Backwards Into Hell

Part Three: Everybody Dies

Abigail's Diary

Friday 29th October

As the vans sped away, my heart cracked.

Should I have done something? Tried to stop them?

That would have only led to my own arrest. So instead of ushering in some great heroic moment, I pulled my cap down and used the cover of the disaster to retreat to my tent.

Everything was just as I had left it that night. My sleeping bag lay unzipped in the centre, a dirty pile of clothes sat in the corner, and my book, the one book I'd thought to take, almost tripped me up as I slithered inside, slipping in the wet.

I peeled off my raincoat and hat and picked it up.

The Hungry, Hungry Lion.

It was a favourite of Caleb's and detailed the story of a lion cub, kinder than his friends, who refused to hunt the gazelles. I ran my fingers over the soft cover and felt wetness on my cheek.

Pull yourself together.

What use were tears when Caleb was out there, alone?

I had to do something—if only to distract myself from the more and more real possibility that my little boy wasn't coming back. Whatever kind of monster was killing the other guests would have no difficulty with a child.

A cold finger of anxiety crawled up my neck.

I couldn't think like that. Not yet.

So, after checking the news for updates on the new body—there weren't any—I escaped the tent and ran through the dying darkness to Sapphire's tent.

She would know what to do.

It was still nighttime, but sunrise was just a few short hours away and even if it meant waking Sapphire, I had to see her then. Daylight was too dangerous.

I unzipped the tent door and stuck out my head. Slight snores came from the tent next to mine but apart from that, nothing. The camp was quiet and calm.

I pulled on a pair of gloves I'd stolen from Sam's and my warmest jumper before venturing out. In the last few days, the weather had turned, going from cold to bitterly cold, and as hotel rooms freed up, families were leaving their camped-out existence for warm rooms, soft beds, and good food.

I stood and gazed over the camp. In the darkness, it took a while to identify Sapphire's tent, but the smell of the incense confirmed it.

Even at this hour, a gaggle of journalists hovered by the police line. Perhaps they work in shifts, I thought, almost tripping over a stray tent peg.

Finally, I reached Sapphire's tent. It was one of the biggest in camp and was coloured a beautiful light blue and was just one big compartment, about eight by three metres and with more than enough space for two.

I crouched in front of the door, wondering how to get her attention.

Because it was too dangerous to make a noise, I instead opted to pull back the zip—not many people bothered to keep their tents secure here. With so many of us in camp—and such a big police presence—we presumed we were safe.

The rest of the zip drew back easily enough, and with one last glance into the dark, I slipped in.

I thought it best to close the door behind me in case Sapphire screamed when she woke. It would be fine, though. She would understand.

Now safely inside, I switched on my phone torch.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next.

The inside of the tent had been torn apart. Sapphire's belongings were strewn across the floor: dozens of charms, bracelets, and necklaces broken, no longer in their cases.

I gasped on the cold air. What had happened here?

I passed the torch around the tent, taking in the devastation, when I spotted the sleeping bag in the corner, zipped to the top and surrounded by piles of Sapphire's long colourful dresses.

Someone must have been searching for something.

Sapphire's okay, I told myself, crawling through the mess. Plenty of people slept with the bag pulled up. And maybe she was just a little messier than she first appeared.

Feeling my heart in my ears, I reached for the sleeping bag.

It wasn't empty.

I felt the top to make sure. It was solid. Cold. I took a long breath, reached forward with shivering hands, and gently tugged at the zip.

Except the zip stuck slightly. It was a cheap sleeping bag with frayed edges, after all. I yanked it harder. It fell away like banana peel. I steeled myself before running my hand over the fabric and slowly, so slowly, pulled back the top.

It was Sapphire.

And she was cold. And she was grey. And the bottom of the sleeping bag was caked with dry blood.

My arms, suddenly too weak to hold me up, collapsed. I couldn't stay for long.

My chest shuddered and my throat closed, and I cried for the second time that day. It was a quiet, painful sensation that left me dizzy as I crawled away, sliding through the jewelry.

The bracelet Sapphire gave me felt heavy on my wrist as I held the charms between my fingers.

Who would do this? Who could?

I fumbled with the zip and burst into the cold air. My lungs burned, and I gasped as they filled with ice.

Not Sapphire. Not wonderful, kind Sapphire.

I had to go.

Faster.

A dash to my tent. I barely remember it now. I just remember the cold, and the slippy mud, and the sight of Sapphire's face. Blank.

Once I'd reached safety, I sat alone in the dark for hours and cried. Everything had risen to the surface in a moment, Sapphire, Caleb, and David.

What had happened to my life?

The tears came and came and I thought they would never stop. But as the sun rose, they did.

The camp sprang into its usual life, and I watched it all, like a shadow from my tent. There had to be some way to raise the alarm without giving my position away because if someone had killed once, they'd do it again.

The Spirit's face danced across my mind as I remembered his words, and what he'd asked me to do.