He’s made it.
He knocks on the underside of the trapdoor. It takes a few moments, but then a crack of light appears in a square shape above. He blinks, shielding his eyes as he emerges from the dark depths. His body craves the light like it craves oxygen.
‘Hello, there, Mr Mallow.’
Stephen looks up at the face of William Davies. ‘Call me Stephen,’ he replies, climbing the rest of the way up. As hepasses the floor, he quickly sticks a stone into the crack of the hinge of the trapdoor. A quick slight of hand and it’s done. He’s grabbed from behind and shoved to his knees by Diane, who’s much stronger than he gave her credit for. The trapdoor slams shut, but it’s not completely flush with the ground. No one notices. They’re too focused on Stephen who puts up a fight, a ruse to draw their attention.
It works.
Stephen glances around for the dog, but he must be hiding.
Once they leave the area, Graham will be able to push open the trapdoor. How he plans to get Sophia and her mother out, Stephen doesn’t know, but they have their own parts to play in this rescue mission.
Stephen is kicked in the side. He grunts and rolls over into a foetal position to protect himself from any further damage. A sharp pain pierces his skull.
‘Hmm … not exactly part of the plan, but you’ll do,’ says Davies. ‘Since Mr Williams is down there keeping Sophia company, how about we get Stephen here ready?’
Stephen forces his eyes to focus on Davies who has two heads that swim in and out of focus. ‘Ready for what?’ he asks.
‘You’ll see.’
Stephen tries to force back a cough, but it erupts from his chest. Once he catches his breath, he says, ‘It won’t work,you know. There’s no such thing as the curse. It’s all been fabricated over the years. You do realise that, right?’
Davies laughs. ‘I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that. What goes around comes around.’
Before Stephen can answer, a large fist connects with his face and he plunges into darkness.
When he peels his eyes open, a large group of people are standing around him in the yard. He knows this place. He’s back at Rosemore Cottage. The sun is beginning to set now. The Hanging Tree stands proud atop the hill in the distance, surrounded by yellows and oranges that magically dance across the sky. The group of people in the yard are all dressed in black robes.
The village committee members, he presumes. But something doesn’t quite add up in Stephen’s mind. There are a lot more of them than Stephen had first thought. For all he knows, the entire village has turned up, but turned up for what? He can’t see any of their faces, thanks to their oversized hoods. They each hold a lit torch in their hands.
Stephen feels as if he’s travelled back in time.
Wait … that’s exactly what he’s done …
It’s then that he realises. It’s a mirage of a long-forgotten time. A hundred years back in time, to be precise. Davies and Diane make no move or remark that tells Stephenthey are aware of the group of villagers. Only Stephen can see them. It’s in his mind. He’s seeing things again.
He’s close to the end. He can feel it. The tumour is pushing deeper and deeper, harder and harder. His brain is breaking down.
Between them, Davies and Diane drag him up the hill towards the tree. Stephen’s legs have lost all coordination and strength. He knows he should be trying to fight for his life, but there’s a feeling deep down inside that’s telling him he needs to allow this to play out.
He accepts his fate.
The black-robed villagers chant and follow the trio up the hill. This is it. He’s doomed. He’s going to be strung up a tree and hung, just like John Hammel all those years ago. And his body can do nothing to stop it. He has no fight left in him and that’s okay.
His only thought is of Graham, Sophia and her mother trapped down in the dark. What if the stone wedged in the hinge doesn’t work and they are trapped down there forever?
Stephen is shoved to the ground at the base of the tree, fallen acorns digging into his knees. Stephen stares into its branches as the orange and yellow sky lights it up like a beacon.
‘I’m sorry, John,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry you died here like this. I’m sorry I couldn’t make things right.’
He closes his eyes as a loop of rope lowers over his head and tightens around his neck. He tries to gulp, but it’s so tight, his Adam’s apple gets stuck. Tears brim through his closed eyelids as he takes what he knows to be his final breath.
The rope tightens.
It tightens some more.
He’s forced to stand, but he never opens his eyes.
