Horror Stories from Horrified - Volume One (2)

Knock once. Knock tw ice. Gentle, r apping tip-taps, like the scuffing of w ooden feet
on a car peted floor. Muffin-the-mule tip-taps that vibr ate on the edge of my
consciousness. Someone puts their head ar ound my bedr oom door , a soft shadow
that stands on the thr eshold of my sleep. A shadow w ith my Mother ?s voice:
?Ar e you up yet, dear ? It?s past seven.?
?I w ill be, Mum. Just give me ten minutes, and I?ll be dow n.?
?Ok, love. Tea or coffee??
?Mmmm? tea, please. No sugar.?
?No sugar then. Your sister w ill be up in a bit, I should think. See you dow nstair s,
love.?
?Thanks, Mum.?
Awake. Aler t. My eyes ar e dr y and w ide, and I feel ever y hair on my neck and
ar m stand up. I feel cold, dr ow ning sw eat dr ip fr om my por es as I star e towar d the
bedr oom door. It is closed; ther e is no one ther e. I heard her.
I heard her voice. I felt the r eassur ing aur a of her timid little body as she looked
dow n at me. She was her e. I know she was here. It is a new day outside: the clock on
my phone r eads 7:30. I r ise fr om the tangle of bedsheets and go thr ough the
motions of existence.
My walk to the bathr oom feels like an eter nity, as I stumble on scar ecr ow feet
towar d the basin. I br ush my teeth in long, zombie str okes, and sw ir l it in the sink
and watch it cur l and foam in the dr ip-dr op of the leaky tap. I do not look in the
mir r or ; I look too much like Mum. It?s not fair that I look like her. To be constantly
r eminded of w hat is now missing.
Dad has changed into his pyjamas, his suit hanging fr om a hook behind the door.
His dr essing gow n is too big for him, and he has to r oll the sleeves up to stop them
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