BooksBarbecue
Back The Hollows
Chapters (77)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. PART I
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. PART II
  15. 9.
  16. 10.
  17. 11.
  18. 12.
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. 21.
  28. 22.
  29. 23.
  30. 24.
  31. 25.
  32. 26.
  33. 27.
  34. 28.
  35. 29.
  36. 30.
  37. 31.
  38. 32.
  39. 33.
  40. 34.
  41. 35.
  42. 36.
  43. PART III
  44. 37.
  45. 38.
  46. 39.
  47. 40.
  48. 41.
  49. 42.
  50. 43.
  51. 44.
  52. 45.
  53. 46.
  54. 47.
  55. 48.
  56. 49.
  57. 50.
  58. 51.
  59. 52.
  60. 53.
  61. 54.
  62. 55.
  63. 56.
  64. 57.
  65. 58.
  66. 59.
  67. 60.
  68. 61.
  69. 62.
  70. 63.
  71. 64.
  72. 65.
  73. PART IV
  74. 66.
  75. 67.
  76. 68.
  77. Acknowledgements

“True.” Ellie got her chuckles under control. “Cranked up the mental,” she said again. “But the way Liz was talking – didn’t sound as if it was them. She kept saying ‘they’ll come for you tonight’.”

“Maybe meant her kids. Or maybe, you know, they put on their outfits, and that’s it – they’re not themselves anymore. Like an alter ego. Jekyll and Hyde.”

“Maybe.” It was the closest thing to an explanation that made sense. Even so, her instincts were against it. But if wasn’t the Harpers, then what? “Those sodding signs,” she said. “They mean something.”

“Well, duh.” Milly rolled her eyes. “They’re signs. That’s the whole point.” She pursed her lips. “Tell you who you should talk to.”

“What’s that?”

“Pastor Matt.”

“Matt Williams? What for?”

“Even if you don’t believe in the Devil, some people do. You don’t believe in God, but people worship Him. So you don’t have to believe in the Devil to believe in Devil-worshippers, do you?”

“Suppose not.”

“Well, then?”

Ellie tried to picture Tom Graham’s face if he overheard this conversation – too much imagination’s bad for a copper, Ellie – but couldn’t, not quite. It was already murky outside, and would soon be dark. And it was far, far easier to believe in the Devil by night.

20.

20.

Later, much later, when Joel was quiet and sleeping in her arms, Jess put him gently in his crib and slowly, slowly inched the chest of drawers away from the doors, listening between each movement to ensure no one heard. When the door was clear she eased it open, slipped off her shoes, and padded down the landing and then the stairs in her stockinged feet to listen.

She knew the farmhouse, every creaking board of it, where to tread and where not to if she didn’t want to be heard, and knew, too, the sounds her family made and what they meant. Paul was singing, a low slurred mumbling with a hint of tune in it, a noise he only made when drunk. Which at least meant he wouldn’t come near her door again tonight.

The others were talking amongst themselves, voices raised over Paul’s drone. Jess tiptoed down the stairs to the next landing, listening.

“…that bitch Ellie Cheetham,” Mum was saying. “Could have fucking done without her.”

“They’ll’ve got her, though,” Frank said. “Won’t They?”

“Like as not, like as not. And if not tonight, tomorrow –”

“Just wish I could fucking see it,” Keira said. “See her shitting herself when They get hold of her –”

“Yeah, yeah, all right, Keira, you fucking said. Change the fucking record, f’Christ’s sake. She’s a fucking pig and we all hate her, but she’s finished now. Nowt to worry about anymore. It’s us I’m thinking of.”