Friend From the Internet Read online

  “Why've you got your hands up like that?” she asks. “I don't have a gun.”

  “What -”

  “Or a knife.”

  I open my mouth to ask what she does have, but then I figure she'd never tell me anyway so I slowly lower my hands in case I annoy her and she murders me.

  “This place should be empty,” she says after a moment. “The booking website showed availability for these dates.”

  “The what?”

  “The booking website,” she continues. “The cottage company, the people who rent out these houses. You can go on the website and search for one to rent, and it tells you whether it's available. I checked this one out and it showed it being available all this week and next, which should mean that there's nobody here. That's how it works. That's how it always works.”

  “It is?”

  “It's how I find places to...”

  Her voice trails off for a moment.

  “Well, it's complicated,” she adds cautiously. “So I'm guessing if your parents are away they must have left you here, and they forgot to let the company know to mark off these dates. Why did they leave you behind, anyway? Don't they like you?”

  “They're not on holiday,” I say firmly. “It's business.”

  “Is that right?”

  Reaching into her pocket, she takes out a notebook. She opens to one of the pages, although then she glances at me and I see a hint of hesitation in her expression. She looks back at the notebook for a moment before slipping it away.

  “Are you... Are you a renter?” I ask, hoping that maybe this situation is a little more normal than it seems.

  “No,” she says with a sigh that seems just a tad over-dramatic, “did you not listen just now? I'm a... hopper. I hop from place to place, depending on what's free. There are, like, over fifty rental properties on that one website alone. I use the booking system to figure out which places are empty, and then I... borrow them.”

  “Borrow them?”

  “It's either that, or sleep under the pier, which I don't much fancy.”

  I wait, but she seems to be simply staring at me now, and after a moment I look over at the door again. I actually think I might have missed my first chance to run, which means I'll have to hope she turns her back or at least goes to the far end of the room. Right now, she'd definitely be able to grab me if I made a dash.

  “So you're here alone, right?” she asks. “You're sure about that?”

  I nod.

  “Okay. Good.”

  She pauses, before hauling her backpack off her shoulders and dropping it onto the sofa.

  “Mind if I crash?” she asks.

  “What?”

  “Well, the gig's up, you know I'm here. I can go if you'd prefer, there were other empty places on this street. Lots of them, actually. But I figure I might as well ask if I can crash for a night or two, or until your parents get back. I don't have any money to give you, I don't have anything at all, but...”

  Again, her voice trails off.

  “Well, you get the picture,” she adds. “I'm not exactly blessed with places to stay. I'm sort of what you might call -”

  “Homeless?” I ask.

  “Between residences. I've been between residences for a while now.”

  I wait, but I can barely think straight. All I know is that I have to get to one of the doors, and then I have to hope I can escape before this psycho grabs me.

  “So can I?” she says.

  “Can you what?”

  She sighs again. “You really don't listen much, do you? I asked if I can crash for a night or two.”

  “You can do anything you want,” I reply, inadvertently holding my hands up again before remembering and lowering them. “Just don't kill me. Please don't kill me. Stay. Take stuff. Whatever. Just please, please don't hurt me.”

  She smiles as she heads over to the stairs, and then to my shock she starts walking up toward the landing.

  “Paula!” she calls back to me.

  “What?”

  “I thought you might want to know my name!” she continues, and now it sounds like she's almost in my bedroom. “I'm Paula! Nice to finally meet you, May!”

  Extract from chat log

  Monday September 17th 2012

  Mayfly90330:

  Thank God you're online. I just home from school and it was the shittiest day ever.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  LOL.

  You swore.

  Must have been bad.

  Tell me.

  Mayfly90330:

  I'd never do anything bad, but I'm starting to understand why people go postal and shoot their schools up.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  LOL.

  Careful.

  That kind of talk will get you put on a list.

  Mayfly90330:

  I just don't get why people act like such total jerks. I'm literally crying here right now.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  That sucks.

  Sorry.

  Wish I could do something.

  Mayfly90330:

  There's nothing you can do.

  Nothing anyone can do.

  No-one understands how much my life sucks.

  I've just got to deal with that.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  I understand.

  I try to.

  Come on, tell me. It always feels good to get this stuff off your chest, right?

  Let's have a by-now-traditional after-school bitch-fest where you tell me what's wrong.

  Mayfly90330:

  You really wanna hear?

  Not winding me up?

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  You know me. Come on. Spill your guts.

  Chapter Three

  Today

  Stopping at the top of the stairs, I look into my darkened bedroom and see that Paula is at the window, looking out at the street. I hold my right hand up, so that when she turns around she'll see the carving knife I fetched from the kitchen just now.

  “So why haven't you run?” she asks, still looking out the window. “Why haven't you, I dunno, called the police or something like that?”

  “I...”

  Before I can explain, I realize that it is slightly odd that I didn't bolt the second she gave me a chance. Then again, I'm still not certain that she's alone, and I'm worried that she left me down there as a test. After all, it'd be completely nuts for her to just let me run away, so she probably either has some kind of trip-wire covering the doors or she's got an accomplice waiting in the garden to grab me if I try to get away.

  She cranes her neck for a moment, as if she's trying to see something, and then she turns to me. Almost immediately, she looks at the knife in my hand.

  “That's good,” she says calmly. “I don't blame you. I mean, you don't know me at all. As far as you know, I could be a straight-up serial killer.”

  “You have to leave,” I tell her.

  “I thought you might say that. Actually, I thought you'd say it downstairs, but I guess maybe you were in shock. That's understandable. Honestly, I never, ever come into houses if I think there's a chance of someone being home. This place just looked so dark and empty, like all the rest on this street, and the website said it was vacant so -”

  “I don't care,” I blurt out, struggling to hold back tears. “I don't care about any of that. You're not allowed to be here.”

  “Don't you think it's a shame?” she asks. “All these houses left empty. This is such a lovely town, but you just get row after row of places just sitting dark while their owners are off in London for months on end. I know the housing boom is great, and I'm sure I'd do the same thing if I had money, but it still seems like a shame. Then again, at least I've found a way to get a roof over my head for a night or two at a time.” She smiles. “It's kinda -”

  “You have to leave!” I shout, shocking myself. “You're not allowed here! This isn't your house! I want you to get out, or I'll call the police!”<
br />
  “Can I just -”

  “No, you have to leave!” I yell, waving the knife in her general direction. “Right now! I'm serious!”

  I wait for her to say something, or maybe even for her to try to attack me, but she simply stares at me for a few seconds before shrugging and coming over. I back away into the corner of the room, keeping the knife raised as she heads to the door.

  “It's very bare in here,” she points out, stopping and turning to me. “Just an observation. Then again, I guess all these holiday lets are a bit like that. I mean, they're furnished, but there's not much in the way of personal items.” She glances around for a few seconds before looking at me again. “How long until your parents come home?”

  “That's none of your business.”

  “I was only asking.”

  “It's none of your business!”

  She nods.

  “You should get them to get the agency to block the dates off,” she tells me. “You don't want anyone else making the same mistake as me.”

  “Get out!” I yell.

  She holds her hands up.

  “I'm going,” she says, and then she steps out onto the landing.

  I hurry to the door with the knife still raised, and to my relief I see her heading down the stairs. I can't quite believe that she's just going to obey me this easily, but then she gets to the bottom and turns right, stepping out of view. Worried that she might still try to pull some kind of stunt, I run down after her, and when I get to the living room I find her hauling her backpack onto her shoulders.

  “Peace and love,” she says as she walks past the table and through to the kitchen. “Don't go nuts all alone here while you wait for the family to come home.”

  I follow her through and watch as she stops at the back door. She hesitates, reaching for the handle, before turning to me.

  “Can I ask you a favor?” she says.

  “Keep walking!”

  “It's not that, it's just... I'd really appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone. About me, I mean. I mean, about how I find places to borrow for a night or two. I know it's wrong, I know I shouldn't do it, but I don't hurt anyone and I always leave the places how I found them. Better sometimes. The letting agency really doesn't hire the best cleaners, so sometimes I do a little work around the places. It's kind of my way of telling myself that I give something back.”

  I wait, still holding the knife up, still hoping that she won't try to pull some last-minute trick.

  “So will you do that?” she asks cautiously. “Will you not tell anyone?”

  “I don't know what I'll do,” I reply, “but you have to leave right now and never come back, or I'll call the police and have you arrested.”

  She nods.

  “You might wanna make sure your front door's locked properly,” she says. “When I was trying to jimmy it open, I didn't succeed but I sort of clicked the latch a little. Just give it a shove.”

  I turn and look over at the front door, but then I realize I shouldn't turn my back on this Paula girl. I turn back to her, only to see that she's gone. I step through into the kitchen, but there's no sign of her and it's not like there's anywhere she could hide, so I hurry to the window and peer out just in time to see the back gate swing shut.

  Sighing, I set the knife down.

  She's gone.

  There was an intruder, but she left, and now I'm alone again.

  Suddenly I burst into tears, as if all the tension has come undone at once. My hands are shaking and I set the knife down, but then I realize the back door is still unlocked. I rush over and fix that, before racing to the living room and checking the front door as well. Then I go to each of the windows, making sure that they're properly secured, before finally I sit down on the sofa and put my head in my hands as I start sobbing uncontrollably. I could have been murdered tonight, I could have been tied up and tortured and raped and slaughtered, and the only reason I escaped is that the intruder wasn't a complete and utter psycho.

  Still sobbing, I can't help thinking that I just had the luckiest escape ever. I must have been just inches from death!

  Extract from chat log

  Sunday September 30th 2012

  Mayfly90330:

  I can't go.

  I can't.

  I don't know what to do.

  I'm panicking here.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Calm down.

  You'll be fine. Your always fine.

  *You're

  Mayfly90330:

  I'm not always fine. Not this time. I can't face one more day at that shitty school.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Yes, you can.

  I have total faith in you.

  Mayfly90330:

  Every day is the same. I listen to those idiots, I sit through it all, I try to hold it all in.

  Literally the only good part is coming home, logging on and venting to you.

  Lol.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  So what you're saying is that I'm keeping you sane?

  LOL.

  Mayfly90330:

  You might actually be.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  You can get through tomorrow.

  You can get through anything.

  Trust me.

  You're way tougher than you realize.

  I beleve in you.

  *believe.

  Chapter Four

  Today

  “I can't really hear you very well,” I say as the static continues. Tilting my phone in an attempt to get better signal, I find instead that I go down to just one bar. “It's a really bad connection.”

  Mum says something, but her words are lost in a hissing haze.

  “So can you guys tell the rental company to block the cottage off?” I ask. “I just... Someone showed up last night, thinking the place might be free and...”

  My voice trails off.

  I really don't want to tell Mum all about that Paula girl who broke into the house during the night. She'd only freak out and probably cut the trip short, and then she and Dad would come rushing back and I'd feel like a child. To be honest, I do want them to get back as soon as they can, but I definitely don't want them thinking I'm some kind of baby. I just have to survive another week, and I'm pretty sure Paula won't be back.

  “Just ask them to block off the dates,” I say finally. “Is that okay?”

  I wait, but once again all I hear is static. It's anyone's guess whether or not Mum heard what I said, so I type the message instead and send it that way. I wait yet again, hoping to get some kind of acknowledgment, but instead the connection is dropped and I try in vain to call her back. I guess there must be some kind of bad signal out there in Marrakesh, so I'll have to try again later.

  Setting the phone down, I look out the kitchen window and see the cold blue sky outside. I prefer staying inside, but I'm out of food and I refuse to order take-out, so I get to my feet and head to the tea-box on the side. Removing the lid, I take out some money and -

  Suddenly I hear a bumping sound somewhere in the house.

  I freeze, terrified that Paula has somehow slipped back in, but now there's only silence.

  After a moment, I slip the money into my pocket and set the lid back on the tea-box, and then I head through to the foot of the stairs. I tell myself that there's nobody here, but I know I have to check, so I hurry up and take a look in all the rooms, just to be sure.

  ***

  “How's your mum doing?” an old man is saying on the street corner, as I hurry past on my way to the supermarket. “I heard she's been ill?”

  “Actually,” the other man replies, “she died on Thursday night.”

  “Mate, I'm sorry to hear that.”

  “It's probably for the best.”

  I can't help smiling as I going past them. Sometimes I hear the strangest things from people I pass in the street, and I have a mental list of all-time classics. I know it's probably mean of me to find these thin
gs funny, and I'm sure the man I overheard is very sad about losing his mother, but there's just something about the way people phrase this kind of stuff. As a cold blast of wind blows along the street, I check both ways before crossing and then I head to the alley that leads through to the supermarket car-park. It's not the quickest route, but I like avoiding other people as much as possible and -

  Stopping suddenly, I see that the usually empty alley is a hive of activity. There's police tape over the entrance, and several yellow-jacketed officers are working on something about halfway along. I crane my neck slightly, trying to see what's happened, and then I'm shocked to see a pair of feet poking out from underneath some kind of blanket, as if someone's collapsed on the ground. The police don't seem to be in any rush, and instead they're standing around talking. Then one of them starts to look this way, and I step out of view just in time.

  My heart's pounding, but I tell myself that there's no need to worry.

  Turning, I head along the street, figuring that I'll just have to take the busy route to the Co-Op. Then, as I reach the entrance to the car-park, I spot several people standing near the bins. They're talking in hushed tones, and I slow as I walk past them, hoping to catch their conversation.

  “I don't know when anyone was last murdered here,” a woman is saying. “You don't think things like that'll happen where you live, do you?”

  “Poor girl,” a man replies, his voice sounding heavy and sorry. “It's not right. Whoever she was, she was someone's daughter. I hope they identify her soon, to give her family some peace. Somebody'll be missing her.”

  Stopping, I pretend to search through my pockets so I can listen a little longer.

  “I heard she's some teenager,” another man says. “They didn't recognize her, so maybe she's not from around here.”