Page 14 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘Of course.’
‘Oh, now this isn’t a good sign.’
‘What isn’t?’
Fiona had put the key halfway in the lock, and the door had swung inward.
‘It’s broken?’ Sophie asked.
Fiona nodded. ‘Someone – or something– has broken it.’
‘Should we call the police?’ Her pulse started to race.
‘Let’s have a little look first,’ Fiona said, stepping inside.
‘Now who’s braver than they look?’ Sophie murmured.
It smelled mustier in here, but then it had been shut longer than the sweet shop, and booksweremusty, though usually in an appealing sort of way. Sophie closed the door and they stood there, listening. Everything was quiet. Everything was dark. There were no sounds from outside,where Mistingham was slowly getting ready for bed, and no sounds in the shop. But the lock was broken, so they hadn’t imagined the noises.
‘Maybe the lock’s been broken for ages?’ Sophie whispered.
Fiona hummed. ‘Maybe.’
There was another bang from deep inside the building, and they exchanged an anxious look.
‘Split up?’ Sophie suggested, even though her heart was pounding.
‘Good idea. I’ll go this way.’ Fiona pointed to her right, which wasnotwhere the sound had come from. Sophie wanted to argue, but she was the one who had insisted they investigate.
‘I’ll go this way.’ She pointlessly gestured in the opposite direction.
They both took cautious, quiet steps, and soon they were out of sight of each other, swallowed by the darkness, the hodgepodge rooms like a cave system leading to treasure, all the nooks now devoid of bookish delights.
Sophie couldn’t help wondering how well she’d know this place by now if it had stayed open. She probably would have set up a tab, told whoever owned it to keep her bank card hostage behind the till. She thought of Susan Hill’s ghost stories,The Woman in BlackandThe Small Hand, and Michelle Paver. She wasn’t climbing a mountain, like inThin Air,but she felt as if things were scuttling on the floor, just out of reach of the torch beam, imagined she could feel whisper-soft touches on the back of her neck. She was holding her breath, her ears and eyes straining for anything unusual: a disjointed moan or chink of chains, a see-through, ghostly figure; a wisp of white in the gloom.
Stop it, she told herself.There is nothing here.
She stepped through a narrow doorway into another compact space, then walked through that, twisting to her left, aware that she was getting further from the front door and an easy escape. She moved into yet another room, and realized as she swept her phone around that this one was bigger. She had reached the last room: the one that shared its wall with the sweet shop.
She blinked into the light, tried to ignore the total darkness on either side of its beam, swallowing air that felt particularly thick. But there was something else amongst the mustiness, something that smelt like food: bread or cake, a hint of something tangy. Was this where an animal had made its den? She took another step on creaky boards. Was she about to find carcasses? Did they have big cats in north Norfolk?Big cats that make their homes in abandoned bookshops?She shook her head and walked forwards. Did they—
A loud squeal filled the space and Sophie froze, terror clawing up her throat as the darkness to her left seemed to change shape, followed by a flash of bright red, a wash of something pallid. She stepped backwards and her heel caught on an uneven board. She felt herself fall, put her hands out behind her to try and lessen the impact, her phone clattering onto the floor before her bum hit it. She cried out as a sharp pain sliced through her wrist and up her arm, but she kept her eyes glued on the shifting shapes until they settled.
Sophie groped for her phone, found that it was undamaged and that the torch was still on, and angled the beam ahead of her. She was staring up at a person: a person with a shock of bright red hair, wrapped in a rough, dark blue blanket, their pale, moon face gazing down at her.
It was a young woman.
‘Hello,’ Sophie said, trying to ignore the pain in her wrist. She could hear Fiona’s fast footsteps, running then stopping, trying to find her way through the night-time maze of the shop. ‘Who are you?’
The silence stretched between them, punctuated by shouts from Fiona that got louder as she got closer: ‘Are you OK, Sophie? What’s happened? Where are you?’
The girl stared down at her, and Sophie tried a smile. ‘I’m Sophie,’ she said, ‘in case you hadn’t guessed.’
Still the girl stared. She looked wary and intrigued, wrapped in her blanket cocoon.
‘I’m Jazz,’ she said eventually, in a voice that was more defiant than Sophie would have expected. ‘Do you need me to help you up?’
Fiona burst into the room and took in the sight, her mouth and eyes widening in surprise. ‘What’s going on?’ she said. ‘What … what is this?’
