style="font-size:15px;"> Jess pointed to a dartboard at the end of the room, fighting to keep hold of Groucho whose legs pedalled mid-air. Eventually she put him down and yapping, he ran back to the door. ‘I don’t think I’m the only one who’s hungry.’ Jess threw her gum into a small bin.
I walked over to a window. It was almost dark now and rivers of rain down the glass warped the view. I pulled on a cord which closed the curtains.
‘Picture us,’ I said, ‘sipping fancy drinks, eating Pringles… And getting handyman Luke answering our every beck and call.’
Jess pulled a face. ‘He’s hardly Lady Chatterley’s lover.’
‘What, our bit of rough?’ I grinned. ‘His manners are almost as bad as my brother’s.’ Tom never ate with his mouth closed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Mum let him do what he wanted – eat pizza in bed, not tuck his shirt in for school, drink juice straight from the carton.
We went back to the hallway and I stopped by the desk, impressed at how the sound of rain resounded around the big hallway. A dog lead lay curled up, next to a bunch of letters and I flicked through, looking for the “to do” list Luke had talked about. A scrap of paper caught my eye and I pulled it from the pile. Scrawled across the front in red it said “IMPORTANT! NEW HOUSESITTERS READ THIS ASAP!”
Lightning flashed again and Jess pulled the hall blinds shut. I unfolded the piece of paper – the words looked as if they’d been written in a rush. With the chandelier light now flickering, I read the note out loud:
“Leave now. Don’t stay a single second. If I told you why, you wouldn’t believe a word. Just trust me; this is the worst job I’ve ever had – especially when it’s dark.”
‘It’s probably a joke,’ shrugged Jess.
‘Must be,’ I said and smiled brightly, the hairs standing up on the back of my neck as I thought of Deborah chasing us, purple in the face. As if on cue, an ear-splitting clap of thunder rang out and all the lights went off. Groucho’s claws, on laminate, scratched and skidded to a halt, no doubt under the desk.
‘We need to work out where the fuse box is,’ Jess shouted.
Thunder clapped again, as I felt my way into the lounge and looked out of the windows. Forks of lightning lit up the garden – the bushes looked like crouching figures and the weeping willow like hanging rope. Perhaps a zombie-like White Walker from my fave show might appear…
‘Any luck yet?’ I called and searched the shadowy lounge. When I got back to the hallway, she’d opened the blinds but there were no nearby streetlamps to help. Jess switched on her phone and, using it like a torch, headed towards the Games Room.
‘Wait! Did you hear that?’ I hissed, my skin prickling from head to toe.
‘What?’ she said and hurried over to me.
‘That thud?’ There it was again – from upstairs. My heart raced as Jess switched off her mobile.
Arm in arm, we stood at the foot of the staircase. Now, through the rain, I could make out a dragging sound. It was too early in December for Santa, dragging his sack, I told myself, trying to keep my mood lighthearted. However, thoughts of zombies flashed into my mind again and I swallowed. At least in Luton I could blame any strange noises on the flatmates above.
‘It could be a tree brushing against an upstairs window,’ said Jess, uncertainly.
Lightning flashed once more and lit up a shape, at the top of the stairs.
Did I scream? I wasn’t sure. All I could focus on was a man. He was carrying a body over his shoulders. Thunder muffled something he was trying to say as he dumped his load and made his way down. What I wouldn’t have done, right then, to have had a Great Dane to protect us, big poops or not. Thanks to another flash of lightning, I spotted my little Christmas tree and grabbed it. Javelin had been soooo boring at school, but then I’d never had the incentive of warding off some murdering lunatic.
The figure came nearer and with a deep breath, I drew back my shaking arm. One, two, three… now or never… I hurled the tree as hard as I could, towards the bottom of the stairs.
‘What the…? Why the hell did you do that?’ shouted a male voice.
‘I’ve found the fuse box,’ hollered Jess, and apart from the chandelier, the lights flicked back on. Dim rays filtered through from the kitchen and Games Room. Rooted to the spot, I squinted back at the bottom of the stairs, finally able to make out this freak’s face.
‘You?’ My clenched fists uncurled a little.
Luke glared at me and rubbed his head. Jess came over from a cupboard behind the hallway desk.
‘Careful,’ I muttered to her and stepped backwards, as we didn’t know him well.
‘For God’s sake,’ he said. ‘Who do you think I am? Some Rural Ripper? This is sleepy Harpenden, not the East End.’
He wanted to try living in Luton, where crime practically began in the crib. Only last week the bloke living below us caught a nine year old, snooping through his flat, armed with nothing but a stink bomb and Star Wars sabre.
My heart raced as I pictured the tabloid headlines, if I was famous: “Courageous Kimmy Scuppers Stalker.” Well, Luke had met me briefly, and that’s all it took for those weirdoes to become obsessed. A story like that would win Adam back. The magazines would feature our reunion. The police would provide me with panic buttons and a cool bodyguard…
‘Who were you carrying?’ I said in a half-whisper.
‘Why don’t I show you,’ said Luke with a sinister grin.
Groucho could have at least bared his teeth or found a phone and punched in the number for the police, with his titchy paw. My mouth went dry as Luke went back upstairs and dragged the body along the landing. He flipped it over his shoulder and came back down. I gasped, took a larger step backwards and prayed that my legs wouldn’t give way. My fists clenched tight once more. What kind of monster was he? That body was headless.
‘Let’s go!’ I screeched to Jess. Startled, Groucho scampered into the kitchen and let more light into the hallway as he pushed the door open.
‘Kimmy, wait a minute,’ said Jess.
More visible now, Luke stood at the bottom of the staircase. Blood trickled past his eyebrow and one arm was draped casually around the shoulders of…
‘A dressmaking dummy?’ My mouth fell open.
‘Who’s the dummy now?’ he scoffed.
His smug look made me almost wish it had been some murder victim instead.
‘Is this your idea of a joke?’ I straightened up and folded my arms.
He took a handkerchief out of his pocket. ‘That your way of saying sorry?’ He wiped the blood from his head.
‘What are you doing with
