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Back Gallows Hill Save as PDF
Chapters (45)
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Then what…?

A flicker of motion drew her eye to the window. Something moved in the distance. Margot crawled to the edge of the bed, then hesitated.

I need to go back. Get into the hallways. Do it before they start climbing the stairs.

The shape had looked strange, though. Too close to the ground to be human. Margot crossed to the window. She didn’t dare stand in the opening, in full sight of the world outside, but clung to the curtains, using them as a shield as she glanced around the edges.

A shape was moving across the blue-washed field surrounding the house. Margot inched back, knowing she should leave the curtains, shield herself better, avoid being seen. But it was impossible to look away. The long shadows and polarizing light were disorienting, but the silhouette didn’t move like the others had.

No. That’s not a human.

A golden retriever’s tail swished once, twice, through the night air, as it trailed toward the trees.

36

No. No. Marsh, no!

The fear was immediate and ferocious. Margot felt like she was choking on it as she abandoned cover and pressed herself against the window.

The golden retriever raised his head to smell the wind, then turned into one of the copses of trees at the fence line. He’d disappeared within a second.

He was supposed to be safe. I locked him in the sewing room. I blocked the dog door. How did he get out? He should have been safe—

She remembered what Kant had told her: she was allowed to use locks if they made her feel safer, but she couldn’t rely on them.

That was because things turned wrong when the dead ones emerged. Lights broke. Locks failed. Latches opened.

They corrupted the house’s defenses, slowly breaking them down until they were useless. It was how the dead had gotten into the house. It was how Marsh had gotten out.

She bit her thumb, grinding into the soft flesh as she thought. Kant had said the dead ones normally didn’t go after animals. But this wasn’t a normal night. The curse was bad. The dead figures were more active, more violent.

As she watched, two of the dead ones moved in from the edges of her view, walking with purpose toward the trees where Marsh had vanished.

No.

Margot turned. Belatedly, she realized the distant footsteps had changed. One of them was louder. Heavier. They had started to climb the stairs.

Her chance to be quiet was gone. Margot ran. Each footfall seemed to boom like a drum through the night. She shoved the bedroom door open as she flew through it and choked down a cry.