share. Molly Sue was
hers.
Later that night, Sally couldnât sleep. A mugginess had crept in, the first taste of spring with any luck. It was more than that though: the tattoo. It was sore, it was itchy and Sally couldnât lie on her back. All evening she ping-ponged back and forth from feeling like the most rock-and-roll girl in all of Saxton Vale to
I have made a terrible, terrible mistake
. She shifted, trying to get comfortable. In the end she kicked back her duvet and just lay on top of the bed with the window open a crack.
The slide into sleep was so gradual she didnât even realise she was asleep until she awoke with a start.
There was someone in her room.
She heard a voice. Or voices. She couldnât tell which. Low, muttering voices.
Who is it? Where are they?
Her first instinct was to freeze, lie as still as she could and play dead; she held her breath.
Nothing.
Eyes open, but facing into her pillow, she could only see the corner of her rug. There could be someone standing at the foot of her bed. Worst-case scenarios arrived in her head.
Has someone broken in? Burglars? Are Mum and Dad dead in the next room? Am I next?
Sally waited, still not exhaling. The room was silent. Her second thought was to get the hell out, to get her dad. She sat upright in bed, ready to grab anything that could be used as a makeshift weapon.
Her room was empty.
Sally
swore
thereâd been voices.
You were dreaming, go back to sleep
, she told herself
.
She listened more closely.
There it was again. A low whispering so quiet that Sally could hardly distinguish the words. Someone giggled. This time, she definitely wasnât imagining anything.
âSssssssss . . .â
She couldnât make out words, it was little more than a hiss.
âAaaaaahhhh . . .â
It didnât sound like her mum or dad, though. Not daring to hang her legs off the bed where theyâd be exposed, she oh-so-slowly lowered her head off the edge of the bed. Her hair trailing onto the carpet as she hung upside-down, she peeked underneath. There was nothing, not even dust bunnies.
âSssssssaaaaaahhh . . .â There it was again . . . in the distance, but somehow close by.
Confident she was alone, Sally swung her legs off the bed and walked to her window. She pulled the lacy curtain to one side and looked out across their immaculately mown back lawn. The cherub water feature babbled into the pond and the wind chime in the Randallâs garden clattered like cowbells, but she couldnât see anyone talking.
She heaved up the sash window and stuck her head out into the night. The voice continued.
âEeeeeeeee . . .â
At least thatâs what it sounded like. The voice was far away, maybe around the front of the house. It was hardly human at all. There was something almost snake-like about it. Sally listened for a minute longer and her neighbourhood fell silent again. Her owl was elsewhere tonight.
Maybe a big snake ate it
.
Looking to her left, she saw Stanâs bedroom window on the side of their house. He too had his bedroom window open a crack, the ash black curtains billowing through the gap. Green light flickered from within â he must have fallen asleep in front of the TV or something. Suddenly it made sense. The voices must be from whatever he was watching. Probably
Satanville
.
Satisfied, she ducked back through the window and slid it down. The heat of her healing back reminded her that yesterday most definitely hadnât been a dream.
Oh God, youâre stuck with it now
, she told herself.
This is going to look awesome when youâre forty
.
Now wide awake, she crossed to her en-suite and flicked on the light above the mirror. As well as she could, she craned her neck around to see the reflection of her back.
Sallyâs eyes were fuzzy from sleep. She blinked hard. For a second there, it had looked like Molly Sue had her eyes closed, but she now saw it was just a trick of the
hers.
Later that night, Sally couldnât sleep. A mugginess had crept in, the first taste of spring with any luck. It was more than that though: the tattoo. It was sore, it was itchy and Sally couldnât lie on her back. All evening she ping-ponged back and forth from feeling like the most rock-and-roll girl in all of Saxton Vale to
I have made a terrible, terrible mistake
. She shifted, trying to get comfortable. In the end she kicked back her duvet and just lay on top of the bed with the window open a crack.
The slide into sleep was so gradual she didnât even realise she was asleep until she awoke with a start.
There was someone in her room.
She heard a voice. Or voices. She couldnât tell which. Low, muttering voices.
Who is it? Where are they?
Her first instinct was to freeze, lie as still as she could and play dead; she held her breath.
Nothing.
Eyes open, but facing into her pillow, she could only see the corner of her rug. There could be someone standing at the foot of her bed. Worst-case scenarios arrived in her head.
Has someone broken in? Burglars? Are Mum and Dad dead in the next room? Am I next?
Sally waited, still not exhaling. The room was silent. Her second thought was to get the hell out, to get her dad. She sat upright in bed, ready to grab anything that could be used as a makeshift weapon.
Her room was empty.
Sally
swore
thereâd been voices.
You were dreaming, go back to sleep
, she told herself
.
She listened more closely.
There it was again. A low whispering so quiet that Sally could hardly distinguish the words. Someone giggled. This time, she definitely wasnât imagining anything.
âSssssssss . . .â
She couldnât make out words, it was little more than a hiss.
âAaaaaahhhh . . .â
It didnât sound like her mum or dad, though. Not daring to hang her legs off the bed where theyâd be exposed, she oh-so-slowly lowered her head off the edge of the bed. Her hair trailing onto the carpet as she hung upside-down, she peeked underneath. There was nothing, not even dust bunnies.
âSssssssaaaaaahhh . . .â There it was again . . . in the distance, but somehow close by.
Confident she was alone, Sally swung her legs off the bed and walked to her window. She pulled the lacy curtain to one side and looked out across their immaculately mown back lawn. The cherub water feature babbled into the pond and the wind chime in the Randallâs garden clattered like cowbells, but she couldnât see anyone talking.
She heaved up the sash window and stuck her head out into the night. The voice continued.
âEeeeeeeee . . .â
At least thatâs what it sounded like. The voice was far away, maybe around the front of the house. It was hardly human at all. There was something almost snake-like about it. Sally listened for a minute longer and her neighbourhood fell silent again. Her owl was elsewhere tonight.
Maybe a big snake ate it
.
Looking to her left, she saw Stanâs bedroom window on the side of their house. He too had his bedroom window open a crack, the ash black curtains billowing through the gap. Green light flickered from within â he must have fallen asleep in front of the TV or something. Suddenly it made sense. The voices must be from whatever he was watching. Probably
Satanville
.
Satisfied, she ducked back through the window and slid it down. The heat of her healing back reminded her that yesterday most definitely hadnât been a dream.
Oh God, youâre stuck with it now
, she told herself.
This is going to look awesome when youâre forty
.
Now wide awake, she crossed to her en-suite and flicked on the light above the mirror. As well as she could, she craned her neck around to see the reflection of her back.
Sallyâs eyes were fuzzy from sleep. She blinked hard. For a second there, it had looked like Molly Sue had her eyes closed, but she now saw it was just a trick of the
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