Silencing the Dead by Will Harker (ready to read books .TXT) 📗

brushed the side of our faces before she turned back to the needle-pierced poppet. She hesitated a moment and then gingerly picked it up.

“Feels mulardi, don’t it?” she said, then looked at Haz. “Haunted, I mean. But not by spirits. By a living person’s spite and wickedness. It feels… personal.” Glancing up from the doll, she met my gaze. “Oh, I know you ain’t a believer, Scott Jericho. You never was, but I still see shadows all around you. Around both of you.” Her eyes appeared to lose their focus as she suddenly grasped spasmodically at Harry’s sleeve. “A man with silver hair and a hole in his body where terrible agonies wormed their way inside. Black pain like nothing he believed could ever be real. But he’s smiling now because the hole is empty and the pain’s gone. You took that pain from him, and he thanks you for it. His smile is your smile.”

Haz’s eyes went wide and he pulled away from her.

“I don’t…” He gazed at both of us, a look of someone betrayed. “I can’t.”

And with that, he pulled the tent flaps aside and vanished into the night. I was about to call out to him when Tilda grabbed my wrist.

“And you,” she said, her voice smoother, somehow less of a toadish croak. “The ghosts of those little Polish kiddies are gone. They’ve been avenged, and so have stepped beyond the light and out of this world. But you have others, don’t you? New and terrible shades. They look to you for justice, Scott Jericho. They scream like starving juks for the soul that took them before their time. They cling to you with the cold and certain grasp of the grave. The dog-faced man, the electric lady, the fat woman who eats her own flesh, the balloon-headed horror, and him. Him most of all. The killer, broken and remade.”

It was a shadow on the wall of the tent that caught my attention. A lone punter in the passing crowd, his darkness distorted by strobing lights and the windblown canvas. That was all. And if the shape paused and turned its misshapen head towards us, as if listening in through the shivering doorway? Well, people will stop to read Madam Tilda’s sign, won’t they? ENTER NOW AND MEET THE FUTURE! But I didn’t want him to enter. Didn’t want that twisted arm to reach out and pull the flap aside. Didn’t want the bloated corpse of Lenny Kerrigan to drag itself over the threshold. Didn’t want that still-bleeding face, red and slick as a freshly-dipped toffee apple, to turn and grin and plead, as it had back in Bradbury End:

Juh-i-co. Huh-elp. Muh-ee.

And of course it didn’t. Because there are no ghosts.

When I turned to Tilda again she was smiling her gentle smile, as if nothing had happened.

“Shall we go?” she asked. “It’s cold in here and I feel a chill in my bones.”

CHAPTER NINE

I was relieved to find one of my dad’s chaps waiting outside. Together we tied and padlocked the flaps, ensuring Tilda’s tent was secure for the night. Part of me had wanted to take the wax doll so that I could examine it again later, but on reflection, I didn’t think I’d get much more out of it. Anyway, I was desperate to find Haz. That look he’d given us before running off? It had made my blood run cold.

“Take her to Big Sam’s trailer,” I said to the chap. “His wife Sandra should be there. Don’t leave until she’s safely inside.” I then bent down to give Tilda a quick kiss on the cheek. “It’s only foolishness, I’m sure.”

She looked at me, her expression distant again. “Whatever happens, it’s nobody’s fault. I want you to remember that. Now, go find that handsome boy of yours.”

The ground was heaving. Punters surging and dawdling, tumbling dizzily off rides, lovers feeding each other wisps of candy floss. I moved between them with the born ease of a showman, making for the side ground and our carousel, where I prayed I’d find Haz. At one point I thought I saw Nick Holloway, a glint of flaming red among the bobbing heads, and then another familiar face I couldn’t quite place. A small, drawn-looking man dragging at the arm of a harassed woman in an olive-green anorak. The crowd swallowed them again and I dismissed the nagging recognition.

Stretching onto my toes, I finally made out the carousel. Sal was collecting money from parents while Haz went around checking their kids were safely mounted upon winged unicorns and magic carpets. My nerves were singing by the time I reached them. Jodie was busy nattering away to a distracted Haz who, on glimpsing me, appeared to fumble with a wailing child’s seatbelt.

“How’s Aunt Tils?” Sal asked, stepping in front of me.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Hasn’t said a word since he came back.”

“She’s fine,” I said. “Just a nasty practical joke. I’ll fill you in later.”

Sal levelled her eyes with mine. “You take him back to the trailer right now. He looks like he’s had a bad shock.” When I started to protest she cut me short. “Me and Jodes can mind the ride. Just sort things out, for Christ’s sake.”

“I will.” I touched her elbow. “Thanks.”

Sal then called her daughter over, receiving an almost adolescent pout from the seven-year-old. Haz was definitely Jodie’s favourite person and she hated being parted from him. Looking at my boyfriend’s sad, sweet face, it was a sentiment with which I could only sympathise. Haz pretended to be busy with his cash pocket until I unclipped it from his belt and handed it to Sal.

“Come on,” I said.

“No,” he answered, trying to snatch it back. “We have to—”

I took his hand. “Come on.”

We didn’t return to the trailer. Instead, I led us to my father’s old Colchester and the kennel that stood at the bottom of the trailer steps. Hearing our approach, a weary head poked its way