The Shadow House(9)

Gabriel tugged his sleeve down and regarded her with hooded eyes. He blinked once. Twice. ‘The cat,’ he muttered. ‘The cat scratched me.’

Renee hesitated, a multitude of responses occurring to her at once: Ivory? Are you sure? When? How? Are you okay? Where is she? Have you cleaned it? Do you need me to look at it, dress it? We should—

But Gabriel was already in motion, hurrying forward and ushering her out of the room.

‘Wait—’ she said, stumbling backwards. Then the door shut, and she found herself once more on the other side, alone and confused, her ears ringing painfully in the swollen silence.


Later that night, after Michael had returned home and dinner had been cooked, served and eaten, Renee took out the rubbish. Still fretting over the scratches on Gabe’s arm and the whereabouts of the cat, she didn’t see the cardboard box on the front porch until she was almost on top of it.

She assumed at first that it’d been left by one of the workers: a borrowed tool, perhaps, used and returned, or a cake baked by somebody’s wife as a gift. Maybe it was another of Gabriel’s regular online orders – though if that were the case, wouldn’t the package be addressed and sealed instead of flapping open like that?

She reached for it but stopped right before her fingers touched the lid. There was something on the lower left-hand corner … a picture, a logo? She looked more closely. It was a stain. A big, dark, spreading stain. Ink, or paint.

Renee frowned. The stain, she realised, was leaking through the cardboard onto the wooden panels of the porch. Whatever was inside the box was wet.

‘Michael,’ she called. A fly landed on her nose; she flinched and batted it away with her hand. ‘Michael!’

But she was already reaching for the flaps, peering inside, gasping and recoiling at the sight of matted white fur, mangled flesh and oozing blood.

As her eyes traced the lifeless outline of her beloved Ivory, the cat who’d kept her company for over nine years, she began to tremble. When she reached the place where the cat’s head should’ve been, she screamed.





ALEX





4


At first, we lived out of suitcases. The move had exhausted me even more than I’d thought, and I was still so jacked with anxiety that I couldn’t bring myself to unpack in case we had to run again. But on the third day, once I’d relaxed a little, I opened a couple of boxes and put a few things away. And then once I started I couldn’t stop.

Sweat rolled down my back and my shoulders burned as I charged around the unit with armfuls of clothes and piles of towels, scattering our belongings in an attempt to make the place my own. In between nappy changes and breastfeeds, I opened crates and unzipped bags, running through a mental checklist as I took stock of our stuff. Laptop, check. Charger, check. Breast pump, nappies, bottles, soft toys. Shoes, make-up, underwear, nursing pads. The good saucepan, the sharp knives. I’d forgotten my favourite coffee mug and a couple of baby blankets, but otherwise we seemed to have everything.

I saved the most important bag for last, an old Sportsgirl duffle in which I’d shoved my two most important possessions: a large Tupperware container, and a picture frame made from paddle-pop sticks.

I took the bag into the laundry and quietly closed the door behind me. Taking out the container, I popped the lid and checked the contents. Once I was satisfied that everything was still there, I wrapped up the container in a bin liner and shoved it to the very back of the cupboard under the sink, tucking it behind a value box of detergent. When that didn’t seem enough, I arranged a stack of sponges and cloths around the detergent as well.

Back in my bedroom, I placed the picture frame front and centre on my chest of drawers.

‘Well, thank Christ you didn’t forget that piece of crap,’ said Ollie, sauntering past the doorway on his way to the toilet.

‘Shhh,’ I hissed, pointing at the travel cot where Kara was taking a nap.

He ignored me. ‘You sure you’ve got all the other essentials? Tie-dyed T-shirt? Hempseed oil? DIY kombucha kit?’

‘Keep your voice down.’ I crept from my room and closed the door. ‘And it’s not crap, it’s beautiful.’

Ollie had made the frame at day care, back when I was the axis on which his world spun. Sure, the green glitter had faded and some of the sticky gems had fallen off, but it had been a Mother’s Day gift and I’d treasured it ever since; wherever we went, it came with us. It currently held a photo of Ollie cradling Kara on the day she was born – the only hard-copy family photo I had.

‘What’s with the shitty attitude, anyway?’ I added. ‘And when are you going to unpack your stuff?’

The bathroom door banged shut and I swore under my breath. In addition to stubborn and uncooperative, my son was being aggressively antisocial. Having very quickly realised that confining him to the house was more likely to hurt me than him, I’d gone back on my decision to ground him and suggested he go exploring. Of course, that meant Ollie spent all morning lying on the couch in his undies, playing on his phone with the volume turned up in a blatant effort to piss me off.

Aware that he needed space, I left him to it, focusing instead on feathering my new nest, and for a while I felt fine. We hadn’t brought any furniture with us, but luckily the unit came furnished with all the essentials and what few items we had brought seemed to fit perfectly, as if we’d always been there. The place was now looking pretty good. But it was hot – the delightful spring weather had intensified to a soupy humidity overnight, and the ceiling fans just weren’t cutting it – and I was tired. Unsettled by the move and plagued by new teeth, Kara had tossed, turned and grizzled from dusk till dawn, and what little sleep I’d managed had been ruined by vivid dreams of ungodly noises coming from the woods and dead birds falling from the sky.