Amelia

AMELIA

“We need to find Bob, and get out of here,” I say, as soon as I’ve finished reading.

Adam puts the pamphlet and newspaper clippings about October O’Brien in a kitchen drawer, then closes it firmly, as if making them disappear might help. I’m not sure what the link is yet between October and this place, but he can’t seem to look me in the eye.

“I didn’t want to scare you—”

“I’m not scared. I’m angry,” I interrupt. “I don’t believe in ghosts. Someone is trying to frighten us. I don’t know who yet or why—”

“I don’t think we should jump to conclusions.”

“I agree. We should find Bob, pack up, and jump in the car instead.”

We’re dressed less than five minutes later. After searching the whole chapel again for the dog, there’s nowhere left to look except outside.

Now that the snow has stopped falling, it feels like stepping into a painting. The sky has turned from black to gray to pale blue since I woke up, and I can see so much more than when we arrived in the dark last night. There are snow-covered mountains and dense forests in the distance. A handful of white clouds are reflected on the still, glassy surface of the vast loch, and the old white chapel seems to shine in the early morning sun. Then I notice the bell tower and remember last night. The part of the wall that collapsed is impossible to miss. No wonder the sign on the door read DANGER.

“Adam…”

“What?”

“The fallen wall.”

“What about it?”

“What if Bob somehow got up to the bell tower, and the damaged wall … and fell?”

“Then he’d be lying broken in the snow.”

I don’t like the way he answered the question, but I know Adam is right. We start searching outside in silence. This is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful and unspoiled corners of the world, but I can’t wait to leave.

I didn’t bring the best clothes or shoes for this weather. The snow is so high we have no choice but to wade through it in our trainers. My socks and feet are wet within seconds, and the bottom half of my jeans are soaking and heavy with freezing cold water. I’m so worried about the dog, I barely notice. Seeing the place in daylight, we can now truly appreciate the isolation and scale of the vast valley we’re in. We don’t find what we are looking for, but we soon discover what happened to all the missing bathtubs in the property. Three claw-foot roll top baths are hidden around the back, and have been filled with plants—heather by the looks of it, in various shades of pink and purple.

They aren’t the only unexpected discoveries.

We stumble across a small graveyard—as I suppose might be expected behind an ancient church—with a collection of elderly looking headstones almost completely hidden by the snow. There are also a series of dark wooden sculptures dotted around outside the chapel, at least two or three in every direction that I look. Hand-carved rabbits that appear to be leaping out of the frozen ground, an enormous tortoise, and giant wooden owls, perched on the tree stumps they have been fashioned from. They all have huge, hand-chiseled eyes, which seem to stare in our direction, as though they are as cold and scared as we are. Even the trees have faces carved into them, so it’s impossible not to feel watched.

I call Bob’s name over and over, but after twenty minutes of walking in circles, I don’t know what to do. A non–dog person wouldn’t understand, but it’s just as distressing as losing a child.

“Do you think someone has taken him?” I ask, when we seem to have run out of all other ideas.

“Why would anyone do that?” Adam says.

“Why does anyone do anything?”

“Who then? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“What about that little thatched cottage we passed on the track in?”

“It looked empty.”

“Shouldn’t we check?”

He shakes his head. “We can’t just accuse someone of—”

“No, but we could ask for their help? They’re a lot closer to the main road than we are, so might still have power … or at least a phone we can use. It’s not that far to walk. It’s worth trying, isn’t it? If Bob did get out somehow, they might have seen him?”

Adam never really wanted to get a puppy. The childhood memories that still haunt his dreams put him off—understandably—but that changed when he met Bob. My husband hides it well sometimes, but I know he loves that dog just as much as I do.

“Okay, let’s go,” Adam says. He takes my hand and I let him.

Some parts of the loch are frozen, and again my thoughts turn to Bob. He hates rain, or sleet, or snow, or anything falling from the sky, but he loves the water—always jumping in rivers or running into the sea. But surely our silly old dog would have known to keep away from a frozen loch. I try not to think about it as we trudge toward the cottage in the distance. Except for the sound of our footsteps compacting the fresh snow, the cold air is hushed and muted. Silence can be eerie when you’re not used to it, and living in London and working at Battersea, I’m definitely not. Sometimes I hear dogs barking in my sleep. But here, it’s so quiet. Unnaturally so. There aren’t even any birds singing. Now I think about it, I don’t remember seeing any.

It didn’t look that far when we set out, but it takes us more than fifteen minutes to reach the cottage. It’s a tiny thing, with whitewashed walls just like the chapel, and a thatched roof. Almost like a Hobbit house. It’s so small and remote that I can’t imagine why anyone would want to live in it, but there is a car parked outside—almost completely hidden from view—which gives me hope that someone does. It’s a big vehicle, an old Land Rover perhaps. It’s hard to tell with it being half buried by snow. Whatever it is, I’m sure it will cope better than my car in this weather.

I clear my throat before knocking on the bright red door. I’m nervous for some reason, and not even sure what I’m going to say if someone opens it.

I needn’t have worried; nobody does.

It’s strange because I could have sworn I heard voices when we walked up the path—a radio perhaps, or someone talking to a child in a hushed tone. I look at Adam, who shrugs, then I knock again. A little harder this time. There’s still no answer, no sign or sound of life at all.

“Look at that,” Adam says, staring at the roof.

I presume he means the thatch, but when I look up, I see the smoking chimney. Somebody must be inside.

“Maybe they can’t hear us,” he says. “You stay here and I’ll take a quick look around the back.”

He disappears before I can answer, and is gone so long I start to worry.

“Anything?” I ask, when he finally returns. It might just be the cold, or my imagination, but he looks paler than he did.

“Yes and no,” he says.

“What does that mean? We just need to find Bob.”

“It’s a mess around back, completely overgrown and there’s even an outside toilet. No outside bath this time at least, but I think whoever lives here must be old. There’s no other door, just a couple of dirty windows. I saw a woman inside, sitting next to a fire.”

“Great—”

“Possibly not,” he says, interrupting my positive thoughts with more of his negative ones. “I knocked on the window to get her attention and I think I scared her.”

“Well, that’s understandable—I doubt she gets many visitors all the way out here. We can just apologize. I’m sure she’ll want to help once we explain.”

“I don’t think so. There were candles everywhere—”

“Well, there has been a power cut and it is probably rather dark in there.”

“No, I mean everywhere. Hundreds of them. She looked like a witch casting a spell.”

“Don’t be daft. That stupid pamphlet has put silly ideas in your head—”

“That wasn’t all. She had an animal on her lap.”

I picture poor Bob and feel sick. “What kind of animal?”

“A white rabbit, I think…” Relief floods my fear. For a moment I was terrified of what Adam might say. “I didn’t have very long to take it all in before she saw me.”

“And what happened when she did?”

“She stared at me for a long time, then just walked right up to the window, as close as I am to you now. Still carrying the fat white rabbit, if that’s what it was. Then she pulled the curtains shut.”