Then Lydia screamed. Before she could close the door, a hand plunged inside the minibus and grabbed her by the arm. I clutched at the neck of her T-shirt and pulled back as hard as I could but whoever had hold of her arm was clearly stronger than me and I felt the material begin to rip.
“HELP ME!” Lydia sobbed as she was dragged slowly but steadily out into the darkness. I tried. I really did. But her T-shirt simply gave way. I couldn’t save her…
Lydia disappeared into the gloom outside the minibus with a final choking scream. All I could do was reach across and slam the door closed behind her.
Outside, in the headlights, I could see Mr Blake, Daniel and Amy — oh no — they’d got Amy, too — as they pushed Lydia down out of sight and fell on top of her, mouths wide and dripping with drool.
FLASH!
And Callum was taking bloody photos of the whole thing!
I spun round in my seat to face him and snatched the phone out of his hands.
“Stop it!” I yelled, tears burning my eyes. “This isn’t a sodding game!”
SMASH!
The window behind my head caved in and another hand snaked inside. It grabbed my hair and slammed my head back hard against the metal of the door again and again until I could feel warm, sticky blood start to run down my neck.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
The worst thing was, Callum must have knocked the rear-view mirror as he climbed into the minibus, and I had a clear view of who was attacking me.
It was Miss Edwards.
The handle of the spatula still protruding from her burst eye, she snarled as she slammed my head back one final time.
BANG!
CRACK!
I heard my skull break and watched in silent shock as Miss Edwards worked her fingers into the break and pull the two halves of my head apart. I expected to feel pain, to scream in agony — but there was nothing. I guess your body can only take so much before it simply switches off.
On the back seat, Callum was almost vibrating with excitement.
“I can’t wait to post this stuff online!”
He reached forwards and snatched his phone back from the front seat.
“I’m going to video this bit for YouTube!”
I stared into the lens of his camera phone as Miss Edwards pushed her face into my exposed brain and began to feast. Poor Callum. Everyone thought he was an idiot — except me. I didn’t think he was an idiot.
I thought he looked delicious.
When I was 12 years old, my dad took our family to a campsite off the west coast of Wales called Shell Island. We set up the tent, played football, had a barbecue, then got ready for bed.
I always read before going to sleep. A friend at school had lent me a book to take on holiday — Night of the Crabs by Guy N. Smith. I’d never read a horror novel before so I was quite excited as I switched on my torch and started Chapter 1.
I read the entire book that night. It had quite an effect on me.
You see, Night of the Crabs is about giant crabs that crawl out of the sea and eat people. Scary, huh?
Even scarier — it’s about giant crabs that crawl out of the sea and eat people who are camping, just like me and my family.
I’ll be more specific — Night of the Crabs is about giant crabs that crawl out of the sea and eat people who are camping ON SHELL ISLAND! The exact place where I was lying, helpless, in a sleeping bag, reading the book!
I’ve never been so scared in my life, and I refused to go down to the beach with my family the following day in case I was devoured by creepy crabs! But the story stuck with me, and it resulted in me going on to read other horror books and, eventually, to writing them.
That’s why this book is set on Shell Island, and why it’s dedicated to Guy N. Smith — the author of Night of the Crabs. The man who started it all…
Tommy Donbavand, August 2012
www.tommydonbavand.co.uk
Get in touch with Tommy
through his website.
Trev’s sister is dead.
Trev’s mum is dead, and his dad.
The authorities think he did it.
They won’t believe him — that it was the house that took them.
They won’t believe him until it’s too late and there is only…
Blood red.
Torn flesh.
Red blood.
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It was a motorcycle helmet that looked like it had barely survived a road accident.
Trev stared at his reflection in the mirrored visor. His eyes were black pools, empty, cold. Hunter’s eyes.
“You were wearing it when they found you,” said the doctor. “What about this?”
Trev had seen the photograph a thousand times: a normal hallway in a normal detached house in a normal part of the city. Except that this hallway looked like an abattoir. Something alive had been torn apart in that place, ripped limb from limb. Hadn’t stood a chance.
“What happened to your family in this house, Trevor?”
Don’t make me remember…
“Who did this?”
Not who, what…
“Was it you?”
Trev was off the bed in a beat. Like a tiger dragging its kill to the ground, he slammed the doctor onto the floor, winding him, knocking the helmet to skitter across the floor.
“They were my parents! My kid sister!” Trev spat, loud and desperate.
The gorillas yanked Trev away to restrain him.
“It was the bloody house!” he screamed, his skin burning against the rough hands holding him. “It took them! Why won’t you believe me?”
Trev was crying now, with the pain of being held, the pain of the memory, the pain of knowing no one would ever believe him that the house had come alive. That it hadn’t been a house at all, just something waiting for the right moment to spring the trap. A beast hungry for blood.
The pinprick in the side of his neck came as no surprise.
The room melted to darkness.
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My Teacher Ate My Brain Page 2