CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Unbreakable

We run in blind panic through the woods.

“Where are we going?” Timmy shouts.

“Back to mine,” I yell over my wheezing breath, darting through the woods at laser speed.

By now, I know my way around the woods pretty well. I jump over a tumbling log, holding the collar close to my chest, protecting it from the woods, from the Twig Man. The rock is the only way we can destroy the Twig Man in time.

“Faster!” Timmy shouts from behind me. “I hear something behind us.”

I will my legs to go quicker, until I can barely feel them anymore. The woods fill with the sound of animals, and I know then that we can’t stop. Not until we’re back in the house. Timmy is running next to me now, determination painted across his face. When I spot the green door in the distance, I nearly collapse with relief, but it’s short-lived because a loud growl makes me freeze.

“Where on earth have you been?” Dad yells from somewhere near the porch. His face looks like a pink balloon that’s about to explode. “You were supposed to be playing football at Timmy’s house. I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Sorry,” I mumble under my breath, drawing in as much oxygen as I can.

“Well? Where have you been and why are you so sweaty? What happened to your clothes?”

“We were playing hide-and-seek,” I manage to puff out as I sit on the floor to stop my body from swaying.

“I went to the address Timmy left for us, but the place is abandoned. There was a ‘for sale’ sign on it. Whatever prank you two are pulling needs to stop right now. Taegeshti?” Whenever Dad switches from English to Kurdish, I know there’s a storm waiting for me.

“Wait, what? What do you mean it was abandoned?” I frown as I drag myself back onto my feet.

“What happened to the phone we gave you? We rang you a hundred times.”

“It’s right here in my—” I dig into pockets and close my eyes, cursing under my breath. “I . . . it must have fallen when—”

“You’re in so much trouble, Ari!” Dad shouts.

I try to stammer out a pathetic response, but Dad’s eyes narrow at me until they almost fold into his skin.

“Timmy and I were just playing, weren’t we?”

“Who are you talking to?” Dad looks at me like I’ve gone mad.

“Tim—” I start, pausing when I realise that Timmy is nowhere to be seen. He must have run off when he saw my Dad. Coward!

“He was just here a moment ago . . .” I mutter.

“I really don’t get you. How can your mum and I trust you if you keep doing stupid things like this?”

The silence stretches on forever. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Timmy was here, he could have backed me up against Dad’s mighty wrath. I thought that’s what friends did, get into trouble with you.

“You’re not to go anywhere near the woods again.”

“But—”

“No buts, Ari!” Dad ushers me inside. “What have you got there?”

At the shock of seeing Dad, I’d completely forgotten about the cat’s collar, and inside it the piece of petrified rock Skinner Leech stole all those years ago.

“I found it near the lake.” I opt for the shortest explanation possible and hope for the best.

He stares at me impatiently, beckoning me to continue with his eyes.

“I was going to take a picture of it and put out some flyers in case it belongs to someone’s pet.”

I don’t know if Dad believes me or not, but he’s stopped looking at me accusingly. I can still feel his disappointment though; he doesn’t have to speak a word. I sense it in the way he shuffles his feet and in the hunch of his shoulders. There’s also the occasional I-can’t-believe-my-son-is-this-stupid sigh, even though he doesn’t actually say this.

“Can I go into the garage for a few minutes?” I ask.

“To do what?”

“I need some tools to help me with the spaceship model.”

Dad has been helping me build a replica of Apollo 8 for the past two months. I was planning on entering it into the school competition next year, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.

“Why do you need it right this minute?” he questions.

I don’t say anything. Dad sighs and eventually opens the garage door and heads into the house without another word, but I can feel his hawkish eyes on me. I rush into the garage and open Dad’s toolbox, searching for the small, triangular tool I’ve seen him use to pry things open. When I find it, I gently squeeze out the rock from the collar.

Easy.

I hold the rock in one hand and turn it over. It’s diamond shaped with a sharp edge, and when the light touches its tip, the rock glows a bloody red. I bring the weight of the hammer down on the centre of it with my other hand. The rock doesn’t even crack. Maybe I’m doing it wrong, there’s no way it wouldn’t make a dent at the very least. I try again and nothing happens.

“Ari! Get in here now!”

“Coming!” I take the hammer with me, and some other tools I might need later.

“Did you find what you need?”

“For what?”

Dad sighs, exasperated. “The spaceship.”

“Oh yes . . . actually, Dad, I have a question about that. What’s the best way to break through a rock?”

“That depends on the size.” His shoulders relax and his jaw is no longer clenched tight.

“A small one.”

“Best thing to do is get a chisel and hold it right on top of the rock, but you have to position it carefully, so it sits at the centre, you see.” He demonstrates with the saltshaker, getting more and more animated as he speaks. Dad makes things with his hands for a living, and he loves nothing more than talking about all things DIY. “Then, with a hammer, you need to tap it gently and keep rotating it as you do, and the rock should split apart.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Then you’re doing it wrong.”

“Could you get a rock that is unbreakable?”

“Apply enough force to anything, and it should crack,” Dad says confidently.

I’m so tempted to ask Dad to help me break the rock, but then he’ll want to know why I want to break the rock, and who knows what will happen if he does manage it.

“Ari, I don’t want you going anywhere near the woods tomorrow. You’re grounded until your mum and I can trust you again.”

“But Dad, I didn’t—”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses. Do I make myself clear?”

I nod, even though I don’t plan on staying away from the woods.

“Right, do you need any help with your project? I’m very handy with a toolkit.”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks, Dad.” I rush upstairs, but Dad stops me.

“You dropped these.” He picks up the pack of Pokémon cards and gasps. “Where did you get these?”

“Timmy let me borrow them.”

“Wow.” He shuffles through them slowly. I watch Dad curiously. “How did he manage to get his hands on these?”

“What do you mean? They sell them in the shops, don’t they?”

Dad looks at me like I’ve gone mad. “Not anymore, these are worth thousands of pounds now.”

“Thousands?” I open my mouth, wondering why Timmy didn’t tell me that.

“They must have been passed down to him.”

I take the cards from his hand and run up to the privacy of my room.

One mystery at a time, I tell myself.

Once inside, I dive into the bag of tools I took from the garage and pull out the chisel.

Tap, rotate.

Tap, rotate.

Tap, rotate.

I follow Dad’s instructions, but the rock doesn’t split apart. What is wrong with this thing?

After almost an hour of trying every other suggestion the internet throws at me, I realise the rock can’t be destroyed. It’s indestructible. Great! I pace up and down the room, jumping at the slightest creak of the floorboards. I head to the window, making sure everything is shut and there are no gaps for any creatures to come through. The sky above is inky black. The rock gleams in my hand and I stare at it, transfixed. Why won’t you break?

Footsteps stop outside my room, but then waddle off in the direction of the bathroom. When I turn back, a flushed glow is bleeding onto my bedroom walls, forming shadows that bounce from one end of the room to the other. The shadows inch closer to each other until they form one silhouette—a monster with eight twigs on its back.

The Twig Man’s shadow crawls along the walls in my bedroom. I put a hand to my mouth to stop myself from yelling out. The shadow reaches for the rock. I get to my feet in a hurry and put the rock inside an old memory box. I lock it with the key and place the box by my bed. The shadow disappears, but from the corner of my eye, I spot something black and slimy trickling into the room—slippery vines. They descend into the room and make for the rock.

I let out a huge breath and grab the box with one hand. The Twig Man wants his rock back, and if I have to stay up all night to fight off his army, then I will. I grab my baseball bat with the other hand and swing it in front of me. I think of Lana as I fight off the night vines. What if I’m already too late?