Page 17 of The Serial Killer's Sister
I hope so, too. When she’s gone, I get back up and walk to the far end of the lounge, to the window that overlooks the first-tier lawn. Down some stone steps lies the large area of grass, edged with trees. Or it did. I’m almost afraid to look now in case it’s all different. If the trees have been felled, I’ll be back to square one. I take a deep breath and look out.
I breathe a sigh of relief. The rows of conifers are dwarfed by the large cedar trees – and I’m transported back to being a child. More importantly, I’m taken back in time to The Hunt. I have to get outside and somehow ensure I’m on my own when I search those trees.
After a whistle-stop tour of the home, I ask to see the grounds.
‘Sure,’ Natalia says, guiding me through the patio doors at the rear of the dining room. There are only two residents out in the gardens – the ‘young ones’, as Natalia described them. A married couple in their seventies who were made homeless following a fire last year. Natalie likes to talk, I’ve found out.
‘Very impressive.’ My words are forced through tight lips. Being here again after swearing I’d never return feelsas bad as I could ever have anticipated, but at least a lot has changed within the walls of Finley Hall – not so much is recognisable. But outside, it’s almost identical to how I remember, albeit the shrubs and trees have grown somewhat. But standing on the concrete steps, I can envisage the area filled with children, all running around, playing. Screaming. I want to put my hands over my ears, block out the noise of my memories.
‘We’re lucky to have such amazing gardens here,’ Natalia says, pulling me out of my past. ‘The residents enjoy sitting watching the wildlife, or the more able ones love to walk the paths by the lake – there’s even a maze,’ Natalia says, like an excited child.
‘Ooh, I’d love to see that,’ I say, widening my eyes with fake enthusiasm. It might be a good opportunity to ditch her and get to the trees. Natalia grins and takes a step down, beckoning me to follow, when an alarm sounds. We both look towards the high-pitched wail.
‘Oh, so sorry. Maybe another time.’ She jogs back to the door, looking to me to do the same. ‘It’s a bathroom alarm.’
‘I’ll be fine here – you go,’ I say. ‘If you’re not able to come back, I’ll let myself out.’ She hesitates for a second, but as I flash a reassuring smile, she nods and runs inside.
Perfect timing. I wait for the coast to be clear. A few moments later, the young ones disappear into the treeline at the bottom of the grounds where the path leads to the lake. I stride towards the cedar trees. There are three in the main ground, and it’s the centre one I go to.Middle for diddle. The trunk is thicker, the tree taller, but the hollow knot remains. I check around me. Natalia is still inside; no one else is in sight.
I stand on tiptoe to peer into the hollow. I had to get up onto my friend’s shoulders to reach it before. All I can see is a black hole. Damn. I’m going to have to put my hand inside. Every horror film moment where I’ve screamed at the screen for the character not to do it comes back to me now as I pull my sleeve up and place my fingertips in the cavity, inching my hand in further and tentatively feeling around.
‘Please don’t let there be a spider,’ I whisper.
My hand finds something cold, hard, and I withdraw it quickly, cursing quietly. I take a couple of deep breaths, then shove it in again, grasp the item between my finger and thumb, and pull it out.
My breath catches in my throat. It’s faded, the red now a pale pink, and the plastic screen is cracked, but I recognise the old childhood toy instantly.
And just as instantly, I know what it means.
Chapter 11
FINLEY HALL CHILDREN’S HOME
The second Anna’s eyes open she knows Henry’s been in their room. It’s as though over the past three and a half years at the home she’s developed a sixth sense. She peeps over the edge of the bed and sighs. It’s what she’s been dreading. There’s a piece of paper folded neatly in half on top of her slippers. She groans, her tummy already beginning to bubble with anxiety.
‘Kirsty,’ she says, looking over to her friend. ‘Hey, Kirst.’ Anna swings her legs out and reaches across the gap to give Kirsty a shake. ‘Wake up.’
‘Whaaaat? Shit, Anna, it’s still night.’
‘It’s almost seven.’
‘But it’s a weekend.’
‘Sorry. But I need you to wake up.’
There must be something in Anna’s tone, because with a sudden jolt, Kirsty sits up, palming any sleepiness away from her eyes. Her hair is wild, a mass of brown tangles that mirror Anna’s own.
‘What’s the matter?’
Anna points to the floor.
‘Oh, great.’ Kirsty stares at the paper and puffs her cheeks out, air releasing like a deflating balloon. ‘It’s been a while.’
It’s been six months since the last one, but that one left its mark. It also almost broke the girls’ friendship. The Hunt was a staple game for the first year Anna and Henry were at Finley Hall. Anna did it as a way to try and help Henry overcome some of his problems – his challenges with making friends, with fitting in. He’d come to rely on them – on Anna – just as he had when he was little. But as Anna matured, she slowly felt suffocated and tried to wean him off. She initiated fewer hunts, left Henry to his own devices more, and ultimately cut down the time they spent together. She began putting her friendship with Kirsty first, relishing finally having a strong bond with another girl. In Henry’s eyes, Kirsty was taking his sister away from him and so he began instigating the hunts himself, clawing back time with Anna – he wanted things the way they were.
Henry’s eleventh birthday saw a change in him – in the games. They became more spiteful. Manipulative. He used them as a way to force her into spending time with him. The Hunt began to invoke dread – the fun they once had was totally stripped away. The treasure hunts became a tool purely to torment Anna; nothing more. No longer were the items personal, belonging to Anna. All she found were horrible things: a rusty mousetrap, the decaying mouse carcass still caught; huge spiders in matchboxes; gone-off apples crawling with maggots. And the last time, he’d set a trap, a brick narrowly missingher head when she walked into the clue room. When Anna refused to report it to the home manager, she and Kirsty had fallen out. It was getting dangerous, she’d said: someone would get seriously hurt if Anna didn’t do something about it. But Henry was her brother – she couldn’t tell on him.
‘What are you going to do?’ Kirsty asks, her eyes glued to the paper as if it might scurry towards her, harm her in some way.
