Dream House Read online

  The white walls that I liked so much are now covered in wallpaper, its floral pattern covering everything and leaving no plain space on the walls. I gaze at the desk, no longer pale white but instead a bright, cherrywood tint, matching the rest of the furniture. Even the sheets feel different.

  My heart racing, I climb out of bed. Where am I?

  I turn around and reach for the doorknob—I give it a twist, and the door opens onto the same corridor I’ve walked down so many times before. But again, it doesn’t look like it normally does: the walls are darker, almost as if they’ve aged all of a sudden.

  In the darkness, I force my uncooperative feet to move towards the living room, the room closest to my bedroom, all the while feeling certain that somebody is watching me.

  As I tiptoe down the hall I try my best to keep calm until I eventually reach my destination—except that it now looks nothing like the living room I was expecting. The layout, with its open-plan kitchen, is still the same, but nothing else is the way I remember it. From the kitchen—so modern and boring compared to the French country style of before—to the big old couch that looks completely different to the stiff but adorable sofa I’ve spent so much time happily curled up on.

  Everything is different.

  I stand in front of the couch and hold my left hand out, reaching for it.

  But when my fingers make contact with the fabric, I shiver—and to my surprise, it’s suddenly daytime.

  And everything is back to normal.

  Was I sleepwalking? Have I done it before?

  The house looks as wonderful as ever. It must have been a dream.

  I take a seat, and, unbidden, my eyes go to the book, The Reverend Mansion, which I was reading the previous day, as though suggesting that my subconscious must have projected all those images into my mind while I was sleeping.

  Then, just when I’m starting to feel like I’m making sense of the situation, telling myself that I’m not crazy after all and that there’s always an explanation for everything, I hear the sound of a door closing.

  Unable to tell exactly which one it was, I stand up and run towards where the sound came from—the hall to the left, where the bathroom, the master bedroom, and the basement are.

  I get to the end of the corridor to find all three doors are shut. It’s obvious that there’s not a moment to waste, so I follow my intuition and go for the door on the left—the basement. Which this time is unlocked.

  I throw it open—and see two shadows standing there side by side, right in front of me, only to then disappear in the blink of an eye.

  Leaving me alone there, wondering.

  Was that . . .

  “Mr. and Mrs. Bloom?” I ask out loud.

  I peer down the stairs. For an instant the darkness I see there frightens me, and the knot of tension I feel inside my gut tightens further.

  And then I race down into it.

  The creaking of the old wood under my feet as I quickly descend the stairs is the only sound, but I know that those shadows must be hiding down here.

  When I reach the bottom I rush over towards the centre of the cellar—and realise a moment too late that I’ve put my foot on the wrong flagstone. It wobbles under my weight, and I lose my balance and fall to the ground, my knees and palms banging down hard onto the stone floor.

  I feel something under my right hand, but it’s so incredibly dark down here that I can’t tell what it is.

  I get myself up into a sitting position in the corner of the room and take a good hold of the cold, insubstantial object which keeps almost slipping out of my grasp, realising when I lift it up and run my fingers over it that it’s a delicate metal chain running down to a pendant. I feel its shape and try to figure out what it might be, but can’t work it out.

  I lift it up and try to force myself to see whatever it is that I’m holding in the darkness, and sure enough, after a few moments my eyes finally get used to the dim light in the cellar enough for me to just about make it out.

  It’s a flat, rounded disk with several stems extending radially from its edges, and bearing a violet gem. It slightly resembles a sun, and it’s extremely familiar to me, but I’ve no idea why.

  I lift my eyes from the necklace—and suddenly see the two shadows.

  They’re standing there quietly, right in front of me. Almost invisible, but made of a different kind of darkness to the gloom in the cellar.

  I scrutinise them for a moment, and when I’m almost certain that I’m sure who they are, I say again, “Mr. and Mrs. Bloom—”

  But before I can get out another word, both shadows suddenly lurch forward towards me.

  I recoil in fear, twisting away from them as I try to escape, but then I feel their hands on my back, colder than ice, a nightmarish touch which instantly makes me feel nauseous and vulnerable.

  I start screaming, begging them to stop, but after just a few seconds all my strength abandons me, and I faint clear away and collapse down onto the cold stone floor.

  DAY 24

  DAY 25

  DAY 26

  DAY 27

  WHEN I come back to my senses, the first thing I feel is the throbbing inside my head—which is also spinning vertiginously—and how sore and tired my body is.

  The light from the morning sun filtering through the little window illuminates the floor around me.

  What happened?

  Blearily aware that I’m grasping something in one hand, I open my eyes, and when I look down at my hand I see with surprise that the necklace is still there, safe and sound. I squint at it more closely, able now to study all its details. The rays extending from the base are pointed, but one of them is missing, and a little grey patch of solder makes me think it might have been broken off. In the centre of the gemstone is carved a small A.

  Without even thinking about it too much, it feels perfectly natural for me to pull the chain over my head and around my neck. I sit there staring at it for a while, although my thoughts are actually focused on what happened here.

  I see again those two shadows looking at me, too blurred to be able to tell if they truly were the owners of the house—but at the same time, I can’t imagine who else it could be.

  I remember the pain and the fear I felt—and which still feel real, so real that I wrap my arms around myself as though trying to protect myself from something that might even not be there at all.

  Maybe I’m just losing my mind.

  Maybe it really is time for me to leave after all.

  Overwhelmed by everything, I know that there’s only one person who might be able to understand what I’m going through.

  Avery.

  The moment I start to stand, a sharp pain shoots up my leg from my knee, but I somehow manage to get myself to the top of the stairs, and with a huge sigh of relief I push the door shut behind me.

  The entrance to the bathroom looms up in front of me, and I limp straight in to clean myself up. There’s a scab forming over the graze on my knee, but there doesn’t seem to be any blood anywhere else. In the mirror I notice some small purple bruises behind my shoulders where the shadows put their hands on me, but the pain that touching them causes is too much for me to deal with right now, so I put my T-shirt back on and just wash my face with some lukewarm water.

  In desperate need of some food to quiet my growling stomach, I walk down the hall to the kitchen, where everything appears completely normal.

  It hardly seems possible that I’ve spent the night lying unconscious on a cellar floor after being attacked by phantoms.

  You know what, Amethyst?

  Maybe it isn’t possible.

  I grab everything edible I can find, take it all over to the couch with me, and try to get myself calmed down enough to be able to start eating.

  As I pick at my food, it dawns on me how lonely I’m feeling. In the hope of finding some substitute for human company, I pick up the remote control and turn on the TV. There’s a news programme on, so I start flicking through the cha
nnels in search of some cartoons or anything that might make me smile.

  As I’m channel-hopping, I come across a morning TV show presented by a loud blond woman, and my finger stops dead on the button.

  It’s not her who’s captured my attention, though.

  It’s the date showing at the top right-hand corner of the screen.

  The twenty-seventh of October.

  I look down at my feet, then back up again. How is that possible?

  Where did the last three days of my life go?

  Disconcerted, I search back through my memory as carefully as I can, seeking an answer to the question, but I’m positive that the last memory I have is from the twenty-third. I’ve been counting the days that I’ve spent in this place. I’m absolutely certain.

  Feeling extremely uneasy, I tiptoe over to the light switch by the front door and switch the lights quickly on and off a few times, until I see Avery’s window light up as well, standing out brightly against the grey clouds dominating the sky.

  “Is everything okay?” asks Avery from the other side of the gate.

  At the sound of those words, it suddenly seems as though my world is falling apart, and the thought makes my eyes blurry with tears. Avery notices, but maintains his composure.

  “What happened, Amethyst?” he asks, a sweet yet concerned tone in his voice.

  “I . . . I don’t know, Avery,” I admit. A tear runs down my cheek.

  “It’s all right. Everything is going to be fine.”

  I know he’s only trying to reassure me, but his words sound so fake that I cut him off. “How can you say that?”

  Avery, however, doesn’t seem to be listening—his eyes are staring at something which certainly isn’t my face. But just as I’m really starting to get annoyed, I realize that he’s staring at the necklace around my neck.

  “You found it,” Avery whispers, a delicate smile forming on his face.

  “This?” I ask, bringing the pendant up so we can both see it.

  Without saying a word, he puts his hand down the collar of his T-shirt and pulls out another that’s almost identical, the only difference being that his is silver instead of gold.

  “Is this Akiko’s?” I wonder aloud, without taking my eyes from it.

  Giving me a strange look from under his eyebrows that seems to say Isn’t it obvious?, he nods and slips his necklace back under the white T-shirt.

  I take his gesture to mean that he doesn’t want to go into details, so I drop the subject, reminding myself that there are more important things we need to discuss.

  Avery is gazing off into the distance, far away, at the never-ending fields of this forgotten village. His grey eyes seem darker than usual and his hair messy and tangled, but he still manages to look as imperturbable as ever.

  He turns to me and I blush when he notices that I’ve been staring at him. To avoid making things any more awkward, I start talking.

  “Where did you go the other night?”

  “Can you be a bit more specific?” he asks.

  “When we met,” I clarify. “Down there.”

  “I had to go.”

  The fact that having abandoned me underground in that creepy tunnel on my own at night doesn’t seem to bother him at all, even after everything he’d put me through during that whole infernal day of trying to convince myself to actually go down there in the first place, seems so callous and insensitive that I can’t help giving a sarcastic snort.

  He hears it, and adds, “I had to. I wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t need to.”

  His words sound so heartfelt, so genuine, that they make me melt. I let it go.

  “But I’m here now,” he concludes, reminding me that despite being the one who called him out here, I still haven’t mentioned any of the things I so desperately want to talk to him about.

  It occurs to me in that moment that every time we’re together my brain instantly stops functioning. I can’t seem to focus on anything important—instead I just try desperately to escape from the situation that I need to be dealing with.

  With that in mind, I finally get to the point.

  “I need to know one thing, and I need you to be honest.”

  He listens in silence, and so I go on.

  “Did—did Mr. and Mrs. Bloom die?”

  As I say the words, a wave of incredible relief at having finally got it out washes over me—but the fact that it’s a distinct possibility also starts to sink in, and I realize how awful it would be if that really was the case.

  Impatiently, I wait for a response.

  “I don’t know. But I don’t think so. Honest,” he says, bringing a hand to his heart.

  I smile, both at his gesture and with happiness at learning that Amabel and Marvin are probably fine.

  And then, in a sudden icy deluge which seems to have been designed especially to ruin this peaceful moment, rain starts to pour down, and so I hurriedly thank Avery and run back inside the house.

  DAY 28

  I FEEL COLD. Freezing cold. I can’t stop shivering, but at the same time I feel sweaty and feverish. I roll over onto my left side, then back onto my right. I cover myself up with my blanket, only to throw it off a few seconds later. My lips are dry, and so is my throat. I raise my hands to my sweaty forehead and feel how burning hot it is.

  I go on like this for hours, until I’m finally desperate enough to climb out of bed and get some water. When I do get up, though, everything starts spinning so violently that I have use the walls to keep my balance while I wobble down the corridor on shaking legs.

  Surrounded by strange voices and imaginary eyes shining in the darkness, I stumble more than once as I go—but each time I force myself to get back up and keep walking until I eventually get to the kitchen, where I fill a glass with cold water and gulp it down as quickly as I can, desperate to feel better soon.

  Wiping away the water dripping from the side of my mouth with the back of my forearm, I turn around, ready to go back to bed.

  But then, with an awful sinking sensation, I realise that that’s not what’s going to happen.

  There’s somebody sitting in my usual place on the couch, only the back of his head visible.

  “Amethyst.”

  A man’s deep voice.

  I back away, edging closer to the corridor but keeping my eyes on the figure.

  He turns slightly to face me, and when his eyes lock onto mine, I freeze.

  “What do you want?” I ask fearfully.

  Breathing loudly in and out, the man waits a long moment before replying, but then says, “Why are you here?”

  “What do you want from me?” I repeat, perplexed and feeling as though I ought to be the one asking that question. “Do we know each other?”

  “You don’t know me,” he answers, staring at me, “but I know you.”

  “What do you want?” I shout, more confused than ever.

  “I want you to tell me why you are here, Amethyst,” he insists.

  I study his appearance as much as the dim half light allows. His olive skin and black hair seem almost to merge into the gloom, and his eyes shine in the darkness, reflecting the moonlight coming in through the big windows.

  “How did you get in here?” I ask. As I back off towards the kitchen, I grope along the countertop behind me for any sharp object, but, finding nothing, I keep moving until I’m at the entrance to the hall.

  “That doesn’t matter, Amethyst,” he says, seemingly noticing how upset I am.

  “Please leave,” I say, lowering my voice.

  He stands up. He’s tall and heavyset, and I can vaguely make out that he’s wearing some kind of bizarre outfit and has a shiny white scarf covered with weird symbols around his shoulders. He’s also gripping something tightly between his fingers.

  The necklace.

  Seemingly of its own accord, my hand goes up to my throat in search of the pendant—but the delicate chain isn’t there anymore, confirming that what he’s holding is indeed the one th
at I was wearing.

  He walks slowly over to the main door.

  “I will leave,” he says cryptically, “but you really should do the same.”

  He approaches the dining table and carefully places the necklace down upon it, together with a small object I can’t quite make out properly.

  I follow his movements without moving an inch from the entrance to the corridor. He opens the door and leaves silently, letting the front door swing shut behind him.

  As soon as I hear the latch click, I rush over and place my eye to the peephole—but he has already vanished.

  As I back away from the entrance I glance at the clock, which reads 5:38, and then direct my attention to the necklace on the table and whatever it is that’s half-hidden beneath it.

  I place the pendant back around my neck, revealing what it was covering. A tiny object that I study for a moment in my palm: an old key. What does this open? Why would he leave it for me?

  I stuff it safely into one of my pockets. I’m already standing by the light switch, so I reach over and do what Avery told me to when I needed him, expecting to see his light come on soon after as usual.

  But this time, it doesn’t.

  Worriedly, I slip on my shoes and get ready to make my way outside. Even though I’m still feeling shaky and light-headed, I don’t take anything with me—I just want to get out of the house as quickly as possible.

  The setting sun is still just visible behind the hill where, once upon a time, Alfred’s house used to be. I stand there for a moment thinking about him and then set off, turning the corner of the house as I brace myself for what I’m about to do.

  As I reach the gateway in the back garden, there’s a debate raging in my mind: should I wait here in the hope that he turns up, or should I trespass on his property? Is this really so important that it can’t wait until later—or can I just cope with it by myself?

  Before I know it, though, my hand is on the wooden gate, ready to push it open.

  As I expected, the gate is locked, but it’s so tiny I can easily jump over it.