The ghost waits for a moment, knife raised, pleased with itself. When I open my eyes, realizing the story has ended, it evaporates. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything since coming home from school, because the kitchen table was strewn with blood-covered parcels of meat, but now my stomach hurts. I get up silently and creep downstairs.

I don’t switch on the light as I go into the kitchen. I’m not scared of this house.

I take butter and cheese out of the fridge, and only then do I notice Krista standing by the window. She’s looking out at the dark garden. She always looks so lost at night. As if she didn’t remember why she was here and what house this was. Now she turns to look at me.

‘Did you have a bad dream?’ she asks.

I nod.

‘Me, too,’ she says.

Perhaps the ghost comes downstairs, too. What do I know? Perhaps everyone’s got a ghost of their own. I look at Krista and wait to hear if she’s going to say more. But she just turns back towards the window.

The dirty carving knife lies in the sink.

I butter three slices of bread and leave Krista in the dark.

11

11

Mum’s things have been packed up into three large cardboard boxes and put in the attic. The first box contains official papers, two photo albums, bundles of letters tied together with yarn, a history of Auntie Brown, Auntie Marshmallow and Auntie Uncle’s home village, Grandad’s cap, Grandma’s spoons, Mum’s baby booties, a newspaper cutting about a pumpkin Auntie Brown grew, Mum’s graduation cap and some old cups. Dad said that when I’m older, I can decide what to do with Mum’s things, but until then, they can stay in the attic.

The other box contains Mum’s clothes. Mum’s party dress almost fits me now. On hangers, the clothes still looked alive, but when Dad took them down and folded them into flat piles, they died. I heard it. When Dad folded a big, grey, woolly jumper, I heard it expel its last breath before slumping.

The third box is full of shoes. Most of the shoes are still too big for me, but the mustard-coloured boots fit. They’ve got wooden heels and pointed toes, and they clatter when you walk in them. You can’t mince or sprint – you can only take steady steps. Sometimes I put them on and walk to the shop and back. I love their echoing sound.