will be there, waiting.
Lights are meant to make a place look cosy but the light in Mr Dickensâ cellar is dismal. A dull cobwebby bulb which emphasises the dark outside its reach and presses shadows into every gap and crease. The bit of cellar I live in is cramped up in one corner and in the day you donât notice the rest but at night you can see that there is a big area where the light doesnât reach. There are ladders, rusty saws, cardboard boxes, saw-horses, fringed lampshades, all sorts of stuff laced together with cobwebs and shadows, and in the day you can stand there and name the things and not be scared at all. Not that Iâm scared anyway. What is there to be scared of?
I tried to make it as cheerful as I could. I put the Calor gas on, even though Iâm worried about the fumes. There was something on the radio about a girl who died from carbon monoxide fumes. Just dropped off to sleep beside her gas fire, never to wake up. But the cellar is so draughty I donât think that will happen to me. I made a cup of tea and put the radio on for company. I like listening to Radio 4 best, the calm sensible voices telling you calm sensible things, but I always switch off for the news. The sorts of things it fills your head with, you do not need to know.
I could tell it was going to be one of those nights. Usually Iâm all right. I read or just sleep or sometimes thereâs a play on the radio which I love, itâs such a rest from myself â but it wasnât about to be one of those nights. I donât put the light off when I go to sleep but that isnât for any particular reason. I just donât.
I felt all tensed up as if my belly was full of question marks and it was mainly about Doggo. The clear vision of my balance was fading. The balance alone. Maybe being alone too much is dangerous? Maybe having a friend would help? The voice was telling me to leave him be. But maybe the voice was wrong . Or maybe it was tricking me, tricking me away from a friendship that would be fine. Which is the good voice and which the saboteur?
I heard a voice. It was above me in the kitchen and it wasnât Mr Dickensâ voice and there were footsteps too. My heart nearly stopped. Thereâs never anybody there except for Meals on Wheels and they only stay about two minutes. The footsteps were quick and the voice was a womanâs. I reached and switched off the radio. There were sounds like running water and things happening in the kitchen. I thought, calm down, Lamb, and I did sit down on the edge of my bed but not very calmly. I thought I should switch off the light but I couldnât do that. I stayed very still with the cup of tea between my hands, just watching the steam rise off it, straining my ears to hear what next.
I heard a laugh and then the bump-shuzz bump-shuzz of Mr Dickens. The back door opened and a girly voice called out, âDoughnut, Doughnut, come on, boy, time to do your stuff.â I shot up quick and switched off the light because if she went in the garden she would see the light on and then ⦠Anyway I switched it off and stood by the door with my hands all wet and the black smothering me, a blanket in my eyes and mouth, and I started to shrink. I think my eyes were shut I donât know. She was out there saying, âReally , Uncle,â about something or other I donât know. I waited till I stopped shrinking and I must have opened my eyes because then I saw it wasnât totally dark, some of the kitchen light had spilled against the window and I could see the patterns of cobwebs with all the dry old legs and wings.
The voice kept calling until Doughnut was back in and it seemed like hours later the door banged shut and I heard the footsteps leave the kitchen and then the front door bang and a car drive away. I put the light back on and looked round at the room. Bleak is definitely the word but at least itâs somewhere. You just have to focus
Lights are meant to make a place look cosy but the light in Mr Dickensâ cellar is dismal. A dull cobwebby bulb which emphasises the dark outside its reach and presses shadows into every gap and crease. The bit of cellar I live in is cramped up in one corner and in the day you donât notice the rest but at night you can see that there is a big area where the light doesnât reach. There are ladders, rusty saws, cardboard boxes, saw-horses, fringed lampshades, all sorts of stuff laced together with cobwebs and shadows, and in the day you can stand there and name the things and not be scared at all. Not that Iâm scared anyway. What is there to be scared of?
I tried to make it as cheerful as I could. I put the Calor gas on, even though Iâm worried about the fumes. There was something on the radio about a girl who died from carbon monoxide fumes. Just dropped off to sleep beside her gas fire, never to wake up. But the cellar is so draughty I donât think that will happen to me. I made a cup of tea and put the radio on for company. I like listening to Radio 4 best, the calm sensible voices telling you calm sensible things, but I always switch off for the news. The sorts of things it fills your head with, you do not need to know.
I could tell it was going to be one of those nights. Usually Iâm all right. I read or just sleep or sometimes thereâs a play on the radio which I love, itâs such a rest from myself â but it wasnât about to be one of those nights. I donât put the light off when I go to sleep but that isnât for any particular reason. I just donât.
I felt all tensed up as if my belly was full of question marks and it was mainly about Doggo. The clear vision of my balance was fading. The balance alone. Maybe being alone too much is dangerous? Maybe having a friend would help? The voice was telling me to leave him be. But maybe the voice was wrong . Or maybe it was tricking me, tricking me away from a friendship that would be fine. Which is the good voice and which the saboteur?
I heard a voice. It was above me in the kitchen and it wasnât Mr Dickensâ voice and there were footsteps too. My heart nearly stopped. Thereâs never anybody there except for Meals on Wheels and they only stay about two minutes. The footsteps were quick and the voice was a womanâs. I reached and switched off the radio. There were sounds like running water and things happening in the kitchen. I thought, calm down, Lamb, and I did sit down on the edge of my bed but not very calmly. I thought I should switch off the light but I couldnât do that. I stayed very still with the cup of tea between my hands, just watching the steam rise off it, straining my ears to hear what next.
I heard a laugh and then the bump-shuzz bump-shuzz of Mr Dickens. The back door opened and a girly voice called out, âDoughnut, Doughnut, come on, boy, time to do your stuff.â I shot up quick and switched off the light because if she went in the garden she would see the light on and then ⦠Anyway I switched it off and stood by the door with my hands all wet and the black smothering me, a blanket in my eyes and mouth, and I started to shrink. I think my eyes were shut I donât know. She was out there saying, âReally , Uncle,â about something or other I donât know. I waited till I stopped shrinking and I must have opened my eyes because then I saw it wasnât totally dark, some of the kitchen light had spilled against the window and I could see the patterns of cobwebs with all the dry old legs and wings.
The voice kept calling until Doughnut was back in and it seemed like hours later the door banged shut and I heard the footsteps leave the kitchen and then the front door bang and a car drive away. I put the light back on and looked round at the room. Bleak is definitely the word but at least itâs somewhere. You just have to focus
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