Housebound Page #5

idea blows up in your face.

Except it doesn't blow up in your face,

Kylie. It blows up in mine.

Now, please stop pissing

around and help me.

Go.

I need a number

for Bucknell, Bulford.

Yes. Yeah. Lynfield Road.

Fifty f***in' cents?

Kylie, it's Amos.

He's coming. He's got a gun.

- Sh*t. What do we do?

- I don't know. Get out the house. Hide.

No.

Just browsing, are ya?

Give me your home address. Maybe I'll sniff

around your sh*t, see how you like it.

- I know what you did.

- In relation to what?

The girl next door,

the one you murdered.

How did you come by that estimation?

From a few old newspapers?

And this.

That hole in the door

was a nifty trick.

Can't say the same about

your powers of deduction.

Before you go around

accusing people of sh*t,

you ought to get a handle

on some of the facts.

Would that be something

you'd agree with?

More or less.

Come. I'll show you something.

The brooch belonged to my son Eugene.

When I say he was my son,

he wasn't my son by blood or

any other legitimate means.

But I knew his mother, Joanie.

And when I say I knew her, we had a certain

professional arrangement. You know?

Anyway, she showed up at my

place one day with this young'un.

Skinny as a rake. Huge black eyes.

Shivering half to death.

I didn't know what they were running from,

but I knew that it couldn't be good.

I told them they could stay at

my place as long as they needed.

She didn't even last the night.

Now, I'm no Joe Doakes myself,

but this kid was really f***ing strange.

He never said more than three words,

never looked you in the eye

and never ate off a plate.

But he had a gift.

He loved mechanical stuff.

Didn't matter whether it was

a motor or a circuit board.

He'd figure out a way to make it go.

And me being a bloke that had

a lot of stuff that needed fixing,

I thought, sh*t,

maybe this could work out.

Didn't matter whether it was

a car engine or a toastie oven,

he'd pull it apart and

reassemble it again bit by bit,

sometimes adding his

own twist. "Eugenized."

That's what I used to call it.

I thought it was pretty funny,

until one day I caught him

tearing the limbs off a moggy

to see if he could put

'em on backwards.

I tried to set him straight,

but it wouldn't stick.

The next time he strayed, I did the

only thing I felt equipped to do.

Unfortunately, I was coming off

the back of a three-day bender

and I probably shouldn't

have used a tire chain.

I actually thought I

killed the little bastard.

Next morning I come back to face

up to my sins and he was gone.

That was the last I ever seen him.

How long ago was this?

About a year before that

young lady was killed.

A year's a long time. How do

you know he didn't leave town?

There's something else you

should know about Eugene.

And this makes his disappearance

a little hard to explain.

He wasn't a fan of open spaces.

What do you mean?

Ten years he never went outside.

Barely left the house.

Can I take a look at his room?

Go for your life.

Well, hello there.

You can record a message by pressing

the green button on my fanny pack.

I can still see you.

I tried to tell my mum about you.

I said, "Mum, there's a man

who lives in the walls."

I would never do that to my friend.

Not if you tell me your name.

Not if you tell me your name.

Eugene.

Jesus! Je...

Kylie!

Hello? Hello! Officer!

- I thought you were on house arrest.

- Officer, you need to help me, please.

- Why? What's going on?

- We have to go back to my house.

You just left the house,

and now you wanna go back?

No, you don't understand.

My mum might be back by now.

All right, all right. First thing we

need to do is make a statement.

Now, what exactly

is this in relation to?

I was vacuuming the house, and then

I put the vacuum back in the cupboard,

and I saw that there was this

recess and it led to a secret room,

and there was this guy

in the walls, and he's pale.

He's got black lips and a bung eye,

and he's f***ing crazy.

I swear to God, he tried to kill

me and that's why I took off.

- Hold on, hold on.

- And then I couldn't...

You're going too fast here. Okay.

"Put vacuum cleaner...

back in cupboard."

And the rest is a blur.

What did you say?

Kylie!

Don't tell me to calm down!

Just listen to what I'm telling you!

There is a man living in the walls of

my house, and unless you do something,

he's gonna kill my mum!

Just call my house, please! Please.

Yeah. Hi. Can you put me

through to Probation Services?

God.

- Amos.

- Are you okay?

- This is gonna sound insane.

- I know. There's a guy in the walls.

She's telling the truth.

We have to get back to her place.

This is bullshit.

Look. You see that? That hole leads

to a passageway inside the walls.

This explanis everything. There was

never any ghost or the noises.

The power bills,

the stolen food... it was him.

Not that I'm trying to pick holes,

but in the 15 years a deranged

killer spends hiding in the attic,

you'd think he'd want to do

something a little more heinous

- than steal food from the pantry.

- Maybe it was just a bad dream.

It wasn't a dream.

Why can't you just f***ing look?

Kylie, we've searched the entire house.

We haven't found anything.

Well, that's not entirely true.

Kylie, it's the drugs you haven't

taken that concern me the most.

What are you talking about?

A year ago you were

diagnosed as bipolar.

Yeah, to get on the sickness benefit.

Everyone does it.

Going off your medication

can be very dangerous.

Dennis, I think you'll find my

mental state is pretty sound

compared to the maniac that's

living in our f***ing walls!

- Now, just listen for a moment...

- No, you listen. I'm not crazy.

But I will be if you keep

trying to rationalize this.

All you need to do is tear down that wall

and you'll see what I'm talking about.

- Well, we're not going to do that.

- Okay, if you won't then I will.

Kylie, sit down.

Sit down.

I realize how difficult this is for you.

But if you can just imagine for a moment

that the danger you think you're

in may not be as real as it seems.

Are you familiar with the term

"dissociative identity disorder?"

- Oh, get f***ed.

- Just hear him out, Kylie.

- Do you ever lose track of time?

- No, I don't.

- Do you sometimes hear voices?

- This is ridiculous.

- What about your menstruating patterns?

- I beg your pardon?

A hallmark of the disorder in

women is that each personality

has its own menstrual cycle.

This would mean that your periods

- are more frequent than usual.

- Well, that explains a lot.

When an incident occurs that we

don't feel equipped to deal with,

the mind has the ability to

generate additional personalities.

Yeah, I understand the

mechanics of it, shithead.

I just don't understand how this is any

less retarded than what I'm suggesting.

These hauntings, the blackouts,

the voice on the tape,

- it's all just a coping device.

- To cope with what?

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