The Puffin Book of Horror Stories

where she had left it. A white towel. She had wiped her hands on it. She was surprised to see there was no trace of a stain.

    'What a lot of fuss over a teaspoon of rust!' Susan was leaning over the bath. Isabel stepped forward and peered in nervously. But it was true. There was a shallow puddle of water in the middle and a few grains of reddish rust. 'You know there's always a little rust in the system,' her mother went on. 'It's that stupid boiler of your father's.' She pulled out the plug. 'Nothing in there either!' Finally, she turned on the tap. Clean, ordinary water gushed out in a reassuring torrent. No rattling. No gurgles. Nothing. 'There you are. It's sorted itself out.'

    Isabel hung back, leaning miserably against the sink. Her mother sighed. 'You were making it all up, weren't you?' she said - but her voice was affectionate, not angry.

    'No, Mum.'

    'It seems a long way to go to get out of having a bath.'

    'I wasn't…!'

    'Never mind now. Clean your teeth and go to bed.' Susan kissed her. 'Good-night, dear. Sleep well.'

    But that night Isabel didn't sleep at all.

    She didn't have a bath the following night either. Jeremy Harding was out - there was a staff meeting at the school - and Susan was trying out a new recipe for a dinner party the following week-end. She spent the whole evening in the kitchen.

    Nor did Isabel have a bath on Wednesday. That was three days in a row and she was beginning to feel more than uncomfortable. She liked to be clean. That was her nature and as much as she tried flannelling herself using the sink, it wasn't the same. And it didn't help that her father had used the bath on Tuesday morning and her mother on Tuesday and Wednesday and neither of them had noticed anything wrong. It just made her feel more guilty - and dirtier.

    Then on Thursday morning someone made a joke at school - something about rotten eggs - and as her cheeks burned, Isabel decided enough was enough. What was she so afraid of anyway? A sprinkling of rust which her imagination had turned into… something else. Susan Harding was out that evening - she was learning Italian at night school - so Isabel and her father sat down together for their evening meal.

    At nine o'clock they went their separate ways - he to the news, she upstairs.

    'Goodnight, Dad.'

    'Goodnight, Is.'

    It had been a nice, companionable evening.

    And there was the bath, waiting for her. Yes. It was waiting, as if to receive her. But this time Isabel didn't hesitate. If she was as brisk and business-like as possible, she had decided, then nothing would happen. She simply wouldn't give her imagination time to play tricks on her. So without even thinking about it, she slipped the plug into the hole, turned on the taps and added a squirt of avocado bubble bath for good measure. She undressed (her clothes were a useful mask, stopping her seeing the water as it filled) and only when she was quite naked did she turn round and look at the bath. It was fine. She could just see the water, a pale avocado green beneath a thick layer -of foam. She stretched out her hand and felt the temperature. It was perfect: hot enough to steam up the mirror but not so hot as to scald. She turned off the taps. They dripped loudly as she remembered and went over to lock the door.

    Yet still she hesitated. She was suddenly aware of her nakedness. It was as if she were in a room full of people. She shivered. 'You're being ridiculous,' she told herself. But still the question hung in the air with the steam from the water. It was like a nasty, unfunny riddle.

    When are you at your most defenceless?

    When you're naked, enclosed, lying on your back…

    … in the bath.

    'Ridiculous.' This time she actually said the word. And in one swift movement, a no-go-back decision, she got in.

    The bath had tricked her - but she realized too late.

    The water was not hot. It wasn't even warm. She had tested the temperature moments before. She had seen the steam rising. But the water was colder than anything Isabel had ever felt. It was like breaking through the ice on a pond on a midwinter's day. As she sank helplessly into the bath, felt the water slide over her legs and stomach, close in on her throat like a clamp, her breath was punched back and her heart seemed to stop in mid- beat. The cold hurt her. It cut into her. Isabel opened her mouth and screamed as loudly as she could. The sound was nothing more than a choked off whimper.

    Isabel was being pulled under the water. Her neck hit the rim of the bath and slid down, her long hair floating away from her. The foam slid over her mouth, then over her nose. She tried to move but her arms and legs wouldn't obey the signals she sent them. Her bones had frozen. The room seemed to be getting dark.

    But then, with one final effort, Isabel twisted round and threw herself up, over the edge. Water exploded everywhere, splashing down on to the floor. Then somehow she was lying down with foam all around her, sobbing and shivering, her skin completely white. She reached out and caught the corner of a towel, pulled it over her. Water trickled off her back and disappeared through the cracks in the floorboards.

    Isabel lay like that for a long time. She had been scared… scared almost to death. But it wasn't just the change in the water that had done it. It wasn't just the bath itself- as ugly and menacing as it was. No. It was the sound she had heard as she heaved herself out and jack-knifed on to the floor. She had heard it inches away from her ear, in the bathroom, even though she was alone.

    Somebody had laughed.

* * * *

    'You don't believe me, do you?'

    Isabel was standing at the bus-stop with Belinda Price; fat, reliable Belinda, always there when you needed her, her best friend. A week had passed and all the time it had built up inside her, what had happened in the bathroom, the story of the bath. But still Isabel had kept it to herself. Why? Because she was afraid of being laughed at? Because she was afraid no one would believe her? Because, simply, she was afraid. In that week she had done no work… at school or at home. She had been told off twice in class. Her clothes and her hair were in a state. Her eyes were dark with lack of sleep. But in the end she couldn't hold it back any more. She had told Belinda.

    And now the other girl shrugged. 'I've heard of haunted houses,' she muttered. 'And haunted castles. I've eyen heard of a haunted car. But a haunted bath…?'

    'It happened, just like I said.'

    'Maybe you think it happened. If you think something hard enough it can often

    'It wasn't my imagination,' Isabel interrupted.

    Then the bus came and the two girls got on, showing their passes to the driver. They took their seats on the top deck, near the back. They always sat in the same place without quite knowing why.

    'You can't keep coming round to my place,' Belinda said. 'I'm sorry, Bella, but my mum's beginning to ask what's going on.'

    'I know.' Isabel sighed. She had managed to go round to Belinda's house three nights running and had showered there, grateful for the hot, rushing water. She had told her parents that she and Belinda were working on a project. But Belinda was right. It couldn't go on forever.

    The bus reached the traffic lights and turned on to the main road. Belinda screwed up her face, deep in thought. All the teachers said how clever she was, not just because she worked hard but because she let you see it. 'You say the bath is an old one,' she said at last.

    'Yes?'

    'Do you know where your parents got it?'

    Isabel thought back. 'Yes. It came from a place in Fulham. I've been there with them before.'

    'Then why don't you go there and ask them about it? I mean, if it is haunted there must be a reason. There's always a reason, isn't there?'

    'You mean… someone might have died in it or something?' The thought made Isabel shiver.