The Death House

The Death House by Sarah Pinborough Page A

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Authors: Sarah Pinborough
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to take her sleeping pill like everyone else does and leave the night alone. I should be relieved by that thought, but instead my stomach expands and feels hollow. I think about playing some music through the headphones as I look out at the night, but don’t. I’m not Clara. Not only does the idea of dancing alone in the dark make me feel a bit of a dick, I like to be able to hear if someone is coming.
    I wander back upstairs and find myself heading towards Ashley’s church. He’d been smug and smiling when he returned to the dorm and although none of us had asked him about his stupid service, he was pleased with himself. A little bit of me wants to smash up the chairs but I don’t know why. Maybe I’ll just rearrange them to freak him out.
    I see the tiny flickering light as I get closer to the door and I know that Clara’s there ahead of me. This time I don’t turn back. The night is still my place – she’s still the interloper. If anyone should leave, it should be her.
    ‘Where did you get the candle from?’
    She’s standing with her back to me, looking down at a piece of paper, trying to read it in the yellow flame. The candle’s stuck to a saucer sitting on the covered desk that’s trying pathetically hard to be an altar.
    ‘It was already here. I brought the matches from the kitchen.’ She doesn’t even jump. Did she hear me coming or does she just not care? She turns a little towards me, still focused on the paper.
    ‘“For Ellory,”’ she reads, ‘“beloved brother of Joe, son of Mary and Stephen and member of Dorm Seven. ‘He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain any more, for the former things have passed away.’ Revelation twenty-one, verse four.” That’s quite beautiful when you think about it. If sad.’
    ‘Don’t tell me you buy into this God shit,’ I say, sneering. She shakes her head, her red hair shining in the candlelight.
    ‘No, I believe in nature. We die, we rot, we feed the earth and the plants and the insects and that’s that.’
    ‘Cheerful,’ I say, trying to sound casually dismissive, but her words have sunk to ice in my stomach and I wish I’d stayed in the kitchen.
    ‘We’re still here now.’ She shrugs. ‘No different from anyone else.’
    ‘Pretty different. I think that’s why they call us Defective .’ My sarcasm is obvious, but she doesn’t appear to notice it.
    ‘Not really. Every day is a new day for everyone. No one knows what tomorrow brings.’ She flashes a smile, her eyes sparkling. ‘Maybe tomorrow they’ll find a cure. Or maybe tomorrow this house will be struck by lighting and we’ll all burn to death. Maybe tomorrow an earthquake will hit London and all my old school friends will be gone before me. See?’
    I smile, I can’t help myself. There is a logic to it, a piece of driftwood to cling to in the ocean of dread.
    She looks back down at the small sheet of paper. ‘Not for Ellory, though.’ Her voice is soft. ‘Harriet went to the service. She said only Joe came from Dorm Seven. That’s sad, isn’t it? They should have gone for Joe’s sake.’
    ‘That’s not how it works.’ My smile fades. She doesn’t understand the house. Not yet. She still thinks it’s like before . It isn’t. I’m not sure I could explain the differences even if I wanted to. You have to learn them. I’m about to say something mean, a barb forming on my tongue, when I hear a bell sounding from beyond the door that leads to the nurses’ quarters. I freeze, my heart pounding.
    ‘What?’ Clara says. ‘What is it?’
    ‘It’s an alarm clock.’ I rush past her and extinguish the candle, ignoring the pain of squeezing my fingers around the hot wick to stop the smell of burning. And then, without thinking, I grab her hand. ‘Come on.’
    We rush back out into the corridor. Even as we run for the stairs we can hear more sounds of movement. Even the sanatorium

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