I wonder who could be inside that costume. And how odd it is that whoever’s in there is still keeping up their monster act when it’s only me and them down here.
I push the thought away. The Holbecks obviously take their traditions very seriously. As I reach in the dark, images of who it might be flash through my thoughts: Oliver, Stuart, Edward. Then my mind inevitably lands on Robert, and it will not budge. I think of the girl on his tape, of what he said he did to her, and the silliness of being down here in the dark melts away, leaving only dread. I push the thoughts away and try to locate where the sound of the creature is coming from.
It is to my right, about six feet from me. Two large strides away.
But the Evergreen stick is near, and the end of the game is tantalisingly close. I want to go home.
I tentatively let my fingers search for it. But I need to stretch further, and I realize that if I want this game to end, I’ll need to turn on my torch, come what may.
Every nerve in my body rebels at the idea, but the truth is all I need to do is grab that stick that’s on the floor right in front of me, and shout the magic word. It doesn’t matter if he sees me. It’ll all be over. I can grab it before he reaches me.
I clutch the torch tight and flick it on.
The space around me bursts into vision, the terracotta of floor tiles and, three feet ahead of me, the thick Evergreen stick, a rod about a foot long. I dive for it and as I do, I hear the rush of movement behind me. I fumble the stick into my hand as I spin around and point my flashlight back at the massive form rushing towards me. I dodge and scramble desperately up to my feet, the Evergreen branch firmly in my grasp, but he does not stop. He ploughs into me, his dank fur pushing me back against the basement wall. The wind is knocked out of me and my torch clatters to the floor. I look up at the dim figure pinning me to the wall, its wet mouth inches from mine. It studies me, now it has me pinned, its head tilting as if it were trying to work something out. I try to call out the word Evergreen, its wood held tight in my hand, but, like in a nightmare, the word does not come.
The creature, still so real, even at this proximity, forces a wet hand over my mouth. I think again of who is in that suit and the nature of what is happening suddenly changes.
Is it Robert pressing me hard against the wall? Is it Edward? Is he trying to scare me? Humiliate me? Paralysed by anxiety and confusion and the sheer strength of him, I cannot do anything but let him continue. His breath is hot on my neck as his free hand traces lasciviously down the side of my body to where my hand hangs, gripping the evergreen branch firmly. The nature of the situation changes again to something threateningly sexual, bordering on assault. It is only when his claw-like fingers reach my thigh, wet with toddler piss, that my paralysis is broken. My anger bursts its banks as I think of the night I have had. The night Billy has had. I am incandescently angry – at this family, at this game, at all of this bullshit.
I summon all of my strength, pull back and slam my elbow as hard as physically possible directly into the creature’s face, not caring who is in the suit, and not caring about the consequences. The creature howls and reels back, releasing me. I choke in a lungful of air and I yell with every ounce of anger I possess. ‘EVERGREEN.’
Instantly, all the lights blast on. Throughout the house, around me and above, I hear the sound of doors electronically unlocking.
It’s over. The game’s over. I won. But my anger is not replaced by triumph. If anything, it hardens into something denser.
Around the corridor, I hear a door open and the gentle hubbub of the party, and laughter carries along to me.
I hear Fiona before I see her. ‘We have a winner. Good job, Harriet!’ She appears around the corner smiling with an excited round of applause. ‘That was fantastic.’
A medic appears, moving past her to attend to the prone creature on the floor behind me. He hoists it up to sitting and gently helps to remove its mask.
The man inside it is finally revealed, but he is no one I have ever seen before. He takes a glug from the water bottle the medic offers him and wipes the moisture from his sweat-stung eyes. I try to make sense of who he is but can’t. He’s in his late twenties, hair slicked to his tanned skin with sweat from the heavy suit. His red eyes squint up into the light, his breathing still snagging from exertion and my blow to his head. I feel sick with guilt. And yet whoever he is ruined my night, felt me up and scared me half to death.