The Beast. Barry Hutchison

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СКАЧАТЬ me around. I found myself looking into Ameena’s scowling face. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded.

      ‘I was—’

      ‘Being an idiot?’

      ‘No! I was—’

      ‘On a suicide mission?’

      ‘What? No!’

      ‘Well, what then?’ she snapped. ‘Because, from what I can see, you’re freezing to death, standing in plain sight and making a racket that’s going to draw the attention of everyone in town.’ She stepped out of the pool of light, dragging me with her. ‘Not to mention the attention of whatever killed that cop.’

      ‘I have to find Nan,’ I told her.

      ‘I know. But here’s a suggestion – don’t get violently killed before you do. Stealth, kiddo. Stealth.’

      I thought about the policewoman, and about the blood on the ceiling and walls. ‘OK,’ I said quietly. ‘Point made.’

      ‘Good,’ she said, giving me a gentle punch on the shoulder. ‘Now, come on, let’s go get warmed up then we’ll figure out what to do.’ She began trudging up the street towards my front garden, glancing at the houses on either side of the road as we walked. ‘It’s just a miracle no one heard you and came out to see what the ruckus was about.’

      ‘Yeah,’ I said, only half-listening. ‘A miracle.’

      ‘Didn’t even see a light come on,’ she continued. ‘Must all be deaf, the noise you were making.’

      ‘Deaf,’ I agreed, trudging along behind her. ‘Yeah.’

      I stopped walking.

      ‘Wait,’ I said.

      ‘What?’

      I looked across at the other side of the street, where I could just make out the darkened outlines of six houses.

      ‘Why’ve we stopped?’ Ameena was asking. I didn’t answer.

      The houses on this side of the street were in darkness too. Now that we were closer, I could make out the lights we’d left on in my house, but they were the only ones on in the entire block.

      There were a few vehicles parked along the street – a couple of cars, the van of the window-cleaner who lived at number five – but nothing moved in any direction along the road.

      ‘Listen,’ I said.

      A pause, then, ‘Listen to what?’

      ‘To nothing,’ I said.

      Another pause, then, ‘Are you winding me up? What you on about?’

      ‘It’s quiet,’ I whispered. ‘There’s not a sound.’

      She listened, properly this time, without speaking.

      ‘It’s early,’ she said, offering an explanation.

      ‘Not that early. People should be up and about.’ I nodded across the street. ‘They should at least have their lights on.’

      Ameena looked at each house in turn, considering this. Then she scooped up some snow, squashed it into a ball shape, and launched it at the closest bedroom window.

      Her aim was spot on. The snowball hit the glass with a loud thonk, and I had to resist the urge to run away and hide. We stood watching the window, waiting for a light to come on.

      ‘Try another one,’ she said, when it became clear the room was staying dark. ‘Try them all.’

      We worked quickly, making snowballs, chucking them at windows. Most of mine found their target. All of Ameena’s found theirs. We hit over twenty windows. No one appeared at any of them.

      ‘Empty,’ I said, voicing what we’d both already guessed. ‘They’re all empty.’

      ‘Or maybe...’

      I turned to Ameena. ‘Maybe what?’

      ‘Maybe the people inside just can’t come to the window.’

      I looked to the closest house, shrouded in darkness like all the others. A shiver ran the length of my spine, nothing to do with the cold.

      ‘Only one way to find out,’ I said.

      The gate squeaked as I pushed it open and slowly, quietly, we approached the front door.

      t’s open.’ Ameena drew her breath in sharply through her teeth. ‘That doesn’t bode well.’

      I gave the door a gentle push and it swung inwards, revealing a shadowy hallway. A brass number 9 was screwed on to the front of the door. Number 9 was Mrs Angelo’s house. I couldn’t tell you much about Mrs Angelo, other than that she was in her sixties, and always used to give out the best sweets at Halloween. Not much of a biography, really.

      I tried to call Mrs Angelo’s name, but my throat had tightened so the sound that came out was little more than a whisper. I coughed and tried again. ‘Mrs Angelo? Are you there?’

      Ameena pushed past me and strode into the hallway. ‘Helloooo?’ she shouted at the top of her voice. ‘Anyone home?’

      ‘What happened to stealth?’ I asked.

      She shrugged. ‘Stealth got boring. Shut the door.’

      I hesitated, unsure, but then quietly clicked the door closed. Ameena flicked a switch and the hallway was bathed in light. I realised for the first time that my hands were blue with cold. Jamming them under my armpits, I followed Ameena into the living room.

      A tattered armchair and a saggy old couch sat empty in the room. The TV was off. An old grandfather clock tick-tocked solemnly in the corner.

      ‘Not in there,’ Ameena said, and we both backed out into the hall. I tried the kitchen next. The door was ajar, and swung open at a prod from my foot.

      The room was empty, but the fridge door hung open, casting a pale yellow glow across the rest of the kitchen. A mug of tea stood on the worktop beside the fridge.

      ‘Cold,’ Ameena said, touching the side of the mug. ‘Guess she changed her mind about having a cuppa.’

      ‘Or something changed it for her.’

      ‘I wasn’t going to mention that,’ she said. ‘In case, you know... you wet yourself or something.’

      ‘Funny,’ I sighed. ‘Come on, she might be upstairs.’

      Something crunched softly beneath Ameena’s foot. We both looked down to find a bag of sugar on the floor, its contents spilled across СКАЧАТЬ