Free No One Gets Out Alive by Adam Nevill Page A

I fought being as you was already here and paid up for the first mumf . . .’
    If it were possible for her to tolerate one more night at this address, in this room, and to go to work Friday, then she could leave tomorrow night with three days’ pay. And she
wouldn’t have to make that call to Ryan tonight.
    She could be frightened in this building, and anxious about her safety amongst at least two male presences, or try and get to Coventry tonight, where she had never even found a single
day’s work, while dead on her feet and broke, and plunge into another kind of emotional manipulation from an ex-boyfriend. That was the choice.
    One more night?
    At least this was a new room; it wasn’t
that
room. No two rooms could be alike.
    Could they?
    Knacker was manipulative, but his only desire, she was sure, was money. The other one’s business was not clear, but she’d not even seen him, and his dealings were with the Russian
girl up on the second floor. This room was even on a different floor of the house.
    ‘OK. Thanks.’ As soon as she’d spoken, she began worrying that her desperate acceptance might be another mistake she would pay for dearly in the very near future.
    ‘Fought you’d see sense. Young girl like you don’t wanna be movin’ about all the time, dossin’ on floors, like—’
    ‘Who lived in here before?’
    ‘What’s that matter? She ain’t here no more. Place is vacant.’
    ‘The other room. The one I have. It’s . . .’
    His bony face turned to her quickly, the chin raised. ‘What about it?’
    Stephanie didn’t know what to say.
I won’t stay inside the room because it’s haunted,
was not an option. That morning, as soon as she’d put some distance between
herself and the house,
haunted
became a word coated in an absurd skin; it didn’t even have to leave her mouth to make her feel ludicrous.
    Stephanie studied Knacker’s face, and suspected there might be a trace of apprehension in his expression over her line of enquiry. Either that or it was the defensive posture he adopted
about the house. But while so tired and confused, she wasn’t sure she could trust any of her perceptions. Perhaps no one could help her, save a priest or a psychiatrist, but the need to talk
to someone about the room, to escape the prison of paranoia that her mind had become, became compulsive. ‘It . . . the room. It’s not right.’
    ‘Eh? What you talkin’ about? Place is old. Might need a tart-up, but nuffin’ major, like. This whole place is sound as—’
    ‘No, I didn’t mean that. I heard something. In my room. At night.’
    Knacker grinned. ‘Got spooked, did ya?’ He was thinking of laughing at her.
    She cut him off. ‘I wasn’t just frightened. It was worse than that.’
    Knacker narrowed his eyes as if he was hooding them so she couldn’t read them. He sniffed. ‘Not sure I am comfortable with what you are suggesting.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I don’t have patience wiv all that crap.’
    ‘But I heard a voice in my room. Two nights running.’
    He laughed. ‘You heard a TV. Coulda been mine. Fink I had it on.’
    ‘Didn’t sound like a TV. And the sound . . . under the bed, I thought they were mice, but I’m not sure—’
    ‘Fack’s sake, girl. You jumpin’ at the sound a mice. Not that I’m saying there is any here. I cleared them all out. The house’s been empty for a while, that’s
all. They get into empty houses, see. Cus of the cold. Maybe there’s still one left.’
    ‘But that wouldn’t explain—’
    ‘You’re pullin’ my leg, you are. What you after, rent reduction? I’ve heard it all now.’
    ‘Someone was inside my room.’
    Knacker stopped laughing and sniffed. He looked wary.
    ‘I heard someone. Twice. Both nights. But they weren’t there when I turned the light on. Who lived in that—’
    ‘As I said, I would fank you, yeah, I would appreciate you not making remarks about me mum and dad’s house, yeah? I got no time for none of that rubbish. So