as my stomach wanted to rip itself open.

'Go on, open it.'

I turned the cover, revealing a yellowing, blank page—how old was this thing? I turned the next and the next and the next. All blank.

Why give me an empty book?

'Because I want you to fill it.' That same, debonair grin returned to his face, but he winced as he sat down, knees as bad as Abe's.

That day, he was still wearing a white tunic, but it seemed crisper, better made somehow, and the lines around his face, while still deeper than the grand canyon, were less.

'I want you to write in it,' he explained. 'Describe everything that's happening here.'

'Why?' I finally found words.

'Let's call it an account of sorts—a historical one. After all, people will want to know, won't they?'

My stomach dropped.

'I thought this was meant to be a secret.'

'Oh, it is. The book will never make it into the wrong hands, I assure you.'

I still didn't get it. 'Why?' I tried again.

'Just write.' he said sharply. 'It will become clear in time.'

He was just about to go.

'Wait!'

Those frozen eyes looked at me.

'I'm not sure about this, not anymore.' I swallowed, thinking of Lily. 'Some of them are good people.'

This made him chuckle. 'Oh, but that's where you're wrong.' He turned to open the kitchen door. 'These people are not "good" at all.'

The Old Man turned the handle and, instead of stepping into the kitchen, walked into an inky darkness, letting the door slam behind him.

I wasn't brave enough to try the door for myself and instead staggered up the stairs with a head like a fish bowl. When I woke in the morning, the book was still there, watching me from my desk. Huge and blank.

Giving in, I crawled out of bed and cracked it open before grabbing a biro and beginning to think. Then I flicked my mind back to that very first coach ride in the pouring rain—the first time this nightmare felt real—wiggled my fingers, and began to write.