Mary Hades by Sarah Dalton Page B

dolt.
    But Seth is no Ted Bundy, and Nettleby doesn’t have a high murder rate. There aren’t scores of missing little girls unaccounted for. There could be many reasons why Amy recognised Seth. Igor mentioned that he knew her. It’s a small village. I can’t make any judgements until I know more about the facts. Then, I’ll have to decide whether Seth could be a murderer. For now, I have to trust my instinct, and my instinct says he’s innocent.
    The Five Moors sign comes into view, illuminated by the moonlight on a clear summer night.
    “Home, sweet home,” Neil says.
    “What the hell?” Lemmarr stops stock still next to me. His grip tightens on my arm. “Do you see that?”
    Large, scrawled red lines appear on the sign as though they are being written by an invisible pen, except the strokes are unlike any kind of pen I know. It’s more like a fingertip dipped in… in… blood .
    No.
    My throat tightens, my chest heaves, and panic rises from deep in my bowels.
    The words spell : You’re next.

Chapter Twelve
     
     
    You’re next.
    You’re next.
    A cruel taunt followed by a sleepless night of imagining bloodied fingers scrawling along the walls of my tiny bedroom. And when I eventually fall asleep, I dream. Seth features in those dreams. Sometimes the bloodied fingers belong to him, and his impish grin, the one I found so swoon-worthy, turns into a manic smile.
    Death seems as attracted to me as a moth to a flame. It’s not so much a lingering odour as a downright stalker. My thoughts are tinged with it, the world is tinged with it, the bright yellow glow of July turns to the gloomy fade of the coming winter. The few glorious days of summer we get each year in Yorkshire are on their way out. This is it. This is the end.
    “Sausage?” Mum lifts one up with her fork.
    My stomach churns. “No , thank you.”
    “Is it because of that nice young man ? Hasn’t he called, sweetheart?”
    Dad raises an eyebrow. “Probably for the best.”
    Mum shoots him a glare. “Ignore your father. I thought he was nice. I have good instincts for people, you know.”
    “He never gave me his phone number. He had to dash off the other day and we never had chance.”
    “Oh, that is a shame. Still, there are plenty more fish in the sea, darling. What about that nice Goth boy with the hair?”
    “He has a boyfriend.”
    Mum’s brow creases. “ Really? Well, I never would have guessed.”
    “I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” I say, pushing away my untouched plate.
    On the way out of the caravan, I hear Mum say, “Poor thing.”
    It’s one of those mornings where the sun is struggling behind low mist, the kind where there is a dusting of dew in the grass and you button your cardigan to the neck. There’s a hint of a sunny day trying to escape and in need of a little encouragement. The group of Goths in the nearby caravans haven’t woken up yet, but the elderly couple from the disco are power walking around the footpath. I raise a hand to them and say good morning. Then I make my way around our van.
    “’ S’up, bitch?” Lacey leaps out from behind the caravan, her image flickering like a flame.
    “Do you want to give me a heart attack?” I ask, rolling my eyes in her direction.
    “Well, that would give me some company in the afterlife,” she says with a grin.
    On most days, even the tough ones, Lacey’s comic relief is just that. A relief. A breath of fresh air. But today, I can’t stand it. I can’t stand her flippancy when I know what is happening all around me.
    “Hey,” she asks. “What’s the matter?”
    That does it for me. I find my voice raising. “What’s the matter? What’s the matter? Well, let’s see shall we? First of all, I have a date with a guy and almost die when a bloody Ferris wheel goes bonkers. Then I get attacked by a ghost on the moors, oh, and almost die again. Then I find out that the guy I’m sort of seeing might be a psycho, and then, on the way home from a stupid ghost