28 Clover Lane

Chapter 5

10:27pm. Nathan went home half an hour ago and I'm sat on my bed, trying to concentrate on the language of John Steinbeck in his novel Of Mice and Men. Mum still isn't back. I don't expect her to be.

11:43pm. It's late, time I went to bed. But how can I sleep? My homework is the one thing that takes my mind off the whole business, because I'm concentrating on something else. I carry on making notes in my English book as the minutes tick on.

12:02pm. Okay, now I'm really tired. I tidy my books and papers away and head downstairs. The clock is ticking in the living room, making the house seem less eerie and silent. I push the steel key into the front door and twist it until it clicks, then push the little bolt across the latch above the handle. If mum comes back in the night she'll have to wait outside until the morning; I'm not sleeping with the door unlocked. I walk into the kitchen and a little green light catches my eye. The dishwasher; I'd completely forgotten. The light is next to the word 'Finish'. I switch the electric off and the light goes out. I'll unload it tomorrow. I pour myself a glass of water and walk back up the stairs. It doesn't take long for me to pull my clothes off and slip on my oversized night shirt before I climb into bed. The sheets feel cold, like they always do when you first get into them. I switch off the bedside lamp and the room is plunged into darkness, except for a small grid of light on the carpet shining in through the Venetian blinds from the streetlamp outside. I close my eyes and am surprised to feel how heavy they are. It doesn't take me long to fall into a deep sleep.

A noise downstairs wakes me up. My alarm clock reads 1:12am, but it feels later. My eyes are so tired I have to close them again. I'm asleep in minutes.

The noise again. My eyelids flash open to see the 1:19am on my alarm clock. I can't put my finger on what the noise is; I've heard it before but I can't think what it could be. I listen into the darkness. Silence.

I hear it again. Now I know what it is. I sit bolt upright in bed, my eyes trying to adjust to the blackness of my room. The noise was the floorboard downstairs in the living room. The floorboard that only creaks when someone stands on it. Someone's in the house.

Mum?

No, I locked the front door. If it was mum she would be bashing on the door for me to let her in.

I grab my small silk cardigan at the bottom of the duvet and pull it around me before creeping out of my bedroom. The landing is still and dark. I check mum's room but the bed's still empty, the photo album where I left it. I tip-toe down the stairs, my eyes locked on the living room door. I get to the hallway and I'm about to cross to the door when something catches my eye. The bolt, the bolt above the door handle, the bolt that I locked last night, has been slid open. I shiver. The house suddenly feels freezing cold. I look around me, over my shoulder, into the shadows of the hallway. No-one's there. I reach out my hand to try the door. I grasp the handle, push it down - and it carries on moving down, the lock isn't stopping it, the front door's opening, the door that I locked last night - the key's even in the same place I left it, the cold air is rushing in from outside and I slam it shut in shock.

Someone's broken into the house and they're in the living room.