Skulduggery Pleasant. Derek Landy

it’s fine, you don’t have to. I’m OK here.”

      “There’s no way I’m leaving you in a strange house by yourself.”

      “It’s not a strange house; it’s Gordon’s and it’s fine. There’s no point in you trying to get here tonight – it’s lashing rain.”

      “Sweetie, it won’t take me long.”

      “It’ll take you ages. Where’s it flooded?”

      Her mother paused. “At the bridge.”

      “The bridge? And you want to walk from the bridge to here?”

      “If I speed-walk—”

      “Mum, don’t be silly. Get Dad to pick you up.”

      “Sweetheart, are you sure?”

      “I like it here, really. OK?”

      “Well, OK,” her mother said reluctantly. “I’ll be over first thing in the morning to pick you up, all right? And I saw some food in the cupboards, so if you’re hungry you can make yourself something.”

      “OK. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

      “Call us if you need anything or if you just want some company.”

      “I will. Night Mum.”

      “I love you.”

      “I know.”

      Stephanie hung up and grinned. She slipped the phone back into her jacket and put her feet up on the desk, relaxing back into the chair, and went back to reading.

      When she looked up again she was surprised to find that it was almost midnight and the rain had stopped. If she were home right now, she’d be in bed. She blinked, her eyes sore, stood up from the desk and went downstairs to the kitchen. For all his wealth and success and extravagant tastes, she was thankful that when it came to food, Gordon was a pretty standard guy. The bread was stale and the fruit was a bit too ripe, but there were biscuits and there was cereal, and the milk in the fridge was still good for one more day. Stephanie made herself a snack and wandered to the living room, where she flicked on the TV. She sat on the couch and was just getting comfy when the house phone rang.

      She looked at it, resting there on the table at her elbow. Who would be calling? Anyone who knew Gordon had died wouldn’t be calling because they’d know he had died, and she didn’t really want to be the one to tell anyone who didn’t know. It could be her parents, but then why didn’t they just call her mobile?

      Figuring that as the new owner of the house, it was her responsibility to answer her own phone, Stephanie picked it up and held it to her ear. “Hello?”

      Silence.

      “Hello?” Stephanie repeated.

      “Who is this?” came a man’s voice.

      “I’m sorry,” Stephanie said, “who do you want to speak to?”

      “Who is this?” responded the voice, more irritably this time.

      “If you’re looking for Gordon Edgley,” Stephanie said, “I’m afraid that he’s—”

      “I know Edgley’s dead,” snapped the man. “Who are you? Your name?”

      Stephanie hesitated. “Why do you want to know?” she asked.

      “What are you doing in that house? Why are you in his house?”

      “If you want to call back tomorrow—”

      “I don’t want to, all right? Listen to me, girlie, if you mess up my master’s plans, he will be very displeased and he is not a man you want to displease, you got that? Now tell me who you are!”

      Stephanie realised her hands were shaking. She forced herself to calm down and quickly found anger replacing her nervousness. “My name is none of your business,” she said. “If you want to talk to someone, call back tomorrow at a reasonable hour.”

      “You don’t talk to me like that,” the man hissed.

      “Goodnight,” Stephanie said firmly.

      “You do not talk to me like—”

      But Stephanie was already putting the phone down. Suddenly the idea of spending the whole night here wasn’t as appealing as it had first sounded. She considered calling her parents, then scolded herself for being so childish. No need to worry them, she thought to herself. No need to worry them about something so—

      Someone pounded on the front door.

      “Open up!” came the man’s voice between the pounding. Stephanie got to her feet, staring through to the hall beyond the living room. She could see a dark shape behind the frosted glass around the front door. “Open the damn door!”

      Stephanie backed up to the fireplace, her heart pounding in her chest. He knew she was in here, there was no use pretending that she wasn’t, but maybe if she stayed really quiet he’d give up and go away. She heard him cursing, and the pounding grew so heavy that the front door rattled under the blows.

      “Leave me alone!” Stephanie shouted.

      “Open the door!”

      “No!” she shouted back. She liked shouting – it disguised her fear. “I’m calling the police! I’m calling the police right now!”

      The pounding stopped immediately and Stephanie saw the shape move away from the door. Was that it? Had she scared him away? She thought of the back door – was it locked? Of course it was locked… It had to be locked. But she wasn’t sure, she wasn’t certain. She grabbed a poker from the fireplace and was reaching for the phone when she heard a knock on the window beside her.

      She cried out and jumped back. The curtains were open, and outside the window was pitch-black. She couldn’t see a thing.

      “Are you alone in there?” came the voice. It was teasing now, playing with her.

      “Go away,” she said loudly, holding up the poker so he could see it. She heard the man laugh.

      “What are you going to do with that?” he asked.

      “I’ll break your head open with it!” Stephanie screamed at him, fear and fury bubbling inside her. She heard him laugh again.

      “I just want to come in,” he said. “Open the door for me, girlie. Let me come in.”

      “The police are on their way,” she said.

      “You’re a liar.”

      Still she could see nothing beyond the glass and he could see everything. She moved to the phone, snatching it from its cradle.

      “Don’t do that,” came the voice.

      “I’m calling the police.”

      “The road’s closed, girlie. You call them, I’ll break down that door and kill you hours before they get here.”

      Fear became terror and Stephanie froze. She was going to cry. She could feel it, the tears welling up inside her. She hadn’t cried in years. “What do you want?” she said to the darkness. “Why do you want to come in?”

      “It’s got nothing to do with me, girlie. I’ve just been sent to pick something up. Let me in. I’ll look around, get what I came here for and leave. I won’t harm a pretty little hair on your pretty little head, I promise. Now you just open that door right this second.”

      Stephanie gripped the poker in both hands and shook her head. She was crying now, tears rolling down her cheeks. “No,” she said.

      She screamed as a fist smashed through the window, showering