The Crooked Sixpence Read Free

Oh.’
    Her granma looked peaceful, her eyes closed and her hands placed delicately across her stomach – exactly as she had been when Ivy saw her last.
    Ivy looked back along the corridor, searching for the man in grey. It was empty; but the man couldn’t possibly have had time to disappear. She’d looked away for barely a second.
    Seb tramped up to her shoulder. ‘This better be good.’
    â€˜You don’t understand,’ she whispered. ‘There was this strange man here. I thought he was going to do something to Granma.’
    â€˜
What?
’ Seb’s jaw tightened. ‘Why can’t you be normal? Like, for once . . . ?’
    It was just starting to rain when they reached Granma Sylvie’s house, almost an hour’s bus ride later. Droplets drummed against Ivy’s hood and tumbled through the frizzy hair that stuck out beneath it. She looked up at the familiar higgledy-piggledy outline of the house, with its clay chimney and crumbling plaster walls. It used to be a farmhouse, or so Ivy’s dad had told her, which explained why it was in the middle of nowhere.
    â€˜You’re paranoid,’ Seb said, striding past her. ‘You know that, right? All the books you read have, like, twisted your mind or something.’
    Ivy marched after him. ‘I’m
not
making this up,’ she insisted. ‘There was a man in there with gross hands, and as we were leaving A and E, I heard a nurse say that Granma’s notes had gone missing. What if it was the man who took them?’
    Seb sighed. ‘Ivy, that guy – whoever he was – was obviously just a patient or something. Like, a burns victim. Maybe he was crazy like you. Whatever, anyway – I just want to get inside and eat.’
    Ivy yanked angrily on the strap of Granma Sylvie’s handbag as she swept past Seb towards the front door. If books had ‘twisted her mind’, then playing the drums had made her brother deaf to reason. He never listened to her. Ever.
    â€˜Ivy . . .’ All of a sudden Seb’s voice sounded odd.
    â€˜
What?
’ she snapped, turning back to him. He was holding a shaky finger out towards the house. Ivy followed it and almost tripped over. She didn’t understand how she could have missed it . . .
    The front door was ajar. The frame was splintered, and there were deep scratch marks around the lock.
    Seb lowered his finger to his side as if he wasn’t sure whether to stay or run. Finally he whispered, ‘Police.’ He got out his phone and tapped the screen. Ivy could see it from where she was standing. The words
No Service
flashed as he tried to make the call.
Perfect.
    â€˜What do we do?’ she asked.
    Seb tiptoed over the gravel towards the house and peered in through the front windows. ‘The curtains are drawn,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll have to go in and use the landline.’
    Ivy nodded.
Right. Good idea.
‘What about me?’
    Seb looked back at the door. ‘We’ll go in together; you stay behind me.’
    As Ivy set foot over the threshold, her skin prickled. There was a slow scratching noise coming from inside, like thick wallpaper being ripped off a wall.
    Her eyes flitted into the shadows of the hallway. She just about recognized Granma Sylvie’s antique writing desk – the one with the curling legs and tea-stained top – toppled over on the floor. The drawers were all missing and a pile of thick cream writing paper had been strewn across the carpet.
    Seb removed a walking stick from an upturned umbrella stand and raised it above his head. As Ivy followed him, her mind raced. That scratching noise was definitely getting louder the further they went into the house. She wondered what could be making it. She waited as Seb paused to open the kitchen door.
    â€˜Ready?’ He reached for the doorknob with a trembling hand.
    Ivy nodded. As the door opened and the air from the