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Maggie

I lay under the covers, my heartbeat thumping inside my ribcage. The Williamson's must have left because I can no longer hear voices from downstairs. The house is quiet except for the moans and creaks in its walls. Shadows from the orchard flicker across my bedroom.

It's the apples. It has to be the apples.

The weight of everything – from the Incident, to father, to the necklace I found in the grave - crushes down on my chest. Earlier this evening I packed a rucksack. I want out of here.

I just need to persuade my family. I have to get them away from the orchard.

My mind keeps on flickering back to the disturbed earth underneath one of the trees. Is Ginny buried there? Could father really have done such a thing?

My door opens then shuts again jolting me out of my thoughts. My eyes dart across the room.

"Hello?"

There's no-one there.

I exhale. It was nothing, I'm on edge – that's all.

I stare upwards at the ceiling, and then I hear it; I hear a moist scratching sound. It's almost as though something large is crawling across my bedroom floor. My eyes widen – unseeing in the darkness. My heart rate accelerates. There's a smell too – death and apples.

What is that?!

The sound gets louder. Whatever it is – it is getting closer.

"Hello?" my voice comes out like a breathy whisper.

The scratching continues. Then as suddenly as it started, it stops. I exhale again.

Calm down Maggie – it was probably a mouse.

But the smell...

I pull the covers closer to me and sink further down into the mattress – covering my nose with the sheets. Then there is a light tap from underneath my bed frame.

My body turns cold. I feel every hair on my body stand on end.

There's something underneath my bed.

I don't want to look. Every fibre of my being is telling me not to look. But I have to.

Very slowly I peer over the side of my bed onto the floor. My breathing is shallow, my hands trembling. I can hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears. I bend down, leaning over the side of the bed.

I take a deep breath and I lift up the sheets.

Ginny slowly turns her head. Her face is covered in dirt. Her eyelids have rotted off and her bulging eyeballs look like they are about to fall out of her head. There is mouldy flesh hanging from her cheekbones.

She smiles widely at me, opening her mouth and releasing a sickening odour.

I scream and throw myself off the bed, twisting my ankle as I land in the middle of the floor. A decaying arm extends from under my bed frame, its palm facing upwards as though expecting something.

Without waiting to see anything else I grab my dressing gown, throw on my rucksack and bolt through the door. 

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