Thief

Thief

Andrew Harrick was contemplating breaking the law on his walk home. It was late, summer’s heat still lingered in the London air. He had everything he needed in his bag and night’s dark cloak about his shoulders. His criminal career to date had been short lived. Sure, he’d swiped a few things from corner shops or grabbed a couple of delivery packages when he was a teenager but nothing major, nothing violent and he’d always kept his nose clean. 

As a kid he saw what could happen if you let that world grab a hold of you and he’d wanted no part in it. Instead he’d got his grades, got out of the city and gone to uni. After graduating he returned to London and started helping out in his old school. That was five years ago. Now he was a behaviour mentor. The kids looked up to him, called him sir, respected him and listened to what he had to say. And Andrew had found he had a lot to say, a lot to give back. 

Yes, he loved his work at the school and Stacey, his girlfriend, was training to be an art therapist and loved her work too. The trouble was even together both jobs paid dirt and they had children of their own to worry about. When prices started rising Andrew took a second job stacking shelves at the local Tesco which he worked during the evenings and they’d made do but now their landlord was saying he was going to have to put the rent up because of inflation. Where was he supposed to find an extra five hundred quid a month? 

He and Stacey were already skipping meals to make sure their two boys had enough to eat, had the medicine and the clothes they needed. Next month they were going back to school and they couldn’t afford new uniforms, second hand services were flush out - everyone else was broke too and with the cost of childcare…

Andrew paused a moment. Stopped his frantic midnight march and breathed deep. The sky above was the same dull metallic black as ever. He couldn’t see the stars. 

As if through some treacherous pact his feet had brought him to exactly where he’d been thinking to use the tools in his bag. Across the street stood a large semi-detached Georgian townhouse. Number one, Downes Reach. It was two stories high with a well manicured garden in front and larger garden out back into which they’d built an extension. A little alleyway cut between this house and the next on the corner. It was a shortcut that many people used by day but during the night it was dark and unlit and it ran the length of the back garden, separated by only a low wall. 

Andrew passed this house every afternoon on the way to his shift at the supermarket and every evening on his way home. Never once had he seen a light on or movement inside. He figured it was some rich family’s second home or something. Whatever it was they had no security installed, no motion light for the back garden, nothing. And he was certain there’d be stuff in there he could sell. He still knew people who could make things disappear. 

He wouldn’t have done this for himself. He’d never believed in this sort of life. But he needed something. He needed something that could put a smile back on Stacey’s face. He wouldn’t tell her where it came from, he’d think of that, but without some help they weren’t going to make it through the next month. Besides, if these people were so wealthy that they never used the place then whoever owned it wouldn’t miss whatever he lifted. Frankly he was surprised no one had robbed the place already. 

That decided it for him. It was now or never. He crossed the road in a few long strides. In the alleyway he glanced casually over his shoulder and, satisfied that he was alone, hopped the wall. 

Andrew landed softly. The garden was neatly arranged. Cute flower beds delineated vegetable patches. A water butt stood beside the back door, a little tool shed next to it. No lights came on, nothing moved. 

Some sense told him that he was perfectly alone, that no eyes were upon him in this moment, yet every fibre of his being was telling him to climb back over the fence and get out of here. He shook his head. He had bills to pay. He calmed his nerves and took one step forward, then another. 

Some time in the last decade they’d extended the rear of the house into the garden. Folding glass patio doors looked into a silent kitchen. Quietly Andrew placed his rucksack on the ground and from it drew a crowbar and a rag. Using the rag to muffle the noise he struck the glass door, punching a hole in it large enough for him to slip his hand through and open it from the inside. 

Think of the kids, think of the kids. The door opened easily and just like that he was inside. Andrew stowed his tools and drew a separate bag to fill. The house was silent, save for the hum of electrical objects. He worked quickly, opening drawers in a flurry. There was nothing of any great value in the kitchen save for some silverware. 

Moving to the front room he snagged a tablet and a few valuable looking objects from the mantle where a family photo caught his eye. A mother and father and two happy young children on a beach somewhere warm. He laid it down flat and moved on. 

He stalked from room to room like a ghost, glimpsing a life he would never know. Comfy furniture, soft carpets. A big TV, speakers, fancy ornaments on the mantelpiece. A fireplace. Period features that he would never recognise or know, but which added immeasurable value to the property. Even the layout of the building, its rooms fluid, large and welcoming made him think of the cramped boxes he and Stacey had to live their lives in. 

Plastic windows looking out onto concrete walkways. It was so fucking bleak. And here. Here they had so much space. So much freedom. Places to put things, to store memories, to grow. How could he justify investing in a new sofa when it wasn’t his place to begin with? Their landlord just made them make do, no matter how many times they complained (and they were afraid to do even that in case he decided they were too much hassle). They just couldn’t afford to have to move. To have to find a new place and pay another deposit before they had any chance of getting the first one back would break them. 

It was all so wrong. But he could make it right, just a little. The silver spoons in his bag. They could pay for new uniforms, ones that fitted this time. He could buy Stacey a new dress and toys for the kids. He could buy food for weeks. They’d be set for a little while. What good was all this wealth lying around doing these people? By the dust that had settled on most of the surfaces it looked like they barely used it anyway. 

He finished with the ground floor and found himself at the foot of the staircase. It was steep. No windows lit the interior up there. White steps ascended into an eerie, inky black. 

The bag suddenly felt immensely heavy in his hands despite holding only a few items. A chill ran through him followed by a wave of exhaustion that nearly dropped him. He sagged for a moment and his shoulder drooped to rest against the wall beside him. The front door was behind him. Coloured glass painted a mosaic street scene under public lighting. It wasn’t locked. He could leave now. Slip out quietly. But the bag was basically empty. To do all this. To break into someone’s home and come out with next to nothing. What was the point? He saw his children’s faces in his mind’s eye. Their smiles. Their long faces when they came home from school, another day with patchy, ill fitting clothes. He knew what it was like. What the other kids would say. His children deserved better. He provided for them. However he needed to. 

He stood up straight and took a breath. Feeling once more invigorated he moved forward and up, climbing one step at a time. Silent. Purposeful. 

The air grew colder as Andrew rose and he thought he could hear a faint buzzing noise coming from up ahead. The sound grew as he reached the landing, they must’ve invested in serious AC to keep the house this cool up here in the height of summer. Several rooms spun off from the top of the stairs. First he came to a guest room. Nothing here save a few more family photos, the children more grown up now, parents looking greyer. A bathroom he skipped over immediately and another guest room much the same as the first. 

Desperation squirmed in his gut. His heart hammered in his chest as he approached the last door. There had to be something in here, jewellery, watches, something he could sell that would make all this worth it. Please let there be something in here. 

The door was slightly ajar. He took a soft step toward it. Suddenly the buzzing which had flitted at the back of his mind now became a drone that rose steadily. He paused hand outstretched to the door handle and realised his whole body was tense. He let out a long breath and forced his muscles to relax before gently pushing on the door and entering. 

Inside the air was even colder and the droning blocked out nearly all other thoughts in his mind. The room was large. A bay window looked out onto the street below where he’d been just minutes before. It was sparsely furnished with a large double bed backed against the far wall but Andrew had barely any time to take this in for his gaze was locked upon the scene before him. 

In the bed lay two figures. In the dim twilight he could make out the features of the mother and father he’d seen in the photos. Their bodies were inert, wasting things. But it wasn’t the presence of the owners which gave him pause, rather the figures that stood hunched over them, one for each parent. They were human save for the chitinous needles jutting from their jaws. 

Suddenly the droning stopped and in the silence a sickening slurping and gurgling, like a child sucking the dregs of their drink through a straw filled the void. In a moment the two hunched figures disengaged themselves from their victims and turned to face Andrew. In the dim light of the street lamp he saw them. Their children. Grown now, into sickly parodies of adults. Viscera and fluid dripped from their protrusions, their cold alien eyes regarded him piteously. 

Andrew screamed. The bag fell from his grasp as he stumbled backward out the room. Suddenly the droning blasted back into his mind nearly forcing him to his knees. He clung desperately to the memory of his children and Stacey. They needed him, he couldn’t give up.

Through sheer force of will he regained his balance and ran bouncing like a pinball off walls and banisters. The chill of the house clawed at his skin and dug into his veins threatening to pull him down. Voices echoed in his mind tempting and scolding him alternately. He gained the top of the staircase. In the corner of his vision he saw movement upon the walls and ceiling. Scabrous figures in human skin clambered after him. 

Andrew lurched forward and managed one, two, three steps before momentum sent him tumbling. He met the ground hard. The breath rushed out of his chest in a great woosh which turned into a strangled scream as his eyes brought into focus the maddening sight above him.. High up amidst Victorian cornices and ornate plasterwork, the daughter clung to the ceiling, her head twisted unnaturally to face him, mandibles glistening in the gloom. 

The drone continued to pound at his temples and Andrew screamed again. His body spasmed into action. Somehow managing to turn his back on the creature above him, he staggered to his feet and in two jerky steps pressed his body against the front door. 

A wave of cold descended upon him, flowing down the staircase to flood the ground floor. Footsteps scuttled along the walls. He wrestled with the door. A breath caressed his neck. He fumbled the catch.

“Please, please.” The door flew open. Andrew pitched forward into the embrace of summer’s warmth and landed hard once more, this time on the tiled garden path that led to the house. Above him the porch light flared into life and he spun onto his back, raising his arms to his face. 

Nothing. The drone ceased and in the sudden light of the porch he could see only blackness in the corridor beyond. He lay there watching, waiting. Off down the street a dog barked and for an instant he looked away. When he snapped his gaze back the door was shut and the light sputtered out. 

Realising how things must look Andrew scrambled to his feet and hurried over to the far side of the road where he dipped into shadow. He looked up at the house as he caught his breath, to the bay window where the parents room was and for the briefest moment he could have sworn he saw a hand pressed against the glass before a deeper darkness beyond engulfed it. 

Andrew walked the long way home. He’d have to find another way to support his children.