The House We Haunted and Other Stories Read online

  I listen for any sign of life down in the cellar.

  Nothing.

  Figuring I should check anyway, I slip through the door. A couple of spiders drop onto my shoulders, but I brush them off before heading down the concrete steps and into the first part of the cellar's series of dark, under-lit rooms. It's like a ghost house down here, literally: the layout of the upstairs part is replicated in perfect, hollow detail, and as I walk past some old paint tins I can't help but feel that this is the house's empty, abandoned heart.

  Above, I can hear Mum's moving about in the kitchen, and a faint smile crosses my lips at the thought of how she'd react if she knew that any of us had come down here.

  Sometimes, I find myself imagining what it would be like if Mum died. When I can't sleep at night, I often fantasize about some horrible accident striking her down. The funeral would be difficult, because we'd have to pretend that we were all really sorry about her dying, when in fact we'd be kind of relieved. I don't know if other people would be genuinely upset, but I know that Ellen, John and I would be secretly smiling on the inside. I think Dad would be okay in the end, and he might even get married again and move us to a new house, but the most important thing would be that Mum would be dead and gone forever. Just the thought of something like that happening is enough to make me smile.

  I guess I'm a bad person.

  "Ellen?" I whisper, making my way through to the next room. "Are you down here?"

  Silence.

  I know it's silly to look for her down here, but at the same time I can't shake a strange feeling that somehow she is here. Call it gut instinct or some kind of intuition, but I feel as if somehow Ellen must have decided to come and seek out the ultimate hiding place. After all, she knows that we're absolutely forbidden to ever enter the cellar, and she also knows that everyone thinks she's a very good, very obedient girl. By hiding down in the cellar, she's almost not being herself, which might be the best hiding place of all. It might not be me that she's hiding from, it might be her own thoughts.

  "Come on," I whisper, leaning into the next room and spotting some old chairs over by the wall. "Ellen, I know you're here. Can we just talk?"

  No response.

  "I'm sorry Mum yelled at you," I continue, figuring that even if she's not replying, she can probably hear me. "We could hear from upstairs. She sounded pretty mean, but we couldn't make out what she was saying. I guess it was probably the usual stuff. You must have noticed that she was fuming all morning. I don't know what was wrong, but it wasn't your fault. She just needed to take it out on someone, and you made yourself the best target by acting all scared and trying to hide."

  I wait for a reply.

  "Are you mad at me for not coming to help?" I ask.

  Silence.

  "You know it would've been a mistake," I add. "She'd just have blown up even more. We made a pact, remember? When one of us gets into trouble, the others keep out of the way until it's over. We've always used that as our rule. You can't seriously think that it's mean of me to not come and help you. I did that once, and you know how it turned out. She just ends up thinking that we're working together, and that we're plotting something, and she gets way more mad than usual. At least when it's just one of us, she usually calms down after a while."

  I wait for a reply.

  Nothing.

  Spotting a box in the corner, I walk over and open the lid. Inside, there are some old children's books. I pick one up and flick through it, and with a smile I realize it's the one that Ellen used to want to read over and over again. She even used to try to get me to read it out loud to her, even though I'm younger than her so really she's the one who should have been reading it to me, but I always gave in and indulged her. Feeling a little sad at the sight of the brightly-colored pictures, I close the book and put it away. Thinking about the past, about the times when we were younger and Mum wasn't so angry, always puts me in a funny mood. Somehow, it's as if the ghost of our childhood is haunting this whole house.

  Taking a deep breath, I decide to keep moving.

  "What could I have done anyway?" I continue, still hopeful that she might be down here somewhere and that she can hear me. "Hit her over the head with a rolling pin? You were trying to hide in the bathroom again. That never works, Ellen. You have to learn from what happened today and make sure that you don't annoy her so much next time. I mean, this happens every single time you hide in the bathroom, so why do you keep doing it? Don't you realize that it drives her crazy? It's basically the main reason she made Dad take the locks off the doors."

  I step through into the next room, but all I find is the old fuse box on the wall.

  "You've got to come out eventually," I say, even though I'm starting to doubt that Ellen's really here at all. "Mum's not going to just assume you're busy somewhere, and if she catches you down here, she'll go mental. What if she catches both of us down here? Can you imagine how paranoid she'll be? She'll totally think we're up to something, so please, Ellen, just come out and we can go and talk somewhere. John is inside, so it'll just be the two of us. We can go right down to the bottom of the garden where no-one can see us, and we can talk all afternoon if you like. We don't have to stop, not until dinnertime."

  Silence.

  "You can even hold my hand," I add.

  Nothing.

  I step through into the last room, and finally I see that I was wrong. She's not down here at all. Sighing, I realize that although it was a decent idea, I probably allowed myself to get over-excited by the possibility that I'd found her secret hiding place. After taking one last glance around this part of the cellar, I turn and start making my way back through the cold, dusty concrete rooms until I reach the steps again.

  Once I'm back outside, I push the cellar door shut and look out across the garden. I can't deny that I'm starting to get a little worried about Ellen now. She always turns up eventually, but I've never had so much trouble finding her. I know Mum was mean to her, but it didn't really sound much worse than any other time. Then again, Ellen might have finally snapped. I know she'd never do anything stupid, but as I make my way around to the front of the house and reach the gate, it occurs to me that she might have tried running away. I lean over the gate and look both ways along the street, but there's no sign of anyone.

  If she's run away, John and I are going to be in so much trouble. But it's too early to assume the worst. Looking back at the house, I realize that she definitely has to be in there somewhere. She's just hiding really, really well, and I'll find her eventually.

  I have to.

  Chapter Nine

  Ellen

  "What could I have done anyway?" Kate continues. "Hit her over the head with a rolling pin?"

  She's standing just a few feet away, but for some reason she hasn't noticed me yet. Maybe it's because I've got my back to her, or maybe she just doesn't want to see the truth.

  "You were trying to hide in the bathroom again," she adds. "That never works, Ellen. You have to learn from what happened today and make sure that you don't annoy her so much next time."

  I want to answer her, but the creature still has its hand over my mouth.

  "I mean," she continues, "this happens every single time you hide in the bathroom, so why do you keep doing it? Don't you realize that it drives her crazy? It's basically the main reason she made Dad take the locks off the doors."

  I close my eyes in an attempt to stop the tears, but it's too late. My whole body is shaking with fear, and I can already hear Kate making her way into the next part of the cellar. Why hasn't she seen me? What's wrong with me? Even though I can't make a noise, I'm able to scream in my head. She's my sister, so she should be able to hear. If she cares, she'll look over and see me.

  Chapter Ten

  Kate

  "What do you mean?" John asks, frowning at me. "She has to be somewhere."

  "I looked everywhere," I reply, keeping my voice down as we sit in his bedroom. "I even went down into the cellar, and you
know how horrible it is down there. I walked through every room looking for her, and I checked every inch of the place, and she wasn't there. All I found was a box of old books."

  "Were the spiders still on the wall?"

  I nod.

  "I like squashing them sometimes," he says with a smile.

  "Great," I mutter. "Ellen's scared of them, I ignore them, and you want to kill them. Between us, we've got pretty much every response covered."

  "When you squeeze their bodies really slowly," he continues, "they eventually pop and this white or yellow pus oozes out like -"

  "You're disgusting," I reply, interrupting him. Above, the light flickers for a moment.

  "No, they're disgusting," he says with a grin, before pausing, as if a thought has suddenly crossed his mind. "Do you think, if you popped a person in the same way, really slowly, they'd also just have all this pus coming out of them?"

  "You're really foul," I add. "Sometimes I wonder if we're related at all. Maybe Mum and Dad just found you by the side of the road and brought you home as a kind of project."

  "You won't say that when I grow up to be a doctor."

  I can't help but smile at the ludicrous idea of my annoying little brother doing anything worthwhile with his life.

  "I mean it," he continues. "I'm going to go to doctor school and then I'm going to make people better. I decided last week. Doctors are cool, and I'm going to be a world-renowned surgeon or something like that, and people are going to come to me when they've got problems, and other doctors won't know how to help them but I'll save them all."

  "By popping them like spiders?" I ask.

  "Maybe," he replies. "If I want to. Do you really think pus would come out of them?"

  "Shut up."

  "It's a question!"

  "It's a stupid one," I reply. "Don't say things like that around Ellen, either. You know it makes her go funny."

  "She's already funny," he says darkly. "Sometimes, especially when Mum's in a bad mood, Ellen has this look on her face, like she's whispering to herself inside her head and her face is kind of twitching, and it looks like she's hearing voices or something and she's totally about to crack. I think she's properly mad and when she grows up, she's going to live alone, probably in this house, and all her friends will be cats."

  "She's not mad," I tell him with a sigh, "she's just..." I pause as it occurs to me that maybe, just maybe, John could be right. Is it possible that after all these years of thinking that Ellen's a bit weird, she might actually be properly mad? For a moment, I start thinking about her being taken off to an asylum or having bits of her brain drilled out; over the years, the idea of Ellen ending up insane has started to seem a little bit more possible. "She's not mad," I say again, "she's just having a hard time, that's all."

  "Mum hates her the most," he replies.

  "Mum doesn't hate any of us," I tell him.

  "Then why does she always shout?" He waits for me to reply. "People only shout at other people when they hate them, don't they? So why does Mum shout at us all? And she shouts at Ellen the most, which means she hates Ellen more than she hates you and me. It's not a bad thing. Not for us. It's only bad for Ellen." He pauses. "I don't mind if Ellen gets into trouble and then Mum's too tired to shout at you and me. Anyway, Ellen's used to it. She knows what Mum's like. We all do."

  "That's just... her." I pause for a moment. "Right now, we just need to find Ellen before Mum realizes she's missing. Can you even begin to imagine what it'll be like if she comes looking for her? She'll cycle through the three phases of insanity faster than you can pedal a bike."

  We sit in silence for a moment. I want to make John realize that he's wrong, but he's probably too young to really understand what he's saying.

  "At first," I continue, "she'll assume we're hiding her, and that's gonna make her really angry. She'll think we've all come up with a new hiding place, and that you and me are intentionally helping Ellen. That's the worst thing we can do in her eyes. She thinks we're always conspiring to hide things from her. She'll be so mad, she'll probably make us go downstairs and sit in front of her until one of us breaks and tells the truth, but we won't be able to break even if we want to, because we don't know where she's hiding."

  "Do you think she'll hit us?" he asks.

  "She never hits us," I reply. "It's worse than that. You know what she's like. If she'd just hit us, at least it'd be over. Instead, she does that thing where she just stares at us, and it's clear that she's thinking about how horrible we are."

  "I'm not horrible," he replies. "She knows that it's mainly you and Ellen who plot together."

  "No-one's plotting," I say firmly.

  He stares at me, and I can tell that he finally understands how serious this problem might become.

  "So then she'll get even more angry," I add. "That's when phase two will start. She'll go stomping around, screaming Ellen's name and telling her that she has to come out right now. I don't know how long it'll last, but she'll literally start shaking the walls to try to get her to appear. And while all this is happening, Ellen's going to be getting more and more scared, and she'll curl up into more and more of a little ball, and so it'll all go on like this until finally we get to the third phase." I stare at his blank, uncomprehending face. "Do you know what the third phase will be, John?"

  He shakes his head.

  "The third phase will be when Mum realizes that Ellen really isn't hiding under the stairs or wherever, and that she might have actually gone and run off. That's when her fury is going to really get to the point where it explodes, and then no-one's gonna be safe, not even Dad. They'll have to call the police to go and look for her, and then it might even be on the news, and if they ever find her, Mum will punish her forever." I pause for a moment, to let those words sink in. "Forever, John," I add eventually. "Not just her, either. She'll punish us too, and then we'll probably never, ever be able to get away."

  "I hate Ellen," he says darkly.

  "No," I reply, "you don't."

  "I do," he continues. "She always does stupid things to make Mum mad. If Ellen wasn't so dumb, or if she wasn't here at all, then Mum probably wouldn't get so angry."

  "Jesus Christ, you're thick," I reply with a sigh.

  "It's true," he says, getting to his feet. "If Ellen's run away, then I don't want her to come back. Without her, it's going to be quieter and calmer around here, and Mum might start to like you and me better. Ellen's always ruining everything. It's like she just goes through life, being a total ruiner and making everyone else's world suck."

  "You're just a kid," I reply, heading to the door.

  "You know it's true," he adds. "Whenever things are going okay, you know that Ellen's going to do something, or say something, or she'll just get that sad look on her face, and Mum's going to blow up again. It's Ellen's face that upsets her the most. I can always see when it's coming. I see Ellen looking all sad at one end of the table, and then I look over at Mum and see that she's noticed too, and then it all starts to build up again."

  "You don't know what you're talking about," I tell him, "so you should really just shut up."

  "Ellen's the oldest," he continues, "so she should leave. That's what happens when people grow up. They move out and go away. And if she won't leave, I hope she dies, because it'll be rubbish if she stays."

  "You don't mean that," I say, turning back to him.

  "I do," he says firmly. "I really mean it with all my heart. I'd be happy if Ellen died, because then everything could be okay around here. So if you find her and she's about to die, don't try to save her. I'm not saying you should murder her or anything like that, but if you happen to find her and she's dying, just let it happen. Don't give her the kiss of life or anything."

  I stare at him, barely able to believe these words are really coming out of my little brother's mouth. I've always know that he's a little harsh, but I never thought he'd actually say that he wants Ellen dead. Obviously he can't really mean it, but still, it's ch
illing to hear the words come from his mouth.

  "I mean it," he says after a moment.

  "No," I reply, more out of hope than certainty, "you don't."

  "I do!" He pauses, fixing me with a determined stare. "I know how to make sure that Mum doesn't get angry at me," he adds eventually. "I just have to make sure that she realizes I'm on her side."

  "And how are you gonna do that?" I ask. "Snitch on Ellen?"

  He doesn't reply.

  "If you do," I continue, "I'll punch you."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "I would. I'll punch you in the face if you tell Mum that Ellen's missing. Just give me time to find her, okay?"

  Again, there's no reply.

  "Okay?" I ask again.

  "I'll do what I want," he replies, "when I want. It's not up to you."

  Realizing that there's no point arguing with him, I head out of the room and onto the landing. I can hear Mum in the kitchen downstairs, but I can't go down just yet; for one thing, I'm scared that she might ask me where Ellen is, and for another, I'm shaking after that conversation with John. I know he's young, but sometimes I think he's really just a stupid, spiteful, spoiled little brat who doesn't give a damn about anyone else.

  "Please," I whisper, hoping that maybe Ellen can hear me wherever she is, "just come back."

  Chapter Eleven

  Ellen

  It hurts.

  I can feel the creature's teeth on my neck. Not biting, just... waiting. Its hand is still over my mouth, and after a moment I reach back to try to push it away, but somehow my hand ends up resting on its back and I feel its spine jutting through its skin.

  And the pain just gets worse and worse, like a million scratchy little fingers all over my body. I try to scream, but nothing comes out, so I try even harder, and still it doesn't work, so I try harder and harder and harder because eventually it has to work.