The House on Cold Hill

11

The alarm clock radio came on at 6.20 a.m., as it did every weekday morning. Ollie, as usual, rolled over and pressed the ten-minute snooze button.

Caro, who had slept fitfully after getting up in the middle of the night to settle Jade after her nightmare, was instantly awake, and thinking about the full day she had ahead of her at work. She kissed Ollie on the cheek, then climbed out of bed, went into the bathroom and ran the elderly, noisy electric shower.

It took some moments for the water to heat up sufficiently, then she stepped in and ducked her head beneath the shower head, grateful for the stream of hot water that was waking her more every second. She reached for the shampoo, tipped some into her hand, and massaged it into her hair.

Then she smelled the pungent reek of burning plastic.

The water stopped.

She heard the crackle of a fire.

Opening her eyes, stinging from soap, she saw to her horror flames shooting around the blackened shower controls.

‘Ollie!’ she shrieked, pushing open the shower door and stepping back into the bathroom. She stood transfixed like a rabbit caught in headlights, as flames licked the controls then died down, acrid black smoke rising around them.

‘Ollie!’ she called out again, running through into the bedroom, dripping wet, shivering, blinking away the soap. He was sound asleep.

‘Ollie!’

He did not stir.

She ran back into the bathroom and peered into the shower. The smoke was dying down. ‘Fuck!’ she said, watching the control unit warily. The last wisps of smoke rose and then there was nothing.

‘Fuck,’ she said again, touching her soapy hair, and walked over to the washbasin. She turned on the mixer tap and, to her relief, water poured out. She waited until the temperature was OK, then ducked her head under the stream.

As she rinsed off the shampoo she suddenly felt a sharp tug on the left side of her head. Then a harder tug that hurt, making her cry out in pain.

Something was yanking her hair, pulling it down.

She tried to raise her head, but she was being pulled down further. Further. Further.

It felt as though a hand was trying to pull her down into the plughole.

‘OLLIE!’ she screamed, trying desperately to raise her head, feeling her hair tugging painfully against her scalp. ‘OLLIE!’

Then she heard his voice. ‘Darling, what is it?’

‘HELP ME!’

The water stopped, abruptly. Ollie said, ‘It’s OK, darling. It’s OK.’

She felt his hands on her hair. Then, suddenly, the pain stopped. Gingerly, she stood up. ‘Oh my God,’ she said.

‘You’re OK, darling. You’re OK. You just got it caught on the plughole.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped. ‘It freaked me out. I really felt like someone was pulling it.’

‘Why didn’t you use the shower?’