In the Loft

Mum and dad went out I think Becky is asleep on the couch. I don’t need a babysitter, I’m seven. But actually, I don’t mind. If I don’t make a fuss, Becky just watches TV. After she’s microwaved my dinner, she makes me sit with her so that she can ‘keep an eye on me’. We’ve been watching her stupid show for so ever. “Stop fidgeting,” she says when I annoy her.

My friend Al, he’s a terror. He scares away babysitters. But now he needs to be a terror all the time, or his parents will realise that he was only doing it to scare away the babysitters and that’s boring.

I think Becky has fallen asleep. Sometimes she snorts and I clap both my hands over my mouth to stop myself from laughing. She’s sleeping. She’s definitely sleeping.

I sneak into the kitchen and get the stepladder from next to the fridge. I’m trying to be careful, but I bang it on the kitchen door on my way to the stairs. I freeze. Did Becky hear it? The TV seems so loud. Becky snorts. I giggle. I got away with it.

As quietly as I can, I take the stepladder up the stairs. I’m not big enough, so it clanks on the banister and some of the steps. Mum and dad always move which steps squeak so I can’t learn the pattern. Oh no, a creaking step! There is a burst of laughter on TV. I’m breathing very fast. She’s not coming. I don’t think she’s coming.

At the top of the steps, I set up the stepladder. I look up at the square hatch in the ceiling. Grownups think it’s out of reach for me. They never go up there. It’s my secret.

I clamber up, and I need to stand on my tippy toes to reach. The ladder sways if I move suddenly. I unhook the hatch cover, and it swings down. It squeaked the first time I went up, so the second time I took some WD-40 and oiled the hinges. Mum says I’ll be Prime Minister one day.

To get into the loft, I have to half-jump from my tippy-toes, half-pull where I’m gripping with my fingers. As I scramble up, my foot catches the stepladder, and it crashes over. I’m stuck up here. The TV goes quiet. Becky calls my name. She sounds pissed.

I think about pulling up the hatch cover but there’s no way to hold it closed from here. I turn on the torch I keep near the hatch. Becky is shouting my name. She’s starting to sound less angry and more worried.

I go over to a box in the corner. There’s purring inside. Smoke starts to come out of the sides. There is a pair of old socks next to the box. I put the torch on the floor, so it’s shining at the box. Then I slide the socks over my hands.

I can hear Becky moving ladder and climbing it. This has all gone wrong because I kicked it over.

I open the box. My baby dragon, Splee, looks at me happily. She coughs a little jet of flame. I stroke her with my socked hand. As Becky’s head pops through the hatch, I shove the box closed.

Sorry, sorry, sorry, Splee.