Haunting of Lily Frost Read Free Page B

bedroom door and throw myself on the bed like I’m four again. Ruby has sent me about twenty text messages, but I can’t even bear to answer them. Going to Gideon is the worst news I’ve ever had.
    My clock glows 4.00am. I haven’t slept much. I never can when I’m worrying. The house is quiet, except for Dad snoring. I open the door to the study and turn on the light. Maybe they’ve left the page open on the computer, or I’ll be able to track it. Then I can find out everything I want to know without them realising.
    Scrolling back through their history pages, it doesn’t take long to find it: 4 Simpson Street, Gideon. I hold my finger on the return key. I’m not quite sure I’m ready to see it.
    Then I click and the screen flashes up a picture of a big old house. It’s the sort you first learn to draw as a child. There’s a triangle-shaped roof on top of a rectangular box. There are four windows at the front like two sets of eyes glaring at you, and a door right in the middle on the bottom. There’s even a little path leading from the street to the front door, and a chimney. It’s all symmetrical.
    But something doesn’t look right, something that makes my skin prickle. It’s as if the house is pretending to be nice so that I’ll like it, but then on the inside, it’s got plans for me that don’t include learning to knit. How did my parents come up with this place? It’s not the sort Mum would usually be drawn to – nothing like our modern, open-plan house.
    I click through the strip of other photos. The first room’s really big: no furniture, but it’s probably a lounge room . There’s a fireplace in the corner, the walls are covered in dark green swirly patterned wallpaper and there’s burgundy carpet and high ceilings. All it needs is a deer head stuffed and hanging from the wall, and a man with a rifle swilling a glass of scotch. Then there’s the kitchen: cupboards the colour of vomit.
    The bathroom looks disgusting and there doesn’t even seem to be a shower. Imagine us all trying to have a bath before we go off to school or work!
    There are no photos of bedrooms and the only other photo is of a plain room that looks added on. It doesn’t fit with the rest of the house. There are wooden floorboards and the ceiling slants. It’s a weird shape; maybe it’s an attic.
    Clicking on the original photo of the outside, I zoom in on the triangle part at the top to see if there’s a room that I missed. And there it is. Small, dark and circular like a forgotten porthole, a tiny round window. As I look at it, something cold sparks around my legs, like I’m looking into a secret. And, despite myself, I do really want to be inside that room.
    While I’m staring at the computer, imagining myself walking through the house, Jasper swirls around me, rubbing his fur against my ankles. I bend down to pick him up, but as I do, he flicks his claws out and scratches me.
    â€˜What the hell’s that for!’ I drop him back onto the ground and he hisses and runs off. He never scratches me. I don’t get it. How will he go moving to the country, where he’ll be kept inside for the first six weeks?
    A floorboard creaks behind me and I freeze. Someone knows I’m poking around in the Gideon house and they’re trying to scare me off. The screen suddenly goes dark. How black the room is without any computer light. I can feel myself holding onto my breath, gathering it up.
    And then a door opens somewhere and I breathe again. It’s probably just Mum going to the toilet. Quietly, I slump back down in the chair so if they look in here, they won’t see me straightaway. I couldn’t bear to get caught by Mum. She’ll make such a thing about it, she’ll assume it means she’s won me over, and I don’t feel like dealing with her smugness.
    Now that I’m sitting here alone in