The Watcher in the Shadows (Niebla 3)

‘They’re dead . . .’

Before he could finish his sentence, Simone let out a furious yell and, grabbing one of the candlesticks from the table, she threw herself at the man standing in front of her.

The base of the candlestick struck the middle of the mask and the porcelain face shattered into a thousand pieces. Behind it there was nothing.

Paralysed with fear, Simone focused on the black mass floating before her. The form threw off its white gloves, beneath which there was nothing but darkness. Only then did Simone see the demonic face taking shape; it slowly acquired volume, hissing like a furious snake. A shriek pierced her ears, a high-pitched howl that extinguished every flame burning in the room. For the first and last time, Simone heard the real voice of the shadow. Then two claws seized her and dragged her out into the night.

As they stepped out of the forest, Ismael and Irene noticed that the soft mist covering the undergrowth was slowly morphing into a glowing mantle. Ahead, Cravenmoore was completely illuminated, light pouring from every window, making the entire structure look like a ghostly ship rising from the ocean.

They stopped in front of the spear-headed gates that led into the garden. Bathed in the strange luminescence, the house looked even more menacing than it did in the dark. On the breeze they could hear the disturbing sound of dozens of automatons moving about inside the mansion. The fiendish cacophony wafted through the front door, which stood wide open. Through it, they could see the shapes of shadows dancing in time to the blood-curdling melody. Instinctively, Irene pressed Ismael’s hand.

‘You don’t have to come with me. After all, she’s my mother . . .’ offered Irene.

‘Tempting. Don’t ask me twice,’ said Ismael.

Trying not to think too hard about the laughter, the music, and the sinister parade of figures inhabiting the place, they began to climb the main staircase.

‘Can you feel it too?’ asked Ismael as they stepped across the threshold of the front door.

Irene nodded. ‘The house. It is waiting for us.’

Dorian knocked repeatedly on the door of the police station. He was out of breath and his legs felt as if they were going to melt. He’d run like someone possessed through the forest, down to the Englishman’s Beach, and then along the endless road that bordered the bay. He hadn’t stopped for a second, knowing that if he did he wouldn’t be able to take another step. A single thought drove him forward: the image of that terrible shape carrying off his mother into the night. He had only to remember that and he’d run to the end of the world.

When the door of the police station finally opened, the rotund figure of Gendarme Jobart appeared. His tiny eyes examined the boy, who looked as if he was about to collapse.

‘Well?’ spat out the police officer.

‘Water, please . . .’

‘This is not a bar, Comrade Sauvelle.’

Shaking his head in disapproval, Jobart let the boy in and gave him a glass of water. Dorian had never known that water could be so delicious.

‘More.’

Jobart handed him another glassful.

‘You’re welcome.’

Dorian finished the last drop and then looked up at the policeman. Irene’s instructions came to mind, loud and clear.

‘My mother has had an accident and she’s hurt. It’s serious. At Cravenmoore.’

‘What sort of accident?’

‘We need to go now!’ Dorian burst out.

‘I’m alone. I can’t leave my post.’

Dorian suppressed a sigh. Of all the idiots on the face of the planet, he’d gone and found a prize one.

‘Use the radio! Do something!’

The clear anxiety in Dorian’s tone finally prompted Jobart to move his considerable backside. He walked over to the radio and switched on the machine. For a moment he turned to look at the boy.

‘Go on! Hurry!’ Dorian shouted.

Lazarus regained consciousness abruptly and felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck. He lifted a hand and touched the open wound. He vaguely remembered Christian’s face looming at him in the corridor of the west wing. The automaton had struck him and dragged him to this place. Lazarus looked around. He was in one of the many disused rooms of Cravenmoore.