Lonely House

by Collins, James

  But, that’s okay. William will move away soon. He has to. But, where will he go? Drover thinks of the others in the sitting room. Are they next? How come Lily seems to know what’s going on? What’s happening out there? Maybe he should get in the car and smash through the doors, smash through that other car, race around to the front, pick up Pete and go. He will, as soon as William is gone.

  Why is he out there rattling a chain? Drover can hear it clanking against the side of the freezer. What’s he doing? Just go away. Please, God. Okay, I’ll promise something, anything you want, just make him go away.

  He could drive off, straight through the door, past the car, out down the track, find help, come back and get Pete. No, it would be too late by then. Whatever this thing is, it’s not going to leave them alone in the sitting room while Drover goes and find a policeman. The police? He nearly laughs. Even if they believed him they’d probably just arrest him.

  The chain comes to a halt, the clanking sound stops, and Drover’s mind races with guilt. It’s been doing this on and off for months now, ever since that day at the bank. No, not since then. That was like this afternoon; that was not his fault. He didn’t need to feel guilty about that. He’d been feeling guilty since finding out who the dead man had been.

  Okay, God, so this is your way of getting me back, but it was an accident, I swear. I’ll do anything you want.

  When Drover really means it, God knows to listen. Drover hears the long slow haul of William’s feet head towards the kitchen door. He hears the door open. And close. And Drover finally breathes out. William has gone, but he could be heading for Pete, and Drover has not yet found the cartridges. He needs to get them and head back. The coast should be clear now.

  He tries to pull his knees up towards his chest, ready to kneel up as best he can. He will lift the lid with his back, squint into the gloom and check that there is no one in the garage. He tries to shuffle the thing from his back but there’s no room for it to move. Whatever came down on top of him is now wedged between his back and the lid. That’s okay, he just needs to press up harder. He does so. Nothing moves.

  It’s like pressing against a nailed down lid and he imagines this is what it must be like to be in a coffin. That’s not funny, just push. He pushes, hard. There’s pain in his back, and, as he strains, he feels something warm run down the back of his neck; sweat, he reckons, and pushes again. The harder he pushes, the more sweat trickles down. It runs across his face, now. It’s like he’s squeezing something out of a sponge, but it’s not a sponge above him. It’s soft, but not that soft. And the lid of the freezer is still not moving.

  He remembers the sound of the chain and his heart leaps to join the bile at the back of his throat.

  ‘No way!’ he says, and as he opens his mouth some of the sweat rolls into it. Sweat, in a freezer? With his teeth chattering? It tastes salty, but thick. It’s not quite like sweat.

  Drover can feel panic rising in his guts. It’s rapidly making its way from his bladder to his chest and getting in the way of his breathing. He realises he is trapped, buried alone in a freezer, in the dark, with God knows what pressing down on him, and the freezer is chained shut. Will he run out of air before he freezes? Should he shout for help? No, William would hear. At least that would be a quicker death than freezing or suffocating. No, hypothermia is good, you go warm and get tired and drift off. How the fuck does he know that? And why is he thinking it when he should be doing something?

  Hinges. The lid must have hinges. If he can unscrew them… It’s chained down. It might not be, and it might move a bit. He could pull at the seal, let air in. But what could he unscrew it with? He needs a plan. Car keys. He still has them. But how can he see what he’s doing? He reaches out to the left and meets the back wall. His hand moves upwards against the plastic, but he can only feel so far before the weight on top of him restricts his movement. He tries to turn onto his back and shove the thing off, but he can’t make enough room.

  The panic is now in his heart and he wants to give up. But, he can’t. Pete is alone out there with the monster and he needs Drover.

  Pete! The answer comes to him in a flash. He knew there was a reason he kept that boy around. Another reason, that is.

  He contorts himself to reach down into his pocket. Which one was it in? Where did he put it? Please don’t say he threw it away. There was the stream, the trees, there was sunlight, what were they talking about? The Missing, as Pete called them, his ghost train, going to hell, and then there was the two of them tumbling down and faint with hunger, and why didn’t Drover believe him? Why could Drover not be as trusting as his mate? Why could Drover not be more like Pete?

  The panic was getting to his brain, now, jumbling his thoughts. How long can he stay locked in this freezing death-black tomb before he too gets on that ghost train ride to hell? And when he gets there, will he be one of the ones who comes back? A reject from hell. That would be Drover, for sure, he’s been a reject from everything else in his life. Everything, except Pete. Pete has never rejected him, but, then, he’s never known the truth, has he? No, but Pete gives him presents.

  It was an accident, he screams inside his head. Today was an accident. Pete’s hell train wouldn’t let him off in hell. It would keep him aboard, let him find his way back to the living, for sure. Pete would make sure of it.

  Pete and his bloody lighter.

  Drover’s fingers reach it, deep in his trouser pocket. He wrestles it free. Being careful not to drop it, he turns it in his fingers feeling for the top and brings it up close to his face.

  ‘Wait, Drover,’ he whispers to himself. ‘Think about this. Plan it.’

  It will burn oxygen, he knows, so he will have to be quick. A quick flash and see what the obstacles are. He only needs a glimpse of the hinges to be able to see where they are, then he can save the light, save the oxygen and start on the hinges. It’s got to be better than giving in.

  He brings the lighter towards his face and finds there’s something heavy between his hand and his head. It’s heavy but not too big and he is able to move it around slightly to give himself more room.

  He feels it pressing against his knuckles, wanting to roll back into place if he moves his hand. He’s got the lighter the right way around now. It’s going to blind him, being this close, so he shuts his eyes.

  As long as the lighter works, as long as there is gas in it, he will allow himself a second or two to slowly open his eyes so they can adjust. He will look away as best he can and then he’ll look up right and left and see if there are hinges he can attack. The plan is set. He flicks the lighter.

  It works. He can see the flame come to life as he slowly opens his eyes.

  To look straight at Myles’ mutilated head with the rest of what’s left of him squeezed between Drover and the lid of the freezer.

  That wasn’t sweat.

  Twenty-three

  PETE CLOSES THE SITTING ROOM DOOR behind him and clenches his jaw. Determined not to be scared, he heads towards the kitchen. He scolds himself for leaving the cartridges when he took the gun. He can be so stupid sometimes.

  Keeping his back to the wall, wary of the front door, expecting it to open, he slips up the passage towards the kitchen. He is sure William is outside still, but the house is so strangely quiet he really doesn’t know what to think. The man could have crept back in. He could be waiting around the corner in the kitchen.

  Pete nears the door and remembers the sight of William’s face when he had been fighting with Drover. Had he seen it or was it his imagination again?

  When they were struggling for the gun he’d caught a flash of William’s face, but it wasn’t a man’s face. The skin had gone. Instead, there was a red, dripping, slimy covering around his eyes. And they were yellow, weren’t they? Like those eyes out in the forest. Pete shuddered at the memory. No nose
, just holes, no lips, just pointed teeth and stinking breath. He realised then that what he had caught sight of was what William became when the ‘gift’ overtook him. What he had seen was the monster and that monster could be waiting for him in the kitchen.

  He wants to turn back, but Drover needs Pete’s help. No matter what might be waiting around the corner he has to step into the kitchen and cross the room to the garage. From where he stands now he can see that the door to the garage is closed. There is no sign of anyone else. The light in the kitchen is on but he can’t see any shadows. Nothing is moving, but he knows that William could even now be creeping inside through the back door, out of sight.

  Pete’s mouth is dry but his eyes are watering with fear. He is trembling. He wipes the tears away. There is nothing he can do. William will either be there or he won’t.

  Pete steps into the kitchen and sees it is empty. He lets out his breath and walks across to the garage door. He has his hand reaching out for the handle when he hears the click of a lock and he knows William is at the front door.

  He is suddenly back at school, out in the cold, in the school playground, with a group of older boys penning him in. They are teasing him, throwing things at him, snowballs with lumps of stone and gravel in them. Someone has stolen his coat and some others have pulled Pete’s trousers down. His legs are freezing, and his hands are tied with his belt. The bullies are pelting him with ice and snow and pebbles, and they hurt. He remembers feeling something back then and it was the same feeling as now; fear, anger, hatred, all of those probably. But most of all he feels ashamed, as if he has been caught doing something terribly wrong, as if the boys laughing at him had a right to do so. He feels the same now. William is going to come into the kitchen any second and find Pete standing there, and he will be caught trying to help Drover and be shamed. They will both die because Pete let them down.

  Back in the playground that winter he’d been saved. The diddycoy from the traveller site had come to his rescue again. He’d run into the playground picking up his own handfuls of stones and snow and had started attacking the bullies with them. He wasn’t throwing them and laughing like they were, he was grabbing handfuls of grit and rubbing it in their faces, in their eyes. He was swearing at them and shouting at them and punching. He was wild, but he was wild with anger at what they were doing to Pete. Pete had been saved.

  He hears the front door close. William is coming back into the house and it is time for Pete to pay Drover back.

  Pete can see the garage light switch is in the on position. If William opens the door he will see Drover straight away. There is no time to get to the garage and warn him. He turns off the garage light, then the kitchen light, and runs, in the darkness, across the room.

  As he passes the open doorway he is in full view of whatever is coming in through the front door. From the corner of his eye he sees William’s back. He sees the man closing the front door like he’d just come in from a walk in the woods, a pile of clothes dangling from one hand. Pete is now on all fours, scrambling towards the tall cupboard where they’d put the money earlier. There is room to hide in there. It is just beyond the fridge. He feels for it, yanks it open, and squeezes himself inside just as he hears William trudging into the kitchen.

  Now what should he do? A voice in his head says ‘pray’, but Pete doesn’t pray. He never needed to. There is nowhere to go after you die, only on the train to hell if you’ve been bad, or somewhere nicer if you’ve been good. Drover would go to the nicer place. He’d always been good to Pete. But where will Pete go when William finds him and tears him apart? He feels himself starting to shake as he half stands, half crouches in the narrow, dark cupboard. There is a smell of cleaning products, and it is kind of homely. The cupboard under the stairs used to smell like this, mixed with a bit of polish that his dad had kept there. Car polish. Wax. Orange dusters. Something.

  Pete hears William walking into the room. His steps are in a rhythm and his breathing in a set rhythm. It is low and gurgling. The man takes two steps into the room and it sounds like he is dragging something behind him. He steps, drags, breathes out, steps, drags… like he is hauling something heavy up a hill. His steps are moving away from Pete and heading towards the garage.

  Pete wants to open the door, distract him, get William away from Drover. He puts one hand up on the door. He just needs to push it and the door will open. William will hear him, smell him perhaps, smell his fear, fear which feels like it is leaking out of Pete’s skin like sweat. Then William will turn and come for Pete and Pete could call out, shout at Drover and tell him to run.

  Step, drag, breathe. Moving towards the garage door.

  Pete’s hand is shaking. He can’t control it. There is something heavy leaning next to him and it is starting to slide towards the door. If he leaves it, it might push on the door and open it for him, then he will have no choice but to fall out of the cupboard and be seen. He wants to be seen. He wants to save Drover. He has to. This is all Pete’s fault. His dad had died leaving him with nowhere to live, no money, no family. Drover took him in. Drover is the one who deserves to live.

  Pete presses against the door, ready to barge it open and fall out into the kitchen. Ready to save his friend’s life.

  But he can’t do it. He is too afraid, and instead he crouches there and starts to cry silent tears of frustration. He isn’t even strong enough to save Drover.

  He swallows, wipes his nose, feels the heavy thing slide down further towards the door and lifts his elbow out to stop it. He hears the garage door open and hears William step, drag, breathe his way into the garage.

  But then he hears something else, something faint but recognisable. He hears footsteps coming down from upstairs, fast and light, but audible. He hears a door open and close, the sitting room, he guesses. Perhaps Lily went for the book with the answers. But right now, with William in the house? That’s risky.

  He waits in the darkness until he is sure there is no sound from the kitchen and then dares to open the door a fraction. The kitchen is in semi-darkness and the garage light is still out. He can hear the hum of the freezer. He can just see a small light low down near the ground and he can see it switching on and off. Then he realises that it’s not going on and off. It’s William moving in front of it. He hears the sound of something drop into the freezer and then the lid shuts. There’s the sound of a chain rattling and then the heavy thump of the man coming back. Pete lets the door close. He didn’t hear any sound from Drover, no sounds of attack. He must have been hiding. Maybe William isn’t interested in them. Maybe he’s got enough to deal with getting rid of Myles. Was that what he was doing? Putting Myles in the freezer for later? None of this was in the story that Pete used to hear. None of this was in his story he used to tell.

  He holds his breath. William is in the kitchen again. What’s he doing out there? He’s coming closer. Heavy tread after heavy tread. Pete can’t back away from the door, there’s nowhere to go. He doesn’t want to disturb the things in the cupboard. He can’t give himself away. He wants to scream. He can’t. He stands and closes his eyes. He hears William stop right outside the cupboard door and Pete wants his last thoughts to be happy ones.

  He remembers the time Drover first listened to one of his stories and then asked questions about it, like he was really interested. He remembers the first time he made Drover laugh. He put his arm around Pete and told him they’d always be mates.

  Pete is ready to die now.

  He hears a slight thump on the door, imagines William putting his hand on it. He can smell that horrible stench again, the man’s breath just an inch away on the other side of the door. How come? What’s he doing? Is he smelling Pete? Does he know he’s there? Pete gets his answer.

  ‘One at a time, son.’ William’s speech is slow, and he speaks as if he is still chewing something. But that is all he says.

  Pete hea
rs him move slowly away, like a tired man on his way home from a very long day at work. Weary steps. He hears a door open, the back door, it must be. And then it closes again.

  He waits in coffin-black silence, but nothing stirs; no footsteps, no breathing, nothing but his own shallow fast gasps for air. And then a thumping noise from the garage.

  With his heart pumping in his ears he slowly opens the cupboard door and looks out. ‘One at a time.’ What did that mean? William is playing with them. He knows where they are. He knows they can’t run. He’s outside the house waiting for them to come out, or waiting until he is ready to come back in. No matter what Pete does, if William wants him he’ll come and get him. Meanwhile, where’s Drover?

  Pete looks into the kitchen. There is just enough light from the hall for his eyes to adjust; no dark shadows in corners, just the black hole of the open garage door. And the back door is shut.

  Pete hurries across to the garage. He is about to put the light on but then thinks that it might be seen from outside, so he steps in to the garage and closes the door first. His fingers feel for the light switch. He flicks the switch and the overhead light clunks and flickers into life. There’s the freezer, and there’s a noise coming from inside. Someone is yelling, and, by the sound of it, kicking against the sides. Drover. There’s a chain wound tightly around it with a padlock holding it in place but no sign of a key.

  Pete tries to lift the lid. It won’t budge, the chain is too tight.

  ‘Drover,’ he hisses, close to the lid. ‘Drover, it’s me.’

  He hears a muffled yell from inside. He looks around but he has no idea what would get through this chain. Should he hit it with something or saw at it? Should he pick the lock? How do you do that? Drover could do that. If he hits it with a hammer will that hurt his friend inside? Pete feels tears coming back to his eyes. Frustration. What about a saw? There are tools over there. But which one? They look rusty. What should he do? Drover is banging on the inside. He must be cold. He might be hurt. Maybe he is dying right now.