Haunting of Lily Frost by Nova Weetman

sniffing madly under our fence line if we were in the backyard. But then he stopped barking altogether, and even when Dad bought me my cat Jasper, a present after my brother was born, the dog never came near it. Jasper could torment it for hours and it never showed any interest. It was like something changed it, that day when I almost drowned. I think the dog found fear. Even though it hadn’t cared for me at all, the sight of me lying under all that water, not moving, was more than it could deal with.
    The night before the old neighbours left, they knocked so lightly on our door, hoping that we wouldn’t hear them, but they could still feel like they’d done the right thing. When Mum and I opened the door, they’d already turned away, ready to leave. Mum invited them in, but they shook their heads, explaining that they had to get going. Then my brother started crying in the nursery; he was still a tiny baby and Mum had rushed off to pick him up. I was left alone with them and neither of them liked looking at me. I think they imagined me dead each time they saw my face. Or maybe they blamed me for the loss of their pool and the selling of their house. I remember looking up at them and asking them where their dog was, and the man – I don’t remember his name now – but he got quite teary. The woman stepped in, angry with me for asking, and told me the dog had died.
    I never did get to hear how, but whatever the reason was, they blamed me. And all I can remember is feeling really happy that the dog had gone. It would have ripped me apart happily that day in the backyard.
    Of course, Ruby’s family bought the house next door, and kept the concrete patch where the pool had once been. We used to draw on it when we were little. We’d make rainbows out of chalk and water, smudging the colours together with great big paintbrushes and letting them dry again.
    It took me a long time to understand that it was only because I had nearly drowned that Ruby had come to live next door. If I hadn’t, the dog would have barked every night for the rest of its life, terrifying me as I slept. And Ruby would have moved to a different house, somewhere else in the city, and we would never have met.
    *
    It’s amazing to me that Mum has just started moving furniture in without investigating all the rooms. As far as I know she hasn’t even ventured up the stairs to the attic. Perhaps it’s lucky she hasn’t because if she did, she’d say it wasn’t fit for anything but storage. She’d see it as a practical space, one to be filled with old boxes of photos and school reports and anything else she could shove out of sight.
    Luckily, I get to sneak up here alone. As I shut the door, the room sort of sighs, a low, deep breath. If I were a character in a horror film, this would be the room I’d avoid entering because it would hold all the freaky secrets. Whatever has happened in this town is connected to this room. It is possible that I’m imagining the whole thing and the house is only old, cold at times, creaky at others, and I’m just scared.
    But as I stand in the doorway of the attic and look around, trying to believe that there’s nothing creepy going on here, some shape flashes past me, causing me to spin round just as the door slams shut. My heart’s charging, as cold air rushes around, pushing me forward and further into the room. And as I do, I reach a little patch of water in the centre of the floor. It doesn’t make sense. Where would water come from? The window’s shut and the roof doesn’t seem to be leaking. Maybe Max has been up here already and spilt a glass of water. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s so annoying. As I sidestep the water, I know there’s more to it than that. I’m just not sure what. I keep remembering what Ruby said about the number 4. There has to be a reason the house was on the market for so long. I know