‘It looks like someone blew their nose on your head,’ she said. ‘Which, if you ask me, isn’t a bad look for you.’
‘Well, thanks,’ I grinned, picking up the last item. It was a small rectangle of paper. ‘Ready for the joke?’
She pulled her legs up so they were crossed on the desk in front of her, and rested her chin on her hands. ‘Go for it.’
‘These are usually terrible, so you should probably brace yourself.’
‘Braced and ready!’
‘Right,’ I began, but immediately stopped. I studied the writing on the paper, then turned it over to see if there was anything more written on the other side. Blank. I turned the paper back and read the text again. It made no sense.
‘What does it say?’
I frowned and showed her the single word printed in thick, black type on the paper. She leaned forwards and read it aloud. ‘Duck,’ she said.
And at that, the doors exploded.
Chapter Twelve
THE GET AWAY
For the second time that night I shielded my face from flying shards of glass. Ameena tumbled backwards from the desk, crying out as a large, awkward shape tumbled through the air and hit the back wall with a thud.
I clambered over the desk, away from the gaping wound in the front wall, and fell clumsily to the floor. The limp body of the policeman lay next to me; bleeding all over, groaning in pain. I leaned down to try to help him, but a firm grip yanked me by the collar.
‘Get up,’ Ameena hissed, pulling me up on to my knees. ‘Move!’
I scrambled after her, unable to tear my eyes from the barely breathing policeman. Only a low mumbling from the doorway was enough to get me to look away.
The metal frames were all that remained of the double doors, and even they were bent so far they’d torn free of the top hinges. The tall panes of glass which had filled the frames were now shattered and spread over the floor and desk.
My attention, though, was fixed on the figure standing just inside the room. A smile played at the edges of Mr Mumbles’ mouth, stretching his stitches almost to breaking point. The pathway of glass cracked and crackled as he slowly began to advance.
‘Come on, there’s got to be a back door,’ Ameena barked, grabbing me by the arm and shoving me hard into the corridor behind the desk. I watched in horror as she dropped to her knees and began to go through the policeman’s pockets. He groaned, his eyes half open.
‘You’re robbing him?’
‘I’m looking for keys!’
Already, Mr Mumbles was almost at the front desk. His dark, sunken eyes bored into me as he continued his steady approach.
‘Hurry up!’ I begged. ‘He’s coming!’
‘Got them,’ Ameena yelped. She sprung back up and we hurried along the short corridor until we found the back door of the station. Locked. Not for the first time, I was relieved Ameena was with me. Stopping for the keys would never have occurred to me. I’d have been trapped with nowhere to go.
She studied the lock and held up the hefty metal key ring. There were easily thirty keys hanging from it. This was going to take time – something we didn’t have. Behind us, Mr Mumbles entered the corridor and strode slowly towards us, like an undertaker in a funeral procession. His low mumbling echoed and amplified between the narrow walls, until the sound seemed to be coming at us from every direction at once.
‘What is it?’ Ameena demanded. ‘What’s he saying?’
I shook my head. I couldn’t make the words out properly. ‘I don’t…Something…something about ripping our eyes out.’
‘Sorry I asked.’
The first key slipped easily into the lock, but didn’t turn. The next few didn’t even make it all the way in. Ameena slammed her shoulder against the wood in rage and frustration, but the door wouldn’t budge. Mr Mumbles’ footsteps click-clacked on the polished floor, louder and louder, closer and closer.
I focused, trying to summon up the strength I’d felt earlier. I could do this. I could break down this door.
THUMP! I swung with my right arm, striking the door with the heel of my hand, like I’d seen people do in kung fu movies. The door remained closed, but my wrist hurt like hell.
‘Get it open!’ I screamed, clutching my wounded arm.
‘I’m trying!’
Click. Clack. Click. Clack. The footsteps drew closer. Another key jangled in the lock. Not the right one. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. He was almost on us now. Another few seconds and we’d be done for! Click. Clack. Click. CLICK!
Ameena cried out in triumph as the next key turned all the way. At once, the door was whipped wide open by the wind. We collided and almost fell over each other in our rush to get outside. I only managed to stay on my feet by catching on to the bonnet of the police car which sat, silent and alone, in the small station car park.
The indicator lights of the vehicle gave a sudden bright flash, as Ameena pressed a button on the largest of the keys. With a bleep and a clunk, the front two doors unlocked.
‘Get in,’ she urged, throwing open the driver’s door and sliding in behind the steering wheel. I glanced up at the station in time to see Mr Mumbles step out after us. There was no time to lose.
‘Can you drive?’ I asked, as I leapt into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. Ameena turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared into life.
‘How hard can it be?’ she shrugged, noisily grinding the gear stick into place. ‘Hold on!’
My head was snapped almost to my chest as she slammed the accelerator down with her foot, sending the car speeding backwards. Something – maybe the tyres, maybe me – screeched sharply. Then, with a grinding of metal, the back end buckled against the wall of a neighbouring building.
‘Wrong way!’ I shouted. ‘Forwards, go forwards!’
‘I know that!’ she snarled, crunching the gears and eyeing up the narrow exit out of the car park. From the corner of my eye I saw her face twist into a scowl, as Mr Mumbles stepped in front of us, blocking our escape.
She spoke, but whatever she said was lost beneath another scream – definitely from the tyres, this time. With a sudden jolt, the car lunged forwards. For a few seconds we weaved wildly as Ameena fought to get control of the wheel, and then we were going straight, and heading right for Mr Mumbles.
He wasn’t smiling when the front of the car struck him. His body bent in half, smashing his head off the shiny white bonnet, before our momentum dragged him down and under the front wheels. Something below us gave a loud crunch. I felt my stomach spasm, and for a second I thought I was going to be sick.
‘Got him!’ cried Ameena. She braked hard. Another crunch, the sound of something ripping, and then the only noises were the low hum of the engine and our own unsteady breathing.
I looked across at Ameena. Her tan skin looked ashen white. Her body was shaking, her hands gripping tight on the wheel. I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying.
‘I got him,’ she repeated, more quietly this time. ‘I got him.’
‘What do we do now?’ I asked.
‘I got him. I so got him.’
‘Ameena?’
‘Got him.’ She was babbling now, tears streaking her face. ‘Did you see that? I got him.’
‘You did,’ I said, softly. I was shaking, too, but somehow managing to hold myself together. Just. ‘You got him. You saved us.’
‘I did, didn’t I?’ she trembled. ‘I had to do it, didn’t I?’
Before I could open my mouth to reassure her, a powerful fist punched a hole straight through the back windscreen. We spun in our seats in time to see the entire safety glass window being ripped clear of its rubber seal. Mr Mumbles – his mouth still tightly shut – gave an animal roar of rage from deep down in his throat.
Without a word, Ameena forced the gear stick into reverse and powered the car backwards. Mr Mumbles’ expression didn’t change as we smashed him against the wall, pinning him in place. The abrupt stop bounced me against the
seat, then threw me sharply forwards. I cried out in pain as my head thudded off the dashboard.
My fingers flew to the wound and came away red. Cut. I could worry about that later. Mr Mumbles’ arms were stretched out, reaching into the car. His dirty, scarred fingers clawed at the air just a few centimetres from us.
We both pushed open our doors and rolled out, desperate to be as far from the monster as possible. For a few seconds we watched him, as he struggled to move his legs and get a grip on the ground. His feet were trapped under the car, and no matter how hard he tried to move them, they kept slipping from under him. Incredibly, he didn’t look like he was hurt, but at least he was trapped. For now.
‘W-what is he?’ Ameena stammered. ‘Why is he still moving?’
‘I told you,’ I said, as gently as I could, ‘he’s my imaginary friend. I don’t know how, but he came back. Really came back.’
‘SHUT UP! That’s impossible,’ she cut in. There was an uncertainty to her voice, though, as if she was finally starting to believe it. ‘It’s…it’s impossible. He’s just a guy. He’s just a freaky guy!’
‘You’ve seen what he can do,’ I protested. ‘The garage. This. You said yourself, no one could survive them. No one human, anyway. I’m telling the truth, Ameena. You’ve got to believe me.’
She shook her head. ‘What I’ve got to do is get out of here,’ she said. ‘This isn’t my fight. I shouldn’t be involved in this. I’ve got to go.’ She turned and sprinted off through the car park exit, leaping over the gate and rounding the corner before I could even start to give chase.
‘Ameena!’ I called after her, doing my best to catch up. ‘Ameena, wait!’
I climbed over the entrance gate and ran out into the adjoining street. The wind whistled along it, bending trees and swirling discarded scraps of sparkly wrapping paper into the air.
Halfway across the road I stopped and squinted against the rain in both directions, but Ameena was nowhere to be seen. Mr Mumbles was stuck, but he’d get out sooner or later, and Ameena was nowhere to be seen.
I hurried back through the broken front door of the police station and ran up to the desk. The mosaic of blood-stained glass still lay on the floor, but the policeman was gone. Where was he? Had he woken up? Could he have somehow crawled away? No, he would have left a blood trail on the floor behind him if he had.
I searched through the other few rooms of the station, just in case he was hiding in there somewhere. I found no one. Wherever the policeman had gone, I was on my own.
Alone.
Just like I’d been in the house.
That was it! The house. Mr Mumbles had first turned up in the house, and that was where I’d found his picture too. If there was a way of stopping him for good, that was surely where I’d find it.
A jolt of fear travelled the length of my body, but there was no way of escaping what I had to do next. There was nothing else for it. I had to go back.
I had to go back into the attic.
Chapter Thirteen
A NOTE FROM THE PAST
It took me almost ten minutes to make my way home, what with the wind and rain. They worked together, hammering into me and keeping me from running. I wasn’t sure if I had enough energy left to run, anyway, so I spent most of the trek with my head down, only looking up to get my bearings now and again.
As I walked I went over the events of the last few hours. Too much had happened that night for me to get my head round it all, but maybe if I broke it up into smaller chunks I’d be able to make proper sense of it all.
The cracker had been a warning. But how was that possible? How could someone have known to tell me to ‘duck’? It didn’t make any sense, but then not much about tonight made much sense.
When I thought about the cracker my mind turned to thoughts of Mr Mumbles, creeping in through the broken doorway, dead eyes fixed on mine. I quickened my pace, suddenly convinced I was being followed. The weather made it hard going to keep up the faster speed, and I found myself slowing back down again almost immediately. There was no way Mr Mumbles was getting free of the wreckage any time soon, so I had no need to worry.
Sure, I thought. Keep telling yourself that.
There was no sign of Mum’s car when I finally arrived at the house. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. I’d have felt safer with her around, but I couldn’t stand the thought of putting her at risk. I wanted her to be as far away from the danger as possible. I only wished I could do the same myself, but if Mr Mumbles was going to be stopped, I would have to be the one to do it.
I glanced across at the Keller House, searching for any movement or sign of life inside. Nothing. Either Ameena wasn’t there or she was lying low. I thought about going over to see if she was around, but decided against it. She was right, this wasn’t her fight. She’d saved my life over and over again tonight, but she’d had enough, and I had no right dragging her back into my problems. Besides – stupid as it sounded – the idea of going into the Keller House terrified me more than the idea of going into the attic.
I took a deep, steadying breath and began walking in the direction of my front door. It still lay wide open, the house itself dark and silent. My legs tried to hesitate at the gate, but I forced them to keep walking. This was it, then.
I was going in.
The electricity was still off.
Fantastic. As if heading back to the attic wasn’t bad enough, I had to do it in the dark.
I crept slowly up the stairs, the flickering candle in my hand my only source of light. Shadows flitted and scurried up the walls on either side, bending and warping as I passed. The wind whipped in through the broken living-room window and howled up the stairs, pushing me on like an invisible hand on my back.
At last I creaked my way to the landing. Below me, the darkened stairway opened wide. It looked almost like a giant, cavernous mouth getting ready to swallow me whole. Great, I thought. Creep yourself out even more, why don’t you?
Pushing the image from my mind, I reached overhead and unclipped the flimsy catch of the attic trapdoor. The hatch swung free, and the familiar stench of damp rolled down from the dark confines of the attic.
Standing on tiptoes, I stretched my free arm up into the gloom. My hand found the ladder and I slowly eased it all the way down to the floor. I hesitated, my foot poised on the bottom rung, the candle held tightly in my trembling hand.
Despite the cold, I noticed a thin film of sweat spreading out across my forehead. This was crazy. I should be getting hold of the police up in the town, not clambering into the attic to look for clues! It was madness, if not suicide.
But no, if there was a way to stop Mr Mumbles for good it’d be up there among the dust and the junk and the small, furry rodents. If I didn’t stop him, I’d always be running, always be hiding, always be afraid. I had to go through with it.
Gritting my teeth and tightening still further my grip on the candle, I stepped on to the next rung, said a silent prayer to anyone who’d listen, and pulled myself up into the waiting darkness.
Nothing. For twenty minutes I searched through old boxes, ripped open plastic bags and generally tore the attic apart. Nothing. There was nothing up there which looked even vaguely capable of stopping a homicidal maniac, imagined or otherwise.
The most interesting thing I’d found was an envelope containing photos of Mum when she was younger. She was happy and smiling, like she didn’t have a care in the world. I realised I’d never seen her looking quite like that before. Not that she was miserable or anything, I’d just never seen her looking quite that happy. I stuffed the photos into my pocket and made a note to ask her about them later. Assuming I lived that long.
I stood in the gloom, casting my eyes over the mess I’d caused. Good job no one came up here too often. Deflated, I sighed and felt my shoulders fall. I’d been sure this was where I’d find the answer, but there was nothing. The loft held nothing but old paperwork, baby clothes and boxes of toys.
&
nbsp; Toys. Something about toys. A sleeping memory stirred at the back of my mind, then dozed off again. I screwed my eyes tight, trying to catch the thought before it disappeared for good. What was it about my old toys?
Tucked away in the corner was a large wooden box. It had once been painted white, but now was covered in hundreds of colourful doodles. Here and there I’d scratched my name into the paint. Though I couldn’t remember scraping my name, I remembered the box. Even here, it made me feel strangely warm, as if it had absorbed all of my old happy memories, and was now letting them seep back out.
It had been one of the first things I’d looked in when I’d clambered up into the attic. I don’t know what I expected to find, but when I’d seen it was overflowing with die-cast cars, toy soldiers and plastic dinosaurs I’d left it alone. Now I went to it again, not sure what I was looking for, but certain the action figures and vehicles weren’t it.
Searching through the box would take forever. Since I didn’t have that long, I took hold of one side and pushed. The box was heavy, but with a couple of big shoves it tipped all the way over. A mass of Power Rangers, trains and balls of various shapes and sizes slid like an avalanche on to the bare wooden floor.
I dug into them, pushing and throwing them to the side one by one. They were all familiar, but not what I needed. Reaching into the box, I dragged more and more toys free. A roller skate. A teddy. A pirate hat. Wrong. All wrong. Not what I was looking for. There had to be something in here. There had to be!
My fingers brushed against rough material and I had to twist my hand to get a proper grip. It took three pulls to dislodge the thing from the bottom of the box, where two tanks and a transforming helicopter had it tightly trapped.
It was a bag. An old school bag by the look of it. A full one, too. I had just turned it over in my hands, hunting for the zip that would open it, when I spotted the note. It wasn’t easy to miss, being written on an A4 piece of paper and taped directly over the mouth of the bag.
Mr Mumbles Page 9
