The word refused to leave his mind:

Checkmate.

It hung around him like noose, choking him until he felt he couldn't breathe. But it was all he had left of his mother. So, he clung to it, even as he darted to his bedroom and snatched up his phone. He was just about to dial 999 when he stopped, his whole body freezing up. He tried to move his fingers, but they wouldn't obey. Then a mumbling – a voice – entered his mind.

Don't call the police, it said. The sound vibrated through his nerves and he dropped the phone onto the carpet. For a while, time seemed to stop and all he could do was stare at the chess piece and the note sitting on the floor.

Go to the manor. The voice slowly resumed, as if it had to be careful what it said. When he didn't move the voice repeated the instruction.

Go to the manor. Once again, he didn't move. He sat, and he resisted. His fingers crinkled at the knuckles. He was probably just hearing things. He had to face facts. The police wouldn't believe him and whatever had happened to his mother went way beyond the law. So, when the voice asked again, even it seemed to already know the answer.

No.

Sitting back, Jake let the coolness of the wall seep through his jacket. He'd ran out of ideas. So, he just sat in silence, staring at the chess piece, and wishing he'd been the one to disappear.

Hours. He sat there for hours, watching the moonlight shift into patches of silver on the carpet. Every so often, the light shone onto his mother's blood, reminding him of what he'd lost: everything. In the back of his mind, the voice tried again.

Get up, it said. This time, its words held more weight. Jake scrambled upwards, brandishing the broken lampshade at the darkness of the room.

"Who's there?" he snapped.

Go downstairs, the voice said again. More like demanded.

"Give me one good reason," he snarled at the thin air. He was definitely going insane.

What do you know Max? He thought bitterly. Turns out I do fit in at Crazyville after all.

You want to get your mother back don't you? The voice swept around his ears, and he dropped the lampshade soon after.

"Tell me how" he ordered. "Do you know who took her?" Instead the voice only repeated,

Go downstairs.

Jake walked like a zombie to the top of the stairs, feeling his way along the banister until he reached the hall.

"Now what?" he asked the silence. This was all a dream – a fever maybe. Perhaps it really was just a fevered dream and any minute now he'd wake up back in Manchester with Mum's cunning grin that told him he wasn't alone. The bite of the draft from the open door told him otherwise.

Go the door. Follow your feet into the woods, it said. Jake growled.

"No. No way. You're not real. You're just the shock, that's all," he told it, covering his ears.

That won't help you now, chuckled the voice and – before he knew it – he'd walked out into the early morning light.

"What the hell?" he cried.

Go into the woods. Now.

"Sure, I'll just abandon my sanity for the imaginary voice in my head. Why not?"

I assure you, I am not imaginary. The voice seemed to grip his chin.

"Okay then. Where are you?" he asked, trying to edge back towards the house. His feet wouldn't budge.

Inside your head. I thought that you could have at least figured that one out on your own. Given that it is your head and all.

"See. Inside my head. You're not real. Thanks awfully for your unhelpful help, but it's time for you to go now!" He fumbled desperately for control over his body. His feet still wouldn't budge.

Believe me, I couldn't go anywhere even if I wanted to, sighed the voice. You're not exactly the brightest of company.

"This coming from an echo in my own head," Jake hissed, but he started to walk towards the woods that lay behind the cul-de-sac. There was no footpath, so he was forced to improvise.

What am I doing? He asked himself. Over and over again. But as he continued to ask, he continued to walk, and before long he found himself in the middle of the woods. Bracken clambered around his ankles.

"Where to now?" he asked, suddenly wishing the voice was a real person. Just so he wasn't alone. In a forest. With ghosts. Well, potential ghosts. He hadn't seen any yet, but there was still time. When the voice didn't answer, he began to panic.

I was just hearing things. I'm such an idiot. He turned around, searching for the path of trodden down grass he'd created. The light was low, but he could just about make out the outline of his destruction. Relief flooded him, and he moved back towards it. When he was younger, Mum used to drag him out for painfully long walks around national parks or around rivers. Before he'd left to do DofE, she'd carted him off to Wrenbury and made him navigate their way around the paths for hours. He'd never missed her so much. Clenching his fists, he stopped and faced the woods again. The trees grew denser, the ground becoming harder to see. But he didn't care. That voice – whether it had been real or not – was the only help he was ever going to get. Jake pushed through the brambles, ignoring when branches caught his coat and tore the fabric. He just kept going.

Keep travelling upwards. The voice had returned, but it sounded grainy – like static on a television. Maybe strange telepathic voices needed signal too. Jake strained to hear its following words.

Hurry. There's... It phased out.

"There's what?" Jake stormed on, keeping to the upward route the voice had advised. The brambles coiled tighter, the grass stabbed through his socks. He didn't know why on earth he was doing this, but it was the only thing he had the power to do. So, he listened, and he walked. The voice didn't return. Not even when the trees gave way to the huge skeleton of a house. The manor. Just like Mum had said, police tape surrounded the main entrance, with signs telling anyone who was stupid enough to come how unsafe it was. But he was desperate, so safety didn't apply. The manor stood tall, despite the blackened bricks and the fact that half the roof was missing. Ashes clung to the windows, while the cracked glass glinted like spider webs in the rain. The front doors were neatly closed. He almost laughed, but that was probably the hysteria talking. His Mum had forced him to go to the manor after all. Stepping out from in amongst the nettles, he headed up the steps and pressed his fingers against the charcoaled wood. To his horror, the doors flew back, swinging open and letting in a gust of fresh air. Jake scrambled away, falling backwards onto the soil.

"Okay," he breathed. "That happened".

Graceful as ever, chuckled the voice.

"Where were you?" he snapped at it.

Somewhere, it responded quietly. Now go inside.

"Why? How is this supposed to help? I am supposed to die falling through the floorboards and be reunited with my mum that way?"

You're not funny, the voice growled.

"Yeah well, you're not exactly a four-star comedian yourself" he pointed out.

Such fire, the voice coughed. No wonder I can't... It phased out again, like it was in pain.

"Can't what?" But it was too late. The voice had already been silenced.

"Brilliant," Jake muttered, alone again. Whatever was happening, it was really starting to tick him off.

"I thought you'd be here". He spun around, fist flying in a wide arc—

"Max!" Shock tore through him and he lowered his hand. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Sightseeing" Max replied. "Where's your mother? I tried calling her to talk to you, but she didn't answer."

"My mum's been taken, but I don't know who did it. I," he paused. He couldn't tell him about the voice. "Someone, a girl in the village, told me to come here."

"You haven't called the police have you?"

"No. No, they wouldn't...be able to help," Jake mumbled. Then he frowned.

"I still don't understand why you're here. Is Percy with you?" Jake asked hopefully. He didn't want to be alone with just Max. Something about it made him uncomfortable.

"No, he's back at home. I just wanna help you, Jake," he said. He eyed him suspiciously. It just didn't make sense. But at least someone was here and having Max on hand to help was better than nothing.

"I'm gonna go in," he told him warily. "Are you coming?"

"Coming?" Max chuckled. "I'm your only legit friend right now, of course I'm coming with you". When he saw Jake's expression, he sighed.

"I can help you, Jake. Believe me when I say no one else is going to come," he said. Jake fought the urge to curse. He didn't have time for this. He let Max follow him into the manor anyway.

"Woah, talk about creepy," his friend gasped, staring at the smouldered curtains and the scorch marks on the paintings. Dust danced in little flakes around them.

"This way," Jake told him, heading into the nearest room. As if he knew what he was doing.

"Are you sure you haven't the called police?" he asked from behind.

"No," said Jake. "We're our own". I'm on my own.

"Okay, whatever you say Indiana Jones," Max said, shrugging.

"If I'm Indiana Jones then that makes you Lara Croft," he shot back. He could feel Max grinning and his fists clenched, that energy clogging the pores of his skin. As he looked around the room, he spotted a huge painting hanging over what looked to be the fireplace. Smouldered gossamer bubbled from every corner of the room. As he stared, he could see her. He could see Lilly in the painting. Lilly and the girl from his dream. He hadn't been able to remember her face before now, but the girl in front of him, with skin forged of dark acrylic and oil pastels, was his dream. Jake sagged, backing away from the portrait until he almost walked into Max.

"Hey man, what's up with you? Not that scared of girls, are you?" He flashed him a grin. Jake found that his mouth could no longer move. Max had been following him, like a shadow had been following him, like that strange girl from the painting had been following him. His mum, lying, being taken. That voice. His held his head, grimacing.

"Jake, what's up?" asked Max for the second time. "Have you seen her before or something?" Jake knew he shouldn't have reacted, but he found himself answering anyway.

"This is going to sound crazy," he began.

"Try me", Max interrupted, smiling.

"But I saw her in my dream. Last night. I remembered seeing her face. But before that, I met this girl – Lilly. She had her face and"— he broke off swallowing slowly. Max's eyes had darkened, and he stared Jake down with a look of...was that pity?

"Then I'm too late," he whispered. Jake was just about to ask him what he meant when Max, his best friend of four years, snatched a knife from his coat and held it out in front of him.

For a moment, Jake stared at the knife. He wasn't an expert on sharp pointy things, but he was pretty certain that getting cut by the blade would hurt. A lot. The silver of the knife shone, with strange patterns that snaked over the metal, making it appear much older. Much more out of place.

"What are you doing?" he started. He was surprised that his voice hadn't shrunk to a whisper. In fact, it had done the opposite. As he faced his best friend and the blade, he felt...stronger. More alive.

"It's a real shame. I liked you Jake". He brought the knife closer.

"I'd hate to think of what you do to people who you don't like". Definitely the hysteria.

"When are you going to start taking this seriously?" Max said solemnly.

"I don't know," Jake laughed. It was more of yelp than a laugh. "Maybe when things start taking me seriously".

Max lowered his head and breathed hard. Once. "Stop playing games. Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Don't give me that crap". The knife shook. "You know who I mean".

"You're crazy!"

Yes Jake, the voice groaned. Provoke the knife wielding maniac. He ignored it. The knife wielding manic in question shot forward. He snagged his jacket and held the blade against his throat.

"No more tricks Jake, or I'll have to start being nasty," Max warned. Again, the hysteria bubbled up into his throat.

"Oh, now you're going to start being nasty"—

"Jake!" The blade bit deeper and this time he fell silent. "You will help me". Jake felt the coolness of the metal against his skin and swallowed his retort. He didn't have a choice. Whatever Max wanted him to do, he had to do it. And then he had to figure a way out of this mess. His mother needed him.

"Fine," he relented. "I'll do whatever you want. But you have to let me go so I can find my mum". Max let out a harsh chuckle.

"Your mother? By the time you get to her, she'll be dead, and it will be your fault. It's all on you Jake," he said.

It's all on us, the voice echoed steadily.

That's not good enough, Jake thought back as he carefully slid his body towards the knife's handle. Max tried to march him forward, but – at the last minute – he snapped his head backwards, knocking him off balance. They fell onto the carpet.

"Ah!" Max hissed, holding his nose. Like a drunk, Jake stumbled through the doorway and back into the entrance hall. He had to get out of this house. He scrambled to the front doors, but they wouldn't open, no matter how hard he pulled or pushed or shoved.

"Come on, come on!" He gave them a kick. The doors didn't move. It was as if the whole house didn't want him to leave.

"You!" From behind, Max brandished the knife again, his nose set at a jaunty angle.

Did I do that? Jake thought.

Oh yes, the voice said proudly. Yes, you did.

At once, the house seemed to stiffen, as if it was uncomfortable with Max's presence.

You and me both, Jake groaned, but didn't say anything. He might have been going crazy, but not crazy enough to start talking to a house. Yet. He leant on the door frame, back pressed tightly against the rotting wood.

"You're not going anywhere. I need you here," Max growled, flicking the knife into his other hand. Jake ground his teeth in anger.

"Tough". Then he lunged forwards, ignoring the knife and ploughed into his very, very ex-best friend. Max gripped his shoulders, but Jake was too strong. Like at the football match, he could feel time slowing, feel his power surging. Or maybe it was just the adrenaline. He propelled both of them backwards, further and further until—

Max's back met with a mirror that had been half-hidden in one of the curtains. Glass shattered, and Jake felt its spray on his face. Blood ran down his cheeks. Then he stopped. Just stopped. Because he realised that he'd hurtled him straight through the mirror. Into a passage on the other side.

Shards of glass littered the entrance to the passageway. The tang of blood lingered in the air. Feeling lightheaded, Jake braced himself on one of the damp walls, only to regret it. He didn't know how the walls were damp after the manor had nearly burnt down and he didn't want to know, thank you very much. Max, on the other hand, was grinning like a little boy at Christmas.

"You've done it," he gasped. His eyes widened in awe. Or that was possibly his happy sociopath face. Jake was beginning to find it hard to tell one from the other.

"Done what?" he breathed, wiping the blood from the cuts on his face. He dreaded to think of what he looked like. Max didn't reply; he started walking down the passageway. When he realised Jake wasn't following him, he turned back.

"Come with me," he said stonily.

"Why should I?" Jake snapped.

"Because she is down there, and she will only let you in". Even though he had no idea what he was talking about, Jake found himself treading deeper into the passage. Water – hopefully it was water – dripped onto his clothes.

"What is this place?" he asked. Again, Max didn't reply. But the voice did, its tone static once again.

Our salvation, it said. That didn't really answer his question, but it was better than nothing. He didn't know what else he could do. His mum was gone. The voice had told him to come here and this had to be the reason. As he spiralled deeper into the darkness, he thought of Lilly. The girl from his dream, the one in the painting. Were they all the same? But Lilly had looked so, so normal. So different. It couldn't have been her. He shook his head. He had to focus on getting his mum back. Nothing else. It was the only thing he wanted...wasn't it?

It's not a crime to want more, the voice chimed in. He bit back his reply. Every so often, Max peered over his shoulder to look at him, the knife still shining, even in the dark.

"I won't run," Jake reassured him. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't going to run him through the next available mirror.

"I know you won't". The knife cast a hollow light in his direction and he shivered. Further down the passage they walked, the air growing colder and staler by the second. Max kept at a brisk pace, while Jake stopped a few times to check his sanity levels. In the end, he found they were non-existent. Finally, after what seemed like a thousand lifetimes, Max stopped. Looking ahead, the passageway cut off at a door. A small narrow door carved from the stone. There was no handle and as he moved past Max to try and push it, he realised that the door wasn't a door at all. Just an artistic illusion. A fake.

"Forget this!" he yelled, slamming his palms onto the stone in frustration. Behind him, Max's eyes blinked like black crescents. He reached out, fingers wrapping around Jake's wrist and before he knew what was happening, a sharp pain bloomed from the palm of his hand. Max retracted the knife, and wiped Jake's blood from the blade onto the stone doorway.

"What the heck are you playing at?!" He cradled his bleeding hand.

"I told you," said Max. "She will only let you in". As if on cue, the stone doorway began to break apart, swirling and crumbling until all that was left was a hole in the wall. Jake swore. Beyond the hole was a huge chamber, with black, heaving steps lining every inch. At the bottom of those steps lay a coffin. Max stepped forward.

"I've found her," he breathed, and Jake found himself feeling very, very sick. He was just about to sidle back up the passageway and escape when something – an invisible string – pulled him back to face the entrance to the chamber.

One way or another, the voice hissed. She is our salvation. And maybe we are hers.

Without another thought between them, he walked into the chamber.