by Amy Cross
“I know aliens aren't real,” Beth continued, “and robots aren't real, not the ones in the shows I watch, but... Ghosts aren't real either, are they?”
“What makes you ask that?” Charmian replied, trying not to panic. She told herself this was just a childish inquiry, and not something born of anything in particular.
“I was just thinking.” Beth paused for a moment. “Sometimes when I'm playing in the corridors here, I think I can feel someone nearby.”
“There's no-one,” Charmian said quickly, heading over to her daughter and stroking the top of her head. “Ghost stories are fun, they're a way to make yourself feel scared, but that's all they are. They're just stories.” Crouching down, she looked Beth in the eyes. “Promise me you won't start thinking about ghosts too much. You haven't actually seen anything, have you? Or heard anything?”
Beth's lips moved moved a little, as if she wanted to say something but was scared.
“You sleep properly at night, don't you?” Charmian continued. “Have you ever woken up in the dark?”
The little girl shook her head.
“And you've never heard...” She paused. “Night-time is for adults. You know that, right? You're supposed to spend the night fast asleep, dreaming about wonderful things.”
“Is that what you do at night too?”
“Sure.” Forcing a smile, Charmian leaned closer and kissed Beth's cheek. “Just remember that it's really important to be asleep at night, honey. There's no reason for anyone to be up and about.” She checked her watch. “You have to be good today, okay? I need to go to a job interview and it's quite a bus ride to get there, so just hang on and we'll have some fun when I get back.”
Beth nodded, although she seemed a little uncertain.
“We'll have ice cream,” Charmian added, hurrying to the door. “I'll bring some when I come home, I promise.”
Once her mother had gone out and pulled the door shut, Beth was left standing in the hallway. She knew she should go and watch a DVD, but as she turned to head into the front room she spotted something moving outside, just beyond the front door's frosted glass. A figure moved past, just a wisp of a presence but enough to catch Beth's attention. She felt as if she was being watched, as if wherever she went she was being followed and tracked, her movements noted, her patterns and habits learned.
She felt she was slowly being hunted.
Three
“Trains,” Megan said as she looked at the pile of newspaper cuttings she'd found in her aunt's desk. “She seems to have become obsessed with trains.”
“Everyone needs a hobby,” her sister Rose replied over the phone. “What did she have, like, a model kit or something?”
“More like a notebook about the trains that pass by the tower block,” Megan muttered, looking through the diary she'd found. Every page was filled with handwritten notes about the train-tracks, as if her aunt had spent all her waking moments obsessively documenting the view from her window. “Listen to this. October first, 1:15am. Figure seen near switcher, stayed in shadows, disappeared after a few seconds.”
“Huh?” Rose replied.
“It's like she was keeping tabs on people who trespassed onto the train-line,” Megan continued looking at some other entries. “Always at night, too.”
“Whatever floated her boat,” Rose replied. “Sis, are you sure something's wrong? I mean, it sounds like Pat wasn't living the most fascinating of lives, so maybe she jacked it all in one day and ran off to find some hot younger guy. Maybe she's living a life of sexual debauchery on a golden beach in the Bahamas.”
“On her pension?”
“Maybe her toyboy is loaded,” Rose added. “Did that ever occur to you?”
“This is serious,” Megan said with a sigh. “She's missing, Rose. She hasn't just gone off to the shops and taken too long, she's actually vanished. There are clothes in her wardrobe, there's food in the kitchen, her shoes are in the hallway and she's... gone.”
She sat in silence for a moment, feeling completely helpless. Looking at another of the newspaper cuttings, she saw that like most of the others it was related to the infamous train crash that had taken place almost directly outside Marshall Heights a few years earlier. She felt as if she had all the pieces of a puzzle in front of her, but that she was no closer to putting them together.
“Do you want me to come?” Rose asked.
“No. I'm fine.”
“I could! I could even get my friend Ben to tag along, he's totally into ghosts and stuff like that.”
“Rose, I can handle it.”
“Are you sure? It's just, this is a really bad time for me...”
“I know, you need to focus on your exams. There's only -”
Hearing shouting nearby, she stopped and listened. There were raised voices coming from the flat above. Looking up at the ceiling, she realized that a man was shouting, and he sounded drunk.
“You hear that?” she asked her sister.
“What is it?”
“Noisy neigbours.”
“Go bang on their door.”
“I'm sure they'll stop soon.”
“Why are you so scared of confrontation?” Rose asked. “If some asshole's bugging you, go tell him to fuck off. Do you know what I'd do if I was there?”
“I hate to think.”
“I'd find some dog poo -”
“Rose!”
“Or you know what you could do,” Rose continued. “You could just go up and kill the bastard. No-one would suspect you, 'cause it'd be so unbelievably petty.”
“I think that's enough,” Megan said firmly. “It's late, we should both get some sleep. I've been talking to the building manager, this Michael guy, and he's told me all this stuff about the place. First thing in the morning, I'm going to start asking around after Patricia, and then if I don't get anywhere...” She paused for a moment, feeling as if she was so exhausted, she might collapse at any moment. “I guess I'll have to go back to the police, even though that makes it feel so much more real, like something's really wrong.”
“Something is really wrong,” Rose replied, suddenly sounding more serious than before. “Joking aside, I wish I could be there with you. This is too much for you to deal with alone, and...” She paused. “How's it going with the other stuff? Are you still thinking about Scott?”
“I'm fine.”
“But if -”
“I'm over it,” she said firmly, before realizing that she perhaps needed to strike a less defensive tone. “Not over it, but... I'm not moping about, either. I guess it's a good thing that I'm here, throwing myself into all of this. If I was at home, I'd just be...” Her voice trailed off for a moment as she thought about the insanity of the previous month. “It's good to keep busy,” she added finally. “It leaves me less time to dwell on things.”
“You don't need to act tough all the time.”
“I'm fine. Get back to those books. Maybe this time you'll finally become an A-star student.”
“Fat chance,” Rose said with a laugh. “Good luck with the cops, sis. Remember, you can call me any time. I'm here for you, even though I'm not there with you.”
“I know,” Megan replied, looking down at her necklace and imagining, for a brief moment, what it would be like to finally take it off and put it away. “I know I'm not alone,” she added with a whisper.
Four
“Toby!” Beth shouted as she made her way wearily along the walkway. “I'm tired, where are you?”
Stopping as she reached the elevators, she looked around, but there was no sign of him. Heading over to the concrete stairwell, she looked up and down, but still there was nothing.
“I don't want to play hide and seek!” she called out, her voice echoing slightly. “If you don't come out right now, I'm going to go home and then you'll have to hide forever!”
She waited.
Nothing.
“Okay,” she continued, “I'm going home now. Do you understand? I'm not playing!”
“Toby?” Sighing, she turned to head back up to her floor, before stopping and looking back at the stairwell.
Silence.
“Toby!” she shouted at the top of her voice. “If you don't come out now I'm going home! I mean it this time!”
Stamping her feet on the floor, she tried to make it sound as if she was walking away, and then she waited in silent for a moment.
“I hate you!” she muttered, almost turning to walk away before finally heading to the top of the stairwell and starting to make her way down. “You'd better come out!” she shouted. “I'm not going to spend all day looking for you, you know! Toby! Where are you?”
***
“Toby!” she shouted, wandering down the stairs that led to the third floor. Her legs were tired and she was almost dragging her feet as she stopped and listened to the silence. “Toby!” she shouted again. “Where are you?”
Hearing footsteps in the distance, she looked back up into the stairwell. Having lived at Marshall Heights all her life, she knew that sometimes whole days could pass without bumping into anyone else. She waited, but the footsteps died away, as if someone had merely been shuffling between floors. A moment later, she heard the elevator's mechanism starting up. Even when she heard signs of life, she rarely saw another human being.
People just kept themselves to themselves. She figured it was the same the world over.
“Toby!” she yelled, sighing theatrically as she headed to the third floor's walkway. “Please, Toby, where are you? I just want to -”
Stopping suddenly, she saw him sitting a few meters ahead, cross-legged on the floor and staring at one of the doors.
“What are you doing?” she asked, heading over to him. Glancing at the door, she saw with no great shock that flat 313 was the object of his sudden fascination. Looking down at him, she waited for a response, but he seemed almost transfixed. “What are you doing?” she asked again, gently nudging his knee with the tip of her left foot.
“Don't you hear it?” he asked.
“Hear what?”
She waited for a reply, before glancing at the door again.
“There's nothing,” she said after a moment.
“Someone's in there.”
She shook her head.
“Someone's in there,” he said again, with his eyes still fixed on the frosted glass. “I know everyone says it's locked up, but I've been sitting here for a few minutes now and I promise, I can hear something. I even saw someone a minute ago.”
“Liar.”
“Go and look.”
“I'm looking now.”
“Look properly.” Finally he turned to her. “Go and put your face against the glass. Or are you chicken?”
“I'm not chicken!”
“Then do it!”
Sighing, she turned to look at the frosted glass. Her mother had told her plenty of times not to go anywhere near flat 313, although she hadn't gone into any real details about why she shouldn't: something about the person who used to live there before the train crash, and how they'd left suddenly and now no-one wanted to live in that flat again. Beth had long figured that she'd understand eventually, maybe when she grew up and adult things made more sense.
“Go on,” Toby whispered. “Be careful, but look.”
“You're an idiot,” she replied, stepping over to the door. Cupping her hands around her eyes, she leaned closer and peered through the frosted glass. She could make out almost nothing inside, of course, other than a general gloom and the distant brightness of a window in the front room. She blinked a couple of times, determined not to let Toby realize that she was scared, but she was already counting the seconds and trying to decide when she could turn away.
“Do you see it?” he asked.
“See what?”
“Keep looking. You'll see it in a minute.”
“Toby -”
“Don't be a chicken! Just keep looking, there's someone in there!”
“There's not! My mum says -”
Suddenly she saw a dark shape pass in front of the window inside the flat; it was gone before she'd really had time to register its presence at all, but she instinctively took a step back.
“See?” Toby said after a moment, with a smug tone to his voice. “They're all lying. There is someone in there.”
“It was just a bird,” she replied hesitantly, although she knew it wasn't true. “It was a bird outside the window, idiot.”
“Birds aren't that big. It was a person.”
She turned to him, determined to prove him wrong, but the words wouldn't come.
“If you don't believe me,” he continued, “why don't you knock?”
“What do you mean?”
“Knock on the door.”
“Why would I knock on the door?”
“To see who answers, dumb-ass.”
She turned back to the door.
“I dare you,” Toby said after a moment.
“Did you knock?” she asked. Receiving no answer, she turned and saw the answer in his fearful eyes. “Why not?”
“I was waiting for you.”
“Maybe you're the chicken,” she suggested.
“Shut up and knock on the door. This is supposed to be fun, Beth, we're supposed to be playing together.”
She turned back to stare at the frosted glass. There was no sound coming from inside the flat, but she knew she'd seen something moving inside.
“Knock knock,” Toby whispered.
Stepping forward, she raised her fist to knock, before pausing as she tried to summon the courage. Her heart was racing and she knew she had to prove Toby wrong, but at the same time she was scared of disturbing strangers at the best of times, and this time she was doubly nervous. Unfortunately, she also knew that if she backed down now, Toby would never stop teasing her.
“Knock knock,” Toby said again.
She swallowed hard.
And then she knocked.
Twice.
She waited, holding her breath. She knew Toby was doing the same, but she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the glass, waiting for the slightest hint of someone on the other side.
“Do it again,” he whispered.
She shook her head.
“What's wrong? Are you a chicken?”
“You always say I'm a chicken,” she replied firmly, turning to him, “and that's how you get me to do stuff, but really you're the chicken because you never do anything yourself and -”
Before she could finish, she heard a clicking sound behind her back, followed by the sound of the door creaking open.
Frozen by fear, she stared at Toby and tried to decipher the calm look on his face as he stared past her.
“What is it?” she mouthed, although barely a sound come from her lips.
Silence.
Slowly, she turned back and saw that the door had swung halfway open, revealing the bare interior of the flat. She waited, poised to turn and run at the first sign of anyone, but as the seconds thumped past in her heart she began to realize that the door seemed to have opened of its own accord.
“I dare you,” Toby said slowly, “to go inside.”
“No way,” she said firmly, peering through at the empty front room, which seemed to have been stripped not only of its furniture but also of all the wallpaper and carpet.
“You know what happened in there, don't you?” Toby asked.
“Of course I do.”
“The girl who lived there killed her father,” he continued. “He was hurting her a lot, he'd been doing it for years, and one day she'd had enough so she killed him with poison and a knife and left him dead on the kitchen floor, and then she...” He paused. “Do you know what happened to her?”
“What?”
“She went straight downstairs,” he explained, “and she ran straight out of the building and she jumped in front of a train.”
“No she didn't.”
“She did too. Why? Are you scared to
go in there?”
“I'm not scared, I just -”
“You're chicken!”
“No, you're chicken!”
At this, he got to his feet. “I am not chicken!” he said calmly.
“Prove it. Go -”
Suddenly he lunged at her, pushing her back against the door and slipping his feet between hers, sending her tripping back until she landed hard against the rough floorboards inside the flat. By the time she was able to turn and start getting to her feet, Toby grabbed the door and started to pull it shut, hitting her leg in the process and slicing a layer of skin. She let out a cry of pain, enough to make him stop, and she quickly pushed past him, accidentally knocking him back through the door in the process.
“I hate you!” she shouted, looking down at her leg and seeing a large graze. She turned to Toby and saw that he was getting up from the floor, just inside the flat. “You're such a -”
Suddenly the door slammed shut, seemingly of its own accord, with enough force to rattle the frame.
“Toby?” she called out.
“Open the door!” he shouted, his silhouette just about visible through the frosted glass as he struggled to get the door open. “This isn't funny, Beth! Open it!”
“I'm trying!” she told him, hurrying over and trying to turn the handle from the outside, only to find that it was jammed. “I'm not doing anything!”
“Let me out!” Toby shouted again. “You're an idiot, Beth, this isn't funny!”
“I'm not trying to be funny!” she yelled. “Why can't you -”
Spotting movement on the other side of the glass, she saw to her horror that a shape appeared to approaching from the other side, making its way slowly up behind Toby.
Five
“You know,” the old man said as he stood at his door, “I don't think I've seen her since last month at least, maybe even longer. She used to clean up all the tossed junk-mail in the lobby, but...” He paused for a moment. “No, she hasn't done that in a while, either. It's all strewn around the place. Why, is something wrong?”
