Sleepwalkers by Tom Grieves Read Free Book Online

awake. He was back in his bedroom, dressed in his pyjamas. It was morning. Standing at the end of the bed were his mum and dad. It took a moment for Toby to register that something was wrong, but then, when he sat up, he winced from the shooting pain that ran through his legs and right arm. Panic began to rise up within him.
    ‘What …? What did I …?
    His mother stifled a sob.
    ‘Mum. I swear. I don’t … what did I do?’
    ‘We’re going to be late for school,’ his father said curtly. Toby could feel his anger bubbling within.
    ‘But, what did—’
    ‘We’ll talk about it tonight.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘And you need to get dressed.’
    ‘But I don’t remember!’ he shouted.
    Laura looked down, hiding her face, and despite the confusion and the throbbing pain, Toby felt guilty. Michael didn’t even look at him as he muttered, ‘We’ll talk about this after school. Your mother’s made you porridge.’
    Toby nodded okay and mumbled a faint sorry. Michael put an arm out, guiding Laura away. Toby lay there for a moment,trying to pull things together in his head. Suddenly he jumped from the bed and ran to the cupboard, pulling it open. Hidden beneath the clothes was the ‘Spy Trap Microcam’ recorder box – a little green light showing that it was still working. Toby opened it up, revealing a small screen. Eager, he pressed ‘play’ and, after a moment of fuzz, a picture emerged: Toby, staring at himself in the mirror, shooting imaginary bullets from his finger.
    Toby let out a feathery breath of pleasure, then his fingers pressed ‘fast forward’ and he watched pictures of the camera heading downstairs, then sitting at the table where the picture became dark and obscure. More fast-forwarding, and suddenly he was moving towards the front door, grabbing a coat, heading through the door and out into the night …
    Although it was dark, the camera picked out details with surprising clarity. Toby saw the street ahead and suddenly the camera whipped round in a disorientating circle as it recorded him spinning around the lamp post. Toby saw the woman with the dog smile at him. He smiled, just as he had the night before, excited.
    The camera stopped moving. Standing still in the road. It just pointed forward, recording the empty street ahead. Toby waited. Any moment now … any moment …
    But then the screen went blank. Toby stared at it, confused as it was replaced by grey fuzz again.
    He pressed fast forward again. And while the digital counter showed him that the recording was progressing, the screen refused to reveal its secrets. On and on, the mist remained impenetrable, and eventually the recording ended with a tiny electronic beep.
    Toby sat back, stunned. His legs were aching. He looked at his feet and saw that they were cut and sore – as though he’d been running barefoot across gravel. Or something. He examined them: the cuts were clean, washed, disinfected. His head fell and he had to wipe the swelling tears from his eyes.
    There was a shout from downstairs. His father – a warning, they had to leave. Toby didn’t reply. He just sat there, halfinside the open cupboard, too miserable to move. Finally he mustered the strength to place the box in its secret place, hidden amongst the clothes.
    Then he stood and put on the school uniform that his mother had laid out for him at the foot of the bed.
    The journey to school was quiet – too quiet for both of them – so Michael put on the radio. Toby sat silently, staring out of the car window, watching as grey buildings passed under grey skies. He looked down at his belt, where the tiny camera had once sat. It was, of course, gone.
    His father tried to hum along to a pop tune. He didn’t know the words or the tune, really, but Toby recognised the effort to lighten the mood.
    ‘Dad?’
    ‘Toby.’
    ‘Where did you find me?’
    His father drove on, stony-faced.
    ‘Dad?’
    ‘I don’t know how you can bring it up.’
    ‘But I