Haunting of Lily Frost

by Weetman, Nova

  Mum stares past me, maybe at the door, hoping Dad will come home from wherever he is and take over the difficult bits of this conversation. Now that she’s broken the news, she doesn’t want to go into the details.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘It’s country country. About two hours away.’

  ‘Two hours!’ I slam out of the kitchen, smash my way through the house to my bedroom, which is down the back, away from the others. And I’ve never been happier about that. The further away I can get from Mum the better. As I throw myself on the bed, Jasper, my cat, leaps up after me and nuzzles in under my stomach. He always knows when I need someone, but tonight nothing’s going to work.

  Trailing after me, Ruby shuts the door as she comes in and surprises me. I’d forgotten she was even there.

  ‘Lil …’

  ‘What?’ It comes out sharper than I mean it to.

  ‘I didn’t see that coming,’ she says quietly.

  ‘Why would they –’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘But what about me?’ Even to myself, I sound pathetic.

  ‘It’s okay.’

  She sits down on the bed and leans into me, trying to get me back, but I’m gone – already sinking down inside my head with angry thoughts about running away.

  ‘It’s not, Rubes.’

  ‘No. It’s not great, but it could be worse.’

  ‘How?’

  She smiles. ‘You could be dead.’

  ‘How would that be worse? At least then I wouldn’t have to move.’

  She takes my hand. ‘Moving to the country might even be good.’

  She’s my best friend, but I hate anyone telling me things are going to be okay when they don’t know they are. I just want it straight; not Ruby trying to be positive.

  ‘How will it be good? Moving away? A new school. New house. New everything. How is that good?’

  She sighs then and wraps her muscly arms around me, not quite reaching all the way. I really want to cry, but I haven’t got any tears.

  Ruby’s left; she’s not stupid. She knows it might not be one of our happier family dinners, so she’s escaped, even though Mum’s made lasagne. Normally this would excite me, but tonight I’m slumped at the table watching my brother eat his third serve, and waiting for the ‘conversation’ to start. If they think I’m going to start it, they’re so wrong. I’m going to make them squirm through this for as long as possible.

  Dad’s tried to smile at me a few times, but he’s got tomato sauce on his chin and it makes him look ridiculous. I don’t smile back. I’ve moved into punishing mode and I’m pretty good at it, so they’d better watch out.

  ‘Lily –’

  I look at Dad. I know what he wants to talk about, I can even guess what he’s going to say, and I’m not going to make it easier for him.

  ‘Did Mum show you the house?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Do you want to see it?’

  Before I can answer, my traitorous little brother is nodding with a mouthful of lasagne. ‘I do.’

  ‘Nope,’ I answer as I glare at him.

  Mum smiles at Max. ‘I’ll show you after dinner.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  This is all just getting worse. Mum often takes my brother’s side, but it’s not fair to do it when they’re making me move to the country. As if I was ever going to be happy about this.

  ‘Lil, your mum tried to explain why we’re moving.’

  ‘Yeah – because you’re unemployed.’

  ‘Well, that’s only half the reason. Your mum has been offered a retrenchment package and it’s a good time for us to make some changes. We really want to spend more time together. And living in the country will mean we can live more cheaply, and hopefully I’ll get work there.’

  ‘I don’t want to spend more time together. I’m fifteen. I’m not supposed to spend any time with you.’

  Dad smiles at me and reaches out to touch my hand, but I move away.

  ‘Well, we want to be around more,’ he says gently.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we love you.’

  ‘Oh please. That’s got nothing to do with it. You bought a house without telling me and now you expect me to be happy about it. Well, I’m staying here. With Ruby.’

  And as I say it, I know that’s the answer. I can just move in next door and live with her and her mum.

  ‘No, honey. You’re coming to Gideon with us.’

  ‘Gideon? What sort of name’s Gideon?’

  ‘We know it’s going to be hard for you to leave this house and Ruby and school, but it’ll be exciting.’

  ‘I don’t want exciting.’

  ‘I do,’ pipes up Max.

  ‘Shut up, Max.’

  ‘No. It’s not all about you.’

  ‘Clearly. No one bothered to ask me what I thought.’

  ‘We wanted to surprise you,’ says Dad.

  ‘Well, it worked. Thanks.’

  Dad looks at Mum and does that half-smile where he knows he’s not going to win. She starts clearing away the dinner plates, even though I’ve eaten nothing.

  ‘Max, you can help me and then I’ll show you the house.’

  As soon as they’ve left the room, Dad moves his chair closer. It scrapes along the floor. ‘Lil, we need to try this.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘We need to do it as a family.’

  ‘Why can’t I stay here with Ruby?’

  ‘Because you’re part of our family and you’re a child.’

  ‘You’re always saying I’m not a child, but now when it suits you I am.’

  ‘Sorry, Lil, but we’re putting this house on the market. We’re moving in a month.’

  ‘A month!’

  He nods and now I feel the tears coming, rushing up from every part of me. I don’t want to cry in front of him. I want to stay angry.

  ‘Please, just try.’

  I blurt out a sob and then I can’t stop the tears. Dad tries again to touch my arm, but I jump up and hurry away from the table.

  This time I slam my bedroom door and throw myself on the bed like I’m four again. Ruby has sent me about twenty text messages, but I can’t even bear to answer them. Going to Gideon is the worst news I’ve ever had.

  My clock glows 4.00am. I haven’t slept much. I never can when I’m worrying. The house is quiet, except for Dad snoring. I open the door to the study and turn on the light. Maybe they’ve left the page open on the computer, or I’ll be able to track it. Then I can find out everything I want to know without them realising.

  Scrolling back through their history pages, it doesn’t take long to find it: 4 Simpson Street, Gideon. I hold my finger on the return key. I’m not quite sure I’m ready to see it.

  Then I click and the screen flashes up a picture of a big old house. It’s the sort you first learn to draw as a child. There’s a triangle-shaped roof on top of a rectangular box. There are four windows at the front like two sets of eyes glaring at you, and a door right in the middle on the bottom. There’s even a little path leading from the street to the front door, and a chimney. It’s all symmetrical.

  But something doesn’t look right, something that makes my skin prickle. It’s as if the house is pretending to be nice so that I’ll like it, but then on the inside, it’s got plans for me that don’t include learning to knit. How did my parents come up with this place? It’s not the sort Mum would usually be drawn to – nothing like our modern, open-plan house.

  I click through the strip of other photos. The first room’s really big: no furniture, but it’s probably a lounge room. There’s a fireplace in the corner, the walls are covered in dark green swirly patterned wallpaper and there’s burgundy carpet and high ceilings. All it needs is a deer head stuffed and hanging from the wall, and
a man with a rifle swilling a glass of scotch. Then there’s the kitchen: cupboards the colour of vomit.

  The bathroom looks disgusting and there doesn’t even seem to be a shower. Imagine us all trying to have a bath before we go off to school or work!

  There are no photos of bedrooms and the only other photo is of a plain room that looks added on. It doesn’t fit with the rest of the house. There are wooden floorboards and the ceiling slants. It’s a weird shape; maybe it’s an attic.

  Clicking on the original photo of the outside, I zoom in on the triangle part at the top to see if there’s a room that I missed. And there it is. Small, dark and circular like a forgotten porthole, a tiny round window. As I look at it, something cold sparks around my legs, like I’m looking into a secret. And, despite myself, I do really want to be inside that room.

  While I’m staring at the computer, imagining myself walking through the house, Jasper swirls around me, rubbing his fur against my ankles. I bend down to pick him up, but as I do, he flicks his claws out and scratches me.

  ‘What the hell’s that for!’ I drop him back onto the ground and he hisses and runs off. He never scratches me. I don’t get it. How will he go moving to the country, where he’ll be kept inside for the first six weeks?

  A floorboard creaks behind me and I freeze. Someone knows I’m poking around in the Gideon house and they’re trying to scare me off. The screen suddenly goes dark. How black the room is without any computer light. I can feel myself holding onto my breath, gathering it up.

  And then a door opens somewhere and I breathe again. It’s probably just Mum going to the toilet. Quietly, I slump back down in the chair so if they look in here, they won’t see me straightaway. I couldn’t bear to get caught by Mum. She’ll make such a thing about it, she’ll assume it means she’s won me over, and I don’t feel like dealing with her smugness.

  Now that I’m sitting here alone in the dark with a picture of the house in my head, it all seems unreal. My parents have never expressed any great desire to live in the country. I didn’t even know they liked the country. They like being able to walk to a café and meet friends for breakfast, or go to the movies, and do all the other things they can, now that Max and I don’t have to be babysat. What are they going to do two hours out of Melbourne? Chase koalas down the street? Join the local fire brigade? Hold community meetings? I can’t imagine how that’s going to work. And I’m going to have to walk into a new school, see a whole bunch of kids who’ve grown up together, then try to smile and be friendly in the vague hope someone will be nice to me. I hate making friends. That’s why I’ve got Ruby. She’s my friend and she’s nice to people, so they think I am too. But without her around to look after me, or talk to me –

  Hello, lonely girl.

  3

  the attic

  If you haven’t been to Gideon, you’re lucky. It’s this boring little town about two hours from the city. There are fifteen shops. I counted them when we drove in. Mum keeps going on and on about how pretty it is, but all I can see are trees. And trees are fine, but you can’t go shopping in them and you can’t eat them. Not unless you’re a possum. And I’m just a girl being dragged along after my parents, because Dad’s lost his job. Gideon’s one of those towns you go to to die. There’s a swamp they call a beach (the locals’ idea of a joke), a dead end they call a main street (again, hilarious) and a classroom they call a school (yep). Maybe it’s a good place for a daytrip, but not to move to. Not to sell our fantastic house in the city for, or pull us out of school and leave all our friends for. That’s deranged.

  So today we’re driving to Gideon just to see our new house. And then we have to go back to the city, pack up our old house, put it on the market, and move to this dump of a place in a couple of weeks.

  At least Mum and Dad let Ruby come this time – to shut me up, probably. And I’m really glad they did. I’ve got nothing to say to my parents, so she’s talking for both of us. In fact I’ve barely talked at all over the past week. After I realised nothing I said would stop them from making us move, I’ve avoided them altogether.

  They tried to get me to clean up my room for a real estate agent and a photographer who came to take photos, but I went to Ruby’s instead. When I got back, Mum had clearly made some sort of effort to pack things away, because my room was neater than I’d ever seen it. I hate the idea that someone was in there without me, taking shots of all my things, so they can advertise our house.

  Everyone at school knows we’re leaving. Must have been Max, because I certainly haven’t told anyone except Ruby. The few friends I’ve got want to have a party, but I just want to slink away in the night without having to say goodbye to everyone. Ruby made me a map, where she stitched a red line between our houses. She calls it the 196 map because there will be exactly 196 kilometres between us. I know it’s kind of her, and that she’s trying to make me feel better about moving, but I don’t want to feel better; I want to be pissed off.

  And now we’re seconds away from the house and I’m starting to get a headache. As Dad turns the corner into Simpson Street, Max rolls against me, bumping his sweaty arm against mine.

  ‘Ew!’ I say, pushing him back onto his side, angry about how cheery he’s being. Not that I expect him to agree with me, but a bit of solidarity would be nice.

  Simpson Street is one of those weird long streets that only have about twelve houses. So the street goes on and on, but there’s just empty land where the houses should be. It’s a sure sign people came to their senses about living all the way out here. Without even seeing the number, I know which one’s ours. It’s the looming grey number at the end of the street, the last house that makes my stomach start to go at a crashing pace. The photos on the website don’t give any real sense of how huge and imposing it is.

  As Dad drives up, a large Alsatian dog runs out onto the middle of the road. Dad jams on the brakes, swerves to miss it, and almost hits the kerb instead. The dog has stopped right in the middle of the road, like he’s daring anyone to come nearer. Dad toots at him and he snarls back, refusing to move. He’s creeping me out.

  Dad makes a joke about the locals, just as there’s a loud whistle from the other side of the road. The dog pricks its ears and bounds off. I look around to see who whistled, but there’s just a kid riding off on a bike.

  As Dad parks the car outside, Ruby grips my hand. She whispers in my ear, ‘It’s massive.’

  All I can do is nod.

  My brother already has his seatbelt off and is getting out of the car as Dad turns off the engine.

  ‘Looks haunted,’ says Max. I glare at him for saying what I’m thinking, and refuse to be drawn into his childish ten-year-old world. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  He half punches me as he launches out of the car. Ruby and I don’t move as Mum and Dad follow Max. Ruby is still gripping my hand, tightly. In fact if she grips it any tighter, my fingers will break. ‘We should get out,’ she says, making no attempt to.

  She doesn’t let go of my hand and I wonder if she’s thinking there’s something sort of strange about this place, too. For some reason I don’t want to talk about it with her. As if by saying it aloud, it’ll be true.

  I guess there’s only one way to find out. I lean across her lap and open the door. Then I nudge her, and climb out after her. Mum’s sniffing a pink rose in the front garden and Dad and Max are kicking a deflated old basketball along the path, as Ruby and I walk up. Even my family seem suddenly odd.

  The little round window in the attic is almost obscured by the overhang of the roof, but I still look up at it, like it’ll provide me with some answers. And as I do there’s a sudden movement behind the window. I’m sure of it. A shadow or grey sketchy shape that looks like a face. I know this is weird, but it looks a bit like my face.

  Dad told us on a camping trip about this friend of his who’d been filming outside an old mansion and when they were edit
ing later, in the windows they found a figure that hadn’t been there. I’d laughed, because we were sitting around a campfire with sleeping bags zipped tight up under our chins and telling spooky stories, but now it doesn’t seem so funny.

  I grab Ruby’s arm.

  ‘Ow! That hurt, Lil.’

  ‘There’s someone up there, Rubes,’ I whisper so my parents can’t hear.

  Ruby looks straight up to where I’m pointing. ‘Where?’

  ‘In that little window.’

  ‘Probably birds or something. It’s an old house. Anything could be living there.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.’

  Sensing the fear in my voice, she takes a proper look. ‘There’s nothing.’

  ‘Really?’ And when I look up, I see that she’s right. There’s nothing there.

  ‘Didn’t think you believed in ghosts.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I whisper. But I can hear my voice shaking.

  With one last glance at the now empty window, I step up to the front door where Dad is waiting for us all. ‘Ready? Isn’t this exciting?’ He’s got this goofy grin on his face.

  ‘Yeah. Riveting.’

  ‘Give it a—’

  ‘Chance? Yep. Heard it all before.’

  He looks disappointed in me. I don’t want him to look at me like that; I just want him to understand how I’m feeling.

  Max is obviously not feeling the same way, because he tugs on Dad’s arm. ‘Come on.’

  Smiling again, Dad puts the key into the lock and starts carrying on with his ridiculous ceremony. ‘Hello, house. Have you been waiting for us?’

  But before he can open the door himself, the door just sort of swings open on its own. He laughs nervously.

  ‘I guess the answer’s yes. What a great welcome.’

  ‘Looks like no one bothers locking their doors in Gideon,’ says Mum. ‘That’s the nice part of being in the country. All that trust.’

  ‘Yeah. Or the estate agent just forgot to lock the door.’

  They both glare at me like they can’t believe I’m still trying to bring everyone down. Mum shrugs and Dad goes back to rallying the troops.