Twisted Winter Read Online Free

Come on, tell us what you feel!”
    Julian joined the cheery circle, noting with satisfaction the difference between his family’s impressive Hallowe’en outfits and the home-made masks of the principled Macaulays. George directed his father’s hand to the hole in the black-draped box on the coffee table, and Julian dutifully reached inside.
    â€œIt’s awful!” hissed Freddie Thomson, giggling. “It’s really disgusting!”
    Julian groped, and felt.
Olives
, he thought.
Some things never change. Olives in olive oil
. He made a revolted face, and a suitable sound to match.
    â€œEeeuw!” he said. “Eyeballs! Cats’ eyeballs!”
    The children happily shrieked in triumph, and then it was Charlie Ransom’s turn, his daughter having forgotten that he was the one who had opened thetin of cocktail sausages that he would soon identify, shuddering with horror, as babies’ fingers.
    But just as he began, there was a disturbance at the front door: a sudden eruption of unexpected music, drowning out the soft background pop oozing from the stereo. It was live music, a high, lively sequence of notes played on a pipe and a stringed instrument that most of them had never heard before, and in from the front hall came two tall dancing figures dressed in chequered orange tights with black face-masks across their eyes: two Harlequins, playing a tabor and a lute.
    Charlie Ransom’s wife was calling him from the door, and in her voice he heard a faint note of panic.
    â€œCharles! Mrs Wallace is here!”
    But already everything had stopped, everyone had turned, entranced, to see the happy Harlequins – and the tall lady at the door, allowing James Macaulay to take her cloak. Part of her height was her eighteenth-century wig, a high pile of curls above a brilliant, elaborate long dress, and in her hand was the stem of an astonishing brocade face-mask studded with glittering stones. She held the mask over her face and reached out a graceful hand to Ruth Ransom and her bristling chin.
    â€œHappy Hallowe’en, Mistress Witch!” said Mrs Wallace. “My nephews brought you some music!”
    The Harlequins had effortlessly taken control of the room; the children loved them, copying every move as they danced round the room, playing. All the games were forgotten, even the babies’ fingers.
    Then for a moment the music stopped. The Harlequins paused, looking back at the front door. Mrs Wallace had her hand on the shoulder of one more figure, swathed in a black hooded cloak.
    â€œAnd one more Hallowe’en friend!” Mrs Wallace said warmly.
    â€œAllow me,” said James Macaulay politely, reaching round for the black cloak – and as the hood fell back, the whole house seemed suddenly gripped by a deathly chill. The Hallowe’en mask inside the hood was an appalling face of vicious evil, deeply lined, the mouth curled in a snarl, the eyes glaring. Its malevolence was more powerful than any monster mask they had ever seen, perhaps because its lines were so human.
    They all stared. It was an ancient, twisted, baleful face, and on its forehead were two stumps, bleeding. For a moment, everyone in the room was afraid.
    Julian Hogg stood motionless, feeling as though an icy hand had gripped him by the back of the neck.
    The smallest Fothergill child began to cry.
    At once the Harlequins began their music again, a cheerful, jaunty tune. The man in the mask, a dark figure in black jeans and turtleneck, bent his terrible head towards Mrs Wallace in a little bow, and they began to dance. The tension in the room dropped at once, and the children began their capering again.
    Julian Hogg shook his head, bemused, and went to find himself another drink.
    The room filled with music and laughter; it was a happy Hallowe’en. After a while the lights dimmed, and the hosts, the witch-hag and the pirate, brought in a bowl of fruit punch flickering with little flames.