‘Who was wearing this?’ Angus holds the shoe up. His hand shakes.
‘I know I’ve seen it before,’ Femi replies. ‘But I can’t think where – it all seems so long ago.’ It is the day that feels surreal now. This: the night, the storm, their fear, has become all that exists for them.
‘Should we take it with us?’ Angus asks. ‘It might – it might be some sort of clue as to what happened.’
‘No. We should leave it where it is,’ Femi says. ‘We shouldn’t have even touched it. Or the crown, to be honest.’
‘Why?’ Angus asks.
‘Because, you idiot,’ Duncan snaps, ‘it could be evidence.’
‘Hey,’ Angus says, as they leave the shoe and carry on. ‘The wind – it’s stopped.’
He’s right. Somehow, without their noticing it, the storm has worn itself out. In its wake it leaves an eerie stillness that makes them long for its return. This quiet feels like a held breath, a false calm. And they can hear their own frightened breathing now, hoarse and shallow.
It has been difficult to make much progress when they’re checking in all directions – anxiously scanning the velvet darkness for any threat, any sign of movement. But now, finally, the Folly looms into view in the distance, its windows reflecting a black glitter.
‘There.’ Femi stops short. The others behind him freeze. ‘I think—’ he says, ‘I think there’s something there.’
‘Not another fucking shoe,’ Duncan shouts. ‘What is this? Cinderella? Hansel and bloody Gretel?’ None of them are convinced by this attempt at a joke. All of them hear the rattle of fear in his voice.
‘No,’ Femi says. ‘It’s not a shoe.’
All of them have heard the edge to his voice. It makes them want very much not to look, to cringe away from whatever it is. Instead they force themselves to stand and watch as he moves his torch in a slow arc, the light travelling weakly across the ground.
There is something there. Though it’s not a something, this time. It’s someone. They look on in growing horror as a long shape appears in the light upon the earth. Prone, terrible, definitely human. It lies fairly close to the Folly, on the edge of where the peat bog takes over from the more solid ground. In the wind the edges of the body’s clothing fidget and snicker, and this, along with the wavering light from the phone’s torch, gives an unnerving impression of movement. A macabre trick, a sleight of hand.
To the ushers it doesn’t seem likely that there can really be a human being inside those clothes. A human who was, until recently, talking and laughing. Who was among them all, celebrating a wedding.
Earlier
