I set the easel up on the grey stones and take out my paints and assortments of brushes. I begin with the background, which is a murky grey. It's not bright out today and only a few rays of white sunshine are visible. I paint in the dark clouds; there's not much, just three or four. I test out a couple of colours before settling on a bright yet off white sunlight colour to shine through the dark sky like a ray of hope in a dark mist of failure.

Time passes as I stroke the brushes across the canvas, trying to capture the house in as much of it's best light as I can. I want to make the house the epicentre, the focus of the picture so I make the background and the surroundings blend into each other a little. They stand out, but not as much as the house.

I make the ivy curling up the walls a mossy green, the hedge a mixture of greens and white and the paving stones different shades of grey to add a little texture. The sun is setting when I finish and finally stand back, my clothes splattered with paint as I gaze down with pride at my finished canvas. As I look on at the painting, wondering if there's anything I've done wrong, Aunt and Uncle suddenly appear beside me.

"Nikki!" Aunt squeals, "Have you painted that yourself?"

"Erm... yeah. I did. I just finished it, actually." I squirm uncomfortably.

"It's amazing! Mrs Rolleston-Jones would love to see it! Why don't you take it down there with Shaun?"

"I'm not so sure. I mean, I was only messing around..." Art is my personal hobby, not one I share with others. Especially others who are complete strangers I know absolutely nothing about.

"I demand it." Aunt snaps, "I'll just call Shaun over."

Aunt and Uncle skip back towards the house. I sigh and take the dry canvas from the easel, popping it on the floor. I fold the easel up, tuck both the painting and the easel under my arm and begin to walk in the same direction.

I shiver, realising the temperature has suddenly dropped. Then I hear it. The wind picks up and begins to whistle eerily, then my ears are filled with whispering. I can't make out what is actually being said. My heartbeat thuds erratically and I look around for the source of the whispering. I whirl around wildly, the wind whipping my hair this way and that. My breath becomes laboured and I look up towards the house. In the attic window is Trevor, banging on the pane, looking terrified. His eyes are wide, his mouth open in a soundless scream, tears running down his face. I can't move for a second and then the easel and painting drop from my hands.

I sprint up the slope into the house, wrenching the door open and thundering up the stairs. I crack open the door and go up the attic stairs quietly, so as not to arouse suspicion between Aunt and Uncle. The whispering is quieter now. I swallow and then burst through the attic door.

It's empty. The room is empty. I walk forward and go over to the window, my heart hammering in my chest, "Trevor?"

I look out of the window. I can see my abandoned painting and easel clearly from here.

"Trevor?"

There's no sign of him anywhere. Beads of sweat are still breaking out on my forehead and I feel as if I've run a marathon. Where is Trevor? Where has he gone? What happened to him? Why was he so scared?

"Trevor?" I call, "Trevor, it's me! It's me, Nikki!" No reply. Not even a whisper. I turn back to the window and press my hand against the pane. A shot of electricity shoots up my palm.

"Ow!" I clutch my hand. Static electricity. How can that happen? Then I hear Aunt calling.

"Nikki! Nikki!"

I creep down the stairs to the second floor and into my bedroom. I count to five and then leave it again, standing in front of the staircase.

"Yeah?" I say.

"Why did you leave your easel and painting in the lawn? Shaun just brought it in." Aunt's eyebrows draw together.

I swallow, "I left them out there? I thought I brought them in. No wonder I couldn't find them. Sorry."

"It's okay." Aunt says and then beckons, "Come on, it's time to go and give our old art maniac a visit." I look reluctantly at the attic door and then my dead-weight legs carry me downstairs.

"Wow, Nikki! You have a God-given talent!" Mrs Rolleston-Jones gushes as she stares at my painting.

"Thank you." I say, blushing, as I stuff my hands uncomfortably into my jacket pocket.

Mrs Rolleston-Jones' face lights up suddenly and she looks at me with a bright smile plastered on her wrinkle-lined face, "You know what? Our village children would love to take a special one-time art lesson from you. They would love to meet you. You see, you're a bit of a celebrity down here. What do you think?"

I look to Shaun for help.

"She would love to." Shaun beams, "Our Nikki just adores little children, don't you?"

"Of course." I say through gritted teeth, wishing I could get my hands around Shaun's throat right this moment.

"Great. I'll come up there to sort out a time for the session later on."

"Okay. Can I take this home?" I ask, pointing to my art.

Mrs Rolleston-Jones nods, "Of course but I'd like for you to bring it to the session so the children can see your talent and what type of art you... specialise in. I think they will really appreciate your talent in this type of painting." The old artist squeezes my hands. I smile; a forced one. Back at Aunt's house, I apply the finishing touches to the painting and then set it up on the easel facing the window, so it dries quicker.

"So, Mrs Rolleston-Jones set up this one-time thing where I have to teach kids art. I wasn't so sure but Shaun kinda confirmed it." I say at tea.

Aunt nods approvingly, "I think it's good for you. A chance to learn about the town, the people in it. You'll get out more too."

A subtle hint at the fact that I have no social life. Don't want one either. You get attached to people, people who are bound to leave you at some point or another.

"Maybe." I say, "But I don't know yet. She said she's going to come round to sort out when we can do the session. I didn't even really want to do it. Shaun just automatically thought I would do it."

Aunt points her fork at me, "He did you a favour. You'll enjoy teaching those kids what you love. I know you will."

"Maybe you're right." I shrug and wipe my mouth clean, "I'm going upstairs to check on my painting. I need to see if it's dried or not."

"Okay, then, Nikki." Aunt says and picks my plate up for me. I bound up the stairs to my room. The easel is waiting for me, still facing the window. I skip over and turn the easel to face me. My jaw drops open and a choked whimper strangles itself out of my throat.

My painting.

It's been slashed, like someone hacked at it with a knife over and over again. Not only that, but huge strokes of black have been gashed across the paper, completely ruining the canvas and any traces of the painting with it.

Who would do something like this?

I run my hand over the tattered canvas, close to tears. "Aunt!" I call, "Aunt! Uncle! Come here!"

"What is it, Nikki?" Aunt's jovial voice calls from downstairs.

I manage to call out, "Aunt, please come up." It's the first time I have ever voluntarily called her into my bedroom. Aunt walks through the door.

"What..." Then she sees my painting, "What happened to it?"

"I don't..." I trail off, "I left it here-When I came up... Who would do something like this? Why?"

"No one's been up here since you left the room. Don't you think we would have heard something?" Aunt points out.

I look up from the painting to Aunt, disbelief tainting my sight, my words coming out strangled from trying to hold tears back, "What are you trying to say? That I did this to my painting myself? That I destroyed it?"

"No, no. Why would I say that?" Aunt takes the painting from my hands, "Whatever happened, happened. I'm sorry." She leaves with the painting.

I sigh and sink down on the bed, my head in my hands.

The next day, around tea time, Aunt and Uncle decide they have to go out. "Are you sure you'll be alright alone?" Aunt frets, "Maybe you should call Shaun up to the house."

"No, I'll... I'll manage." I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets, "I can look after myself."

"I'm not trying to say you can't, but I don't want you to be alone. There'll be nothing for you to do alone." Aunt says. I look at Uncle Harry, who is tapping his foot impatiently.

"Erm... if I get bored, I promise I'll call Shaun up. You should go; you're getting late."

"Okay, if you're sure." Aunt reluctantly backs down and then the door shuts behind the two of them. I sigh and rub my arms, trudging up the stairs to my room. I sit down on the bed where all my art supplies are spread out. A pencil rolls off the bed and onto the floor.

I bend down to pick it up and as I do, I hear a bang. I jump and look at the ceiling. It sounds as if it came from the attic. I get up and go out into the hallway, looking towards the attic door. It's wide open. My mouth dry, I step towards it and creak up the stairs, feeling sick to the stomach with each step. With a shaking hand, I push open the door.

"Where are you, Trevor?" I say out loud, "What are you doing?"

I step forward, going out into the middle of the room. Something brushes the nape of my neck and I whirl around, gasping.

"Trevor?" I whisper, "Is that you? Are you here?" There's no answer. I bite my lip. "Come on, Trevor. Don't do this." I look toward the window, as if it will help me somehow.

My heart thuds against my ribcage. The door slams shut and I turn to face it, gasping for breath. "What's happening?"

I go over to the door and turn the knob. It won't budge. I pull on it, "Come on! Oh, pelase, God, no! Open, just open!"

"It's not going to open."

I spin around to see - Trevor. "Trevor." I try to relax, "Trevor, what's going on?"

"What are you doing here?" Trevor asks, not moving from his spot by the window.

"Trevor, strange things have been happening. I heard whispers and then when I came up, everything was fine. I did a painting of the house, just like you asked and someone slashed it. Then I heard a bang and then the door closed and then... Trevor, what is happening?"

Trevor turns to look out of the window, "I don't want you to come up here anymore."

"Wh-What?" I stammer, my heart jumping against my ribcage.

"I said, I don't want you here any more." Trevor turns to face me and... his eyes are dark, cold, "I needed a friend and you gave me that. But you can't continue to come up here. You need to go."

"Trevor, what happened to you?" I ask, my eyes wide, "Why are you acting like this? I saw you, in the window. You were terrified."

"Go. Go now." Trevor orders.

"Is it because of that? Is it because I saw you like that?" I ask, feeling confused, to say the least, "Trevor, you don't have to worry. I'm not going to make fun of you. What happened?"

"Are you not listening to me?" Trevor yells. I jump and my back hits the wall. "Why don't you just go? Don't you understand? I don't want you here!"

Trevor's suddenly gone. "Trevor?" I call, on the verge of tears.

Then I hear them. The whispers. As if they're coming from inside my head. I whimper, pressing my hands against my ears, but it doesn't make a difference. "Trevor!" I call, "If that's you, please stop!" I stumble my way over to the door, trying to wrench it open. It doesn't budge on bit. "Open, dammit!" I pull on it desperately with both hands, trying to ignore the whispering. It only gets louder, infiltrating my ears, colliding with my ear drums.

"Shut up, shut up!" I screech, covering my ears, doubled over as if I'm in pain, "Shut up! Leave me alone!" I go for the door again, shoving myself against it, trying everything in my endeavour to get it open. Suddenly it throws itself open and I tumble down the stairs like a ball down a hill. I roll to a stop in the hallway, on my back, staring up at the ceiling. The door that conceals the stairs swings shut, locking me out. My spine tingles with the impact of my fall. My neck feels stiff and my knee is sore. I haul myself up and look at the door.

I steel myself and bang on it, "Trevor! Trevor, open the door! Trevor!"

I turn the handle but it's locked again. I sigh and limp into my bedroom. There's a message on the wall.

STAY AWAY FROM THE ATTIC