The Grieving Stones by Gary McMahon

acting out of shabby desperation. He smelled of stale whisky and body odour and things that had broken long ago and been left to rot in the dark. His large face was pale and sweaty. He had a powerful physique, but in that moment she knew that she could overcome whatever physical presence he had. This silly man was no match for her, not when she had her sisters behind her.
    “Get off me,” she said, softly but firmly.
    The world froze. Time stopped and the sky turned bright; clouds parted, the sun shone through, creating a wide beam of pure and healing light.
    Alice wasn’t aware of the details, so she didn’t really appreciate what she was doing, but she moved sinuously and instinctively out of Jake’s grip. Like a dancer, she arched and curved her body, slipping easily out of his reach. He turned, attempting to grab her again, but his feet went out from under him on the uneven hillside and he fell, cracking his head against one of the sisters with a sound that was dull and distant, like a gunshot heard from a mile away on a quiet day. He didn’t cry out; he was silent and as heavy as stone himself as he went to ground. She almost expected him to slide quietly into the earth, and to sink into the soil until he was gone, leaving no trace, even less of a trace than he had left behind in his life. His small, small life.
    Alice did not feel anything as she looked at the fallen man. There was no fear, no remorse, not even idle curiosity. This was just something that had happened. An event over which she’d had no control. A mess she needed to clean up, in much the same way as Grief House had begun to clean away its own mess.
    The clouds closed once again over the sun once again. Shadows fell, encouraging her.
    “I told you not to,” she said, bending down to Jake. There was blood on the side of his face, coming from a cut near his temple. “I don’t like to be touched… not by someone like you.”
    If anyone finds him, they’ll make me leave this place…

    The thought was hers but it felt as if someone else had placed it inside her head. She knew it was true; if the police were involved there would be an investigation, and that meant more people coming here, leaving her less of a chance to remain in the house on her own. This, she realised, had been her plan ever since she’d arrived here with the others, but it was the first time she had confronted it head on.
    Alice knew what she had to do and she did not feel bad about doing it. The worst of it was over, and she’d done worse things in her life. She’d had worse things done to her, too. She stooped again and started to drag Jake’s body down the hill. He was heavy, but gravity was in her favour.
    There was a copse of trees a few hundred yards down the slope. She could hide him there; she could cover him with leaves and twigs and dirt and branches, offering him into the embrace of the earth. Nobody would find him if she was careful enough, at least not for a while.
    Long enough, she hoped, for her to settle in properly and meet the sisters for real.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

     
    When she got back to Grief House Alice was struck by the transformation. The stone walls were clean and dust-free, the door looked as if it had been repainted, and the windows glistened in the weak sunlight. She stood for a moment and admired the building, wishing that she could have seen it back in the day, when the sisters lived here. She knew for a fact that they would have been house-proud, but out of necessity rather than any other reason. It paid to keep a clean house. No vermin, no insects, no dark, filthy corners in which pestilence might breed.
    She went inside and inspected the interior. She hadn’t seen any piles of rubbish outside, so she had no idea where the junk had gone. The room looked much bigger than it had when she’d first arrived. The space was brighter, and welcoming. Even the stuffed animal heads had been taken down.
    “You’ve been busy,” she said to Clive as he