The Keyhole

Come play with Lucy. NaNoWriMo draft.

Peeking through the keyhole I see pink walls. Fluffy baby pink walls. The room is dominated by a wrought iron bed. A white dresser sits against a far wall adorned by picture frames that never seem to contain anyone recognisable. As the view pans I sit back from the keyhole and look up, nothing there but the half finished blackness and some odd scaffolding I hadn't noticed before. Crap, it’s not real.

It was always the same dream, the same room, and it feels so real I wonder if it is a memory or some kind of out of body experience. Perhaps the old house on the corner has a child’s room that I'm remote viewing. Could I find some excuse to visit and maybe check? More likely I could wait and sneak in when the ones who lived there had gone to work at the same time that they did everyday.

I let myself drift back to consciousness, back to my room where my stuff was, where my new friends now were. I leaned over the bed and looked under to check on them, they were still there, freshly wrapped and unmoving. I can’t wait to play with them.

Only one thing stands in the way of our fun — the watchers. My grandmother is one of them. Ever since my mother left I've lived with her in the spare room she made up for me. It’s mine now. I can lock the door and I even remember to put a coat on the handle so she can’t watch through the hole. I also made new curtains for the room so the gardener can’t watch us through the window. Sometimes another man comes, like a landlord maybe, he likes to watch from the front door. It’s Sunday so today is volunteer day, she’ll be gone for four hours exactly, I just have to wait until she leaves and try not to go back to sleep. I almost missed my time last week.

I lay back and listened to my grandmother’s routine: quick toilet, bathroom for rinsing false teeth and spiting out something gross, kitchen for coffee and toast, bedroom for dressing, make-up and perfume, a quick smoke, back to the toilet, and finally the front door slamming shut. Wait. Ten minutes in case of forgotten items. Get up, look through the keyhole — all clear, unlock and open bedroom door, flinch at the lingering odour of toilet, perfume, cigarettes and coffee. The house is mine.

I reach under the bed and drag out the toy laden tarp. I keep my tools in the bottom drawer dresser, they were my grandfather’s tools when he was alive, he used to make things in his shed out the back. They’re mine now, I took them before they pulled down the old shed. Granddad said they watched him too.

I’ll start with the trusty scalpel, I sharpened it yesterday during TV time, I'm pleased with myself for doing that — it’s such a time saver. I seem to be getting better at timing this too, the rigour has passed which makes the dissections easier but not so long they stink up the place. The scented dressings help but it’s clear that I only have a day or two. Grandma’s smells would cover only so much.

It takes me about two hours to divide up the bodies. I study the parts I'm interested in, today I want to see the Cauda Equina — the horse tail part of the spinal column. They were quite a funny, stringy looking group of white tendrils. I wish people had tails, its like we were meant to have awesome cat-like tails but it just didn't quite happen. I consider moving some of the parts to the wardrobe, at least if someone found one body, they wouldn't find the second one.

As I'm wrapping the parts in some plastic sheets I hear the key in the front door. No. No. No. Too early. I leap to my feet, shut and lock the door, take off my gloves and apron, put them on the tarp with the remains, go back to the door put the coat on the handle. Listen. Footsteps in the kitchen. Deep breath. Lunge at the tarp pushing it back under the bed, now grab the newly wrapped parts and throw them in the dresser with the dirty tools — no time to clean them, damn, they’ll rust, granddad would be displeased. I have to wait until tomorrow now

Knock on my bedroom door. Silence.

“Are you up?” Grandma’s voice.

Door handle jiggles. Silence.

Muffled grumbling sounds. Breath.

I unlock and open the door, dash out & shut it behind me.

“Hey Nana, was that you? Sorry I just got up, I didn't sleep very well last night.” Groan for added effect.

“Oh well I'm dying for a smoke, I suppose you haven’t eaten anything.”

“No Nana I just woke up, I can’t eat in my sleep.”

“Can’t you now, I’ll be in the kitchen. What the hell is that smell?”

“You Nana, you spend too much time with all those homeless people.”

“I'm dying for a shower. You know the landlord did say he was worried about how much your room is shut up all day and night.”

So he was the landlord and he was watching. How else would he know about the room? He could be watching right now with hidden cameras in the house. Just not in the room. The room was still safe.

“Nana can we have roast chicken for dinner tonight?

“Only if you go take it out of the freezer now.”

While she was smoking I removed the frozen bird and put it in the sink to thaw seriously hoping that once she overcooked this thing beyond inches of its afterlife it would buy me some smell time.

We made it through dinner. I managed to rinse my tools while she was showering, unfortunately she never does for very long so they’re not sterile or anything but they’ll do. I ate as much as possible of the bird and took a plate load back to my room. She was pleased.

I went to bed.

I'm facing two stark white doorways with a large heavy painting of water separating them. I'm confused about which door to go through. I turn around to see a woman sitting in an airport waiting room wrapping her tools but I can see she’s making a mess of it. I approach her and offer to show her how to do it properly.

“This his how you dress your tools.” I didn't want to offend but my way was best.

I sat on my bed by the window. I could hear voices outside talking about me. I wanted to look out but I didn't want to be seen. I waited. By the time I open the curtains and fling open the window the voices were gone and nobody was there.

I woke up.