Under The Mistletoe. Kerry Barrett

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      ‘I know who you are now, Walter,’ I said, in a trembling voice, a wave of nausea rising up the back of my throat. ‘Show yourself. What are you afraid of? Stop hiding behind your… your cheesy music and silly smoke screen. Why try to frighten me and Jess? Cos, newsflash! It isn’t working. I’ve felt more startled by children calling at Halloween; more horror-struck by my hair after five minutes in the rain. Come on, Walter… Throw chairs around. Smash crockery. Do your worst! It’s time to man up!’

Chapter 11

      With an ear-splitting scream, I tumbled down the stairs. My back smacked onto the floor. Metallic-tasting liquid – blood obviously – trickled out of my mouth. Wind whirled around the hallway. Jess charged out of the kitchen and spotted me in a twisted heap, limbs lying at funny angles. White Christmas played loudly and thick smoke filled the air. ‘Have mercy on me,’ I begged, as ominous footsteps descended the stairs…

      Nah. Not really. No such excitement. But that was what I imagined might happen, if this spooky Walter had any guts. Instead I was still talking to him in my head, a couple of hours later, stretched out, star-shaped, underneath silk crimson sheets, wishing I was wearing some equally exotic negligee, instead of my tatty old Hello Kitty pyjama bottoms and T-shirt. I didn’t mention my revelation about the ghostly happenings to Jess – or the fact that I’d been locked in my room and nearly burnt to death. I figured she’d already got enough on her mind – a few minutes ago I crept onto the landing, to investigate some loud sniffs. But she must have heard me from her room, because when the floorboard creaked it went quiet. She’d cried again earlier, despite me cooking her favourite tofu and nut stir fry. The Jess I knew rarely did tears.

      ‘It’ll be okay,’ I’d said, willing my eyes not to water as I brushed back her red fringe. The last time she’d blubbed like that was when her pet rabbit died in Year Five. Even then she’d put on a brave face, her designing a memorial plaque for the coffin (shoe box), me singing word-perfect I Want You Back, by N Sync.

      ‘How will everything be all right?’ she’d sobbed. ‘There’s no crèche at work. As it is, I barely earn enough to pay rent. Mum and Dad are enjoying retirement in Spain – I can’t ruin everything for them. And Ryan can hardly look after himself, let alone a nephew or niece.’ Then she’d gone all independent again – told me not to worry, and it was her problem, she’d sort it herself. Why, oh why, was she shutting me out?

      I yawned and gazed around my – Lily’s – bedroom. Walter, maybe you could ditch the Christmas tune and play something more to Jess’s taste, I said in my head, all fear gone as he was clearly a figment of my imagination or too chicken to answer back. I pictured him as my fantasy Grandpa, seeing as I’d never had one all these years. He’d be smartly dressed, in a golf shirt of course, smell of cigars and perhaps wear a flat cap. He’d want to know all about my cake-making dreams, sit me down and dish out helpful advice.

      Arms still aching from all that cleaning, I got up and plaited my hair. What luxurious surroundings, I thought, for the hundredth time, with the fancy carved dressing table and velvet curtains… I gazed at the oil painting of poppies before switching off my bedside light. I still wasn’t used to the complete dark of Badgers Chase and missed the glow of street lamps and take-aways that always crept into Adam’s flat. I’d done well to resist texting him, to resist begging him to take me back. Nor had I ruined my surprise by telling him about KimCakes Ltd finally taking off. No, I’d wait until tomorrow night when I could inform him, in business-like tones, of exactly how much I’d earned at Melissa’s.

      I yawned again and closed my eyes, missing the sound of Adam’s heavy breaths. Yet, annoyingly, images of Luke crept into my mind. His floppy hair, those god awful cords, the way they showed off his… okay, he had a nice bum. Mmm, musky-smelling Luke, with his bristly cheeks, in a tight white vest, muscles flexing as he carried me out of a burning Mistletoe Mansion – me as light as a feather ( I had to be dreaming), armed with a first aid kit full of cupcakes…

      Wow! I woke with a jolt. That was some freaky dream. I sat up and leant against the luscious pillows and threw off the silk sheets and duvet. Perhaps I’d become too hot… Yeah, that was the only rational explanation for imagining moody Luke as some hero figure. Eyes wide open, fingers gripping the duvet, I strained to listen to every noise – was that an owl? There was a distant bark… I snuggled back down. What had woken me up? In Luton it was usually a low aeroplane or car alarm going off.

      It was eerily quiet and despite my bravado about speaking to Walter, the night blackness spooked me a bit. I sniffed. What was that familiar sweet smell? I sat back up, suddenly cold with the December night air. The hairs stood up on my arms at the unexpected sound of rushing wind. According to my phone, it was half past twelve. I grabbed one of the purple embroidered cushions at the foot of the bed and gave it a big hug. Maybe Walter was a little bit ticked off at my earlier comments. Come on, um, Mr Carmichael, I was only joking, play that Christmassy tune again, it’s, um, kind of cool. But that sweet smell only got stronger. I switched on the light. Uh oh – it was the smoke from earlier today, once again billowing under the door.

      Every molecule of my being springing into action, I threw the cushion onto the floor and jumped out of bed. My phone fell onto the mattress. Again, like earlier, the door wouldn’t budge. Yelling to wake up Jess, I pulled on the handle, hard. Then I heard banging noises from the adjoining front room as if someone – or something – was moving around. My heart knocked furiously against the inside of my chest.

      ‘Fire! Jess! Wake up!’ I called in a shrill voice.

      ‘Kimmy?’ called a distant voice. ‘Is that smoke coming under my door?’

      ‘Yes! Stop it with a damp towel. Be careful,’ I shouted back. Then, without warning, my bedroom light flicked off. I gasped and stood statue still for a moment before feeling my way back to the switch. On the way I collided with a chest of drawers and tears sprang to my eyes. When I finally found the switch, it didn’t work.

      In the pitch black, I climbed over the mattress, searching for my phone. If I could just get to the window and shout for help… But… Oh no… Please tell me this wasn’t happening… My body went into spasm as something or someone curled their fingers around my foot. Instinctively, I kicked to and fro, imagining all kinds of gruesome scenarios and a weird noise escaped my mouth, like a cross between a wail and a sob. Finally, my leg broke free. Gulping, I dived to the floor and dropped my phone. It skidded under the bed. Astral beings were never so bold on Most Haunted. I must have really wound Walter up.

      Yet could that really have been the grip of some ghostly elderly man? And according to Terry, Walter was a sound bloke. Plus White Christmas hadn’t played since I’d woken up. I swallowed hard. Only one thing could explain this: there had to be two spirits – gentle Mr Carmichael and some evil demon that got up to mischief and blew smoke.

      ‘Stay away!’ I hollered, as heavy breathing came from the other side of the bed. Slowly I got on my knees, turned around and peeked over the bed. My mouth went dry. Standing by the chest of drawers was a tall figure, its arms flailing around. All I wanted to do was curl into a ball and hide but I couldn’t – not now I had Jess and the little one in her stomach to protect.

      ‘Leave me alone!’ Did this evil spirit have an axe? What about a machete? Perhaps a drill? At least if I was famous, I could have assumed it was just a fan waving an autograph book. “Mysterious Murder of Kimmy Jones – Police Grill Ex-boyfriend” would be the headline. Adam would feature in all the celebrity magazines, saying he was innocent and had been about to take me back. Then they’d arrest a crazed fan of mine, a previous offender, whose fingerprints were found on the front door handle…

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