Chapter Two
Growing Cold
One month later
"Ash! You've got something in the post!"
Groaning, I pulled the covers up over my head. Not now. Any time but now. I knew the rejection letter was coming, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with.
“Ash!”
I sighed and pushed the covers back. Thirty days to the day of that disastrous interview—and here was my future, signed and stamped in a shiny envelope. I went through the motions of pulling on clothes and getting ready for school, dragging it out as long as possible. When I stepped out of my room, Mum hovered near the door.
"Later," I told her when she showed me the three large envelopes, all addressed to Miss Ashlyn Temple. "Why three? Isn't one rejection letter enough?"
"It might not be a rejection," Mum said, trying to console me. "This one's from your Aunt Eve, anyway."
"But it's not my birthday," I said. "She's either five months too late or seven too early. Can I go to school now?"
"I’m not stopping you." Mum stepped back into the kitchen, a touch of reproach on her face.
"Right. Sorry."
I was sorry, but God, was it hard pretending to be a normal daughter when “normal”had disappeared down the rabbit hole over a month ago. Besides, I ranked today’s exam next to the Oxford interview in the enjoyment factor category. At least I had Milton down now. No light, only darkness visible. How appropriate.
I saw another one on the way to school—a dark space, as I called them now. A square-ish patch, no more than half a metre either way but enough to block my path. And within, a pair of eyes glinted. Purple, as usual. Bigger than human eyes, narrowed, with vertical pupils like a cat's―and watching me.
Closing my eyes, I tried to ignore the prickling fear. I shivered, feeling the customary coldness intensify as it always did when I saw a dark space. Sometimes I felt like I could never get warm again. Nothing's going to stop me from passing this exam. Not even evil manifestations of my subconscious.
Drawing in a deep breath, I opened my eyes and veered across the road like I’d intended to walk that way all along. Ignoring them didn’t help, but it made me feel a little better. Talking back to one would bring me to a whole new level of crazy.
A car horn beeped as I narrowly avoided walking right into it. The driver swore colourfully, jolting me back to reality. My feet hit the pavement on the other side. I resisted the urge to turn back and check if the dark space was still there. Maybe my luck would hold, and they'd stay out of the exam hall.
Yeah, right.
Mum and Dad wanted to send me to therapy. Like that would help. I think I have a problem. Is this a demon I see before me? Not that they knew about the demons, of course – they thought my nightmares and constant jumpiness were caused by stress.
If only it was that simple.
I didn’t see anything else unusual on the last of the walk to school. I glanced at the clock as I entered the school building. One hour to fit in some last-minute revision in the library.
To my relief, the library was open. My phone buzzed as I made my way between the shelves. Cara had sent me a text saying she'd join me in a bit. "It's bad luck to revise on the day of an exam," she scolded me.
I like to think I've already used up my bad luck quota for today. First a rejection then the demon. Now all I needed was―
I swore under my breath. There was a dark space in the library, too, right over the table where I’d intended to sit. A piece of reality cut away, and within it… those eyes.
"Hello, Ashlyn."
"What?" I dropped my revision notes. Did that demon say hello? I put my trembling hands behind my back.
Aside from that first dream, none of the demons had ever said a word to me. This one watched me with its sinister violet eyes. Coldness seeped into me, and my heart pounded against my ears.
Great. Now I've insulted it. Or something. I don't have time for this.
Fear warred with common sense, and common sense won. I scrambled to pick up my notes so I could get the hell out of there. Why did they have to keep watching me like that?
Thud. A book fell off the shelf, narrowly missing my foot.
"What the hell?"
Another book fell with a thud, a hefty volume of the Oxford English Dictionary. This time, I couldn't put it down to the library's old shelves falling apart.
Somehow, the demon could move things. Since when did they make threats?
I picked up the dictionary, weighing it in my hands. A reckless daring sprang up in me, and, before my nerve left, I lobbed the book at the demon. The dictionary sailed right through the dark space, as if it wasn't there.
I turned tail and ran, nearly colliding with a group of Year Eights, who all sidestepped sharpish without looking at me. Don't look at the crazy girl. Expecting missiles to crash into my head at any moment, I ran without paying much heed to where I was going and nearly collided with Cara. I skidded to a halt.
"Jesus, Ash!" A pair of exam invigilators glared at both of us. "What's the rush? You aren't late,” she said. “You're ridiculously early, actually."
"Nothing," I said, glancing up and down the corridor. "No tables in there. Come on, let's wait by the hall."
I steered her away, again having to duck out of the way of a group of students. Why did people walk towards me as if I wasn't there? Sometimes, I felt like I was invisible to everyone except Cara. Even the teachers often forgot my name. So much for being the amazing Oxford candidate.
No dark spaces waited for us around the assembly hall this time. Mr. Darton stood, barring the door to make sure no one sneaked in to get a look at the exam papers. I raced through quotations in my head, praying to the gods of exams that the right question would come up so I could give a coherent answer. Avoiding a panic attack would be nice, too.
Breathe. I didn't want a repeat of the interview. The word fiasco came to mind when I thought of the day after the demons came, when I'd sat before the stereotypically grey-bearded, distinguished professor of literature and, intelligently, said, "I like, um, reading." Thirty minutes of nonsensical rambling later, I'd left the interview room and walked right through a dark space, densely black yet somehow transparent. I could see through to the other side where people walked along the corridor, talking, oblivious to the darkness.
Only I could see it. And before I could even gather my thoughts, a pair of violet eyes stared at me from the blackness. I’d cracked, screamed my head off, and ran.
"I think you made quite an impression," said Mum that day, after I'd calmed down. "Not everyone runs screaming out of their interview."
"Ha-freaking-ha," I said. Hardly the impression I'd hoped for―Ash the lunatic as opposed to Ash the knowledgeable literary critic.
I stared at my exam paper, unable to tear my mind away from that horrendous day. The fear never really went away. Everywhere—at school, in the street, at the shops—dark shapes would appear, and I'd be greeted by cold, violet eyes and a chill that went bone-deep. Slowly, I'd adjusted to their staring eyes, like people who went on those reality TV shows and adjusted to cameras being there all the time, and I’d learned to glare back. It was that or let them intimidate me into never leaving the house, never seeing Cara or going to school, or, well, living. They'd never tried to harm me. Hell, I didn't even know if they could. But if I’d learned anything from the few horror films I’d seen, there should be some way to get the demons to leave me alone. Until today they’d never really done anything. Just watched me, constantly.
I was so tired of jumping at shadows.
The clock's ticking brought me back to the present. Shit, how do I have only five minutes left? I pushed my hand to its limits, pen racing down the page, but the stubborn hand of the clock ticked on relentlessly. I wish it would stop, I thought, realising that I’d misjudged the timing and still hadn’t written a conclusion.
The clock's hand stopped. Holy shit. Did I do that? Impossible.
I glanced at the other students scribbling away, the invigilators prowling between the desks.
The old school's clock broke down; that was all. People couldn't stop clocks.
People couldn't.
I looked around frantically, searching for any sign of a demon. Any shadow could be a dark space. This hall was where it had all started.
Don't be an idiot. Finish your answer! I turned my gaze back to the page and scribbled the end to my final paragraph, splattering ink everywhere. Hell, would anyone even be able to read this?
A minute later, Mr. Darton said to our deputy head, Mrs. Cathers, "I make it half past the hour. Do you?"
The two exchanged whispers. I heard the clock mentioned. I can't have done that. There's only so much weird I can see in one day.
But I still had to open my rejection letters.
***
The old nerves tightened around me like a vice as I hurried home after dismissal, Cara rushing to keep up.
"Text me the news!" she panted, as we went our separate ways. The cold air blew my hair sideways, but it was refreshing after that stuffy exam hall. What would happen in summer, when I wanted to go out walking? Would I ever be able to do anything again without fearing the presence of a demon?
"Will do," I said to Cara, who waved goodbye.
No divine force intervened to stop me finding the three ominously thick envelopes on the kitchen table when I let myself into the house. I took in a breath, my heart fluttering, and picked the most official-looking one.
Come on, you threw a dictionary at a demon today. Just open it.
I slid the wad of paper out of the envelope. One word leapt out: unfortunately. It never meant good news. I threw it aside, tears stinging my eyes. Dammit. I slumped down on the living room sofa, feeling hollow inside.
Worst. Day. Ever.
And yet… what had I expected? Oxford didn’t want lunatics who saw demons.
“Great,” I muttered to myself. “Suppose I’ll have to go with my backup plan and join the circus.”
"Maybe if we plead for mitigating circumstances?" said Mum, coming into the room and retrieving the letter.
"For what?” I wiped my eyes. “Being hopeless at interviews? They'll never buy it."
I could plead insanity, I suppose. Or stress. I'd give a psychiatrist a field day if I told them about the dictionary incident.
"Some people get nervous at interviews. It isn't your fault." Mum came and put an arm around me. My parents weren’t usually the affectionate sort, so I responded, curling up to her like a kid. Mum patted my head. Neither of my parents really knew how to deal with a highly-strung teenager – or any teenager at all, really. I mostly got to do my own thing, once I’d proven I could be trusted not to trash the house when my parents went away for the weekend.
It wasn’t the independence I wanted, going away to university. It wasn’t even academics. Just the thought that there might be something else out there. A different life.
Stop that. Thinking about what I’d lost my chance at made me even more depressed.
Ever since the demon, I’d never really believed that I’d have a shot at normality – sooner or later, I’d slip up and get carted away to a madhouse. But now my chance of going elsewhere had bit the dust. Staying at home for another year while Cara and everyone I knew went off to university would send what was left of my sanity spiralling within a week. Could I really handle reapplying? Did it matter, if the demons followed me wherever I went?
Dad came into the room.
“Sorry, kiddo,” he said, when he saw my face. “You missed this one,” he added, picking up one of the other envelopes, which I’d left on the coffee table. “I think it’s from… Where else did you apply?"
"Good question." I took the paper from him and unfolded it. "Blackstone University… where's that?"
"Don't ask me. You’re the one who applied there," said Mum, reading over my shoulder.
"I suppose I did,” I said, uncertainly. It didn’t seem right that I had no recollection.
Wait. Back when I’d been in Crazy Ash mode, pulling all-nighters for the Oxford admissions exam, I’d picked my alternatives at random in one energy-drink-fuelled overnight study session. Not my best idea. Funny how fear made you forget things. Even oh-so-slightly-important considerations like where I was going to spend the next three years of my life.
“What does the letter say?” said Dad.
My gaze travelled down the page. I blinked at the paper, convinced I’d misread it. "They've apparently offered me a place." What?
"But that's great news!" Mum swept us into a group hug as I blinked again, disbelieving. "Ash, you're freezing. Are you coming down with a cold?"
"Never mind that now," I said, staring at the page. "I'm going to uni?”
I looked over the page again, letting each word sink in. Conditional offer. It was real.
Except I had no clue where the place was, let alone if it was somewhere I’d actually like to live for the next three years.
"Their website was a bit dodgy," I remembered. Cara, insisting that Blackstone wasn't a real place, demanded to see it, only for the website—then the computer—to crash. This was typical in our school computer room, so I’d forgotten all about it until now.
I grabbed my phone to text Cara – maybe she remembered why the course had caught my eye.
"Ash, don't forget Aunt Eve's parcel,” said Mum, pressing it into my hand.
I'd forgotten about the third envelope. A letter, in her illegible looped handwriting, came with a smaller package. I broke the cellotape and found a pendant inset with a purple stone. Amethyst.
"What's this for?"
Mum read the letter, frowning. "Early eighteenth birthday present. Make sure you write back and thank her."
"I don't know her address," I said. "I thought she moved to Canada. Five years ago, wasn't it?"
"You're right." Mum's frown deepened. "I'm sure I must have it somewhere… put that somewhere safe, Ash. You don't want to lose it. Let's see how it looks on you." She pushed back my curly hair and lowered the necklace over my head. "Lovely."
The gleaming stone did look beautiful, though its purple glint reminded me a little too much of demon eyes. I picked up the letter, trying to decipher it. The first part told me that the pendant was a family heirloom, but the ink ran through the middle section, making it unreadable.
I made out two lines, which made little sense. "Your mind is your own. Guard your heart well." She does have a weird way of putting things, I thought, recalling her strange tales of monsters in the woods when I'd spent summers at her Windermere cottage, before she'd moved.
A shiver danced over my skin, and I turned back to the brochure that had come with my university offer. Blackstone. Small village, middle of nowhere. Sounded like my kind of place – as long as it had an internet connection, of course.
My phone buzzed with Cara’s response. "Yes! Told you so. Do they have a visit day?”
"Yeah, on Saturday," I typed, checking the date on the brochure. Good timing. Almost spooky. But hey, I wasn’t complaining. I had to at least give this a go.
"Awesome," came Cara’s response. “I’m coming with you. And you, missy, are going to celebrate.”
I smiled at my phone. I could always count on Cara. By the weekend, she’d probably know all Blackstone’s local ghost legends.
I wished I could leave my own ghosts behind. Or, demons.
I always saw more demons where there were more people – crowded shopping centres were the worst. In the middle of nowhere, though, it might be different. I needed a new start. I needed it badly. Anything had to be better than monotony and constant fear, exams and eyes staring from the darkness.
Mum skimmed through the brochure. "This looks perfect! You'd have on-campus accommodation. Not too far from Preston, either."
"We have to celebrate! How about we go out for a meal tonight, Ash?" Dad asked.
"I have to pass my exams before we can really celebrate," I reminded him. "It's only a conditional offer. Besides, I’ve not even seen the place yet."
"I'm sure you'll have done fine," Mum said. “This course sounds up your alley. That Milton book you’re always carrying?”
I groaned. “No more Milton,” I said. “I’m going there on Saturday with Cara, anyway. Visit day.”
“You are?” said Mum.
“Our little girl’s all grown up,” said Dad, grinning.
“Are you sure you don’t have a cold?” said Mum, touching my forehead.
“I’m fine,” I said, wriggling away.
It didn’t seem worth explaining, again, that I’d stopped noticing it altogether. I always felt as though there was a constant draft against my skin, but on the inside, not outside.
There has to be a rational explanation. But I knew the demons made it cold. It always got worse around them.
Please. Don’t let them ruin this.
***
Early Saturday morning, Cara and I took the train to Preston, where a bus service ran to the university.
"Bloody hell, it's freezing," she yelped as we jumped off the bus into a gale. The tour began at the student village, which was helpfully signposted.
"Pretty, though," I said, indicating the collection of sandy-coloured houses surrounded by patches of vivid green grass. A field doubled as a car park, with a path down the centre leading into the nearby woods to the other side—the village, also named Blackstone—and through the woodland that surrounded the campus on all sides.
Blackstone University was about as isolated as you could get, a small campus tucked away on a hillside. As Cara put it, "The only inhabitants are students and sheep." Several of the latter watched us from the field, woollen coats fluffed up against the wind.
The tour took us on a winding loop around campus, and I felt my smile growing bigger by the minute. Perfect. Cara shook her head when I grinned at the reading list.
"You're crazy, Ash."
"You know you love me for it."
"Damn straight. Enjoy your Milton. But"—she tapped me on the nose—"no stressing. Got it?"
"Yes, mother," I said with another grin. I could trust Cara to stand by me. She might be going to Edinburgh, but neither of us were about to let distance ruin thirteen years of friendship.
“And another thing,” she added. “You have to actually go out there and talk to people. You know… people people? Not fictional ones?”
I stuck my tongue out at her.
“Come on, Ash, if you’re staying in student halls, you can’t hide in your room playing World of Warcraft.”
“I’m not planning on going out and getting shitfaced every night, either.”
“Me neither. Not like my sister. She tells me she woke up next to a new guy every week and has a collection of road signs mounted on her wall."
"Seriously?" I said. "Definitely not the life for me. Quiet literary discussions are more my thing."
"You're like an old woman, Ash. What about dating?"
Good question. I see demons wasn’t exactly a good way to start a relationship.
"If I meet a guy who loves Milton, it's clearly meant to be," I said. "Well, I guess that'd be more like a threesome." Truthfully, I never wanted to read Paradise Lost again, but my comment made Cara shriek with laughter.
"You're a riot," she said.
"Don't forget about me," I half-joked. I'd never been Miss Popularity―less so since I'd ostracised myself―but I found it hard to ignore the way people sidestepped me in the corridors like I'd contracted leprosy or walked into me like I was invisible. Even Alice and Sammy, my friends from primary school, pretended I didn’t exist. I knew I looked the same, outwardly at least. I kept the insanity all on the inside. People changed, I guessed.
Still, Cara and I had shared memories of the awkward horrors of surviving seven years at an all-girls’ school. Nothing could take that away, not even a two-hundred-mile separation.
"This place is like the set for a bad horror movie," said Cara later as we waited for the bus back, this time from Blackstone village itself. "You're asking for an encounter with a serial killer. Hannibal Lecter probably hangs out at the Coach and Horses." She referred to the local pub frequented by students. Personally, I thought it quite cosy.
"It'd be pretty handy living on a hill if there's a zombie invasion," I said.
"True. But that forest is damn creepy. When I come and visit, we should film our own version of The Blair Witch Project."
I smiled at the memory of that time we’d taken her dad’s camera when we were twelve and run around the wild part of the local park, looking for a scare. No ghosts or monsters had materialised, but we’d had to flee from irate neighbours after accidentally trespassing in someone’s garden. Good times.
"I don’t think it’s creepy,” I said. “At least, this is like the safest university campus, ever. No risk of serial killers here. There were people walking on the woodland path.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t want to go in there at night. Honestly, Ash, you get freaked out over exams, and yet you look at that forest and don’t think ‘I’m going to get murdered?’”
“Pretty much.” Hey, I never said I had my priorities in order.
"You're dead sure you want to come here?"
"I think so.” I nodded, smiling. “Yeah."
One thing swayed it for me. All day, I didn't see a single demon.