Free Twisted Winter by Catherine Butler Page B

me.” I could pretty much hear him thrusting the phone at her. “He’s on speed dial!”
    He knew she would never phone at that time of night – and by morning, what would be the point? Iheard her and Dad talking in bed later, though. Mum was crying – the kind of half-quiet weeping that’s louder because you’re trying to hide it.
    It’s hard to say when I first knew something was badly wrong. Part of me guessed long before I could face it head on. Dark thoughts were gathering at the window, tap-tap-tap, and in the end I had to let them in.
    Let’s just say that I’d been waiting up for Adam too.
    * * *
    The next morning I was out of bed early. It was still dark when I let myself into the garden. The frost was so sharp I mistook it for snow. I left my footprints in the grass as I walked to the spot where Adam had vaulted the fence the night before. He could have walked up the path like any normal person, but he’d erupted with a yelp, over the fence and onto the lawn. I’d seen it clearly from my window. He’d looked as if he’d been running, but that wasn’t necessarily suspicious. After all, running was what he did best.
    I moved to the rose bush near the shed, wary of the thorns. That was where he’d thrown something the night before – carelessly, like a toy he’d grown tired of. A round object, about the size of a cricket ball.
    It didn’t take long to find it, frosted and tangled with the woody stems of the roses. I didn’t want to pick it up, but I made myself.
    It had been part of a tabby cat, once. The markings were still visible beneath the gloops of frozen blood and spit. A little stub of ear poked up, and the jaw hung loose. I don’t know what had become of the body – perhaps it was spread-eagled on a lawn somewhere? – but there was no doubt that Adam had come home last night carrying a severed head.
    Mum did not wait up the next night, or the night after that. But I did. I saw the Hunter’s Moon rise and prowl across the sky, breaking cover from the thin clouds. I saw the lawn turn ghostly as the night frost bit. And I saw Adam return in the small hours both times – never by the front gate, always prickling with energy, always streaked with dark. When I slept, I dreamed of sharp teeth and matted hair.
    I could not face another night like that.
    It was already getting dark when I walked into hisroom without knocking. That was a crime in itself, of course. Teenage boys’ rooms were private; you never knew what you were going to find.
    Adam was eating a ham and ketchup sandwich, messily. “What do you want, Nell?”
    â€œMum asked me to bring your plate down, if you’ve finished with it,” I improvised. “How’s the training?”
    â€œGood.” He licked his fingers clean. “Been going for some long runs.”
    I sat on the bed, and said in what I hoped was a casual voice, “You shouldn’t overdo it. You’re not getting enough sleep.”
    He scowled. “I sleep just fine.”
    â€œYou got in at three this morning. You kept it quiet, but I heard.”
    â€œWhat if I did? What’s it to you, Nell?” Suddenly he was hostile and suspicious. Ketchup was leaking from the sandwich as he gripped it. Disgusting.
    â€œI’m just worried about you,” I said weakly.
    â€œThanks, but when I need a babysitter I’ll let you know. All right?”
    That
was
ketchup, wasn’t it?
    â€œSee you later, Nell.” He reached for his headphones.
    I yelped out: “What happened to Lucy’s cat?”
    I hadn’t meant to ask out of the blue like that, but the words jumped off my tongue.
    He looked startled for a moment, but then he gazed back at me very steadily: “What did you say?”
    â€œCan you swear you had nothing to do with what happened to her cat? Or the others since then? Have you and your mates been playing some