instrument playing the tune, it was simply there . All instruments and none.
Sam leant closer. âPlay it backwards. Cancel it out.â
Chester raised the flute, fighting the tremble in his fingers. His wounded arm burned, but he couldnât play the instrument one-handed. He pursed his lips, as though to kiss the air above the metal mouthpiece. It took a steadiness to play the flute, to control his lips and the rhythm of his breathing. He closed his eyes and tried to force his lungs to behave. If the notes were squeaky, or staccato, or broken â¦
âAll right,â Sam whispered. âGo.â
Chester played. He began at the end and flipped the tune on its head. From the final note of the fourth bar, he played backwards to its start. Then he plunged into the third bar, and the music rolled like an uncomfortable itch from the metal of his flute. It sounded odd, playedbackwards; the timing tasted wrong, and Chester winced at the mess of the melody.
In the driverâs cabin, the Echo kept coming. It let out a scream, a warbling, shaking scream that was punctuated by silence as though it was suffering bursts of pain. But it sped up its melting and pushed more forcefully through the glass window. Soon its torso was through, and then its thighs. It sped up as it went, gaining momentum, as the bulk of its body surged into the driverâs cabin and left only the tips of its toes outside.
But as it spilled into the echoboat and jerked forwards, its movements were no longer fluid and smooth; it didnât float through the ship but wrenched itself forwards. It flickered, jumping ahead in little sharp movements. One moment it was in the driverâs cabin by the window then, with a flash of unnatural shadow, it was in the doorway. Chester stumbled backwards, still playing, and suddenly it was in the back room.
Chester tripped back and fell onto the sofa. The creature reached towards him, its translucent hand gleaming like the tentacles of a jellyfish in the dark. Sam swore and thrust himself in front of the creature, but it began to seep through his body as if he was just another pane of window glass.
âKeep playing!â Sam said. âYou gotta keep up with it!â
The Echoâs melody was faster now. Chester sped up his own reversal, desperate to match the pace of the creature. He played against it, loop for loop, ending the first bar whenever it ended the fourth. The melodies clashed.
The Echo was barely a foot away now. It seeped throughSamâs body, its grasping hands as pale as starlight. Above, the sorcery lamp reflected eerily across its skin.
And suddenly, the music ⦠clicked. His music became Music and locked against the Echoâs tune. It was like trying to pick a padlock with a pin, or completing a jigsaw puzzle. It was the moment when that final effort slotted into place.
There was a rush. Cold air blasted out from the creatureâs body. Chester scrambled along the sofa; there was nowhere left for him to go, and his head crashed against the wall. But he kept his eyes open though they streamed with liquid from the sting and blast of the wind. The creature gave a terrible howl, like the cry of a tornado, and its Music shattered. A wild tumble of notes exploded outwards, a storm of sound, a burst of white light. The Echo was melting, dissolving into the dark of the Hush. Chester scrunched his eyes shut but he could still see the shine through his eyelids. He dropped the flute and raised his hands as a shield, breath catching, lungs seizing â¦
The room fell silent.
For several long seconds there was nothing, not even the sound of breathing. Then he heard Sam release a long, slow breath. Chester opened his eyes.
The Echo was gone.
The shock rang in his ears and his wounded arm throbbed like hell from holding up the flute. âIâm all right,â he managed. âIt didnât touch me.â
âI know. If itâd touched you, youâd be a corpse
Sam leant closer. âPlay it backwards. Cancel it out.â
Chester raised the flute, fighting the tremble in his fingers. His wounded arm burned, but he couldnât play the instrument one-handed. He pursed his lips, as though to kiss the air above the metal mouthpiece. It took a steadiness to play the flute, to control his lips and the rhythm of his breathing. He closed his eyes and tried to force his lungs to behave. If the notes were squeaky, or staccato, or broken â¦
âAll right,â Sam whispered. âGo.â
Chester played. He began at the end and flipped the tune on its head. From the final note of the fourth bar, he played backwards to its start. Then he plunged into the third bar, and the music rolled like an uncomfortable itch from the metal of his flute. It sounded odd, playedbackwards; the timing tasted wrong, and Chester winced at the mess of the melody.
In the driverâs cabin, the Echo kept coming. It let out a scream, a warbling, shaking scream that was punctuated by silence as though it was suffering bursts of pain. But it sped up its melting and pushed more forcefully through the glass window. Soon its torso was through, and then its thighs. It sped up as it went, gaining momentum, as the bulk of its body surged into the driverâs cabin and left only the tips of its toes outside.
But as it spilled into the echoboat and jerked forwards, its movements were no longer fluid and smooth; it didnât float through the ship but wrenched itself forwards. It flickered, jumping ahead in little sharp movements. One moment it was in the driverâs cabin by the window then, with a flash of unnatural shadow, it was in the doorway. Chester stumbled backwards, still playing, and suddenly it was in the back room.
Chester tripped back and fell onto the sofa. The creature reached towards him, its translucent hand gleaming like the tentacles of a jellyfish in the dark. Sam swore and thrust himself in front of the creature, but it began to seep through his body as if he was just another pane of window glass.
âKeep playing!â Sam said. âYou gotta keep up with it!â
The Echoâs melody was faster now. Chester sped up his own reversal, desperate to match the pace of the creature. He played against it, loop for loop, ending the first bar whenever it ended the fourth. The melodies clashed.
The Echo was barely a foot away now. It seeped throughSamâs body, its grasping hands as pale as starlight. Above, the sorcery lamp reflected eerily across its skin.
And suddenly, the music ⦠clicked. His music became Music and locked against the Echoâs tune. It was like trying to pick a padlock with a pin, or completing a jigsaw puzzle. It was the moment when that final effort slotted into place.
There was a rush. Cold air blasted out from the creatureâs body. Chester scrambled along the sofa; there was nowhere left for him to go, and his head crashed against the wall. But he kept his eyes open though they streamed with liquid from the sting and blast of the wind. The creature gave a terrible howl, like the cry of a tornado, and its Music shattered. A wild tumble of notes exploded outwards, a storm of sound, a burst of white light. The Echo was melting, dissolving into the dark of the Hush. Chester scrunched his eyes shut but he could still see the shine through his eyelids. He dropped the flute and raised his hands as a shield, breath catching, lungs seizing â¦
The room fell silent.
For several long seconds there was nothing, not even the sound of breathing. Then he heard Sam release a long, slow breath. Chester opened his eyes.
The Echo was gone.
The shock rang in his ears and his wounded arm throbbed like hell from holding up the flute. âIâm all right,â he managed. âIt didnât touch me.â
âI know. If itâd touched you, youâd be a corpse
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