Catherine Fisher: The Ghost Box

And then she walked off and left him there, and asked herself why she felt so miserable.

*********

She stayed up late that night, watching a film, even though it was boring. It was as if she was scared of going to bed, though she told herself that she was just being stupid. And when she did go, she undressed quickly and got under the covers and left the lamp on, staring up out of the window at the clouds streaming across the moon.

She meant to stay awake. Instead, after what only seemed like seconds, she was being woken up.

A small hand was pulling at her, urgent and fierce. With a great rush of fear her eyes opened. She twisted around and his hand clamped over her mouth, his dirty, bony fingers.

“Don’t scream,” the boy whispered.

Wide-eyed, she nodded.

The boy leaned back on his heels. He took his hand away slowly, and she breathed in the musty smell of him, saw the ear-ring glint in the moon-light.

The lamp was out. All the room was in darkness. Out of the corners of her eyes she thought she saw small curlings of leaves, as if branches were sprouting out of the walls. A bird fluttered.

“Do you have it?” he asked in an eager voice. He snatched up the box from the table. “Where is it? Where’s the key?”

Sarah dragged hair from her face. Her breath came short. She didn’t know what to tell him.

Chapter 7

You’ve Made Me Angry

He must have seen it in her face.

“You didn’t get it? I asked you and begged you and you didn’t get it!” His narrow face pushed close to hers.

“I tried …” she began but he reached up and laid his muddy finger across her lips. His eyes were glints of green anger. “Too late,” he hissed.

The lamp swayed. As she watched, wide-eyed, it toppled and fell, dragging its cord behind it, breaking the glass shade.

The boy smiled a cold smile. “You’ve made me angry, Sarah. You’ve broken your promise. Now I want to break things too.”

A breeze was growing in the room, a soft slithering of blown leaves. They flapped along the walls, made the curtains billow. Suddenly all the posters and pictures on her wall began to curl at the corners, rolling up as if they were damp, popping thumb tacks out.

She pulled away from him. “Stop it!” she shouted.

He shook his head.

Boxes and bottles crashed on the vanity table. Lids flew off jars of make-up. They rolled and the gloop from them dripped in blobs onto the carpet. Sarah gasped in dismay. All her books fell forward from the bookshelves, one by one, crumpling in an explosion of pages. From the half opened wardrobe, clothes and scarves began to slither and twist and tear themselves to shreds.

“Stop it! Please!”

“Get me a key,” he said.

His fingers caught her arms and held them tight. “Get me a key, Sarah. I won’t be trapped here any more. For a hundred years I’ve wandered this field, before there was a barn, before there was a house. All through the winter nights, through the frost and cold, waiting for someone to hear me, see me, sobbing and crying and scrabbling at the windows.” He drew back. “I won’t let you go now, Sarah. Not now that I’ve found you.”

He was gone so suddenly that she was still staring at the shadow of his outline, and found it was only her coat swinging on the wardrobe door. As she watched, the coat fell in a heap onto the floor.

*********

“… Never seen such an absolute mess,” Mom said crossly. “I should make you stay home and clean everything up.”

Sarah chewed toast, only half listening. It was hard to eat. Fear was choking her. And she was so tired. She had over-slept again, and felt heavy and bleary. Mom picked up her coat. “Don’t forget. By the time I come back ...”

She went out into the hall, still talking. The dogs burst in with a joyful bark. They slunk outside and ran towards the gate, ears flat.

Matt came back in.

For a moment they sat in silence. Sarah drank cold coffee. Then Matt said, “There’s something wrong with the dogs. Can’t you tell? It’s as if they don’t like the house any more. They scratch to go out.”

Sarah looked at him blankly.

Then he said, “What’s going on, Sarah? Your bedroom looks like it’s been hit by a bomb.”

“So you looked!”

“Your mother was so angry.”

“You shouldn’t have gone in.” But her answer was flat. She had no energy left to be angry with him. She stood up. “I have to go into town.”

“I’ll drive you,” he said.

She stared, surprised. “I didn’t know you’d passed your test.”

Matt gave a shrug. His dark hair flopped in his eyes. “You don’t know much about me at all, do you?”

For a moment she felt bad about it. Then she went to get the box.

*********

There was a lock-smith in town and she took the box there. They were very quick. They fiddled and filed and tried various keys until one fitted. As the shop woman turned the key, Sarah heard the lock click and her heart gave a great jump. She put her hand out hard on the box lid so it didn’t open.

The woman looked at her oddly. “$10.50, please.”

Sarah paid, locked the box again quickly and put it in the plastic bag. But as she walked up past the street that led to Morgan Rees’s shop she stopped. For a moment she wanted to go down there, to talk to him again, to find out what had worried him so much.

The street was quiet. Leaves lay in puddles. The swans were dabbling in the thick weeds that grew on one side of the stream, lifting their long necks and shaking them.

Sarah walked down to the shop and looked in.

Morgan Rees had a customer. His back was to her, but he and the customer were talking. She saw Morgan Rees spread a hand out in excitement, then stab a long finger at some paper on the desk.

She put her hand to the door, and then stopped.

The customer had turned around, and she saw it was Matt.

Instantly she ducked back behind a cabinet that filled the window.

They hadn’t seen her. But what was Matt doing in an antique shop, Matt with his Goth coat and his black eye-liner? Was he in some sort of plot with Morgan Rees to get the box?

She backed away, knowing now how much she had wanted to go in.

Then the wind gusted in her face, flapped her coat, whipped her hair across her eyes. All the leaves in the puddles lifted and spattered her with mud. Looking up, she saw a small shadow hunched in the dark tunnel at the end of the alley.

“Tonight, Sarah,” it whispered.

Chapter 8

Alone

“What do you think?” Sarah’s mom turned in front of the mirror.

Sarah said, “Very nice.”

“Well, you could be a little more positive,” Mom said with a sigh.

“It’s great. It looks really good on you.”

Mom’s dress was red, and long. Over it she wore a purple and red coat, very off-beat, very arty. Her hair was piled up and strands of it dangled in curls. She looked every inch the famous sculptor.

“I hope so. It’ll have to do.” She smiled. “I wish you could come, Sarah, I really do, but the invitation was only for two. We’ll be back around ten tomorrow morning. Are you sure there isn’t someone who you’d like to have to stay for the night? Olly, or Kate?”

“No. Not really.”

“I don’t like to think of you here on your own.”

Sarah gave a shrug. “Matt will be here.”

“No, he won’t.” Mom put her wallet and some lipstick in her purse. “He’s out late with some friends tonight, Gareth said.”