Creep Street (5 page)

alking as lightly as you can you start making your way through the attic. Little clouds of dust rise into the air as you tiptoe along. There's something about this place that makes you want to tread carefully. Something that makes you feel very uncomfortable. Something that makes you feel you shouldn't be here.

You're nearly into the next room when suddenly you hear a sound. Some sounds might be OK up here maybe, like mouse sounds, or wind rattling the windows, or flies buzzing. But a human whisper? No. No, that definitely should not be here.

You're frozen with fear, your teeth rattling so hard you're afraid they'll cut off your tongue. You're glad there's no mirror because you never want to see yourself looking this grey. You try to think, to make your mind work, but it's locked up completely. It might never work again. If you're dead, for example, it'll stop working. And you very well might be dead in the next moment or two. You go to take a step back but then you hear the whisper again. You listen for the words. All too clearly you hear them.

‘All who trespass will die,' it hisses. ‘All who trespass will die.'

‘E . . . E . . . E . . .. E . . .. E . . .. . . E!' you say. You don't know what it means, but it's definitely coming out of your mouth.

‘Death to the trespasser,' it says again. ‘Come to me, trespasser, and prepare to die.'

‘Yi . . . yi . . . yi . . . yi . . . yi.'

‘You have thirty seconds to live,' says the voice.

And suddenly there's something familiar about it. You've heard that voice before. Only normally it says things like, ‘You have thirty seconds to change channels before I kill you.'

‘DANNY, YOU ROTTEN CREEP,' you yell.

Your big brother pops up from behind a tea chest, laughing his stupid head off.

‘Gotcha, gotcha,' he chants. ‘Gotcha! What a good one! You should have seen your face!'

‘Very funny,' you say coldly. ‘I hope you found that amusing.'

‘Yes, I did, actually. Ha ha ha!'

‘How'd you get in here, anyway?' you ask, hoping to change the subject.

‘Over there.' He points to a door you hadn't noticed before. It looks a much easier way than coming through the trapdoor.

‘So do you want to check this place out?'

‘Oh yeah, nothing better to do. What a dump. Here, look at this.'

He starts rummaging through a box of old clothes. Seems like the moths have used it as a restaurant, and dust flies everywhere. You start sneezing so, to get away, you go down to the end of the attic. It's a real mess there, just a lot of junk, and so dark it's hard to make out too many details. But you check it out anyway.

The biggest thing is an old trunk, about the size of your kitchen table. It's huge. Behind that is a heap of machinery. To the left of that is one of those old self-operating wind-up winches, with a thin cable still attached to it. And that gives you an idea. An idea that will let you pay back your sneaky irritating brother.

ait! Wait!' you call. ‘Please, come back.'

She does stop but she doesn't turn round. Just stands there. But you're the kind of person who doesn't give up easily. You run down the driveway and face up to her again.

‘What is going on?' you beg her. ‘What is the problem? Is there something strange about this house? I've got to know.'

She looks at you for about ten minutes. Well, that's what it seems like. Then she comes to a decision.

‘Follow me,' she says. She turns and marches off down the driveway. You hesitate, then go after her. She doesn't even look around. She goes straight to the old sheds. She goes past the old sheds. You just keep right on following her, down the path. When she gets to the back fence you wonder if you're going to end up in the next suburb. But at the fence she turns and goes left. You're still following. Then, looking ahead, you see what she's heading for. Ahead of you both, in the corner of the yard, are three white crosses. You walk up to them. ‘What . . . what are they?' you ask nervously.

‘They're graves,' she says.

‘Well, thank you very much,' you say. ‘I'm sure I couldn't have worked that out for myself. Graves, eh? Well, well, well. White crosses in the ground with names on them and now you tell me they're graves. Gee, I could have sworn they were peanut M&Ms.'

She gives you a cold stare, straight from the South Pole. ‘I don't like sarcasm,' she says. And walks away. Again.

ou leap back a step and grab the cross. It's heavy, and it's fixed to the floor. ‘Leave that alone!' Stacey screams. She jumps at you, right at your face, her hands trying to tear your skin off. For the first time you notice her long fingernails, like the claws of a bird. She scratches you: long stinging scratches that burn your face. But the force of her jump has left her off-balance. Desperately you grab at the cross again and, using all the strength you can muster, you rip it out of the floor. You suddenly realise that it was upside down, so you reverse it. Stacey's turning and coming back at you—and then she sees you holding the cross the right way up.

‘AAAAGGHHH!' she screams, and covers her face with her hands.

‘Back!' you cry, confident now that you have the upper hand.

She's cowering on the floor, sweat dripping from every pore of her body. Suddenly, you notice that her skin seems to be changing right in front of you. It's bubbling and boiling like hot mud. Then it erupts! You realise you're looking at the worst case of acne you've ever seen. This is unbelievable! This is a girl with a problem. She looks like the ‘before' model in a Clearasil ad. But, worse than that, things are coming out of the boils on her skin. Horrible black crawling things. They look like deformed spiders. The cross might be working with Stacey but it's not working with the spiders. They're coming straight at you. Stacey is lying on the floor writhing like she's inventing a strange new dance. You glance around desperately. To your left there's a can of Mortein. But you're not sure if you want to use that. Maybe it wouldn't be too good for the environment. And, anyway, it would take a while to work. Maybe you should just use your Doc Martens and stamp all over the horrible little critters.

ou open the door of the car and climb gingerly in. It's quiet in there, quiet and warm, and the seats are surprisingly soft. The door seems to close by itself. You feel a little nervous and look through the window for Stacey but you can't see her. Still, this car's so comfortable that you're not too bothered about Stacey. It's like you can't be bothered about anything really. You feel quite sleepy. It's strange, because a few moments ago you were so full of energy. You lie back on the soft leather seat and close your eyes. Gee, it's nice. It's tempting to go to sleep. But something in you struggles to stay awake. It's like you have a sixth sense, and it's warning you of danger. Danger? What danger could there possibly be in this beautiful car?