by Lauren Bell
Last night she did it again. She seems to be getting the hang of it by now, timing her arrivals as though she can see through walls. Perhaps she can. I wouldn’t put it past her.
I didn’t believe her at first: walking through walls? Impossible. Her eyes flashed mischief, her mouth said trust me.
Three days later she decided to unleash her talent. I was in the kitchen at the time, watching the chicken turn a golden brown, when she appeared from nowhere.
‘H-how did you do that?’ I asked, feeling my skin prickle with goose bumps.
‘Told you I was special.’
Not special, I thought. But definitely strange.
‘Don’t do that again,’ I said. ‘Especially when I’m in the kitchen. It’s dangerous.’
So she took to visiting me in the bedroom instead, which I didn’t mind since we both enjoyed trying new things. Except the bedroom wasn’t enough; neither was the study or the attic.
The worst time though was the bathroom. Everyone’s entitled to a bit of privacy now and again, but she couldn’t even let me have a decent shit in peace and came seeping through the walls.
‘Have you seen the nail clips? Do you know where my hairbrush is? Oooh, would you like a piece of strawberry cheesecake?’
I fought the urge to scream back at her, partly because I’m scared of what she may do, (I’m guessing that walking through walls isn’t her only hidden talent), and because I don’t want to give our nosey neighbours something to chew on for the next three months.
Instead I said, ‘Right, now’s the time for some house rules.’
‘But other housemates make use of the bathroom together.’
‘Not when one of them is letting go on the toilet.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’
‘No!’ I snapped. ‘And besides, it’s not normal.’
She smiled. ‘Told you I was special.’
Somehow, I doubt whether any of it will sink in.
Lauren Bell lives in Birmingham, loves rainbows, and spends most of her time away with the fairies!