I Know Who You Are~A Dark, Chilling and Clever Psychological Thriller With a Killer Twist by Alice Feeney

Author:Alice Feeney [Feeney, Alice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B0744BNG6Y
Publisher: HQ
Published: 2019-05-16T00:00:00+00:00

Thirty-seven

Essex, 1988

It’s a Saturday and I am sitting in the back room of the shop counting the coins and putting them into clear plastic bags. I check I’ve counted right with the red plastic coin shelf. I like to start with the ten-pence coins, stacking them all up until they reach the mark that says five pounds. Then I put them in the bag, it’s easy. Just as I’m folding over the top of the last bag, to stop the coins from falling out, I think I see a shadow move across the little window, but I must have imagined it, because Maggie and John are both in the shop, and it sounds awful busy.

Saturday is always the busiest day; people seem to really like placing bets at the weekend, I’m not sure why. Maybe they think it’s lucky or something. I think maybe I’m too young to understand why yelling at horses racing on a TV screen is fun. I get fed up listening to the sound of all the customers shouting, and smelling the stink of their cigarettes. The smoke creeps all the way to the back room from the shop, then hides in my nose so I have to smell it all day.

When I get bored, I play with the new Speak & Spell machine that Maggie gave me. It’s a little orange computer with a keyboard that I can carry around, and she says it will help me do well at school, if I’m allowed to go in September. I turn the Speak & Spell on, it plays a little tune, then it speaks to me in a funny robot voice. I think maybe that’s why I like it so much; nobody else has spoken to me all day.

“Spell promises,” it says, and then it reads out each letter as I type them onto the screen.

“L I E S.”

“That is incorrect. Spell promises.”

“P R O M I S E S.”

“Correct. Spell mother.”

“N O T M A G G I E.”

“That is incorrect. Spell mother.”

“M O T H E R.”

“Correct. Now spell home.”

“N O T H E R E.”

I see the shadow again, and this time I push my chair up against the window and look outside, but I can’t see anything except our car, and that doesn’t tend to move by itself. Sometimes it doesn’t move at all, and John has to push it down the little hill out of the backyard and onto the road, while Maggie sits in the front pressing the pedals with her feet and turning the key. I just sit in the back and watch. I’ve learned that they both get more cranky with me and each other if I say something when the car won’t start.

I look through the bars on the windows. All of our windows have bars, even upstairs. Maggie says it’s because bad men once climbed up on the roof. I’m still looking out through the bars, daydreaming probably—Maggie says I’m always doing that—when a face appears right in front of me.

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