6
I began to crawl up the dark well towards the tiny pinpoint of light at the top. It looked a tough job, but I kept at it because somewhere close a woman was screaming.
Then quite suddenly I was at the top of the well, and sunlight blinded me. I heard myself groan, and as I tried to sit up, the top of my head seemed to fly off. I grabbed hold of it and rode
the pain, cursing. The woman kept on screaming. The sound chilled my blood.
I made the effort. The floor tilted under my feet as I stood up, but I crossed the room. I walked like I was breasting a hundred mile gale.
I reached the bedroom door, clung on to the doorpost and looked into the sitting-room.
Miss Wonderly was standing pressed against the opposite wall. Her arms were widespread, her hands flat on the egg-blue paint. She was as bare as the back of my hand, and her mouth hung open. As I looked at her, she screamed again.
My head felt as if it was stuffed full of cotton wool, but the scream wormed its way through and jarred all the nerves in my teeth.
I shitted my eyes from her to the floor. John Herrick lay on his back, his arms bent stiffly to the ceiling, his hands clenched. The front of his forehead was shoved in, and black blood stained his white hair and formed a gruesome halo around his head.
Heavy fists beat on the door. Someone shouted.