With a shout, he broke across the clearing, running so fast he nearly toppled over,
and he threw himself towards her, towards her out-reaching hands as the dark fists pulled her over the edge.
And his hands caught hers. This was the nightmare. This was the nightmare that woke him up screaming every night.
This was it happening, right now, right here. He was on the cliff edge, bracing himself,
holding onto his mother’s hands with all his strength, trying to keep her from being pulled down into the blackness,
pulled down by the creature below the cliff. Who he could see all of now.
The real monster, the one he was properly afraid of, the one he’d expected to see when the yew tree first showed up,
the real, nightmare monster, formed of cloud and ash and dark flames, but with real muscle, real strength,
real red eyes that glared back at him and flashing teeth that would eat his mother alive.
I’ve seen worse, Conor had told the yew tree that first night. And here was the worse thing.
“Help me, Conor!” his mum yelled. “Don’t let go!” “I won’t!” Conor yelled back. “I promise!”
The nightmare monster gave a roar and pulled harder, its fists straining around his mother’s body.
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