Haunting of Lily Frost (15 page)

I'm tempted to respond and tell her about kissing Danny, but since I offended him at the river, I don't have much to say about it. When I get home, Mum's in the kitchen, wearing a gingham apron, with frills. Please. She's got the handheld electric mixer going full pelt so I try to sneak past with just a wave for a conversation, but I'm unlucky today. She flicks the switch off, and stops me before I can make it through.

‘How was school?'

‘Great. I learnt this much.' And I hold my arms as far apart as possible.

‘Why do you have to do that, Lil?'

‘What? Learn?'

‘No. Be sarcastic about everything. Be such a teenager.'

‘I am. A teenager, that is. I'm trying to be true to myself, Mum.'

‘Are you this sarcastic with friends?'

‘Friend. You overestimate my popularity.'

‘You have friends.'

‘Some. A few. But they're a long way away, Mum. You guys saw to that.'

‘Oh get over it, Lil.'

‘Right. Thanks for our little chat.' I turn to leave, but she, honestly, holds up the beaters with cream or cake mix or something white and gooey dripping off them and stops me.

‘Your father and I are out tonight, so just make sure Max is in bed at a reasonable time.'

‘Like six?'

‘Lil –'

‘Sorry, but I'm a bit surprised you've actually found somewhere to go.'

‘We're going to try the Chinese.'

‘Oh goody.'

‘We won't be late,' she says, as the mixture starts dropping from the beaters and she quickly grabs the bowl.

‘No. I'm sure you won't. It probably shuts at nine.'

‘Okay, that's enough.'

‘Can you bring me home some of those little prawn crackers? I like the way they dissolve on your tongue.'

She sighs, turns her beaters back on, and that's the end of it. Apparently Gideon's so precious now that we can't even make fun of it.

Walking back up the stairs to my attic, I have this uncomfortable feeling that something's wrong. I reach the door, push it with my fingertips, and it swings back. Nothing unusual. I step in. Okay, these feelings are just silly leftover thoughts. But my left foot hits the ground, slides across the wet floorboards and I almost fall over.

I flick on the light. It sputters and fills the room with a bright glare then flickers off. I try again, on, off, but the bulb must have blown. Anyway, I don't need the light to know what I saw. The long line of muddy, watery footprints snaking their way across the floor. They stopped at the carved letters. Great. Just when I force myself to accept the fact that all the weird stuff happening in my room is coincidence.

I charge downstairs, yelling, ‘Max, did you just go into my room?'

His voice floats back. ‘Nah.'

‘You sure?'

‘Yeah. I'm sure.' He's lying on his bed reading. It's some stupid fart gag book that he loves reading over and over. He's still got his socks on. So unless he walked around my room with wet feet, then ran downstairs and put his socks back on, it can't have been him.

‘Where's Dad?'

‘Dunno.'

Just as Max answers me, the pipes in the house groan. That's what they do when someone's having a shower or a bath.

Dad's sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed except for his feet, and he's running the corner of the towel around each of his toes.

‘Wash all the mud off, Dad?'

‘Mud?'

‘Yeah. You walked through my room and left footprints.'

‘No, honey.'

‘You sure?'

He looks up at me and frowns. ‘I'm sure.'

‘Right. Okay, then. Maybe it was Mum.'

‘Don't think so. Your mum's been in the kitchen the whole time, trying to perfect some lemon cake recipe she was given when she joined the library van.'

‘Library van?'

‘Yeah. There's no library in town, so once a week a library van drives in with books in the back. You jump on board and borrow them.'

‘Great. A library van,' I say.

So unless they're all lying to me, no one has walked through my room with muddy footprints.

‘How you going, Lil? Happier?'

‘Oh yeah. Loving every minute.'

‘Glad to see you didn't leave your spirit back in the old house.'

Why would Dad say something like that unless he knows something weird's going on? I almost pounce on him. ‘So do you believe that? That people can leave their old spirit behind?'

He looks up, stops drying his foot and smiles. ‘What are you talking about? I meant your fine art of sarcastic retorts.'

I'm losing it. I can't believe I actually thought Dad was talking about spirits. ‘Oh, yeah, course you did. Sorry.'

‘Lil, is everything—'

‘Yes, Dad. Fine. Thanks.'

I back out of his room before he can ask me something I really don't want to talk about, like why there are muddy footprints in my room. As much as I don't want to go upstairs, I've got no choice. Each step I take, the air around me gets colder, until it's almost freezing at the top. I'm forcing myself to believe it means nothing, so I go into my room, hit the light switch just in case and this time, it turns on. What? Must be the old wiring in this house.

But the prints are still there, so I wasn't imagining it. And they are very muddy. Like someone's traipsed through – but there's something on the ground near my bed. It's one of the ribbons from under the bridge. Not the pink one that I picked up – it's blue. And it's lying on the letters carved into the floor.

It's a message for me. I'm not sure what it means. I really don't want to know, but the ribbon, the muddy footprints and the letters all point to one thing. Somebody's trying to tell me about Tilly Rose and the river, and they're forcing me to listen.

10

back at the river

Grabbing the hoodie in case I'm cold, I run. Out of our house and across the road, not bothering to check for cars, because there won't be any. I reach the big football oval. The grass is spongy and soft, not like any oval I've run across. Ours all had fake grass, but this is cool and damp. Of course it's empty, except for one of those old-fashioned sprinklers that spray my legs with water as I run past.

I slide down behind the oval, and run through the picnic ground. As I dash past one particularly tall tree, I trip, and crash down onto the track. I don't understand it. There's nothing for me to trip on. Is it a sign? Should I be down here alone?

The air drops as soon as I step onto the dirt track. I'm glad that Julia didn't take the hoodie back, because I sort of like having it with me. The zip's had it, so I must have broken it last night but it's still warmer than nothing.

I'm sure I'm being watched, but I can't see anything except trees.
As I reach a bend in the track, I see them. More muddy footprints on the ground. I start running, dodging them when I can. I know I'm following them, like Hansel and Gretel's trail of breadcrumbs. I also know where they're headed: back to the bridge.

The enormous tree trunk has gone. The stump's still there, but chainsaws have been and shifted the rest of the evidence, leaving only piles of fluffy sawdust. I keep running, desperate to reach the bridge, but as I round the final bend, I stop dead. There's a girl about my age standing in the middle of the track. Her hair is long and draped down across her shoulders, and she's looking at the ground. Maybe she's lost something, because she seems confused. I try smiling, but I'm too far away for her to see me properly, and anyway she's not even looking at me. So I wave and call out.

Usually when someone, even a stranger says hello to you, you look up, even if you don't want to talk to them, but she doesn't move. I step closer, but I can't see her face through the thick screen of hair and there's something about the way she stands that makes me feel threatened. ‘Hello. Are you okay?'

As soon as I've spoken, she staggers like she's drunk, and then in one sweep, she starts moving towards me, her feet almost drifting along the ground. My whole body jolts backwards. It's like she's been waiting for me. She holds out her hands and I see the water that's dripping from her bare arms and her skin seems almost blue. I know it's ridiculous. No one's got blue skin unless maybe she fell in the river. It must be freezing in there. I start walking towards her.

I call out, ‘I can help you—'

Suddenly she stops, lifts her head and her eyes bore down on me from fifteen metres away. Those eyes. That face – I know it.

I keep walking, I know I shouldn't. Every part of my body is telling me to turn and run, but I can't. I have to see her. I have to know she's okay.

‘Tilly?' I whisper because it doesn't make any sense. What would she be doing back down at the river?

Her hair is matted with dirt and sticks. And her feet are bare and cut. As I stare at her, the terrifying thought hits me. She's dead. And she's come for me.

I turn to run, but before I can, she's there. Suddenly behind me, all ragged nails, skin peeling and bulging eyes. Her wet hands grab my arms and I start screaming.

‘Go away. Leave me alone.
Go!
' I keep screaming and she's so close, the cold's unbearable, her freezing fingers are like handcuffs around my wrists. ‘Let me go!'

I wrench at her, pulling my arms away, but she's so strong and her face is so angry, tortured, so terrifying. ‘Please – Tilly – leave me
alone!
'

She cocks her head to one side and there's no skin across her cheek; just a jagged hole through the flesh. I'm going to vomit. I'm gone – and then she drops my hands, and walks right through me. Like I'm not there. My whole body is rigid with cold. I'm shaking. My breathing's crazy and erratic.

As I spin round to see where she is, what she's up to, there's a flash right behind me, something hits me and I'm down.

As I wake, it takes a second to work out where I am. I'm still on the track, down near the river. I'm freezing and my head's pounding as I try to stand up. I rub at it and feel a lump, hard and tender right on the back; it must have happened when I fell. I go to pull the hoodie around me and it's gone. I'm just in a t-shirt and my arms are cold to touch. Then I remember her. Tilly Rose. Did she hit me? All I can remember is seeing her. But it can't be her. She isn't dead. She's just missing.

I keep chanting this to myself as I run down the track, terrified of the darkness that's sprung up and makes shadows leap along around me. Ghosts aren't real. Tilly Rose isn't dead. It was all just my imagination. I check my phone. I've been gone from the house for two hours and there are seven missed calls from Ruby. I'm in so much trouble, because how on earth can I explain what's just happened to anyone? I'm expecting Mum to be pretty angry with me when I make it home.

It's darker here than it is in the city, because there are no streetlights. As I walk up to our house, I sort of hope she's pacing around with dinner burning and Dad trying to calm her down. My head really hurts and I want a bit of a circus. Some noise and fuss. Anything to escape thinking about the river and Tilly. But there's no sign of anyone in the house. There aren't even any lights on and when I knock no one comes. Luckily my parents have already cut me a spare key, so I dig deep and force it into the lock. The door doesn't spring open like it did the day Dad tried it, but at least it lets me in.

‘Mum? Dad?' It seems like no one's home. I turn on all the lights that I can find until the only dark left is squashed into the corners. ‘Max?'

I don't know why I keep calling out, but I'm hoping someone's fallen asleep in the dark and they'll suddenly spring up when they hear my voice. I creep into the kitchen, flick on the light and see a plate of food covered in foil sitting near the microwave. It's spag bol. Is it for me? Must be. Thanks, Mum. I'm starving, so I don't even bother heating it up. Shovelling it in, I wonder again where my family is. I look for a note, but there isn't one. We've never been the sort of family that communicates on the fridge. Ruby and her mum go for days without really seeing each other, but they leave notes and messages and they both know where the other one is all the time. I was jealous for a while. It seemed so sophisticated, like living with a flatmate instead of a mother, but Ruby hates it. She always comes to my place just to have a family dinner and a conversation with adults, because she gets lonely. Except now that we've moved.

My head is really starting to ache. I hope it's not concussion.

I don't want to ring Mum, because she'll yell. Or go quiet and that's even worse – especially on the phone, because then you have to fill in the silences and try to imagine what she's thinking. But I don't have much choice. If they're out looking for me, they'll be worried and it's better if they know I'm okay.

Mum's phone is off. That's not unusual. She often forgets to charge it and then can't ring it to find it. Then it stays lost for days until she remembers it's in her handbag or a jacket pocket. Once she yelled at Max and me for ages before school, because she couldn't find her phone and she needed it before dropping us off. We could all hear it ringing, but no one knew where it was coming from. Finally Max said it sounded like it was on her. And she looked down into her knee-high boot and realised it had fallen inside and was ringing against her leg and she hadn't felt it through her jeans. We still tease her about it now.

I try Dad. He always answers. But his phone's off too. And Max doesn't have one, so I can't contact him. It's all too much. Where would they disappear to at 7.30 at night? I'm worried something bad's happened.

I don't want to go upstairs on my own, but maybe they're playing hide and seek. I climb the stairs and in the attic, the footprints have dried. There's just smatterings of old mud and the outline of footprints like shadows. They make me shiver.

My phone rings and I snatch at it without checking who it is.

‘Lil?'

‘Rubes!'

‘Yeah. Where have you been?'

‘At the river. I think Tilly's dead.'

‘What?'

‘I'm pretty sure I just saw her ghost.'

‘Lil—'

‘I'm okay. I'm just – I can't find anyone. I came home and they're not here.'

‘You sure you're okay? You're sort of rambling.'

‘My head hurts. I'll call you later.'

‘Your head?'

‘I promise.' I hang up and the phone downstairs starts ringing. I race down the stairs.

‘Lil?'

‘Mum! Where are you? I was so worried – and I didn't know where you were – and—'

‘Honey, we're at the Chinese – remember?'

And then I do. I remember. I'm supposed to be looking after Max, and I'm supposed to be feeding him and making sure he's done his homework. And I'm in so much trouble.

‘Yeah, course, Mum. How's the food?'

‘It's interesting – not quite what we're used to, but it's fine. We'll be home soon. We're pretty much the only ones here! Can I talk to Max?'

‘Um – he's in the shower.'

‘Really? Max?'

My brother hates washing himself and will do anything to get out of it, including pay me to have his shower for him, because he doesn't want to waste water – but he doesn't want to wash either. I can make a dollar without having to do anything other than stand under hot water. Easy money.

‘Have a good night, Mum. We'll see you later.'

I hang up on her quickly, before she can ask me anything else or work out that I'm lying. I can't believe this is happening. I don't want to completely panic, but where could he be? I know my room's clear because I've already been up there. I look in the lounge, under the couch, behind the chair, just in case he's pretending we're still three. He's nowhere. There's no sign of him. He's not in his room, his shoes haven't been kicked under his bed and I can't find him.

I race out onto the street, hoping to see him dawdling along with a smile on his face and I can pay him to pretend he's been home with me all this time. But the street's as empty as it always is, and I don't know where to begin. When I left Max after school, he was home. So where could he have gone? Standing in the middle of the road I swing around in a circle, wondering which direction to head off in.

School is even more ominous at this time of night than during the day. I half expect Mrs Jarvis to skulk out, grab me on the back of the neck and interrogate me for hours. But it's empty. There's no one around. I can't see any stray boys Max's age down on the basketball court shooting hoops, so I keep walking. Mum and Dad will be home any second. They won't forgive me if something happens to Max. I've got to walk the long way around the main street so Mum and Dad don't see me passing the Chinese restaurant. I keep thinking about Tilly, and before I realise where I am, I'm back down near the oval. At least my headache has stopped. So it's not concussion.

It's eerie in the dark. Something swoops down overhead and I'm hoping it's a bat. If it's not, I don't want to know. It's crazy to come back after what happened this afternoon, but maybe Max followed me down here earlier. I'll find him, we'll race home, just before Mum and Dad come home with their little doggy bag of sweet and sour pork. That's my positive thought for the day. It might be a bit harder than that, but right now I'm not going to think about anything bad.

I just want to try something out. I close my eyes really tight and imagine Max's face. I can sort of see him laughing at some dumb joke Dad's told. Then I let go of my thoughts, like I'm meditating. I've never been very good at this, but I want to see where my mind goes if I'm not controlling it. Instead of seeing Max, though, I start to see Tilly. She flashes into my head and Max is gone. I'm hoping she'll lead me to him. Maybe she's like a guide or something, but then she plunges into water and all I can see are bubbles rushing up around her. Her hair tangles around her face and she's trying to say something, but I can't see her mouth. And then she's gone.

I almost scream when my phone goes. It's Ruby.

‘I've got to find Max. I'm supposed to be babysitting.'

‘Where is he?'

‘No idea.'

‘You sound a bit psycho.'

‘I am. Tilly's a ghost. Honestly, Ruby. It was terrifying. She walked right through the middle of me.'

‘But I thought—'

‘I know. I thought she'd just run away. That's what Danny said. But it's not true. She died. And I think she's trying to tell me something, something about the river, the place they used to go.'

‘Max wouldn't have followed you would he?'

‘Oh. Crap. He could have. Oh. Ruby, what have I done? What if—'

‘Just go and look for him. It'll be fine. Trust me.'

For a second I forget what I'm supposed to be doing, but then another bat flies over and squeals as it passes me and I remember Max. He's not on the oval. But even if he was here I couldn't see him anyway and I realise how stupid it was to race off without a torch. Away from the glow of the city lights it's so dark, somebody could wander off down the road, disappear into the blackness and only be found in the morning.

As I head through the picnic area, at least I feel like I know my way now. I just have to pretend I'm like a shadow, and can pass through the night undetected.

‘Max?' My voice sounds so alien in this place. ‘Max. It's Lil. Are you there?'

I can just make out the bridge, and the water is shining in the dark, like a giant eel. The river feels bigger and stronger than it did even a few hours ago, but it must be just the dark swelling it up and blurring its edges.