The Tall House

The only sounds were the boy’s tapping footsteps and the occasional swirl of wind. Orange leaves spun past him, then a new noise began: a quiet whisper on the breeze. The boy turned, expecting to see someone, but there was nobody. Just a small cat licking its paw. He shrugged and walked on.

He turned the corner onto a street lined with skeletal trees. Each house watched the street with dark windows and the boy clenched his little fists in his jacket pockets. Another gust of wind brought a fresh voice to his ears. He strained to catch what it was whispering but missed the words. He looked around and saw that the cat was there. It had followed him, creeping its way down the street behind him. It stopped and looked at him before he took off again.

When he reached The Tall House he quickened his steps, as every kid in the neighbourhood did. The Tall House had stood longer than any other on the block. It was built as a showhome — grander than any of the others — but had stood abandoned after the first owners murdered their children in the attic. Or maybe the whole family was murdered by robbers. The boy had heard both stories, but the one thing he was sure of was that it sat in constant darkness. Except on Hallowe’en, that is, when kids were dared to go into The Tall House and light a candle in the murder-room.

He had only ever seen one kid actually go in to light a candle, and he remembered how his skin had tingled with fear. There had been a small group of them watching, and while they waited they traded stories of how the candle would summon the killer back again. That tingling fear had returned now, the boy realised, though he couldn’t place why. Probably just because of walking too close to The Tall House. He really should cross to the other side of the street next time, he thought.

Looking around as he entered the park, the boy saw that there was no one around. That meant he would have the swings all to himself. He smiled and broke into a run. Behind him, the cat had sat down next to a bare tree by the park gates, and seemed to watch as he settled onto the plastic seat and kicked his legs to swing forward and back, forward and back. It was hypnotic and the boy fell into a deep rhythm of movement for quite some time.

He was staring into space, concentrating on the tempo of the swingset, when a movement caught his eye. Over the street, the cat had suddenly disappeared. He looked around for it, slowing his pace on the swing, when he caught sight of it again. His feet skidded him to a halt, scuffing dust all over his trainers. Up at the top window of The Tall House, watching from the window, was the silhouette of a cat.

The boy stood, straining his eyes, and the chain on the swingset rattled in the wind. The boy took a few stuttering steps and began to hear the whispering again. It was clearer this time; closer, almost. He moved his mouth with the words like he had when he was learning to read in school. Behind the cat, a candle flickered in the attic, then suddenly went out.