need to worry about Sandra, Dad and I are

  here to protect her now, thank you so much

  for…” I interrupt him; he has nothing to be

  thankful to me for, just as I have nothing to

  be thankful to Sandra for.

  “That’s fine Sam don’t worry, I’ve got to go,

  good luck with the case.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay Ryan?”

  “Yeah I’m fine but I think I may know who

  is doing this.”

  “You do?” Sam stares at me. I nod my head

  but don’t reply. “Who?” he asks.

  “I’m not quite sure to be honest. I need to do

  something to check.”

  194

  “Ryan I can help you.”

  “I don’t know if it is this person and if the

  police started sniffing around then we may

  not find them out, I’ll try and find out, just

  don’t watch me or tell anyone that I may

  know.”

  “Right. Well I’ll make out that we’ve not

  spoken about this then, have a good night

  Ryan.” We shake hands and I look to the trees

  again but the figure has disappeared.

  I run around to Mulberry Lane and stare

  down the road. Nobody is in sight; once again

  the road is as silent as a cemetery.

  I walk slowly towards my house watching

  Shola’s house and the Cann’s. It must be one

  of those two.

  As I stare at Shola’s I see movement within

  the house, the curtain twitches. I pause for a

  moment and walk past my house and

  continue to walk towards Shola’s.

  “Ryan!” Simon shouts from his house.

  The rain slaps the concrete, muffling his

  shouts and cries.

  “Ryan!” Simon shouts again.

  I stop walking and turn to him slowly and

  walk over to him.

  “What are you doing?” Simon asks.

  “Just walking.”

  “Well you shouldn’t be walking around alone;

  anyone could be out here, especially the

  murderer.” Simon says in a monotone.

  “You’re right. Simon I need to talk to you

  about something, it’s really important.” I say.

  “Right, go ahead.”

  195

  “As odd as this may sound, I think I know

  who is committing these murders. I think it is

  someone who lives on this road.”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  “It’s Shola.”

  “Shola? The man in that shed of a house

  there.” Simon says staring at the house.

  “Yes. Things have been happening to me,

  he’s been following me and coming into my

  house and…”

  “He comes into your house?”

  “Yes he does, he comes in all the time. He’s

  done sick things. He’s written odd things on

  my walls, he’s put dead foxes in my garden, he

  set my house alight, he…”

  “How can you possibly know this Ryan? Did

  you see him?”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Well then it could be anyone, it could even

  be me, I have a key to your house. Just come

  inside.”

  “Well is it?”

  “Is it what? Me?” Simon asks.

  “Yeah. Is it you then?”

  Simon pauses and stares at me, he reaches my

  arm and holds it tightly. “Ryan I’m your

  friend and I work, I don’t have time to do

  such things to you or anyone.”

  “So it isn’t you then?”

  “I can’t tell if you’re being serious here Ryan.

  These accusations, if heard by anyone else,

  could be misleading and could result in bad

  things happening to me or you or both of us.”

  He looks up and down the road, behind him

  196

  at the front door and back at me. “No… It is

  not me.”

  I look into his eyes, his expression isn’t

  completely normal; he has a mixture of fear

  and anger towards my accusation.

  “Okay then, sorry Simon.”

  He nods at me and I pull off a fake smile.

  “Don’t worry about it Ryan, come inside.”

  As we walk inside, I look behind me to see

  Shola standing outside his house with his

  arms folded, staring at me. I turn around and

  ignore him.

  Simon and I walk into his house, I take off

  my jacket and hang it up on the hanger and

  kick my shoes off.

  I turn around to see Sandra sitting on the

  sofa typing on her laptop.

  “Hello darling.” Simon says as he walks into

  the kitchen, grabbing her shoulder as he walks

  past the sofa.

  “What are you doing out there Ryan? It’s a

  bit late and the weather is awful.”

  “I was just looking around.”

  “You haven’t been here much since coming

  out of hospital though, where’ve you been?”

  Sandra asks.

  “Leave him alone Sandy, he’s an adult.”

  Simon says laughing.

  “Well no Simon. He’s just come out of

  hospital he nearly died. You can’t just come

  out of hospital and stand in the rain all day

  and most of the night.”

  197

  “It’s fine don’t worry about me.” I say to her,

  meaning in more ways than one.

  “Well I do worry.”

  “Then don’t.” I reply.

  Sandra shakes her head and looks back to the

  laptop.

  “What’s the time darling?” Simon asks.

  “Oh it’s…” Sandra looks around at her

  laptop screen. “Nearly twelve o’clock.”

  “Oh God really, I’ll go to bed soon then.”

  Simon says.

  “I’ll join you.” Sandra says giving me a

  seductive stare from the corner of her eyes.

  “We’ve got a spare room upstairs for you

  Ryan or the couch; it’s entirely up to you.”

  “I’ll sleep down here actually, don’t worry

  about me. I’ve got whiskey to help me sleep

  too.”

  “Good idea mate.” Simon says.

  “Here’s the duvet and pillows for you Ryan,

  have a good sleep.” Sandra says as she walks

  up the spiral stairs.

  “Goodnight mate.” Simon says, following

  her.

  “Night.” I say as they disappear.

  I sit down on the sofa and think for a

  moment. My muscles begin to relax as I sit

  back with my head resting back on the sofa. I

  feel absolutely knackered and before I know

  it, I nod off to sleep.

  My vision blurs as I stand in the middle of

  the road on Mulberry Lane, staring at a dark

  198

  outline of someone with a long green coat and

  clumpy brown boots.

  I try to shout, but my cries are mute. The

  figure turns, the hood on their jacket is up,

  covering their head. Inside the hood the face

  is nonexistent. “Beneath men sit.” I hear a

  voice whisper in my ear. “Sin beaten them.”

  The voice whispers again.

  “Who’s there?” I ask the figure in front of

  me.

  “Beaten hints me.” They whisper again and a

  hand grabs my shoulder.

  “I’m Liam Graynnil.” The voice whispers

  again.

  I turn around to see Tanya kneeling; she’s

  holding Sammy and Alex in her arms. They’re

  on either side of her, completely pale with

  dark bags under their eyes. Tanya looks up to

  me and screams. Tears pour down her face,

  her screams ripple through Mulberry Lane. I

  look around; Simon and Sandra stand in front

  of their house, Paul Brooke and his wife stand

  outside their home and Don stands by the

  tree line blocking the park. I turn around to

  Shola’s house but he is not to be seen. I turn

  around to look at Tanya on the ground, as I

  kneel down to her; she changes into the green

  hooded figure, squealing in a high pitched

  noise which disorientates me. I become dizzy,

  everyone blurs, as does the road itself. I look

  to the figure; it stands up, throwing Sammy

  and Alex aside. I fall backwards landing on my

  back, I crack my head and I am unable to

  move. The figure stands over me; the hood

  199

  looks down at me with no face. It kneels

  closer to me until it’s just millimetres away

  from my face. I feel their lukewarm breath on

  my face, I see yellow teeth appear inside the

  hood, then a face but it’s a face I cannot

  identify.

  “I am Mr S.” The figure says and he stands

  up.

  He stands in silence, looking down on me

  until he suddenly shrieks and bawls, forcing

  me to wake up on the Cann’s sofa.

  I sit up and look around me, breathing

  heavily.

  What was that about?

  I listen carefully and look at the clock in the

  kitchen. It’s four in the morning. Now is the

  time to look for answers, Shola is never going

  to answer me if I knock on the door and he

  will never talk to me. I need answers now.

  I go into the kitchen. I pull out the drawers,

  searching for anything to take with me to

  Shola’s house.

  I open a drawer which contains knives and

  cutlery. I pick up one of the sharp kitchen

  knives and then slowly push the drawer back

  in.

  I open the cupboards which contain boxes of

  cereal, baking goods and biscuits. I open

  another drawer which has more cutlery: bottle

  openers, cooking equipment and a torch. ‘I’ll

  need that’ I think to myself as I pick up the

  torch and then creep to the front door. As I

  200

  reach the door, I slip my shoes on and put my

  jacket on.

  Gripping the door handle, I pull it down, the

  locks clack and clunk, the plastic sticks to the

  door frame and freezing cold floods into the

  house. As I take a step forward, I hear the bed

  creak upstairs. I hear mumbling and then the

  floor creaks across the sitting room ceiling. I

  follow the path of whoever is up by the

  sounds through the floor. I wait for a moment

  longer and hear the sounds approach the

  spiral stairs. I stay still. Waiting for the floor

  boards to creak in the toilet. There’s a shadow

  through the hole of the stairs. Please don’t

  come down here, not now. I see the shadow

  through the stairs, it brushes into the kitchen

  and it goes past the stairs and into the toilet.

  I step outside and pull the front door handle

  up slowly so that it doesn’t shut and lock me

  out.

  I walk across Simon’s lawn and look to

  Shola’s house which seems completely normal

  but still creepy.

  The weather has quietened down, the rain is

  lighter; the droplets much smaller than before,

  the roar of the thunder is quieter.

  The street lamp outside my house is

  flickering; as is the one closest to Shola and

  the Brekken’s. I walk over to Shola’s with the

  wind blowing against me, rustling through the

  trees, and blowing litter along the road.

  I stand outside of Shola’s house clutching the

  kitchen knife in my hand. Once again, this is

  201

  going to get nasty, most likely a similar

  conclusion to the morgue and Don.

  As I stand in front of his door I notice that

  his door is open slightly.

  I look over my shoulders to see the shadowy

  cul-de-sac. It’s completely silent now that the

  rain has stopped and there is no one out this

  early in the morning.

  I push the screeching door open, it thumps

  against the inside wall.

  I step in on the carpet which has no bounce

  to it like a normal carpet. It feels crushed and

  worn. As I take gradual steps into the house, I

  hold onto the damp wall.

  I pull out the torch and shine it ahead of me.

  I shine the light up onto the black mouldering

  ceiling; droplets fall down onto the flat, musky

  carpet. I shine my torch onto the wall to see

  specks of black and white fluffy mould on the

  tacky wallpaper.

  I walk past a door to my right and keep

  walking towards the back garden. I shine my

  light into what is supposed to be another

  room. There’s a small wooden table and a

  sink, with mucky plates and chipped mugs

  next to it.

  I go back towards the front door and push

  the door I previously passed. It’s closed, so I

  pull the handle down and push the door open

  slowly. Continuing to push the door open, I

  look back at the front door, which is gaping. I

  look back into the room that I am about to

  walk into and I see paper, books, and

  furniture all overturned.

  202

  What a slob.

  The door doesn’t open fully. I go into the

  room and look behind the door to see a dead

  fox acting as a door stop. I look into the

  centre of the room and stare at an overturned

  table. Its legs stick up into the air with a body

  lying across it on its back. I recognise the long

  green jacket and clumpy boots; it’s Shola.

  “Shola?” I whisper.

  With no reply, I walk over to his body and

  kick his hand and repeat myself: “Shola?”

  Still no reply; his body doesn’t flinch, his

  chest is not moving and he has blood all over

  him from head to toe but I notice something

  odd, he holds a small black book in his hand.

  I step back from the body and look around

  the room. Creepily, I see photos of myself

  stuck on the wall, black and white photos of

  me. There are many, there are photos of me

  outside my house, of me in the kitchen. The

  photographer must have been in my garden.

  There are photos of me speaking to Sandra,

  Simon, Sam and Paul. There are even photos

  of me at the pub and at the supermarket.

  I look back to the body and kneel down. I try

  not to touch Shola at all. I reach for his

  bloody black book. As I pull it away, Shola’s

  body goes rigid and straightens, he turns to

  me and grabs my shoulder. I drop my torch

  and the black book on the ground. I grab his

  arms and throw him, rolling him on the floor.

  As he rolls onto his front, Shola tries to stand

  and as he does, he looks over to me with

  panic in his eyes.

  203

  “Help me,” he says.

  This is the first time I have seen and heard

  him.

  We stare at each other for a moment, he

  looks weak and vulnerable.

  “What happened here?” I ask him.

  He does not answer; he stares at me with his

  teary eyes. He breathes deeply then all of a

  sudden he charges at me, his fists clenched.

  He swings his fists at me. I duck out of the

  way, crawl on my knees and frantically push

  loose paper and books out of my way to

  search for a weapon. Shola’s boots head

  towards me from behind, I see an iron bar on

  the floor, it’s curved at one end. I grab it and

  turn onto my back. Shola stands above me, I

  hook his feet with the bar and pull. He yelps

  in pain as he collapses onto the floor. I use

  the bar to stand myself up.

  I walk over to Shola who’s squirming on the

  floor holding his ankle. I stand above him and

  swing the bar across the back of his head. His

  face smashes onto the floor and I hear him

  groan.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I ask him.

  Shola doesn’t respond; he just stays on the

  ground.

  I lift the bar above my head and push it down

  into his thigh. It pierces clean through his

  thigh; he screams and makes me feel

  nauseous.

  “Shut up!” I shout, trying to act strong. I

  swing the bar and hit Shola on the top of his

  head.

  204

  Shola goes limp.

  “Tell me what’s going on, why did you put

  that fox in my shed? How did you come into

  my house and write all those messages? Why

  did you try and kill me?”

  He doesn’t answer. I throw the bar aside and

  kick him. He doesn’t react; I pull him off of

  his front and push him onto his back.

  He’s dead.

  I look around the room, I look at the photos

  of me and spot a CD rack. I look through the

  three CD cases, as I open one; I read the title

  as “FOX CAM 1 Ryan Milligan.” Followed by

  FOX CAM 2 and 3.

  I look around the room for a TV but there

  isn’t one. I slip the three CDs and their cases

  into my jacket pocket and continue to look.