Page 118 of The Vanishing Place
—
The next day, as June and Effie packed up the car, she kept looking back down June’s drive.
But there was no car.
No Lewis.
As they drove from Koraha, Effie craned her neck to look out the rear window.
But there was no Lewis.
No boy running after her.
And by the time they reached Christchurch, Effie’s body ached so much that it hurt to breathe. And when June touched a hand to Effie’s thigh, tears spilled down her face.
2025
Effie stood infront of the hut, the evening light pulling long shadows from the surrounding trees, and let her backpack fall to the ground.
She felt it—a tingle down her neck and spine—before she saw anything. The sense that something was wrong. The presence of someone else.
“Hello,” she shouted.
But there was nothing. Just air and birds and the soft rustle of branches. Just a line of trees, watching in quiet anticipation.
She shouted again.
Then, at the side of the hut, a figure appeared. A man. Tall and strong across the shoulders. His head and face were hidden, his hood up despite the lack of rain, and he had his back to her. Effie stepped forward, but he disappeared behind the building.
“Wait.”
She hurried after him, but when she turned the corner, he was gone.
“Shit.”
She looked from left to right, desperately searching for any sign of life. She cursed herself, wishing she’d thought to bring a weapon, and lifted a heavy stick from the grass. Her heart raced as she walkedaround the hut, the sound of her footsteps cracking like whips in the silence.
Then he was there. A mass stood still. Twenty meters away.
The man’s features were concealed behind a camouflage balaclava—a hunter’s mask—with nothing exposed but the two dark hollows of his eyes. There was a knife swinging from his right hand.
Run,Effie.Run.
Heat seized her muscles—not fear, but anger—and she forced herself to move. Not away. But toward him. The figure watched as she neared, an obscured shadow, and Effie held his gaze. Her legs numbed and her stomach burned, but she stepped across the covering of leaves, moving closer to him.
There was a rush of movement. Something behind her. Then pain. An intense consuming pain that flooded her head, raking through the bones of her skull.
Effie tried to scream. But there was no sound in her.
She tried to move. But her body was lost.
Then the pain stopped.
—
When she woke, it was to darkness.
Effie groaned and stretched out her arms, trying to place her limbs in the liquid black. She was on her back, lying on something solid and man-made, with her legs out straight. Traces of warm fabric covered her skin, meaning she was still dressed, but her feet were bare.
