'Your grandfather is right, Lily, you are a monster of sorts. It would have been far better if you had never been born.’

Twisting in his chair, Uncle Noah took a parcel from the shelf behind him. He spun back around to face me; shoved the parcel across the desk in front of him.

‘I want you to have this; your mother asked me to give it to you on your eighteenth birthday. You’re not to open it until then, not under any circumstances, okay?’

‘Okay. But if I can’t open it, why are you giving it to me now?’

‘Because, Lily, I fear I may not be around on your eighteenth birthday.’ He paused, and sat looking at me. ‘Ah, Lily, I’ve kept you in the dark, but it’s for your own good, your own safety. One more year won’t hurt you.’

Every time we shared these conversations, this was all I got. It was useless pressing him for more because he was a sealed book. Whatever I had to fear was always going to be there. And yet, the only thing that worried me was that I’d never know exactly what it was until it was standing right in front of me. I was so mad at him. He could’ve told me what was likely to happen. He had no problem telling me that my grandad only saw me as a potential neck snap, but he wouldn’t say more than that. He talked about the danger all the time, but never gave me answers to my questions. I was living on a knife’s edge, but didn’t have the faintest idea why.

Uncle Noah was always saying stuff to me like: ‘Never go out in the garden alone, Lily, you know it’s dangerous.’

Or ‘No, Lily, you can’t walk to school, don’t be ridiculous — you know the streets are full of bad people.’

Or ‘Don’t go past the front gates, Lily. It’s for your own safety.’ You’d think he was an occupational health and safety officer, not a fantasy fiction writer.

I often thought about running away. After all, nothing scared me, and I was sure someone would take me in. I also thought about the big wide world, what my life would be like outside of this house and even this village. But I just didn’t have the heart to leave him. It made me feel better knowing he was old, and would probably be dead soon, and then I’d be free.

‘I’m going to show you a secret tunnel, Lily,’ Uncle Noah said as I sat deep in thought.

‘Lily!’ he shouted.

‘Yeah? What?’ I said, snapping out of it.

‘On the bookshelf right there,’ he said, pointing, ‘– on the third shelf down — there’s a copy of the Nocturnal Academy.’ ‘Great book, that one,’ I spurted out.

‘Concentrate, Lily! This is important!’

‘Sorry!’ I muttered.

‘Behind that book is a button. If you press the button, a panel to a corridor will open. At the end of the corridor is a ladder leading down to an underground tunnel that runs the length of our garden and comes up beside the big old oak tree on the other side of the back fence.’

‘A secret tunnel? Seriously?’ I said.

Uncle Noah stood and came around the desk to where I sat. He put his hands on my shoulders and said gravely, ‘Now, Lily, if anything happens to me, I want you to take that parcel and disappear through the tunnel. Don’t waste one second, do you hear? Do not stay in this house — do not call the police — and especially, not your grandad, not under any circumstances. Do you understand?’

I looked at him, confused. Said nothing. Was he losing the plot spending so many hours locked away up here writing? Had he written fantasy fiction for so long he was now lost in it? Silly old bugger. Has the train left the station without him?

‘Listen, Lily! Your life is at stake here. If I’m not here to protect you, I don’t know what might happen, but it will not be good. So, listen and do as I say!’

‘Okay, okay, you’re hurting me,’ I said.

He let go of my shoulders.

‘In truth, Lily, you mean nothing to me, but I promised your mother I would keep you safe. I’ve done so for seventeen years, with great difficulty, and now we are heading towards your eighteenth birthday everything is about to change. It’s going to get much worse. The stress of keeping you safe is making me ill.’

His cold words, like a straight–shooting arrow, hit me in the heart.

‘W-what?’ I stuttered. ‘Are you going crazy, Uncle Noah?’

‘No, I’m not crazy — just stupid to have made a promise to my sister when I knew I would be unable to see it through. And you, Lily, you don’t seem to have a care in the world. You should be scared for your life, but you are not taking this seriously at all. Over the years, I have tried to warn you; tried to prepare you for the worst. But all I see is a smile and a shrug of the shoulders. Honestly, what’s wrong with you?’

‘Well, I don’t know, do I? Because you won’t bloody tell me,’ I blurted out.

Grabbing the parcel, I ran from the room. This anger was overtaking me. Oh yes, this was an emotion I couldn’t shut out. It seemed to have just popped up in me over the last few months, and the more pissed off I got, the more it seemed to grow.

Up in my room, I shoved the parcel on top of my wardrobe then sat in the triangular window space that jutted from the brickwork over the front porch. I sat in there a lot, and this time I closed the curtains behind me. With a window either side of me, I could see up and down the road — not a busy road — just the usual leafy avenue with rows of detached Victorian houses. All of them had high walls at the front and huge gardens at the back: a great place to play with friends. But I didn’t have any. As a kid, I was pretty much a loner. Most summers were boring; birthdays and Christmas’s were pretty shitty too. In truth, I had no one, and now I knew he didn’t love me, the loneliness threatened to crush me like a bug.

It felt strange hearing him say I meant nothing to him. It made me feel something, somewhere deep inside. Was this sadness or despair? Was this how my uncle and grandad felt when my mum died? Was this why they thought I was a monster? Because they thought I was the reason she died.

For a moment, I felt their pain, and I got it — got why they couldn’t love me? There was a picture on the wall that I’d been given for one of my birthdays. It was a drawing of a little girl cuddling a grown man — I suppose her dad — and underneath, in curly writing, it said ‘A promise is a promise, and I promise to love you always’.

Had he loved me when he’d bought that for me?

I guess he must have, but now I meant nothing to him. How was that possible? What had changed since then? Maybe I simply hadn’t noticed that he was growing to hate me.

I glared at the picture. It made me feel crazy inside, crazier than usual. Suddenly the picture burst into flames. I gasped and jumped down from the window space; threw a glass of water at the canvas, which put out the flames but knocked everything on my tallboy to the floor, including a lit candle.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ I said, stamping out the flames on the rug.

Crap, what just happened? I’ve burnt the rug. Uncle Noah will be so pissed.

I pulled a box of vinyls onto the corner of the rug to hide the burnt patch. The vinyls belonged to my mum, and I played them often on an old record player Uncle Noah had given me. I popped one onto the turntable — Sunday Girl by Blondie — and gently placed the arm down. The tiny needle scratched the record slightly as it touched the surface. Oh, how I loved the sound of old vinyl records. When I played them it was so ghostly, almost like the singer was there in the room with me. Sometimes the record would crackle lightly, showing its age. It made me think about the past and calmed me down when I was upset.

I sat back in the window space, opened my diary and started to write. A while later, when I was feeling better, I peeked through a gap in the curtains; stared up at the top of my wardrobe and wondered what was in the parcel. Could I ignore my uncle’s rules and open it? No, I’d better not. I wanted to, but couldn’t, even though I’d just found out that his love wasn’t real. I grabbed a book instead and snuck into bed with a torch; read under the covers until I fell asleep.

In the morning, I left early for school before my uncle was up. I didn’t want to risk eye contact with him after yesterday’s moment of truth. I couldn’t face him. Plus, I was still angry that I’d been forced to feel an emotion I hadn’t felt before, something that left me feeling unsafe and totally alone for the first time in my life. He wouldn’t be happy with me leaving the house alone, but right then I didn’t really care. I climbed over the front gates of the house because I didn’t want to ask him for the key. Landing on the other side, I stopped and peered back through the bars, up to my uncle’s study window. A hand pulled the curtain back slightly. He seemed to be watching me from the shadows for a moment, then the curtain dropped back into place, and I sprinted up the road as fast as I could, in case he decided to come after me. There was no way I was getting in a car with that pig this morning — absolutely no way!

I’d never been out alone; always had someone with me wherever I went. The rest of the time I was locked behind those gates and kept inside the house, except on warm summer days when I’d sometimes sit out the back under the trees watching the gardener, Tallis, mow the lawn. I loved the smell of freshly cut grass, and also liked Tallis because he was young like me — about twenty or so. Sometimes it was nice being around someone closer to my age, rather than my miserable old uncle.

Tallis was the youngest member of Uncle’s staff. Standing about 6ft tall, he had stony brown hair, stormy blue eyes, and a body to die for. A tattooed sleeve of spirits entwined around his arm — not the usual skull and crossbones stuff — but a beautiful piece of artwork in a semi-pale grey that blended perfectly with his suntanned skin. He was eye candy for my soul. If my uncle knew I felt this way about Tallis, I’m sure he’d have me fitted with one of those chastity belts I’d read about in history books.

So, this freedom was a first for me. I kept looking back as the autumn leaves crunched beneath my feet, but no one followed. Surprised by this, I walked slower, which gave me a chance to catch my breath, and looked back again. Still no one followed.

Maybe because I’d just turned seventeen, he’d decided to let me out alone. But this was hard to believe. I also wasn’t quite brave enough to go back and ask him.

Just then a familiar car started coming up the hill, and I dived behind a broken picket fence; crouched down; peeked through the gaps and the high grass growing between them. It was Grandad’s car. As he passed by me, I could see three other men inside; they were all listening to what he said. They didn’t even look my way, and I waited until they were well past the end of my road before I shot out from my hiding place and headed up the road as fast as I could. I wondered what they were doing in this neighbourhood. Maybe they’d been visiting my uncle. Seems odd. But I was glad I’d left the house before they saw me. Maybe Uncle Noah was expecting them, and that’s why he didn’t come after me? Yeah, that would be why. Even if I meant nothing to him, he had made a promise to my mum to keep me safe, and I’m sure he wouldn’t go back on that.

Tallis had once said that my uncle was nothing, if not a man of his word.

Eventually, I reached my school. I wasn’t used to walking that far, and I hadn’t timed it right. I was at least half an hour late, and John Roan’s bell had filled the classrooms when I was still a good mile down the road. After chucking my stuff into my locker, I made my way to class.

‘Morning, Lily. It’s not like you to be late,’ said Mr Page. ‘Don’t get comfortable. You have to go to the office.’

‘Why?’

‘Your grandad was here looking for you about fifteen minutes ago. He said your uncle was ill and he needed to take you home. I assume that’s why you’re late, but you’d better get the all-clear from the office before you go.’

A sudden rush of emotion washed over me, so uncommon to me. What was happening? I’d spent years feeling absolutely nothing, then in a matter of just two days, all of this, all at once. Sadness, anger, bitterness, and now this one, the worst feeling of all. Fear!

I ran from the classroom, but instead of heading for the office or the front entrance, I bolted out the back doors and up the hill to the woods behind. I ran fast; scrambled through the mud and leaves. Twigs and branches tore my clothes. My eyes felt wet, and I looked up. Is it raining? No. Overcast, but not raining. I wiped my face with the palm of my hand. My eyes were definitely wet. What is this?

Then a lump formed in my throat. I’m crying! I had seen this in girls of my age, but had never experienced it: Me, Lily Du Plessis: insensitive, unemotional, and lately, perhaps a little irrational but never upset, Lily.

I’m crying real tears.

I needed to pull myself together; needed to think straight. What should I do now? Run home to Uncle? What if he’s in trouble? Will I be able to help? What if he isn’t? Will he be able to protect me if those three guys and my grandad decide to get nasty? Shit! How will I reach the parcel and the tunnel if I can’t go home? What if I’m safer at home than here in the woods?

So many questions filled my head, I couldn’t think straight. So, for a little while, I sat under a big old tree and let my emotions get the better of me.

An hour later it started to rain, and I ran for cover behind the school sports shed. When it slowed to a drizzle, I made my way out the gates and along the heath road. It was an open area and possibly not safe, but I had no other option. The big church, with its tall spire, stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of the common. I rushed along as the autumn breeze whipped my face and made my eyes water as I tried to cross the heath as quickly as I could. My heart beat so fast at the thought of bumping into my grandad.

Soon as I reached the village, and felt safer; less obvious. I ducked in and out of shop doorways; made my way along the pavement, up and out past the music conservatory, and turned the corner into my road. I ran along the tree-lined avenue towards the high, moss-covered stone wall that surrounded our front garden. When I reached there, the black, wrought iron gates were not only unlocked but also stood wide open. Strange! But I guessed Uncle Noah knew I wasn’t there — he’d seen me leave for school. Maybe this was how it was during the school day; maybe he only locked them when I was home to keep me safe.

Nevertheless, an awful feeling gnawed in the pit of my stomach. Call it second sense or something else, but deep inside, I knew something was wrong. The feeling crept up my skin; electrified the tips of my hair, which stood on end. My hair turned clammy against my face, and my breath shortened. As panic began to rise, I fought the urge to throw up.

Sneaking around the side of the house, staying clear of the front, I moved around to the back garden and looked through the downstairs window, then crept through the back door. Tiptoeing along the highly polished wooden floorboards, afraid they might creak under the weight of my sneakers, I silently ascended the stairs to the second floor. At the top of the second flight, I heard a car, and quickly checked — it was Grandad coming along the avenue again.

I scurried up the next flight, passing my uncle’s study on the way up to my bedroom.

And there I froze.

Uncle Noah was slumped on his desk; a pool of blood from a wound in his neck spread out around him. He’d obviously been dead a while as the blood had turned thick and sticky, like plum sauce. This was definitely grounds for calling the police, even though I’d been told not to call them, or anyone else for that matter.

I hurried to my room; grabbed a backpack and stuffed everything important into it, including the parcel. Then I grabbed my jacket and rushed back down to the study. Moving the book on the third shelf down, I pressed the hidden button. The wall opened a crack. I pushed the book back into place and slipped in, closing the panel behind me.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, then muffled voices. I froze; hardly dared to breathe. My gaze fixed on the ladder at the end of the corridor and, while I knew I should be making my escape I was too scared to move — too scared they’d hear me — too scared my grandad would snap my bloody neck! Then I heard Grandad talking to someone.

‘Where is she?’

‘We don’t know. We went to the school, twice, and checked everywhere.’

‘You’re a pair of imbeciles. Can’t you do anything right? She’s just a defenceless kid, surely it shouldn’t be too hard to trace her.’ ‘She’s hardly defenceless, sir. I mean, if the story is true, you know — about her mum –’

‘That’s my daughter you’re talking about so you watch your

tongue! And if she’d lived, she’d have killed Lily herself. Instead, that horror of a kid killed her before she had the chance.’

The room fell silent.

I flinched behind the panel. Had I breathed in too sharply? Had they heard me gasp in shock? Shit!

My hands started trembling. I held my breath; leant against the wall to stop my legs from shaking.

‘She’s pure evil, that kid; has been since the day she was born. Don’t let that prettiness fool you — those fiery brown eyes and that beautiful face. With her dark hair and porcelain skin, she looks just like her old man, and her soul is as black as coal. She killed my daughter, and now she’s killed my son. I want her dead!’ He brought his fist down hard on the desk.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Grandad thought I’d killed Uncle Noah? He actually thought I could do such a thing? And how wrong was I to think that he’d killed his own son? But this left a nagging question: If I didn’t kill Uncle Noah, and Grandad didn’t kill Uncle Noah, then who did?

Maybe the person at the study window this morning wasn’t uncle at all. Maybe he was already dead when I left the house. Perhaps he was already dead when Grandad drove into our street. So, who the hell drew back the curtain and watched me leave? And why didn’t he come after me?

‘Try the school again. She has to be somewhere. I’ll wait here for the police. She has no family and nowhere to go. Wherever she is, she has to come home sometime, and when she does –’

He must have made a comment I didn’t hear because the two other men laughed. I heard their footsteps as they left the room and hurried down the stairs; heard the car start up and reverse out of the driveway. Then the floorboards creaked as Grandad walked across the room to the door. There he stopped. He must have turned around, because I heard his footsteps again, coming closer to the bookshelf. He was checking the shelf of the panel I stood behind. Moving books. Lifting them out. Putting them back. I seriously could have pissed myself right then I was so scared. I shouldn’t have stayed to listen. I should’ve been long gone. Shit! If he just touched the wrong book, I’d be discovered. Run for it! Panic beat like a drum in my chest.

Panic makes you react in the wrong way sometimes.

The thought calmed me down; helped me think straight.

Accordingly, my breathing calmed; my pulse slowed. I closed my eyes, and it was like I wasn’t there. I was on the other side of the panel; inside my grandad, controlling his every move. I imagined him putting the book he held back in place and turning away from the shelf. I imagined him walking towards the door and out into the hallway.

It was the weirdest feeling, yet felt strangely familiar.

I had complete control of him for just a few minutes. I opened my eyes, and the sound of him had gone. The room outside was quiet. Footsteps now echoed from the ground floor. A television turned on. Now was my chance to get the hell out of there while the television drowned out any noise.

Sidling along the dark corridor to its end, I descended the ladder, nearly tripping over something hard at the bottom. Groping around in the darkness, I found a tin — obviously left there by my uncle so I’d find it. I picked it up and stuffed it under my jacket; made my way along the tunnel to the exit beside the big old oak tree on the opposite side of the fence. Warily, I climbed out, looking both ways to check the coast was clear. Then I dashed across the road and up the hill to the woods, where I crept deep into the trees, hoping no-one would find me. I had to decide where to go and what to do next.

Finding a large hollow oak tree, I crawled in through the thick shrubbery around the base; sat within its shelter and waited for nightfall — waited until it was pitch black. I’ll be safe here for a while. When the moon was huge in the sky, I’d make my move, to where I really didn’t know, but it would be as far away from the house as I could get — that seemed the most sensible plan.

Then I thought about Uncle Noah. Dead — completely.

My emotions had been so up and down the last two days: I had bawled my eyes out for the first time ever in the woods behind the school, and yet, knowing Uncle was dead, didn’t stir up any emotions at all.

Maybe he’d actually meant nothing to me. Like I’d meant nothing to him.