Not allowed

“We’re not allowed, Jack.”

Simon pulled at my sleeve as I nudged the shed door open with my foot. A loud metallic groan issued from the hinges, turning into a high-pitched shriek as I quickly pulled it all the way open. This was the first time Dad had ever left it unlocked, and with him and Mum out at the shops, it was the perfect time to see what he was so determined to keep secret.

“We’re not allowed,” Simon whispered again, but he peered into the darkness with just as much curiosity as I.

There was a workbench covered in tools, pliers, wires, scorch marks and bullets of cast of solder. In the corner, a sheet covered a shape with the same height and dimensions as a child. About Simon’s height, I thought with a shiver.

As I reached for the sheet, Simon’s hand tightened on my wrist, squeezing with unnatural strength.

“No,” he screeched, his voice robotic and crackling. “I said we’re not allowed!”