Inside Outside

 

 

I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling.

I can hear noises against the window. Snow hitting the glass, wet and heavy.

“Mum,” I whisper, but she isn’t here. I know she isn’t, but if I close my eyes I can almost imagine that she’s close – in the next room, maybe, or on the floor beside Dad. Tonight, everything is so strange. Perhaps if I say exactly the right words or do exactly the right thing at the right time, she’ll come back.

I climb out of bed, taking the horrible old-fashioned quilt and wrapping it round my shoulders. The stairs make noises as I creak down them – creak, creak, creeeak. I feel for the walls with my hands, so I don’t fall.

The kitchen tiles are cold, even through my socks. I go to the back door and look out of the window. All I can see is black and whirling snow, for ever.

“Moll?”

It’s Hannah. Her face is red and white in the darkness.

“What are you doing?”

She comes over to where I’m standing.

“Watching.”

It’s very dark in the garden. The trees are moving in the wind; you can hear them creaking.

Tonight is the longest night of the year. The absolute middle of winter.

“Moll,” says Hannah. “It’s cold. Come back upstairs.”

But there is something different about tonight. The Green Man is gone and that changes everything.

“Let’s go,” says Hannah. “Come on.”

I don’t move.

“What was that?” Her voice is high and frightened. “Molly!”

I can hear it too.

There’s something there.

There’s a new sound; not the snow, not the wind, something else, sort of whispery. And light too – not torchlight, fainter. What is it? Is it—

“Moll,” says Hannah. “There’s something coming!” She tugs on my arm, but I pull away.

And see her.

She’s standing in the snow, clear as anything. She doesn’t look like a ghost. She looks absolutely real. She looks so real that I wonder if we should open the door and let her in.

She stands there smiling at us, normal as anything, just smiling at us through the glass.

Then she’s gone.