‘My dad died as well,’ Pete says, and as soon as he says it he feels totally out of place and inadequate.
‘We know,’ Pam says, flatly, her voice still not restored. Then, to her daughter, ‘Go on, then.’
‘You see, Pete,’ Lily says, and smiles back at him, ‘Pam had this plan. She had it from before I was born. I reckon she found out a long time ago because this gift is actually public knowledge, as you know. I mean, you know the story, don’t you? The Missing. Yeah, well, if you search around hard enough you can find old local stories like this everywhere. But, if you believe them, well, then you can act on them and do something with them. All anyone has to do is believe, to not be sceptical, to not ridicule history. I reckon Pam found this story, believed it, researched it, and then she came up with her plan. You see, whoever has the gift has a great chance to make money. But, it’s not a gift I want.’ She looks pointedly back at her mother again. ‘And that’s Pam’s downfall, you see?’
Pete doesn’t see, and at the moment he doesn’t much care. He is worried about Drover.
‘I should go and see where he is,’ he says, and starts towards the door.
‘No, Pete, you need to go and get the book,’ Lily says, and Pete stops in his tracks.
‘Why?’ Pam’s voice is like sandpaper now and she has her hand to her mouth.
‘Because the book will explain what we do next. It’s all in there,’ Lily says. ‘Grandpa showed me the lore and the images, the painting with him in the house from all those years ago. You see?’
Pete shakes his head and says, ‘Drover.’
‘Not yet,’ Lily says. ‘Granddad’s very old, isn’t he, Pam? And he’s not really Myles’ father. No-one knows how old he is because the birthdays don’t often happen. I mean, how often do you know someone with the exact same birthday as someone else in their family, Pete? Not many, I bet. So, when this event happens, when two relatives from the same family share a birthday, the gift can be passed on. But only on the eighteenth birthday. That’s how it is. Thing is, though, this gift brings you loads of money, and that’s what Pam was after, wasn’t it, Pam? You see, Pam thinks that the gift can only be passed on to me, ’cos I am family. But, there’s things Pam doesn’t know. Things that are in the book.’
Pete looks at Pam. She has her hand clutched around her mouth, the other on her tummy like she is trying not to be sick.
‘So, Pete,’ Lily says, as she puts a hand behind her head, relaxed, chilled out. ‘So, what she did was track down the story, track down the family and find Myles who was, let’s face it, not going to get anyone else. He’d pretty much fall for anyone who came along and showed an interest. They got married, or rather, she married him to make it legal and all that, and then made sure I came along at the right time. I reckon Myles never had so much sex as nine months and eighteen years ago. Bet he’s never had any since. Won’t be having any now, that’s for sure. No, hang on, I was premature, wasn’t I? I was cut out early so that the dates tied in. That’s Pam’s plan, you see, Pete? Get William to bequeath his gift to me, tonight, before tomorrow, and then I get the gift. And so I get the money, money that Pam could then control. I get the chance to dispose of evidence, she keeps the cash that the criminals and the police pay to get rid of the bodies. I reckon Myles would have been my first meal, my first real meal in ages, if her plan had worked. I mean, Pam, come on. You starve your daughter for the best part of three months in the hope she will be desperate enough to eat her father? What the fuck!’
Lily laughs so loud that Pete winces.
‘Drover,’ he says. He’s even more confused and scared now, and it’s the first word that comes to mind. The only word. He takes a few more steps towards the door.
‘But, then, Pete and his boy come along and Pam’s plan goes out the window.’
Pete stops. What has he got to do with this?
‘William gets shot and injured and we know, we think we know, that this is a problem.’
Pete looks at Pam. She is swallowing hard and she doesn’t look right. She has sweat on her brow. ‘Are you alright, missus?’ he says, but his voice is so quiet he can hardly hear it himself. His legs feel light and his hands are shaking. Another step towards the door and he feels even more uncertain. He knows what’s going on, he knows that what Lily is saying is right, he always knew this story and here he is in the middle of it. But he’s in the middle of something else as well, something that’s not a story.
‘We know,’ Lily emphasises the word, ‘that William was hurt, and when he is hurt he goes out cold for a while. He can’t be killed, not unless it’s done the right way, on the right day.’ She swings her legs off the arm of the chair and sits up. She looks about the room and sees Pam’s handbag. ‘But what we don’t know is what happens if the person entitled to the gift doesn’t want it. What happens then?’ She gets up and moves to Pam’s chair. Pam watches her from behind the hand that’s clasped around her mouth. ‘What happens if, for example, William gets injured, say, accidentally? Pete, by the way, I don’t think either you or Drover are killers.’
Pam makes a kind of grunting noise and Pete realises she is looking at him now. Her head is nodding but her hand won’t let her speak. She is pointing to something that’s by his feet.
‘D’you hear me, Pete? I don’t think you or Drover meant to kill William. I believe you. It was an accident.’
Pete nods at her but he’s more interested to know what Pam wants. She’s signalling for a metal waste paper bin, which he now sees is under the table next to him. He bends down and picks it up. It’s just a metal bin with nothing in it but Pam wants it.
‘So,’ Lily says, and she picks up Pam’s handbag. ‘What we don’t know is what happens on this special night if there are others around? William has been hurt, he is vulnerable, we can kill him if we know how and have the right things and do it in the right way, and then the gift can be passed on. But can it be passed on to anyone? Could, for example, Pam take it for herself if she wanted? We don’t know. That’s why we need the book. The lore will be in there. Things are explained in there. Thing is, the book is upstairs in his room, and who knows when William will be finished outside with the others, the forgotten, the spirits of the Missing looking on; those things that are waiting to see what will happen to the gift that took their bodies and left their souls behind.’
To Pete, it looks like Lily is the one in charge of this whole mess now. She’s the one taking control. He kind of likes that, and, if he wasn’t so scared, he would stay and find out more. But Drover is out there, and, like she says, who knows when that thing will be coming back inside.
‘The Birthday Book is the only thing that’s going to get you out of this mess, Pam,’ says Lily, spitting out her mother’s name. ‘You want to go and get it?’
Pam’s hand is flapping wildly towards the bin. Pete passes it to her.
‘What happens when William comes back and the gift is ready for its next meal? You want to be it, Mother?’
Pam grabs the bin from Pete’s hands and immediately throws up into it. Pete leaps away from her until he has his back to the door. He looks at Lily. She has pulled a knife from Pam’s handbag, a long, sharp looking knife with a wooden handle and she is holding it up admiring it. There’s her mother being sick into the basket and there’s blood coming out of her mouth. And there’s someone outside the window right now who could come back at any moment and go after Drover.
Pete feels for the door handle behind his back. He knows William is outside. For now. He knows Drover is alone in the house. He knows he has to do something. He has to get away from this laughing girl and her sick mother. He opens the door.
‘Oh, Mother,’ he hears Lily say. ‘What have you been eating?’
Twenty-two
DROVER CAN FEEL ACID in the back of his throat. His guts are screwed up so tight
but still he feels like he could lose what’s in his bladder at any moment. He is lying face down on something hard and lumpy, and he knows he is going to freeze if he stays here much longer. But there is nowhere else, and what’s out there in the dark is worse than what’s in this freezer.
Even though the lid is closed, he can still hear the thing in the garage and it’s dragging something behind it. It could be Pete, dead. Drover doesn’t want to know. It’s getting closer to the freezer and Drover knows he is not buried. He is lying on top of whatever is in here. That thing could look in and see him, and then…
He feels a thump against the edge of the freezer and even though it’s pitch black he screws up his eyes. He hears something dragging what sounds like metal across the lid of the thing, fingers, perhaps claws. Someone is searching for the handle.
Drover has never been one for praying but from somewhere inside, from some gene passed down from distant ancestors who once went to church, he finds some words and races them through his head. Please, not yet, not like this, please.
A cold rush of air sucks past him with a whooshing sound as the lid is lifted.
Drover lies still, willing his heart to stop so it won’t give him away. He holds his breath. He wills his stomach not to rumble, his fingers not to move.
He expects to see light through his eyelids, the beam of a torch, the overhead light from the garage, something, but there is nothing. The garage must still be in darkness. Maybe his makeshift prayers were answered.
Maybe not. A stench pours down into the freezer from above and wraps around his face stifling him. What is that? The smell of blood? He hears rasping breathing that he recognises. William is standing over the freezer. He can hear him. He shifts weight from one foot to the other. But is he looking in? The temptation to stare up is almost overwhelming, but he stays still, frozen.
Frozen. He’s in a freezer. The thought makes him want to laugh, but it is laughter of desperation, hysteria. He must control it.
And then he hears another sound. William is gasping, straining, like he is lifting something heavy. Drover feels another thump against the edge of the freezer. He hears the rustle of clothes, and then, suddenly, there is a pain in his back. Something crashes into his head and something heavy lands on him.
The air is knocked from his lungs and he knows this is it. This is how Drover dies, in the dark, alone, in a freezer, in this mad, lonely house in the woods. How ridiculous his life has been, how ridiculous is its end.
A few minutes back, he had left the sitting room and closed the door behind him. He had known exactly where he was going and what he had to do. The mission was simple. He had checked the front door, not that the chain would be any good against William, not after what he had seen just now. Whatever William had turned into it was strong and determined. He had shaken his head. He had known that whatever madness was around him in this house tonight, he could not let it cloud his judgement. He had to get the cartridges for the gun, get back to the sitting room, load his gun and then get some sense out of this family and find a way to get away safely.
There had been no sound from outside and no light. There were no staring yellow slits that might have been eyes showing through the glass, no dark, sinewy shadow-forms that might have been trees or might have been people. There had been nothing but silence. He had slid quickly into the kitchen and looked around. Door still closed. No key, he remembered, so no point locking it, no point shoving the table against it, there’s a huge window there and William could come through that. Ammunition for the gun, that’s the only thing that was going to save them now.
He had hurried into the garage, shut the door behind him in case that thing should come in through the kitchen door and see him, and flicked on the light. There was the car, and he held the keys. The up and over doors were shut of course and Pam had said that the other car was parked right on the other side. But surely, Drover had thought, he could open the doors? There would be a switch somewhere. And then if he smashed the car into the other car enough times it would shove it out of the way. How long would he need for that?
He had started looking around for the garage door switch. He wouldn’t open it now just in case William was on the other side, but if he could find it and be sure that it would work, then he could form another plan. He’d need to get the bullets and get back to the sitting room. That was only a couple of minutes, tops, maybe less than one. Then he would grab Pete, and leave the others. They meant nothing to him. But if that scrawny girl really was interested in Pete and if Pete really was interested in her then she could come too. He’d get them back here. That would take another two minutes, and they’d get in the car.
He had checked that the driver’s door was unlocked, got that ready, and then the passenger door, all the time looking for the up and over on-off switch; all the time listening out for sounds from outside. Nothing.
He had leaned in and unlocked the back doors. So, four minutes to get back to the room, get Pete and get back here. Thirty seconds to open the garage door, when he found the switch, and while that’s opening they lock themselves in the car and get the thing ready to go. But how long would it take to smash the other car out of the way? What if the trees were really close up to the building? It wouldn’t shove far enough away. And what if that William thing is on their tail, smashing the car windows, or blocking their way?
Drover had realised he’d been too busy picturing what could happen that he hadn’t actually been looking for the switch. And then he’d realised that he’d made no attempt to get the cartridges.
He’d felt the car keys in his hand and they’d reminded him of the task. He’d been about to unlock the boot when he’d heard it. The sound he’d been dreading.
It hadn’t been growling, the sound of bones crunching, or even William breathing hard and dragging his feet. It hadn’t even been the sound of the front door thumped open with a splitting of wood that had unsettled him.
It had been the ordinary, homely sound of it being closed gently after someone had let himself in.
And then the garage light had gone out.
Standing in the dark, in silence, Drover had only heard his own breathing and had felt fear. His heart had started to race as he heard footsteps in the kitchen running away from the garage door, but they weren’t the heavy dragging footsteps he would expect from William. They were faster.
But why had the light gone out?
He’d waited for a second, holding his breath so he could hear better. He’d heard the faint sound of heavy footsteps, William’s for sure, and they were getting louder. He’d heard another pair, closer, in the kitchen. Someone had been out there, running. And, then, he’d heard someone else overhead. He’d heard a door open and a person cross the room above.
‘What the fuck is going on out there?’ he’d thought to himself.
He’d heard sounds from above, someone opening and closing a desk it sounded like, things being moved. He’d heard William’s tread growing in volume, but had he been heading upstairs? If so, then the person up there would have been in serious trouble. Or had he been heading towards the kitchen? Drover had been relieved that he hadn’t been going into the sitting room; that was where Pete was. Or was he? Maybe that had been Pete upstairs and now William was back and heading for him.
‘Stop it!’ he’d hissed to himself. ‘Just find the fucking ammo.’
And then he’d heard the breathing, the dragging sound, the deep growling of the unfit old man coming closer and had known that he was heading towards the kitchen. A thought had flashed through Drover’s mind; he’d only been in this house a few hours but he’d already known the layout of the place well enough to tell someone’s movements by their sounds. Too long a time lived in a cramped caravan with bodies all round and people moving from one small area to the next. Too much time spent lying awake fearing the sound of his father’s return
home, or the approach of policemen’s boots. Too much time spent guiltily listening out for the thing that’s going to come and get you.
A hand on the garage door handle, William on the other side.
Drover had fumbled for the car boot. It would have been a place to hide, but in the dark he couldn’t find the keyhole. He’d heard William’s breathing outside the door. He’d remembered the freezer and had reached out for it, only a few inches away. He’d found it in the dark, found the rim of the lid, opened it quickly and had rolled inside. Not knowing where he was going to land, or even if there was going to be enough room in there, but desperate, he had closed the lid and waited.
And now, here he is, about to die.
But Drover feels the lid slam shut above his head, above whatever is now lying on top of him, and he feels his prayers answered. The first thing he thinks is that he was glad he didn’t make any unnecessary promises to God just then. He only asked, he didn’t promise in return. But he still doesn’t move. He waits. He hears the shuffle of feet. William is moving away. Drover wasn’t seen, but he still doesn’t dare breathe or move.
William is still in the room. He is still out there somewhere. Drover hears the jangle of metal, the rattle of a chain, it sounds like. His mind conjures up dark images of what the man is doing on the other side of the freezer wall, only a few inches away. He feels something hard and cold dig into his thigh and then realises, with horror, that his jaw is starting to move. It’s trembling. He can’t stop his teeth from knocking together. He is starting to freeze. How long has he been lying here? Not long. This thing must be turned right down cold.
Lonely House Page 23