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Back The Woman in the Wood Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by M.K. Hill
  3. THE WOMAN IN THE WOOD
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Contents
  7. Epigraph
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  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. Acknowledgements
  61. About the Author
  62. An Invitation from the Publisher

Abs woke with a start at the crack of dawn, and for a few fleeting moments he had no idea who he was, or where he was, or when it was. When he opened his sore eyes, the shabby room was totally unfamiliar. It was only when he lifted his face from the rough sheet, the dried saliva at the edge of his mouth sticky against the rough cotton, that he remembered the drunken events of the night before.

It was insanely early, he knew that much, and his head throbbed; it felt like someone was throwing an anvil around inside his skull, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and squinted at the blinding light knifing between the curtains.

Abs walked around the mattress on the floor and headed into the kitchen. The walls and doors were all in unfamiliar places, and he seemed to rebound off every single one of them, like the world’s slowest pinball. Alcohol burned through his pores and filmed his hot, clammy forehead, but the cold air was chill against his bare legs and the flagstones in the kitchen freezing on the soles of his feet.

He ran the cold tap to pour himself a long, cool glass of water, and drank from it greedily. It soothed his parched mouth and throat. Glancing out of the window, he saw an empty bottle of vodka sitting on the handrail of the porch. Then he took the pint of water to the bedroom. He desperately needed a few more hours’ sleep, and knew already that the whole day was going to be a complete write-off. He cursed himself for drinking – Never again! – as he placed the water on the floor beside the bed, and gingerly lay back down.

‘Jez?’ When he stared up at the damp-stain on the ceiling, the room began to rotate again. ‘Are you awake?’

The room picked up speed like a fairground ride, and his stomach lurched queasily. Jerking upright, he saw the ceiling and the window whizz past in his vision, and then merge together… the floor, the pint of water beside his foot, the sword of unbearable light between the curtains, and Jez’s mattress, the sheets tangled on top of it…

Abs groaned. The contents of his bilious stomach slopped angrily. The ceiling and window tumbled, the floor lurched towards him and the mattress. The curtains and the ceiling… the glass at his feet… the blinding light… the floor… the ceiling… the mattress.

The mattress on the floor.

The empty mattress.

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