Without looking in Duncan’s direction, I pushed my thumb down on the button of the projector marked with the number one.
“Evie,” came Duncan’s reprimand, “I don’t think we’d yet decided . . .” His voice faded.
My eyes tracked the silvery cone of light from the projector to the wall directly opposite.
The jittery film was old and washed of colour, like something that had once been shot on Super 8 and then copied to a modern medium.
In the film, a girl of about twenty slept in a bed. A metronome slowly swung to and fro above her on the wooden shelf. There was no sound. The film was shot here, in the women’s dormitory of the monastery.
“Might as well see the rest.” Poppy seemed emboldened as she took a couple of steps clockwise and turned the next one on. She glanced at Duncan, as if daring him to say something. He didn’t.
The second film showed the girl passing underneath the bird-of-prey sculpture in the entry, glancing upwards at the bird as she ran. Did the bird mean something to her? Had she been through the fourth challenge and the bird reminded her of that?
In the third of the films, she continued on outside and through the gates of the monastery and then into the hills. Peacocks scattered as she raced up a steep incline. The girl kept looking behind her. The combination of the grainy quality of the film and the jitter made it hard to see her expression.
Was she scared?
Excited?
God, please don’t let her be scared. After what happened to Saul and Harrington and Kara and even myself, I was already scared enough.
She stopped at the graves. Stepping forward tentatively, she looked behind her. Who or what was she checking for?
My skin prickled and grew cold as I viewed the fourth film. Hooded, menacing figures rose and stepped out from behind the graves. They wore long black garb. Their faces appeared painted white, having a luminosity in the night. They stood facing the girl. I could only see the girl from behind, but I could sense her terror by the stiff lines of her body through her thin nightdress. The wind blew her hair sideways as she backed away a step. The figures then filed out from the graves and towards the girl in two lines.
“What the hell is that all about?” Poppy gaped at the clip before moving on to start the next film and fumbling for the on button.
I spun on my heel to face the next film clip—the fifth one. This one showed the girl running again, this time along the jagged hilltop that led to the chapel. She dashed inside.
Breath caught in my lungs as I watched the sixth film. The figures were advancing on the chapel. The film stopped and started several times, the figures advancing on the chapel each time—my heart stopping and starting along with the film. I was terrified for the girl. The rope that hung from the chapel’s bell swung in the wind, reminding me of a hangman’s noose.
A sick feeling wound through my insides. I wanted to be out of this room and far away from these images. But I was stuck here, with the films looping over and over again.
“These are insane.” Poppy’s voice held a nervous giggle that she cut short. “I mean, I know the mentors said this one was a challenge of the mind, but this is just . . .”
Thoughts raced through me. It’s just another challenge. You can and will get through it. Think, think, think . . .
“What if they’re in the wrong order—the films?” I suggested. “Maybe it’s all just a bad dream. Like, the film of the sleeping girl should be the last film?” Even as I said it, it sounded like wishful thinking.
“Let’s try it,” said Poppy in a breathy voice. “Anything to get this challenge done.” Frowning, she tried to pick up a projector. “But they’re fixed in place.”
Duncan screwed up his small, snub-nosed features. “I think you’ll find that the projectors can run around on those rings, like tracks.”
Poppy glanced up at him. “You’re good for something, aren’t you Dunc? I bet you’ve got model trains at home.”
“As it happens, I do,” he replied. “I have a working model railway layout that almost entirely takes up a twelve-by-twelve–foot shed. It has mountains, towns and lakes and took me five years to complete.”
I was worried that Duncan was about to launch into a story about his trains, but instead he applied himself to sliding the first projector around the inside circular track. As the film of the sleeping girl crossed with the fourth film—of the graves—something strange seemed to happen.
“Wait! Stop it there!” I breathed, pointing at the screen. The two projected films were merged on the wall. The girl in the bed now seemed to be sleeping on a grave, with gravestones surrounding her.