Harvest (42 page)

Moll Dancey tiptoed on
her red plastic step bringing her level with the bathroom sink and
stared at her cold fluorescent lit reflection in the mirror. She
brushed her teeth thoroughly with her
Disney
toothbrush, Mickey Mouse’s plastic head
dug into her small pale coloured palm. She pulled at the flannel of
her pyjama bottoms that were riding uncomfortably high after going
to the toilet. The fluorescent on the mirror flickered and for
uncomfortable seconds the darkness stole all the detail of the
bathroom and an alternative room where everything was painted black
replaced it. All Molly could see of her dark face were her white
eyes and the toothpaste spit around her mouth. She left the brush
in her mouth and slapped the mirror mounted light. It buzzed lazily
and came back to life leaving Molly staring around her, uncertain
if she could trust the light to stay with her. She didn’t like the
dark.

Uncomfortably, she began
to think her mum should have come to hurry her along into her bed
by now. She had left her to dry herself and get herself ready after
her bath while her mum had gone to see who had called at the front
door. With the brush in her mouth she opened the bathroom door and
peeked out. The hallway was dark with only a shaft of light from
the lounge giving away any details from the gloom. The front door
was open and it was dark in the corridor outside. She frowned.
W
hy was the front door open? Why were the lights
outside out? Where was mum?
Something was wrong. Mum
never left the door open at night. Just lately she never left it
unlocked, even in the daytime.

A thick drop of white
Colgate saliva fell from her mouth to the carpet. Moll slurped the
toothpaste from her lips and stepped back from the mess soaking
into the carpet, she wiped at her mouth crudely;
mum would be mad.

Except mum was lying on the
floor.

She didn’t look mad, she looked
asleep, but Moll knew she couldn’t be. Mum would never sleep on the
floor, and the way she was laying looked too uncomfortable to
sleep, and her eyes were wide open and staring out from her dark
face. They weren’t blinking. More toothpaste spit splattered the
carpet. “Mum?” Something moved in the dark behind her mum.

Moll saw that they were
the black grubby toes of men’s shoes picked out by the dim light
from the lounge. The shoes were wrong.
Daddy didn’t
live there anymore.
Even if he did they wouldn’t be
dirty like that. Even though they didn’t love each other any more
daddy would not be standing there while mum was lying funny on the
floor. There was a shape above the shoes that she couldn’t make
out. The shadows were too dark. “MUM!”

The shoes suddenly moved. The
stepped over her mum towards Moll, the buzz of flies filled the
air. She turned back into the bathroom, slammed and locked the door
and backed up towards the sink. The fluorescent light on the mirror
was flickering again. She found herself whining, she wanted to pee
again. She heard her whine grow louder. Then she realised it wasn’t
her voice at all; the sound was all around her. She peed hot and
freely down her legs as a sound built over her shoulder and she
knew there was something else impossibly behind her. Her arms were
snatched painfully behind her before she could turn. In one tug
Moll was yanked backwards off her feet into a green fire. Mickey
Mouse gagged her scream.

Rachel had decided to get the
hell out of the building after the warnings she had received on the
stairs, but only two steps down she had stopped herself. Cat was
really the only source of information they had now. If she gave up
on pursuing Cat then Craig was right, all they could do was wait
for the next disappearances or attacks and hope that they might
offer some kind of answers. Rachel had pressed on with her original
direction and intention, but this time her bag was open and her
mobile phone was at the ready. If something was going to happen to
her she was going to call Kelly and shout out any details she could
before she could be taken.

Rachel faced Cat’s door
hesitantly. She had been unsure of the reception she might receive
on her last visit to Cat’s flat, but after the hospital she had
more of an idea. A cool blade of fear ran under every inch of her
skin at the thought of how Malik had been defeated at the hospital.
Just what had happened to Cat before or during that coma?

Cat had always been a
special child but the ability she seemed to demonstrate at the
hospital was beyond seeing and talking to those that had passed.
Her own talent gave her a unique perspective but Cat’s power was
more than any ability Rachel had thought possible or dared to
believe in.
What else could Cat be capable
of?
This new ability filled her with an unease she
didn’t want to admit to; especially concerning someone she cared
for. Malik had come close to killing Cat before she had been able
to retaliate, maybe Cat didn’t have much control over her power.
Rachel had heard theories that poltergeist activity and paranormal
mental abilities sometimes shared a symbiotic relationship with
strong emotion. Perhaps the power had been summoned by Cat’s
fear?

Cat resented Rachel. Hate was
another strong emotion.

The warning Rachel had received
on the staircase and the symbolism of the rune grew more ominous.
Cat hated Rachel, but she couldn’t accept that Cat could harm her
physically, yet the fear remained. Cat couldn’t be the monster.

Rachel rattled the door knocker
gently and waited. The end of the corridor was dark. Strange that
she couldn’t see the orange glow of city’s night sky. In fact it
was so dark it was hard to see where the corridor actually
finished. The fluorescent tube nearest that end of the corridor
flickered sporadically. It was so quiet on this level that she
could hear its ticking and rasping death rattle. Every time it
dimmed or winked out the corridor became shorter and the darkness
stepped closer. When it came back from nothing it was momentarily
brighter and Rachel could see further into the darkness beyond. She
could see legs. Someone was standing idly against a wall: waiting.
Though she only saw snatches of his profile in the bursts of light
she was sure his eyes were on her: watching. Probably someone was
having a cigarette outside their home. She couldn’t see the single
red-eye of a cigarette burning from the dark. His presence after
the warning woman and the symbols of the runes on the stairs fed
the sense of dread she carried inside her.

The door tore open and Rachel’s
world crashed suddenly into focus on Cat. For several long moments
they both stood in silence, Rachel’s hands trembled and emotion
tightened her throat and lips.

“
How did you get in?” Cat
demanded.

“
Kelly let me in…” Rachel
smiled as best as she could with her face feeling like it was
carved from stone.

“
Shouldn’t you be at her
door then and not mine?”

“
I came to see you. I got
Kelly to buzz me in because after this afternoon I didn’t think you
would let me in.”

“
You expect it to be
different now?”

Rachel dared to exert some
attitude. “I just walked up fourteen floors to get this far. I was
hoping for a little respite.” If she could get invited in then
maybe half the battle would be won.

“
I think you will find
gravity makes it easier going down,” Cat stated pointing in that
direction.

Rachel’s resolve faltered and
she slumped. Did Cat hate her so much? “Cat. If it wasn’t for me
and my friends being there at the hospital this afternoon we most
likely wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.” Her tone held
a balance of force and authority. She watched Cat break eye-contact
as her resolve seemed to wane and consider Rachel’s point. Rachel
wanted to keep her locked in the stand off, hoping she could defeat
her, but she took advantage of the break in the stare-down for a
brief look for the man that hung at the edge of the shadow.

Cat caught her and followed her
look, and when their eyes locked again something had changed in her
face; she appeared uncertain. Cat glanced back into the shadows at
the end of the corridor and then, still looking distracted and
transfixed by the dark she stood close to her door to make room for
Rachel to enter her flat. Rachel didn’t bother to confirm if that
was indeed what the gesture meant and moved into the hall of Cat’s
flat. After a few seconds Cat followed Rachel in and shut the door
behind her, although the way her eyes darted between Rachel and the
door it was clear that she was still distracted by the watcher. Cat
folded her arms and sniffed coolly. “Okay. You have five minutes to
explain.”

One door down from Cat’s flat,
Maureen Brooke clambered back into her bed. She had just read her
nightly ten pages of the good book when she had heard the sound of
a neighbour’s door knocker being rattled. She heard the comings and
goings in the corridor clearly because she made sure all the doors
between her and her front door were open. She liked to listen out
for people in the corridor. She had gotten out of bed to see who
might be calling on her neighbour Catherine – Catherine was too
nice a name to bastardise to Cat as Catherine liked to do). Maureen
recognised the visitor as the queer lady who came looking for
Catherine the day before. The woman had taken to a funny turn in
the lounge. Not only were the two women not close, but judging by
the frosty reception the woman received for Catherine they didn’t
get on at all.

Maureen would call in on
Catherine tomorrow and give her back the key she had taken the
night she had been taken ill. She would have to explain about the
cat running away. Was the poor lil kitten safe? It would be in her
prayers that it finds a loving home.
Not
with Catherine though. It would be better
off with someone who could give it a stable home. Pets needed the
same commitment from its owners as children needed from their
parents. Catherine was too young to be a responsible owner. The day
after Catherine had been admitted to hospital Maureen had let
herself into her flat, after all it wasn’t often you had the
opportunity to find out what your neighbours were truly like. She
had not found the drugs she suspected she would find, not that she
needed any evidence of drug taking beyond Catherine’s ‘episode’.
She had, however, found a packet of contraceptive sheaths in her
bedside drawer.

Flavoured.

Yes. She would pray that the
poor kitten would find a new home. One that wouldn’t have men
coming and going. A family home or some lone person who was not
looking to spend their affections elsewhere. She remembered the
sweet smell of the contraceptives and she suddenly wanted a
pear-drop. She plucked one from the bag next to her bed and sucked
it with relish.

Maureen straightened her
nightdress under her and smoothed the blankets out on top of her.
Neat bed, neat dreams. She turned her table lamp off and settled
into her pillow. She rattled the bulbous sweet around her mouth and
checked the time the red digits of her alarm clock displayed. If
she heard Catherine’s guest leave she would check the time again,
see how long the visit had been. The look on Catherine’s face gave
Maureen the impression her guest would not be staying long. She
would ask after Catherine’s late-caller when she returned the key
and see if she might elaborate.

She had always used the
spy hole if she heard voices or movement from beyond the confines
of her flat, and after recent events she didn’t like leaving her
home and the distorted fish-eye lens on the world had been visited
more often. She had enough food for another day but the milk was
going sour. It was unlike Phyllis, who normally got her groceries,
to not come up from her floor and see if Maureen needed any
shopping brought in. She had been disappointed at being forgotten,
but now the sudden break of routine worried her, she might have
taken to hiding away like herself or…
she
didn’t want to think about it.
Too many bad things had
happened in the flats without
thinking
the worst as well. The prospect of
having to go out into the corridors to search out her friend out
was daunting. She was now more focussed on the threat within the
building than the menace the outside world had once
represented.

The door knocker rattled
firmly, and this time the noise frightened her because this time it
was her door knocker. She tutted to herself around her sweet. There
was no way she would open the door at this time of night. The red
digits of her clock trembled with her. She slapped the clock gently
but the display stopped flickering on its own. The knocker sounded
again, but harder this time, rattling the door and her heart in her
chest.

Her eyes suddenly stung,
and she had to blink and squint against the light from her bedside
lamp that had somehow switched on of its own accord. She jolted and
swallowed her pear-drop as the alarm clock suddenly
unleashed
Classic FM
much
louder than she would ever normally have it. The almost whole sweet
made a slow and painful descent down her windpipe with the funerary
sweeps of Beethoven’s
Symphony No. 7 in
A
cramming itself in her ears. She fumbled with the
clocks controls with trembling hands and killed the music, her
heart in her throat and the pear-drop still sinking. She couldn’t
help thinking the light and the clock were trying to give away her
presence to her unwanted and persistent caller. She snapped the
light off and pressed herself back into her pillow, clamped her
eyes shut, snatched breaths through taut lips, and clasped the
sheets up to her chin. She was instantly still.