The Watcher in the Shadows (Niebla 3)

As Ismael was getting back on his feet, still dazed by the blow, he saw that the shadow was holding Irene captive in the middle of the room and was about to kill her. Ismael yelled and threw himself against the black mass. His body went straight through it and the shadow split into thousands of tiny droplets that fell to the floor like liquid coal. Ismael lifted Irene and pulled her away from the shadow’s reach. On the floor, the pieces came together, forming a whirlwind that hurled the furniture towards the walls and windows.

Ismael and Irene flung themselves to the ground as the desk crashed through one of the windowpanes, shattering it completely. Ismael rolled over Irene, protecting her from the impact. When he looked up again, the whirlwind was solidifying. Two great black wings unfolded and the shadow emerged, larger and more powerful than before.

Ismael pulled out his knife again and wielded it in front of the shadow. The spectre grasped the blade with its icy claw. Ismael could feel the freezing current rising up his fingers and through his hand, paralyzing his arm.

The weapon fell and the shadow wrapped itself around the boy. Irene tried in vain to pull him away. The shadow started dragging Ismael towards the fire.

At that very moment the door burst open and Lazarus appeared on the threshold.

The ghostly light emerging from the forest reflected off the windscreen of the police car at the head of the convoy. Behind it were Doctor Giraud’s vehicle and an ambulance sent by the clinic at La Rochelle.

Dorian, sitting next to the superintendent, Henri Faure, was the first to notice the golden glow filtering through the trees. The top of Cravenmoore could be glimpsed above the forest. It looked like an apparition, a gigantic merry-go-round, in the mist. The superintendent frowned – he’d never seen such a sight in the fifty-two years he’d been living in the village.

‘Faster!’ Dorian urged him.

As he accelerated, the superintendent glanced at the boy, wondering whether the story of the supposed accident contained a single grain of truth.

‘Is there something you haven’t told us?’

Dorian didn’t reply but kept staring straight ahead.

The superintendent pressed the accelerator to the floor.

The shadow whirled round and, when it saw Lazarus, it dropped Ismael suddenly. The boy hit the ground hard and screamed out in pain. Irene ran to his aid.

‘Get him out of here,’ said Lazarus, as he advanced towards the shadow, which was retreating.

Ismael groaned. There was a sharp pain in his shoulder.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Irene.

Ismael mumbled something, but then he got to his feet and nodded. Lazarus gave them an inscrutable look.

‘Take your mother and leave,’ he said.

The shadow was hissing in front of him like a snake ready to strike. Suddenly it jumped onto the wall and melted into the painting once more.

‘I said go!’ Lazarus shouted.

Ismael and Irene grabbed hold of Simone and hauled her towards the door. As they were about to leave, Irene turned to look at Lazarus. She watched as the toymaker walked over to the four-poster bed and, with infinite tenderness, drew aside the veils that covered it. The figure of a woman could be seen through the curtains.

‘Wait . . .’ whispered Irene, her heart in her mouth.

The woman had to be Alma. Irene trembled as she noticed the tears on Lazarus’s face. The toymaker hugged his wife. Never in her life had Irene seen anyone hug another person so tenderly. Every gesture, every movement conveyed a love and a tenderness that could only result from a life of complete devotion. Alma’s arms closed around him too and, for a magical moment, they were united in the darkness, far from this world. Without knowing why, Irene felt like crying, but then a new vision, terrible and menacing, startled her from her reverie.

The stain was sliding, sinuously, from the portrait towards the bed. Irene felt a wave of panic.

‘Lazarus, be careful!’

The toymaker turned and watched as the shadow rose in front of him with a furious roar. For a second, he held the infernal creature’s gaze. Then he turned to Irene and Ismael; he seemed to be trying to say something with his eyes, but they couldn’t quite understand. Suddenly, Irene realised what Lazarus was about to do.

‘No!’ she shouted, but Ismael held her back.

The toymaker approached the shadow.

‘You won’t take her away again . . .’

The shadow raised a claw, ready to attack its owner. Lazarus put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a shiny object. A revolver. The shadow’s laughter echoed through the room.