Katy Parker and the House that Cried (2 page)

Katy took a deep breath to calm herself and hurried excitedly to room 76 as instructed in The Card. She still couldn't believe it. Could Tom Austin really want to meet her? Trembling all over and with butterflies swirling in her tummy, she took a deep breath, crossed her fingers for luck and entered the room.

He wasn't there. Disappointment and relief flooded over her. Checking her watch she saw she was a few minutes early so she dropped her bag on the ground and sat down on a desk in nervous anticipation, legs swinging, waiting to see what would happen next.

The room was ominously quiet. Not a sound could be heard except for the slow steady ticking of the clock on the classroom wall. Katy had just decided to give up and leave, when she heard a noise coming from the stock room. The door was slightly ajar and it definitely sounded as if something was scuffling around inside. Then, she heard an unmistakeable snort of muffled laughter. Silently sliding down from the table, Katy tiptoed over to the door and flung it open.

To her horror, she found Patrick and his group of cronies doubled over in fits of laughter, enjoying her obvious embarrassment.

“Katy loves Tom!” sang Patrick in a silly voice. “Waiting for someone important were you?” he asked, an expression of pure malice on his face.

Katy tried to hide The Card, quickly slipping it into her pocket, but too late – Patrick had seen.

“Did you really think someone like Tom Austin would be interested in you?” he jeered.

Consumed by humiliation and fury, Katy picked up her school bag and swung it at Patrick, hitting him hard in the stomach.

“I hate you!”
she shouted, as Patrick winced, obviously winded, but trying to appear unhurt.

Turning to leave, she saw in dismay that a group of onlookers had gathered at the classroom door to witness her shame.

“You'll be sorry. I'll get you back! Just wait and see,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

Aware of the tears welling up in her eyes, Katy began frantically pushing her way through the crowd, desperate not to be seen crying. She ran for the safety of the girls' toilets, locked herself in a cubicle and then promptly burst into tears. She remembered a time
when Patrick had been her partner in crime, before he'd turned into a monster whose greatest pleasure in life seemed to be annoying her.

Moments later, the door to the toilets opened and Katy heard Lizzie's voice call, “Come out, Katy. I heard what happened.”

Reluctantly, Katy slid back the bolt and opened the door. “I hate him. I knew he was planning something because I got him grounded. But how could he be so mean?”

Lizzie passed Katy a tissue and squeezed her arm. “Try and forget about it. Don't let him see he's upset you.”

“OK,” sniffed Katy, wiping her tear-stained face, “but you've got to help me get my own back. He'll live to regret this.”

Lizzie sighed. “Alright. Let's see what we can plot in History.”

* * * *

Katy enjoyed History. She loved being transported back in time and often imagined herself as a heroine in different historical settings. Her current favourite was being a spy sent behind enemy lines
during the Second World War to foil some evil Nazi plot.

Katy sat with Lizzie as they listened to Mr Oakley outline their work. “Your project this half term is to investigate the Home Front during the Second World War.” The usual moans and groans followed the announcement that they were getting work to do during half term. Ignoring this, Mr Oakley continued, “Try and find out what life was really like for people living in Knutsburry at the time. You can research it on the web and use the local library but it'd be really good if you could interview any locals who might have lived through the time and record their memories. There's a prize for the best project.”

“Let's try and find out about Willow Dene,” said Katy. “It's been abandoned since the Second World War.”

“Isn't it meant to be haunted?” asked Lizzie.

“Yeah, on Halloween everyone dares each other to knock on the door. Last year the door is meant to have swung open on the third knock and they could hear a small child crying and calling out for its mummy.”

“That's horrible,” breathed Lizzie. “Do you think it's true?”

“My mum says it's just a rumour that's been going around for years, ever since she was little. The owners probably started it to scare kids and stop them trespassing.”

“If we interview locals about the war someone is bound to know what happened at Willow Dene and if it's really haunted. Let's start interviewing on Saturday,” said Lizzie.

Katy squealed with excitement, “I've got it! The perfect revenge! Let's go to Willow Dene on Saturday and take Patrick with us. We can trick him into thinking the ghost is real!”

“But how?” asked Lizzie. “He'll never believe that.”

Leaning closer, Katy began to whisper her plan. “Dad is away this weekend and Mum is working on Saturday so I'm stuck with Patrick. I'll suggest we go and investigate. He won't be able to resist, especially if I make out he's too scared.”

“But how will we get inside?” said Lizzie.

“I've heard that the side door is unlocked. We could give that a try.”

“I'm not sure,” Lizzie hesitated. “I don't want to get into trouble.”

“Don't worry, it's been empty for years. No one lives there and it's not as if we're going to cause any damage,” said Katy, persuasively.

“But I still don't see how we can make him think there's a ghost.”

Katy stared into space concentrating hard, then smiled slyly as an idea began to take shape. “We'll download the sound of a crying child onto your phone. You slip into a room ahead of us, leaving it timed to come on a few minutes later. We'll send Patrick into the room on his own, just before the crying starts. He'll be terrified!” said Katy, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

“Oh you are
nasty
Katy Parker! That's a great plan. Right, let's make a start on the front cover of our project,” said Lizzie reaching up and getting a piece of coloured paper. “What shall we call it?”

“How about,
The House That Cried,”
said Katy dramatically, already beginning to draw large jagged capital letters and colouring them in blood red.

The bell rang, signalling the end of the school day. “I've got to go and get some stuff from my locker. See you on the bus,” said Katy.

“OK. I'll try and save you a seat but be quick,” said Lizzie, heading for the door.

Climbing on to the bus a few minutes later, Katy looked around for Lizzie and spotted her sandwiched in on the back seat, with no room near her. Scanning the bus for a spare seat, Katy saw to her dismay that the only remaining seat was next to her horrible little brother, who was using it for his precious guitar. With a hard stare on her face, Katy walked over to him. “Move it,” she demanded, pointing at the guitar. Realising Katy was in no mood to be messed with, Patrick pulled the guitar onto his lap. Desperate to avoid eye contact, they both sat in stony silence. Katy stared out of the window, waiting to see the old abandoned house.

Willow Dene was a large detached house, painted butter yellow with a deep crimson front door. It reminded Katy of a doll's house. It sat back from the road – a forbidding, high, yew hedge hid both house and garden from clear view – but from her vantage point on the bus Katy was able to peer over the hedge. The front garden looked like it might once have been an ornate rose garden. In a far corner, in the shade of a large weeping willow,
stood a long abandoned swing and slide. Wrought iron gates stood imposingly at the entrance to the garden but Katy had never seen anyone going through them.

Turning to Patrick, she decided to sow the seeds of her revenge plan. “Mum is working on Saturday and Dad will be away all weekend so I've got to look after you. Bet you're too scared to come and investigate Willow Dene. Lizzie and I are going to see if there's really a crying ghost child.”

Patrick didn't answer right away. Katy could see that he was torn between a desire to see inside the mysterious old house and a fear of what they might encounter if they did.

“OK, count me in. I'm not scared. It's just an old house . . . Nothing to be worried about.”

Katy hid her smile and the rest of the journey passed in silence as she thought about the coming Saturday and their planned trip to the mysterious
House That Cried
.

* * * *

Saturday morning arrived and Katy waited excitedly for Lizzie so they could discuss tactics. They had to
execute the plan perfectly to give Patrick the fright of his life. At exactly ten o'clock, the doorbell rang and Katy rushed to answer it. The girls grinned at each other and then bounded up the stairs, two at a time, to Katy's bedroom.

“Is it safe to talk?” whispered Lizzie.

“Yeah, Patrick's downstairs glued to the TV and Mum has already gone to work.”

Giggling, Lizzie pulled her phone out of her bag and said, “Listen to this – I downloaded it last night.”

The phone emitted the eerie sound of a young child crying and desperately calling for its mummy; the chilling sound sent goosebumps up and down Katy's neck.

“That's horrible – but perfect. He'll be terrified when he hears it. We should be able to creep in the front gate, then get in by the side door. It's hidden by some overgrown bushes so no one will see us.”

“I'm still not sure,” said Lizzie. “You don't think it's a bit mean, do you?”

“No!” exclaimed Katy indignantly. “He deserves this. Let's scare him on the way there by telling spooky stories.”

“OK, if you're sure,” replied Lizzie, sounding a bit doubtful. “We'd better get going or we'll miss the bus.”

Everything went according to plan to begin with. They managed to get through the gate and up the path to the side entrance of the house without being noticed.

As they reached the door, Katy suddenly felt nervous; what if they were caught? What would happen to them? Would the owner understand a harmless practical joke on an annoying little brother? She took a deep breath, pushed the door with her shoulder and turned the door handle at the same time. The door slid silently open. The silence pressed in around them as they nervously stepped inside.

It felt as if they had been transported back in time, the real world fading like a distant memory. Inside, the house looked as if time had stood still. The calendar on the wall in front of them was open to May 1942, and the 15
^th
was circled in red.

“Weird,” said Katy, “that's today's date. May 15
^th
. I wonder why it's been circled.”

Lizzie took a step backwards. “That's a bit strange, us being here on the day marked on the calendar. Do you think it's an omen? That dark forces have
brought us here?” She gave a nervous giggle and reached out to grab hold of Katy's arm.

The trio slowly took in their surroundings. They were in the living room of Willow Dene. It looked like a set from one of the old films Katy liked to watch if she was off sick from school.

Facing a large open fireplace stood a faded, well-worn, brown, velvet couch with two matching armchairs. Each had a cream, lacy square of material across the back where your head would rest. Next to the fire stood a coal scuttle. The fire had been laid, ready to light. There was even a box of matches on the hearth. On the mantelpiece sat a large clock, ticking loudly, and next to it stood a pair of white china dogs. In the corner of the room stood an enormous wooden cabinet with big knobs on it.

“I know what that is,” said Lizzie, walking over to the huge piece of furniture and running her hand over the smooth dark wood. “It's a radiogram. People used to listen to the radio and play records with them. Do you think it still works?”

Patrick finally spoke up in a quivering voice, “Have you noticed that everything is really clean
and polished? Apart from the fact that it's in a time warp, it looks as if someone still lives here. I think we should go.”

He looked at his watch, then put it to his ear. “That's weird. My watch says six o'clock; it said the right time a minute ago. What time do you make it?”

Both Katy and Lizzie looked down at their watches, then at each other in surprise, both saying in unison, “Six o'clock.”

Right on cue, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed. Startled by the noise, they all looked over to the fireplace.

“What's going on?” breathed Katy, softly.

“I don't believe it,” said Lizzie, sounding nervous.

They looked again at their own watches and then at the clock on the mantelpiece. All four now read exactly six o'clock.

“This place is really starting to scare me,” said Katy. “Let's have a quick look round and then get out of here.”

Shivering, Lizzie nodded in agreement whilst hugging herself and rubbing her arms vigorously.

“What's happened now?” she said. “It's freezing. It was nice and warm a minute ago.”

Before anyone had a chance to reply, they all stopped dead in their tracks as they heard a door slam loudly. The three of them looked at one another, open-mouthed in fright.

“What was –” Katy started to say, when an eerie noise silenced her: quiet at first and hard to make out but gradually getting louder and louder. It seemed to be coming from upstairs. Katy could hear the sound of a weeping child, quickly followed by desperate cries for mummy. For what seemed like an eternity, all three stood frozen to the spot, hearts pounding, barely able to breathe. Then, suddenly, as if released from a spell, they turned and ran outside, slamming the door shut behind them.

They didn't stop running until they reached the end of the street and the shelter of the bus stop. Patrick had moved beyond terrified. His face had turned a sickly shade of white and he could hardly speak as he visibly shook from head to foot.