CHAPTER NINE

The Sliding Window

“Ari! Pick up that chair, now! What on earth is the matter with you?” Mum yells.

“I thought I saw something,” I lie as I sit back down. “I can’t go to Cornwall . . . it’s just, I have loads of homework to do and a project I need to finish for school.”

Mum and Dad exchange surprised glances, which I would normally be offended by, but I have too much going on in my mind right now. Like why Lana would call out for me but not show herself. I glance down at my hand where the cat scratched me but, despite the pain, there’s no visible mark on my skin.

“How?” I mutter to myself.

“What’s that?” Mum asks.

I look up in stunned confusion. “Nothing,” I mumble, inspecting my hand under the table in wide-eyed disbelief. Not even a hint of redness, like the whole thing never happened. I’d believe that too if Timmy hadn’t also seen the cat.

“We don’t have to decide about Cornwall right away.” Dad mistakes my silence for something else.

I nod, hoping they don’t see the relief plastered on my face. I force myself to swallow the last bit of food on my plate before excusing myself and running up to my room. A light breeze strokes the back of my neck. I shiver, reaching for my jumper. The pieces of paper on the desk scatter to the floor as another draught, more forceful than the last, enters the room.

I look behind me and the window is half-open. Strange. I’m sure it was closed this morning. I slam it shut and sit back down, but a shadow covers the corner of the room. A cutting chill tickles the hairs on my body. I twist round to find the window has slid open again and, crawling up its edges, are creepers, the same kind I saw cocooned around the trees in the woods. The hairy vines slide through the window and slither onto the bedroom floor like bony fingers.

I try to scream, but my voice has run off. A prickly tentacle rubs the side of my cheek. I pick up the textbook on my bedstand and thump it down on the invading vines. Heart racing, I run to the door to scream for help, as mountains of vines pour into the room. They cover the walls and the doorknob, blocking my path. I yell out, but my voice is muffled by the scraggly plant sliding across my mouth.

I hop from one foot to the other, avoiding the tangled weeds circling my feet like hungry sharks. A strong tug pulls me, bottom first, to the floor. With trembling fingers, I struggle to unwrap the twisty plant from my foot as more of them enter the room. I use my free leg to knock over the glass frame with the picture of Lana and me, smashing it to pieces, before using the sharp end of the glass to cut through the plants.

The vines squirm, loosening their grip before finally letting go. I look around in pure terror. My room resembles a wild forest. The hairs on the nape of my neck stand guard as something furry crawls down my top.

“ARGHHHHHHHHHH!” I scream at the top of my voice.

Footsteps stomp up the stairs. I wriggle on the spot until a small tarantula drops to the floor and scurries away. All of a sudden, the plants start retreating. They slip out of the window as quietly as they came in, gliding back toward the sinister woods.

“What’s going on up here?” Mum calls out from behind the door. She jiggles the handle. “Why have you locked the door? Open it right now, Ari!”

I rush to open the door as, behind me, the window slams shut.

Mum sweeps the room with her eyes. “Why was the door locked?”

Good question. I look at the window, and then at the room, brain buzzing for an excuse.

“I broke the picture frame by accident, and I didn’t want you to see it and get mad. I was going to clean everything up.”

“You know we have a no-locked-doors rule in this house,” Mum says sternly.

“I know, I’m sorry.” I bend down to pick up the broken glass.

“Don’t touch it,” Mum warns. She hurries out of the room, and I can hear the clutter of the cupboard downstairs. She returns with a dustpan and brush.

“Can you get Dad to look at the window please?”

She stops sweeping and looks up at me. “Why?”

“It’s really old and the wind keeps sliding it open.” I struggle to keep my voice as still as possible, but my legs are shaking, so I sit cross-legged on the bed before Mum notices.

“I’ll ask him to have a look once he’s finished downstairs. Are you sure everything is alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost and you haven’t been yourself the last couple of days.”

My stomach lurches. Now I wish I didn’t eat so much because it’s threatening to come right back up my throat. I can’t peel my eyes away from the window.

“What is wrong with you today?” Mum asks.

“I . . . it’s nothing.”

“Ari?” Mum frowns.

For a second, I want to tell her everything, but I’m not even sure how to explain any of it.

If Nan was right, and the woods do belong to the Twig Man, does that mean he also controls everything in it? Did he send those vines into my room?

“I think I ate too fast.” I press down on my belly.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?”

“There is one thing . . . do you think it’s possible the police were wrong about Lana? They get things wrong sometimes, don’t they?” I already know the answer to that, but I’m desperate for Mum to say it too.

“Not this again, basaqa.” Whenever Mum calls me darling, I know she is about to let me down gently. “You know what Lana was like when she got an idea into her head. There was no stopping her. I know you don’t want it to be true, but it was her decision to leave.” My face falls; Mum still doesn’t get it. She is wrong about it all. “You’ve had an eventful day and your imagination must be in overdrive. We’ll talk about this some other time,” Mum says with a finality in her voice.

I know I’m not going to get anywhere if I push it, so instead I ask, “Can we please go see Nan tomorrow?”

“Why are you suddenly so keen on seeing your Nan? And don’t say it’s just because you miss her.”

“I want her help with something . . . a school project,” I add.

“What is the project on?”

“Urban myths.”

Mum rolls her eyes. “She’d love that, I’m sure! Now get an early night, will you? We’ll go see her first thing in the morning.”

When Mum leaves, I lie on my back and keep both eyes permanently fixed on the window. Waiting . . . for what, I don’t know. What I do know is that Timmy was right. The Twig Man is back, and he’s making his presence known.