over and was lying on its side!
There was the infant, half in, half out of it, still wrapped in a woollen blanket. I tried to call out for its mother, but when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a faint croak. I realized then that I was breathing rapidly; my heart was fluttering in my chest with a scary irregular beat that made me fear it was about to stop at any minute. I was unable to move my limbs.
Was I seriously ill? I wondered. Had I caught some type of fever in the bog-lands?
Then I thought I saw the baby’s blanket move. It gave a sort of twitch, then began to rise and fall rhythmically, suggesting that the child was still breathing and had survived the fall. I tried to call for the mother again, but could still only manage a weak cry; the effort sent my heart into such a speedy fluttering rhythm that I began to tremble all over, fearing that I was dying.
I suddenly realized that the woollen blanket was now moving in a different way. It seemed to be coming slowly towards me. How old was the baby? Was it old enough to crawl like that? Even though it was completely covered by the blanket and couldn’t possibly see where it was going, it was heading directly for me. Could it hear my breathing? Was it seeking comfort? Why didn’t Scarabek come to check on it?
Then I heard a strange sound. It was coming from the baby. Despite the utter silence of the room I could hear no breathing – only a sort of rhythmical clicking. It sounded like gnashing teeth. Suddenly I was scared. Babies that small didn’t have teeth!
No, it had to be something else. The moment that thought entered my head, a cold tremor ran the length of my spine, a warning that something from the dark was very close. I desperately tried to move my limbs, but they were still paralysed. I lay there, watching it helplessly.
As the baby approached me, the woollen blanket seemed to convulse, and I heard a big gasp, as if whatever it was beneath the blanket had been holding its breath for a very long time and now desperately needed energy for some immense effort.
It reached my foot, and came to a halt for a few moments. Once again I heard what sounded like another huge in-breath, but this time I identified the sound; my first guess had been wrong. It was sniffing – sniffing like a witch, gathering information about me. It left my boot and began to move up along my body, pausing beside my chest. Once again it sniffed very loudly.
I shuddered as it then climbed slowly up onto my chest. I was aware of four small limbs moving across me. Even through my clothes they felt very cold, like four blocks of ice. Whatever it was had finally reached my face now and I began to panic: my heart pounded even more wildly. What was it? What horrible thing was hidden beneath that moving blanket?
I tried to roll away onto my side, but couldn’t find the strength. All I could do was to raise my head a little. Nor could I manage to fend it off with my hands – they trembled uselessly at my sides while rivulets of sweat ran down my forehead into my eyes. I was unable to defend myself.
It had reached my throat now, and raised itself up a little on its tiny hands as if to peer into my face, causing the blanket to fall back so that, simultaneously, I saw its face too.
I expected to see a monster and my fears were fully realized – but not in the way I expected.
The head was no larger than that of a baby of two or three months, but it had the face of a little old man; it was malevolent, filled with some desperate need. And it looked very like Thin Shaun, the turf-cutter who had sent me here for food. And I suddenly understood that although I’d been fed, given a little gruel, I was also food – nourishment for this grotesque being. What I’d eaten must have contained some sleeping draught to render me weak and helpless. Now the creature’s mouth opened wide, revealing long needle-like teeth, and they were aiming for my throat.
I felt its small cold fingers on my
There was the infant, half in, half out of it, still wrapped in a woollen blanket. I tried to call out for its mother, but when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a faint croak. I realized then that I was breathing rapidly; my heart was fluttering in my chest with a scary irregular beat that made me fear it was about to stop at any minute. I was unable to move my limbs.
Was I seriously ill? I wondered. Had I caught some type of fever in the bog-lands?
Then I thought I saw the baby’s blanket move. It gave a sort of twitch, then began to rise and fall rhythmically, suggesting that the child was still breathing and had survived the fall. I tried to call for the mother again, but could still only manage a weak cry; the effort sent my heart into such a speedy fluttering rhythm that I began to tremble all over, fearing that I was dying.
I suddenly realized that the woollen blanket was now moving in a different way. It seemed to be coming slowly towards me. How old was the baby? Was it old enough to crawl like that? Even though it was completely covered by the blanket and couldn’t possibly see where it was going, it was heading directly for me. Could it hear my breathing? Was it seeking comfort? Why didn’t Scarabek come to check on it?
Then I heard a strange sound. It was coming from the baby. Despite the utter silence of the room I could hear no breathing – only a sort of rhythmical clicking. It sounded like gnashing teeth. Suddenly I was scared. Babies that small didn’t have teeth!
No, it had to be something else. The moment that thought entered my head, a cold tremor ran the length of my spine, a warning that something from the dark was very close. I desperately tried to move my limbs, but they were still paralysed. I lay there, watching it helplessly.
As the baby approached me, the woollen blanket seemed to convulse, and I heard a big gasp, as if whatever it was beneath the blanket had been holding its breath for a very long time and now desperately needed energy for some immense effort.
It reached my foot, and came to a halt for a few moments. Once again I heard what sounded like another huge in-breath, but this time I identified the sound; my first guess had been wrong. It was sniffing – sniffing like a witch, gathering information about me. It left my boot and began to move up along my body, pausing beside my chest. Once again it sniffed very loudly.
I shuddered as it then climbed slowly up onto my chest. I was aware of four small limbs moving across me. Even through my clothes they felt very cold, like four blocks of ice. Whatever it was had finally reached my face now and I began to panic: my heart pounded even more wildly. What was it? What horrible thing was hidden beneath that moving blanket?
I tried to roll away onto my side, but couldn’t find the strength. All I could do was to raise my head a little. Nor could I manage to fend it off with my hands – they trembled uselessly at my sides while rivulets of sweat ran down my forehead into my eyes. I was unable to defend myself.
It had reached my throat now, and raised itself up a little on its tiny hands as if to peer into my face, causing the blanket to fall back so that, simultaneously, I saw its face too.
I expected to see a monster and my fears were fully realized – but not in the way I expected.
The head was no larger than that of a baby of two or three months, but it had the face of a little old man; it was malevolent, filled with some desperate need. And it looked very like Thin Shaun, the turf-cutter who had sent me here for food. And I suddenly understood that although I’d been fed, given a little gruel, I was also food – nourishment for this grotesque being. What I’d eaten must have contained some sleeping draught to render me weak and helpless. Now the creature’s mouth opened wide, revealing long needle-like teeth, and they were aiming for my throat.
I felt its small cold fingers on my
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