Don't Look Back by S. B. Hayes Page A

seething inside I tried to keep my face unemotional. ‘OK … I agree to your terms.’
    I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t enlighten me further.
    â€˜What will I do here?’
    â€˜You will work for the good of the house.’
    â€˜And when—’
    â€˜Tomorrow, at ten,’ she interjected before I could finish. ‘You can call me Sister Catherine.’
    â€˜I’m Sinead.’
    She scrutinized me for a moment. ‘Remember you came of your own free will, Sinead.’
    And then she walked away. I shivered involuntarily. Sister Catherine, my namesake, was a ghoulish nun who looked as if she’d been dead for several centuries. There was a sense of nightmarish unreality about all this, but how could I give up my search for Patrick when I was so close? Sister Catherine had promised me answers, and nuns didn’t lie, did they? I twisted my nose stud, pondering the awfulness of my situation and cursing my brother.
    I took a minute to look around. There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the immediate vicinity, nor any vehicles. I was conscious of how long it had taken me to reach the house and how worried Harry would be. I tried to send him a text, but I had no signal. It seemed even more of a slog on the way back, and when I reached the first bend the path forked. There was a choice between the winding, undulating one I’d come by, or a route which looked more direct. It must have been well trampled to stop the shrubs from encroaching.
    The path was a normal width at the start, but within minutes it narrowed considerably and I had to consciously draw in my arms and make myself smaller. The plants andbushes had grown so tall that I couldn’t see what was in front of me and my feet were tangled in greenery. I stubbed my toe on a stone and swore with pain, then picked up a stick and began to beat back the foliage which was scraping my face. I pushed my hair back from my sticky forehead and had to peel my vest top away from my skin. This felt like wading through a steamy jungle. It didn’t make sense – the other path had been cold and dank, but this one seemed almost tropical. My vision began to swim. Water. There must be some special kind of pond, a type I’d never come across before, because there was steam rising and a gurgling noise like water echoing down a plughole.
    I’d been completely obstinate in disregarding Sister Catherine’s instruction to leave by the way I had come, but it was time to admit my mistake and retreat. I’d only wasted ten minutes or so. Soon I’d be in Harry’s car, telling him the whole story. I pivoted and came face to face with a sea of giant triffids blocking my way. What had been a clear path minutes ago was now a wall of greenery. And it was so much denser and pricklier than what was in front of me; each stem, stalk and branch seemed to be interwoven and crossed with another, like a tangled mass of barbed wire. Panic sent pins and needles all over my body. There was no going back. I had to keep moving forward, realizing how stupid I’d been. I could be heading in any direction. I tried to call Harry but again failed to get a signal.
    I lurched on, aware of a strange feeling behind, a sensation of something bearing down on me. A nervousglance over my shoulder revealed nothing but the same impenetrable jungle. I began to run, a frantic clumsy run that got me nowhere fast; it wasn’t just leaves scratching my face, it was branches clawing my hair, stabbing my face, and brambles pulling and ripping my clothes. I fell and rolled, my hands instinctively protecting my head. I tried to scramble to my feet but thorns embedded themselves in my head, my hands, even my feet, tearing my flesh.
    *
    â€˜Sinead! You’re like a great clumsy giraffe crashing about in there. Come out now.’
    There was hazy blue sky. The gates rose in front of me but I had no idea how I had got there. I managed to