The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

out with it,” she barked at her friend when the subtle approach had no affect. “I know you, and I know when something is amiss.”
    Meli plucked her gaze from the pool of coffee, and rested it on her friends earnest face. Judging by the deepening purple of her plump cheeks, she was on the verge of detonating if Meli didn’t say something soon to put out the fuse. Should she share any of her suspicions yet? Or wait until she had some evidence? The image of Cal’s disapproving expression entered her head, and his comments when he’d found the notepad. She didn’t want any of this getting back to him, as he’d think she had finally cracked. No, she had to wait. Something suddenly clicked in her brain. The aroma of dinner cooking. It must be quite late. The boys might be home. If Bill was out to get her, could this put the boys in danger? Hurling her mug onto the table, sending a tidal wave of creamy brown liquid splashing across the wood, she wriggled forward until her toes touched the floor, and then scraped back her chair.
    “Sorry, Barbara, but I’ve got to go.” Leaving her friend with her jaw flapping, she fled.

    Her hand reached out, her fingertips resting against the coarse wood for a moment, before reluctantly pushing the door open. Now she knew that Finn didn’t exist, she had no reason to fear coming back here, especially with the rolling pin in her bag. She had felt stupid, sneaking back here, trying to ensure that she wasn’t seen by anyone, carrying her largest handbag, which was empty, apart from the wooden rolling pin: a weapon.
    She wasn’t quite sure what had compelled her to come back. After all, if Finn didn’t exist, and this place had belonged to Elsa, nothing would have changed since her last visit. Curiosity. That could be the only explanation. She tried not to think about what curiosity had done to the cat. Her last visit had been brief, and she’d been a bundle of nerves, so the chances were that she might have missed all kinds of interesting things, including some vital clues to support her conspiracy theory. At the very least she could fill up her handbag with their belongings and take them home.
    Reaching for the cord hanging from the ceiling to her right, she was suddenly propelled forward, the breath knocked painfully from her body with the brute force of a pair of kicking mule heels which landed just below her shoulder blades. Hurtling forwards, she struck her head.

    Waves of pitch blackness rolled and pitched drunkenly in front of her eyes. Although maybe her eyes were still closed and the darkness only existed inside her head? It was difficult to tell through the excruciating sensations that were bombarding her brain from several sources, threatening to carry her back into the unconsciousness from which she was only just emerging. Not only were the membranes lying just beneath her skull throbbing like she’d drunk two bottles of cheap Merlot on her own, but needles of pain were pulsing up her arm from her left wrist, with the speed of a McLaren racing around the track at Brands Hatch. Gingerly she touched her temple with an exploratory right hand, another source of acute pain. A lump the size and firmness of a golf ball was embedded above her left eye, and she was sure there must to a pair of mule-hoof shaped bruises imprinted on her back. Fighting back surges of nausea, she blinked her eyes several times, trying to discern the answer to her earlier question, but either she had gone blind, or she was in fact surrounded by darkness.
    Deciding that it was unlikely she had gone blind, she lay still for a moment, trying to work out where she could be. Amazingly, when she first realised that she was on the floor in the lean-to, she wasn’t afraid. The fear had grown gradually. Originating somewhere deep in the lowest depths of her bowels, it had ballooned inside her until her whole body was a mass of sweating, quivering flesh. Stumbling to her feet, her left arm hanging uselessly, she lumbered around until she found the door. It was jammed. Gripping the handle with her right hand, she tugged and yanked with every ounce of terror in her muscles, but to no avail. How could it be stuck? She sobbed the question in her head. It made no sense. It had opened perfectly easily before.
    It was just as the panic peaked, threatening to puree her brain into a mindless gunk resembling raw sausage meat, that she suddenly remembered the light. Lifting her hand she began clutching her