But Alvin loomed out of the shadow and at a rush had barged into the room. What happened next scared the girls more than they would have previously thought possible.
Alvin began to speak to them in words they couldn't understand. His mouth hung gaping, fishlike, and his eyes held a strangely intense light.
The sounds he made phased and rushed, liquid-like, into one another, harsh and otherworldly. Then they realised what was happening. He was speaking backwards. And as they watched, Alvin seemed to rush, or be pulled gradually backwards, with slinking and fluid motions, back through the doorway until he was obscured once again within the shadow.
It was as though the rewind button had been pressed on a video, while Alvin continued to burble forth the strangely shifting sounds, and moved twisting backwards into darkness.
The girls got the message. They clung to one another, now crying and howling openly and hysterically. Their hearts shook and juddered within them, they clawed at one another, weeping and gnashing. They wouldn't have been able to say why they found it so frightening. It meant to them inversion, everything turned upside down, everything negated, the epitome of evil and wrong. Like when you play your LP's backwards it is rumoured you can hear the very voice of the Devil.
Now Alvin as we knew all along was and is the killer. It was he who had dimmed the lights, who had engendered the confusion. He it was who had been concealed behind the curtain, he was the torturer of bodies, the waxwork figure, the main exhibit. There he is at Madame Tussaud's, his face fixed, glassily staring, surrounded by his butchery.
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