Two Left Sneakers
Hazel Edwards
The freezer lid isn't shut tight so I lift it up to see what's blocking it, and scream. There are two left sneakers covered in blood sitting on top. Rusty laces have stiffened on both sides of the upturned soles.
I let go of the lid. How long since it's been defrosted? I grasp the handle. What's behind the sneaker soles? What secret is hidden in the freezer?
Death freaks me out. I've never seen a corpse. And it can't be frozen meat: Susie's household are all vegetarians.
Susie is out babysitting. At 11:50 pm on Friday the 13th, neither of her housemates are home. Pete is an art student and Liam's an apprentice chef. Susie told me I could crash at her place anytime I have an early start for my weekend job. Her car wasn't here when I arrived. That's when I remembered about her babysitting job and looked for the spare key.
In the darkness, I'd tripped over the cat which had taken off. I'd fumbled under the porch gnome for the front door key. Stepping back, I'd trodden on the cat's saucer. Crack! If anyone had been home, they would have heard me for sure. But there had been no sounds when I'd entered the house. And no lights.
Number forty-three is an inner-suburban terrace. The mysterious landlord appears every Friday demanding cash. Susie doesn't like him, but she likes the house.
I'm trying to think of anything but those sneakers and what's behind them. The freezer is big enough to hold … a body.
Taking a deep breath, I open the freezer lid again.
Sneakers must belong to feet. I wear size nine, but these soles are bigger. I examine the pattern. I don't want to get too close. It's stupid to feel so spooked. Liam the triathlete would just pull the sneakers out – and whatever they're attached to.
The overhead kitchen light suddenly goes off. The big industrial freezer shudders and stops. I remain still, thinking.
Susie's a competition addict. Trouble is, she wins multiple prizes. Forty-three can openers, for example. This giant freezer must be one of her biggest prizes, and the most recent.
Everything is quiet. A torch? Matches? I feel my way to the junk drawer and scrabble around. Matches fall to the floor. In the dark, I find a handful. Then I feel around for the box. The matches won't strike.
There's something damp on the floor. Is the freezer leaking? Or something else? I dip my finger in the liquid and smell it. I think it's red. But it can't be blood. Not sticky enough. No reason to think the dampness is blood and the victim is in the freezer. Is there?
I feel my way to the bathroom. I sniff. Susie's bath candle is pyramid-shaped and smells of rosemary. Alongside is a box of matches. As my hand knocks her bath crystals, the jar crashes into the bath. Another herbal aroma – lavender? Isn't lavender supposed to have a calming effect?
If so, it isn't working. I'm freaking out. Seriously scared, worse than a horror movie.
First match doesn't light, but the second one does. A thin flame reveals the bath outline with a stain of crystals inside, a broken jar and a shadowy figure looming!
‘Ahhhh!'
Just my reflection! The flame burns my finger.
‘Ow!' I drop the match.
Luckily the next one lights straight away. I return to the kitchen holding the aromatic pyramid in front of me. The light dances, creating spooky shadows. At first, the shape is comforting. Then I think of Egypt, mummies, bodies being preserved, and I freak again.
I hold the candle higher. Menacing shadows move across the walls.
As I snap open the freezer lid, an open packet of frozen peas – stuck to the lid – scatter all over the floor. Pea pellets hit me like shot from a shotgun.
‘No!' I sweep them backwards with my feet. The flame flickers. I hold the candle lower so I can look into the freezer. The light catches a faint gleam in the depth of the freezer. Not an eye! Please!
Fingers tingling, I nudge the first icy sneaker. Behind it is a perfect human hand! The shapely fingernails are tinted with pink nail polish. Palm down, the hand is wearing a gold band. That had been the gleam reflecting the candlelight.
* * *
Susie's house mates aren't expecting me. They'd recognise me, but I'm not sure if I would recognise bits of them! Wedding rings are worn on left hands, aren't they? Two left sneakers and a left hand. Is this important?
I slam the freezer shut. I could leave – just close the front door and pretend I hadn't been here! I know the hand doesn't belong to Susie. She's a nail biter.
The candle smell is strong as I stumble down the eerily lit corridor. Someone is standing in the corner, just inside the bedroom door. ‘Aaahhh!' I scream.
Something crashes to the floor.
I find myself flat on the cold floorboards next to a very bony foot, with a leg attached. The candle splutters and dies.
‘Hi,' I say weakly to the skeleton which Pete keeps in his bedroom.
Pete is studying life drawing. He uses the skeleton to get his shapes right. I'd forgotten that. Temporarily, relief floods me. Maybe this is normal stuff. If the lights had been on, I wouldn't have freaked.
Then the front door opens, and a thin light from a tiny, powerful torch pierces the darkness.
‘Who are you?' Strong hands grab me and the torchlight dances as we struggle.
‘Let me go. It's me, Kyle. Susie's friend. Your power went off,' I say breathlessly, trying to sound cool.
‘Again? Our landlord is always getting his sons to do bodgie jobs on the cheap. Let's fix the fuse first. Look in the cupboard,' suggests Pete. ‘Here's the fuse wire.'
Pete rewires as I hold the torch. ‘Thought you were a burglar. Susie heard some guy sneaking around the other night. We told the landlord.' He hits the switch. The freezer starts to hum again. It hasn't been off long enough for the contents to thaw. Pete yawns. ‘I'm going to bed. Not sure if there's any milk, but help yourself to whatever.'
Junk mail and donation requests clutter the bench. On the kitchen calendar, Saturday the 14th has a big ‘L' marked alongside it. Pete notices me looking at it. ‘My project's due tomorrow. I've been working on it all week.'
‘Are you left-handed?' I blurt.
Pete nods.
‘When you play footy, do you kick left-footed?'
Pete shakes his head. ‘Don't play. Goodnight.'
I hear him picking up the skeleton. He mutters something about clumsy visitors.
Then the front door bangs and I swing around, fast.
‘Hi, Kyle,' Susie says, shrugging off her coat. ‘Did the power go off again?' She sniffs. ‘Rosemary?' She looks at the dead matches near the damp redness. ‘When?'
I edge away from the freezer. ‘Half an hour ago?' I guess. Being scared seems to slow down time. ‘What about your babysitting?'
‘They came home early. Mix-up with their tickets. Did the freezer go off?'
‘Yes. I mean, how would I know?'
Susie frowns. ‘If it melts, it'll be so embarrassing.'
‘I saw the sneakers,' I blurt.
The front door bangs again.
‘Liam.' Susie glances at her watch. ‘Twelve-thirty. Great!'
Then I realise. Friday the 13th is now Saturday the 14th.
‘Light these sparklers.' Susie rummages in the cupboard.
I now see a shoe-shaped container by the sink. Suddenly I'm feeling really foolish. ‘Is this a cake mould?'
‘Yes,' says Susie.
Could the mould be for ice-cream? Of course. If a mould were used twice, both sneakers would be left-shaped.
‘D'you have a hand-shaped cake too?'
‘Are you feeling all right?' Susie's eyebrows knit.
‘No, I don't think so. See this hand?' I point inside the freezer as she pulls out the sneaker ice-cream cakes.
‘Is that where Pete stored his model? His project is due tomorrow.'
‘Today,' I correct her. ‘Saturday the 14th. Liam's birthday too?'
‘Give me a hand, would you?' Susie says. ‘If Pete's gone to bed, nothing will wake him up.'
* * *
Liam's frozen foot is very heavy. Later, Susie explains everything. Liam is such an ace chef, no one will dare make him a birthday cake in case it falls short of his high standards. So, at art school, Pete made a mould of Liam's left sneaker. Susie poured bulk ice-cream into the mould. There was some left over. So she decided to make two sneaker cakes.
‘Were the bloodstains real?' I ask.
‘As if,' Susie says, making a face. ‘Food dye, of course. Why, did you think I'd murdered someone?'
I look at the fridge. ‘We-e-ll –'
‘Oh, I get it. Joke, right? Hey, d'you know anyone who'd like to buy a second-hand freezer?' Susie asks me. ‘It's too big for us.'
‘Second hand?' I repeat. ‘No thanks.' No way is that freezer, full or empty, coming into my life.
‘Want some of the ice-cream cake, Kyle?' asks Susie.
‘Thanks.' I'm cool with that.