“But both sounds so specific. Like she had two people in mind. And monsters in the wood? What the hell does that mean?” Heather sighed. “You’re right, she could be talking about Dad, I suppose, but I hate not knowing. Like I’m going to spend the rest of my life wondering what she was on about—as if dealing with all this shit wasn’t bad enough, she had to leave a vague and cryptic suicide note.” Somewhere up the street, a dog was barking, and a light rain had started to fall. The road was mostly deserted as people hurried to get out of the drizzle, but up toward the bus stop, a shadowy figure stood, unmoving. A bus thundered past, not stopping, and the figure turned their face away from its light.

“I know. You’ll feel better after the funeral, I think. They’re supposed to give you closure, aren’t they, funerals?” Nikki pursed her lips, as though she wasn’t sure this was true. “Have you started …?”

“Oh, it’s mostly sorted.” Heather smiled a little. It was good to see Nikki, to have someone steering her back toward the practical things. “People are really helpful in these situations, you know? Her phone though, she had it with her, and it … well, it didn’t survive. So, I need to find her address book, if she had one. Do people even do that these days, write down phone numbers? I suppose if anyone does, it would be my mum.”

“Well. Mum and Auntie Shanice are ready and willing, just say the word. Anything you need. Here, look.” Nikki nodded toward the curb. “There’s our cab.”

Several hours later, Heather woke up in the spare room of her mother’s house, eyes opening onto utter blackness. Panicked, she grabbed her phone off the side table and the light from it threw the room into a collection of grayscale shadows. Just the spare room, she reminded herself, just the stupid, thick curtains. The window in her own bedroom looked out onto a street light and the place was never properly dark. Here, with the trees outside and the long, heavily embroidered curtains, she had woken into a kind of blindness. Trembling slightly, she snapped on the bedside lamp and sat up, phone held loosely in her hands.

A noise. A scuffling from directly overhead. Heather rubbed at her eyes, reminding herself that she was a grown adult in an unfamiliar house—she should expect strange noises, and she should expect to be creeped out. The scuffling became a kind of flapping, and goose bumps broke out across her skin.

“Okay,’ she said aloud. ‘There’s a bird in the attic. A pigeon got in there, or there’s starlings nesting or something.” Her voice was familiar and normal, and she nodded to herself. “A bird is just a bird. Nothing to worry about.”

She lay there for a few more minutes, listening to the faint noises and getting more and more irritated. Eventually, she threw the duvet back and stomped out of the room and down the hallway. Perhaps, she reasoned, the noise of her footsteps would startle the bird into leaving. The landing was especially dark after the lamplight, and Heather blinked repeatedly, waiting for her eyes to adjust. It was cold, the carpet under her bare feet oddly frigid.