Chapter 2

Sleeping was difficult that night, which meant that I was sharp and irritable the next morning. We'd moved on a Saturday, which meant that I should have got a Sunday lie in, but with last night's events, I'd been in and out of unconsciousness. I awoke to my clothes left on the floor, ripped up paper and smudged chalk.

I tried to convince myself it was all a dream, which was very possible. I could have come up from dinner and fallen asleep – that would be the logical explanation, as on our search, we had not found anything or anyone in the house. I decided to put it out of my mind for later exploration.

I went shopping with my father for some clothes, while my mother and the new housekeeper arranged the house. I could tell by his slow and tired attitude to each item I chose, that he wasn't really in his element in shops like Abercrombie & Fitch, but we both knew it was better than being home with my mother who would have gone into a state of control freak by now.

By the time we'd got back, the Housekeeper's hours were over, and we found my mother putting the last fixes to the living room. To give credit where it was due, it looked amazing. All our antique furniture that had looked ridiculous in our previous house, blended in so well here. The hand stitched maroon rug in the middle of the floor gave the perfect impression of grandeur my mother sought for. A real genuine 1920's house; we belonged in flapper dresses, perfect ringlets dangling by our eyes, and my father in a dapper suit with a bowler hat. Then we would have fit in. My father and mother's gleeful embrace showed his clear approval, but I couldn't help but feel excluded somehow. I didn't belong in this pretentious environment, I feared I would spill something on the Persian rug, or knock over a 100 year old lamp. I didn't belong in this house.

My room had thankfully been left untouched for now, but I knew that while I was in school the next day, it would be assaulted. School. I had to go to school. I had enjoyed it back in New York, but now we were in California, which was so different - I was nervous. What if people didn't like me? I hated that I had to go through this again, but by now, I supposed, I should be used to it.

2012

Embarrassment is the strongest memory from my first day of school. They annihilated me, but at least they talked to me. I had people to talk to.

1992

The first Monday was excruciating; all those new faces staring at me, but they seemed to accept me well enough. There was no real drama to report, only the hideous moment where I walked into the boy's bathroom rather than the girl's. I knew that would come back to haunt me.

When I got home, my room had been raised to my mother's standards of living, and was therefore too much for me. Unfortunately, I had to leave it and act graciously, as I wanted to go to a party that weekend -someone from my English literature had invited me. On my way to the bathroom, a red ball rolled from behind me in the corridor and hit my foot. Hesitantly looking back, I saw nothing, and assumed it must be one of my old play things that my mother had yet to put into the attic…although I did not remember it.

In my dreams I saw the blonde boy. He was in my room, looking over my bed. When I blinked, his smiling face turned to a stern expression, and I saw the thick red liquid seep slowly through his jumper.

Again, school was uneventful, but I was making more and more friends. The blonde boy never left my mind. The dream had terrified me, and had resulted in me waking in a cold sweat. It was probably representing my fears of a new house, school and area? That's what I wanted to assume anyway. The rest of the week was similar, I dreamt of him every night.

It came to the night of the party. I was excited, but also nervous – it was my first public outing. As I got ready, softly curling my hair and applying make-up, I felt eyes on me. Ready to leave the house, I began my journey downstairs, when I saw him again. He was sat in the middle of the hallway, rolling a red ball into the darkness at the far end.

I stopped and approached him slowly.

"Hello?"

He turned his body towards me.

"Hello." He offered in return. His voice encouraged the images from my nightmares to flick into my mind. I wasn't quite sure what to do next.

"I'm Tate." Tate. I was hoping for an explanation as to why Tate was here, but he remained silent.

"Emily."

"Hi, Emily."

I didn't know what to do. My initial reaction was to run and call for help, just to prove my own sanity; but the prospect of talking to him for longer, beckoned and tempted me.

"What are you doing in my house?"

He simply smiled.