It’s Dad’s turn to look after me this weekend. I know he tries his best but visits to his house are always so dull. His latest girlfriend is a nail technician and she is constantly trying to pluck my eyebrows. There is nothing wrong with my eyebrows. Sure, they meet in the middle and are bushier than most other 10 year olds in my school, but they are my eyebrows and I don’t need some jumped up mum-replacement telling me what to do with them. It’s not like I have a problem with her or anything. It’s just she should not tell me what to do.

Eyebrow chat aside, Saturday mornings are usually not too bad. Dad is trying really hard. He desperately wants me to enjoy his visits. He buys me Super Crunch-a-roos for breakfast, the chocolatiest choc cereal available in the shops. I also get to lounge around and watch cartoons all morning. Lazy Saturdays are the best Saturdays. Before the big split, I had to do Ballet, followed by swimming, rounding off the day with football training. I was shattered by Sunday, and they were not much calmer. I usually had a football game in the morning and piano practice in the afternoons. I was almost glad to go back to school on Monday. Almost.

This morning I got up at about half nine. No-one woke me, which was nice of them, much nicer than I was expecting. They knew I’d had a tough week at school so they let me have a lovely, long lie in. I looked in my overnight bag for a clean t-shirt and underwear and spotted a bright yellow top. Mum had packed my football shirt. Maybe I did miss my team mates sometimes.

The house was very quiet as I brushed my teeth. The eyebrow-obsessed Barbie girlfriend slept in most weekends I was here but Dad was usually up. He liked to listen to the old radio in kitchen. He’d had it for years. I loved the all the great big dials on the front. It was ancient, like something from the twentieth century. Sometimes he would be getting angry at politicians on Radio 4 or other times he would be dancing away to some old 90’s music. The kitchen radio was silent this morning. He must be having a lie in too.

Dressed and washed, I went downstairs to get my chocolatey goodness. In the kitchen, the coffee pot filled the air with the rich aroma of Colombia’s finest export. Dad wouldn’t have gone far if the coffee pot was on. I glanced into garden and the shed door was open. He must be up there, so I left him to it. One thing that did not change when dad left my mum was his shed. He would disappear in there for hours at a time and forbid anyone from entering. My dad even rigged up a bell on a rope so that if we wanted him, we would not go looking in his shed, we would just ring the bell and he would come. I looked around but could not find a string, or button, or pull cord. He must not have set it up yet in this new house. I can’t imagine he would be very happy if ‘eyebrow’ Barbie went in his shed and disturbed his ‘shedding’. As I ate my cereal by the back window, something caught my eye, I could have sworn I saw the bushes at the back shaking. All the water from the rain last night was dripping off the leaves on to the floor. What could have done that? It must be the neighbour’s cat, Twiddles or Scribbles or whatever they called it. Dad calls it Horribles, he says it is always coming in here and pooing in his flower beds. He finds the little smelly nuggets when he’s weeding.

The bush shook again, at least I think it did. It only ever moved in my peripheral vision. If I looked directly at it, it was perfectly still, as if it was waiting for me to look away, then… I rubbed my eyes to rid myself of the creepy feeling that was crawling across my skin. Cartoons would help my mood so I turned on the TV and found my favourite shows. I expected I would be chuckling away at the latest adventures of Sponge Bob but even the silliest jokes did not amuse me. It was like someone had turned the colour down on the world. No matter how I fidgeted and wriggled I couldn’t get comfortable. It felt like ants were running up and down my spine in waves. I turned quickly to see if the bush was still shaking but it was as still as a photo. Despite the tranquil scene of the still garden, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. It took me a minute or two to spot the difference from last time. The shed door. It stood open before but was now closed. Shut tight. I turned the TV off. I’d seen that episode before anyway.

I had to find someone. There must be someone around. I mean, who put the coffee on? I ran upstairs, taking them two at a time, and burst into my dad’s bedroom. I should have knocked but I was getting freaked out and I did not expect to see anyone in there anyway. It was too quiet. I stood still for a moment, wondering where to go next and rain started drumming against the window. Its steady tattoo was oddly reassuring in the eerie silence. The room was as it should be. There was no sign of an argument or struggle. The drawers were closed and the bed was made. The only thing missing were the people. Like the rest of the house.  I closed the door and did a quick search of the rest of upstairs. No signs of life.

I headed back to the kitchen, looking over my shoulder as I descended. I could not shake the feeling of someone watching me. An itch behind my ears. However, just like the shaking bush, I could not quite lay eyes upon the spy but I was convinced it was there. Hovering just out of sight in the shadows and dark corners.

Hands shaking, I struggled with the keys but managed to lock the back door. It was made harder by the darkening skies. Thick dark clouds rolled overhead and the rain grew in intensity. The calm rat-a-tat on the windows built up to a deafening crescendo. Panic rose in my chest, what was I going to do? Then I stuck upon an idea. Their phones. They must have their mobiles with them. I haven’t got one yet. I will get one for my eleventh birthday, but until then I would have to make do with the house phone. I quickly dialled my dad’s number from memory. I pressed the handset into my ear, hoping he would pick up. I willed him to answer my call.

“Hi.” answered dad’s wonderful voice and I opened my mouth to ask where on earth he was. “Welcome to my answer phone. Leave a message…” I let out a yell of frustration and the inevitable tears began to flow. I rang the phone again, out of desperation, and listened to the house instead of the ringing in the ear piece. Back in the kitchen was the familiar buzz of a phone on silent vibrating across a wooden table top. I hung up the phone. It was pointless. Panic elevated into despair as I slumped down onto a kitchen chair. What could I do? Everyone was gone without a trace. I had been abandoned and there was something in the garden stalking me, I was sure of it. I could feel its oily eyes on my skin. Just then, lightning rent the blackened sky. The garden lit up like midday for the briefest of seconds. I rubbed the tears from my eyes. For a second, in the blinding flash, I had seen a face in the window of the shed. I peered through the rain splattered glass for a closer look. It was dark in the shed, like a cavern in the storm. The darkness swallowing up any creature hiding in there. I leapt out of my skin when another flash lit up the shed. The rumble of angry thunder that followed felt like the world was hungry and I was on the menu. Another flash, with a crash hot on its heels. This time I held my composure and gazed into the shed window. Was that a muzzle? I could definitely make out two eyes. And hair, there was lots of hair. My dad has lots of hair, it is wild thatch dumped on his head that he has never tried to sort out. It must have been him I saw. There was only one way to make sure…

I unlocked the back door. Opened it slowly. The wind tried to rip the handle from my fingers but I held on. I left the safety of the kitchen and stepped into the storm. The rain slapped my face and stung my eyes. I was quickly soaked through, no point going back for a coat. I stepped deeper into the tempest. More lightning tore at the air and I could tell it was close by as there was no gap before the thunder deafened me with its bestial roar. Placing one foot in front of the other took all my strength and courage. That was how I got across the garden. Slipping in the mud, and squinting into the wind, I put one foot in front of the other. Another flash. Another crash. I was there. At the shed door. I had never been brave enough to go in there, even on the on the brightest of summer days. When my father was there merrily doing whatever it was he did in there, I stayed out. I was soaked to the skin and scared witless, and I broke the taboo. Confronted the forbidden. Trembling finger reached out as if controlled by some alien force. They closed numbly around the handle and twisted. Click. The door creaked open an inch like it was letting out a breath it had been holding. I pulled on the handle once more and the door resisted me. It did not want me inside; I did not belong there. I ignored the warned signs and pulled harder. I had gone so far, perhaps too far. The cold metal lock was slippery in my grasp but I held on and door gave in. It opened fully to allow me in.

I placed a foot inside the portal. Nothing. My other foot followed and I was in the shed. I looked around but saw little. My eyes were still adjusting to the gloom. Too late, I saw it above me. It fell on my head and it all went dark.