less of a stride and swagger. Standing in front

  of the door, he reaches for the handle.

  What should I do when he finds it? Should I

  run? Should I stay here and tell them the

  truth?

  Everything slows down in my mind. His

  fingertips touch the shed handle. His palm

  touches the handle and his wrist tightens and

  turns. I stare at his face, waiting and waiting

  for the neutral expression to turn into disgust

  and shock.

  “Ryan, are you okay?” Sam Cann says from

  behind me, breaking my concentration on

  Seymour.

  “I… I’m…” I try to speak as I watch

  Seymour open the door.

  “Ryan?” Sam says as he stands in front of me

  now. “Are you okay?”

  Seymour has the shed door wide open. He

  takes a step back and looks the shed up and

  down. He glances towards the house and back

  to the shed. I hear Sam’s voice echoing in and

  out.

  “Ryan you look awful.” I hear Sam say.

  “I’m fine thank you.”

  “I’ll get these men out of your house; I doubt

  you’re the killer around here.” Sam says whilst

  patting my back, making my shoulder jolt.

  “Thank you.”

  “Hughes.” Sam shouts. “This house is clear.”

  I continue to look outside at Seymour who

  has disappeared inside the shed. Sam brushes

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  past me on his way to the bottom of the

  stairs.

  “Come on Hughes.” Sam pulls out the radio

  and repeats himself. “Come on Hughes.”

  “What’s going on? We haven’t finished the

  search.” I hear a muffled shout from upstairs.

  “Yes we have.” Sam shouts.

  I look out to see Seymour striding toward the

  house. His shoulders sloping as he walks. The

  shed door is shut and Seymour looks

  unaffected.

  What’s going on?

  “Ryan we’re going to leave now. Sorry to

  have disturbed you.” Sam says.

  Hughes is downstairs, standing next to Sam.

  Seymour walks into the hallway and nods to

  Sam and Hughes.

  “I searched the garden and the shed.”

  Seymour says, turning his head to stare at me.

  He turns his head back to Sam and Hughes.

  “All clear.”

  “Yes well it would be; Ryan isn’t the

  murderer.” Sam says.

  “Oh, okay.” Seymour says.

  “Speak soon, Ryan.” Sam says as he heads

  towards the front door.

  “Have a good day Mr Milligan.” Hughes says

  out loud. “Let’s hope we don’t have to meet

  again.” He mutters under his breath.

  I don’t reply, instead I escort him to the door

  and watch them leave.

  They walk down the gravel path with Sam

  leading the way across the road where two

  92

  police cars are parked alongside Sam’s

  Mercedes.

  Sandra is speaking to two police officers. The

  house next to the Cann’s has more police cars

  parked outside it. That house is taped off with

  blue and white tape.

  The press is gathered outside the Brekken’s

  house taking photos of any movement by the

  police officers entering and leaving the house.

  I never met or even saw the Brekkens but it

  is getting too close to Sandra now. I need to

  protect her from the murderer.

  I walk back into my room to look at the

  newspapers. I pick them up and go through

  them, looking at each page. The stories of the

  local community are left untouched. The

  reports of the murders are cut to pieces. The

  letters of the headlines are cut out to spell

  ‘Beneath men sit’ a number of times across

  my wall. The newspapers are different

  broadsheets and tabloids reporting on our

  local murders.

  Is it the murderer doing this? Is it a warning

  to me and Sandra?

  I look back to my bed; the duvet is clumped

  on it. The mattress sheet has smudges of mud

  on it. It must be from my legs and feet but

  where did the mud come from?

  I look to the end of my bed. Surely not? How

  did that get here?

  Staring at me is the bear from the basement,

  sitting on the end of my bed. Its ear and dusty

  fur are the same. The red pins for eyes are

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  bent to face me, right here in this position.

  How did someone know I would stand here

  and see the bear? Someone is trying to fuck

  with me.

  I grab the bear and take it back downstairs.

  As I turn to the basement door, I take one last

  look at the bear. It used to have a black beady

  eye and then it changed to two red pins for

  eyes. Without hesitation, I throw the bear

  down into the darkness of the basement and

  shut the door.

  Wait a second.

  I go back to the basement door and open it. I

  look down into the darkness and walk down

  the steps. As the creaking from the basement

  steps stops and I stand on concrete, I bend

  down, feeling around on the floor for the

  bear. The dusty floor is confusing, why would

  there be so much dust down here?

  I walk back up to the steps and flick the

  switch for the lights.

  As I stand waiting for the lights to stay on, I

  look at the bear which sits upright against the

  wall, staring at the basement steps. As I

  continue to stare at it, the light flickers on and

  off, on and off, on and then stays off. I’m in

  darkness. What happened there?

  I reach to the switch. My finger hovers over

  it when all of a sudden the lights flicker on

  and stay on.

  I look back down to the bear but it’s gone.

  What?

  Where is it? I step off the steps and look at

  the rest of the basement. The bear is not

  94

  there. The pink table under the steps has also

  disappeared.

  I hear metal on metal knock behind me. I

  turn quickly. There’s no one there. The

  basement steps creak. I turn around again,

  facing the steps to see the bear half way up

  the steps, staring at me. The lights flicker off

  again, the bear has disappeared. The bear back

  on the ground, where it should have been.

  As I look back to the steps, there is a

  silhouette of someone under the steps. My

  heart thumps hard but I have to stand my

  ground.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  The lights flicker. The figure moves closer.

  They flicker again and the figure moves even

  closer. The lights go out again. I stay where I

  am. Waiting for the lights to come on, I

  stretch my arms out to feel around me.

  There’s no one here, what is going on?

  The lights flicker. The figure has disappeared.

  The lights go out. I hear the basement steps

  creaking. I hear footsteps, creaking down the

  steps. Why won’t the lights come back on?

  The silence is eerie and unsettling. I stand still,

  listening to the creaking steps. The creaks

  move down the steps and as I hear the last

  step creak, the silence returns. The light

  flickers on and Sandra is standing at the

  bottom of the stairs.

  “Ryan? What are you doing?”

  I stay still, staring at Sandra. She warily

  approaches me.

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  “Ryan, are you okay?” She says as she takes

  hold of my hand.

  I don’t answer, instead I hug her. Fear leaves

  my body and I feel safe. I have no idea what

  happened. Was it all tricks of the mind? Did I

  imagine it? Well I must have, I keep imaging

  Tanya and the kids but why? It’s driving me

  insane.

  “Ryan, look at me.” Sandra says, clutching

  my head. “Please look at me.”

  I look up into Sandra’s eyes. I study her pale

  skin; her blonde curls, her thin neck and her

  tight blouse, then I place my hands on the

  sides of her face and kiss her. I pull away and

  continue to stare at her.

  We stare for a moment not saying a word to

  each other. Sandra leans in and kisses me on

  the lips.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah I’m fine. Sorry to frighten you.”

  “Well you didn’t frighten me, I was just

  worried about you and I’ve been thinking

  about you all night.”

  “Me too.” I smirk. “How did you get in

  though?” Sandra lifts her arm up and the

  spare house keys dangle over her palm, held

  by one finger. “Spare keys. Do you really

  believe I could break in?”

  “I suppose not. Let’s go upstairs.”

  “Oh can we?” Sandra presses her body

  against mine.

  “Well I actually meant let’s get out of here,

  but sure we can.” I say.

  96

  It feels morally wrong, but I can’t help my

  feelings and Sandra can’t help hers. I feel bad

  for Simon.

  We leave the basement and stand in the

  hallway. I shut the basement door and pull

  Sandra towards me.

  “We shouldn’t do this.”

  “Why not?” Sandra asks, disappointed.

  “Well the police are sniffing around here and

  there’s Simon.”

  “Ryan, please don’t.” Sandra says as she

  kisses me and directs me towards the stairs.

  I just can’t fight her off, I can’t stop it. Then

  the images of the shed enter my mind, the

  newspapers in my room. We can’t go up

  there.

  “Sandy, why don’t we do this later?”

  “Oh, what’s wrong?” Sandra stutters.

  “Nothing, it’s just that my room’s a mess and

  I’m still unpacking things in the house. Why

  don’t I come over later?”

  “Okay.” She drops her hands by her side and

  looks at me.

  I kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay.” Sandra says with a smile. “Bye.” She

  kisses me and I walk her to the door.

  I watch Sandra walk down the path but I

  can’t help staring at the neighbours and

  police.

  I look to see Sam watching Sandra walk

  towards him. They chat for a while. I look at

  the Brekken’s murder scene. There are fewer

  photographers and police now. With only two

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  police cars parked outside the Brekken house

  and Sam’s car in front of the Cann’s.

  The grubby house on the end is quiet with no

  sign of the man at all.

  The house closest to the grubby house is

  empty, they must be on holiday as are the

  ones to my left, which leaves my next door

  neighbours; the Brookes. Leanne stands on

  the pavement watching the Brekken

  household. I look across to see Paul emerge

  from his house, he looks at me and changes

  his direction and comes over. He nods to me.

  “Did you know the Brekkens?” Paul asks.

  “No I didn’t.” I say.

  “Ahh well they were nice. Leanne always

  spoke to them but I didn’t really.”

  “Why was that then?”

  “What? Why didn’t I talk to them?”

  I nod to reply.

  “I don’t know I just didn’t,” Paul says then

  laughs.

  “I suppose that’s a legitimate excuse.”

  “Oh yes. So are you worried about these

  murders at all?”

  “Well, not for myself no but for others?

  Yes.”

  “Yeah I suppose we’re safe.” He laughs

  again. “You’re dark and I’m bald.” Paul laughs

  hysterically.

  I stare at him in disbelief. Making jokes out

  of these murders. He’s probably trying to hide

  his fear.

  “Shouldn’t laugh really,” he says.

  98

  ‘No you shouldn’t’ I felt like saying, but

  instead I don’t bother.

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t fancy going for

  gingers instead.” Paul smirks again.

  “So do you know the man who lives in the

  shed over there?” I ask Paul pointing to the

  grubby house.

  “Err.” Paul stands in silence and stares. “No

  not really, I’ve heard that he’s lost it though,

  he’s a right nut.”

  “How do you know?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard. He’s an ex-vet or

  scientist or both, I dunno, I can’t remember.

  But he’s alone and I guess it’s driven him

  mad. Word is that he’s linked with these

  murders or he knows who the murderer is.”

  “How do you know?”

  “People talk, I know some people in the

  force and they talk too. I wouldn’t be

  surprised if it was ‘im. He’s a fucking nut.”

  “Well we don’t know, so I wouldn’t go

  shouting it around.”

  “Naa I won’t, because he might go for bald

  guys instead of the blondes.” Paul says

  without laughing at his own joke.

  I’ve learnt a lot from talking to Paul. I’ve

  decided that he’s an odd guy and comes

  across as a bit of an arsehole. He’s the type of

  man who jokes about serious news stories and

  passes on offensive jokes that aren’t funny

  and he’s just plain rude and disrespectful.

  “If you say so.” I say after a moment’s

  silence.

  “Well I’m going. Good to speak to you Paul.”

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  “Yeah good to talk to you, mate.” Paul says,

  dragging his feet as he returns to Leanne.

  I look towards the Cann’s and see Sandra and

  Sam still speaking, so I go back inside.

  Inside, I look to the basement door. I walk

  towards it and open it. I listen. Silence.

  I enter the basement and switch the lights on

  which flicker as usual. I see the bear still in the

  same position. However one of the red pins is

  on the floor.

  I pick up both the pin and the bear. I look at

  the eyeless, musky bear and stick the pin back

  into its head so it has two pinned eyes again.

  As I do, something falls behind me. I jerk and

  turn around. One of the pink plastic chairs for

  the children’s play table has fallen on its back.

  How though? I stand still, holding the bear.

  Keeping my eye on it, I walk over to the table

  and look around it. There is only dust and

  mould surrounding the table and chairs.

  I look to the pink table closely. It’s old, has

  been used frequently and the paint is faded.

  But why would a man who doesn’t have any

  children have toys in his basement?

  I pick the chair up and stand it back onto its

  four legs. I step back and look at the chairs

  surrounding the table. Scratch marks on the

  side of the table catch my attention. I rub my

  hand over the side of the table and feel the

  marks. Then I look closer at the scratches.

  Squinting to see what it says, I read the

  scratched plastic which sends a shiver through

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  my body. I only have to read it once then I

  kick the table under the steps and back away.

  ‘Beaten hints me’, ‘Beaten hints me’, ‘Beaten

  hints me’. The same as what’s scratched on

  my kitchen table.

  Who the fuck has done this? The anger

  overwhelms me; I’m uncomfortable in my

  own home. In my anger and stress, I pick up

  the table and throw it against the wall by the

  metal shelving, shouting and screaming

  obscenities.

  “I’ll fucking find you and I’ll fucking kill you,

  you bastard!” I shout out loud, surprising

  myself because I rarely swear or lose my cool.

  I leave the table on the floor and keeping a

  hold of the bear without realising, I take it

  upstairs with me.

  Leaving the basement, I jerk the door shut

  behind me and walk outside to my bins. I

  throw the bear in the bin and slam the lid. I

  look behind me to see the police still on

  Mulberry Lane; Sam’s car has gone.

  I walk back inside and go out to the back

  garden to look at the fox in the shed. Why

  didn’t Seymour react to it? Could he be the

  one doing all this?

  I go to the shed; I stand outside, breathing

  heavily, still full of anger. I finally pluck up

  courage to swing open the shed door.

  Looking into the shed but it’s empty. With

  no sign of anything ever being dead in there, I

  step in and look around inside. I study the

  corners of the floor boards, the roofing and

  the windows.

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