Creep Street (2 page)

he garden looks interesting, sure, but there's a nasty greyness stealing over the sky that says a storm isn't far away. So you decide you'll check the house out before you do anything else.

You go back indoors. You walk down a long corridor that seems to be going through the middle of the house. The further you go, the darker it gets. Not just dark, but cold too. And there's a smell, a strange smell, like a rubbish tin where you dumped some leftover chicken a few weeks ago, and it still hasn't been emptied.

When you get to the end of the corridor you're faced by two sets of stairs, one going up and one going down. Both are old and rickety, both look like they haven't been used in a while. Both are laced with cobwebs. One obviously leads to the cellar, the other could go anywhere. Which stairs are you going to take?

ou think you can trust her so you tell her your name. She tells you her name too. It's Stacey.

‘Where are you from?' you ask.

‘Number 23. Where are you from? I haven't seen you round here before.'

‘Uh, my parents just bought this place,' you explain.

Stacey's mouth opens. She's wearing braces on her teeth. In fact, she's got so much metal in there, you could hook your TV up to her. You'd get a pretty good picture.

‘They . . . they bought it?' she stammers.

You think she must be stunned at how rich you are and you smile modestly.

‘Hey,' you say, ‘don't let it bother you. We're just regular people. Treat us the same way you would anyone else.'

‘You . . . you bought it?' she says again.

‘Do you have a problem with that?'

‘But . . . but . . . are you sure your parents know what they're doing?'

This is a tough question. Your parents seem to have so little idea of what they're doing that it's given you a lot of sleepless nights. But you don't like to admit that to a complete stranger.

‘Sure they do,' you say casually. ‘Of course they do. They always know exactly what they're doing. Always. Absolutely. Everything. Exactly, believe me.'

Stacey just stands there. She's still staring at you like there's a funnel-web spider up your left nostril.

‘Why, what seems to be the problem?' you ask.

‘I . . . I don't know,' she stammers. ‘I don't know if I should tell you.'

You also start to wonder if she should tell you. There are some things it's better not to know, like your middle name, your Maths grades, and what your parents actually did in order to bring you into the world. You pause, wondering. Does Stacey know something that you don't want to know?

hould I really be doing this?' you ask yourself. ‘No,' you answer, but because you're an idiot you keep going. You put one foot on the old rickety staircase, then another foot, then a third foot. Oh no, that can't be right. You haven't got three feet. You look down at the feet on the step and start counting. One, two, three. Something's wrong here. The first foot is yours, definitely yours. It's your right foot, and a very nice foot it is too. And the one next to it, that's your left foot. You'd recognise it anywhere. But the one next to that, that big brown hairy one with the long yellow toenails . . . that's not yours. That's definitely not yours.

You look up. You're not sure that it's a good idea, but you look up. And there, standing right next to you in the gloomy light, towering about three metres over you, is a huge smelly hairy red-eyed creature with arms as long as your legs and legs as long as your body. It looks a bit like a bear, but you've never seen a bear with huge pointy fangs and bloody foam dripping from its mouth. It's breathing like a hot-air balloon with asthma. You scream and take a giant leap. Before you know it you're at the bottom of the staircase and through the cellar door. You grab the big heavy oak door and go to slam it shut, but the scary creature is right behind you and he grabs for the door with his big hairy paws to stop you. It's a photo finish: will you get the door shut in time?

hope you know you're trespassing,' you say. ‘This is private property.'

‘Well, you're trespassing too,' she says.

‘That's where you're wrong. My parents have just bought this house.'

‘Oh have they? Well, I've got news for you. This house has the worst reputation in the neighbourhood. It attracts weirdos. The last three people who lived here were all complete jerks, and no-one wants to come near the place now.'

The way she talks makes you really mad. She's the first person you've met in this street, and she's so insulting!

‘Why don't you just get out of here?' you say. ‘We're busy. Come back some other time, like next century.'

You walk off angrily towards the house. She follows, about twenty metres behind. But when you step up onto the verandah you see your mother with another lady. ‘Oh there you are, dear,' your mother says. ‘We were talking about you. Look who I've found living next door: my old school friend, Melia Cunningham. Isn't that lovely. We're going to see so much of each other. Come here and say hello.'

‘Hello, Mrs Cunningham,' you say. Not that she looks too lovely to you. She's dressed all in black, except for her scarlet fingernails. Her hair's a weird purple colour and around her neck she's wearing a silver dagger. It's flashing so sharply in the sunlight that it hurts your eyes and you have to look away.

‘Hello, dear,' Mrs Cunningham says. ‘Oh and look, there's my daughter, Stacey. I just know you're going to be great friends.'

You don't have to look around. You know exactly who Stacey is. You don't feel you're going to be such great friends. But the adults are looking at you, waiting for you to say the right thing. You've got a look on your face like someone who's swallowed a handful of earwigs. But your mother says: ‘Well, say hello to Stacey, darling.'

There's a lot of things you'd like to say to Stacey, but ‘hello' isn't one of them. The pressure's on, though. The silence can't go much longer.

ou start to mount the rickety staircase, peering above you as you climb, trying to make out some details through the cobwebs and the gloom. The stairs seem to go on forever, up and up and up. The air feels musty and stale.

When you get to the top you find a ladder and a trapdoor. You hesitate. It's hard to know what to do. Is it going to be safe up there? But you don't want to turn back now. You climb the ladder slowly, then balance at the top and put your hand on the trapdoor. Gingerly you push it up. It squeaks and creaks and groans, but it does open.

Step by step you go on up into the room. It seems like some sort of attic. There's a window that's covered with grime and dust and more cobwebs, but it lets a bit of light in. You stand there looking around you. It's actually a series of attics, because you can see other rooms stretching away to your right. There's stuff everywhere. Boxes, trunks, chests, rolls of carpet, furniture covered in white sheets. You don't know whether to stay in the first room and explore it, or to go and check the rooms to your right. Or maybe you should just get out of there. After all, the whole place is really creepy, and being up there on your own is getting on your nerves.