My Daylight Monsters (8 page)

I know what I have to do.

I have to find Jonny and make him tell me what he knows. There’s only one thing for it. I have to go up into the ceiling and into the dark room. I’ll find him there. I know I will.

“You sure about this, Mares?” Lacey fashions pillows and blankets into a lumpy shape beneath the bedding. It looks so much like Frankie’s small form that my heart pangs.

“I’m sure,” I whisper.

We need to be careful because Granger is on nights.
From my many sleepless nights, I know she checks rooms at random.

“I should come with you,”
Lacey says. The moonlight falls on her face. Without her black eye-liner she looks young, like a frightened child. Her eyes are bigger without it. Vulnerable.

“No.” It’s not her fight. For some reason
, this has fallen to me and I want to take it on. I
need
to take it on, if simply to prove to myself that I can do it.

“All right, if you must, chatterbox.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Be careful, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I reply. I find myself holding my breath for a moment. “This is silly. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“After talking to a ghost,” she reminds me.

“It means a lot that you believe me, that you don’t think I’m psychotic.”

She shrugs. “I’m not one to judge if anyone’s sane or not.
You seem all right to me. Now get yer arse into the ceiling. There’s a phrase I never thought I’d say.” She chuckles and bends low, cupping her hands to give me a leg up.

We count to three and she lifts me up to the loosened panel. I shimmy through, hoisting myself up into the cavity above. When I’m fully inside the crawl space I turn back and look down on Lacey.

“Replace the panel,” I say. “When I come back I’ll knock a few times.”

“Okay,” Lacey says. “But be careful.”

“I will.”

I shuffle back. Lacey replaces the panel and I’m plunged into darkness.

*

With shaking fingers I turn on the torch. There’s enough space to crawl on my knees with my head slightly lowered. There are little boxes with coloured wires I have to avoid. The last thing I want to do is snag one and out the hospital’s electricity.

I edge forward, trying to remember the way Mo showed me. It’s not long before I see the glint of metal that can only be the air vent to the floor above. I gently edge it up and out and climb into the disused ward. When I stand and brush off my clothes I realise how much I’m trembling, and how quickly my heart beats. I almost drop the torch and then trip over a coffee table.

“Get a grip, Mary,” I whisper to myself.

There’s something about the darkness of an abandoned room that makes you feel as though you have to be quiet. Even though I know no one comes here—apart from Johnny—and that it’s quite far from any other wards in the hospital, I still tiptoe around the dusty sofas and cringe whenever my feet scuff the ragged carpet or bump old chairs. We weren’t so careful the other night.

I make my way through to the dark room, ironically, the old White Room. How many patients
have been dumped in a straightjacket, staring at the walls, throwing themselves against the soft padding? How many have really been psychotic, to the point that they’ve lost touch with humanity, become cold-hearted or dangerous? How many have been hurt or treated badly by the staff? The walls are thick with unspoken histories. If I touch them, I place my hand where others have been before. My feet travel in the echoes of footsteps.

“Johnny?” I whisper into the dark. My voice is raspy.

Will I hear him, like before? Or now that I know he’s a ghost, maybe he’ll appear out of thin air.

“Are you there, Johnny?”

No sound except my own breathing. The air is still and scented with mildew. I shine the torch into every corner, but as soon as I aim the beam of light into one corner, I’m aware of the shadows cast in the neglected ones. My heart thumps.
Get a grip, Mary.
I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them, he’s there.

I gasp.

“Hello, Mary,” he says.

“I knew you’d be here.”

“Did you now?” His green eyes flash. I can’t believe he’s not real. He’s flesh and bones, has to be. He’s not transparent or pale like the ghosts in films. He doesn’t have a wound or gash to show where he’s been killed.

“What are you?” I breathe. “A poltergeist?”

Johnny laughs. “Maybe. I dunno.”

“Am I still afraid?” I ask.

Johnny’s eyes trace my body. A smirk plays on his lips. “A little. You’re getting better, though. Certainly bolder.”

“Will you answer my questions now?”

“Depends on what you ask.” He takes a step forward and the close proximity chills my skin.

“What are those Things that I see? Are they good or bad
?”

“Neither,”
he answers.

“What are they?”

“Nothing.”

I let out a groan. “I thought you were going to help me?”

He laughs again. “What gave you that idea?”

“You did, in my dreams—in my room. You kept saying I was afraid of darkness and that I’m not ready to know—”

“Was it me? Or was it your imagination? Is this your imagination now?”
He lifts his fingers and waggles them mockingly. “Is it all a dr-eaaa-aaamm?”

I reach out to swipe him but he jumps back. My heart is beating fast again. “It can’t be my imagination. Lacey knew you from my description.”

He starts to walk around me in a circle. “How do you know she was telling the truth? Why would you believe a girl in a psychiatric ward?”

“Because… because she’s my friend.” My throat starts to tight
en as though I’m running out of air.

“Are you sure about that? Absolutely sure? Because, you know, you’ve only known her
a few weeks. I wouldn’t say that’s a long term friendship, really. I wouldn’t call that a friendship at all. Barely an acquaintance.”

“We share a room,” I say between gritted teeth. Johnny circling me is starting to make me dizzy. I can’t think straight.
“We… she’s my friend. My best friend, I think.”

“You think? Or you know? Because you can’t have both.”

“Stop it,” I say.

“I’m
trying to help you, Mary,” he replies. He’s moving faster now. One minute he’s on one side of me and the next the other side. I can’t keep track of him. Sometimes he comes close to my face and then moves away.

“No
, you’re not. I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s not help. You’re not the person I thought you were.”

“That’
s if I exist at all,” he reminds me. “How long have you been cheeking your medication?”

“You’re real.” I clench my fists.
I won’t let him make me lose my grip on reality. “I don’t know if this is some sort of test, but I don’t care. I’m going to help the people here. People like Frankie, who don’t deserve to die. And you are going to help me.”

Johnny stops. He stands stock still. “Or am I going to help… him.” He swings his shoulders round and points to the open door. I follow his gaze.

Footsteps sound through the abandoned ward. Someone is coming.

I fumble with the torch. Johnny is gone already. I’m so stupid to think I could handle this. What the fuck am I doing
, talking to a ghost anyway? With shaking fingers I switch off the torch. A door scrapes somewhere in the ward. I rush forwards and shut the door to the dark room, forgetting how it scrapes along the floor. My heart sinks. In the absolute black of the room I place my ear to the door, hoping that whoever is out there didn’t hear. I concentrate on controlling my breathing and listening for the sound of the intruder, but my blood thuds so loudly in my ears that it’s difficult to do both.

The footsteps stop. I imagine whoever is out there stopping to listen. Trying to work out where the sound came from. The footsteps start again. This time louder.

They know I’m here.

They’re heading this way.

I slink away from the door, searching the room for somewhere to hide. There’s nothing in this room, nothing except… the air vent. Can I find the air vent I saw Johnny come from? What if it doesn’t really exist? What if I imagined it and imagined Johnny at the same time?

There’s only one way to find out.

“Hello?”

I freeze. I recognise that voice.

“Is someone there?”

I don’t make a single sound.

“Do you want to play?”

I run my hand around the walls, searching for the vent. It has to be here somewhere.

“Come play my game,” the voice muffles through the door. It’s deep and slow. I imagine the wide smile, black marble eyes and spidery fingers.

Gethen
.

Of course it is. I should have gue
ssed. He works across from palliative care. He’s worked here for an age, so he’s had time to build up trust… he’s a doctor.

“
Eeny, meeny, miney, mo, which crazy bitch are you?”

I edge around the room. There has to be a way out. There has to be. I bend down to my knees and softly let my palm trail
along the bottom of the wall, my fingers desperately searching in the darkness. Damp padding has peeled away, leaving exposed brick and crumbling plaster.

Closer and closer come those dreaded footsteps.

My fingers graze metal. My heart leaps into my mouth. Now all I need to do is prise it away from the wall without making a sound.

“Here
piggy, piggy, piggy. Here loony, loony, loony. I will find you.”

I pull at the grid with my finger nails. It’s stuck.

“I can do whatever I want, as well. No matter what you say, you’ll be crazy.”

The grid comes away from the wall and almost slips through my fingers. I have to calm myself and catch it before it clatters to the floor. I lay it down noiselessly and slip into the air vent.
Gethen’s footsteps move ever closer, echoing in the emptiness. He must have been through almost every door on the ward. Now he’s come to the final room—the old white room. I replace the air vent. It’s cramped, more cramped than the crawl space, and I have no choice but to wiggle forwards on my chest. I don’t dare breathe. I push myself forwards with my toes against the smooth metal of the vent. I can’t make a single sound.

There’s a scraping. I want to scream.

He’s in the white room. If he sees the air vent, I’m done for. I freeze, not sure whether to hurry forwards or stay still, in case I make a sound.

I inch forward.

His footsteps travel around the room.

“There’s no point running,” comes his deep voice. “I will find you. Mark my words.”

The door scrapes.

His voice comes again, more muffled this time. “I wonder who isn’t in their bed right now.
Maybe a tour of the ward is in order. Then I’ll know who you are.”

The footsteps recede. The door scrapes. I collapse onto my chest, the breathe exhaling from my lungs. I have
to get back to my room or Gethen will know it was me. But how am I going to do that when I can’t go back through the ward? That’s what he wants me to do. He’s trying to flush me out. I have no choice. I go forwards.

Using fingers and toes I slither through the air vents like a lizard. Occasionally
, I see the grid of a vent and am able to spy down to Magdelena. I see straight into the white room. Mo lies on a padded bed, his eyes closed. I long to talk to him, to get his help, but what can he do? If Gethen finds me in the white room with Mo, he’ll know it was me. I continue.

Another vent
is directly above the boys’ bathroom. It’s empty and dark. Moonlight glints off the taps. If I can angle myself right I could drop down onto a toilet. First I have to work out the screws. My fingers shake and I have to turn the torch back on. It takes ages for my stupid, fumbling hands to work, long enough for Gethen to get back down to Magdelena. Maybe he’s still up there, trying to catch me on the way down. I picture him, sat on the sofa, drinking our vodka, tapping his spidery fingers against the fabric.

The vent comes loose. The screws slip from my fingers and tinkle down onto the toilet seat below. I catch my breath, waiting to see if he comes running into the bathroom. What if he’s outside the door, listening in? What if he is stalking the corridors right now?

I can’t think like that. All I can do it get to Lacey. When I’m back in my room I’m safe. I’ll be safe.

I lower myself down onto the toilet seat, gripping the ceiling as I go. My socks slide on the plastic lid and for a moment I picture myself slipping, landing on the floor and splitting my head open.

“Focus, Mary,” I whisper.

I can do this
.

Through my socks I grip on the sides of the toilet seat, finding purchase. Slowly, I allow my weight onto my legs and let go of the ceiling above my head.
My heart hammers against my chest and adrenaline courses through my body, but somehow I control myself. It’s only at the last moment that I slip a little and land on the toilet seat with a bump, bruising my backside. I pause with my hand clamped over my mouth. Falling had made a thudding sound. How loud was it? Loud enough to attract the attention of someone on the ward?

There’s no time to wait all night. The room is silent and dark. I have to get out and back to my room without being c
aught by anyone, let alone Gethen.

I’ve lost the screws for the air vent so the only thing I can do is hide it up in the ceiling and hope no one notices.
At least not until tomorrow. After it’s hidden I steal through the bathroom and into the hall. When I pass Mo and Frankie’s room, a shiver passes down my spine. He did that. I hadn’t got proof, but it was Gethen; I know it, deep down.

Breathlessly I turn the corner onto my hallway. I’m a few feet away, I can make it. If I run down the corridor to my room, third on the right…

The light goes on.

A silhouette can be seen walking towards the hall and I have no choice but to rush back around the corner.
It’s him.

I peek arou
nd the corner of the hall. Gethen stands at the door of the first room, the one nearest the communal hall. A girl from my group therapy class lives there. She’s pretty mouthy. Gethen knocks three times on the door.

No answer.

He knocks again.

The light goes on in the room. There’s a thud and someone swears loudly. The door opens.

“What do you want, man? Don’t you know it’s like 4am or whatever?” she says.

“Room check,”
Gethen replies in his monotone deep voice.

“What the fuck? You
ain’t searchin’ my room. I know my rights.”

“You have no rights,” he says stepping forward. “Until I have searched your room.”

“Nah.” She shakes her head. “Hey, Jessa, this tosspot wants to search our room.”

Jessa
comes out and the two of them start arguing with waggling fingers, keeping Gethen busy. I have a chance and I take it. I sneak towards my door, running softly. Jessa catches my eye and I put a finger to my lips. She distracts Gethen by storming into her room and yelling some more.

Thank you,
Jessa.

I get the door open and sneak in silently.

Lacey is immediately out of bed. “Where have you been? What happened? What’s going on out there?”

“No time to explain.” I dump the torch in my bedside table, pull the pillows out of the bed and arrange them properly, dust down my pyjamas for cobwebs and dirt, then jump into bed.
“Gethen is gonna check the room. We need to act like we’ve just been woken up.”

My heart does a flip at the thought of him coming to the room.

“What’s going on, Mares?” she whispers.

“No time to explain.”

“You look terrible.”

“I feel it.”

There’s a knock at the door. Lacey turns on her lamp and meets my gaze. “Showtime,” she mouths.

After
scruffing up her hair, Lacey pads over to the door and opens it. “What the hell? It’s 4am. What’s going on?”

“Room check,”
Gethen says. “Where’s your roommate?”

Out in the hall I can still hear
Jessa yelling. “This is a violation of human rights, innit. I’m gonna have you arrested.” I could hug her.

“My roommate is right here.” Lacey opens the door wide and I see him.

He stands tall and stooped, black marble eyes sunken into his skull. The sight of his pale, gangly body makes every part of my body cold. It’s like dread coats my skin. I think of him stalking the abandoned ward, taunting me about games and I want to retch.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I force the words out in a nonchalant way and fake a yawn. “’Cos I want to get back to sleep.”

Gethen backs away but he keeps his eyes on me until he turns around and walks away. Lacey shuts the door.

“Mares,” she says. “You’ve got dust on your forehead.”