Summerween Chapter 1
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The things that go bump in the night usually kept me awake. That’s why I made a habit of sleeping with the lights on. Except when my best friend Cola stayed over. She didn’t need to know about that. Something about her being in the room with me offered all the protection I needed. Safety in numbers and all that, but not tonight.
I lay in bed for a while until faces started to appear in the wallpaper, then rolled over to face the wall. Staring at a cold wall will drive you mad, no matter how deep you snuggle into the covers. Someone was watching me – I could sense it. Like they never left me alone. I could hear myself breathe deeply, then a second breath joined it. Was it the echo of my breath, or the presence of another? It was there a minute ago.
Cold sweat crested my brow. I felt too old for this. But age didn’t bother what was haunting me. My parents said I’d grow out of it, but I can’t say as I ever did. Heat built up under the covers, making it like a sauna, and they were no place for children. My face a red balloon soon to burst. I held on for as long as I could.
The breathing sounded deeper, closer, slightly out of time with my own. A slight lag, a few milliseconds after my own exhale. But there it was, like a shadow attached to me. Perhaps a tall, cloaked figure stood behind me. Or the shadow people. They were probably visiting next door and thought they’d have a look in on me. A child in bed at night would probably be an easy target.
A wail from outside was enough to make me flip over and tear the covers off my bed. I’d had enough of this boiler room of doom – I’d have to face my fears. I surveyed the silence. The room was empty. Just as it had been before I’d turned over. Maybe the wail scared it off. Relieved, but soggy, I approached my bedroom window to get a better view of the commotion outside.
My bedroom was situated at the front of the house, giving me a prime view of the nocturnal activities of our neighbours. I was sandwiched between a pair of right weirdos. Mr Parker’s garage was mere feet from my bedroom. Every night, once all the other lights were off in the street, he’d sneak out there quietly, closing his kitchen door at the side of the house, moving to the garage where he’d smothered the windows with white paint to obscure them. No one else did that with their garage windows. Sometimes he’d take in a magazine or a carrier bag of stuff, I don’t know what was in it. I never saw him come out. He must have slept in there some nights because I was often awake until sunrise, just watching the street. Sometimes I’d write in my diary, leaning on the windowsill as a desk.
On the other side was Mrs Krinkle’s. Her house was further away, but I had a decent view of her long front garden, where the wailing was happening. The night was pitch black, with streams of incandescent street light illuminating her front garden, where she stood with her eyes on the sky. In solitude she hovered in her white nightie and quilted dressing gown with fluffy slipper boots, even though it was practically summer. Her bent, frail arms raised with all her might, she cried up to the heavens for a good ten minutes.
It had been happening for months now, and I was getting sick of it. I couldn’t make out what she was saying – always a three-syllable moan emerging from the depth of her soul that sounded something like ‘oh-om-nom,’ or maybe even ‘oh-hob-nob.’ Occasionally she’d break it up with a giant ‘Oh!’ louder than the other words, which exhausted her. She’d either break down crying with her face in her hands, sobbing with no end, or she’d collapse on the ground. The first time she did it, I even considered going out to help her, but I couldn’t find my slippers, and I didn’t much fancy going out onto the gravel driveway barefoot.
Before I knew it, I’d floated down the stairs, a ghastly vision in a pink floral night gown. Not a creak on the stairs, my family slept like the dead, not a clue about my imminent departure. This is what it must feel like to be a ghost, I thought, wandering the abyss of night while everyone else slept. This liminal space suited me. Peaceful and in control. No one would notice me at the foot of their beds. Perhaps I could sneak into some homes, I thought. It’d beat staying awake all night in my room. I could have planted thoughts and ideas in their heads, and they’d be none the wiser.
At my kitchen door, I stood in the dark looking up at Mrs Krinkle’s back door, which was up a small flight of stairs. My door closed softly behind me. I could hear her crying in the distance. A hollow knot in the wooden fence my perfect peephole. My eye pushed up against the rough wood. I inhaled the smell of exterior wood and fence treatment, like I was in a toxic lumber yard.
Hobbling footsteps trod an uncomfortable path to her back garden. Her gate creaked a painful sound. It slammed shut, shaking my fence and scratching my face with large splinters. My eye stuck firm to the hole, sliding in its socket to the far right, seeing her approach.
She clasped something in her hands, holding it tight to her chest. It looked like a vase, but she cradled it with such care her hands obscured most of it, though it was almost the length of her little torso. She wasn’t much bigger than me and a lot less sturdy. Her crooked body rocking back and forth with each step. She needed a cane or something to support her, but she was the kind of proud woman who would find shame in admitting defeat to her weary body.
She mumbled as she walked. I strained to hear, tucking my hair behind my ears to get a better listen, but it was no good. The muttering was like that of a priest praying over you for forgiveness of your terrible sins. My face tense from trying to hear her, frustrated I’d come all the way outside and still didn’t know what this was all about. I moved my ear to the fence hole, grazing my cheek along the way.
Rustle-step-mumble, rustle-step-mumble, rustle-step-you’ll be, rustle-step-a fine specimen, rustle-step-take human form, rustle-step-walk the earth, rustle-step-my dark prince, rustle-step-we’ll be together.
The Devil was coming to town and by the sounds of it, was moving in next door. I knew there was something up with Mrs Krinkle lately, but even I’d never considered she was in cahoots with the Devil. And right next door!
Sure, there were devil-worshippers in town, we all knew that, but they were usually teenagers who couldn’t even drive yet. Mrs Krinkle had a whole lifetime of experience – if anyone could raise the Devil and make him walk the earth, it would definitely be an old lady. They knew everything.
Light broke through my concentration as her back door swung open and she disappeared inside. She pottered around the kitchen as spritely as a demon, chattering away to herself, or the Prince of Darkness, whoever she was plotting with. I was seriously regretting not waking anyone up to bear witness to this too, but I’d been drawn down there like I had no free will at all. I’d been called to it. I was clearly meant to stop it.
On my way back to bed, I had to visit the bathroom, so I opened the window to get another look inside Mrs Krinkle’s. Candles flickered in her bathroom window opposite – her kitchen still lit up, but I could no longer see her. Disappointed, I closed the window and tiptoed along the landing to my room but got the distinct feeling I was being watched.
A sharp turn had me face to face with a familiar pair of eyes, watching me. A charcoal drawing of my very self, created by a street artist in Portugal. My parents loved it, but it scared the shit out of me. It was too realistic, like my doppelgänger. I didn’t like her one bit. Her perfectly cute smile and her glassy eyes that followed me everywhere.
I wondered if the Prince of Darkness could see me through her eyes. He had eyes everywhere. Whoever she was, watching me, I didn’t like it. I thought she might follow me back to my room if she saw where I was going. I approached, and her eyes grew wide. Grabbing the frame with both hands, I twisted it round to face the wall.
She’d not get to see where I was going or watch me sleep. Creepy doppelgänger, probably best mates with the Devil. The frame fell as I twisted, clattering against the wall before landing on the carpeted floor. Within seconds my mum emerged in her bedroom doorway, right eye bulging out. ‘Reagan! What are you doing?’ She yelled at me.
‘She was trying to get me. The picture.’
‘Not that again! When will you ever grow up?’
‘I don’t want her to get me, plus the Devil is coming to town.’
‘Are you kidding me? Get to bed!’
‘Do I have to? Can’t I sleep in with you?’
Bedcovers moved in a lump behind her as Dad stirred. ‘Are you alright, love?’
‘She’s going back to bed.’ Mum snapped at us both.
I looked down at the frame. The girl had managed to land face up and smirk while getting me in trouble. Mum stomped her foot at me as she pointed to my room. ‘Bed. Now!’
Defeated, I quick-stepped to my room and lay awake all night, knowing the girl in the picture knew exactly where I was. She was probably waiting outside my door all night. Waiting for the lights to go out so she could slip through the gap under the door and replace me. My mum would have loved that.