Wish You Were Dead

14

Roy raced over to the porch, panic-stricken, and up the steps. He turned the brass handle and pushed the heavy front door open, the hall still in darkness.

‘Cleo?’ he bellowed. ‘CLEO?’

He switched on the phone torch and hurried towards the staircase. Shadows jumped out at him. As if every suit of armour was moving, closing in on him. He stopped halfway and bellowed again, ‘CLEOOOOOO?’

A split second later something slammed, painfully hard, into the back of his head, sending him crashing forward onto the flagstone floor. For some moments, instead of the beam of his torch, he saw shooting stars. It felt as his skull had been cracked open.

As he lay there, dazed, his brain muzzy, his phone was several feet in front of him, the torch still lit. A heavy door slammed somewhere behind him. Then he heard the clank of a key turning in a lock. The front door?

He stayed where he was, his head pounding with pain, his ears pounding with the drumbeat of his heart and the roaring of his blood.

Motionless.

Waiting.

Waiting for his attacker to make the next move.

And wondering, terrified, why Cleo had screamed.

He heard nothing. No movement. Who had hit him? Was the person standing behind him, waiting to see if he was dead or not? Ready to strike again?

Thinking more clearly with every second, he took several deep breaths, as silently as he could. Bracing himself, he lunged forward, grabbing the phone as he did so. Lurching to his feet, he swung the beam around, crouching, ready for anything that came at him.

Only shadows moved. All he could see were suits of armour, and the front door, closed. For an instant, he again imagined rows of faces behind the visors, all staring at him.

His heart was hammering like it was a crazed wild animal trying to punch its way out of his chest. His ears were popping. He flashed the beam all around. At the walls, the door, back at the suits of armour.

Who — what — had hit him?

He spun round again, shining the beam through a full 360 degrees. Nothing. No one. He touched the back of his skull and felt something wet. Blood? He had not imagined it.

Someone had very definitely hit him.

Who? Where was his attacker?

His brain raced, trying to make sense of what had happened. And why the darkness? Had lightning caused a power outage?

Then the beam caught a shape on the floor — a large object. Walking closer, warily, Roy saw what it was. A huge, stuffed wild boar head, mounted on a plinth, and lying at a drunken angle. He shone the light high up, and saw a gap between all the mounted animal heads; just a bare hook on the wall.

It had fallen off the wall. But how the hell could it have fallen?

Had someone pulled it down and thrown it at him?

Or had it simply fallen by chance and struck him?

His confused mind wondered whether it was one of the suits of armour.

Oh yeah, sure, an empty suit of armour reaches up, pulls a boar’s head off the wall and throws it at me. Really?

Maybe the thunder that had shaken the house earlier somehow loosened the head and it had tumbled off the wall?

Still crouched, still turning round and round every few seconds, in case someone was creeping up behind him, he switched off his torch and moved to the bottom of the staircase. Peered up into the darkness. No sign of movement. He spun and looked behind him. Nothing. He switched the beam on for a few seconds then off again.

He ran up the steps to the landing and crashed, painfully, into something heavy and solid. The bloody stuffed stag! He switched the torch on and shone the light along the corridor. Nothing. He turned and shone it back down the stairs. No one there. Not that he could see, anyhow.

Goosebumps pricked the nape of his neck, as he walked slowly along and stopped at Bruno’s door. He glanced over his shoulder once again, then opened it and peered in.

The room was empty.

Where was Bruno?

He walked further along, stopping every few moments to check behind him. Each time he saw nothing but darkness and shadows. He reached Kaitlynn’s door. Again, after checking behind him, he opened it and shone his torch in.

On an empty room. And empty cot.

Oh Jesus.

It felt like an unseen hand was clamped around his throat, crushing it so tight he could barely breathe.

Where were they?

Then he heard another scream. Faint. Where was it coming from?

‘Royyyyyyyyyyy!’