If you read this...

Sunday 2nd May

There was a dead mouse in the fridge this morning. A small brown furred one, all stiff and cold. It was laid on its back next to half a squeezed lemon, little paws pointing up towards the ice compartment. I think the mouse had squeezed the lemon into the last bottle of milk as that has gone completely sour and there won’t be any more until Alfred comes on Tuesday. I wrapped the mouse in an old floral tea-towel. I don’t think mum will mind. Then I buried it in the garden under the lilac tree. I think he will like it there. Patrick, our cat, sat and watched but I doubt he will be interested in a mouse that is already dead.

The man on the radio says he will come and visit me soon. He has a lovely voice. I’ll think of him tonight as I go to sleep. I imagine him to have a round face with thick dark hair and brown eyes, like dad’s cousins from the west of Ireland. The man on the radio isn’t Irish though. He speaks like he’s from London. I do hope he will come.

Monday 3rd May

It rained all day today so I couldn’t go into the garden to check on the mouse as the wheels on my chair aren’t very good on wet grass. I hope he had a nice journey to wherever dead mice go. The rain soaks into everything as if the garden is a big green sponge. Patrick won’t go out in this weather and meowed like a wild thing when I ate a tin of sardines with the last of the bread. I hope that Alfred will bring something good tomorrow. The man on the radio was different today. I think he has lighter hair and a thin face. I don’t like him so much. He kept on talking about ‘progression’ and used words like ‘control’ and ‘displaced’ which made me feel like I didn’t want to be here. I drank my tea black again today. I suppose I will have to get used to it for now. The rain has got into the corner of my bedroom, just above the old rosewood chest of drawers. I managed to put a dish there to catch it. It makes a plopping sound. I hope the rain will stop soon so that Patrick can go outside. He’s scratched marks down the back of the kitchen door. Dad will repair it I’m sure.

A man came this evening but he wasn’t Alfred or the man from the radio. He came into the house while I was in the bathroom. I’m glad I was wearing my nightdress. I’m not sure what he wanted, he just stood and stared for a long time. I haven’t seen Patrick since then and I only hear his purring when I close my eyes.

Tuesday 4th May

Alfred did not come today. I drank black tea and counted that there are fifty-seven tea bags left in the tin. There are lots of canned vegetables and meat in the pantry which is good because it’s wide enough for me to get my chair in and find things to eat. The man who was here yesterday came again today when I was dozing in the living room. I woke to find him staring at me with very green eyes and he kept his raincoat hood pulled over his head even though it wasn’t raining in the house. He didn’t say anything and neither did I. He went after he’d finished staring. He smelled strange. It reminded me of the car when dad changes the oil. The radio was quiet today except for this evening when the fair haired man told us that there were ‘negotiations’ and that we should remain ‘vigilant’. I don’t know what half of the words on the radio mean.

Wednesday 5th May

When my parents weren’t in their bed last Saturday morning, I thought they must have gone to the shops, perhaps to get a surprise for my sixteenth birthday next week. The people next door have gone too because their car isn’t there either. They are our only neighbours. Alfred goes to their house on Thursdays and comes to our bungalow on Tuesdays. I had some tomatoes out of a can today. I don’t know when my parents will come back. Maybe they are on holiday and will send a postcard with a picture of a beach or a cat on it. The man with the hood and green eyes didn’t come today and neither did the dark man from the radio.

Last night there were big flashes of colour in the hills that I can see from my parent’s bedroom window. I’m not supposed to go in their room but it rained again and the plopping sound in my room was keeping me awake. I’m glad I have the strength in my arms and chest to keep moving in and out of my chair and different beds. The hills were red and purple and the moon seemed to change colour when the banging started. It was so loud that the floor shook. They said on the radio to keep the doors and windows closed but if Patrick comes home he won’t be able to get back in. I found some canned peaches at the back of the pantry. They were quite nice but there wasn’t any cream. If there was cream I would share it with Patrick if he came back.

Thursday 6th May

I wish my parents would come home now. Dad would be able to fix the phone and the TV. They haven’t worked since the night before they went away. Mum had said it would be alright because we have the radio but she didn’t seem sure and kept on twisting her wedding ring round and round. It’s raining again and I miss Patrick.

Friday 7th May

The lilac tree is blooming in all this rain. I think the mouse must be quite comfortable now underneath the blossoms. Patrick still hasn’t come back. I opened the kitchen door and called for him, even though we are supposed to keep everything shut.

The fair haired man was on the radio again, only today he didn’t say many of the complicated words. Instead he just said lots of random numbers, very slowly, and then there was a crackling noise that made me feel cold and weird and the radio went silent. I wrote the numbers down in the back of my journal. They look like some sort of code. Perhaps someone is trying to tell me something or maybe it’s just one of those puzzles like in dad’s book of logic problems that he likes to do on Sunday mornings.

Later I went into the pantry and found a little red metal tin at the very back, behind the flour. I don’t remember it being there before. It had old brass buttons inside, and underneath was a paper note that said, ’Not yet. Listen first.’ I don’t recognise the handwriting, but it was old fashioned and swirly, a bit like Mum’s. But it wasn’t hers. I put the tin back just as I found it. I don’t know who put it there. I haven’t seen the man with green eyes for a few days but I think someone is watching me. I don’t know if that is a bad thing or not.

Saturday 8th May

I’m tired today because I was woken when the radio turned itself on in the night. It was playing a soft humming sound, a bit like singing but not a song, just a voice going up and down and no actual words. It stopped as soon as I sat up. Then there were more flashes in the hills just after five in the morning. This time it was green light, like the colour of grass when it’s wet, and there was no banging, just a kind of low humming, like the noises from the radio.

The pantry cupboard had a different smell today, like wood-smoke. I think someone has been in the house again. I looked at the tea tin. There are still fifty-seven bags which is strange because I have been having a cup of black tea every day. There was a wet teaspoon on the draining board. I am sure I didn’t leave it there. Mum always taught me to clean up after myself and even though she isn’t here to tell me, I still keep things tidy.

In the afternoon, after I’d eaten some potatoes and a jar of chicken paste, I tried to decode the numbers from yesterday. I used the alphabet all sorts of different ways but I can’t get it to mean anything whatever way I look at it. But it feels like a puzzle and dad would be pleased with me for trying. The note in the pantry said ‘listen first’, so I will.

Sunday 9th May

Patrick came back today. He was sitting by the kitchen door this morning like nothing had happened, but he looked at me as though he knew something. His fur was wet, but not like rain-wet, something else, and he smelled strange, like metal. I picked him up and he purred, but he sounded different and reminded me of the noises on the radio. I checked his collar and found a tiny roll of paper tucked underneath, fastened with a piece of white thread. It said, ‘They are watching for movement. Stay inside when the moon turns. Flash three times to signal.’ There was also a symbol I don’t understand. It looks like a triangle with a dot in the middle and a squiggle underneath. I don’t know who ‘they’ are or who left the message, or where Patrick has been but I think the flashes in the hills mean someone is nearby and they know I’m here. It might be mum and dad or maybe it’s the green eyes man. There was a torch in the kitchen drawer so I’ve put that in the pocket of my chair. I’ll wait until the moon changes colour again. If Patrick found his way back, maybe someone else can too. I really hope it’s mum and dad.

Monday 10th May

The torch has stopped working. I put in new batteries but still there is nothing. I don’t know where there is another torch. I could try next door. They still aren’t back but I can’t get my chair through the gate without dad or mum to help me so I am stuck here. I am worried what will happen if I don’t flash three times like it said in the note about the moon. I put the torch on the windowsill anyway, just in case someone is watching. Then they’ll know that I tried.

The man on the radio didn’t speak today, it was just humming again. It was slower this time, a bit like a lullaby I remember from when I was small. Patrick seemed to like the sound. He slinked around my chair purring and rubbing his head on my legs. He still smells funny.

Tuesday 11th May

Tuesday again and Alfred never came. I knew he wouldn’t, but part of me still listened for the van. I found another note. It was by the dish on the rosewood drawers, damp from the rain water that still drips there. It was in the same handwriting as the first and said, ‘Soon. You're the last switch.’ I don’t know what that means. How can I be a switch? I’ve been reading it over and over. I wish there was someone to talk to. The phone still doesn’t work and the thin faced man on the radio says less every day. Patrick sits next to it almost all day now as if he’s listening and waiting for something. Maybe he knows what I’m meant to do. I wish he could talk and tell me where he went and what he saw.

The power flickered for a moment this afternoon. Everything went still and quiet, even the birds, and the air felt strange. Then the lights came back on and I heard the sound again but this time it wasn’t coming from the radio. It was coming from under the floorboards. Like humming wires or something blowing through big wide pipes. It’s still doing it now. I drew the triangle symbol from the paper in chalk on the dining room table, just in case. I feel as if something is going to happen but I don’t know if it will be good or bad. Patrick seems happy enough so perhaps I shouldn’t worry.

Wednesday 12th May

My sixteenth birthday but there are no cards and no cake. Just me and Patrick and a can of tuna for him and some cherry pie filling for me.

Mum once told me sixteen was a special age. She said something about old traditions and continuation. She said that ‘Sixteen is when the world might start asking you to choose.’ I didn’t understand then, but maybe this is what she meant. Maybe she knew things were going to change.

When I went to the pantry, there was a small box on the bottom shelf that I know wasn’t there yesterday. Inside it was a brass key attached to a wooden disc with the number sixteen carved onto it and a tiny compass with a cracked glass face. Wrapped around the key was a strip of yellow paper with the words, ‘Door below. Turn left. Keep going until the signal finds you.’

The smell of wood-smoke filled the pantry again. Patrick was watching me and jumped onto my lap, as if he was trying to tell me something but cats can’t talk. I got out of my chair on my hands and knees and found a corner of the lino that was just poking up at the bottom of one of the pantry shelves. I managed to peel it back. Under it was a small wooden trapdoor with a little hole in it and a lock. I had no idea it was there. Mum and dad never mentioned it. The brass key fit. I was worried about what would happen if I tried to open it. The key got stuck in the lock at first but then it turned and I pulled the door open by putting my finger through the hole.

I didn’t go through it though. I just sat on the floor of the pantry looking at Patrick standing watching in the doorway. Neither of us blinked, then he flew past me and leapt down the hole. I couldn’t stop him. I shouted after him but there was no sound, only the humming noise and the smoky smell.

The colour of the moon has turned. It blazes a bright green colour. It’s so bright that I can’t see properly and all the wet garden looks like one big green mass of twisting things and the lilac blossoms have all gone and the birds are suddenly quiet. I thought about the mouse for a while and then Patrick which made me sad. I know I am alone here in the house and I don’t think Patrick will come back this time. I don’t know where mum and dad are. There has been no postcard and Alfred has not been here or next door. Even the strange man has not been back.

Then, this evening, the man on the radio finally spoke again. It wasn’t the fair haired one. It was the one with the dark hair and brown eyes who never came to visit me. His voice sounded tired and kind. He said, ‘Thank you Subject 16. Everything is now complete. Please proceed.’

I think this is what mum meant about choices. I don’t know if I am subject 16 but there is only me here and there is no one to choose for me.

I will write this last bit in case someone finds my journal one day.

My name is Elsie Crowther. I am sixteen. My parents have been gone since the 1st of May. I think the world is broken, but something or someone still moves in the wires and the hills. Maybe it is hope. I can’t take my chair with me but I am going to drop through the trapdoor now. If you read this, you are not alone.

****The earth rotates, time moves, many years.****

Inside the London Museum of History and Nostalgia, a small group of teens follow their guide.

“Now, here, in this glass case, you will see the journal of Miss Elsie Crowther. It’s remarkably well preserved. Elsie was sixteen at the time of the Disconnect, alone in a rural bungalow, physically limited by a spinal condition. She kept this journal from the second to twelfth of May during what we now call the Green Switch. It is the only firsthand civilian account we have from those final days before the Switch Sequence was completed.”

“Did she survive?” One of the group asks.

“We don’t know. The journal ends on the day she went through the trapdoor. To this day, no one has fully decoded the messages she received. Some believe Elsie was a transmitter, or a kind of beacon for something. It has remained a mystery for many many years. As you will all know, Elsie ended her writing with the words, ‘If you read this, you are not alone.’ That’s why it’s so important and why you’re here today. In a time of endings, she chose to leave a message of connection. Maybe she was the last of her world. Perhaps she was the first of ours.”

“What about Patrick? Was he real?”

“Oh yes. We have the piece of paper from beneath his collar. It’s in the next case, along with the radio. This way everyone."