My Daylight Monsters Page 7

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says.

  “It’s all right.” I sit down next to him, keeping a foot or so of space between us. “Least I won’t be alone now.”

  “When are they letting you out?”

  “After about fifteen minutes. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here. It feels like about three hours.” I sigh and try to get my muscles to relax. If only I’d brought my vodka in with me. “You were right, you know.”

  “What about?”

  “I am afraid of the dark,” I say. “I never thought I was.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not the dark you’re afraid of, it’s darkness, nothingness.”

  We’re quiet as I contemplate that for a moment.

  “You think I have to stop being afraid?” I say. “So you can tell me something?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What is it?”

  He laughs. “Too easy. Maybe you need to figure it out yourself.”

  “Then why say you know something?” He’s definitely the weirdest guy I’ve ever met.

  He shrugs.

  “Is it about the hospital? There’s something not right here, is there? There’s something evil going on. At first I thought it was because I don’t like hospitals, but now I think it might be something more. I think people are getting hurt.”

  “And if they are, what would you do about it?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I reply. “I’m not sure what I can do, when I’m in a psychiatric ward. Who would believe me? How could I get out to find evidence?”

  “Spoken like a quitter.”

  I flash him a glare. “I don’t see you doing much. You won’t even tell me what you know. It can’t be that important if you’ve not done anything either. You’re all talk.”

  “Okay, if that’s what you think.” He shrugs again. It’s infuriating.

  “You’re a dickhead.”

  “You’re immature.” He starts to laugh and I reach out to shove him on the arm but he leaps to his feet and backs away. He stops laughing immediately. “Don’t touch me. People don’t touch me.”

  His outburst is so sudden that I find my mouth gaping open. “I-err-I I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Johnny shrinks back against the wall. “No one touches me.”

  For a moment his big green eyes make him look like a little boy.

  “I’m really sorry. I won’t touch you, I promise.”

  He pauses, the torch still in his hand. He seems unsure whether he wants to approach me or not.

  There’s a knock at the door. “Is everything all right? We heard you shouting.” It’s Mo.

  “I’m fine now,” I reply. “I got a bit freaked out but I’m fine now.”

  Johnny backs away from me and heads to the air vent. I don’t stop him from going. For some reason, I don’t want to tell the others he was here.

  “Well, it’s almost fifteen minutes so I’m letting you out,” Mo says. The lock unclicks. Johnny’s torch goes out and he replaces the air vent. The door scrapes open and I quickly slip through the gap, out of the room. “You all right?”

  “Yeah, I say.” I find myself facing Mo, we’re pretty close to each other. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. You were right. I probably shouldn’t have done it. It did freak me out.”

  “I wanted to let you out earlier but they wouldn’t let me,” he said. “Did you hear a noise or something?”

  “I dunno,” I reply. “It was probably my imagination.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next day, I had to wonder: did I imagine my conversation with Johnny? Was he really there? I couldn’t help but question whether cheeking my pills was helping me or not. Maybe Mo got it wrong. Maybe I really am psychotic and I need the double dose Dr. Harrison gave me.

  At 9am, Dr. Gethen stares at me as he passes the small plastic cup. He never says a word. You walk up, give your name, wait as he pours pills into a cup, and then walk away. He has long fingers, like spider legs.

  Lacey once told me that he administers the odd injection and passes out the medication in the morning, but apart from that he has very little to do. Dr. Harrison is in charge of the therapy. It makes me wonder why he doesn’t do more. It’s not like Dr. Harrison isn’t always busy

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak,” Lacey says as we walk away.

  “He creeps me out.” I shudder, imagining those long fingers on my skin.

  “He creeps everyone out.” Lacey waggles her eyebrows.

  We head to the sofas and sit down for some TV watching before group therapy. To tell the truth, I need it. My stomach churns from the alcohol the night before. I didn’t have too much, but it was enough to make me regret it. Lacey seems fine—damn her—and she drank twice as much as me. Yasmeen is suffering the most, and she has Granger on her arse, checking she eats enough and doesn’t throw any of it up. Helen also appears worse for wear. She hugs her body and stares intently at the screen, as though she really doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

  Marcus flicks through the channels until he finds cartoons. He’s quiet this morning, probably regretting telling everyone his big secret. No one has mentioned what we said about the palliative care unit. No one has mentioned about me freaking out in the dark room, or Mo’s story about the bodies in the wall. I’m not sure we ever will discuss it properly, unless we go back into the ceiling and bare our guts again.

  In the morning air, things are chilled. For the first time in a while, I’m completely relaxed. It’s like being at home with my cup of tea, watching the world through the window. It’s one of those rare moments that my mind is clear. Mo settles in next to me. I’m still wearing his hoodie and when he sees it, a bright grin spreads across his face.

  “Suits you,” he says.

  “Thanks.” I bite my lip, feeling my cheeks growing warm. I’m starting to like him. I really am. What would he think if he knew I had imaginary conversations with Johnny? If I want to be with Mo I should cut that out. Do I want to be with Mo?

  “Is it quieter this morning?” Lacey asks.

  “No way, man,” says Yasmeen. “My head is throbbing. Everything is too loud.”

  It is kind of quiet, now I think about it. “Hey, where’s Frankie?”

  “I couldn’t wake him this morning,” Mo says with a shrug.

  The corridor lights flicker on and off. I try to ignore it and watch the cartoons. Mo’s hand is really close to mine. The touch of his skin on mine sends a tingle up my arms. I try to stop myself grinning too wildly.

  Again, I find myself distracted by the flickering lights in the corridor. Every time they blink on and off it’s like they’re sending a message to me. Mo’s hand finally slips into mine. His thumb caresses mine and my body temperature goes through the roof. It’s all a bit much.

  “I’ll be right back.” I give Mo’s hand a squeeze. “Bathroom.”

  “Okay.” He drops my hand and I notice how his smile fades with disappointment.

  I find myself walking towards the flickering lights. I don’t know why, I just know that I should go.

  I walk straight past the toilets, past my room and keep going, as though my feet are directing me when my mind doesn’t know what’s going on. Still the light flashes on and off. Part of me expects green eyes around the corner. There are none. I keep going, walking through the corridor where the boys’ rooms are. I’m not allowed to be here, but I keep going anyway.

  For some reason, I stop by a door. It’s the same as any of the doors in the corridor and yet I know to stop here. It opens with barely a touch. It swings out wide. Even the hinges are silent.

  Now my heart starts to beat faster. There’s a reason why my legs carried me here, they want to show me something. They want to find out what is in this room. I take a step forward.

  In the bed there’s a misshapen lump, probably Frankie, still asleep. On the other side of the room there’s a neat and tidy bed, posters of intellectual indie bands, and a replica Rothko.


  “Mo’s room,” I say to myself. It has his style all over it, from the neat bedside table to the row of pristine trainers, all with the laces removed.

  Part of me wants to go through his things, find out who Mo really is. But I’m not here for Mo. I’m here for something else. I turn around and approach the lump in the opposite bed. I’m here for Frankie, I know that now. But why?

  My hand reaches forward towards Frankie. The cover is pulled right up over his head. I step forward with my arm outstretched. So close to touch. My fingers graze the soft bedding.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  I jerk upright and my hand flies to my chest. It’s Johnny. “You startled me.”

  “You’re not supposed to be in the boys’ corridor.” His voice is laced with an amused sarcasm. “You could get into trouble, and we know what a scaredy-cat you are.”

  “Shut up, Johnny, this is important. I need to check Frankie is okay. I have a bad feeling…” I reach out and pull back the sheets. Frankie is curled into a ball, his head burrowed into his arms. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t move a tiny bit. “He seems… he seems… Johnny?”

  “Who’s Johnny and what the fuck are you doing in my room?”

  My stomach drops. Mo stands in the doorway with his arms folded.

  “Well?” he says. His eyes burn into mine. “Why are you in my room? Thought you’d check up on me? Go through my things?” His eyes drift to Frankie. “What are you doing to…? Oh, shit. Frankie!”

  He dives forward and shakes Frankie’s shoulders. Frankie’s body rocks stiffly back and forth. I step away, a dread forming in my stomach.

  “No,” I whisper.

  Mo places two fingers underneath Frankie’s chin. “No pulse. Oh, shit, Mary. There’s no fucking pulse.”

  “I… I’ll get help.” I run out of the room, pelting back down the corridor. The lights flicker fast like my steps: blink…blink…blink… “Help! Someone help, it’s Frankie. Nurse Granger? Nurse Granger?”

  I run out into the common room and straight into her soft form.

  “What’s happened?” Nurse Granger says. Her voice is bereft of its usual softness. It’s all business. She knows something bad has happened.

  “It’s Frankie,” I say breathlessly. “He… There’s no pulse.”

  Nurse Granger motions to Dr. Gethen. They hurry through back through the corridors. I already know they’re too late. He was blue.

  “What’s going on?” Lacey’s big eyes peek up at me through her curtains of hair. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Frankie,” I say, forcing myself to hold back the tears. “He’s gone. He’s… gone.”

  “No,” she says. “Granger and Lurch will bring him back. It’s just… he’s just…”

  “He’s dead, Lacey. He’s really dead.”

  Helen, Yasmeen and the others crowd around. One of the nurses shoos us away from the corridor, but we all end up staying there to see the black bag come out, with the lumpy form inside. Mo staggers into the common room with his brown skin a sickly grey. I go to him. He backs away from me, his face a mask, his eyes completely wild and unlike anything I’ve ever seen from him before.

  “Mo?” I reach out to him but he shakes his head.

  “No, don’t come near me. No one come near me.” He lifts his head and his eyes flash. “You’re all in on it, aren’t you? You’ve been plotting against me, making me crazy. I see your whispers.”

  “There aren’t any whispers, Mo. No one is doing that.” I try to soothe him.

  He spins around, pointing at no one in particular. “Whispers.”

  “All right, that’s enough.” The two porters bustle forwards and take Mo under the arms. He struggles, kicking out at them. Nurse Granger steps forward with a needle.

  “No!” I shout out. “Leave him alone!”

  Mo breaks free, pushing the men to the floor. Gethen tackles him to the ground. Between the four of them, they pin him down. Mo shouts out, “Whispers! You’re all whispering!” before Granger jabs him with the needle and he calms in an instant. His head flops forwards.

  They drag him up and carry his limp body away. I can only watch with a numb sensation spreading over my skin. Lacey places a hand on my shoulder, but I barely register it.

  Chapter Eleven

  The day passes in a blur. Group therapy carries on. Miss Burton goes through the motions but her heart isn’t in it. At one point she tries to talk about Frankie, in an attempt to make us open up about our feelings. It backfires and half the group leave.

  Seeing my parents is the only good thing that happens. I’ve never been so glad to see them. For the first time in days, I wish they were taking me home with them. I want out. I think we all do—even Lacey and Marcus. We want out.

  I can’t help thinking about Frankie’s parents, about how uncomfortable they were around him. It was obvious they couldn’t cope with his problems. Are they relieved? Is that a horrible thing to think?

  “He was innocent, man,” Yasmeen says after visiting time is over. “He never hurt a fly. He wouldn’t top himself. He couldn’t.”

  “What are you saying?” Tom asks.

  “I don’t know.” Yasmeen bites her thumbnail as we sit on the sofas. “I don’t know.” She glances at me. “You found him. Did you see anything suspicious?” Her eyes assess me. They are hard and glassy.

  “He looked like he was asleep.”

  “What were you doing in the room?” She raises her chin in a challenge.

  “I…” I glance around at all the faces examining me. Are they accusing me? “I was worried about Frankie. I was going to go to the toilet but then I thought I should check on him.”

  “But how did you even know which was his room?” Lacey asks.

  “Mo showed me his room once.” The lie slips out too easily.

  Yasmeen frowns but she doesn’t say any more.

  “What about Mo?” Marcus chimes in. “He could’ve done it.”

  “Oh, you did not just go there.” Lacey rolls her eyes. “Of course Mo didn’t kill Frankie. Why would he?”

  “I dunno. He’s a weirdo, innit. You saw him when they took him away—”

  “He was upset,” I interrupt. “He had to check Frankie for a pulse… he had to touch him.” Every part of my body goes cold. My mind shows me Frankie’s curled up body, over and over again. It’s like the time I found my hamster curled up inside his bedding, like he knew he was going to go, and he found a comfortable spot to do it in. It’s all too much. I stand up and leave them.

  In my room I fling myself on the bed and close my eyes. Still I can’t rid myself of that image. It won’t leave me. I want to cry but I can’t. My eyes are dry. My throat feels thick.

  “You all right?” Lacey steps into the room. She closes the door and sits cross-legged on her bed.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “He looked so…”

  She nods. “I get it.”

  We stay in silence for a while. Lacey puts her head in her hands while I prop myself up with cushions behind my head.

  “What were you doing in there?” she says eventually. “Tell me the truth.”

  “I dunno. It was weird. My feet took me there.”

  “That sounds mad, Mary.”

  “I know, and it is. But it’s the truth. I’ve never been to Mo’s room, but something made me walk down that corridor and stop right there outside the room. I can’t explain it. Lace, I’m not crazy, I swear I’m not—”

  “Then prove it to me,” she snaps.

  “What? How?”

  “Tell me why you’re here.” Her panda eyes widen with seriousness. “If we’re friends, you’ll tell me. Am I your friend?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Then tell me.”

  I sit up and face her. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

  She gives an overdramatic shrug. “We’re in a psychiatric ward, Mary. I already think you’re bloody mental. Just tell me. I won’t judge you, I promise.”

&nbs
p; I begin my story, starting from the zombie man in school and ending with the skull-man outside Dr. Harrison’s office. Lacey sits with a blank expression, occasionally blinking at the worst bits or widening her eyes. When I tell her about Anita, she says nothing. I thought she would say something, tell me what I bad person I was for leaving her in the sports hall.

  “Okay,” she says at the end. “First things first, I don’t think you’re crazy. I actually think you’re a bit less insane, now.”

  “Okay... ”

  “So you really think these monsters help stop bad things happening?” she asks. “Where do they come from? Are they ghosts?”

  “I don’t know. They warn me though, so they must be good, right?”

  “Unless they cause the bad things. Which would make more sense. Good ghosts are always the ones that are pretty or sexy, right? They’re the boys with bright green eyes and sexy good looks.” She grins.

  “What did you say about green eyes?” Something makes my heart go aflutter.

  “It’s the cliché, isn’t it? That you find a sexy ghost and fall in love with him but you can never touch or kiss or anything, unless the ghost possesses another human. I read a book like that once.”

  My heart sinks. How could I be so stupid? Why didn’t I see the signs? I grab Lacey by the shoulders. “This is important. I need to know something.”

  “Okay,” she says. “You don’t have to man-handle me , though.”

  “Sorry.” I let her go. “Is there a patient here called Johnny? He has green eyes, he’s really good-looking. He wears his hood up all the time.”

  Lacey turns white. “Johnny? Did you say Johnny?”

  “Yeah.”

  She shakes her head. “But it’s not…” She grips her jeans so hard her knuckles pale to an iridescent white. “It’s not possible.”

  “Why?” I lean across the space between the two beds. “Tell me. I need to know.” But a sinking sensation in my stomach warns me that I already know. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  She lifts her head to hold my gaze. “He died a few months after I got here. They found him in his room. He’d hanged himself. It was the same week Sammi died. She was my old roommate.” Lacey’s blue eyes flood with tears and she rocks forward, her body convulsing. I take her into my arms and hold her tight, reeling from the news.