Read Online The Servants by Michael Marshall Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Marshall Smith
Tags: Fiction, General, Fiction - General, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Haunted Houses, Ghost, English Horror Fiction, Boys, Brighton (England)
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moment, he had no idea where he was, then he jerked his head and saw the old lady asleep in her chair, her face tilted slightly back.
He blinked, disoriented. He looked over at the bedside clock and saw it was twenty-five past eight. He must have been asleep for two or three hours . He hoped she’d nodded off
at the same time, or he must have looked really silly. He blinked again several times, hard, trying to get his
m i c h a e l m a r s h a l l s m i t h head straight. He was very tired, worn out by days of walking, of falling off a skateboard, of lying in the rain and crying. Something must have woken him up, otherwise he probably would have slept on for hours more. He wasn’t sure what that something had been, though.
A sound, perhaps? A faint knocking sound?
Whatever it had been, it was quiet now. All he could hear were the whistle of the old lady’s breath, as it drifted in and out of her nose and mouth—sitting there so still she looked disconcertingly as if she could be dead—and the clock, still tick-tocking away to itself. The sound was threatening to send Mark off to sleep again.
He pushed himself up out of the chair. He’d better go. As he stepped toward the door, his leg twisted, painfully. He must have really banged it up. It hadn’t hurt so much before, but the sleep had allowed the knock to settle into it. Wow, actually, it really, really hurt. Still bleary, moving quietly so as to not wake the old lady, Mark hobbled carefully around the front of the room, past the tiny stove. Then he stopped.
In front of him was a narrow drawer, in the center of the unit that supported the little sink. He opened it, remembering what he’d seen put there. He turned, slowly. The old lady was fast asleep. Something might have woken Mark, some muffled noise, but it was silent now. She’d be asleep for hours yet. And five minutes was all he’d need.
Just for another quick look.
He hesitated. She’d shown it to him in the first place, so
t h e s e r va n t s
she probably wouldn’t mind, would she? It would be better, more polite, to ask her—either when she woke up, or tomorrow. Of course. But she might say no, and now that the idea had occurred to him, Mark realized he really wanted to do what he had in mind.
Just to have another peek. It couldn’t do any harm. He watched the old lady sleeping for a moment longer, and then took the big key from the drawer.
After he’d carefully closed it again, he crept across the room, wincing. His back hurt, too.
He turned the knob of the door very, very slowly, making sure it didn’t make any noise. Then opened it just as carefully, pulling it behind him again as he stepped outside. He didn’t shut it, knowing he’d have to come back to return the key, but left it half an inch ajar.
He stood in the wide corridor, his hands turned yellow from the dim light shed by the bulb he had changed. He stepped over to the big door and fitted the key in the lock. Turned it.
Clock, it went.
He pushed the door open into blackness, and stepped inside.
P A R T
II
nine
The first thing he noticed after he’d shut the door behind him was that the hallway wasn’t as dark as he’d thought. Again there was that gray light coming from the area at the back, filtering down through the filthy panes in the skylight above the kitchen. It was nighttime now and the light was a lot softer than it had been when he’d come here before, but still seeped around the corner into the main corridor, picking out the edges of walls.
It remained quite gloomy, however. Mark reached out and ran his fingers along the wall on the right, until he found the light switch.
He flicked it, but nothing happened. The bulb must have gone. That was not so good. It was going to be hard to see. Not to mention that, now he was actually in here, it was a little . . .
It was very quiet, that was all. It wasn’t spooky. It was like being in a ruined castle—or a church on a
He blinked, disoriented. He looked over at the bedside clock and saw it was twenty-five past eight. He must have been asleep for two or three hours . He hoped she’d nodded off
at the same time, or he must have looked really silly. He blinked again several times, hard, trying to get his
m i c h a e l m a r s h a l l s m i t h head straight. He was very tired, worn out by days of walking, of falling off a skateboard, of lying in the rain and crying. Something must have woken him up, otherwise he probably would have slept on for hours more. He wasn’t sure what that something had been, though.
A sound, perhaps? A faint knocking sound?
Whatever it had been, it was quiet now. All he could hear were the whistle of the old lady’s breath, as it drifted in and out of her nose and mouth—sitting there so still she looked disconcertingly as if she could be dead—and the clock, still tick-tocking away to itself. The sound was threatening to send Mark off to sleep again.
He pushed himself up out of the chair. He’d better go. As he stepped toward the door, his leg twisted, painfully. He must have really banged it up. It hadn’t hurt so much before, but the sleep had allowed the knock to settle into it. Wow, actually, it really, really hurt. Still bleary, moving quietly so as to not wake the old lady, Mark hobbled carefully around the front of the room, past the tiny stove. Then he stopped.
In front of him was a narrow drawer, in the center of the unit that supported the little sink. He opened it, remembering what he’d seen put there. He turned, slowly. The old lady was fast asleep. Something might have woken Mark, some muffled noise, but it was silent now. She’d be asleep for hours yet. And five minutes was all he’d need.
Just for another quick look.
He hesitated. She’d shown it to him in the first place, so
t h e s e r va n t s
she probably wouldn’t mind, would she? It would be better, more polite, to ask her—either when she woke up, or tomorrow. Of course. But she might say no, and now that the idea had occurred to him, Mark realized he really wanted to do what he had in mind.
Just to have another peek. It couldn’t do any harm. He watched the old lady sleeping for a moment longer, and then took the big key from the drawer.
After he’d carefully closed it again, he crept across the room, wincing. His back hurt, too.
He turned the knob of the door very, very slowly, making sure it didn’t make any noise. Then opened it just as carefully, pulling it behind him again as he stepped outside. He didn’t shut it, knowing he’d have to come back to return the key, but left it half an inch ajar.
He stood in the wide corridor, his hands turned yellow from the dim light shed by the bulb he had changed. He stepped over to the big door and fitted the key in the lock. Turned it.
Clock, it went.
He pushed the door open into blackness, and stepped inside.
P A R T
II
nine
The first thing he noticed after he’d shut the door behind him was that the hallway wasn’t as dark as he’d thought. Again there was that gray light coming from the area at the back, filtering down through the filthy panes in the skylight above the kitchen. It was nighttime now and the light was a lot softer than it had been when he’d come here before, but still seeped around the corner into the main corridor, picking out the edges of walls.
It remained quite gloomy, however. Mark reached out and ran his fingers along the wall on the right, until he found the light switch.
He flicked it, but nothing happened. The bulb must have gone. That was not so good. It was going to be hard to see. Not to mention that, now he was actually in here, it was a little . . .
It was very quiet, that was all. It wasn’t spooky. It was like being in a ruined castle—or a church on a
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