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Prologue


Sean looked up at his new home. It loomed over him like a dark, uninvited presence. The windows on the third floor were broken, the paint on the white wooden house was peeling off, the front door hung from its hinges, the stone steps leading up to the house were cracked. Nothing he couldn’t fix.
“No one’s lived here in years.” Sean turned to see a young woman standing behind him. He studied her. She was tall, thin and blonde, looked around the same age as him. She was wearing a white button-up shirt, a blue jacket, skirt, stockings and her high heels looked as if they were being swallowed by the stones that surrounded them. “Yes,” he replied, then turned back to the house.
She appeared at his side. “Would you like a tour?” she looked at him.
“No…” he replied, his eyes still on the broken window. “I already know my way around.” She smiled.
“You already had a tour?”
“Something like that.” She frowned. “Ok.” His eyes were glued to the window. The young woman looked at the window, then back at Sean. “House needs a fair bit of work, but I’m sure you can do it.” She smiled. Sean didn’t answer, just stared up. “I’m Lizzie, by the way. Elizabeth.” Sean looked at her. “Sean.” He replied, shaking her hand. “Well, I should get going.” She looked at her watch. “See you later.” She left and Sean looked back at the window.


Chapter One


It was another cold, frosty day in Montreal, Canada, at a temperature of minus five degrees. It was mid- January at 4pm. A young boy that looked around the age of ten roamed the busy streets without his parents. He stared at the ground as he made his way around the corner, across the road and through the front door of an old, two storey house, closing the door behind him. He walked up the hallway, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes slowly moved up to look at the door at the top of the stairs. He lifted one foot and placed it gently on the first step. As he lifted his other foot, the floorboards creaked. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, breathed in, then out and started up the stairs. His right hand reached up to grip the railing as he slowly climbed the stairs.
When he reached the top, he stopped again.
The house was silent, except for the occasional creaking of the floorboards beneath the boy’s feet. He walked towards the door and reached out to grab the handle. Just as he touched it, the door swung open.
The boy gasped. The sun shone through the window as bright as a fireball, in the middle of the doorway, an old woman stood, wrapped in a dressing gown. She looked at the young boy. “Oh, Sean!” she screeched. “How many times have I told you not to come up here?” She grabbed his arm and dragged him back downstairs. “If you get home while I’m still in there, you wait downstairs.”
She sat him down on the couch. A man appeared behind the woman. “Here’s your pay,” he handed her a wad of money, tipped his hat, then left. The woman turned to the little boy.
“Look, Sean, I work to earn money so that we can keep this house. Do you want to be living in a tunnel, eating nothing but the scraps people throw in the gutters?” she said, her voice getting louder with every word. The boy shook his head. “Then why don’t you stay away from the bedroom from now on, ok?” she stood up straight and stared at him. “But grandma…” he began. “No buts!” she walked back upstairs, leaving the boy sitting helplessly on the couch.

Sean walked in the front door. He could hear his grandparents screaming at each other. “How is this my fault?” his grandmother cried, her voice high-pitched.
“Well, maybe if you paid more attention to the boy instead of paying attention to your customers…”
“Excuse me! I work to earn…”
“Earn money so that we can keep the house. Blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard this all before, Mary.”
“Yeah? Well, what do you do? Huh? No! Answer me!”
The boy appeared in the doorway. “Grandma? Grandad? Why are you fighting?” They looked at each other, then his grandma walked over to the oven and opened it. The boy watched as steam rose from inside the oven and a familiar smell filled his nostrils. His grandad walked over and knelt down. “Your grandma and I were just having a little disagreement, son.” The boy looked at his grandad.
He had a bald head, wore glasses which sat perfectly on his giant nose (Or at least it looked giant to the young boy). And, like most grandad’s, he had a beard and a moustache, which was grey and scraggly. The young boy breathed in and spluttered. The old man’s breath smelt strong of whiskey. The man immediately stood up. “Come on, son. Let’s sit down.”
He took the boys hand and led him over to the table. They both sat down, as the boy’s grandma began to spoon food onto the plates. She glared at the man sitting at the head of the table. He smirked. The woman then sat down to eat. Everything was silent once more.
“Grandma, wha…” the boy began to speak but was interrupted.
“Dammit, Sean!”
The boy jumped. “You know the rules! There is no speaking at the dinner table!” His grandma yelled (She did this often so he was used to it). And everything was quiet again.