Haunting of Lily Frost Page 8

  Then before I even get to reboot, there’s another flicker and a face is staring at me. It’s her. I know even without reading the caption. My arms are covered in goosebumps. The old lady was right: we do look alike.

  My door swings open before I can read the article in the paper.

  ‘Lil, come on, love. That’s enough screen time.’

  ‘It’s been five minutes, Mum.’

  ‘But I thought we could go for a walk around town.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To explore.’

  ‘I’ve done that already. About nine times. It doesn’t take long.’

  ‘Come on, Lil.’

  ‘I’m doing something for school, Mum. An assignment.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. I have to finish it by tomorrow.’ A sweet smile might seal it for me.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘Okay.’

  And I keep smiling at her until she finally leaves.

  Matilda’s still there when I look back at the screen. She hasn’t moved or disappeared like I half expected her to, but then I know before I start reading about her that I’m not going to like what I read. And that feeling comes back. That dizzy, sick, weird feeling where I want to faint. With my eyes closed, I can see her walking around this room. Her hair’s down and it’s as straight as mine. She’s looking in the mirror and brushing her hair, then – she’s gone.

  I start reading slowly, letting my fear sit uncomfortably close.

  ‘Fourteen-year-old Matilda Rose Sarenson disappeared on the evening of 20 September, 2012. She’d been at the Gideon Royal Show with friends when she went for a walk, and was last seen behind the oval by a local man at 7.00pm. She goes by the nickname “Tilly”. And she may be wearing blue jeans, blue Converse sneakers and a red hoodie.’

  I look down at the red hoodie that I happen to be wearing and with a sickening thought, I rip the zip down, pulling it off the teeth, and getting it jammed. I fight with the two sides until finally I pull it open, yank my arms out and toss the hoodie as far away as I can. This is her hoodie. It’s the one she went missing in. So how did it end up back in my room? It wasn’t here when we moved in. So who put it here? And why?

  There’s a flash and the computer screen goes black. Without the bright electronic light, the room’s suddenly darker too. The little window barely lets in enough light, and it seems that shadows are creeping their way around the walls.

  I jab frantically at the keys, but nothing happens. I press restart, and wait for the familiar sound of the computer rebooting, but there’s nothing. And then my door slams shut.

  ‘Max? Mum? Dad?’

  No answer. Then suddenly there’s a crash and a large tower of books topples down and sprawls across the floor. I look over sharply, expecting to see someone or something in my room. But there’s nothing. I’m so jumpy.

  As I slowly move off my bed and stand up on the floor, my feet hit water. I look down and there’s a large puddle near my bed. Just like the one from the other day. I step over it, desperate now to get to the door and open it again, terrified that maybe it’s jammed, or been locked. But as I reach the door, the handle starts turning like there’s someone outside. I go to grab it and the handle’s wet. The door swings open, but there’s no one outside. How can a door open and close on its own?

  Downstairs I can hear my family laughing about something. I think the television’s on, and for a moment I’m so tempted to run down the stairs and pretend nothing’s wrong. But then something decides for me. I hear the sound of the computer rebooting. Computers don’t just reboot by themselves. There has to be some presence in the room that wants me to find something.

  And anyway, I’m so intrigued to know more about Matilda, or Tilly as she was obviously called, that I can’t help myself. I tiptoe back to the bed, trying not to make any noise, and as I do, a dreadful cold air rushes through me, like I’ve just stepped through something or someone. Then the air slithers across me and is gone. Before I can reach the bed, a voice comes on the computer. It makes me freeze until I realise it’s just the voice of a news reporter.

  ‘Police are appealing for the public’s help to locate a girl reported missing in the small town of Gideon, in the state’s north-west. Matilda Sarenson, fourteen, was last seen at the Gideon Showgrounds at 7.00pm on Saturday 20 September. Police and relatives have attempted to contact Matilda by phone, but it appears her mobile has been turned off since Saturday night. Police from Local Area Command were alerted to the disappearance yesterday afternoon. Her mother is concerned she may have run away. Anyone with information about Matilda’s whereabouts should immediately contact police.’

  As I return to the laptop, there’s a picture of Tilly’s face. It chills me to look at her, because I’m sure she’s trying to tell me something. I click on the other link and end up on a feature article from the local paper. Her mum is quoted in it. ‘Tilly was really excited about the Royal Show. She was going to be in the parade and I have no idea why she would have walked away before then. I’ve spoken to her friends and they think that maybe she did a runner. I just want my baby back.’

  They mention her birthday and it’s three days before mine. She’s a Leo. King of the lions. I close my eyes and try to see her, but I can’t. She’s not in my head anymore. All I see is water. Coughing, I open my eyes fast to stop the feeling. And there’s water on my arm. I check it to make sure it’s not spit or something gross that I’ve coughed up onto myself, but it’s thin like water. I rub my arm against my doona cover, and when I look back at the computer screen, Tilly’s still staring at me. What’s she trying to tell me? The last sentence of the article mentions her boyfriend Danny Taylor. And I know it’s him. It has to be. How many Dannys can there be in one small town?

  The sick feeling spreads through my body and I can’t stop it. It’s like my whole body feels this dread. I head for the stairs. I have to be quick if I’m going to make it. The only crap thing about living in the attic is that the toilets are downstairs.

  Mum hears me vomiting in the bathroom. I shake her off, pretending I’m fine, but I’m white and shivering. She asks if I want to go to bed, but I don’t want to go back up there, not now, so I pretend I can’t make the stairs. She parks me on the couch and that’ll do for tonight. The couch is safe. I love this old thing. I used to sit next to Ruby here when she was sleeping over and we’d stay up watching trashy movies. I can lose myself easily in them.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Max says, staring at me from the doorway. I must look awful or maybe he’s staying away from me because he doesn’t want to start vomiting too.

  ‘Do you ever feel like this house is a bit –’ I start.

  ‘Creepy?’ he says.

  ‘You feel it too?’ I jump at the idea that I’m not losing my mind.

  ‘Nah,’ he says. ‘It’s just a house. You’re weird, Lil.’

  As he slouches off, I hear the basketball bounce down the hallway. It’s like he can’t go anywhere now without bouncing it. Maybe he’s right. I am weird. Maybe there’s nothing creepy about this house and it’s all in my mind. Anyway down here on my old couch, Matilda Rose can’t find me. But her name snakes through my head. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop seeing the letters in her name and as I do, I’m sure Ruby is right. The letter I thought was an F is actually an E, which means those carvings on the floor weren’t meant for me, they were Matilda’s. She carved them. It’s a message.

  I call Ruby and she answers straightaway. ‘Lil? What’s wrong?’

  That’s what we have between us. We always know when the other one’s in trouble.

  ‘Rubes, the girl who lived in this house before me, well she disappeared. She looked like me. We’ve got almost the same birthday. And those letters on the floor, you were right. It was an E, not an F. It’s her name. Matilda Rose. She called herself Tilly R
ose. We’ve got the same letters in our names except for the F and the E. Ruby, I’m really scared.’

  ‘Lil, calm down. Explain. Calmly.’

  I do. And by the end I can tell even Ruby, who’s never been scared by ghost stories, and never got freaked out at crazy birthday party séances, is starting to agree with me.

  ‘You need to find out what happened.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Dig around. Ask Danny what he knows.’

  ‘Yeah, like he’s going to tell me anything.’

  ‘Keep wearing her hoodie.’

  ‘But I think that’s what scares me most.’

  ‘What? Feeling like you could be her? You’re not. That’s just silly.’

  ‘Is it? What if she’s brought me here somehow?’

  ‘Lil –’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ She’s right. I’m getting too freaked and I know that it could all be nothing, but still there’s a girl who’s missing and she lived in this house, and I have to find out what happened to her.

  ‘Lil –’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Be careful.’

  ‘I will.’ But as I hang up I still feel really scared and I’m not sure if being careful is what I need to be worried about.

  9

  danny taylor

  I can’t believe I made it through the night. I’m not sure I actually slept, but at least I’m still here. Now I just have to convince Mum I’m sick enough to stay home from school.

  Mum is cleaning when I find her – as usual. She says it relaxes her, but I think she’s trying to scrub herself happy. She doesn’t look very relaxed when she’s scrubbing. She sort of looks manic and no one else is allowed into the kitchen when she’s got her hands squashed into pink plastic gloves.

  ‘Mum, I feel awful.’

  She doesn’t even look up from the cupboard she’s scrubbing. ‘Still, honey?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You look okay.’

  ‘How can you tell when your head’s in the cupboard?’

  She stands up fast and bangs her head. I hear the crack as it hits the edge of the bench. I want to swear for her because I’m sure that hurt. It hurt me and I was only watching.

  ‘You look fine.’

  ‘But what if I’m sick again? What would they think if you sent your sick child to school?’

  She smiles then and slowly plucks the pink plastic gloves from each finger. It’s an awful noise and I know she’s doing it just to annoy me. ‘Pancakes?’

  ‘I’m sick.’

  ‘There’s maple syrup.’

  ‘Maybe just one. I’ll see how that goes.’

  Pancakes are another of her answers for everything. She hardly ever makes them on a school morning, so she must be really desperate to get me off to school.

  ‘I think we’re going to like Gideon, Lil.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. It has a good feel, don’t you think?’

  I wish I could tell her what’s been going on: explain about fainting and the dead girl who has the same letters in her name as me. But how do I tell her all that? She’d probably think I was making it up because I don’t want to stay in this dump of a town. Sometimes it’s just easier to say what she wants to hear, so we don’t get into a fight and I don’t have to try to explain things.

  ‘So how was school yesterday? Make some friends?’

  I give her what I hope is a sarcastic smile.

  ‘It’ll happen,’ she says.

  ‘Yeah. No one can resist me for long.’

  Mum slides a plate of pancakes onto the table in front of me. ‘Here you are. Don’t go crazy with the maple syrup.’

  ‘Where’s Max?’

  ‘He’s already gone. Said he had some basketball practice to go to.’

  ‘What? Since when does he play basketball?’

  ‘Maybe Gideon will be good for us all.’

  Then Mum does something I really wish she wouldn’t. Before I can even take a bite, she holds up the red hoodie. ‘Honey, I found this jumper in the bathroom this morning. Is it Ruby’s?’

  ‘In the bathroom? You sure?’

  ‘The bathroom is that room with the bath, isn’t it?’

  ‘It might be Ruby’s. I’ll check.’

  The pancakes don’t taste like they should now because the red hoodie is lying on the table in front of me. How did the hoodie get from my room down the stairs to the bathroom, unless someone moved it?

  Mum notices that I’ve only nibbled one pancake.

  ‘I just don’t feel well, Mum.’

  ‘Oh. So you’re not pretending? Do you want to stay home?’

  ‘No.’

  As I say this I surprise myself. Normally any excuse to stay away from school would make me happy, but now I want to go. I want to confront Danny and his friends and find out what’s going on in this town before I go psycho.

  Dad walks in and notices my plate. ‘Any for me?’

  I shoot the plate across to him, like I’m in a western movie. He grabs it just before it flies off the edge of the table and he’s got one in his mouth before I can say anything. It’s my half-eaten one, which just proves how tragically we all love pancakes.

  ‘Hungry, Dad?’

  ‘Yep. It’s all this country air.’

  I grab an apple from the bowl and push it into my lunchbox. I can smell the sandwiches leaking out and groan at the idea of having cheese, apple and sultanas again. I wish I could just have Vegemite or something boring. At least at my old school I could share Ruby’s lunch if Mum got all creative.

  ‘Honey, I’ve washed your other jeans.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mum. I’ll be late.’

  ‘I don’t like you going off in dirty clothes.’

  This makes me smile because as usual she’s left it until we’re about to leave the house. So really she doesn’t care; she just wants it noted that she should care, but by telling me now, she knows I’m not going to do anything about it. I understand her. I’m the same. I love that Mum’s so obvious and that even though she’s old, I still get where she’s coming from.

  Max is shooting hoops with a bunch of other geeky ten-year-olds when I walk in through the school gate. They’re laughing and chasing each other around, trying to steal the ball. As I watch him, jealous as hell, I can’t believe he’s already found friends and doesn’t care that he’s living here. He’s clearly not being spooked by something in the house.

  He sees me watching him and throws the ball to me. I let it hit the ground and roll away, so he runs after it. ‘What’s up your bum, Lil?’

  ‘Charming.’

  ‘Want to meet my friends?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Might be the only other kids you talk to today.’

  ‘Hilarious.’

  ‘It’s not that bad here.’

  ‘So you keep saying.’

  One of his friends yells out to him. He shrugs at me like I’m a lost cause and runs past, dribbling the ball. I can’t believe how fast he is or that I’ve never noticed my little brother can run. The others laugh as he aims for a hoop and misses, then they keep going and I’m forgotten.

  Sitting on the edge of the basketball court, I watch the seven boys play. Max is in the middle, tall and confident as they jostle with each other, desperate to wrest the ball away so they can take a shot. He looks so loose and easy, his arms almost elastic as they work the ball from hand to hand, spinning and turning as he leaps up to dunk it. He’s always been like that. Effortless. He tries things and can just do them. People smile at him wherever he goes and they become instant friends. Even when he was little, we’d go to a park and he’d make a new best friend straightaway. Mostly he didn’t bother finding out their name, but he’d play with them for hours and forget them the next day. How is it possible that he and
I are actually related?

  All around me groups of kids are coming to school. It’s like I’m totally invisible, sitting here on the sidelines, being squeezed past or stepped over. Mum would say I was in the way, and I am, but I want someone to notice me: trip on my legs, crash down and see me waiting here, watching.

  Julia doesn’t look down as she walks past, surrounded by her friends. They’re chattering on about something, and I know I should make the effort to say hello, but what’s the point?

  Then Danny rides up, already climbing off his bike before he’s stopped in that way that really confident riders can. If I tried it, I’d probably stack. He leans his bike against the rack but doesn’t bother locking it because maybe you don’t need to in Gideon. Then he sees me sitting on the sidelines, mooches over and plonks down next to me. My face immediately feels hot and I wish he’d stepped over me like his sister did.

  ‘Ready for another exciting day in Gideon?’

  ‘Ooh yeah. Can’t wait.’

  ‘Any reason you’re sitting here?’

  ‘I was watching my brother play basketball.’

  ‘The one in the black jeans?’

  ‘Yep.’ Just at that moment, in full Max style, he chucks the ball lazily at the ring and it goes straight in.

  ‘Fluke,’ says Danny.

  I’m glad he’s resisting Max’s charms. ‘He didn’t even know how to play basketball last week,’ I say.

  ‘Then it’s definitely a fluke.’

  ‘His whole life is.’

  ‘You jealous?’

  ‘No. Just amazed. About the only thing I’m better at than him is being older.’

  ‘I dunno. You’re prettier than him.’ Then he just gets up, walks away and I’m left sitting on the sidelines with a comment that I can’t possibly react to, because it’s totally shocking. No one’s ever said anything like that to me. Ever. I think I might be grinning secretly quite a bit.