Dead of Winter - James Goss [22]
I went and hammered on the door, called for a doctor, for my husband, for Kosov.
But no one came.
A Letter from Maria
St Christophe
6th December 1783
Dear Mother,
I know I promised not to go down to the beach again, but I couldn’t help it, really I couldn’t. After everything that has been going on, I just wanted to see what was happening down there.
The Dead were sat there, muttering and humming. The storm was raging around them, but they didn’t seem at all bothered by it. I felt my heart leap into my throat as I crept up to them, but they didn’t respond – they looked like they were frozen, waiting. They scared me. I tiptoed ever so gently away, and found Monsieur Pond.
‘Hello, Maria,’ he said softly and gently. ‘How can I help you?’
‘You are hiding behind a rock,’ I said.
‘Well, yes,’ Monsieur Pond agreed sheepishly. ‘There’s room for one more.’ He patted the cold sand next to him invitingly.
So I hid next to him. ‘Why are we hiding?’ I asked.
‘Can it be our secret?’
Suddenly, Mother, everyone is telling me their secrets! I feel very proud. I told him, very seriously that he could trust me. Why, Dr Smith had also told me a secret. Monsieur Pond did not look pleased at that.
‘What did he tell you?’ he asked sourly.
‘Oh, monsieur,’ I laughed. ‘I am not to be tricked that easily!’
He said nothing. I stuck my tongue out at him.
He tried to ignore it, but eventually he smiled and pointed down to the sea. ‘Maria, I am hiding because things are very wrong.’
‘Right,’ I said, very seriously. ‘What have you seen, monsieur?’
Monsieur Pond started to roll his eyes like that schoolteacher we got rid of. ‘Oh, Maria, Maria, I’m not sure I can even start to tell you everything that’s wrong. Amy’s ill, I’m not feeling myself at all, we’re at a hospital that’s about a hundred years early, it’s the depths of winter and the patients are still sat on the beach in the middle of a storm…’ He paused. Just then he sounded exactly like Dr Smith. Then his face fell. ‘Oh, and there’s a really very tall man standing behind you.’
I turned and squeaked. Kosov was towering over us.
A comforting hand seized mine. Monsieur Pond’s. ‘Now, don’t be afraid,’ he whispered, squeezing gently. He straightened, facing up to the giant. ‘Good evening. My name is Pond.’
Kosov grunted at him.
‘Russian, eh?’ Monsieur Pond smiled. ‘Well, there we go. Such fun.’
Kosov stepped closer. He grinned. It wasn’t quite right somehow.
‘Warp transfer coil,’ said Monsieur Pond and then shook himself like a wet puppy. ‘Sorry. I keep saying that, no idea why. What I meant was there’s something wrong with your walk.’
Kosov paused.
‘Well, when I say that, the posture’s fine and all that. It’s just that you’re hovering about half an inch off the ground.’
I stared. Kosov, giant Kosov, was floating. Like a ghost. I screamed.
Kosov looked down at his feet and then back at Monsieur Pond.
‘Made you look, ha-ha,’ cried Monsieur Pond. His grip on my hand tightened. ‘Let’s run!’ he cried.
We ran. Oh Mother, it was thrilling. Well, except that Kosov ran after us… or rather… flew. Like some ghost or a nightmare or something terrible, always just at our backs.
Somehow I felt utterly safe with Monsieur Pond. Very, very scared, but also very, very safe.
We ran through the mist towards the sea, Kosov seeming to run, or to glide behind us. We lost him for a moment in the mist, and then, I don’t know, I twisted my foot, and lost my grip on Monsieur Pond’s hand, and I was alone in the mist. I turned, but the mist was so thick! SO THICK!
I turned again, calling for Monsieur Pond. I could hear him calling me, and then suddenly, there in front of me was Kosov, his face like stone, making a grab for me.
I screamed and ran from him, falling back.
Suddenly I was in the sea, running into the waves.
‘Maria!’ I could hear Monsieur Pond shouting. ‘Stay out of the water! Stay out of the water!’
‘But monsieur!’ I cried back to him, splashing along. ‘It is very shallow! Where are you?’
He did not reply. I splashed on through the sea and the mist, my heart hammering