The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

which had let in a little light? Clambering to her feet she strode over. Reaching out her fingers they encountered the feel of the glass. Frantically, standing on tip-toe, she scrubbed against it with the heel of her fist, rubbing away years of filth and cobwebs. But it didn’t seem to make the least bit of difference, despite the fact that the grubby layer on her fist was getting thicker.
    Break the glass. The idea slammed in her head with the power of a bullet. Oh yes, how stupid. If I break the window, I can probably squeeze through. Squeeze through and escape. Spurred on by hope, she glanced around, looking for something solid and heavy she could use. The tins in the cupboard. Tearing back the door, she glanced in eagerly. Disappointment poured into her legs and began to rise upwards. It was empty!
    Her knuckles whitened as they bit into the frame. Her rolling pin. Slamming the door, she spun round, her eyes scanning the floor for her handbag. It wasn’t anywhere to be seen. In fact, it suddenly struck her, that apart from herself, the whole damned place was empty. Everything, the sacks, the tools, they had all gone as well. The realisation nurtured the return of her earlier fear, sending her heart into a pulsating frenzy. Her being trapped in here was no accident. Someone had pushed her in and locked the door, but not before removing everything she could possibly use to aid her escape. That unknown someone had been in here while she was unconscious. She felt sick and violated. Had they touched her? Touched her body? Her terror was gushing through her arteries like a white torrent, then reaching her head they poured like tears from her eyes, great rollers that washed down her filthy cheeks. Staggering into a corner, she threw up against the wall.

Chapter 26

    Time crawled passed so very slowly. Meli alternated between despair that she was going to die here, and the wavering belief that everything would be fine. She prayed that the boys were safe and well. She had worked out who her capture was. It was Bill. But what did he hope to gain? Her family would come looking for her.

    She drifted in and out of sleep, although she tried very hard to stay awake, to remain vigilant. She was vaguely aware that she might have concussion, but her main motivation was that Bill could return at any time.

    In the early hours of the morning, she suddenly became alert, thinking that she could smell petrol. Bill could burn her alive in here. He could say it was an accident. Would anyone believe that? How would the children cope without her? Oh how she missed them, their mischievous ways, their arguments. Would anyone send off the masks she had worked so hard to finish, and claim her money? After all, they would need it to pay for her funeral, although they wouldn ’t have the cost of a cremation to worry about. Having circled her cage like an ensnared tiger, nostrils wrinkling as she checked for smoke, she eventually decided that the smell must have originated in her mind.

    Waking from a fitful doze, she thought she heard something outside. Leaping to the door, she strained to listen. There was definitely someone there, she could hear whistling. Although whoever it was didn’t carry a tune too well, it was the first indication of human life she’d heard, and it was so reassuring. Lifting her right fist, which was grazed and bleeding, she pounded on the wood and screamed for help, an episode she had tried every couple of hours, only stopping when her voice became hoarse. Her efforts went unanswered. Even the whistling stopped. That could only mean Bill was out there.
    “Bill, I know it’s you. Let me out.” She listened, running her tongue anxiously over her dry and cracked lips, her ear pressed to the wood. All she could make out was the courr courr of a distant cuckoo. “What do you want with me? Please, let me out.” Why wouldn’t he say something? Tell her what he wanted with her, what he intended to do; but torturously, there was no reply.

    She checked her watch. Two a.m. Cal would be so worried. She was so cold now and her bum had gone numb from hours sitting on the unforgiving bench. She tried to jog on the spot, but the movement jarred her arm and made her skull feel like the drum of an overfilled washing machine that was struggling to spin, so she stopped. She cancelled her earlier wish, about having a cushion, and wished for a blanket instead.

    Three thirty. She was so exhausted, and her tongue felt swollen