Dead Night by Tim O'Rourke Page A

of the scarecrow’s coat up about my throat, glanced up and down the deserted street, then approached the front door that would lead me to Kiera’s flat. Without much effort, I pressed my shoulder against the door and felt the lock pop. With one last look over my shoulder, I eased open the door and snuck inside.
    There were three doors leading off the main hall, and a staircase leading up into the darkness.
    Knowing that Kiera lived in flat number four, I climbed the stairs. I tapped gently on the door with my knuckles, just in case Kiera had been evicted, and in her absence somebody else had moved in. I waited several moments and when I didn’t get any response or hear any movement from inside I pressed my shoulder against the door and forced it open.
    I closed the door behind me and stood alone in her flat. It felt odd being there on my own. In a weird way, it felt like I was, invading Kiera’s private space. But I’d only returned to get her badge and some clothing. The place was in darkness, and I couldn’t risk turning the lights on.
    The flat had stood empty for months or more, and it might make neighbours curious if they suddenly saw a light on in the flat.
    Feeling my way across the poky living room, I wondered where Kiera might have left her police badge. There was a door set into the wall and I pushed it open. A bed was in the far corner of the room and it looked like the bed clothes were lumpy and dishevelled, as if Kiera hadn’t made her bed the last time she had slept in it. Smiling to myself, I headed towards a small nest of drawers.
    There was a bedside lamp, and what felt like a book and a jewellery case. Running my fingertips amongst the clutter, I couldn’t find Kiera’s police badge. So, opening the top drawer I began to rummage around inside. It seemed to be full of clothes of some kind. Still in search of Kiera’s badge, I removed some of the garments. Then, holding a piece of clothing that felt elasticated, I realised I was looking through the darkness at the biggest pair of women’s knickers I had seen in my life.
    “Whoa, Kiera,” I breathed, struggling to picture her wearing such frumpy underwear. They were nothing like the skimpy, silky numbers I had seen Kiera wear. I pulled out another pair. “Jeez, I never knew you wore parachutes!”
    Then, from behind me I heard someone scream. “Who are you?”
    Wheeling around with the giant-sized underwear in my hands, I saw the silhouette of a figure sitting up in the bed, and it was then I knew that I was in the wrong flat. The bedside lamp flickered on to reveal an old woman sitting up in her bed.
    “What are you doing with my knickers?”
    she screeched, her snow-white hair matted and her wrinkled jowls swinging on either side of her ancient-looking face.
    “Sorry, Grandma,” I gasped, sounding as shocked as her. “I’ve got the wrong flat.”
    “Help!” the old woman screamed at the top of her voice, and for such an old woman, her voice was strong and ear-piercing.
    “Take it easy,” I hushed, just wishing she would stop.
    “Pervert!” she screeched, pulling her bed clothes up around her chin.
    “I’m not a pervert,” I tried to assure her, stuffing her knickers back into the drawer. “I’ve got the wrong flat. I thought someone else lived here.”
    “You’re a pervert!” the old woman screamed again. “Somebody help me – there’s a man in here sniffing my knickers!”
    “Now hang on, Grandma,” I said, unable to believe what I was hearing. “I wasn’t...”
    “I’ve read about young men like you in the newspapers,” the old woman croaked. “You’re one of those kinky types.”
    “ Kinky?” I blustered and for the first time in my life, I was lost for words. “I’m not kinky!”
    “Get out!” she screamed again.
    I could hear movement from the adjoining flats. So, not wanting to be caught in the old woman’s flat clutching a pair of her giant knickers, I looked at her one last time, told her I was