American Monsters. Derek Landy

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СКАЧАТЬ need as the manager of a dirt-cheap motel such as this. But all of this stuff, every last thing, was on the left side of the closet. The right side was bare. Amber pressed her hand to the wooden wall and it rattled. She pushed, and the wall swung open.

      She stepped through.

      The corridor smelled of stale sweat and men. She passed the holes, peeking through each one she came to. She saw Milo, already asleep. He looked agitated. She knocked on the window, but he didn’t wake.

      She heard someone cry out, and hurried round the next corner to a window as the lights came on. It was Clarissa’s room. Clarissa herself was curled up on the bed, clutching her hand.

      There was a switch on the wall and Amber pressed it, and a door clicked open beside her. She pushed it wide – it was heavy – and Clarissa looked up, saw Amber come in, and jumped off the bed, wobbling slightly.

      “What are you doing?” she shouted.

      Amber tried to get her to calm down, but the door swung shut behind her. There was no handle. There was barely a seam.

      “What’s going on?” Clarissa shouted again.

      Amber turned back to her. “We may be in trouble,” she said.

      “Where did you come from?”

      “It’s the manager,” Amber said, “the guy from the front desk. He’s got a tunnel behind the rooms. He spies on people.”

      “But why are you here?” Clarissa asked, panic edging her voice.

      “Clarissa, listen to me. I didn’t mean to scare you. I found the tunnel, I followed it, I heard you scream and I pushed the door open.”

      “That’s the wall!”

      “It’s also a door. I’m on your side, okay? Why did you scream?”

      Clarissa hesitated, deciding whether or not to trust Amber. Then she picked up her jeans and pulled them on. “I went to turn on the bedside lamp and it gave me a shock,” she said. “Faulty wiring or something. I could have been killed. I’m definitely gonna sue. Why were you back there?”

      “I went investigating,” Amber said.

      “Investigating the manager?”

      Amber picked up the glass ashtray and hurled it at the mirror. Clarissa jumped back, then saw the window, and the man behind it who wore a surgical mask with a snarling mouth drawn upon it. Even Amber jumped at the sight of him.

      The man scuttled off, and Clarissa marched forward.

      “Hey!” she shouted. “Hey, asshole! What the hell is your deal?”

      “Come on,” Amber said, heading for the door. “We’ll catch him when he runs.”

      She took the chain off the door and turned the handle and the floor gave way beneath her. Clarissa grabbed her, held her, and Amber dangled for a moment before Clarissa pulled her back.

      “What the hell?” yelled Amber, once she had her feet under her once again. They peered down into the hole. It was a four-foot drop on to metal spikes.

      “Are you kidding me?” Clarissa whispered. “Are you kidding? What the hell kinda place is this? That could’ve killed you!”

      “I think that was the point,” Amber said.

      “But why? What does he have against you? Or me? He doesn’t even know us! Why would he want to kill us? Oh Jesus, we’re gonna be killed. We’re gonna be killed.”

      “Stay calm, Clarissa.”

      “That’s not my real name.”

      “Yes, it is,” said Amber. “Clarissa Keeps Her Cool, okay? All right? That’s what’s happening right now.”

      “Okay,” Clarissa said. “Okay.”

      Amber looked around. “Move carefully,” she said. “If he had a trapdoor there, he could have one anywhere.”

      Clarissa’s eyes widened, and she jumped on to the bed. “Quick!” she cried.

      Amber held up a hand to calm her. “That’s okay,” she said. “You stay there. I’ll find a way out.”

      “What about your friend?” Clarissa asked. “Call him!”

      “My phone’s in my room,” Amber said. “But don’t worry – I’ll get us out of this.”

      Stepping carefully, Amber went back to the hidden door. Now that she was this close, she could see the join.

      “Can you open it?” Clarissa asked.

      “Don’t know yet.”

      “There must be some way to open it.”

      “Not necessarily,” Amber said. She pressed her hands against the wall beside the door, fingertips probing the wallpaper. “Ah,” she said.

      “What?” Clarissa asked. “What is it?”

      Amber jabbed at the wallpaper with rigid fingers, poking a hole through it. She tore it back, revealing a section cut out of the wall. She peered through.

      “What’s in there?” Clarissa asked. “What can you see?”

      “Metal,” Amber said. “Springs. Hinges.”

      “Is there a button?”

      “I think so. At the very back.”

      Amber put her arm through. There was plenty of space to move within the wall – the entire section seemed to be pretty much hollow. She stretched her arm out straight, her shoulder jammed into the hole and her face pressed up against the wall.

      “Almost got it,” she said, her fingers brushing something metal. She grabbed it. It moved. “There,” she said, and pulled.

      There was a sound like heavy swords clashing, and pain seized hold of her arm and wouldn’t let go, and Amber screamed.

      Clarissa was at her side in an instant, but Amber barely recognised her, such was the agony and the panic that stabbed through her mind. Clarissa was shouting and trying to pull Amber’s arm free, but whatever had her held her tight and wouldn’t let go.

      Clarissa ran back, out of view, and Amber’s demon-self whispered in her ear.

      “This is it,” she said. “The day you die. Squealing like a pig, bleeding to death. Has your arm been chopped off? Feels like it has.”

      “Get away from me!” Amber roared, and her demon-self was gone and Clarissa was there, holding a lamp. She tore off the shade, smashed the bulb, and rammed it, again and again, into the wall next to Amber’s arm. The cheap wood started to give way.

      Amber stopped screaming. Her bottom lip trembled violently. She wanted to puke and pass out.

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