Desolation Boulevard

by Mark Gordon

  Chapter 3

  An Empty House

  The road to town only ever received light traffic, but today it was absolutely deserted, so Matt pushed the ute right up to the speed limit. As he approached a bend that went past the Thompson’s farm, he slowed down and pulled onto the gravel shoulder. He peered down their gravel driveway and saw both of their cars parked in front of the house, which meant that somebody was home. Matt wondered if they'd had the same problems with their electricity. It wouldn’t hurt to check first before driving all the way into town. He pulled the car into their driveway.

  He rolled to a stop and looked around. Nothing moved and the only sound he heard was a bird chirping nearby. He called out. “Hello! Anybody home?” but was met only with silence. He walked up onto the porch and knocked on the front door. There was no response so he knocked again. “Hello?” he yelled, more loudly this time. Nobody answered. Matt went around to the back of the house.

  A large swimming pool dominated the yard, and a pair of French doors, which led into the kitchen, were open. On a table beside the pool sat a half finished bottle of beer and a green cocktail of some sort, also half finished. Matt figured they had been left behind last night after the couple had gone to bed. It seemed a little out of character for Mrs Thompson not to have cleaned up by now, judging by the tidiness in the rest of the house. He went to the French doors and tried again. “Hello? Is anyone home?” But there was no answer. He stepped into the kitchen.

  Matt thought it was possible they just gone into town, or were visiting friends, but he didn’t really think it likely, given that their cars were in the driveway and the back doors had been left open. He didn’t like this situation at all. He took the cell phone out of his pocket and checked for service again. He wanted to speak to someone before he explored the house any further. The readout on his phone was blunt and foreboding - 'No Service'.

  He checked the downstairs rooms, and found them empty, before walking to the base of the stairs that led to the upper floor. For his own peace of mind, Matt needed to check the whole house before driving into town to find his parents. Halfway up the stairs he paused and listened. Was that movement in a room above? He stood still, head cocked to one side. Somewhere a clock ticked, and the bird chirped outside, but that was all. Until he heard another soft thump, like a footstep on carpet. He listened. Silence again.

  “Hello? Is anyone up there? It’s Matt Winton from next door.”

  There was no response. He moved up the stairs quietly and carefully. The first bedroom was clearly being utilised as a spare room. It was furnished lightly, and had absolutely no personal touches like photographs or books. It was set up with a double bed for visitors, and more importantly, was empty.  The next room was Jane’s old room. She was the Thompsons’ daughter, and had moved to Sydney six years ago to study law, where she still lived with her young family. Since then her room had been refurnished as a study, but there were still signs of Jane’s youth in the bookcase, which was crammed with Goosebumps, Babysitter’s Club and fantasy books. Mrs Thompson had probably kept them for the grandchildren.

  At the end of the hallway were two more doors. One was closed. Matt was trying to control his racing heartbeat when he heard the thumping sound again. It sounded as if it was coming from behind the closed door. He needed a weapon of some kind, but could see nothing useful. He crept back to Jane’s room and looked around, but found only fluffy toys and books. He walked to the closet and opened it - nothing but neat stacks of cardboard boxes. He didn’t want to open the door at the end of the hall without some means of protection. Maybe there was something he could use under the bed. A baseball bat would be nice; he thought, as he bent down and lifted the bedspread, before peering underneath.