He Lives in the Wall

He Lives in the Wall Part 5

My chest rose and sunk. Each breath, long and drawn. The large green eyes staring back at me from behind the wall blinked. I gasped. I fumbled around for my phone and shone it on the hole in the wall. Sure enough, the owner of the eyes didn't attempt to move. They just stayed where they were, as if they wanted me to notice. And the eyes. Oh, the eyes. The circular black depths retracted like a cat's.

Fascination superseded terror. No matter how frightened, I couldn't help but stare back at what stared at me. I neither attempted to cover my eyes or run. Besides, I feared whatever rested behind the wall wanted its prey to run.

'W-what—who are you?' I asked. I received no reply. I wondered if it had a mouth; surely there must be more than just a pair of eyes. 'Haven't you got a voice? You must have a voice, otherwise I wouldn't have heard you sobbing and groaning.' Still, the phantom-creature behind the wall failed to reply. I was beginning to feel nervous. I grabbed my phone and jacket, and decided I would leave the house.

I stood at the corner of the road and telephoned my parents' office. Their secretary answered. All I wanted to do is speak with my mother but their secretary, Doris, babbled on about how grown-up I sounded. Eventually she buzzed for my mother.

'What is it, Austen,' she asked.

'Mum, can I catch a bus over to you,' I asked.

'Why, honey? What's wrong?'

'Well, it's the w—I just thought I could come and have lunch with you and dad.'

'Hmm, honey, I'm not sure.'

'Why not? You wanted me to join you, earlier.'

'Yes, I know, son. But we've been called to attend a meeting in London, this afternoon, and we won't be back until late. With that bump on your head and everything. . . '

I ended the call.

I checked for my wallet in my jacket and waited for the next bus into town. The vibrations of the journey began to produce a headache as I rested my head on the window. The bus was crammed with passengers, and the sweet old lady sitting next to me offered me her concern; she noticed the pathetic war-wound on the side of my head.

Once I disembarked, I headed for the home improvement store. I searched around for Bob, but could only see a young female, no older than I, standing behind the counter. She had the darkest black hair, obviously out of a bottle, and goth-type clothes. She also had her nose pierced, and a chain led from her nostril ring to her ear.

'I-is Bob here?' I asked.

'Not today, I'm afraid,' she answered, in between uncouth chews on her bubble gum. I gazed at her name badge.

'Where is he? Is he okay?' I asked. 'Do you know when he'll be back?'

Carly, that's her name, laughed. 'Whoa, slow down. Who are you—his dad?'

My pride kinda got wounded. 'No, I'm, I'm just a friend.'

Carly laughed again. 'You? A friend? A friend of Bob's?'

'Y-es.'

'Then, how come I've never seen you around here before?'

''Cos you've never been working in here when I've come in.'

Carly shrugged her shoulders. 'That makes sense. Besides, I've only been working here a month.'

'So, where is Bob?'

'It's his day off?'

'Will he be back in tomorrow?'

'I guess so.'