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Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Contents
  3. Copyright
  4. Praise for Caroline Mitchell
  5. Also by Caroline Mitchell
  6. Dedication
  7. Epigraph
  8. Prologue
  9. 1
  10. 2
  11. 3
  12. 4
  13. 5
  14. 6
  15. 7
  16. 8
  17. 9
  18. 10
  19. 11
  20. 12
  21. 13
  22. 14
  23. 15
  24. 16
  25. 17
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. Epilogue
  68. Acknowledgements
  69. About Caroline Mitchell
  70. About Embla Books

Was he here, playing games with her? She whimpered, biting down on the gag which tasted of spit and dirt. As she stretched out her legs, her toes touched what felt like another wall. This was too narrow to be a basement. It felt as claustrophobic as a coffin but she couldn’t just sit here trembling in the dark. Edging her chin to her knees, she pushed the gag from her mouth, heaving a deep breath. ‘Is anyone here?’ she said softly, waiting for her attacker to pounce. Nothing. A yelp escaped her lips as a slick, fat body of fur ran over her bare feet. She was blind to the horrors in the darkness. ‘Is there anyone here?’ Silence. She coughed and inhaled dust. The clicking of tiny legs scurried past her on the wall. She felt surrounded by insects.

If only her mum were here. She would know what to do. ‘I can’t,’ she cried. ‘Please. Mum … I want my mum!’ Slouching onto her knees, she sobbed. She knew she should fight. The Midnight Man would not be far away. She felt a subtle shift in temperature. Goosebumps rose on her skin as a soft voice whispered in her ear. ‘You can and you will. You’re my special girl.’

‘Who’s there?’ Libby started. Torn cobwebs tickled her body as she leaned against the wall. The presence was everywhere. It was the same presence she had felt the first time she got here. ‘Not my little girl.’ Not her mother, no. But someone’s. A strange comfort washed over her. She wasn’t Angelica. She hadn’t run away from the Midnight Game. She was Libby and she could do this. She wriggled her wrists against the zip ties, and she moved along the back wall until she came to a hard, rigid post. Her limbs tense, she sawed against the wood, the bindings rubbing against her skin.

Urgency grew with the sense of dread. Time was running out. Sweat trickled down the curve of her back. Her muscles taut, she continued to saw. The smell of the space was becoming unbearable. It felt like the walls were closing in. No. She was in the walls. The thought drove another shard of panic through her chest. The bindings hurt as she exerted force on her torn wrists, but it was nothing compared to what would happen when the Midnight Man returned.