She stretched, and pulled on her dressing gown. It was definitely too short, and had a rabbit on the back. It was pink. It had been bought when she was ten, and she had never gotten round to buying a new one. It did what it was supposed to, anyway. She just wished it was a different colour. Looking in the mirror on the back of her door, she looked like some sort of lollipop; her pale legs clashing violently with the bright, almost fluorescent pink, which in turn clashed hideously with her ginger-auburn, she corrected herself-hair. She slipped her feet into khaki slippers to complete the whole mismatch, and padded out of her room. Looking down into the hallway, she saw her mothers head poking out of one of the doors on the ground floor.
‘Morning hun!’ she called up. ‘Brunch is on the table!’
Brunch! Hannah checked her watch. It was 11 o’clock already! She rushed down the stairs, suddenly aware of quite how hungry she was. Aside from a burger, bought at some fast-food restaurant on the motorway, she hadn’t eaten since about three yesterday. She sat down at the dining table, grabbed a plate and seized the tongs. She piled sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs and spaghetti hoops onto her plate, then covered it all in brown sauce. She had long ago discovered that whatever she ate, she stayed below seven stone, the one thing that she had over Barbie and Co at school. She always felt a guilty pang of pleasure as they watched her tuck into seemingly endless chocolate bars and sweet, sugary things as they ate biscuits and protein shakes. As it happened, Hannah disliked chocolate and the only sweet things she liked were strawberries, but the venomous looks on their faces were worth it.
As she tucked in, her mother watched her with an amused expression on her face. She hadn’t put her contacts in yet, and was wearing a pair of glasses very similar to Hannah's own.
‘You hungry, sweetheart?’ 
Hannah nodded around a mouthful of bacon, and poured herself a large glass of orange and mango smoothie. She gulped, and took a swig. Her mother smiled, then walked through a side door into the kitchen. Hannah watched her go, then speared another piece of sausage with her fork.
‘What you got planned for today, Hannah?’ called her mother from the kitchen.
Hannah hadn’t actually thought about this, but on a sudden urge said ‘I thought I’d wander into town, see what it’s like.’
‘Boyhunting?’ was the reply, with something like a giggle in there.
Hannah choked, and a mouthful of scrambled egg made a sudden break for freedom. Her mother poker her head round the door.
‘You okay?’ There was an amused smile creasing the corners of her eyes.
‘Mum!’ she said, finally swallowing the egg. ‘Do you mind? Boys aren’t all I think about, you know.’
‘Really? I did,’ responded her mother, tartly.
‘Oh, oh, enough,’ she said, in mock horror. ‘I don’t think I can eat any more, thank you very much!’
Her mother grinned, and vanished back into the kitchen. ‘Now that I don’t believe,’ she called behind her.
Hannah smiled and pulled the plate back towards her. Her mother knew her too well. Having polished off the rest of her meal, she grabbed the bread knife and cut a slice off the loaf that stood in the middle of the table. She tore it in half and cleaned her plate with it, making sure she got every last drop of sauce and grease. Delicious. She chewed it reflectively, then picked up her plate and glass. She carried them through to the kitchen and dropped them in the sink to her left without thinking. She swore, realising too late that they might well smash. Then she heard a bubbling noise, and realised that her mother must have filled the sink with water, ready for the washing up. Cheered by this, she walked out of the door behind her and found herself back in the hall.
In the sink, her plate and glass sunk slowly to the bottom of the sink. They sunk slowly; much slower than the level of the liquid which was pouring rapidly down the plughole. As it drained away, a few droplets clung to the glass and cutlery. The plate, still coated with a thin layer of grease, remained clean. These droplets, too, drained away eventually. It was very curious to watch; it was almost as if something was sucking the dark fluid into the recesses of the house. With a final gurgle, the last of the blood vanished into the drain.
 ‘Morning, princess,’ greeted her father, exiting his room with his hair plastered to his scalp. ‘We’ve got an en suite, isn’t that fancy?’ He turned up his nose and pouted his lips, affecting an upper-class accent. ‘Although you, of course, don’t. Since you’re the servant.’
Hannah punched him lightly on the arm. Even if she’d swung with all her strength, she doubted she could hurt him, but his face still creased up.
‘Oh, shut up, Dad!’ she said, laughing at the look of pain on his face. He grinned, and his face seemed to melt back to his normal, smiling demeanour.
‘True,’ he admitted, ‘but you’re getting there. Keep working on those muscles!’
She laughed at that, and carried on up the stairs. She couldn’t shake off a slight chill, though; for a second, her Dad had looked remarkably like someone else. Someone else with small eyes and thick lips.
Her bathroom was next to her room; not connected, but no more than five paces from door to door. She started to pull her towel from her bag, then decided against it and took her whole bag. She would normally have no problems with crossing such a tiny distance in a towel, or even in the nude. But her father had spooked her, and she didn’t want to step into view of the room even vaguely undressed.
Her bathroom-she instinctively thought of it as hers, as it was closest to her room, even though the three of them had agreed that they would all be communal-had a bath that doubled as a shower, a loo, and was floored with wood. A shower curtain had been put in with a repeating pattern: a collection of words written in various directions, all to do with bathing. She pulled it back, and then fell back, screaming, covering her mouth to try to stop herself being sick. It was no use. With a groan she tipped her head over the toilet and brought up everything she had eaten. She was crying too, the tears rolling down her nose and mixing with the phlegm which was flowing from her nose.
The reason that she was being sick watched from the bath with no interest in its eyes. This was mainly because it was dead. Eyes that looked straight through her, huge and dark, were rimmed with blood, which flowed like tears down its snout. Its mouth was wide open, and she could see blood on its teeth and tongue. Most of the blood was flowing from the wound in its neck, where a gash ran from its right ear and disappeared in the bristles.
With a last, choking hiccup, Hannah emptied her stomach entirely. She felt for toilet paper, not wanting to touch her mouth with her hands. She tore a piece off and wiped her mouth, then dropped it in the basin. She got up slowly. She felt like she’d run a hundred miles. She wiped sweat off her forehead, and leant back against the tiled wall, still unable to take her eyes off the monstrosity in the bath. It was huge, filling the whole tub from back to front. She closed her eyes, willing it to go away.
When she opened her eyes, the pig was still there, gross and huge and dead.  She whimpered, begging anyone who could hear her, gods to fairies, to make it go away.
She opened her eyes. Against all expectations, it had gone, gone so completely that she had to take a second to convince herself that it had ever been their. A quick look in the toilet basin confirmed it, however. She flushed it away.
She didn’t check the bath. She just walked out, suddenly urging for a drink and some fresh air.
The drain gurgled as the last of the pig’s blood, thick and dark red, swirled round the plughole and vanished. And then there was silence.
Her dad was standing by the door as Hannah came down the stairs, and he immediately noticed his daughter’s paler-than-usual features.
‘You okay, sweetheart?’ he asked, concerned. Hannah nodded, mutely. She didn’t need her parents to be concerned about her, and she definitely didn’t want them to think that she was crazy. The simple act of walking down the stairs had made Hannah question what she had just seen, but the memory of that huge, black eye gazing vacantly at her was persistent.
‘Mmm,’ she mumbled, ‘been a bit sick. Think I ate too quickly.’
Her father didn’t look convinced. ‘Are you sure that’s all it is?’
Hannah nodded, not trusting herself to open her mouth too much. ‘You going out?’
‘Yeah, just into the town. Perhaps you should come, you look like you need a breath of fresh air.’
Hannah nodded again. ‘Alright, grab your coat. In fact, I’ll get it. You go and open the car. Here.’ He dropped the keys into her hand, then made for the stairs. Hannah closed her hand around the cold, metal shapes. They felt good. She twisted the latch and let herself out. She walked to the car, and put the key in the lock. She turned it, and the central locking system crunched. Behind her, the door opened and shut, and she turned to see her father coming out, carrying her coat.
‘C’mon, then,’ he said. He draped her coat carefully around her. ‘Where do you want to see?’
‘Library. I want to get something to read.’
‘Library it is. Here, let me get the door for you. That’s it, sit yourself down. Comfortable? Good.’ He shut the door, walked around the font of the car and got in his own seat.
There wasn’t much conversation as they drove down the hill and into the town. The town had been built around the house, and was constructed so that those of greater importance were closest to it. There was a church which was more of a cathedral, with a bell-tower that seemed to pierce the sky. The high street was paved with flagstones, and the shops were all built from the same greyish-brown rock.
The library was small, and had the curious smell that all libraries have; musty and paperish. Hannah walked in, suddenly conscious of how much noise her kitten heels made on the floor.
It was covered with carpet, but it was so threadbare that in places the floorboards could be seen. She walked over to the desk and leaned on it, resting her forearms on the cool wooden surface.
‘Can I help?’ asked a voice behind her, deep and inviting.
Hannah jerked upright and span round, attempting to look like she hadn’t been caught leaning on the desk. There was a young man standing in front of her, with an amused look in his dark eyes and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His nose looked like it had been broken at least once, and there was a scar on his right cheek, running at a right angle to his lips.
Suddenly aware that she was staring, she looked at him. ‘Umm, yes.’
There was a pause.
The pause went on.
His smile widened, and he leant forward, as though about to share a great secret. ‘This is the bit where you tell me how I can help you,’ he whispered. It tickled, and for the second time that day Hannah felt her legs turn to water. He leant back, and winked.
‘Oh right, sorry, yes, of course,’ said Hannah. She cursed inwardly. There was a dangerously handsome boy winking at her, and she was babbling like a girl who’d never even been winked at.
Hang on. No boy had ever winked at her.
He was still looking at her. She wished he’d stop, because then she’d be able to say something better than ‘eep’, which was the best she could currently come up with. She looked at his lips again, and then guiltily at his eyes.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I was just looking at your lips.’
One of his eyebrows arched. His look became even more amused.
‘Because you have a scar there.’
The second eyebrow joined its twin. He still had that odd little half-smile playing around his lips, but in truth he was biting his tongue to stop himself laughing out loud.
She pulled herself together. He was here to help. She was a customer, so he shouldn’t be laughing at her. Now she had to say something snappy. Hard, since her voice was hiding somewhere in the region of her ankles, trying to pretend that it didn’t know her.
‘Yeah,’ she squeaked, finally. ‘I’m looking for some information on the big house on the hill.’
‘The Harris place?’
She shrugged. ‘Don’t know the names, sorry.’ This was easier. So long as she didn’t look directly at him, she was fine. Unfortunately, it had the undesired effect of making her look like she was overly interested in the ceiling, which was plastered and had dark beams of wood running the length of it.
‘Yes, it is. Would you like to talk to someone who used to live there?’
Hannah forgot her rule for a second, and looked him squarely in the eyes. ‘Yes, most definitely,’ she said. Perhaps this person would have experienced whatever she had experienced.
‘Cool,’ said the mystery librarian. ‘I’ve got lunch now, so why don’t we go grab a coffee, and then I can tell you all about it.’ He held out his hand. ‘Tom Harris, at your service.’
You have got to be kidding.
Tom grinned, then vanished to the back of the library. Hannah heard a door open and shut, and then he was back. He threw on the hoodie he’d gone to get, and then ushered her out of the door.
‘C’mon, before anyone notices I’ve gone,’ he whispered in her ear, and Hannah tingled all over.
‘I thought you said you had lunch now?’ she whispered back, giggling at the way he hustled her out, as if he was doing something really wrong, as opposed to taking his lunch break a bit early.
‘I do,’ he said, pulling the door open, ‘but we’re supposed to eat in, so that we can help people who can’t find what they’re looking for.’
‘So what happens if someone comes in looking for, I don’t know, art by Picasso? What are they going to do without you to help them?’
He pulled a box of cigarettes from a pocket, and drew one out with his teeth. ‘Go to London and have a look, I s’pose,’ he said indistinctly, patting himself down for a lighter. ‘You got a light?’
Hannah shook her head, no. Tom pulled a face, and slotted the cigarette back into the packet. ‘Damn. Okay, let’s go find somewhere to get a coffee.’
It was only a hundred yards to the coffee house, which had stayed true to the building it was situated in and had stayed well away from anything man made. There was a cloud of blue smoke at the ceiling, and Hannah saw Tom look longingly towards it. They moved over to the counter. The smell of coffee was heavy in the air, and Hannah breathed in deeply. She loved these places; the smells and sounds reminded her of the hundreds of times she had sat with her parents in their old house.