Bellman Tower

Chapter 5

I set the easel up on the grey stones and take out my paints and assortments of brushes. I begin with the background, which is a murky grey. It's not bright out today and only a few rays of white sunshine are visible. I paint in the dark clouds; there's not much, just three or four. I test out a couple of colours before settling on a bright yet off white sunlight colour to shine through the dark sky like a ray of hope in a dark mist of failure.

Time passes as I stroke the brushes across the canvas, trying to capture the house in as much of it's best light as I can. I want to make the house the epicentre, the focus of the picture so I make the background and the surroundings blend into each other a little. They stand out, but not as much as the house.

I make the ivy curling up the walls a mossy green, the hedge a mixture of greens and white and the paving stones different shades of grey to add a little texture. The sun is setting when I finish and finally stand back, my clothes splattered with paint as I gaze down with pride at my finished canvas. As I look on at the painting, wondering if there's anything I've done wrong, Aunt and Uncle suddenly appear beside me.

"Nikki!" Aunt squeals, "Have you painted that yourself?"

"Erm... yeah. I did. I just finished it, actually." I squirm uncomfortably.

"It's amazing! Mrs Rolleston-Jones would love to see it! Why don't you take it down there with Shaun?"

"I'm not so sure. I mean, I was only messing around..." Art is my personal hobby, not one I share with others. Especially others who are complete strangers I know absolutely nothing about.

"I demand it." Aunt snaps, "I'll just call Shaun over."

Aunt and Uncle skip back towards the house. I sigh and take the dry canvas from the easel, popping it on the floor. I fold the easel up, tuck both the painting and the easel under my arm and begin to walk in the same direction.

I shiver, realising the temperature has suddenly dropped. Then I hear it. The wind picks up and begins to whistle eerily, then my ears are filled with whispering. I can't make out what is actually being said. My heartbeat thuds erratically and I look around for the source of the whispering. I whirl around wildly, the wind whipping my hair this way and that. My breath becomes laboured and I look up towards the house. In the attic window is Trevor, banging on the pane, looking terrified. His eyes are wide, his mouth open in a soundless scream, tears running down his face. I can't move for a second and then the easel and painting drop from my hands.

I sprint up the slope into the house, wrenching the door open and thundering up the stairs. I crack open the door and go up the attic stairs quietly, so as not to arouse suspicion between Aunt and Uncle. The whispering is quieter now. I swallow and then burst through the attic door.

It's empty. The room is empty. I walk forward and go over to the window, my heart hammering in my chest, "Trevor?"

I look out of the window. I can see my abandoned painting and easel clearly from here.

"Trevor?"

There's no sign of him anywhere. Beads of sweat are still breaking out on my forehead and I feel as if I've run a marathon. Where is Trevor? Where has he gone? What happened to him? Why was he so scared?

"Trevor?" I call, "Trevor, it's me! It's me, Nikki!" No reply. Not even a whisper. I turn back to the window and press my hand against the pane. A shot of electricity shoots up my palm.

"Ow!" I clutch my hand. Static electricity. How can that happen? Then I hear Aunt calling.

"Nikki! Nikki!"

I creep down the stairs to the second floor and into my bedroom. I count to five and then leave it again, standing in front of the staircase.

"Yeah?" I say.