Fear's Touch: A Darkworld Novella (The Darkworld Series) (14 page)

Somehow, the demon could move things. Since when did they make threats?

I picked up the dictionary, weighing it in my hands. A reckless daring sprang up in me, and, before my nerve left, I lobbed the book at the demon. The dictionary sailed right through the dark space, as if it wasn’t there.

I turned tail and ran, nearly colliding with a group of Year Eights, who all sidestepped sharpish without looking at me.
Don’t look at the crazy girl.
Expecting missiles to crash into my head at any moment, I ran without paying much heed to where I was going and nearly collided with Cara. I skidded to a halt.

“Jesus, Ash!” A pair of exam invigilators glared at both of us. “What’s the rush? You aren’t late,” she said. “You’re ridiculously early, actually.”

“Nothing,” I said, glancing up and down the corridor. “No tables in there. Come on, let’s wait by the hall.”

I steered her away, again having to duck out of the way of a group of students. Why did people walk towards me as if I wasn’t there? Sometimes, I felt like I was invisible to everyone except Cara. Even the teachers often forgot my name.
So much for being the amazing Oxford candidate.

No dark spaces waited for us around the assembly hall this time. Mr. Darton stood, barring the door to make sure no one sneaked in to get a look at the exam papers. I raced through quotations in my head, praying to the gods of exams that the right question would come up so I could give a coherent answer. Avoiding a panic attack would be nice, too.

Breathe.
I didn’t want a repeat of the interview. The word
fiasco
came to mind when I thought of the day after the demons came, when I’d sat before the stereotypically grey-bearded, distinguished professor of literature and, intelligently, said, “I like, um, reading.” Thirty minutes of nonsensical rambling later, I’d left the interview room and walked right through a dark space, densely black yet somehow transparent. I could see through to the other side where people walked along the corridor, talking, oblivious to the darkness.

Only I could see it. And before I could even gather my thoughts, a pair of violet eyes stared at me from the blackness. I’d cracked, screamed my head off, and ran.

“I think you made quite an impression,” said Mum that day, after I’d calmed down. “Not everyone runs screaming out of their interview.”

“Ha-freaking-ha,” I said. Hardly the impression I’d hoped for―Ash the lunatic as opposed to Ash the knowledgeable literary critic.

I stared at my exam paper, unable to tear my mind away from that horrendous day. The fear never really went away. Everywhere—at school, in the street, at the shops—dark shapes would appear, and I’d be greeted by cold, violet eyes and a chill that went bone-deep. Slowly, I’d adjusted to their staring eyes, like people who went on those reality TV shows and adjusted to cameras being there all the time, and I’d learned to glare back. It was that or let them intimidate me into never leaving the house, never seeing Cara or going to school, or, well,
living
. They’d never tried to harm me. Hell, I didn’t even know if they could. But if I’d learned anything from the few horror films I’d seen, there should be
some
way to get the demons to leave me alone. Until today they’d never really
done
anything. Just watched me, constantly.

I was so tired of jumping at shadows.

The clock’s ticking brought me back to the present.
Shit, how do I have only five minutes left?
I pushed my hand to its limits, pen racing down the page, but the stubborn hand of the clock ticked on relentlessly.
I wish it would stop,
I thought, realising that I’d misjudged the timing and still hadn’t written a conclusion
.

The clock’s hand stopped.
Holy shit. Did I do that? Impossible.

I glanced at the other students scribbling away, the invigilators prowling between the desks.

The old school’s clock broke down; that was all. People couldn’t stop clocks.

People
couldn’t.

I looked around frantically, searching for any sign of a demon. Any shadow could be a dark space. This hall was where it had all started.

Don’t be an idiot. Finish your answer!
I turned my gaze back to the page and scribbled the end to my final paragraph, splattering ink everywhere. Hell, would anyone even be able to read this?

A minute later, Mr. Darton said to our deputy head, Mrs. Cathers, “I make it half past the hour. Do you?”

The two exchanged whispers. I heard the clock mentioned.
I can’t have done that. There’s only so much weird I can see in one day.

But I still had to open my rejection letters.

The old nerves tightened around me like a vice as I hurried home after dismissal, Cara rushing to keep up.

“Text me the news!” she panted, as we went our separate ways. The cold air blew my hair sideways, but it was refreshing after that stuffy exam hall. What would happen in summer, when I wanted to go out walking? Would I ever be able to do anything again without fearing the presence of a demon?

“Will do,” I said to Cara, who waved goodbye.

No divine force intervened to stop me finding the three ominously thick envelopes on the kitchen table when I let myself into the house. I took in a breath, my heart fluttering, and picked the most official-looking one.

Come on, you threw a dictionary at a demon today. Just open it.

I slid the wad of paper out of the envelope. One word leapt out:
unfortunately
. It never meant good news. I threw it aside, tears stinging my eyes.
Dammit.
I slumped down on the living room sofa, feeling hollow inside.

Worst. Day. Ever.

And yet… what had I expected? Oxford didn’t want lunatics who saw demons.

“Great,” I muttered to myself. “Suppose I’ll have to go with my backup plan and join the circus.”

“Maybe if we plead for mitigating circumstances?” said Mum, coming into the room and retrieving the letter.

“For what?” I wiped my eyes. “Being hopeless at interviews? They’ll never buy it.”

I could plead insanity, I suppose. Or stress. I’d give a psychiatrist a field day if I told them about the dictionary incident.

“Some people get nervous at interviews. It isn’t your fault.” Mum came and put an arm around me. My parents weren’t usually the affectionate sort, so I responded, curling up to her like a kid. Mum patted my head. Neither of my parents really knew how to deal with a highly-strung teenager – or any teenager at all, really. I mostly got to do my own thing, once I’d proven I could be trusted not to trash the house when my parents went away for the weekend.

It wasn’t the independence I wanted, going away to university. It wasn’t even academics. Just the thought that there might be something else out there. A different life.

Stop that.
Thinking about what I’d lost my chance at made me even more depressed.

Ever since the demon, I’d never really believed that I’d have a shot at normality – sooner or later, I’d slip up and get carted away to a madhouse. But now my chance of going elsewhere had bit the dust. Staying at home for another year while Cara and everyone I knew went off to university would send what was left of my sanity spiralling within a week. Could I really handle reapplying? Did it matter, if the demons followed me wherever I went?

Dad came into the room.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he said, when he saw my face. “You missed this one,” he added, picking up one of the other envelopes, which I’d left on the coffee table. “I think it’s from… Where else did you apply?”

“Good question.” I took the paper from him and unfolded it. “Blackstone University… where’s that?”

“Don’t ask me. You’re the one who applied there,” said Mum, reading over my shoulder.

“I suppose I did,” I said, uncertainly. It didn’t seem right that I had no recollection.

Wait. Back when I’d been in Crazy Ash mode, pulling all-nighters for the Oxford admissions exam, I’d picked my alternatives at random in one energy-drink-fuelled overnight study session. Not my best idea. Funny how fear made you forget things. Even oh-so-slightly-important considerations like where I was going to spend the next three years of my life.

“What does the letter say?” said Dad.

My gaze travelled down the page. I blinked at the paper, convinced I’d misread it. “They’ve apparently offered me a place.”
What?

“But that’s great news!” Mum swept us into a group hug as I blinked again, disbelieving. “Ash, you’re freezing. Are you coming down with a cold?”

“Never mind that now,” I said, staring at the page. “I’m going to uni?”

I looked over the page again, letting each word sink in.
Conditional offer.
It was real.

Except I had no clue where the place was, let alone if it was somewhere I’d actually like to live for the next three years.

“Their website was a bit dodgy,” I remembered. Cara, insisting that Blackstone wasn’t a real place, demanded to see it, only for the website—then the computer—to crash. This was typical in our school computer room, so I’d forgotten all about it until now.

I grabbed my phone to text Cara – maybe she remembered why the course had caught my eye.

“Ash, don’t forget Aunt Eve’s parcel,” said Mum, pressing it into my hand.

I’d forgotten about the third envelope. A letter, in her illegible looped handwriting, came with a smaller package. I broke the cellotape and found a pendant inset with a purple stone. Amethyst.

“What’s this for?”

Mum read the letter, frowning. “Early eighteenth birthday present. Make sure you write back and thank her.”

“I don’t know her address,” I said. “I thought she moved to Canada. Five years ago, wasn’t it?”

“You’re right.” Mum’s frown deepened. “I’m sure I must have it somewhere… put that somewhere safe, Ash. You don’t want to lose it. Let’s see how it looks on you.” She pushed back my curly hair and lowered the necklace over my head. “Lovely.”

The gleaming stone did look beautiful, though its purple glint reminded me a little too much of demon eyes. I picked up the letter, trying to decipher it. The first part told me that the pendant was a family heirloom, but the ink ran through the middle section, making it unreadable.

I made out two lines, which made little sense. “Your mind is your own. Guard your heart well.”
She does have a weird way of putting things,
I thought, recalling her strange tales of monsters in the woods when I’d spent summers at her Windermere cottage, before she’d moved.

A shiver danced over my skin, and I turned back to the brochure that had come with my university offer. Blackstone. Small village, middle of nowhere. Sounded like my kind of place – as long as it had an internet connection, of course.

My phone buzzed with Cara’s response. “Yes! Told you so. Do they have a visit day?”

“Yeah, on Saturday,” I typed, checking the date on the brochure.
Good timing.
Almost spooky. But hey, I wasn’t complaining. I had to at least give this a go.

“Awesome,” came Cara’s response. “I’m coming with you. And you, missy, are going to celebrate.”

I smiled at my phone. I could always count on Cara. By the weekend, she’d probably know all Blackstone’s local ghost legends.

I wished I could leave my own ghosts behind. Or, demons.

I always saw more demons where there were more people – crowded shopping centres were the worst. In the middle of nowhere, though, it might be different. I
needed
a new start. I needed it badly. Anything had to be better than monotony and constant fear, exams and eyes staring from the darkness.

Mum skimmed through the brochure. “This looks perfect! You’d have on-campus accommodation. Not too far from Preston, either.”

“We have to celebrate! How about we go out for a meal tonight, Ash?” Dad asked.

“I have to pass my exams before we can really celebrate,” I reminded him. “It’s only a conditional offer. Besides, I’ve not even seen the place yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll have done fine,” Mum said. “This course sounds up your alley. That Milton book you’re always carrying?”

I groaned. “No more Milton,” I said. “I’m going there on Saturday with Cara, anyway. Visit day.”

“You are?” said Mum.

“Our little girl’s all grown up,” said Dad, grinning.

“Are you
sure
you don’t have a cold?” said Mum, touching my forehead.

“I’m
fine,
” I said, wriggling away.

It didn’t seem worth explaining, again, that I’d stopped noticing it altogether. I always felt as though there was a constant draft against my skin, but on the inside, not outside.

There has to be a rational explanation
. But I knew the demons made it cold. It always got worse around them.

Please. Don’t let them ruin this.