Bastet Mysteries book 1

3. Hiding

He was returning to her hiding place when he heard the car coming. Quickly he returned to the shade of the trees, pulled the hood to cover his hair and observed them from the shadows.

A middle-aged woman and a girl of maybe 15-16 years of age. Probably the woman's daughter.

He placed his back pack on the ground, careful not to make a sound.

It had been an unpleasant time after the old man had been killed. When he had seen his body in the garden in the morning, he had run to the forest and vomited. He had not gone near the body so as not to leave any footprints. He had seen enough TV series to know the police might think the footprints were the killer's. Also he did not want to see up close what he had seen from a distance.

He had returned to the house through one of the ridiculously small doors to the basement, collected his belongings, placed the old mattress against the wall where it had been, and left, wiping his footprints away using the old broom he always used for this purpose. The basement was quite dusty, after all.

He knew it would take a day or two before the black car would arrive, bringing groceries to the old man. He knew because he sneaked into the kitchen at nights and stole things to eat after the delivery, before the old man had checked what had been brought.

The old man lived alone, and most of the time he was in his study, or for some reason walking in the basement, and apparently not interested in anything stored there. He had taken the habit of leaving early in the morning, and returning only after the old man had gone to bed.

He put a little piece of paper into the lock of one of the basement doors he used, and closed it quietly. It appeared to be closed but wasn't. He had used some olive oil from the kitchen to make sure the hinges would not make a sound.

Sometimes the old man had walked through the basement in the middle of the night too, but he had the mattress behind a pile of planks, broken furniture and a rusty bike no one had used in decades. He was careful not to touch the furniture or the bike so the old spiderwebs would not be disturbed. Also he woke up at the slightest of sounds, so when the basement steps began to creak under the old man's steps, he was immediately wide awake. No danger of him catching the uninvited guest snoring. Not that he knew he would have snored. But then again, how would he know if he did? His father snored loudly and did not wake up to the sound he caused.

He had observed the old man many times through the things piled in front of the mattress. The stooped figure never looked into his direction but walked through the basement and probably out from one of the small doors as he often disappeared completely.

He had to steal food from elsewhere too, so that the old man did not pay attention to food disappearing. Especially a day or two before the next groceries arrived, he had to go elsewhere. He knew of a henhouse half an hour's walk from here and lived mostly on eggs those days.

He had gone home too, if he was certain father was away. As he never went anywhere without his car, it was pretty easy to know when it was safe to enter the house.

That's where he had been that day too. Taken a carton of milk, some boiled eggs from the bowl on the counter. An old bread, some cheese. His father probably never noticed any loss of food. He was too drunk or otherwise delirious. Had been for months now. About the same time when that odd rich man had bought the Black Land.

Why anyone would have wanted to buy the gloomy black villa after its previous owner had died so horribly, he never understood.

And now the old man had died the same way. He wondered if he had known of the house's grim past before buying it.

Maybe he should have stayed away, but the house remained quiet after the police had left. And he knew his father was afraid of anything supernatural. Like demons. For some reason he was certain it was a demon who had killed the previous owner. Suddenly he had become an expert on demons. He had even searched the internet for anything demon-related. He knew what his father had been looking for, as he never bothered to remove his browsing history.

Slowly but surely his father had lost his mind. Began to babble about demons around. Began to lock the doors, even lock him inside his room  "for your own safety". Then he had started looking into his son's eyes in the mornings, certain there were demons in him. The last straw that broke the camel's back had been when father had been shaking a crucifix in front of him, reading some Latin babble from a book he was holding.

That's when he left. When he had gone out with his car, he had kicked the locked door of his room open, gathered some clothes and personal items, food and left. He had not even taken his mobile phone, knowing it could be tracked by the police or social services or whoever would be alerted to him escaping.
And so he had been living in the basement of the Black Land for months. He returned after the police had investigated the house in the company of what looked like a very rich lawyer.

Thankfully there was no burglar alarm in the house, and so he knew she could move freely inside.

He had used the upper rooms too, now that the house was empty. Slept in the bed of the master bedroom which seemed to have been unused for a while. He did make the bed carefully every morning, just in case. He was careful not to open the shutters on the windows and never put on the lights.

Which was a good thing. Now someone else apparently had bought the Black House. Of course he had suspected as much, after the expensive layer had returned, gone through the rooms and left an envelope on the little table in the hall. Though he was curious, after seeing what was written on it, he did not touch it.

He watched them rise the steps. The girl stopped at the top of the stairs, and looked around the garden for a long time. So she must know what had happened there. He kept absolutely still, knowing the dappled shadows of the trees hid her well if he did not move.

They went inside and he retreated quickly deeper into the forest before they would look out of any of the windows. He sat under a tree, opened his back pack and took out a loaf of bread and a bottle of juice. Now he would have to wait and see if it was safe to return to the house again.