The Long Weekend by Savita Kalhan Read Free Book Online Page A

he wanted to be good at it, and that's what made it even worse. 'Just do your best,' his mum would say. But what if your best wasn't ever good enough?
    Sam looked at the locked door, knowing that looking at it wasn't going to get it unlocked. Only a key would do that and he didn't have one. The man had it. Something hot prickled his eyes. It was the warning sign before the floodgates opened and he mutated into a snivelling baby, and he couldn't have that, not now. Not when there was so much to do.
    Sam turned back round and went to the bathroom. It was as plain and sparse as the bedroom: a loo, a sink and a bathtub, soap and a towel. He splashed his face with ice-cold water from the tap, and the prickling in his eyes abated for a while, but then it started again and he couldn't control it this time. Within seconds, he was on his knees sobbing, blubbering, crying for his mum like he used to do when he was really little and had had a scary nightmare. He crawled out of the bathroom and curled up on the bed, burying his face in the pillow to the muffle the sound of his distress. Long minutes passed, it could have been hours, but Sam knew it wasn't. His watch said ten thirty when he checked it after the fountain had finally run dry. His pillow was soaked with tears. It was amazing how much water could come out of your eyes, and one day Sam would find out exactly how and why that happened, if he didn't almost fail his Science exam again that is.
    He sat up on the bed, pulling the duvet out from under him, and huddled beneath it. The room had got colder. His eyes strayed to the locked door again, and he threw off the cover and jumped off the bed as a sudden thought struck him. If the man could lock him in, he might be able to lock the man out. Might, Sam thought, sizing up the chest of drawers. It was about his height and almost as long – and it was ancient looking, which meant it probably weighed an absolute ton. It was worth a go. 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained,' his dad, the king of clichés, always said. But what exactly would be gained by locking the man out? Actually, quite a lot, Sam thought.
    He should be able to manage it: it couldn't be that heavy and he didn't have to carry it anywhere. All he had to do was slide it across the doorway. 'Easy peasy, lemon squeezey; no problemo; piece of piss,' Sam said loudly, enjoying each and every word with relish as his voice echoed round the empty room. He almost smiled to himself because in normal life he probably wouldn't say any of those things – and never out loud. But nothing was normal at the moment, and saying something out loud, even though it was a load of rubbish, didn't make him feel so wretched and alone. Actually having a project was pretty good. It would pass the time until help arrived. Although Sam didn't really think the cavalry were going to charge in and kill all the baddies because no one knew they were there. But surely the man would let them go in the morning? Sam was counting on it.
    He set his feet a little bit apart and planted his hands on the chest of drawers, and then he pushed. It didn't move much. Okay, it was going to be tough, but Sam was well up for the job. He pushed harder, and the chest of drawers shifted a couple of inches. Hurrah, progress, but yes, it was going to take a while, he thought glumly, and he had no clue how much time he had before he had a visit from the man. 'Come on, Sam, put your back into it,' his mum cajoled. 'It's not that heavy. Oh, all right, I'll get Tab to give you a hand,' she would say in a resigned voice. His mum had a bad back so she couldn't lift heavy things, push furniture around, or even mow the lawn, and with his dad working long hours Sam was always called on to help out. He wished he did have Tab there to give him a hand: she was tough, and she never asked for help. The hot prickling sensation was coming back, but Sam couldn't let it win this time – he really had work to do.
    He pushed again, and again,