It’s 2am and I’ve had far too much to drink. Luckily my little cottage isn’t too far away from the pub, and so walking home is a viable option.
“Are you going to be okay getting home?” Gertie slurs as I straighten my hat and gloves.
“Yes, Gertie, yes.” I say, making a real effort to look neat and tidy.
I’m like that, you see.
I’m always neat and tidy.
We part ways and I make the chilly walk home, stopping only to wish a snowman good evening.
On reaching my garden gate, I grasp the wood and attempt a little swing. The gate feels brittle.
Best not do that.
I pause at my door, admiring the fresh paintwork from last week.
Very neat. Very fresh and tidy.
Fumbling for my keys, I try my best to get it into the lock.
Okay. Fifteenth time lucky…
It won’t go in. I can’t get the key to fit.
Apparently I don’t have the coordination for this.
I turn the door handle in frustration and the door swings open.
“Oh. Well that’s nice.”
I stumble inside and despite my wobbling, manage to hang up my coat and scarf on the little peg in the hall where they belong. The painting on the wall badly needs to be straightened too, and so I see to that.
My cat, Bambi approaches me, meowing his little head off.
“What are you barking at, Bambi?” I huff.
“Meow…”
“I see. Well why don’t you go and make us a cup of tea, eh? We can discuss it then.”
He continues to meow at my feet and rub himself against my legs, but makes no motion towards the kitchen.
“Et tu, Bambi?”
I make my way to the kitchen and sigh.
“I see that you’ve been in at the mugs. Bambi, you had no right.”
I pick my favourite mug up off the counter and give it a drunken polish with a tea towel. Bambi watches as I put it back in its place with the others, neatly in line.
There.
Everything in its place. Neat and tidy.
I close the cupboard door.
“Are you going to boil the kettle?”
Bambi blinks.
“Alright then, fuck the tea.”
I climb the stairs and make my way down the darkened hall to my bedroom. It takes a while, but I eventually manage to do my nighttime routine.
Bambi follows me the entire time as I totter between bedroom and bathroom, watching in silence as I brush my teeth and get worked up about the cap on the toothpaste being left open.
I finally snap the lid down on the laundry basket with a triumphant nod.
“No clothes on the floor for us, Bambi. We don’t want to wake up to mess.”
“Meow.”
“I’ll leave the bedroom door open in case you need the toilet in the night.”
It’s a freezing night and so I pull on thick socks before climbing into my bed that lays flush against the wall.
Bambi hops in beside me - and that’s when I notice it.
Wallpaper. Ripped. Right by my pillows.
“Bambi, what on earth have you been doing in here?!”
“Meow!”
“Honestly, who drank more tonight, me or you? You’ve behaved outrageously!”
Bambi ignores my scolding and cuddles down into my covers. I stare at the tear, huffing and puffing as I run my finger along the smooth, untouched wall beneath the paper.
“Well I think that you’ve been very selfish tonight, Bambi, all things considered. Though I must say… it’s very smooth this wall. Like a blank canvas, almost.”
Bambi already has his eyes closed. I sigh tiredly and drop my hand from the wall. I can feel mine closing too.
“Goodnight, Bambi.” I whisper as I drift off into a dreamy haze.
***
The next morning I wake to freezing feet and sunlight in my eyes. I put a hand over my face and let out a groan.
I really should have put some socks on last night…
I sit up slowly, regretting the last two drinks. Running a hand through my hair, I can’t help but feel wretched.
Was I hit by a train?
The sound of Bambi meowing and scratching at the closed bedroom door forces me out of bed. He’s stretching up and pawing at it.
Poor little thing. He must need his kitty litter badly.
I open it with a sigh, and an uneasy feeling starts to come over me as I watch him scamper down the hall. I glance slowly down at my hand, which is still gripping the doorknob.
This door shouldn’t have been shut.
Bambi meows from downstairs.
“I… I’m coming, Bambi!”
While throwing on a robe and some warm socks, my eyes catch sight of the ripped wallpaper on the opposite wall by my bed. I move across the room for a closer inspection, and my eyes, narrowed in confusion at first, widen as recognition sets in.
I’d scolded Bambi for this…
A chill creeps up from deep within my skin.
I’d scolded him for moving my mug too.
…A mug that had originally been sitting behind the heavy doors of a cupboard.
I reach out and touch the wallpaper, my mind now full of last night.
‘Like a blank canvas almost…’
Except that it’s not like a blank canvas at all, because there’s pencil right there on what was previously a fresh wall. There’s writing.
Sickness grips me tight as my mind races and recollects…
The unlocked front door… the painting… the mug… the toothpaste…
Someone was in my house.
Bile rises in my throat.
… And that someone would have had to have leaned right over me whilst I slept in order to write by my bed.
My blood runs cold as my eyes dart across the faint sentence left behind on the wall.
‘You’re smooth too.’
Part Two : here.