felt a little nervous at Dunadd. Fiona sat in her room, on her four-poster bed and stared out of the window at the impenetrable dark. The power had failed again – it did this almost every night now – and a few candles glimmered on her mantelpiece.
“You be careful of those,” Granny had warned. “They’re dangerous. Don’t want this place going up like a torch.”
Her mother, Chris Morton, didn’t like the idea of them all having candles in their own bedrooms, but what else could they do?
Fiona glanced towards the window again to see if it was snowing, but let out a small gasp. A face was staring back at her through the window.
After the initial jolt of shock, she gathered her wits about her.
It’s your own reflection, silly
, she told herself sternly. Bravely she stood up, walked towards the window and made as if to wipe the glass. Her fingers froze on impact and she pulled them away automatically. It was not her own face she could see hovering there … she was sure of it. It was that of another … a little girl, grave and pale. She gazed at Fiona for a long painful moment with sad, grey eyes. Fiona was too frightened to scream … or to call for help.
She stood still and watched the image fade as if it had never been there at all. Outside it had begun to snow again, gentle flakes drifting down through the ebony sky.
Fiona tried to breathe some life back into her frozen fingers. Why was the glass so cold?
The face at the window had vanished, but could she trust her own senses? What had she really just seen?
Turning back, she realized that she
could
see her own reflection there now, dimly picked out by the candlelight.
Perhaps that was it,
she mused.
Perhaps it was just my reflection, distorted by the cold
.
But Fiona suspected in her hearts of hearts that that wasn’t true; that a child’s face had appeared to her, staring through the glass.
She stood up and drew the wooden shutters hastily against the night. As she sat on the edge of her bed again, Fiona felt a sudden need to speak to Samuel. She glanced at the clock above her mantelpiece. It was half past ten at night … too late to be wandering next door to the cottage to wake them up. But she couldn’t resist it. She had to.
Throwing her wardrobe door open, she grabbed a jumper and trousers and pulled them on. She crept down the eerie staircase to the floor below. It was so dark. She pressed one or two light switches hopefully but knew they wouldn’t respond.
By the time she had arrived in the kitchen, her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, but she was beginning to have second thoughts. What had she really seen out there? And what if it was still lurking outside?
How could a face be floating outside my bedroom window
?She shook her head.
I don’t care
, she thought.
I have to talk to Samuel
.
She took a coat from the peg and pulled on a pair of boots. The heavy outer door squealed on its hinges as she pulled it open.
Although it was cold inside the house, it was even colder outside. There was a silence out on the moor that only snow could bring. Fiona recognized that feeling well. It happened every winter up on Sheriffmuir, and every winter it was quite magical and breathtakingly beautiful.
Tonight, however, it held an eerie possibility.
The fresh fall of snow had eliminated all footprints from the courtyard. No one had walked this way since the families had gone to their respective houses that evening.
She stepped out onto the virgin snow and made her own set of prints to the cottage next door. She didn’t go to the kitchen door, as she was afraid to disturb Isabel, but crept instead under the bare plum trees to Samuel’s bedroom window in the corner. She stood in the flowerbed and tapped on the glass. No response.
She tried again.
Behind her she heard a noise and spun round quickly, almost stumbling over in her panic.
It was Lucy, one of the dogs, who had followed her outside into the darkness.
“Lucy,” she whispered. “You
“You be careful of those,” Granny had warned. “They’re dangerous. Don’t want this place going up like a torch.”
Her mother, Chris Morton, didn’t like the idea of them all having candles in their own bedrooms, but what else could they do?
Fiona glanced towards the window again to see if it was snowing, but let out a small gasp. A face was staring back at her through the window.
After the initial jolt of shock, she gathered her wits about her.
It’s your own reflection, silly
, she told herself sternly. Bravely she stood up, walked towards the window and made as if to wipe the glass. Her fingers froze on impact and she pulled them away automatically. It was not her own face she could see hovering there … she was sure of it. It was that of another … a little girl, grave and pale. She gazed at Fiona for a long painful moment with sad, grey eyes. Fiona was too frightened to scream … or to call for help.
She stood still and watched the image fade as if it had never been there at all. Outside it had begun to snow again, gentle flakes drifting down through the ebony sky.
Fiona tried to breathe some life back into her frozen fingers. Why was the glass so cold?
The face at the window had vanished, but could she trust her own senses? What had she really just seen?
Turning back, she realized that she
could
see her own reflection there now, dimly picked out by the candlelight.
Perhaps that was it,
she mused.
Perhaps it was just my reflection, distorted by the cold
.
But Fiona suspected in her hearts of hearts that that wasn’t true; that a child’s face had appeared to her, staring through the glass.
She stood up and drew the wooden shutters hastily against the night. As she sat on the edge of her bed again, Fiona felt a sudden need to speak to Samuel. She glanced at the clock above her mantelpiece. It was half past ten at night … too late to be wandering next door to the cottage to wake them up. But she couldn’t resist it. She had to.
Throwing her wardrobe door open, she grabbed a jumper and trousers and pulled them on. She crept down the eerie staircase to the floor below. It was so dark. She pressed one or two light switches hopefully but knew they wouldn’t respond.
By the time she had arrived in the kitchen, her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, but she was beginning to have second thoughts. What had she really seen out there? And what if it was still lurking outside?
How could a face be floating outside my bedroom window
?She shook her head.
I don’t care
, she thought.
I have to talk to Samuel
.
She took a coat from the peg and pulled on a pair of boots. The heavy outer door squealed on its hinges as she pulled it open.
Although it was cold inside the house, it was even colder outside. There was a silence out on the moor that only snow could bring. Fiona recognized that feeling well. It happened every winter up on Sheriffmuir, and every winter it was quite magical and breathtakingly beautiful.
Tonight, however, it held an eerie possibility.
The fresh fall of snow had eliminated all footprints from the courtyard. No one had walked this way since the families had gone to their respective houses that evening.
She stepped out onto the virgin snow and made her own set of prints to the cottage next door. She didn’t go to the kitchen door, as she was afraid to disturb Isabel, but crept instead under the bare plum trees to Samuel’s bedroom window in the corner. She stood in the flowerbed and tapped on the glass. No response.
She tried again.
Behind her she heard a noise and spun round quickly, almost stumbling over in her panic.
It was Lucy, one of the dogs, who had followed her outside into the darkness.
“Lucy,” she whispered. “You
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