Mr Mumbles. Barry Hutchison

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       Chapter Four THE RETURN

      The stairs flew by beneath me in groups of three. By the time I was halfway to the bottom, whoever – or whatever – was outside had stopped hammering on my window. As I leapt the last few steps an eerie silence fell over the house.

      For a moment I hesitated, both hands tightly gripping the baseball bat. I stood there, balanced on the balls of my feet, listening for any unexpected sound. A strong wind wailed against the stone-clad walls and whistled anxiously through invisible gaps. The front gate clack-clacked as it swung on its hinges, the steady beat of a solemn death march. Probably mine.

      Nan had been right. The storm was building again. Maybe going outside would be the wrong thing to do, I figured. The sensible thing would be to stay where I was and pray to anyone who’d listen for the ordeal to be over. I could barricade myself in and wait for help to arrive. It’d be —

      A fork of lightning split the night sky, filling the room with its electric glow. As the flash faded the house was once more cast into near total darkness, with only the street lights outside to ease the gloom. The electricity had gone off again. All of a sudden sticking around didn’t seem like a very tempting option.

      I ran for the front door, not sure where I was going, but certain I had to get out. Outside I could make it to the safety of a neighbour’s house. Inside I was a sitting duck in the dark. Not even stopping to snatch up my coat, I reached for the door handle.

      Just as my fingers wrapped round the cool metal a shape stepped up to the door, as if it had been standing out there just waiting to make a move. Its shadow passed across the frosted glass, blurred and impossible to make out clearly.

      My shoulder slammed hard against the wood, sending a jolt of pain along my spine and making me drop the baseball bat. Gripped by panic, I pushed my weight against the door, holding it closed. The lock, which I’d used thousands of times before, was awkward and stiff in my trembling fingers, and it took all my effort to work the catch. With a concentrated effort, I finally got it to click into position as – just a few centimetres from my face – sharp knuckles rapped slowly on the door’s small window pane.

      ‘Go away!’ I cried, my voice shaking as badly as my hands. I backed away from the door, not daring to take my eyes off the outline of the figure lurking outside. ‘My mum’s going to be home in two minutes, so you’d better get out of here!’ I lied. Mum would probably still be at the home, still trying to get Nan to go with the nurses, still trying to get away. I was on my own, with someone or something standing right outside the front door!

      Which left the back door clear, I realised. Whoever was outside was at the front of the house. And unless you go in through the living room and out through the kitchen, the only way to get to the back garden from the front is by going round the whole house. It’s a twenty-second sprint in good conditions, so in the dark, and with the wind and rain, it’d take at least double that.

      That meant I’d have a forty-second head start to get out the back and across to the next row of houses over the road. Forty seconds to get away. I almost cried with relief. I’d get out of this yet.

      The rhythmic rapping stopped as I sped through to the kitchen, catching the side of the door frame and swinging myself through for extra speed. My feet found a puddle of cooking oil and I skidded and slipped my way to the back door, arms outstretched and flailing wildly to keep me from falling on my face.

       Rat-a-tat-tat.

      My stomach almost ejected my entire Christmas dinner as I realised I was too late.

      They were already at the back door.

      But nothing could have made it round that fast. It was impossible. There had to be two of them out there, that was it. Nothing supernatural about it. Just two people messing around. That’s what I told myself, but whether I believed it or not is a different matter.

      The key wasn’t in the lock. There wasn’t time to look for it, so I scrambled unsteadily over to the table and snatched up a chair. Thank God we’d taken them back through from the living room after dinner.

      Struggling to stay upright on the slippery floor surface, I wedged the back of the wooden chair tight against the door handle, jamming the door tightly closed. It probably wouldn’t hold them off for long, but at least it’d buy me some time to…

      To what? I had no idea what I was going to do next. I’d been working on sheer adrenaline for the past five minutes, and hadn’t really СКАЧАТЬ