Good point. She looked at the book, the creased, yellowing colour, and wondered whether there wasn’t a whole bunch of stuff about her mum she should know. She flicked through it, through pages of the epileptic-spider scrawl, and shook her head. ‘Hang on, how do you know—‘
He was gone, smell and all. Dammit, how did he do that? This was like some weird scary movie. The rain started up again, drenching her in seconds as she ran for the house.
It was quiet, and cold, and already smelt empty. She’d only been out for an hour or so, but the absence of mum was weird. She never left the house, like, ever. Scarlet sat on the couch and stared out as the rain fell harder and harder. Then she shrugged and walked upstairs. She got as far as the door to her bedroom when she remembered, at which point she swore, punched the door frame, and slouched back down to the lounge. What was she supposed to do?
She pulled the book out, cracked it open and kept reading. The handwriting gave her a headache. It wasn’t so bad when it was on shopping lists, but she had to squint and follow the line with her finger, which quite apart from being, like, really degrading, was just annoying. There was plenty in there about men, for the enriching of one’s relationship, for the strengthening of one’s private life… ewwww.
She closed the book. Where the hell was mum, and when was her computer going to stop being a dick and let her back in? And what was she going to eat for dinner? She moseyed into the kitchen, poked in the fridge for a while, then closed it and went for the bread. They had jam, and bread, so she’d live until the morning at least. The rain got harder.
Back in the lounge, she flicked on the TV, watched some stupid people doing stupid things and turned the sound down, reaching again for the book. She was two thirds of the way through it when she found the page.
For the release of the demon Azgarlirend.
And then, in smaller letters.
Like a genie, three wishes.
Scarlett knew very little about all this stuff, aside from that, you know, it exists, which is more than she knew this morning. But she did know that anyone called a Demon probably wasn’t going to grant you many wishes. With a shake of her head, she turned the page.
With a yelp, she threw it across the room, and grabbed a pillow, holding it before her like a shield. ‘OK, that was just, too weird, and creepy and not at all right.’ She stopped talking and stared at the book, hands shaking where she gripped the fabric. It stared back, and she made slow, small steps toward it, pillow thrust out in front. She’d taken only a few steps when she looked at the pillow, scrunched up her face, and threw it behind her.
She scooped the book up and turned back to the page. She squeaked this time, but kept hold of the book. The page was filled with a picture, so lifelike it was horrible. And it was horrible, it was mum. Only mum was surrounded by thick iron bars, and in the shifting darkness that lay around the edges, she could see dark stone, and smoke, and flickering shadows.
Next instalment: Wednesday 16 October
