Nightmares in the Dreamhouse

by David Churchill

  Unexpectedly, Abby said, “Tomorrow. If you'll lend me some of that white chalk you've got. I've run out and I need to add a few finishing touches. And it's not rubbish either - it's wicked. Really wicked! You'll suffer for saying that, just you wait.”

  “Come on then,” Matthew said. He wanted more than anything to be in his own room, working, so that everything could be all right at last. See you at cake-time, Catty.”

  He ran upstairs, followed by Abby. The door to Gary's room was open, but there was no light in there. A piece of ladder was propped up into the open loft trap and an electric cable snaked up into the hole. Faint thumps and scraping sounds filtered down to them.

  “He's in the attic again,” Abby said. She called up into the darkness, “Hey, Gary.”

  The noises stopped, there were some bumps and slithers and a light began to grow in the opening. Then the light grew brighter, and Gary's round face, lit by a table lamp on a long lead, peered down.

  “Hey, Gar,” Abby said. “I've just seen a ghost.”

  He looked alarmed. “What?” he said. Then, “Where!”

  “Halfway up a lamp-post -”

  “Eating buttered toast,” finished Matthew.

  “Oh not that old one,” Gary said, looking relieved all the same. “That was in the infants.”

  He came down the ladder, his face streaked with black, and his hair powdered with dust. It looked as if he had seen a ghost himself and turned white all at once, like they did in Abby's favourite books.

  He was happy though.

  “Hiya Matt,” he said. “It's cool. The bricks are a bit loose up by the chimneys. I've got through into next door and the next one. You could go into all the houses if you wanted to. I'm going to go all the way.

  “Don't forget there's people in the end house,” Abby warned him. “They won't want you dropping in like a dirty Father Christmas.”

  “It's all right, I'm counting,” Gary said. “And I'm being quiet. You have to scrape away the mortar, then the bricks wiggle out. Then you can climb through. It's hard moving over the rafters though. They should have put floorboards up here. I'm taking bits of wood up each time I come. But it's brilliant. See you,” and he clambered away back up the ladder eager to get on with his work.

  “He's got something good for his modelling now,” Abby said warmly. “A whole row of real houses.”

  Matthew grinned. “It sounds more like demolition to me. But Gary's modelling always does. It's great though, so long as he doesn't disturb them on the end.”

  “They'll only think they've got bats - vampires,” Abby said. “Can I have that chalk please. I want to do a lot of bits before we stop. I've got some chocolate to go with the cakes... ”

  Matthew had stopped listening. His room was calling to him unbearably strongly, now that he was so close to the door. He left Abby and pushed it open, just far enough to slip through and flick on the light. He stood, half dazzled, then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as his eyes travelled upwards across the ceiling and down around the walls.

  “Matt, can I see? I won't if you don't want me to yet.”

  He did want someone to see. He needed to know if it was good enough, because if it wasn't, then it wouldn't work. Pushing the door wide open he moved to one side and Abby stepped in. She made a little sound and he glanced quickly up into her face, afraid that she was laughing.

  But she wasn't. She was transfixed, staring, not laughing at all.

  Wide-eyed she looked up at the ceiling. It was chalked pure blue, all over, except for a few streaks of soft-looking white cloud that seemed to be drifting across from corner to corner. It seemed as if the room had no ceiling at all and she was looking up and up into a perfect summer sky.

  Following her gaze, Matthew remembered how his arm had ached, working overhead, balanced on the old pair of steps. But it had been worth it, if...

  “Mind you don't smudge anything,” he said anxiously. “It's only chalk. I've nearly used up the two big boxes I got from the art shop. Look at that wall first.”

  Abby obediently brought her gaze down from the perfect ceiling, stared frowningly at Matthew, then looked at the wall he was pointing to. She didn't speak.

  She saw a grassy ridge, a mixture of greens and browns, with patches of white chalk-rock showing through. There were small blue flowers and she noticed a snail shell, with a shine on it – Matthew had learned to do that - in the grass-blades near the floor. It took up the lower half of the wall, from side to side. Above the grass the blue sky carried on, right up to join the blue of the ceiling. But breaking the even slope of the hill line there was a dark heap, and bright red pieces of something or other - she couldn't make out what they were - lay scattered around the shape on the grass. Black figures, silhouetted against the sky, were running along the top of the ridge towards it.

  Again, Abby looked at Matthew. Carefully, she asked, “John?”

  Matthew shuddered slightly and nodded, but he didn't speak. He couldn't. Abby caught a shivery feeling from him as she followed his eyes to the next wall. - the one by the door.

  This one was clear enough. It showed a hospital scene. There were white walls, a bed sketched in black outlines, and a figure in the bed, drawn so carefully, in such detail, that she could see the closed eyes, the still, smooth sheet drawn up over the shoulders.

  Behind the bed four figures were standing. One was a woman with her hand up to her face and next to her was a very fat nurse. Then there was a neat black nurse. Then there was a small boy in a black jacket, not so much of him showing over the high hospital bed.

  Abby was catching on - partly. She turned now, quickly, to the wall behind them, the door wall. She was thinking how good Matthew was - an artist. She saw that he had covered the door itself with paper so that it didn't interrupt the scene.

  He was watching her, anxiously. She felt that there was something she had to understand about the pictures, something hugely important to him. But what was it?

  Her eyes travelled over the picture that filled the wall. A tall white building rose up, with a crossword-puzzle of windows and coloured curtains. There were tiny faces looking out of some of the windows. There was blue sky again, surrounding the building. An aeroplane flew overhead. Like on the first wall there was a sense of sky and space, and the colours and details were marvellous. But Abby felt that she was failing Matthew in some way. She didn't understand.

  Biting her lip, she looked quickly down at him, hoping for a clue. He was staring at where the base of the building was. There were cars there, little red and blue shapes, an ambulance, a driveway starting wide at floor level then narrowing as it wound up to the main doors of the hospital, and people, only centimetres high but perfectly drawn. And, near floor level, on the driveway but walking away from it, walking towards Abby as if they were about to walk right out of the picture and into the room, there were three people. In the centre there was a tall young man. On one side of him was a woman, and on the other side a not very tall boy in a black jacket carrying a small suitcase.

  Abby knew then, completely. At least, she thought she did.

  “It's... it's the hospital,” she said. “And that's you and your mum. And John. Going home?”

  Matthew was shivering. He wasn't cold, but his teeth chattered together so that he had to grit his back teeth to stop them. He looked as white as the clouds on the ceiling.

  Abby, to her surprise, felt like her aunt. She wanted to put her arms round him and give him something nice to eat, but she didn't like to reach out and touch him. He mightn't like it.

  He turned in the centre of the room and she turned with him. Colour surrounded them. She thought, it's as if we've been magicked out of the house and into another world. He's an illusionist.

  She was looking now at the last wall. The broken steps that Matthew had dragged off the rubbish dump were propped against it, and a cardboard box full, of pieces of coloured chalk, had to be lifted down so that they could be moved out of the way.

/>   The bottom third of the wall was a grassy bank, like the first one Abby had looked at. Flowers were growing here too - white petalled daisies and red clover. Abby thought of her Aunt's embroidery.

  Above the ridge was the sky, and Matt must have spent hours shading it, so it was pale blue where the feathery heads of grasses cut into it on the skyline, warming into a richer blue as it flowed up to meet and merge with the ceiling.

  But across the sky there was something odd. Spreading across the wall, half-filling the space, were strange white shapes, which Matthew had left blank - something sketched in, but left until last.

  Abby stared up, puzzled. Then it began to make sense as she took in the great spread bat-shape, the trailing legs , the curving wing - the soaring figure of a para-gliding flyer, once more riding the sky over the green slope of the high chalk ridge.

  Before she could find something safe to say, Matthew broke in with a rush of words.

  “It's going to be finished soon and when it is he'll wake up and come to see it and everything will be all right.”

  He frightened himself hearing the words, even though all along he had been driven by them, with his fingers covered in chalk of every colour, and chalk in his eyes and in his hair, and his brain striving with his hands to make these the best pictures that he had ever done in his life. The most important pictures he would ever do in his life.

  Because when they were finished, and the white shape in the sky in the last picture was coloured in, then somehow John would know, and wake up, and come and see it, and everything would be like it used to be and Mum would stop crying and he'd know what to do about Roy and Karen. The long nightmare would be over.

  “But Matt - ” Abby began, realising that there was something here that she didn't understand at all, “I mean, how - ”

  Then a thump in the attic made them both look anxiously up at the ceiling. It saved Abby from having to go on. Together they went out on to the landing to see what Gary had demolished this time.

  As they went, she found her tongue to promise, “Tomorrow... you can see my room... tomorrow... ”

  21. not dead, but not living either

  Tomorrow, and Matthew's Mum talking to him while he pretended to watch a film on TV. He had no idea what it was all about. Mum hadn't been to work for three days now. The doctor had given her some tablets to take.

  “You don't have to go Matty,” she was saying. “Not every day. If it upsets you... if you don't want to... ”

  Matthew wriggled. “I'm OK,” he mumbled.

  She tried again. He knew how hard she was trying.

  “I mean, if you missed a day, John wouldn't mind, would he... if it's bothering you... .”

  Matthew wondered for a moment if she, too, heard the silly words that haunted his head whenever he wasn't thinking about anything in particular - and even sometimes when he was. Or did she have her own words? He hoped he hadn't been talking in his restless sleep.

  “I'm OK,” he said again. He would be - soon - he knew that; he couldn't tell her yet. But soon. As soon as his picture was finished. “He'll be all right,” he dared to say. “You'll see. It'll be all right - honest Mum.”

  She looked at him doubtfully, realising that he needed a haircut, seeing how dark around the eyes he was, how hollow his cheeks were. Feeling her worried gaze he stared hard at the screen. It was adverts and a bulldozer was demolishing a house. It was all about drinking beer out of a can.

  “I'd better go now,” he said awkwardly. “I... I'll tell him you're coming later.” He left the TV for the hallway, and his black jacket, and a quick hop to look in the mirror.

  Then she was cuddling him and crying and saying that she didn't know if she could bear to go up that night, and he was desperate to tell her all about the house and his room and how everything was going to be all right, just as soon as his picture was finished, but he didn't dare to say it.

  And at last, crying himself, he was out in the cold street, in the half-light of early evening, heading up the hill to where John lay his quiet room, not dead, but not really living either.

  First the hospital - then the picture.

  22. get ‘em Sooty! she screamed

  Steam was curling out of the kitchen window as Gary left the house. Dad had taken his lorry off on a long haul abroad and had left no idea when - or if - he would ever come back. As a result Mum was having one of her happier moods. “I had a strong weakness,” she said to Gary the night before, but it's gone now. So's he!”

  She was doing what she called “catching up” and it meant a lot of water on the floor and a lot of steam in the air. Gary didn't mind at all. She waved a towel to him as he went past the window, and he waved back.

  Under his anorak he clutched a very old pair of trousers and a sweater with holes in. He would wear them while he was working in the attics. It might help a bit. He had given up the skirt and tights after the first night. Even in the dark there had been some very puzzled stares from people he had passed.

  He was ambling along contentedly when he saw the back view of a tall boy who looked very much like Roy. It wasn't the first time he had given himself a scare by thinking that, but he didn't stop to check. He increased speed, diving down a backway and heading for the safety of the house as fast as he could go.

  About the same time, Abby, clutching a bag full of freshly made doughnuts, was going down her street. She was by herself because Cherry had to do an errand for her mum before she could join them. Since Karen and Roy had been out of the picture they didn't bother climbing over garden walls any more.

  As she went along an odd hissing noise showed that she was trying to whistle. Aunty Ann didn't approve of girls whistling but the attempt showed that Abby was in a mood of great contentment.

  A quarter of an hour later, Cherry was just approaching the Dumps when a sturdy black shape leaped down from the wall beside her. It limped towards her and she bent to gather it up in her arms.

  “You've come to meet me, have you,” she crooned into its soft warm ear. “But you're still not getting extra helpings, not even if you come on crutches. You're a crafty old greedy-guts.” She nuzzled her face against the smooth ebony fur, and the cat purred all over.

  “Well, look who it is, moggy and all! Going somewhere special are we?”

  The jeering voice made Cherry stare suddenly up, over the furry bundle. Two figures were blocking the pavement. Suddenly the street was horribly quiet and deserted.

  There was a snigger from the smaller of the two. The street lamp shone its cold, hard light on Karen, pale and stiff, and on Roy, not smiling, standing there in her way.

  Frightened, Cherry glanced round. The street was absolutely empty, except for the three of them. No pedestrians and no cars. Just the vanishing lines of paving stones and nowhere to run to. She didn't have time to think, or perhaps she wouldn't have done what she did.

  The cat was already stiffening in her arms when Roy said, “Come on, Karen!” and the two of them closed in.

  As Karen's bitten nails groped out, and Roy's not-smiling mouth loomed in front of her, she acted.

  “Get ‘em Sooty!” she screamed, with a heave she tossed the hissing, spitting animal, claws bare, right into their faces. There was a screech from Karen and a yowl from the cat. Roy swore and put his arms up across his eyes.

  Cherry ran. She swerved past them, spun round the end of the houses into the alley, crashed and stumbled over the wild mess that had once been gardens, pushed aside the bit of fence and bruised her legs as she let herself crash into the safe darkness of the cellar.

  She made herself reach out and pull the cover back over, then she doubled up, with the rough coal all around her, gasping for breath and wishing she hadn't used the cat. Until suddenly she giggled. Sooty would be all right, but what about Roy and Karen!

  23. Matthew took one step towards it. He had to see

  Matthew had lost all sense of time. He was stroking the red chalk slowly and steadily, across the wall, and the air-fille
d, flying canopy was taking shape. The human figure beneath it was still just a white gash - colouring that would be the last task of all.

  The names “Karen” and Roy” tumbled around in his mind, pushing out the stupid verse. Cherry had been lucky, he thought, just like he was in the hospital bike-shed. It was going to be really dangerous until they were sent away properly, if they ever were. And even then, they'd come back in the end. But as his mind messed with the problem, he was guiding his hand carefully and confidently in the creation of the scarlet wing that spread across the final wall. It could solve everything - it had to.

  Somewhere above, Gary must be mucking about in the attic. But it was very quiet at the moment. The thought crossed Matthew's mind that it was too quiet; it was unusual for Gary not to be making bumping noises and sticking his feet through ceilings. He wondered what the girls were doing.

  Downstairs, in fact, Cherry and Abby had been talking about him.

  “Do you get it?” Abby had asked. “His pictures I mean?”

  “I only had a little peep,” Cherry said. “He hasn't asked me. They're brilliant, aren't they.”

  “I don't mean that. He's a bit weird about them... sort of obsessed. Look how hard he's worked on them. As if he thinks they could make a difference to his brother - like magic or something. It could be bad for him... ”

  “Well call him down now Abby. Let him see your room. It'll give him a break. Might scare his pants off.”

  Abby giggled. “That'd be good.” She moved to the foot of the stairs.

  “Hey Matt. Matty. It's your turn now - if you've got the guts!”

  Upstairs, Abby's voice was muffled by the wood of the door but it penetrated.

  He stopped chalking and blinked some dust out of his eyes. Then he climbed down the old steps and stood a couple of metres away from the wall. The scarlet wing really did seem to be airborne, curved in the invisible wind that lifted across the green ridge.