The Last House on Needless Street by Catriona Ward (guided reading books .TXT) 📕

whispers. The dry scratching of a long belly sliding over leaves. Ophidiophobia, she tells herself. That’s all it is, Dee Dee. But now even the word is like a snake. It makes coils in her mouth.

She tries to take the next step. Tries not to think of what might be lying in wait on the ground in front of her. There are no snakes here, she repeats firmly to herself. All the snakes are asleep underground. They are more afraid of you than you are of them. But her breath comes fast. Her feet are welded to the ground. She is scared of the forest, of being lost in the trees, of being alone in the dark with a murderer. Most of all she is scared of the tree roots, which seem to twitch, looking at her with vertical pupils in the moonlight.

Don’t be stupid. Walk, she commands her legs. They aren’t goddamn snakes. Still she is paralysed, still as marble. Something rustles in the leaf mould close by. She can almost feel the long body approaching. Walk, she thinks, with every inch of her will.

Ahead, Ted’s dancing light flickers and then vanishes among the trees. Dee is alone with whatever is coming through the dark. Soft, constant sound of a muscular body sliding.

Dee opens her mouth wider, wider, until her jaw strains and cracks. She screams in silence. She turns and runs for home. The whispering sound follows her, slithering fast, almost on her heels.

She locks the doors and windows. She takes the claw-hammer in hand and sits at her post. Her breathing is hoarse in the empty room. She looks at the old food wrappers and empty yoghurt pots that litter the floor. Ants crawl in and out of them. I’m getting like him, she thinks, trembling, disgusted. And I am just as much of a coward.

Ted comes home in the dawn. He unlocks his back door. As he goes in, she hears him calling, ‘Here, kitten.’ His voice is relaxed and friendly. Dee makes a list of things to get. It will be difficult, her mind will fight her, but next time Ted goes to the forest she won’t fail.

Olivia

Lauren hasn’t been around the last few weeks. I think she’s on holiday with her mama ted or something? I don’t know, I tend to tune out when he talks about her. No pink bike sprawled in the living room like a dead cow, no notes on the whiteboard, no screaming, no mess. The quiet, the peace – my stars! It’s been great.

It’s good that Lauren’s not here because Ted has really been getting out there. Lauren hates it when he dates. She screams at him. My goodness, she is the most unpleasant little ted.

There’s been no sign or scent of the TV ted with the eyes like dead blue coins. I think I let my imagination get the better of me, there. I do have such a rich and wonderful imagination, it’s not surprising that it went a little too far.

Everything would be perfect if the whine would get out of my head. It’s like an object lodged there, like a tintack or a knife. EEEEoooeeee.

I think I feel calm enough to consult with the Bible again. I am a little nervous, after last time – the house shook so hard. It was so scary I haven’t dared since. But I can’t leave it much longer. The LORD would not like that. I have to be brave! Wish me luck, tape machine!

I push the book off with my eyes tightly closed, braced for impact. But the crash and the tremors, when they come, are far away and deep in the earth. When the page falls open I read:

…if the salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people’s feet.

I can smell the salt and fat, now. I race upstairs to find Ted. Sure enough, he is in bed, eating French fries with one hand. I leap on him with high abandon, landing foursquare on his belly. The lord never lets me down.

He gasps. ‘You startled me, kitten.’ He drops what he has been playing with in his other hand. A blue thing, too thin for a scarf, more like a silky necktie or something. I settle on his stomach for a purr. Ted and I are very happy together these days. Yes, I think everything is returning to normal.

Ted

The past is close tonight. The membrane of time bulges and strains. I hear Mommy in the kitchen, talking to the Chihuahua lady. Mommy’s telling her about the thing with the mouse. That was where all this started. I stop up my ears and turn the TV up, but I can still hear her voice. I remember everything about the thing with the mouse, which is unusual. My memory is Swiss cheese, in general.

Each homeroom had a pet. It was like a mascot. One homeroom had a startled-looking corn snake, which was so cool, and obviously better than a white mouse with bloody little eyes.

The kid with the moles was supposed to take the mouse home that weekend, but he hadn’t been in school on Friday. His mother said he had a cold but everyone knew that he was getting the moles on his face removed. Anyway he couldn’t take the mouse and I was next in the alphabet. Snowball, that was his name. The mouse, not the boy.

I took Snowball home. I had to sneak him into the house. Mommy would never have permitted it. Domesticated animals were slavery. Then the thing happened, and I did not bring him back on Monday.

I didn’t get in trouble. There was nothing anyone could do or say. It had been an accident, after all – the cage door had come loose. I was really upset about it, but there were other feelings, too, which were