CHAPTER THREE

The Rat

The next morning, I wake earlier than usual. Eyes half-shut, I shake off the strange dreams of growing trees and talking flowers. Rolling onto my side, I stare at the photo of Lana and me. It’s the last one we took together before she disappeared—we were at the funfair and we both have these huge smiles on our faces. Our dark curls are flapping in the wind, although Lana’s hair is shiny and smooth whilst mine is more of a tangled, brown nest. The yellow specks of her eyes glitter with happiness. My own dark ones stare into the lens, full of adrenaline.

“I dare you to ride Hell on Earth.” She looked at me that morning with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Hell on Earth is the name of the rollercoaster, by the way. No really, it is. It’s not just me being dramatic.

“No way! You know I’m afraid of heights.”

“Oh, come on, Ari! It will be fun, okay?” Lana promised.

“I don’t know . . .”

“Will you, or won’t you?” That was the official challenge.

As I stare at the photo now, Lana’s voice floods the room, warm and comforting. On our way to the fair that afternoon, she mentioned something about a stray cat. It was odd, she’d said, because she kept seeing it in the same spot.

I don’t know, maybe that’s not as odd as it sounds. Cats are creatures of habit after all. It was more the way she told me, like something was bothering her about the whole thing. I squint in concentration until the memory is fully formed in my mind. I remember the way she whispered it to me, even though no one was around to hear us.

“Ari, there’s something strange about this cat. It looks possessed . . .”

I climb out of bed, deep in thought, when a loud TAP at the window makes me jump out of my skin. I pull back the curtain and my voice gets caught in the back of my throat. Pinned across the window is a rat the size of a small dog. Its matted, brown fur is frazzled and dirty, and when it curves its body to the side, I can see its bones running along the ribcage.

The rat presses its face against the glass. Like the cat, it has two white dots for eyes. They glower at me as its long tail whips from side to side. Lana’s voice echoes in my mind, ‘It looks possessed . . .’

I back away slowly, and when I do, the rat taps the glass in deliberate, slow movements until I hear a CRACK that fills the room. This time I do scream, so loud my throat is scratchy from the effort.

Tap.

I swallow my spit.

Tap.

When I realise that the rat is trying to get in, I make a run for it, and slip at the top of the staircase. Dad hurries up the stairs.

“Ouch!” I cry out.

Dad frowns at me. “What’s going on up here? Why were you screaming? Ari?”

All I can do is point to the room with my mouth wide open.

“What is it?”

“A r-r-rat. Outside the window.”

Dad walks to the window and peers outside. “There’s nothing out there.”

“It was watching me!” I cry out.

He laughs. “It was probably a squirrel, nothing to be scared of.”

“It wasn’t a squirrel! It was a huge rat with a really long tail and white eyes; it cracked the glass down the middle. Look!”

“Wasn’t that always there? Honestly, you and your imagination.” Dad tuts and smiles to himself.

“But the cat had the same eyes.”

“What cat?” Dad looks at me oddly.

“I saw a cat outside the house yesterday. It had pearly-white eyes, like it was blind, but it’s not blind because I could tell it was looking at me. Lana saw . . .” I stop myself.

“What about Lana?” Dad’s voice softens.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. I’ve learnt to avoid the subject.

“The cat must be old. Some animals get like that.” I notice that Dad steers the conversation away from Lana.

“But the rat just now had the same eyes . . .” I let my voice trail off, because even I’m not sure what’s going on, except that Lana was worried enough to mention the cat to me. Those eyes . . . it can’t be a coincidence.

“Most likely a trick of the light.” Dad doesn’t wait for me to finish my sentence. He always has a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything, which is the most annoying thing ever because the world isn’t a reasonable place. I thought he was smart enough to know that by now.

“Never mind,” I mumble.

“I’ve got to head to the warehouse, there’s been a bit of an emergency with the stock.”

“I thought you had the day off?” I point out.

The worst thing about having no real friends is this: having to dive deep into your imagination to conjure up different things to do on your own. It would be nice to have someone around to do things with.

“You know what work is like.” Dad sighs, suddenly looking twice as old.

All I know is that he’s been busier than usual since Lana’s been gone. I mean, he was always busy, but now it feels like he is at the warehouse making wooden furniture at all hours of the day and night. I heard him tell Mum that keeping busy helps pass the time, but since the day I found out about Lana, time has done nothing but stand still. It refuses to budge without her, and who can blame time for feeling that way. Not me, that’s for sure.

Hours later, the sound of the TV in the front room murmurs through the house. I put down the comic I’ve been reading and make a note of the page—it’s about the only thing I’ll read all the way to the end. Usually that is, but I can’t seem to concentrate on anything lately. I place the comic on top of my growing mountain. I have thirty in total, from when Lana and I would go to the comic book shop on the weekends.

I head downstairs. Mum has fallen asleep on the sofa. A trail of dribble runs from the side of her mouth. I pull the blanket over her and switch off the TV. That’s when I hear it, loud and clear. Purring. I rush to the window by the kitchen, and sure enough the black cat is outside, but it has its back to me. The cat is facing the woods, hissing wildly at nothingness.

I know what I should do—stay far away—but of course that’s not what I’m going to do. Instead, I do what Lana would do. I grab a can of sardines from the cupboard and quietly slip out of the door. The cold clings to my bones and doesn’t let go as the grey sky hangs over the woods like a ghostly veil. I peel back the lid of the can and scatter the sardines all over the front porch.

“C’mon, you know you want to. It’s yummy, stinky fish,” I whisper.

The cat turns to face me, nose twitching. My hands reek of oily fish. I expect the cat to gobble up the food, but it just stands there. Motionless. I pick up a sardine from the floor and waggle its dead body in the air.

“It’s okay, you can come here. I’m Lana’s brother,” I introduce myself and immediately feel stupid. How did Lana always manage to get so close to animals?

The cat turns away and darts back into the woods.

“Wait!” I sprint after it, spotting its shadow just ahead of me, but then lots of other shadows start appearing, and now I’m not so sure which one’s the cat. Its tail disappears down a rutted path as I struggle to catch my breath. After a while, legs heavy from the chase, I come to a stop in an unfamiliar part of the woods.

There are rows of trees lined either side of me. Thin, leathery vines nestle against the roots, travelling up the branches like coiled springs. My heart skips a beat each time I hear the croak and buzz of insects swarming the skies. Something sticky and wet tickles my cheek, and I stifle a scream. It’s just a damp leaf.

Don’t go into the woods, Ari.

Mum’s voice follows me around. I wipe the drip of water hanging from my nose and nearly puke at the whiff of fish on my fingers. If Lana was here, she’d laugh at how stupid I’m being. Chasing a cat through the woods with an empty can of fish because it’s the closest I’ve felt to her in a while, and to top it off, I’m in my way-too-small-for-me Batman pyjamas.

The thump of footsteps stampeding through the woods vibrates in my ear. The footsteps get closer; they don’t sound like the paws of a cat. It could be a wolf, or a bear. I keep very still, hoping I blend in enough to avoid detection, but I suddenly remember that humans have a scent, and my fishy hands have probably given me away. I search the ground frantically, looking for anything I can use as a weapon. A broken branch. That should do it. The footsteps stop abruptly, and then I hear a loud sigh.

Now I’m really panicking because animals don’t sigh, do they? I duck behind a tree and order my heartbeat to slow down, inhaling the crisp air in short, rapid breaths. I close my eyes, and when I open them again, I stagger backwards and let out a loud cry. A boy with a round face, pale from the cold, is only inches from my face.