The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

that wobbled worryingly beneath her touch. Bravely she turned it on.
    From overhead, a light bulb, dangling by its flex from the high ceiling, crept into life, casting a pitiful pale glow into the darkness, reflecting in a pair of oval, amber eyes. Tabby. It was only the cat, watching her from where she was crouched on the back of the sofa. She hadn’t realised until that point that she had been holding her breath. Releasing it she inhaled, wishing as she did so that she hadn’t, as the putrid stench, which was far, far worse in here, almost stripped the tender lining from her nostrils, making her eyes water and her stomach heave and roil. Scrabbling around in her pocket, she found another tissue, and clamped it over her nose. In two movements, Tabby leaped down onto the seat and then onto the floor, and working a figure of eight she began making a pitiful yowling sound. Meli moved towards her.
    She froze, her heart plummeting down into her stomach on seeing the hunched figure crumpled on the floor. With a scream, she turned and fled from the house, tripping and stumbling in her blind haste. As she emerged outside she forgot to duck, and her desperate escape was hampered when tendrils of dead creepers snagged in her hair, pulling her up short. Yanking herself free she sprinted away, leaving the creepers clutching handfuls of her hair like trophies.
    Bursting through the door she collapsed against the wall, her hands clasped to her chest. What to do? Was she dead? She shouldn’t have run away like that, she should have checked. But the stench. Springing to life she hurled herself at the phone and stabbed out Cal’s phone number. She could barely speak when he came on the line, fearful of opening her mouth more than a fraction in case the sheer terror building up inside her escaped on an ear-splitting scream. She didn’t want to alert the kids.
    “Meli, what on earth is wrong?” He seemed to guess that the heavy breather wasn’t some pervert, but was in fact his wife. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed as if trying to prevent them from popping from their sockets as the tension in her head continued to build. “Something has happened to Elsa,” she managed to spurt. “I think she might be dead.”
    “Think, or she is?”
    “Don’t ask such bloody stupid questions, just do something.” How could he be so daft? She had already said that she thought she might be dead. Wasn’t that clear enough?
    “Okay, okay, stay calm. Have you called the police?”
    Meli lowered the receiver and scowled, frustration burning slashes of scarlet into her otherwise shocked-white cheeks. No, she had come straight home and called her nearest and dearest for help. He was about as useless as Quassi had been. She felt tears burn at the backs of her eyes. She could still taste the rancid smell polluting her nostrils and stomach like some nauseas gas.
    “Oh Cal, just come home.” She dropped the phone back onto the cradle, wiping her cheeks where her hot tears bubbled over the cold sheen of rain. She went to walk away, although where to and to do what, she had no idea. But then she knew she should ring for help. Elsa might only be ill, and any delay could cost her her life. Picking up the phone again she fumbled to dial 999.
    When the operator asked her to return to the body, Meli couldn’t do it. There was no way she could return to that house of horrors on her own; she’d rather have hot needles stabbed in her eyeballs. It was the police who arrived first. Meli was so relieved that it was PC Holster. Uncannily the boys had appeared, seemingly lured away from their computer game by some inner sense that told them something exciting was happening. When Meli went to accompany PC Holster, they were right there, shoes and coats on ready.
    “No, you wait here,” she told them flatly. “We won’t be long.”
    They travelled down in the police car, Meli shivering, her skin cold and clammy, her clothing still damp from her dash through the rain. They had just parked to the side of the farmhouse when the ambulance arrived, blue lights flashing forlornly through the drizzly rain.
    “Which room is Elsa in?” asked PC Holster gently.
    Without moving from her seat, swamped by great waves of gratitude that he didn’t seem to expect her to accompany him, she replied. “Down the passage, first door on the left.” She almost smiled when she saw his footsteps faltered as he approached the open door, no doubt trying to hold back his