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I pause for a moment, as an idea slowly forms.

  “It can't be,” I mutter, before turning and making my way slowly to the doorway.

  I stop again, and now I can tell that someone or something is definitely moving about upstairs. It would be so easy to just believe in ghosts, to abandon all logic, but there's still one possible rational explanation that I haven't considered.

  “Mum?” I call out finally.

  The sound stops.

  “Mum, are you here?” I shout. “Mum, if you're here, just let me know!”

  The idea is crazy, of course, but it's still the most logical explanation. I heard the front door opening and closing earlier, but that doesn't necessarily mean that Mum left the house. In fact, if she'd been secretly staying at home each night and just pretending to go to work, that might explain all the strange sounds I've heard. Of course, it would also mean that she's been lying her ass off to me, but lately that possibility has begun to feel more likely. And maybe the pills are part of her big secret.

  Reaching into my pocket, I take out my phone and tap to call the first speed-dial number.

  “No number available,” the phone's automated voice tells me.

  I try again, with the same result.

  “I've added the number of the building to your phone,” Mum said to me earlier, just before she supposedly left for work, “it's the first number on speed-dial, so if you need to call me for any reason, you won't have any trouble getting through this time. I promise.”

  I try once more to call her, but it's now very clear that she didn't enter any number into my phone at all.

  Some promise.

  “Mum?”

  Stepping forward, I reach out and feel the wall, and then I start shuffling toward the stairs. I'm starting to think that Mum has been hiding a lot from me, and I definitely need to know if she's lurking in the house and only pretending to go to work. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that she's been acting pretty strangely for a while now, starting even before we suddenly moved to this house. I've gone along with her plans so far, but now it's clear that I need to figure out what she's doing, so I start making my way upstairs.

  “I know you're here!” I call out. “This is crazy, Mum! Why are you hiding from me?”

  When I get to the top, I stop for a moment and realize I can hear another noise from one of the bedrooms. Although I try telling myself that I must be wrong, I slowly become aware of the sound of someone breathing. But whoever it is, it's definitely not my mother.

  It sounds more like an old man.

  “Mum?” I whisper finally, hoping against hope that she'll finally reply. “Now would be a really good time for you to stop messing about and start telling me what the hell is going on here.”

  Suddenly I hear a set of footsteps nearby, and I turn back toward the stairs. I swear I heard someone just now, coming closer, but the house is already silent again.

  Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that I need to stay calm, that I can't let my imagination run wild.

  I reach my hands out, forcing myself to check that there's no-one here. I might have imagined a face the other night, but that doesn't mean I'm completely insane. In fact, as I take a couple of cautious steps forward, I already feel as if I'm getting on top of my fears.

  And then I feel the top of a head.

  I freeze, but my fingers are definitely brushing against human hair, and I realize after a moment that there seems to be a child right in front of me, a little boy who – judging by his height – seems to be no more than eight or nine years old.

  “No,” I whisper, taking a step back, “this is...”

  The house is still silent. Forcing myself to confront whatever is going on here, I reach forward again, but this time there's nothing.

  “That's just freaky,” I say out loud, trying to calm my nerves a little more. “Bad Rachel. Bad. Don't do this to yourself.”

  I wait, but all I can hear now is the slow, rasping sound of someone struggling to breathe in a room nearby. My initial instinct is to turn and run, but it's not like I've got anywhere I can run to, and – besides – running isn't exactly easy when you can't see where you're going.

  So instead, I start making my way carefully along the landing until I reach the door to Mum's bedroom, and now I can hear the breathing sound more clearly than ever.

  Someone's in Mum's bed.

  “Hello?” I say cautiously, and I can immediately hear the fear in my own voice. “Are you...”

  I wait, but the breathing continues. Whoever's in the house with me right now, it's clearly someone old and maybe even someone who's sick. I guess that would explain the pills, but as I step into the room I can't help thinking that Mum has definitely been hiding something from me.

  “My name's Rachel,” I say out loud. “Is someone in here?”

  The breathing continues, as if the person hasn't heard me.

  I want to turn and go to my bedroom, and just shut the door until morning, but I've never been a coward. Taking a deep breath, I hold my hands out as I step forward, and finally I feel the wall next to the bed. Reaching down, I manage to find the cane, and then I touch the old metal bed-frame. The sound of heavy breathing is even closer now, and I'm more convinced than ever that someone is actually in the bed. If Mum has been secretly keeping some old guy in the house and not telling me, I damn well want to know.

  I pause, before moving my hands down onto the pillow and then across, until -

  Suddenly I feel the side of a man's head. Wisps of hair are curling between my fingers, while my fingertips are touching warm, slightly leathery skin.

  I pull back and stay completely silent for a moment, but I can still hear someone breathing.

  “Hello?” I whisper, and now my voice is trembling with fear. “Can... Can you hear me?”

  I wait, but still there's no reply.

  “Mum?” I call out. “Please, Mum, I need you to tell me what the hell is going on here.”

  Again, no reply.

  I could turn and leave the room, but I tell myself that I have to figure out what's happening. Slowly, I move my hands back toward the side of the man's head, and finally my fingertips brush once more against his flesh. This time, however, I move my fingers down a little and feel some kind of rubber tube, and then I follow the tube until I feel it running into the man's nose. Whoever he is, he's clearly not well, and I can hear now that his breathing seems harsh and perhaps a little shallow.

  Since he doesn't seem to have woken yet, I move my fingers to his eyes and find that they're shut, and then I run my hands down until I feel his stubbly chin. There's a hint of slime around his mouth, and it's becoming increasingly clear that he's sick. I feel his neck and find that the skin seems very loose, and then I move my hands down until I reach what feels like the top of a hospital gown.

  There's a strange smell, too. Something that reminds me of hospital wards and medicine.

  Suddenly I hear a faint shuffling sound, as if the man moved slightly.

  I stay completely still, but his breathing hasn't changed. Still, when I start moving my hands back up onto his face, I find that his head has turned toward me. I freeze for a few seconds, before running my fingers past his mouth and nose, past the rubber tube, and up toward his eyes. My heart is pounding, and it's clear that the man's head has turned toward me, but finally my fingertips reach his eyelids and I realize that they've opened.

  Suddenly the sound of his breathing stops.

  I hold my breath too.

  All around me, the house is completely silent.

  Two of my fingertips are still resting on the old man's eyelid, and I can feel a flicker of movement. He must be looking straight at me, and after a few seconds I remember I'm not wearing my sunglasses.

  “Who are you?” I whisper. “Who -”

  I stop as I feel something wet on one of my fingertips. A tear, maybe, although it feels a little too gummy.

  “What are you doing in my house?” I ask him, as I pu
ll my hand back.

  The only reply is a faint creaking sound from the bed, as if he's shifting his weight.

  “Who are you?” I ask again, and now there's fear in my voice. “What the hell are -”

  Suddenly I hear a loud roar, and the man lunges at me, slamming his weight against my chest until I fall back. I land hard on the wooden floor, but – before I can react – the man lands on top of me, and his entire body is trailing tubes and wires as he screams and digs his long, jagged fingernails into my face.

  “Mum!” I shout. “Help me!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Alice - Twenty years ago

  “Rest now,” I whisper, placing a hand on the side of Father's face. “There's no need to be scared. Everything's going to be okay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rachel - Today

  “Mum!” I scream again, trying in vain to push the old man away. “Get him off me!”

  I let out a cry as I feel the man's fingernails digging deeper into my cheeks and slicing through the flesh. Reaching up, I put a hand on his face and try to force him back, but he's far too strong for me. Feeling a rubber tube dangling from his nose, I take hold tight and then pull it away, and a moment later I feel a spray of slime against my face.

  The old man sneers something, but I can't make out any of the words.

  “Mum!” I scream, trying to twist and crawl away. “Help! There's a -”

  And then he's gone.

  As suddenly as he lunged at me, the old man has completely disappeared. I crawl back, terrified in case he attacks me again, but all I can hear is the sound of my own gasping, frantic breath. The house has fallen still again, but I still crawl a little further away from the bed, until finally my back bumps against the wall. Reaching out, I knock something wooden and hear a sudden clatter, and it takes a moment before I realize that I just knocked the cane over.

  I sit in silence, still scared that he might return.

  After all, he can't have vanished into thin air, so he must still be in the room somewhere.

  “Mum?” I whimper, raising my voice as loud as I dare. I can feel trickles of blood running down from the cuts on my face. “If you're here, now would be a really good time to come and help me.”

  I wait a moment longer, before feeling a sudden and very overwhelming feeling that I have to get out of this room. Turning, I start crawling across the floor, hurrying as fast as I dare until finally I bump into the side of the door. It takes only a moment longer for me to get out onto the landing, and then I turn and pull the door shut.

  Leaning back, I take a moment to listen once again to the silence of the house.

  There's no-one here.

  There can't be.

  Whatever just happened, it was... It was a figment of my imagination. There's no other explanation.

  “Mum?” I call out.

  No reply.

  I wait, just in case there's any hint of movement from the other side of the door. The old man was out of the bed, and I'm certain I'd hear him if he so much as moved an inch. At the same time, there's no reason why he should have suddenly stopped attacking me. He had me on the floor, on my back, and it must have been clear to him that I wasn't able to fight back. Then again, I don't even understand why he would have attacked me in the first place, so I can only assume that he was completely out of his mind.

  Or I'm out of my mind.

  Pulling back, I lean against the wall, still breathless and terrified that I'll hear another creak.

  Several minutes pass like this, before I finally manage to persuade myself that I imagined the whole thing. After all, I apparently imagined a face the other night, so an angry old man in a bed seems like a logical extension. I was hoping my other senses would become stronger, to compensate for my lack of sight, but now they've apparently gone a little too far and I've started to invent all sorts of crazy stuff.

  “You're not mad,” I say out loud, hoping to persuade myself. After a moment, I sit up. “You're not mad, Rachel. You're just... struggling with certain things.”

  Slowly, feeling a little sore after slamming into the floor so hard a few minutes ago, I get to my feet.

  “And this is not a haunted house,” I mutter under my breath, before wincing slightly as I feel a pain in my right arm. “Haunted houses don't exist, because ghosts don't exist, and -”

  Suddenly I hear Mum's door creaking as it swings open.

  And then silence again.

  “Mum?” I whimper, hoping against hope that she'll suddenly come back and make everything okay. “Is that... Is that you?”

  I wait.

  No reply.

  “Mum?”

  Silence.

  Suddenly I hear the old man's labored breath coming closer. I freeze for a moment, too scared to move, until he lets out a snarl and I feel his swollen hands grabbing my leg.

  “Help!” I scream, turning and crawling along the floor, while frantically kicking him away.

  “Get back here!” he shouts, his voice sounding harsh and pained. “You can't leave me like this!”

  I crawl faster and faster, desperate to get away. I've lost track of where I am on the landing, and a moment later I bump hard against a table. I hear a vase wobbling above me, and a moment later it comes crashing down, hitting my shoulder and then smashing against the floor. I turn and crawl away, but I can hear the old man still coming after me.

  “Help!” I yell. “Mum, where -”

  Suddenly the floor gives way as I crawl forward, and I realize too late that I've reached the top of the stairs. I turn and try to grab the rails, but I'm not quick enough and I tumble down, slamming against the steps and clattering down. My head hits several steps along the way, and I try to twist around in an attempt to keep from landing head-first. Before I can do much to protect myself, however, I thud against the hallway floor.

  At the last moment, I put all my weight on my right hand, and I instantly feel a burst of pain as something bends in my wrist.

  Gasping, I roll onto my side, but at least my neck isn't broken.

  A couple of seconds later, I hear another bumping sound from upstairs.

  “Mum!” I shout, still hoping that she's secretly in the house somewhere. “Mum, where are you? Mum, please!”

  Still sobbing, I turn and crawl to the front door, and then I reach up to turn the key. My hands are trembling and I'm convinced that someone is coming down the stairs toward me, but finally I get the door open and I crawl out on my knees. When I get to the top of the steps, I make my way down from the porch and onto the damp grass, and then I try getting to my feet. My wrist is throbbing with pain but there's no time to worry about that now. I just have to get away from the house.

  “Mum!” I whimper, stumbling as I make my way toward the front gate. “Mum, please just -”

  “Rachel!”

  Hearing a familiar voice, I turn just as someone runs closer. My initial instinct is to pull back, but I quickly realize that the voice belongs to Aidan, and a moment later I feel him grab my right arm.

  “I heard you shouting,” he tells me, sounding worried. “What's wrong?”

  “There's someone in the house,” I stammer, taking a step back. “I don't know who, but there's someone in there and I can't find my mother.”

  “Your mother?”

  “She said she was going to work,” I explain, “but I think she was lying, and now there's someone in the house, someone old, and he attacked me!”

  “Okay,” he replies, “I think the best thing is if I go inside and take a look for you.”

  “It's not safe!”

  “I think I can look after myself,” he tells me. “Come on, at least let me try. If there's someone in there, you need to know. Either that, or...”

  “Or what?”

  I wait for him to continue.

  “You think I'm imagining it?” I stammer.

  “I think I should go take a look.”

  I pause, before realizing that he has a point
.

  “I thought I felt a boy, too,” I continue as he takes my arm and leads me slowly toward the steps that run up to the porch. “I think maybe I just... I think I just lost my mind for a few minutes.”

  “It's probably nothing,” he replies. “You were probably spooked, that's all.”

  “I'm not some kind of idiot,” I tell him. “Please, don't think I'm this complete moron who panics every time she's left alone.”

  “I don't think that at all. Okay, we're at the bottom of the steps.”

  I let him lead me to the porch, but I pull back when he tries to take me inside.

  “Maybe you should wait out here,” he continues, helping me over to the bench next to the front door.

  I'm trembling with fear now, and even though I keep telling myself that the old man wasn't real, I can't actually bring myself to go inside.

  “I'm gonna go in and take a look,” Aidan explains, placing a hand on my shoulder, “and I'm gonna make absolutely certain that there's no-one there. Does that sound good?”

  “Please,” I stammer, “you have to be careful!”

  “I will, I promise. Just wait right here.”

  With that, he walks away, and I hear his footsteps disappearing into the house. I want to call him back, to tell him that it's not safe, but he sounds like the kind of guy who can look after himself. Still, for the next few minutes I sit shivering on the porch, hoping against hope that Aidan will come back soon. As time passes, however, I start to worry that maybe something has gone wrong, that maybe there really is someone inside. What if I just let Aidan walk into some kind of trap?

  “Aidan?” I call out.

  Silence.

  I hesitate for a moment, before getting to my feet and carefully making my way to the front door, which I find hanging wide open.

  “Aidan?”

  The only reply is the silence of the house.

  “Aidan?” I shout, as I take a cautious step inside. “Where -”

  “It's okay,” he replies suddenly, putting a hand on my arm.

  I step back. He seemed to come out of nowhere.

  “I've looked around the whole place,” he continues, as I step back and sit on the bench once again. “There's no-one in there, Rachel. The house is a little messy, it looks like you bumped into a few things, but apart from that there's really nothing out of the ordinary.”