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

paper. I saw there was a word, written in pink marker on the creamy surface. I froze because I know those messy letters. I have seen them often enough on the whiteboard in the kitchen.

It’s Lauren’s writing. Above the word in pink marker, like outlying islands, are three irregular patches of brown. My nose tells me what they are. Splashes of blood.

Several times I pushed the note away and tried to pretend it didn’t exist. Then I retrieved it and I read it again, each time hoping that it would say something different. But it didn’t. There it was, just that one word.

Help.

Ted

I’m drinking bourbon from the bottle, no time for glass or ice. The liquor courses down my face, my eyes sting from the fumes. Disaster, disaster, disaster. I must stop everything. I am being watched. Invaded, even. I might not have known if Mommy hadn’t trained me so well. I missed it my first morning round with the diary, which goes to show that she was right. Everything seemed fine. The windows were all secure, the plywood nailed down tight over them, the portholes were clear. I was in a really good mood.

I was in a hurry during the evening check. I had some donuts and a new bottle of bourbon waiting for me and there was a big monster truck rally on TV at six. So I was looking forward to the end of the day and I skimped my inspection a little. Who could blame me? I was heading back inside when I caught it in the corner of my eye.

Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed anything if the sun hadn’t come out from behind a cloud at just that moment, at that exact angle. But it did and so I did. There it was, gleaming silver. A pinprick of light, a little drop of brightness against the weather-stained plywood that covers the living-room window.

I waded into the thick mess of briars and weeds that cling to the house. I clutched the diary to me, trying to protect it. Is there anything on this planet that doesn’t want to scratch me? But it wasn’t as hard to fight through them as I had expected. Some of the briars were snapped and hung sadly as if something had recently forced its way through. Others lay broken on the dirt, as if trampled underfoot. Unease stirred.

When I reached the window I tugged at the plywood but it was solid, still nailed fast. I stood back again and looked. Something was wrong, but what? Then the sun came out again. It caught the nail heads. They shone, store-bright.

I knew then – someone had been here. They crawled up to the house, through thorns and poison oak and brambles. They carefully dug the nails out of the window frame and lifted the plywood off. And after that, I have to assume they lifted the sash and went inside. Later, they came out again and hammered it back in place and left. They did a good job. I might never have known. But they didn’t think to reuse the old nails. Instead, they put these shiny things in. It’s impossible to know when. These thoughts were like being punched repeatedly in the neck.

Were they watching right now? I looked about me, but it was still. A lawnmower growled somewhere.

I made my way out of the briars and towards the back door. I felt the weight of unseen eyes. I didn’t run – though I wanted to, every muscle wanted to, my skin itched with the urge to run. Once inside I closed the door gently behind me and locked the locks. Thunk, thunk, thunk. But the sound didn’t mean safety any more. I went to the living-room window. My fingers sought the latch on top of the sash. It was loose in my hand. As I turned it, the latch came right off in a little shower of brown dust. At some point over the years the metal catch rusted through. Anyone could have got in.

I never open the windows, of course. I forgot that they did open. That was a mistake. There was a gasping sound somewhere, and I realised it was coming from me. I paced up and down the living room, kicking uselessly at the bobbly blue rug. I always feared this day might come. Mommy told me it would, in the forest, after the thing with the mouse. The day she understood my true nature. They’ll come for you, Teddy. I hoped so hard that she was wrong.

What did they see, this intruder? Did they watch me? As I made my chicken and grape salad, or as I watched TV, or slept? The only real question, of course, is, did they see Lauren and Olivia? They can’t have done. I would know by now. There would have been consequences.

Mommy would say, look for the variable. My neighbours, the police – they haven’t bothered me for years. So what has changed?

The neighbour lady. She is new. She is the variable. She didn’t want to be my friend. She stood me up at the bar. I stare at her house and think.

I was going to unground Lauren and let her come home this weekend – but that can’t happen obviously. And there can be no more dates, for now. It’s not safe.

‘Lauren can’t come out to play,’ I sing along to the music. Then I realise that’s kind of mean, so I stop. I have been very stupid but I will take care from now on.

Deal with things one at a time. Lauren first, then I’ll see about the intruder. Maybe it’s the neighbour lady, maybe not.

I think I hear a Chihuahua barking in the street and I put my eye to the peephole to look. Maybe she’s back! That would be one less thing to worry about. The bark comes again – it’s much deeper and louder than a Chihuahua. The man with the orange-juice