Page 2 of Crimson Shadows
My eyes widen when Mum holds it up higher, and I see what it is. A wooden cross.
The stranger recoils, stumbling backwards, his lips parted, and his teeth bared. For just a split second, I could swear I see... fangs?
I blink hard, sure I must be seeing things. Fangs aren’t real. They’re the stuff of movies and Halloween costumes. It’s not something you see on a random man on your doorstep in the middle of the night.
Right?
“Don’t come back, Rand. She is dead to you,” Mum says, her voice steely.
She slams the door in his face, the sound echoing through our small, two-bedroom terraced house in the Northof England. For a long moment, she just stands there, her forehead pressed against the cheap double-glazed door. I can see her shoulders shaking slightly.
I want to call out to her, to ask what’s going on. But fear keeps me rooted to the spot.
Finally, Mum straightens up. She turns, and her gaze travels up the stairs. Our eyes meet, and I see a flash of fear pass over her face.
“Addy,” she says softly. “What are you doing up?”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. What can I say? That I saw everything? That I’m scared and confused?
Mum climbs the stairs slowly, her face a mask of forced calm. “You should be in bed, sweetheart. It’s late.”
“Who was that man?” I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mum’s expression tightens for a moment before smoothing out. “No one you need to worry about.”
“But—”
“No buts,” she interrupts gently, stroking my pitch-black hair that falls straight down my back and kissing the top of my head. “Happy birthday, Adelaide, but you need your sleep. We’ve got a big day planned, remember?”
She ushers me back to my room, her hand on my shoulder feeling heavier than usual. As I climb into bed, my mind is whirling with questions. Who was that man? What did he want with me? And what did I really see when Mum held up that cross?
“Goodnight, love,” Mum says, lingering in the doorway. “Sweet dreams.”
But as she closes the door, leaving me alone in the darkness, I know there’s no chance of sweet dreams tonight. Not with the image of those impossible fangs burned into my memory.
I lie awake for hours, listening to the storm rage outside and the occasional creak of floorboards as Mum paces downstairs. Every shadow seems to hide a secret, every gust of wind carries a whispered threat as the cramps in my belly get worse. With a groan, I roll over and then out of bed. Creeping to the bathroom down the landing, I feel the wetness between my legs and know that I’ve started my period. I’ve been waiting for it, and now it’s here.
“Happy birthday to me,” I mutter as I reach into the cabinet for the pads Mum bought for me. “Happy flipping birthday.”
1
ADELAIDE
The memoryof that night of my thirteenth birthday floods through my thoughts. The ticking of the clock on the mantlepiece seems unnaturally loud in the tense silence of our living room. I’m perched on the edge of the sofa, my fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on my thigh as I stare at the man sitting across from me. The same man I saw eight years ago on a stormy night just like this one.
His dark hair and pale skin seem to absorb the dim light of the room. He’s dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit that probably costs more than our entire house. His eyes, so dark they’re almost black, are fixed on me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm.
“Adelaide,” he says, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble. “I know you have questions?—”
I resist the urge to snort. “Who are you?” I interrupt, although I have a sinking feeling I already know the answer. I look just like him.
He leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “My name is Randall Black,” he says, pausing as if to gauge myreaction. When I don’t respond, he continues, “I’m your father, Adelaide.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I glance at my mother, standing silently by the window. Her face is a mask of rigid calm, unsurprised by any of this. She’s known all along, I realise with a jolt.
“My father,” I repeat, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “The same father who’s been absent for the past twenty-one years?”
Randall has the grace to look uncomfortable. “I know I have a lot to answer for,” he says. “But there were circumstances that prevented me from being part of your life. Circumstances that I’m here to explain now.”
