The Boy at the Keyhole by Stephen Giles

Author:Stephen Giles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hanover Square Press
Published: 2018-06-14T14:48:06+00:00

21

Ruth was bright and cheerful at breakfast, which wasn’t like her at all. She moved about the kitchen in good spirits, even making a low sound every now and then, like she was singing softly to herself.

“How did you sleep?” she asked Samuel when he sat down at the table.

“Okay.”

“I’m all out of eggs. There’s no butter left, either.” Ruth put a plate down in front of Samuel with two sausages on it and some bread. “You didn’t hear any loud noises?”

Samuel kept his eyes on the bread. “What kind of noises?”

“Oh, nothing.” Ruth released a short laugh. “I was reading in bed and must have fallen asleep. The book slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a mighty bang. Loud enough to wake the dead, it was.” She took a seat at the table, the steam from her bowl of porridge rising up like a chimney pot. “It didn’t wake you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I had a strange dream last night.” He hadn’t, of course, but it was as if Ruth’s lie was a spark that ignited the boldest part of him. “At least, I think it was a dream... It felt real, though.”

Ruth took a spoonful of porridge, then wiped her mouth with a napkin. “What was the dream about?”

“A ghost,” said the boy softly.

“A ghost?” Ruth tilted her head.

“It was outside my bedroom door, walking up and down the hall.”

“If the dream troubled you, then you’d best not dwell on it,” said Ruth quickly.

“The ghost was white as snow, with long hair and breath so rotten it could knock you down. It was an angry ghost, Ruth, full of riddles that crawled along its flesh like maggots.”

“That will do, Samuel. This sort of talk doesn’t belong at a breakfast table.”

“The ghost walked back and forth along the corridor, glowing like a lantern, and even though the ghost had no feet, I could hear its boots creaking on the wooden floor. I thought the ghost was coming to get me, you see, and I was scared... I heard it whispering something over and over.”

“What a horrible dream.” Ruth said this with such sharp certainty it could only mean the subject was closed. “You best eat those sausages before they go cold.”

The boy looked only at Ruth. “Do you know what the ghost whispered in my dream, Ruth? Do you know what it said over and over?”

“Eat your breakfast, Samuel.” Ruth was churning the porridge with her spoon. “You’ve still got to get dressed for—”

“Pa.”

Ruth’s eyes clouded over, her lips pressed tight.

“That’s what the ghost said as it walked the halls. Pa! Pa! Pa!”

“Enough!”

Ruth threw the spoon down with such force porridge flew out, landing on the table. The might of her anger seemed to reach out and push Samuel back in his chair.

“I’ll hear no more of your dreams, Samuel Clay.” Ruth was gripping the edges of the table like she was trying to hold herself in place. “Something’s haunting you, boy, but I doubt very much it’s a ghost who’s to blame.

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