Everything was fine. Just a bedroom at night.
I watched the sky darken to indigo and thought of the fox outside with her solitary life. As I drifted into sleep, the fox came with me. At first, she just followed me as I made the walk into the village, matching my steps, hiding in my shadow. Then she appeared in front of me on the road. I tried to pass by, but every step I took, she took too, mirroring my movements, blocking my way. Before I could shoo her away, she leapt up on me, covering me head to toe with her fur. She was surprisingly heavy. I struggled to walk upright, so I wobbled into Carlinsrest, gripping onto the fences with my front paws, opening doors by gripping the handles with my sharp teeth. But no one I met could see the fox I was covered with. The woman at the café, the ramblers from the road, the teenagers by the monument. They all welcomed me with “Morning’s” and polite waves, then flinched as I struggled to wave back, my black claws striking at the air in front of their faces. The woman from the café asked me if I was alright. I tried to answer back, “No, there’s a fox on my back. Or I think I’m turning into a fox. Or maybe I’ve always been a fox and now I’m only just realising.” But every time I opened my mouth, all I could do was scream. I went all around Carlinsrest, screaming at people, until everyone started to avoid me, crossing the street, turning away from my desperate gaze. Rowan, the man from the hardware store, he was the only one who tried to help me. But the moment he got close, I clamped my jaw around his wrist, so he couldn’t leave. And I knew I was hurting him—I could see the skin tearing around my teeth—but I couldn’t let go. I was so afraid he’d run away and then no one would look at me and I’d be alone and…
The old man was watching me from the bridge. Him and his dog. His wiry grey hair reached up into the sky like branching horns. He clutched the handles of the wheelchair carrying the sleeping old woman, and grinned.
There was a drumming sound.
The old woman in the chair stirred in her sleep.
The drumming grew louder.
No, not drumming. Footsteps.
Someone was in my bedroom.
I jerked awake.
Footsteps skittered across the bedroom floor. The mattress juddered with the force of them. It stopped. I forced myself up through the antechamber of sleep, my limbs still heavy and ignoring my pleas to get up get up get up. My eyes adjusted to the dark just in time to catch a shadow dart across the open bedroom door.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud
They thundered down the stairs. Adrenaline flooded through my veins. Half-asleep, my scream turned into a whistle in my throat. I leapt up out of bed and threw myself toward the light switch.
The light from the bare bulb banished the shadows, stinging my eyes. I wished I’d grabbed my phone instead. I should call for help! There’s an intruder in my home! But the house was quiet. Maybe I should check first. I leant back out onto the landing again, looking for who had invaded my home.
Downstairs was dark and silent. I found the light switch at the top of the stairs. Nothing scampered away from the light. Slowly, muscles tense, I made my way downstairs. My axe lay on the floor by the basement door. I quietly picked it up then checked the front door. Still locked. No sign of any tampering. With a squeeze of courage, I poked my head down into the basement. That plastered outline was still sealed over. Not a crack. I had to squint to even see it.
I furrowed my brow. I’d definitely heard footsteps. Felt them, even! They’d practically run down the stairs. But how could that—?
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud
My head jerked toward the fireplace. It sounded like my neighbour just ran up her stairs. I sank to my knees and wiped my face with my hand. I’d probably just heard her next door and in my half-asleep state filled the darkness with monsters. The dull screech of furniture on wood reverberated through the wall. Well, so much for my quiet night.
I stood up and gripped the axe handle. Even with an explanation, I still felt deeply unsettled. Having a weapon nearby wouldn’t be a bad thing.
I climbed back up the stairs, turned off the landing light and shut the bedroom door, flinching at the sound of its hinges.
Then I stopped.
I looked at the bedroom door again.
When I’d bolted awake just now, I could have sworn I’d seen a shadow through the open door.
But I’d closed the door before going to bed, hadn’t I?
CHAPTER 12
I was still feeling unsettled the following morning when I woke tangled in my dressing gown-come-bedsheet, cuddling the axe. I considered knocking on my neighbour’s door again to ask her to keep it down—for real this time—but after last night I found my courage waning. Nevertheless, I was warm and I was clean, so that was something.
The first thing I did when I got up was test the door to the bedroom. Its hinges shrieked and squealed. I must have left it ajar when I went to bed. There was no way it could have opened in the night without waking me. That settled it. Last night must have been one of those waking nightmares, a hallucination on the edge of sleep. That was all.
However, even with that matter sorted, the house felt alien to me that morning. Every room was both too small and too large. The doors were at wrong angles. The windows were in the wrong spots for light. Doorknobs just too low. Counters just too high. Lightbulbs in just the right place to leave shadows in every corner. It was as if someone had built this place to repel people. Like every detail was subconsciously making me dizzy and sick, broadcasting to my hindbrain, Danger! Leave! This place might look like a home but it’s not. It’s a praying mantis camouflaged as an orchid. It’s a grave in disguise!
I frowned at the joining wall. It was my neighbour’s fault. If she’d just keep things down, I wouldn’t have scared myself in the night. Is it any wonder I felt uncomfortable in my own home? I’d barely managed to get a proper night’s sleep in two days!
I decided that the last thing I wanted to do today was stay inside.
I left for Carlinsrest after a quick breakfast of cereal.
