TOYL

guidance, it felt as if the darkness was swallowing her up. At last she reached the basement’s concrete floor, where the rotting meat smell was so strong she began to feel nauseous.
    Shadows danced across the cellar, which stretched back farther than she could see. It was impossible to tell where exactly the stench was coming from, but there was no doubt that the source was down here. What the source was, she didn’t like to think.
    A number of cardboard boxes littered the floor, and she began looking through them. The boxes contained a variety of ordinary household junk material. No rotting meat. No body parts.
    But the smell was coming from somewhere.
    She moved deeper into the cellar. Feeling around in the darkness, coughing from the overpowering smell, she stumbled over a stray box that was so heavy it refused to budge even with her running into it. The smell seemed stronger than ever. She ripped at the brown tape that snaked across the top of the box. Its sides seemed damp.
    ‘Em!’ Lizzy shouted from the top of the stairs.
    Emma continued to pull at the tape. It was difficult to see here, in the very back of the cellar. She turned to let some of the light from the kitchen reach the box.
    ‘Em! We’ve got to get out of here! Quick!’
    Finally Emma managed to open the box, and she instinctively recoiled. The smell rolled around her as she held her breath and peered inside. The box contained raw chicken, still in the supermarket packets. It was in the latter stages of decay, but she didn’t stop to look at it too closely.
    She turned, coughing and spluttering, and headed back towards the stairs. There was no time to investigate further. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, but at least her worst fears hadn’t been realised – that a body had been down there: Dan’s body.
    Lizzy was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. Her face was anguished. ‘Thank goodness you’re all right. C’mon!’ She pulled at Emma’s sleeve. ‘We’ve got to go, now!’
    ‘What’s the matter?’ Emma closed the basement door, feeling panicked. Lizzy looked terrified.
    ‘It’s Mrs Myers. She’s screaming Stephen’s name. It sounds like she’s having some kind of a breakdown up there. Please, can we go?’
    ‘Of course! Let’s get out of here.’
    They passed through the lounge into the hallway, counting the seconds until they could escape from this house of horrors and emerge into the real world. But the sight of a crying, bread-knife-wielding Mrs Myers blocking the exit brought them to a sudden halt.
    ‘You can’t leave,’ said Mrs Myers, holding the shaking blade towards them, tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘Not until you tell me where my Stephen is.’

22

    ‘You were going to leave, without even saying goodbye, just like he did,’ said Mrs Myers, taking a tiny, faltering step towards them. Emma mirrored her movement and held up her hands, while gesturing for Lizzy to retreat into the lounge.
    ‘I’m sorry, we were just going for a walk,’ Emma lied. Now was the time to tell Mrs Myers whatever she wanted to hear.
    Tell her anything to get out alive.
    ‘No.’ Mrs Myers shook her head and took another zombie-like step forward. Emma used those milliseconds to evaluate what she might do to get the knife off her. But it was difficult: the corridor was narrow, with little room to manoeuvre.
    ‘Let’s sit down and talk about it in the other room,’ Emma offered, trying out a smile.
    There would be more of a chance if she brought Mrs Myers into the lounge. Taking the knife by force, however, would be a last resort – her karate instructor had always stressed that talking, along with body language, was often the most effective weapon in a dangerous situation.
    ‘I love my son so much,’ said Mrs Myers, her face contorted with grief. She was grasping the knife so tightly that her knuckles were ivory white, contrasting against the dirt of the rest of her hands. ‘I miss him.’
    ‘I’m sure you do,’ Emma said, keeping her eye on the blade and stepping back again. Mrs Myers followed her into the lounge, step by step, as if they were linked together.
    Lizzy was standing at the back of the room and Emma shot her a comforting glance.
    ‘We’re going to talk about this,’ Emma said, to both Lizzy and Mrs Myers. ‘Do you want to give me the knife?’ Mrs Myers was looking around the living room, bug-eyed, as if it was the first time she’d ever been there.
    Emma watched the woman’s face