'Don't look, Lillian. Never look into the eyes of a Sin-Eater, you will be as cursed as he is and will forever languish in darkness.'
Lillian Elmes remembers the warning her mother gave her about the town's Sin-Eater only too well.
How could she n...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Mr. Carver grabs my wrist and pulls me along with him, backing away carefully from Mr. Hawkstone, who does not attempt to move, but stares at us with purple-rimmed eyes, his mouth moving as if he seeks to relinquish himself of that awful, blackened swollen tongue.
I do not struggle, but instead allow myself to be led, although how my terrified body moves freely, I know not. When we have reached a fair distance, Mr. Carver stops and scans the thickened copse of trees, as if he expects something else unimaginable to burst forth from the woodland. Seemingly satisfied when it does not, he begins tugging on my arm, urging me onwards until my feet again feel the crunch of the stone pathway beneath them.
'Wait,' I say, trying to pull free of his grasp. 'Where are we going?'
'To the house, of course.'
'What?' I squeak. 'I am not going in there with you.'
Mr. Carver stops and studies my face, his lips pursed tight. 'So, you came all the way here, just to see the outside of my house? How peculiar. I hope it was worth it, Miss Elmes. I'll take my leave then. Fret not, I'm sure Mr. Hawkstone will be more than happy to escort you back to town.'
With that, he releases his hold on my wrist and walks briskly towards the open door of his house.
Panicked, I stare wildly at the woodland, which still seems to bristle angrily, suddenly full of too many thorns and twisting vines as if it hungers for me to return so it can pull me into the sodden earth, perhaps to lay with Mr. Hawkstone, embraced against his bloated, slick body.
Mr. Carver is now at the porch, hastily gathering together the baskets and their spilled contents before entering the cottage without even so much as one glance backwards at me.
With a shriek, I scurry after him, slamming the door behind me and bracing my back against it. My breath cleaves in my throat, dry and rasping. I am making odd little squeaky noises which instantly make me feel pathetic and weak until I recall the squelching, wet sounds that Mr. Hawkstone had made.
The dead Mr. Hawkstone.
I clap a hand over my chest in a futile attempt to quell the maddening beat of my heart.
Blinking to clear the fog in my eyes, I freeze, suddenly aware that I am now in the home of the Sin-Eater.
I am alone.
Unchaperoned.
With a man they claim dwells in darkness and witchcraft.
What is worse, I wonder? To be out in the woodland, with a man I knew to be dead, or in here, with a man rumoured to be the Devil himself?
I look up, hardly daring to move.
The Devil stands by the window, peering out into the woods. The window height is low, and he has to bend to see out, his eyes narrowing as he does so.
