Lamplight

by Benjamin Appleby-Dean

  The tramp didn't move, and Tom hoped he'd gone back to sleep. Drunk probably. Tom pressed on down Langley Avenue, heading for home and his broadband connection.

  His phone cried.

  Tom only knew Hazel by acquaintance – she was far more private than Jenny or Amy, kept herself to herself online and rarely commented on other people's business – but it didn't sound like her to be out of touch that long. Maybe something was going on after all, and the rest of the night wouldn't be as dull or desperate as he'd feared.

  He started to run again, blood pumping, legs working like pistons. Yeah. He needed to get back, to talk to Steven and stir something up.

  To Tom's surprise, he found the house dark and empty. A chill had seeped into the rooms, and there was no sign of his housemate anywhere.

  Shivering, Tom turned as many lights on as possible and cranked the heating up. Steven would grumble about the bill, but it always got paid eventually. With the place starting to feel alive again, he powered his laptop up and sprawled across the sofa.

  The usual sites and chatter still seemed dead. No new contacts or sightings yet, and a few regulars were threatening to lose interest. When Tom looked at the world, sometimes he couldn't see why anyone would want to watch it – people were so dull and predictable, like clockwork toys.

  The only new posting he could find was something going on about teleportation. It didn't have any replies yet. Tom opened it and found a long rant from some guy who'd just joined the community, which was always suspect.

  "DONT WATCH THE SKIES," the post said. "They KNOW that we are watching and they have no need of sky. What men would bridge the void in ships of metal when they can do so in ships of mind. This is a new millennium for old ideas and so we must let go of the saucers and look to the corners for it is through the dimensions that they shall invade and come silently at night and take our wives and children and this I say will not stand for my daughter is only four and too small a thing to be ready for what they will–”

  It rambled on like this for some paragraphs and Tom skipped ahead to the end, where he found much what he'd expected:

  "If you too BELIEVE that this is the real and only threat we face in this new age then JOIN with me for together we can be vigilant against the coming enemy. Click on my link to contribute to our cause and help me assemble the technology for this I saw in a dream and I know it will protect we true believers. Do not delay for who knows but they are here already!!"

  Scam. Tom couldn't help laughing, and exited the whole site. It'd get deleted in a couple of hours.

  He headed to his friend's blogs instead. Amy and Jenny wouldn't have updated about tonight – they hadn't had time – but there might be something from earlier.

  Nothing.

  All of Amy's posts from earlier were waffling on about nature and cycles. She was so dull. So self-obsessed, posting endless pictures of herself and her stupid coloured hair, as if anyone wanted to see that. Tom hated the way she wrote, that little fake self-deprecation thing she kept doing. He hated her attempts to be cheerful all the time in this stupid dangerous world, hated her fairtrade and organic lectures, her laugh and her jewellery and her big fat curvy body.

  He couldn't stop imagining touching it. Touching her. The way she'd squeak and move and feel. It made him sick and excited at the same time.

  Screwing up his face in concentration, Tom hovered over the most recent picture of Amy pouting at the camera and prepared to send her a message.

  Amy wanted to be eaten alive.

  She didn't want to die, no – dying was cold and messy and horrible to look at, and left your body flopping around like a piece of rubbish. There was no beauty or grace in dying in this artificial town, only cold photographs and inquests and police reports.

  Sleep wouldn't be enough either. Sooner or later she'd have to come back from it.

  Being eaten though was another matter. Being devoured. Taken in by something bigger, something greater. Recycling herself into nature, helping something else live. They'd never find her that way, wouldn't be able to pin her down with slabs and formaldehyde, and she'd merge with her predator and soar.

  Maybe there was a way to guarantee doing that. She'd have to ask the Coven, if she could ever bear to face them or to talk to anyone alive.

  Jenny had left Amy's bedroom door open a crack so that the light from the hallway peeped in and got in her eyes. She longed to close it, but that would involve moving, and right now Amy couldn't feel her arms and legs and didn't want to remember she had them. She could feel pressure building in her skull from the drinks she'd had, and while Amy would normally have sensibly drunk water upon returning home, she didn't want to today. She deserved the headache she knew was coming, and part of her wanted it.

  Her phone blipped. She barely had the energy to check it, but Amy flopped on her belly and made her arms move. She saw the blank face it came from and –

  – no no no –

  "nice going bitch even girls dont want u"

  Amy threw her phone off the bed and screamed. She heard it skitter across the carpet and hit the wall, and hoped that it was broken.

  Feet rushed up the hallway. Jenny must not have left. Amy buried her face in the pillows, wanting the other girl to go away.

  No such luck. Electric light broke into the room, and Amy could see it even with her eyes half-shut.

  "Are you okay?" she heard the brown-skinned girl ask. Amy didn't answer, and tried to hide her tears in the pillow.

  "Erm, right." Jenny said. "Look, I'm not leaving you alone, okay?"

  Amy resented this, and hoped her silence would carry that across.

  "I'll be on the sofa if you need me." Jenny sounded a little resentful herself, and Amy heard the door close.

  Finally. She could roll over, bring her face back into the air.

  Amy curled up on her side, feeling her hair scratch and tickle and get in the way of her face, and tore at it with her nails. Maybe she'd shave her head, walk around bald and ugly before they could laugh at her.

  Wait.

  How, Amy asked of herself, had her anonymous tormentor known what had happened to her? She hadn't posted about it, probably never would. That meant whoever it was either knew Jessica – if Jessica had even talked about it – or –

  – or –

  – they'd been in the club. Someone she knew.

  There was a sharp pain coming from the middle of her, from her core. Amy wanted to throw up.

  Instead, she rolled back into the damp pillow and tried to smother herself.

  Morning came reluctantly, and Amy's eyelids stuck together when she tried to open them. There was cold air blowing into the room, and as she started to move Amy realised she was lying on top of the bedding, protected only by her clothes.

  She could hear movement in the bathroom. Jenny must really have stayed, and was up already, using Amy's sofa, her shower, her space. Jenny must mean well, but Amy could feel herself wanting to be selfish. Her misery wasn't a thing to be shared.

  She had work later. Amy didn't think she could face that either. Maybe if she called in sick.

  She groaned and rolled over, and the sound of the mattress betrayed her. The water stopped running in the next room, and after a few moments there came footsteps and a soft knock at her door.

  "How're you feeling?" Jenny's voice was muffled, and Amy wondered if she could just ignore it. The knock came again. "Are you awake?"

  "Yes," Amy called, hearing her voice crack, and hoped that would end it.

  The door opened a little and Jenny's head poked around it, a towel – Amy's towel – barely containing her hair.

  "Sorry, I really needed a shower," she said. "Hope you don't mind."

  "It's fine." Maybe if Amy said the right thing she'd be left alone again. Instead Jenny stayed there, her expression hidden in the dark of the room.

  "Hey," Jenny said. "I'm worried about Hazel, thought I might check on her before work. Do you want to come?"

  "I don't
know her as well as you," Amy said.

  "Okay, no probs." Jenny ducked out of the doorway, leaving it open. Amy could hear her getting dressed in the other room, every creak and rustle, and tried not to think about it. She shouldn't be thinking about anything.

  By the time Amy emerged, she discovered Jenny had left without saying anything further. Amy must have offended her more than she'd realised, which surprised her – Jenny wasn't the kind of person to hide her feelings. Maybe she'd been trying to be sensitive.

  A spike of guilt rose through Amy at this thought. Jenny had seen her home, checked on her, slept on the sofa, and all the time she'd been too wrapped up in her own selfish depression to notice or care. Stupidstupidstupid. She wouldn't have any friends left if this carried on. Not that she deserved any, not if she was going to treat them the way she'd treated –

  -no not that name, not now. Don't think about it. She had to focus on getting clean, getting dressed, not losing her job.

  Amy's phone was still in the middle of the bedroom floor. She picked it up gingerly, and it wasn't broken.

  She messaged Jenny. "Sorry, and thanks. Really thanks."

  Gritting her teeth, Amy discarded the phone again and headed for the shower. Just as she was about to step in, the row of boxes by the basin caught her eye. Her hair dyes.

  She was sick of red hair. Sick of passion and romance and all that it stood for. Maybe it was time for a change. Time to kill the old Amy and become a new one, clean and reborn and stronger than history.

  Gloves. Vaseline. Bowl. Comb. Amy rushed around the flat in her pyjamas, opening cupboards and rifling through heaps.

  Bleach. She was nearly out of bleach, but the old colour had to go, just like the girl who wore it.

  Jenny had headed home to change. Second time in as many days she'd spent the night on someone else's furniture, and it was starting to feel like a bad habit. Ungrateful cow, after everything Jenny had done for her.

  She texted Hazel again on the way, warned her she was coming over. Still nothing, and none of the others had replied.

  Her shift didn't start until nine – it was a waste of time trying to sell people anything earlier, as they'd be far too grumpy when they answered the phone. Jenny was glad she wasn't among the people stuck on the late shift. There was something about working late that ruined both the days on either side, splitting them into awkward mornings and sleepness nights.

  It wasn't far from hers to Hazel's, only a couple of streets from Bell to Sourdough. Jenny sometimes wondered if the two of them would have become such friends if seeing each other had involved more effort – she and Hazel didn't have much in common besides the fact they'd both wound up living alone at the same time.

  Hazel lived in the ground-floor flat of a terraced house, walls made of yellow sandstone bricks. Most of the windows were dark, but Jenny could see a glimmer of light through the blinds of what she thought was Hazel's bedroom. She headed through the gate and across the tiny square of soil that pretended to be a garden, and crouched down to peer through the blinds.

  There were footsteps from the pavement behind her, and a voice called out her name.

  Jenny spun round to find Steven standing behind the gate. He looked awkward, feet shifting as if they wanted to carry him away.

  "Hey," she said. "What're you doing here?"

  "I got your message." Steven didn't look as if he'd slept since last night – there were shadows under his eyes, and his hair was tangled and stuck together. "Have you been to see her? Is she alright?"

  "I just got here." Jenny kept her distance. "What the hell happened last night? Jessica had to go to hospital."

  "Oh no." Steven actually turned pale, and she could see him hanging onto the gate for support. "I didn't – I didn't know that. It was an accident and I didn't–” he paused for breath. "Was she okay?"

  "I don't know," Jenny said, finding herself starting to enjoy his discomfort. "You'd better ask her that, if she ever lets you talk to her again."

  "Right," said Steven, and slumped down even further. Jenny started to feel sorry for him despite herself.

  "Anyway," she said. "What about Hazel?"

  "Yeah, okay." Steven was barely hearing her, but when Jenny turned back to the front door he followed after, stinking of grease and stale beer. Jenny wrinkled her nose – visibly, for his benefit – and rang the doorbell.

  It rang without answer so Jenny pressed it again and leaned on it, and still the bell pealed on. There was an empty echo to it, as if the sound came from high above and far away.

  "Maybe she went away?" Steven was hovering at her elbow.

  "Then why'd she leave that on?" Jenny pointed at the window with the closed blinds, at the faint light seeping through them.

  "So people think she's still home?" Steven shrugged. "My mum always used to in order to scare off burglars."

  Jenny ignored him and walked back over the little square of garden. The blinds were almost completely shut and the window was dirty, meaning she had to shade her eyes and squint to make out anything in the room beyond.

  Her eyes adjusted slowly, and Jenny could make out the silhouettes of furniture – a bed, a wardrobe, a bedside table. The dim light seemed to be coming from an old lamp at the bedside – she could see the patterns of the shade, the shadow of the neck.

  Jenny lowered her head and peered harder, trying to will the blinds to move, to widen.

  "Can you see her?" Steven was leaning in too, and the stink of him nearly put her off altogether. Jenny snapped "Give me some space," at him, and it seemed to do the trick as he retreated to the far side of the garden, looking hurt.

  Jenny bent down again and stared, blocking off the sunlight with her hands.

  There was another shape in the dimly-lit room, sitting in the centre of the bed. At first Jenny couldn't make out any details of it at all, so bad was the light and so grimy the window, but she twisted her head this way and that and screwed up her eyes until they watered, and the outlines slowly became clear to her.

  There was a figure in the centre of the bed, sitting up and huddled over itself. The light fell across it in such a way that Jenny couldn't make out any details, but she was sure it was a person sitting there, and who could it be but Hazel?

  "Found her," she announced to Steven, reluctantly beckoning him over. He looked like he'd been crying, and Jenny had had enough of that last night. He stared through the blinds and appeared baffled, so Jenny took him by the shoulders and guided his eyes. "Look."

  "She's not moving," Steven whispered, and it only then occurred to Jenny that Hazel must have been able to hear everything she'd said before. "Is she asleep?"

  "She can't be," Jenny breathed back. "Her back's all bent, and she's not leaning on anything."

  Jenny tapped loudly on the window, and still the figure didn't react.

  "Maybe she's still mad at me," Steven said, and this seemed more than likely to Jenny.

  Something wasn't right about the way Hazel sat, about the angle of her back. She was more squatting than sitting, Jenny thought, and her head was bowed low, meaning that her face would be hidden even in better light.

  Jenny pulled her phone out and rang Hazel, but the call went straight to voicemail. She couldn't see the light of a screen anywhere in the bedroom, which meant Hazel's phone must be off. Did she want to avoid talking to them that badly?

  This time Jenny banged on the window with the flat of her palm, making Steven jump. She could imagine curtains twitching up and down the street and didn't care – let them look, all the stuffy old people and nosy layabouts, let them gawp and stare and gossip. "Hazel," she called, "are you in there? Are you sick?"

  "Wait." Steven was tapping her on the shoulder, and Jenny bristled at him. "Look at these," he said, pointing downward.

  Jenny looked, and saw the prints in the soil. They were long – at least half again as long as her own feet – and thin and tapered to a point, more like knife-blades than feet.

  "Are those your shoes?
" Steven asked, and Jenny hit him on the arm. "Don't be stupid."

  Even with all their shouting and banging, the squatting figure had remained exactly where it was, motionless in the middle of the bed.

  Jenny pulled away from the window, dragging Steven with her.

  "Do you have her mum's number?"

  "What good's that going to do if she's in there?" Steven folded his arms. He was such a little kid about stuff like this, temper tantrums and trying to be nice and crying over people. Jenny couldn't see why her friends had liked him in the first place but she was stuck with him now and this was serious, too serious to let him pout and muck it up.

  "I'll call the police then," she said, and saw Steven's eyes go wide.

  "Are you insane?" he said, whispering again. "What if that isn't her and it's just a cushion or something? Maybe she's visiting her parents, or she's asleep and doesn't want to talk to anyone?"

  "Did it look like a cushion to you?" Jenny was in danger of being late for work.

  "I dunno," said Steven. "It's too dark in there to tell what anything is."

  "Fine, whatever." Jenny headed for the gate, and forestalled Steven's question by saying "I have to get to work. You call her parents and see if they know where she is, ok?"

  She was away down Sourdough Street before he could protest any further. It wasn't until the bus stop that Jenny noticed Amy's text, and with it her own sourness died a little and she replied in kind.

  Amy was washing the last remnants of bleach back out of her hair when her phone went. Her hand shook as she went to pick it up, but it was only Jenny saying "no probs u're welcome," with a smiley face at the end.

  She'd underestimated Jenny, found her too shallow. Amy reprimanded herself as she showered – staring at the colour of the water for what felt like hours, waiting for it to turn clear – and dressed herself, and the memory of her behaviour that morning made the tears start up again. How did she keep being horrible to people? It wasn't as if she meant it, it just slipped out. She was selfish and childish and vile at heart and it couldn't be hidden.