The Secret Baby Room
by D.D. Johnston
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Claire Wilson knows what she saw: on the eighth floor of a derelict tower block, a woman was bottle-feeding a baby. But why would anyone take a baby into a boarded-up tower block? In an area of Manchester plagued by unexplained tragedies, the only allies Claire can find are a pagan witch, a wild-child party girl, and a husband with too many secrets.
She lay awake, breathing with the rhythm of Dan’s snores. They slept with a window open, naked, covered only by a sheet, but the night was still uncomfortably hot. At the top of the mobile phone mast there was a red light to warn off low-flying airplanes; for an hour, she watched its blink redden her bedroom wall. Then, at what time exactly she couldn’t say, just as she was dozing off, there came a crack from the back garden. It sounded like a piece of wood snapping. She sat up and shook Dan by the shoulder. ‘Dan, wake up.’
She shook him harder. ‘Dan!’
He rolled over, wrapping himself in the sheet’s entirety.
Claire sat still, listening to the silence outside, and then, because her pulse was still thumping, she got up and put on her dressing robe. Edging down the stairs, she decided she’d feel safer with a weapon. She turned the living room light on, decisively, as if in doing so she would vanquish a vampire. No intruders. Nothing she could use as a weapon, either. She checked the downstairs toilet, where she briefly considered arming herself with the toilet brush.
Then, in the kitchen, she grabbed the peppermill from the counter. It felt good to hold something heavy. Keeping the light off so she could see the garden, she crept up to the sliding patio doors and clicked on the garden light.
When she saw the man, she screamed and dropped the peppermill. He was staring right at her – a man in a black beanie hat. Later, when she thought back on the moment, what most alarmed her was that he had not seemed the least bit startled. The man didn’t run or panic or even look guilty. He noted her presence, and then, disinterested, he continued what he was doing at languorous pace. He strolled to the fence that separated Claire’s garden from Lianne’s, vaulted it, and continued towards the derelict tower block.
D.D. Johnston’s first novel, Peace, Love, & Petrol Bombs, was a Sunday Herald Book of the Year in 2011 and is published in Spanish as Paz, amor y cócteles molotov. His experimental second novel, The Deconstruction of Professor Thrub, was a 2013 book of the year in The Morning Star, where it was described as “determinedly extraordinary”. He lives in Cheltenham, UK, and works at the University of Gloucestershire, where he is a senior lecturer in Creative Writing and a University Teaching Fellow. In his spare time he runs the OnlineWritingTips.com website.
The author will be awarding a $30 Amazon or B&N gift card to a randomly drawn winner via Rafflecopter during the tour.