Creep Street (3 page)

K, don't tell me, then,' you say. You know that nothing's more certain to work than the old ‘I don't want to know anyway' line. But Stacey's different. She immediately turns away and says, ‘Oh good, I was hoping you wouldn't ask.'

Whoops. Seems like you miscalculated. ‘Er, hang on a sec,' you say. ‘Look, if it'll make you feel better to tell me, I guess I don't mind.'

‘No, no really, it's quite OK,' she says.

‘No, no really,' you say. ‘It's not good to bottle things up. The counsellor at my old school kept telling us, “Talking always helps.”'

Stacey turns back to face you and stares you right in the eye. ‘I hope you'll be really happy here,' she says. ‘I sure do hope you will be. And if you ever need help, I just live over the road there, OK?'

Why would you need help? you wonder. What's she on about? But before you can ask those questions she's walking away down the drive. If you want to try again you'll have to be quick. But she seems kind of hard to get through to. Maybe you'd be better off exploring those sheds.

i, Stacey,' you mumble, ‘how nice to meet you.'

‘You too,' she replies, through clenched teeth.

‘I told you they'd get on well,' your mother says to Stacey's mum. ‘Now why don't you two go off and play together? We'll be in the house having a cup of tea and catching up on old times.'

The two women walk happily into the house, chattering and laughing, and you're left, standing there with Stacey.

‘Well,' you say, ‘where do you want to play?'

She gives you a sickly sweet smile. ‘I know a nice place we can go.'

Against your better judgement you say: ‘OK.'

You follow her down the path. It gets pretty overgrown. You fight your way through the undergrowth, wondering why you're doing this. But Stacey keeps going, not looking back. To your surprise you suddenly come to an old car in a small clearing. It's up on blocks but it's no wreck. It's actually in quite good condition. It looks like a car from one of those American musicals:
Saturday Night Fever
or something. Pink, with big fins and bench seats. It sits there gleaming like a jewel.

‘Wow,' you breathe.

‘You like it?' Stacey asks.

‘Sure do.'

‘Hop in,' she invites.

‘Whose is it?' you ask.

‘Oh, just someone who used to live here,' Stacey says vaguely.

You're attracted to the car, but some instinct makes you hesitate. You've always been told not to get in cars with strange men, but what about with strange girls?

ith all the strength you can muster you slam the door. You slam it so hard that you're surprised it doesn't fall off its hinges. A few dark brown hairs sticking through the crack show you how close the creature came to getting through. You lean back against the wall, panting with relief. You're safe, for the time being. You smile as you think about how you got away. You feel pretty good!

Twelve hours later you're not feeling quite so good. Every time you put your eye to the keyhole you see his red eyes gleaming back at you, like laser beams. You can even hear his low grumbling growl, occasionally breaking into a hungry roar. From time to time he throws himself against the door, and you watch in terror as the old oak panels rock and shake. You don't understand why no-one's come to rescue you, but you start to realise that maybe no-one ever will.

The situation's desperate and you need to do some creative thinking. How can you get out of this? Will you ever see your loved ones again? Will you ever breathe fresh air, see the stars at night, hear the birds chirping? Will you ever eat a Big Mac, listen to Triple J, or fail a Maths test? All of life's big thrills are hanging in the balance. You search around the cellar for some escape, something you can use. You find only two possibilities. One's a spoon that you think maybe you can use to tunnel out of there, like in the old war movies. The other's a black-and-white TV. The TV seems to work, but you can't think what you're going to do with it.

ight in front of you is a statue of some kind, covered with a dustsheet. It seems like a human figure. ‘Hmm,' you think, ‘looks interesting. Maybe it's some incredibly rare sculpture, worth millions of dollars.'

You take a step forwards and go to pull the sheet off.

But just then there's a movement under the sheet. Right where the hand of the statue would be, there's a tiny movement.

‘Oh no,' you think. ‘Oh no. I imagined that. I must have. Oh please, please, let me have imagined that.'

You look around at the trapdoor, hoping that a breeze from there might have moved the sheet. But the trapdoor is closed and the attic is completely still.

You turn back to the statue. You watch it for quite a while, but there's no further movement. At last you persuade yourself that you must have imagined the whole thing. You decide for the second time that you're going to pull off the dustsheet. Once again you take a step forwards. And once again there's a movement.

Only this time it's a violent movement.

The sheet is suddenly thrown off. Someone or something under the sheet throws it off. The sheet goes flying through the air.

You try to scream but the only sound that comes from your throat is the hacking noise you'd get from someone who's been chain-smoking for thirty years. You don't stop to see what was under the sheet. You turn and try to run for the trapdoor. But you trip over a roll of carpet and fall heavily to the floor. For a moment you're winded and concussed, unable to get up. And then suddenly you feel a weight on your back and thin bony fingers tightening around your throat.

Panic gives you new strength. You throw the weight off and stumble to your feet. You stumble across the room towards the trapdoor. You don't dare look back. But when you're halfway to the trapdoor a frightening apparition jumps in front of you. It's a dried human, a sultana human. Like someone who's been dead a thousand years and has dried out till nothing's left but the skin and the bones, only the skin's all yellow and crackly and leathery and there are no eyes and . . .

You scream and race across to the window. You pick up a block of wood that's lying there and smash the glass out of the frame. You plan to climb out and escape along the roof, but one glance through the broken glass makes you hesitate. The roof's horribly steep and the rain has started, so it'll be very slippery. Should you risk it or not? One thing's for sure, you have to make a quick decision.