Inheritance

by Thomas Wymark

The same one. Only this time it was more clear. Even more real.

  It was late and I had fallen asleep on the sofa. My intention had been to go up to bed with Neil, but I’d needed a quick drink first. One led to two, and two led to more. And I fell asleep.

  I can see her walking along the path. Coming in my direction. Mist everywhere; hard to make her out exactly, but I know it's her. I recognise her. Can she see me yet? I am hiding, I think. Prickly bushes in front of me, but I can still see her. I think she is smiling. I think her hair is blowing. I wish this mist would clear. I want to see her. See her face. I am waiting for her. What's that smell? My arms flex, my legs bulge. Such strength. Enormous power. I stand up and smile. Does she smile too?

  Prickles from the bush scratch my arms as I lunge forward. I am on her. I force my hand to her face. She falls backward and I am on top of her. She struggles underneath me. Writhing around. There is something else moving about beside her. What is that? I lash out and it disappears. But her mouth is free. There is a scream. I think it's a scream. Is it coming from her? Is it coming from above? Such a noise. I must make it stop.

  I woke up on the sofa, perspiration dripping from me. I wanted to shout out. Call for Neil. But the children were asleep. I didn't want to wake them. The wine glass was tipped on the carpet, red wine had trickled out. For a moment I thought it was blood and I stifled a scream.

  I shivered. My whole body rippled with goosebumps and the back of my neck felt cold, as though a window was open somewhere. I needed to get upstairs to bed, quickly. I really needed Neil. I rubbed my left thigh. Tried to rub away the dull ache deep inside.

  What if the attacker had come to the house? Our address would have been in my purse somewhere, or my handbag. What if he had got in while I’d been sleeping. Maybe that's why I’d had the dream, maybe I had sensed the danger. Maybe it was some sort of warning. A warning that he was already in the house. A warning that he’d got in through the window. That chill on my neck.

  I opened my mouth to shout for Neil, but stopped. If the attacker was in the house, he’d hear me shout, he’d know there were others there too. He might find Rose or Michael. I scrabbled about for the empty wine bottle. Any weapon would do, but the wine bottle was nearer than the knives in the kitchen.

  I heard a bump upstairs and sat bolt upright on the sofa.

  'Neil!'

  Nothing. I shouted again. And again. I climbed to my feet, gripped the neck of the bottle hard and crept to the bottom of the stairs. More bumping from upstairs, and footsteps coming along the landing. I pushed myself against the wall, tried to make myself as flat as possible and raised the bottle ready.

  The light from the little table lamp next to the sofa cast a huge shadow behind me, so that I was as obvious against the wall as I would have been anywhere else in the room. I wasn’t thinking straight.

  ‘Chris?’

  It was Neil.

  ‘Don’t worry Mikey,’ he said. ‘You go back to bed now.’

  Michael must have woken him up. Perhaps I’d woken Michael. I felt like shit.

  Neil strode down the stairs. I reached out and pulled him against the wall.

  'I think someone's in the house,' I hissed. My eyes must have looked like they were on stalks. I looked in all directions, all around the room, up to the ceiling. Everywhere but at Neil. 'I think he's got in!'

  'Who has got in?'

  'The guy who attacked me. I think he's here.'

  Neil took hold of my arms and pushed me away slightly. I tried to claw my way back again.

  'Chris, calm down. Look at me. Where do you think he is? I didn't hear anything.'

  Neil looked around too. I could see he was thinking maybe I was right.

  'I had the dream again,' I said. 'I think it is a warning. I woke up and felt a draft. I think there's a window open somewhere. I think he's here.'

  'Stay here,' Neil said. 'Let me look around.'

  'Stay here with me! Don't leave me alone.'

  'Chris, I need to look. Just stay here. You'll still be able to see me.'

  Neil took the empty wine bottle from my hand and held it, by the neck, down by his side. Although nearly six feet tall, he looked like a little boy in his dressing gown. He looked so vulnerable. I felt sick.

  He moved slowly around the living room, his feet soft on the floor. I could hear his breathing. Relaxed and deep, through his nose. Once he had checked the room he looked over at me. His smile was grim. I wasn't reassured. He indicated the kitchen and moved toward it. Everywhere was so shadowy from the little table lamp. I wished I had left some main lights on instead.

  My heart beat faster and I fought to keep the sick feeling down. I was certain I could see the dark shape of a crouched intruder everywhere I looked.

  Neil disappeared into the kitchen. I didn't realise I was holding my breath, until I heard the loud crash and clatter from the kitchen. I screamed.

  'Neil!'

  Nothing.

  'Neil!'

  Then from the kitchen.

  'Shit,' Neil said. 'It's OK, I dropped the bottle. It's all OK in here.'

  I ran to the kitchen door. Switched the light on and held onto Neil's arm. He was warm and still smelled of bed. I wished we were there.

  'Neil, look at the microwave!'

  He looked.

  'And the cooker!'

  He looked there too.

  Both sets of digital clocks were flashing. Their times had been reset to zero. Exactly what happened if the electricity was switched off and then on again.

  'Neil, I know he's here.'

  Even I recognised the panic in my voice. 'He's here, somewhere.'

  Neil didn't bother picking up the dropped bottle but made straight for the knife rack. He took the biggest one. And the next biggest.

  Why had the intruder turned the electricity off? And why had he switched it back on again now?

  I picked up the phone. The click and dial tone sounded so loud. I cupped the receiver with my hand, thumbed the number nine, three times.

  'Police please, I think there's someone in our house.'

  We both heard the noise in the living room. Neil moved toward the doorway, raising the knife. I could see his knuckles white as he gripped the handle. He moved his other hand behind his back, hiding the other knife.

  I clung onto the phone.

  'Hurry up please,' I whispered. 'He's here right now!'

  Another noise from the living room. A shadow moved across the wall. Someone had just walked by the table lamp. Neil clicked off the kitchen light. I froze.

  09