Chapter One
White knuckles gripped the rusty gate. The bottom hinge had corroded, causing a struggle to lever it open; an effort Neil Hedges couldn’t bring himself to make. The tarnished metal provided a barrier against having to go inside the house.
Flakes of faded red paint, clinging desperately to the swollen wooden door a few feet away, stuck out like tongues poking their contempt. Neil shrank back, feeling it. He was being a fool.
Biting too hard at a quick on his finger, he flinched and shook his hand.
“Come on, Neil. Go in. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” his timid voice fell unconvincingly from his dry, chapped lips, his own words of encouragement lost in the winter air, barely reaching his ears and falling far short of his resolve.
His bladder joined in persuading him to try, and he silently cursed himself for not using the toilet back on campus. Still gripping the rusting green gate, he hauled it to the open position.
Before taking a step onto the weed infested cracked path, Neil’s gaze drew slowly to three small windows. Lifeless rooms beyond shed no light from behind dirty glass. The emptiness peered out at him through the inky black eyes of a spider, with him fused to the streetlamp like an encumbered moth.
Cuffing a dewdrop from the frozen tip of his nose, he forced his foot forwards. The impetus carried him, step by tentative step, to the door. Fumbling in his pockets, he grasped for the key and offered it, in trembling fingers, to the lock.
He paused, took a deep breath, and plunged it into the depths of no-return. As the barrel turned, his heart flipped, pounding in his ears. The latch free, the door had only to receive a gentle shove to swing open. Neil looked up and offered a silent prayer as it creaked back on its hinges. Light from the streetlamp shone dimly inside illuminating the stairs and partway down the hallway.
He took a cautious step over the threshold, and nothing happened; which is exactly what the logical part of his mind expected. Looking in every direction, his racing heart finally slowed at the confirmation of stillness. He sighed with relief and almost laughed.
Shaking his head, he bent to pick up the daily pile of junk mail accumulating behind the door, placing it carefully on the nearby chair in case any of his fellow student housemates might be tempted by the offers of two-for-one pizza deals, or loft insulation.
Reaching above the chair to the switch, he turned on both the hall and landing lights together to give greater illumination. Keen for the brightness, but nervous of what it might show, he flinched back a step, then snorted at his silliness.
Stepping down the hallway leading to the communal lounge, and beyond that, the horrible, dirty little kitchen the housemates took turns risking their lives from salmonella to cook in, he smiled, pleased with himself. He was inside. And he was fine. If one of the others had returned to find him trembling under the streetlight, he would have died of embarrassment.
Reaching the lounge, he opened the door quickly and thrust his hand to the light switch. With the room lit, Neil was almost sure everything was as it had been this morning. But then, with a sickening realisation, he glanced back to the table, aware of something not quite right.
Without going in, the scene made him gasp. Another timid step, and he was certain. The revolting plates of congealing food, which he was positive were there earlier (it had been the deciding factor in choosing a McMuffin for breakfast) had been swept from the table and lay strewn and broken on the floor, the food debris seeping onto the (thankfully) hard floor. Neil stared, shaking in reluctant disbelief.
His heart jumped to his throat at a noise from the kitchen. Was that footsteps? He should never have come inside. This was too much. And then, from the corner of his eye, the giant tower of week-old dirty washing up toppled spectacularly to the floor.
The crash, as splinters of broken plates shattered against every surface, exploded in Neil’s ears. Too much for his jangled nerves, his full bladder betrayed him, its contents leaking profusely down both legs.
He fled soggily (albeit slightly warmer from the hot stinging urine) back along the hallway and out through the front door, knocking the chair and its stack of post over and back onto the floor.
Slamming the door behind him and leaving his key protruding from the lock, he passed the streetlamp and kept on running, tears streaming down his face. Reaching the end of the street, he squealed as his tiny frame collided forcefully with the rotund bulk of Matthew and Lurch-like Josh—two fellow housemates walking back from the pub.
“Whoa! What’s your hurry, Neil? Slow down,” cried Matthew. He noticed the smell, and Neil’s wet trousers. “Have you wet yourself?” he sneered, a look of utter disgust on his ruddy face.
Neil’s quick mind realised his little accident at least gave him an excuse why he’d been in such a hurry.
“I lost my door key,” he lied. “I was rushing to the toilet back at Uni. Crashing into you two must have been too much for me.”
It made sense. Neil struck Matthew as just the kind of person who wouldn’t think of using the toilet before leaving for home. The software-engineering bunch were not the most practical of people in Matthew’s opinion. If Google didn’t tell them to do it then it wouldn’t be done.
As a drama student, he was a lot more confident than his compatriots. At least, he had the skills to act that way.
“Come on then,” he said. “We can let you in. Maybe you left your key in the house. Let’s hope so! We don’t want to have to cut you another one! The landlord’s getting sick of us asking to cut more keys.”
Shuffling from foot to foot, weighing up his options, Neil knew he had to go back with them. He couldn’t go anywhere else in this state.
“Come on. Don’t dawdle,” Matthew badgered.
When they arrived together past the lamp post and up the path to the front door, Neil’s key was soon apparent sticking out from the lock.
“There’s your key isn’t it, Neil?” Matthew queried with a frown. Neil nodded, staring at the floor.
Matthew exchanged a knowing look with Josh. They said nothing, but shook their heads. Their opinion of Neil as an oddball had gathered significant new evidence. Even for a geek he was strange, spending most of his time locked away in his room. The brief exchange about wetting himself was the most they’d spoken in months.
They walked into the house as far as they could before the obstacle of Neil’s hurried exit prevented further progress. Mumbling a few expletives, Josh set about picking up the chair and strewn post from the floor.
Neil tip-toed past up the stairs to change his clothes. Exclamations from downstairs forced their way through the floorboards as Matthew and Josh discovered the mess in the kitchen.
“Bloody Hell!” Josh roared, joined by a whine of “What the f…” from Matthew.
Neil was just pleased they were here to deal with it now. It was more than he could cope with.
“That sodding cat must have been in again. I keep telling everyone- do the washing up, or the cat finds a way in to lick the plates... We’ll have bloody rats before long!” Matthew tutted.
Josh swore profanities under his breath as he struggled to clear up the disgusting mess of coagulating food and sharp broken crockery. He glared unnoticed at Matthew, who instead of helping, watched contentedly whilst declaring the necessity of a house meeting ASAP to make sure this sort of thing didn’t happen again.
Josh had almost finished clearing up when Bronwyn, the only girl in the house, and her boyfriend and room-mate Aeron, arrived home from their own night of pub fun. With four fifths of the tenants present, Matthew tried to air his concerns.
“Me and Josh have been forced to clear up a disgusting mess in the kitchen. The bloody cat’s been in again cos of all the food left on plates.” Josh looked skywards, shaking his head at Matthew’s inclusion of himself in the tidying.
“Okay. Okay!” placated the newly arrived couple in Welsh accented unison. “Can we talk about this another time?” Bronwyn slurred. “I’m not feeling my best right now.”
“Fine,” Matthew had no choice but to agree. The couple left to sleep off their inebriation. Matthew, noticing the good job Josh had done, disappeared too. Josh tutted, any chance of help now absconded.
Being last to leave the kitchen and lounge, he checked as he left that all windows were closed to prevent further feline intrusion. Feeling around the frame to the handle, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The window was already locked. Why would anyone open it in such cold weather anyway?
But if they were closed, how did the cat get in? Still puzzled, he pulled the curtains shut to conserve any warmth. Walking across the room, frowning and drumming his leg, he reached the lounge door and paused. With his finger poised near the switch, a reluctance to plunge into darkness prevented him pressing it.
Glancing around, his eyes darted to every corner. Hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a wave of nausea crashed over him. But his nervous glances revealed only that everything seemed to be in order.
His gaze returned to the light switch as clammy sweat trickled down his forehead. With gritted teeth, he forced himself to move his hand to the switch. From the corner of his eye, the curtain flapped over the window. It couldn’t be wind. He’d just checked it was locked
Thump, thump, his pulse drummed in his ear. The hairs on his body joined those on his neck, sending a violent shudder down his spine. His wide eyes stared at the wall. Knowing someone was watching him but certain no-one was there, he couldn’t bring himself to check. Muscles rigid with fear simply wouldn’t be coaxed to move that way again.
Instead, he flapped at the switch, fumbling the light off after several failed attempts. He didn’t turn to look further into the room. Slamming the door behind him, he sprinted up the creaky stairs to his bedroom.
Halfway up, a loud bang almost made him trip and fall. He couldn’t help but steal a look back towards the lounge but immediately wished he hadn’t. The light he had struggled so to turn off glowed from the crack under the door.
Teetering on the edge to glean any noise which might offer a clue to who was there, Josh slipped with a painful thud onto the step below. His heart leapt to his throat, the sound of it blocking all else. He didn’t know what he expected, but someone, or something had turned the light back on. And if they heard him on the stairs…?
He ran, lurching up the last three steps, skidding around the half landing towards his room. Rattling the door handle which usually gave no trouble but now seemed contrarily determined to torment him further, he finally (more through luck than any moderation of technique) managed to shake it open. He leapt inside, snagging his sweater pocket on the handle, catapulting him back onto the landing.
Untangling himself, he slammed the door shut, then reacting to the total darkness he’d rushed into in his panic, he batted his hands on the wall hunting for the light, knocking a few empty cans and DVD cases to the floor.
At last he found the switch. Thankful for the light, he leaped the room to his bed in a single bound, hauling his covers over his head. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to sleep in his clothes, but there was no way he was moving again until daylight.
