The Man With No Face (2 page)

I was rather smart at it, or lucky, that afternoon. I kept catching Colin, mostly by standing still and waiting for him to come face to face with me. That didn’t put him in a very good mood.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” he snapped, giving my hair a hard tug. “The afternoon’s not over yet. There’s still plenty of time for me to get even.”

I know that, whatever I was feeling, I wasn’t
looking
pleased with myself. Experience had taught me that Colin always became resentful if I was clearly happy, and when Colin became resentful he turned vicious.

After we’d had some sandwiches and washed them down with thin orange squash, and Colin had belched a few times
(to remind me that there were certain things that he could do much better than I could), he announced that we were going to have round two of Cops and Robbers.

“You can hide first,” he said, in a voice that sounded more like an order than a favour. It surprised me a bit as he always claimed that it was his turn, whether it was or not, but I wasn’t going to argue. I had a good place behind an old bookcase in mind.

I must admit that I always found this part of the game a bit scary. In the eerie silence I’d find myself imagining that I could hear other sounds-like a rat scratching or bones being crunched.

I crouched behind that bookcase for ages, waiting for the faint tell-tale sound that would let me know in which direction Colin was moving. To pick up the real clues you had to hold your breath and train your heart to stop thumping. Straight ahead of me, on the dirty brick wall, the faint shadows looked like headstones in a graveyard.

It was much longer than usual before I caught the first tiny squeak of Colin’s trainers, and then it seemed to come from an unexpected direction, near the foot of the steps-where there weren’t any decent hiding-places. I decided not to sneak a look round the corner in case he was trying to trick me into showing myself.

And then, suddenly, there was no need to hold my breath and stay frozen. There came the unmistakable clump of Colin’s feet pounding up the steps, followed by the
opening and slamming of the door. And then, almost immediately after, the dim bulb was switched off and I heard the sound of the key being turned in the lock.

At first a flush of panic swept through me and my heart pounded madly. I’d suffocate. The rats would get me. I’d starve to death. They’d never find my body and no one would ever know what had happened to me.

I took a deep breath and plucked up enough courage to feel my way over to the foot of the steps. Edging my way across wasn’t as easy as I’d imagined it
would be. I stubbed my toes, grazed my shin, knocked my elbow and winded myself against a sharp corner-but I eventually got there.

At the foot of the steps I paused for breath. Somewhere behind me, or perhaps it was only in my head, the rat was scrabbling again. I really was feeling nervous about the next bit. The steps were steep,
and narrow, and there was no handrail; and if you missed your footing and tumbled over the edge you’d probably break your head open on the concrete floor beneath.

The steps seemed to have got even narrower in the dark. I hesitated for a moment and then decided that the only way up was on hands and knees. I was so scared whenever my right hand reached forward and upwards and found nothing solid that I kept my left shoulder tightly pressed to the wall.