DEAD GOOD (3 page)

I take the stairs two at a time, speed across the hallway to the kitchen and then stop dead in my tracks and stare at the sight in front of me. Every cupboard door in the kitchen is open. And I mean every one. Every drawer is open, every lid is off, everything that can be opened up, unscrewed, twisted off, lifted up – is off. Open. Up. Everything. Even the kitchen windows are pushed wide apart. I actually gasp, clamp a trembling hand over my mouth and turn to head back upstairs. But then I stop. Think. What would that achieve? Would running away and hiding seriously help? And so, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m going to do exactly what I yell at the actors in the creepy horror films NOT to do, and I’m going to Go In. To the place that’s scary. Because actually there’s a part of me that does not believe this is really happening. And there’re always heroes who come and save the day anyway. Well aren’t there?

V-e-r-y, v-e-r-y slowly I walk cautiously into the kitchen and push one of the wide open drawers shut. It stays shut. I don’t know what I expected would happen but it’s not open anymore. I do the same with the next one and the next and the next and then make a start on the cupboard doors and the pots and lids.

Everything stays shut, closed, fastened. Then I stand like a soldier in the middle of the kitchen and stare cautiously around me, waiting for something to happen again. And as I start to head back out of the kitchen I do another quick turn to see if anything’s happened. Nothing’s moved. I wonder how long I’ve been holding my breath because now that nothing seems to be happening anymore, I’ve given myself permission to breathe again.

But as soon as my back is turned and I’m feeling the tiniest relief that this is an end to the madness I’ve just witnessed, I hear a tap turn itself on behind me. I twist round slowly and watch as it hisses faster and faster into the sink; the force of the water banging loudly on the steel and out onto the floor in big arcs. I swallow and freeze, watching the water pressure mount and mount and then the other tap turns on. Then the washing machine starts to rumble; the cooker fan turns on and whirrs faster and faster and the fluorescent strip light on the ceiling starts to flicker on and off. I’m standing right next to the control and although it’s not actually switching on and off, the bulb above still fizzes like there’s lightening inside it.

I move back inside the kitchen just as guardedly as I did before and go over to the sink to turn off the taps. I go really slowly as though I don’t want to upset anything – anybody – whatever’s making all this happen I mean. Then I lean over and gently pull the windows shut. I switch off everything electrical that seems to have jumped into miraculous life and then I start to retreat backwards from the room as slowly, if not slower than I entered.

As I walk silently back into the hall, almost on tip-toes, I just reach the bottom of the stairs when I hear the bangs start up again in the kitchen behind me. My heart picks up speed once more and I freeze to the spot. I don’t even bother turning back round. I know what I’ll see. I don’t know whether I want to laugh manically or cry. I also wonder if I might pee myself, I feel so out of control.

‘Maddie?’ I gasp involuntarily as I hear Mum call out from the front door which I now realise has flown open straight ahead of me. ‘What’s going on? We could hear noises from outs-’

My head spins towards her and I watch her face fall. I must look crazed. ‘What’s happening?’ she yelps, crossing the floor worriedly. ‘What’re you standing like that for in the middle of the…’ she stops and tilts her head to one side just like I did earlier, listening as the noises start to overpower her voice. ‘Who’s here? What’s that noise? And what’s that smell? Is something burning?’

I see Dad arrive behind her and watch him stop too, waiting at the doorway with two white carrier bags. When he sees me frozen to the spot he puts them down and walks over to me. I think I might have lost the ability to speak and I can’t feel my legs. But I’m so glad to see them, I start to laugh. Maybe I’m hysterical. He puts his arms round me and pulls me to his chest. I still feel frozen, though.

Mum strides straight past us and into the kitchen where most of the noise is emanating. Gradually Dad follows with me still clamped to his side. We watch as she goes over to the cooker and she peers inside the already-open door, sniffs deeply then shakes her head. She twists every gas knob one way then another and makes sure they’re all switched off. Then she turns back to us. ‘The smell isn’t in here,’ she says confused. ‘It’s in the living room. What could be burning in the living room?’

And that’s when the screaming starts.

I’ve seen horror films like this. I know I haven’t seen the really, really scary, Eighteen rated ones but I’ve seen films where things like this take place and usually I’ve just thought ‘yeah, yeah, things like that wouldn’t really happen’ but they do. They have. They are. See?

As if the drawers opening and the lights flashing and the water running and everything else that happened in the kitchen isn’t bad enough, there actually is a really strong smell of burning coming from the living room and when Mum instinctively goes towards it, the door slams shut right in her face. And I mean right in her face. Like someone pushed it hard from the other side.

The screaming is ear-splitting now. Mostly it seems to be coming from the living room – which we still can’t get the door to open to. And we can’t even touch the door knob now because it’s red hot. It’s times like this you wish you had a camcorder because no one’s going to believe this is happening. Nobody. Even I wouldn’t.

‘Where’s Davey?’ Mum suddenly yelps.

‘Oh god –‘ I gasp, ‘I left him in his room when I heard the noises down here. I don’t know… I’ll go and check on him. He can’t be sleeping through all this noise.’

Mum’s face is white and frowny and she’s a bit jittery. I supposed that’s to be expected under these circumstances. I wish I could tell her not to worry but then she’d think I was a part of it or something. The screams have started to become more muffled inside the room now but we still can’t get hold of the door handle.

Dad is trying to get a signal on his mobile and can’t understand why it won’t work. We can’t get to the landline phone ‘cos it’s in the living room. Mum is still holding onto my hands and then it looks like she suddenly realises she is and drops them.

‘Go!’ she says urgently. ‘Check on Davey!’

I force my body to move and run full pelt up the stairs, noticing that there’s a thicker smell up here of smoke. Downstairs it’s more hot and burny but up here it feels heavy… like if it was proper smoke, it’d be really hard to breathe properly. Heat rises. It comes back to me from a science lesson. So I’m guessing that upstairs is going to be just as bad as downstairs. And – wait a minute – don’t people die in their beds of smoke inhalation? I think I’ve seen the adverts for it on the telly. Oh god. What the hell am I going to find up here?

four

Just as I round the corner to Davey’s room I make a sudden, almost instinctive leap over something and then look down to see what it is. Beneath my feet is what appears to be a heap of clothes lying on the landing. I peer more closely and realise it doesn’t look right. It looks kind of hazy, ghostly. I reach down towards it and before I’ve even touched it, I make out the body of an old man. My hand flies back like it’s been stung and with my heart hammering so much I think I might be sick, I pat my chest to the rhythm of its racing beat and try to convince myself to calm down. I take a deep breath like Mum tells herself to when she gets all stressy. In. Hold it. Out. Everything is fine. Mum and dad are downstairs, this can’t be really happening and nothing can hurt me. I put a brave face on, shut my eyes, step over the … over it and carry on into Davey’s room.

The feeling of smoke is stronger in here than on the landing and I’m guessing it’s because the room is small and the smoke is trapped or whatever. I walk over to Davey’s bed and something catches the back of my throat as I take in the sight before me.

Davey, strangely, is still fast asleep, one arm lies on top of the bedcovers and his cheeks look a little red but that aside, he is peaceful. I check to make certain the bedclothes and his chest are rising and falling, so I know he really is asleep and breathing properly and hasn’t been suffocated by ghostly smoke fumes. I knew he wouldn’t be. This is something that’s happening around us not to us.

But it’s the something.. .I mean somebody else that’s lying beside him that makes my heart freeze. There’s a misty figure of a girl curled up along the length of Davey’s body – spooning, isn’t that what’s it’s called? Her arm is looped over his chest and her face is as angelic as Davey’s although it’s paler. It’s a kind of grey-white. Well, it would be – if she’s a ghost, then she’s dead, isn’t she? So, obviously, she’s not breathing. But a part of me feels that she is looking after Davey and comforting him and I thank her silently for doing so. I wonder if this is the girl he was calling ‘Mia’ earlier on. She doesn’t look scary, like I thought a ghost would be. In fact, it’s quite a poignant sight. But one which I’m not entirely sure my mum is ready to see right now so I turn and leave, all the time working out what to tell my parents when I get downstairs.

I am just about to put my foot on the top step when a thought occurs to me. Is there anything happening in MY room? I walk to the doorway and then stop because suddenly I don’t know if I want to see what’s in there. The door is slightly open anyway so I push it a bit more and peer inside. I can’t see anything because it’s dark and the curtains are closed and then my eyes start to adjust to the darkness.

There’s the hazy outline of a male body sprawled on the floor of my room, face down. His arms are reaching out towards the door. I can’t see his face properly and I don’t think I want to. It looks like he was either trying to get to the door or else he just fell over with the fumes from the smoke when he got out of bed. I am slightly grateful that it looked as if the girl – Mia - in Davey’s room didn’t even wake up to the nightmare that was going on in the house before dying in her sleep.

I tiptoe quietly back out, my mouth not as dry as before and my heart just about starting to calm down a bit. For some strange reason, I realise I don’t feel threatened or anything by the things I’ve heard or even seen tonight. In fact I feel slightly calmer than I did before – now that Mum and Dad have seen some strange things happening too, I mean. Now I know it’s not just me. I’m not going mad. And Davey doesn’t have an invisible friend either, because now I’ve seen her as well.

Back downstairs, the smell seems to be less overpowering than before. The screaming has stopped and the living room door is now open. Dad is inside and holding the phone off the receiver. His face is ashen. Not surprising.

‘So. Wha…what the…’ Dad starts, still holding the receiver. Then he turns to look over at me. ’Excuse the French, Madeline, but for one night only your father feels it’s entirely necessary to use the Eff word in front of you. What the fu…fu-flip -’ he emphasises his non-swearage by lifting his free arm up at the shoulder, palm ceiling-wards, looking at us both in total disbelief ‘- am I supposed to say when they ask Fire, Police or Ambulance?’

five

Sleeping wasn’t the best I have to admit. But today is another day. It’s Saturday – the start of the weekend. And yesterday was full of unusual things. I’m not alone in being a little weirded-out by strange stuff; there’s nothing to get spooked about.

I stare about and wonder if I shut my eyes again and open them r-e-a-l-l-y slowly then this might all still be just a bad dream. Yesterday didn’t happen. In fact the last few months didn’t happen. That’d be nice. Unless this is one of those ‘lucid’ dreams I’ve read about. In which case, doesn’t that make me more in control or something? I open my eyes very slowly.

Nope. Still here. And I seriously cannot believe that this is my bedroom. That this is our house. I can’t even say the word ‘new’ because this is so nothing like any idea of ‘new’ that I’ve ever seen before in my entire life. This is old. It is beyond old. It is ancient; it is crappy, shitty and should very probably be put on some kind of danger list and demolished – immediately. Or sooner - after I’ve grabbed my iPod and GHD’s of course. I sigh. I’m sighing. I’m sighing the minute I wake up !

The only other time I sigh the minute I wake up is… wait a minute…I stretch over to my bedside table and pull out my diary. I find the calendar section and then notice the little red dot that indicates ‘maybe today?’ which is marked at yesterday. Which I should have known. Typical. Maybe that’s what I had last night then, hallucinations – just another symptom of PMS. Sore boobs, belly ache, and seeing things that aren’t there. Okay. Noted.