Ben Baxter leaned against the ‘For Sale’ sign, which canted over to one side because of his girth. He looked up at the house before him. Squinting and holding a hand up to shield his eyes against the early-morning sunlight, he smiled and licked his lips. This was just what he’d been looking for.
Exactly what he’d been looking for.
From the outside, it looked like his ideal home. The whitewashed walls were partially decorated with green ivy; the shuttered windows, and the low, slanting roof gave it a country look, a rural charm. A wooden plaque hung by the front door declared the place to be Roseby House. He just hoped that the interior looked as good as the exterior.
‘Can I help yer?’ someone asked.
At first, Ben didn’t know where the voice was coming from. He looked around but couldn’t see anyone.
‘I’m over ‘ere, pal,’ came the voice again. ‘Oy! Over ‘ere!’
‘Oh, sorry,’ Ben said, noticing the bald man next door, who was leaning over the hedge and waving a pair of shears, ‘I didn’t see you there.’
The guy was eyeing him warily, one big, bushy grey eyebrow raised above a bloodshot eye. To Ben, it looked like he’d made the most pathetic attempt at a comb-over he’d ever seen, the dozen or so strands of hair on the old man’s head flapping lazily about in the wind. The embers of the cigar he was chuffing on burned bright as he inhaled and exhaled.
‘I said, can I help yer?’ the old man asked again.
‘I was driving past,’ Ben replied, making his way over to the hedge, ‘and I noticed this house for sale. It’s exactly what I’m looking for. It’s … fantastic!’
‘Aye,’ said the old man, ‘it’s a lovely house, all right. Wouldn’t want it though, myself.’ He threw the clippers down, licked his hand and tried to smooth his comb-over down, but to no avail.
‘Why do you say that? And what’s your name, my friend?’
‘Name’s Jenkins,’ said the old man, rubbing a gnarled hand on his jumper and offering it to the stocky stranger. ‘Walter Jenkins. Pleased to meetcha, I’m sure.’
‘My name’s Ben,’ Ben said, surprised at the firmness of the old man’s grip as they shook hands. ‘You said you wouldn’t want this house. Why?’
Walter looked towards the house, a deep crease furrowing his brow, the bushy eyebrow raised as high it would go, blood shot eye almost popping out. ‘I wouldn’t buy that house ‘cause of what happened there, that’s why. ‘Cause they never found ‘em, yer know. Those scaly, slimy … things!’ He shuddered. ‘If yer want my advice, young man, yer should get back in yer car, drive away and don’t look back. Aye, you don’t wanna be movin’ into Roseby House, no siree. Not if yer know what’s good for yer.’
‘What do you mean by scaly, slimy things?’ Ben was beginning to think that the old fella was a bit cuckoo. ‘What are you talking about?’
Walter took a deep drag of his cigar, like he needed an extra dose of nicotine in order to explain. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper.
‘A young fella used to live there. Bit like you, really. He weren’t as butch as you, though. Tall an’ thin, he was. Looked like he needed feedin’ up, if yer ask me. Anyways, he used to own some snakes. Two of ‘em, I think. Hey, are yer listenin’ to me?’
Ben had turned around and was looking up at the house. He wasn’t really interested in what the old man was saying; he just wanted to get home, ring the estate agents and book a viewing before somebody else came along and snapped it up.
‘Yeah, I’m listening,’ he said. ‘Carry on, my friend. Carry on.’
The old man resumed. ‘Anyways, like I was sayin’, he had two snakes. Kept ‘em in a big tank in his livin’ room, so he did. I know ‘cause I could see it from my back garden, yer see. Huge, it was. Huge! When I used to peek over the fence, I swear those things were starin’ back at me, sizin’ me up with those little, black beady eyes …’ He shuddered again.
‘I’m sorry to be rude,’ Ben said, running a hand through his thick mop of brown hair, ‘but I really need to get going and, well, if you can just get to the point, please.’
Walter fixed him with a stern gaze, then said, ‘Right yer are, although I don’t know why I’m botherin’.’ He rolled his bloodshot eyes. ‘Like I said, he had two snakes. Until he went out an’ bought another one, that was. I was out sweepin’ my drive at the time. He pulled up in his car an’ called me over to take a look. When he opened his boot an’ showed it to me … oh my … oh my God, I’d never seen such an ugly thing in my life. An’ its fangs! Yer should’ve seen the size of its fangs.
‘Well, as yer can imagine, as soon as I saw it I backed right off, told him to shut the boot or take it inside. I didn’t care which, as long it wasn’t anywhere near me, even if it was locked in a tank. It was its eyes, yer see, its bloody eyes. The way it was lookin’ at me, like it was … like it was …’ He trailed off, unable to finish.
‘Time is pressing, I’m afraid,’ Ben said, looking at his watch. ‘I really must get going.’
But the old man was determined to tell his story, whether Ben wanted to listen or not. ‘Anyways, it was just after he bought that snake that he went missin’. I noticed I hadn’t seen him for a couple of days, yer see, so I got a bit suspicious an’ knocked on the door. When he didn’t answer, I tried the door handle an’, as it was unlocked, I went inside.
‘There was no sign of him … or the snakes. The tank was empty. But do yer know what really spooked me out? His clothes! Lyin’ on the floor in the living room in a pile, they was. By that bloody tank. Well, as yer can imagine, I called the police. Aye, they were as confused as I was though.’
Ben looked at his watch again. ‘Look, Mr Jenkins, I really must be going …’
The old man hadn’t finished yet. ‘I hear ‘em at night, yer know. Hissin’, slitherin’ about in there. If yer buy that house then yer a fool, so yer are! You’ll end up just like him; you’ll end up …’
Ben had heard enough. He said his goodbyes and got in his car. As he pulled off, he looked back at the old man, who was merrily chuffing away on his cigar, a wry smile playing at the corner of his lips. The big bushy eyebrow was fully raised, bloodshot eye fixed on him.
The only thing that’s putting me off buying the house, Ben thought as he drove to the estate agents, is you, you barmy old fool. He wondered how long the house had been up for sale, and how many prospective buyers Walter had put off. But he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from at least booking a viewing and taking a look inside.
Somehow, Ben knew that he was going to buy that house.
He just knew.
A viewing was booked for the following day. When Ben pulled up outside the house, a guy in a black suit was waiting, ready to give him the grand tour. He shook hands with Ben and introduced himself as Randy.
There was no sign of the old man.
The inside was just as impressive as the outside, Ben thought. The kitchen was spacious and modern, the grey-granite floor tiles matching the worktops. The living room was huge, an impressive open fireplace dominating the room. The Jacuzzi bathtub was a luxurious bonus. There were three bedrooms, the main one having an en suite. Ben couldn’t wait to put in a bid.
Just before he left, however, he couldn’t resist asking Randy a few questions.
‘How come it’s up for sale?’ Ben asked.
Randy smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. ‘To tell you the truth, Mr Baxter, I don’t actually know. I’m employed by the estate agents to show people around properties; I don’t really have any knowledge of them. I can get one of the office staff to ring you, if you like? I’m sure they’ll be able to help.’
‘It’s just that someone told me the previous owner went missing,’ Ben said. ‘I just wondered what would happen if the guy ever turns up, that’s all?’
Randy smiled again. ‘As I said, Mr Baxter, I’m sure a member of staff will be able to answer any questions you have. I’ll get someone to ring you straight away.’
Ben was going to ask him about the snakes, but didn’t see any point.
Later that day, when Ben was back at his rented flat, relaxing in front of the telly with a cappuccino, a woman from the estate agents gave him a call. She introduced herself as Rosemary and was happy to answer any questions he had, deal with any concerns he voiced. She told him that it was the family of the previous occupant who were selling the house. Ben asked what would happen if the previous owner were to turn up and lay claim to the property. The woman assured him that once he had moved in, even if the missing man did show up – which she thought was highly unlikely – he would not have any legal claim to the property.
And, of course, Ben could not resist asking about the snakes, even though he felt foolish doing so. Rosemary was sure that the man had disappeared for a reason, probably because he owed money to someone or something, and had obviously taken the snakes with him. Which seemed like a very plausible explanation to Ben, now he came to think about it.
Nevertheless, he would have a full survey done – just to be on the safe side.
Six weeks later, after receiving the results of the survey – which hadn’t highlighted anything to concern Ben – a removal van pulled up outside of Roseby House. Two burly-looking men got out and started unloading furniture from the back.
Because Ben lived in rented accommodation and the property he was moving into was vacant, he was able to move in quickly. This was the day he’d been waiting for. The day he would move into his dream home. He couldn’t wait to get settled in.
Helping the removal men, they were able to get the van unloaded in a few hours. All the labelled boxes and pieces of furniture were put into the correct rooms. However, Ben didn’t fancy unpacking everything just yet. He was exhausted. All he could think about was the Jacuzzi, soaking himself in hot water and relaxing. And so he unpacked a few essentials: hooking up his 42” plasma, putting the double bed together so he could at least have a decent nights sleep, and erecting a clothes rail in the bedroom.
Later on, feeling fully invigorated, he relaxed in front of the telly with a Chinese take away and a bottle of beer. At that moment, the place looked like a tip. Boxes were strewn here and there; discarded bits of newspaper littered the floor like oversized pieces of confetti. Tomorrow he would get everything unpacked and clean up, but for now he just wanted to chill out, put his feet up.
Knowing that he would have a busy day ahead of him tomorrow, Ben decided to turn in at ten o’clock. A few minutes after his head touched the pillow, he drifted off to sleep. It was three hours later when he was awoken by a strange sound.
Slowly opening his eyes, he listened intently.
Moonlight spilled through the curtainless window to his right, the branches of trees outside casting elongated shadows against the far wall.
All seemed still.
Had he been dreaming?
After lying there for a few moments, he turned onto his side and tried to get back to sleep. Just the wind, he thought, just the wind.
He closed his eyes and pulled the duvet up tight. Snug and warm, his breathing slow and steady, he began to drift off again – for a short while, at least.
Twenty minutes later, he was awoken again by a sound coming from above him. This time he was certain he wasn’t dreaming. Propping himself up on his elbows, he cocked his head to one side, listening. Yes, the noise was definitely coming from above. To Ben, it sounded like something was being slowly dragged across the loft floor …
‘Rats,’ he said in a low voice.
The noise gradually subsided. He made a mental note to go and buy some poison in the morning. The last thing he wanted was vermin running around his house.
‘So much for the in-depth survey,’ he said.
Ben pulled the duvet over himself and tried to relax again. But then he thought about what the old man had said: I hear ‘em at night, yer know. Hissin’, slitherin’ about in there. If yer buy that house then yer a fool, so yer are! You’ll end up just like him; you’ll end up …
‘Oh, just go to sleep,’ he said to himself.
He puffed his pillow up and settled back down. He watched the shadows on the wall, which danced from side to side, writhing like snakes in a pit. Back and forth they moved … back and forth … back and forth … back and forth …
Ben reached out and switched on his bedside light. The shadows immediately disappeared. He wiped sweat from his brow. Despite being naked under the duvet, he was beginning to feel hot and flushed.
Leaving the light on, he tried to relax, close his eyes and go back to sleep. But it was no good; he was fully awake now, furious at the prospect he might have a bought a house that was infested with vermin.
Assuming it is rats …
‘Of course it’s rats,’ he said, ‘… or maybe mice?’
Snakes!
‘No,’ Ben grunted, getting up and putting his dressing gown on, ‘for God’s sake, get a grip, man.’
Grabbing the duvet, he went downstairs and made himself a cappuccino. Sitting in the front room, the duvet over his lap, he picked up the remote control and flicked through the channels, trying to find something worth watching. Before his drink had even cooled enough for him to take a sip, however, he fell into a deep sleep.
When he woke the following morning, his neck was stiff.
For a few seconds he felt disorientated, didn’t know where he was. And then he remembered: he was in his new home, his dream home – sleeping on the settee.
Ben looked at his watch: 9:10am. He couldn’t believe that he’d slept so long, especially on the settee. But he was glad it was late though, because it meant he could ring the surveyor up straight away and give him a piece of his mind.
The surveyor assured him that, when the survey had been done, there was no evidence of rodent infestation. He asked Ben whether he’d actually seen a rat or a mouse. Ben said no. He asked Ben if he’d seen any droppings. Ben said he hadn’t.
‘So, how d’you know that there are vermin on the premises, Mr Baxter?’ the surveyor asked, making no attempt to hide the condescending tone in his voice.
‘Because I heard something moving around in the loft,’ Ben replied, his grip on the phone receiver tightening by the second. ‘That’s how I know!’
‘So, it could just be a draught, then? Couldn’t it? And why are you so sure that it’s rats or mice; it could just as easily be squirrels or even birds?’
‘It was not a draught! And if it is squirrels or birds, then shouldn’t you have noticed this when you did the survey?’
‘Mr Baxter, without proof I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do.’
‘Look, pal, I paid good money for that survey and …’
The line went dead. Ben couldn’t believe that the snotty git had put the phone down on him. Right, he thought, you want proof; I’ll get you fucking proof.
He slammed the phone back into its cradle.
The loft hatch was at the top of the stairs. After getting the
foldaway ladder from the garage, he took them upstairs and opened them into position. Climbing the steps, he went to push the hatch aside but paused …
What if there are rats – snakes! – up there, he thought? What am I going to do if one lunges at me? The loft could be infested with them.
But then he remembered the way the surveyor had spoken to him. He wanted so desperately to make that snob eat his words – and to sue him, if he could.
Ben slid the hatch back and looked up into the darkness. Wondering where the light switch was, he flipped his mobile open, which cast a cursory blue glow.
The steps wobbled from side to side as he ascended.
He found a light switch and pressed it. His eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the sudden influx of light, iridescent colours temporarily clouding his vision.
Aside from the cobwebs hanging from the rafters and a copious sprinkling of dust on the floor, the spacious loft was completely empty. There were no tell-tail signs of an infestation, either: no droppings, no scuff marks on the wooden beams, no iffy smells. Ben was confused; he was sure – no, he was certain – he would have at least found some droppings.
He was beginning to think his imagination was playing tricks on him.
Later that day, Ben paid a visit to the local DIY store. He purchased three packs of rat poison and six traps. Despite finding no evidence of vermin, he thought he’d better stock up, just in case.
When he got home, he carefully baited the traps with cheese and filled three trays full of poison. Stooped over because of the low roof, he positioned them around the loft. Admiring his handiwork, he almost felt sorry for the rats and mice (assuming there were any, that was).
Satisfied, he decided it was time for a sit down, time to relax. Just as he was coming down the steps, however, he heard a noise in the living room.
He gulped.
He stepped down, the laminate floor creaking underfoot.
Wondering what it could be, Ben edged his way into the living room. He looked around but couldn’t see anything; just lots of boxes full of his possessions scattered everywhere. Boxes he’d planned on unpacking today. But the way things were going he wasn’t going to have time to unpack anything.
He heard the noise again.
‘Under the floorboards,’ he whispered. ‘It’s coming from under the floorboards.’
Knowing that he would need a hammer, chisel and torch, Ben frantically tried to think which box he’d packed his toolkit into. He couldn’t remember though, so he set about searching through all the boxes, swearing as he ripped them open and tossed things aside. It took him a good five minutes to find the items he was looking for.
All the time he’d been searching, he could hear something moving about underneath him. The noise now seemed to be coming from the corner of the room.
Ben pulled the settee back and knelt down in the corner, prising the beige carpet up with the hammer. He could feel something pushing up against the floorboards.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he said, a maniacal grin spreading across his face, ‘you keep wriggling while you can, whatever you are! ‘Cause once I get these boards up, I’m going to decorate this place with you!’
He peeled the carpet back and set about prising up one of the boards. The wood splintered as he hammered on the chisel, but he wasn’t bothered about any damage he might do. All he wanted was to find out what was in his house and get rid of it. He raised the board enough to get his fingers underneath, then he pulled it up and tossed it aside.
He grabbed the torch and shone it through the hole. But he couldn’t see anything other than small pools of water on the concrete floor below. Again, no evidence of infestation: no droppings, no iffy smells …
Putting his ear to the gap, he listened. Other than a faint dripping sound, he couldn’t hear anything.
He pulled two more boards up and shone his torch into the hole. Still, he couldn’t see anything.
‘Damn it!’
Sitting up and putting his head in his hands, he began to cry.
‘Am I going mad?’ he asked himself. ‘Am I losing my mind?’
I am not going to let this beat me, he thought. I am not going to be driven out of my own home by … by anything! I will find out what’s making these noises!
But first he needed a drink. He craved alcohol. Twenty minutes later he was propping up the bar at a local pub, knocking back lager like it was going out of fashion.
He got home just before midnight, his head spinning. Kicking his shoes off in the hallway, he looked towards the living room and grimaced. He couldn’t be bothered to replace the floorboards; it would have to wait until tomorrow.
Noticing that he hadn’t replaced the loft hatch, he went upstairs and stood on the landing, looking up and wondering if any of the poison had been eaten or any of the traps sprung. When he climbed the stepladder, he found nothing had been disturbed. Letting out a deep sigh, he replaced the hatch and went to bed.
Lying under the covers, Ben watched the shadows on the wall, which writhed back and forth … back and forth …
He felt hot and flustered.
It was just as he was about to push the duvet back when he felt something cold and scaly brush against his leg. He froze. Gooseflesh broke out all over his body. His heart hammered in his throat.
Before he had a chance to react, something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Ever so slowly, he turned his head. A snake was on the bed. Curled in an S shape, it raised its arrow-like head and flicked its fork-shaped tongue … once … twice …
Ben opened his mouth in a silent scream, a perfect ‘O’ of shock.
The snake moved from side to side, thrusting its long, thin body forward. It’s bead-black eyes were locked onto Ben. Any second now he was sure it would strike …
Ben noticed another two snakes in the room, hanging from the clothes rail at the far end of the bed. They, too, regarded him with malevolent glee.
The one under the duvet rubbed up against his leg again. Wait a minute, he thought, that can’t be right. The old man said there were only three snakes.
Before Ben even had a chance to contemplate making a run for it, the snake to his left opened its cavernous mouth and hissed at him. Venom dripped from its long, sharp fangs.
It thrust forwards.
It struck.
Ben screamed.
Walter sat up in bed, one big, bushy eyebrow raised to the heavens, blood shot eye wide as could be. By Christ, he thought he’d heard somebody scream. And it sounded like … like it could have come from next door.
Getting up, putting his dressing gown and slippers on, he looked out the front window but couldn’t see anything. Bathed in the warm orange glow of the streetlights, Valley Road was still and quiet. Until bedroom lights up and down the street began flicking on and curtains started twitching.
So I didn’t dream it then, Walter thought.
He decided to investigate. By the time he got out into the street, people were already beginning to congregate, hushed voices speculating over the source of the scream.
Walter noticed that Roseby House was the only one with no lights on. The scream must surely have come from there, he concluded. Other people were pointing at the house. Soon somebody would call the police.
Walter didn’t want to wait for them to arrive; he wanted to know what had happened now. Getting in wouldn’t be a problem; he had a key to the house. Years ago, when the Jones’s used to live there, he used to look after the place while they were away on holiday. He missed the Jones’s.
Going back to his own house, Walter got the key out of the kitchen drawer where it had lain untouched for years. He went back outside. As he approached Roseby House, one of the neighbours called out to him.
‘Hey, what you up to, Walter?’
‘Goin’ in to take a look,’ the old man replied. ‘Got a key, so I ‘ave.’
He shuffled over to the dark house. Putting the key in the door, he paused for a second. He wondered whether he was doing the right thing, whether he should wait for the police after all.
‘Open it then,’ someone said from behind him.
Looking over his shoulder, Walter saw that everyone had gathered round and was looking at him with eager eyes.
He turned the key.
The lock clicked.
He pushed the handle down and opened the door, which made a swishing sound as it glided over the plush carpet.
The hallway ahead looked ominously dark. It was almost as if the blackness was somehow absorbing what little light should have been spilling in from the streetlights. Walter couldn’t see a light switch within easy reach.
‘I’ve called the police,’ the blonde woman from number thirty-two said. ‘Maybe we should wait for them to arrive.’
‘Sod that!’ replied the fat bloke from number eight. ‘I’m going in!’
He pushed through the crowd and entered the hallway.
‘Watch yourself, Bert,’ the old dear from number forty-two said.
About thirty seconds later, Bert found the light switch and flicked it. He beckoned the others in. It was only Walter, however, who followed him inside.
He joined Bert, who was stood at the bottom of the stairs. He was looking up at the landing above and scratching his stubbly chin. Since Bert seemed to have lost his bottle, Walter decided to take the initiative.
Slowly walking up the stairs, he listened carefully for any noises coming from the rooms above. It wasn’t until he reached the landing that he heard something – a hissing sound. It was coming from the bedroom directly in front of him.
Looking behind him, he could see that Bert was halfway up the stairs. In the hallway below, people had now crowded in and were craning their necks to look up at Walter.
Bloody cowards, he thought, lettin’ an old man go first. Bloody yellow-bellied cowards, the lot of ‘em.
Walter put his ear up against the door, listening. He couldn’t hear anything.
He knocked. There was no answer.
‘Ben!’ he said. ‘Are yer in there?’
No answer.
‘Ben!’ he said again. ‘Are yer in there?’
No answer.
He reached out, grabbed the door handle in his sweaty palm and slowly opened the door. The light switch was to his left. He flicked it, the bright light making him wince.
He entered the room, his eyes just now beginning to adjust.
On the bed, looking up at him with small pearl black eyes, was a long, thin snake. It flicked its tongue once … twice … three times …
Walter took a step back, balled his hand into a fist and put it into his mouth to suppress a scream. His legs felt like jelly. He thought he was going to faint.
And then he noticed three more: two hanging from the clothes rail and a huge one on the floor, by the bed. Walter recognised it straight away. Even though he’d only ever seen it once before, in the boot of a car, he knew which one it was. They were all looking at him, sizing him up …
Taking another step back, Walter noticed the duvet moving up and down slightly.
Five snakes!
‘What’s happening, Walter?’ Bert asked from behind him.
Walter jumped. ‘Jeezus! Yer scared the hell outta me, yer … yer great ox!’
‘Sorry.’
Looking back into the bedroom, Walter could see there were now two snakes on the bed. Slithering past the long, thin one, towards him, the other stocky-looking snake reared up on the edge of the bed, venom dripping from its fangs.
It hissed.
It lunged forward.
Walter slammed the door shut.
Two hours later, when the police finally showed up, there was no sign of any snakes. This didn’t surprise Walter. It was exactly what he’d expected. But he knew they were still in that house. At night, he could hear them hissing and slithering about …
TWO YEARS LATER …
Eve let out a gasp as Simon put his foot down firmly on the brake and brought the grey land rover to a grinding halt.
‘What are you doing?’ Eve asked, clutching at her chest. ‘Why have you stopped?’
Simon didn’t answer; he was too busy staring up at a house.
He parked the land rover up, got out and walked towards the ‘For Sale’ sign. Eve joined him.
‘Wow!’ Eve said, awestruck. ‘It’s beautiful!’
They looked at each other and smiled. This was just what they had been looking for.
Exactly what they had been looking for.
‘Can I help yer?’ someone asked.
At first, neither of them knew where the voice was coming from. They looked around but couldn’t see anyone.
‘I’m over ‘ere,’ came the voice again. ‘Oy! Over ‘ere!’
Then Simon noticed the old man leaning over the hedge, once big bushy eyebrow raised over a bloodshot eye …
