Free The String Diaries by Stephen Lloyd Jones Page B

had the potential to swing the needle of probability in their favour.
    Fight or flee.
    ‘You’re right, she needs to sleep in a proper bed.’ Hannah finished her tea and placed the mug on the counter. ‘But I don’t want her waking up alone. Not after all this. Can you show me around upstairs? There must be a master bedroom.’
    ‘Front of the house.’
    ‘Then she can sleep in there with me.’
    Sebastien nodded, wincing as he pulled himself out of the armchair. He clanked his mug down on the counter next to hers.
    Hannah went to the sofa and knelt at Nate’s side. He was still asleep, his pallor as awful and as frightening as when she had first turned on the Discovery’s overhead light. He breathed in shallow spasms. She wanted to check under the pads to see if the bleeding had stopped, but Sebastien had warned her not to disturb the bindings. She kissed the top of his head and smoothed his hair.
    The Maglite was by the fireplace where she had left it. Hannah picked it up. Even though Sebastien had managed to start the generator and they had electricity to power the lights, she found the solid heft of its aluminium casing reassuring. ‘Let’s go and check out upstairs,’ she said.
    Sebastien turned to the dog and gestured in Nate’s direction. ‘Stay here. Keep watch.’ Moses pricked up an ear. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he panted agreement.
    In the hallway, Sebastien flipped the light switch. A frosted bulb lit up a chandelier hung with dust-coated crystal. The light cast an eerie patina of shapes on to wallpaper lifting at its seams and brown with age. A door opposite the kitchen led to a dark living room. She could see the outlines of old furniture. Chill air leached from the doorway. Further down the hall a second door, this one closed, concealed what she presumed was a dining room.
    She followed Sebastien to the front door. He turned and led her up the stairs, wooden treads creaking beneath his feet. The passageway grew murkier as they ascended, the light from the downstairs hall unable to banish the shadows from the upper level of the house.
    They came to a landing and a tall chest of drawers. A display case stood upon it, the front smeared with grime. Inside, the glass eyes of a stuffed peregrine falcon watched her. The specimen was pitiful with age, its feathers brittle, some of them missing. A stain of brown had spread across the front of its chest. She vowed to get rid of it first thing in the morning.
    Off to their right, the stairs rose again. Sebastien went first and they arrived at a long passageway. He flicked on a light switch. The ceiling bulb, enclosed in a fabric shade, remained dark. He toggled the switch back and forth and shrugged. ‘Must have blown. Come on, this way.’
    At the end of the hallway he opened a door and turned on another light. She stepped into a large bathroom. In one corner stood a cold and uninviting roll-top, a verdigris stain around the plughole. A rusted metal shower hose snaked up from the mixer unit, its head hanging limp from a bracket, as if its neck had been broken. The shower curtain was spotted with black mould. On the basin next to the toilet, a plastic tub contained a dried brown sliver of soap.
    ‘Probably could do with a once-over,’ Sebastien muttered.
    ‘You don’t say.’
    ‘We can spruce it up a bit tomorrow. Come on, I’ll show you the master bedroom.’
    ‘I can’t wait.’
    He indicated a door and she poked her head inside. The room was huge, two tall sash windows overlooking the driveway below. The wind was fiercer up here, howling as it battered itself against the walls. Sebastien reached for the bedroom light switch but she knocked his hand away. ‘Don’t. We’re more exposed on this side of the house. Let me close those curtains first.’
    ‘As you wish.’
    ‘I know it’s unlikely, but I’d feel better if I knew no one could see inside.’
    ‘Can’t blame you for that.’
    Hannah went to the heavy drapes and pulled