CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Eye of Hanging Hill

“You’re really quiet this morning, Ari. Anything you want to talk about?” Dad’s hawkish eyes study me whilst I play with the egg and beans on my plate. “Ari, did you hear me?”

“What? Sorry, I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Was it the cold? I will have a look at the window tonight, I promise.”

“Yeah, the cold,” I say.

“I’ll leave work early today and we can go into town and have a browse through the comic book shop.”

“Actually, Dad, I’ve got some homework I need to do before half-term is over.”

All I can think about is how the twig got into my bed without me realising. The only explanation I can think of is that the plants brought it in with them, which is a crazy thing to wrap my head around. As crazy as thinking the crows are a countdown.

Dad leans closer so that we are face to face. His eyes are soft and calm today. “I’m really sorry if we’ve been harsh on you. Mum and I will work on it.” He pulls me in for a hug, and for some reason my eyes get all misty.

“Dad . . .” I swallow my spit before continuing. “Lana isn’t gone. Don’t give up on her here.” I tap his chest lightly.

A small noise escapes his lips. It’s somewhere between a gasp and a cry. Mum is always accusing him of being ‘cold’ because he doesn’t show his sadness the same way she does. But Mum couldn’t be more wrong. Dad does show his feelings, but he does it in the garage when he thinks no one is around. It’s comforting to hear because Dad is the strongest person I know. Half of me wants him to ask me why I’m so sure Lana is still here, so that I can tell him about the moving plants and the crows in the picture and the fact that I heard her, but he doesn’t, and he wouldn’t believe me anyway.

“How unusual! They’re back . . .” Dad clears his throat and chuckles. He lets me go and walks to the window. “Ari, come have a look,” he says with an amused look on his face.

I shuffle next to him and let out a startled gasp. Three crows are sitting comfortably on the swing set.

“What do you suppose they’re looking at?” Dad leans his head out of the window and looks up at the sky. “They must have their eyes on the prize!”

“The prize?” I blink. Me?

“They’ve found a food source. That would explain why they keep popping round.” Dad starts clearing away the dishes, oblivious to my shaking knees.

I stare at the crows. If I listen carefully, I can hear the metal chains creaking back and forth. Slowly, one by one, they turn to face me, and when they blink, their dark eyes turn opaque. I open my mouth to tell Dad, but as soon as I do, the crows fly away.

“Interesting fact: they say seeing lots of crows at the same time is actually good luck. You never know, we might end up winning the lottery.”

“Hmm.” What good is the lottery going to do if I disappear just like Lana did?

“Koorim, you’ve gone pale as a sheet.” Dad’s smile fades. “Go upstairs and I’ll bring you up a warm drink when I’m done here.”

I nod and head to my room, mouth dry at the thought of what else is going to come creeping through my window when I’m not looking. If I had any doubt about what the crows meant last night, that’s completely disappeared now.

Five, then four, and now three crows—three days until the Twig Man takes me too. Just like Lana.

I reach for the laptop and type in The Twig Man, Hanging Hill. I don’t know what I expect to find, or even what I’m looking for. Eyes peeled, I trawl through the websites, moving past the boastful comments left by users claiming that they’re the Twig Man. Dad was right, the internet is full of lies.

Frustrated, I close the open tabs and start afresh. This time I type only two words: ‘Skinner Leech’. After what feels like hours of digging, one result comes up. It’s a small piece buried in one of the local papers; the date isn’t clear when I zoom in, but it’s in a newspaper called the Eye of Hanging Hill.

 

In the early hours of the morning, police in Hanging Hill executed a search warrant on the residence of Skinner Leech, who is suspected of being involved in several armed robberies. After a thorough search of his cabin, neither Leech nor his cat were found.

 

I pull myself up and stick my face as close to the screen as possible.

 

‘. . . neither Leech nor his cat were found.’

 

Skinner Leech had a pet? I trawl through the rest of the article, hoping for a description of the cat. My fingers tingle with nervous anticipation.

 

Police are now pleading with the public for any credible information on his whereabouts. The man in question is believed to be dangerous and the public are urged to be vigilant and responsible.

 

Nothing more about a cat but it has to be the same cat that I’ve been seeing. The same one Lana saw before she disappeared. I zoom into the blurry passport picture of Leech. He had a square jaw, sharp black eyes, even sharper nose, and thin, straggly hair. I stare at the twig on my bed, and then back at the picture. Cold sweat soaks through my shirt. I type the next words: Missing people in Hanging Hill.

There are articles spaced years apart, just like Nan said, about kids missing from Hanging Hill.

 

. . . Last seen around the woods . . .

. . . Hanging Hill High School . . .

. . . No clues found in the mysterious disappearance of Oliver Dean . . .

 

There’s even an article from a year ago about Lana. I click on it, but the laptop blinks shut. I press the ON button repeatedly, but it won’t spring back to life.

“Dad, do you have the charger for the laptop?” I ask when he comes in with a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

“Extra whipped cream.” He winks. “Oh, it’s around somewhere, but I’ve got to nip off to work. I’ll find it when I get back.”

“Can you drop me off at the library on the way? I have to do some work for school, and I need to use the printer.”

“What’s wrong with the printer at home?”

“We’ve run out of ink,” I lie, knowing he won’t bother checking.

“Is it urgent?”

“You said I could do more things on my own.” Dads’ eyes lose their hardness. “So, can I go?”

“Yes fine.” He huffs. “What kind of father would I be if I denied you the chance to do homework?”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I don’t remember ever being this enthusiastic about schoolwork. Well done you!” He slaps me on the back.

I take a final sweep of the room, making sure the window is locked and the curtains drawn. I look at the twig by my bedstand before shutting the door behind me.

Everything will be okay, you just have to figure out what kind of monster you’re dealing with, I say to myself.

What happens after that is a huge question mark and one I don’t have the answers to just yet. Whatever it is, I have three days to figure it out, because for some reason, I’ve angered the Twig Man and he’s out for revenge.