Tastes of Horror
Author: Matt Shaw
Date: 2013-11-07 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Collections
Description: Over 700 pages of horror stories - catering to the many varied tastes of horror - from Matt Shaw This book is a collection of Matt Shaw's most popular horror stories including a new introduction and a previously unreleased short story. Please see below for the contents: Smile Alex's mum was tired and over-worked. Holding down a full-time job, keeping the house clean and looking after the children - the youngest of which was still a handful with his ADHD as they tried to get the medication right - she just wanted a break. Even if it were only for an afternoon - so she sent Alex to the shopping

© Matt Shaw

Copyright of Matt Shaw 2011

The right of Matt Shaw to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.

The characters, and story, in this book are purely fictitious. Any likeness to person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

With thanks to

MARK KELLY for his work on the cover

Suzanne Delaney for her hard work editing my many mistakes

INCLUDED IN THIS COLLECTION OF STORIES

Introduction by Matt Shaw

S M I L E

B U R I E D

C O N S U M E D

T H E    8 T H

T H E    C A B I N

H A P P Y    E V E R    A F T E R

Bonus short:

T H E    W A R D

Introduction

taste  (tst)

v. tast·ed,tast·ing,tastes
v.tr.

1.To distinguish the flavor of by taking into the mouth.

2.To eat or drink a small quantity of.

3.To partake of, especially for the first time; experience.

4.To perceive as if by the sense of taste.

5.Archaic To appreciate or enjoy.

Taste is usually specific to an individual. Just because one person likes something (whether it be food related or experience related) it doesn’t necessarily mean that others will appreciate what is being experienced in the same way as the first person. In fact, it can be quite common for two people to completely disagree with how something is perceived. Person ‘A’ likes olives and Person ‘B’ thinks Person ‘A’ is a freak because of this. Meanwhile, across the land in a happy place - Person ‘C’ is expressing how visually striking a painting is (hanging in some fancy gallery) whilst Person ‘D’ hopes to God Person ‘C’ never attempts to purchase them a painting for some birthday or Christmas present. Now, admittedly, my examples are a little lacklustre to say the least but I hope they help get my point across in some shoddy way. Good job I’m not a teacher, isn’t it?

Being an author of numerous stories (and more to come) I have come across the varied tastes of individuals over the many years I have been doing this. Where some people have loved some of my stories and sung their praises, other people have been far less kind with the words they’ve chosen to review said story. When I first started writing I always got upset when I released a book and it received a negative review. It was only months later - possibly longer - that I decided not to let the bad ones get to me. I didn’t ignore them completely - I simply took the main point on board (if the person leaving the review was good enough to actually leave a point that would help me with my further writings). By doing so, I tried my hardest to ensure I had books out there for people of all specific tastes. Now, looking back through my works, I have short stories, novellas and novels. I have books based on horror, science-fiction, thrillers, the supernatural, the downright stupid and even books based upon my own life (I suffer from Depression a great deal so documented my experiences). I foolishly once wrote a children’s book too which received good reviews but didn’t really sell. This may be down to my reputation as a writer of ‘most’ things horror...

...And speaking of horror.

As I’m sure you managed to work out from the title, the theme of this book is horror. Horror cannot be defined by one simple theme. Horror is subjective to the person experiencing whatever they’re looking at, or experiencing (whether it’s a book, film, real life or their date from the previous drunken night the following morning with hair all over the place and vomit in their hair). In this book I have compiled some of the horror stories that I have written over the years. A different mix of stories - some including the supernatural and things which go bump in the night (“The Cabin”), some to do with missing children (“Smile”), one filled with extreme gore (“Consumed”), one on claustrophobia (“Buried”) and a couple based on the horrors we are presented with in real life (“The 8th” and “Happy Ever After”). Hopefully there’ll be something in here for everyone; at least everyone who likes some degree of horror in their story anyway. After all - if you like romance, I won’t lie, there isn’t much in this book for you.

With regards to my own personal preference in horror - my own tastes - I have to say that whilst I can tolerate all sub-genres of horror, the only kind which really scare me are the supernatural ones; the ones which take a seemingly innocent situation and throw spooky goings-on into it. The sort of story which doesn’t tell too much but rather leaves the reader’s imagination to fill in the blanks. Keeping that in mind, I have to say that my personal favourite story within these coming pages is “The Cabin”. The only book I’ve written where I actually jumped (more than once) during the writing process.

I was sitting there, at my computer, tapping the keyboard through a particularly creepy scene which involved a lot of banging when - suddenly - from behind me, the letter box banged open and shut again as the postman delivered the mail. Honestly, I jumped about an inch off the chair. It took ages for my heart rate to return to normal - even with me laughing at how stupid I was - and then, when it did, it spiked once more when my mobile phone (always next to me when I write) vibrated through the desk top with a text alert from The Wife. Again, through the ceiling I went...

Imagine my joy when I read reviews, on Amazon and Goodreads, where people spoke of similar experiences whilst reading said story - one of my favourites being from a lady who lived in the woods (this book is set in a similar scene). She couldn’t sleep the night she finished the book because of the noises she kept hearing. As a horror author, there is no greater compliment to a writer than hearing your work kept someone up.

Now just because I enjoyed one story in this collection more than the others, it doesn’t mean I don’t have a soft spot for the other stories too. As a writer, you always feel attached to your work in some way or other. The only exception to this (for me) was with the story “The 8th”. A booked based upon high school bullying - told through the eyes of the soon-to-be high school gun man - I felt the story was a little too real; especially as, not long after releasing the book, there was yet another school shooting over in America. This time the horrors took place in a primary school with young children. I’m not saying it isn’t bad when these things happen to high school students - for me they’re just even more tragic when it is aimed at children. I mean, come on, these kids haven’t even lived long enough to have the chance to accidentally offend anyone yet here they are - victims already.

I felt like pulling “The 8th” from sale but kept it out after discussions with people on my Facebook Author page (www.facebook.com/mattshawpublications.co.uk). They pointed out that it was a good story - it was written well and highlighted, even more so, that things needed to be done about bullying to stop future events such as these from happening. Funnily enough - of all my books - this is the one which has received the highest number of positive reviews with only a couple of negative ones. And the negative ones weren’t even because of the subject matter. They just found the story boring (!).

Speaking of reviews - there was one written for the story of “Happy Ever After” - a tale of kidnapping and lust - which made my day and, more importantly, inspired me. This particular review came out when people were all saying similar things (good story, fans of Stephen King would enjoy it, etc) and was another five star review. The reader told of how the story got well and truly under their skin. Again - as a horror author - a high compliment to receive and one which I took to mean literally as, less than a couple of weeks later, I had a new tattoo...

Thanks to the review - and my interpretation of it - the book is now literally under my skin...Again, perhaps not to everyone’s taste but...Well it suits me just fine! And yet another example of taste.

My least favourite type of horror is what I lovingly refer to as “Gore-Porn”. Despite being an author, I am more of a movie geek than one who geeks over books (people are usually surprised by this) and I find that - sometimes - the gory ones can get a little boring. Don’t get me wrong, I still watch them out of curiosity (and because they can be a guilty pleasure) but I’d much prefer a spooky film as opposed to a messy film. However - thanks to my Author page again - I know that there are a number of people out there who enjoy their gore and find that to be the most horrifying type of horror that could experience so I set a goal of making a truly sickening book. “Consumed” was what I came up with - a cheesy (fun) throwback to old gore flicks from the seventies - it has everything you could expect from a gore story; a less than original story with lashings and lashing of descriptive blood. Despite it not being my favourite style, I can’t deny the fun I had whilst writing it and trying to think of new ways to gross people out. I have meant to catch up with the characters who made it through to the end by doing a follow-up story. There are certainly enough people asking me to do so. Maybe when I’ve finished with current projects...

* * * * *

As for my writing style - when I’m writing horror - I prefer to use the first person perspective. I enjoy letting the reader get into the head of the character directly. This way there is no way for the readers to misinterpret the character I am creating. They simply have to go along with it - something which certainly makes “The 8th” more interesting in my opinion. Despite this preference, as you’ll see when you’re reading the stories - you’ll see that this style isn’t always used. This is because sometimes it just wouldn’t work as well as a normal style of narration. If I were to do “Consumed” through the eyes of one person - I’d need to make sure that person was present for every situation which cropped up in the book and, considering the number of characters, this just wouldn’t be feasible. More to the point - I think it would actually ruin the story a little bit. Other stories (in the book and not in the book) deal with limited characters only so the tense set-up of one person’s point of view makes for a better read. At the end of the day it all boils down to the story being told though and - just because I prefer writing in that style - I won’t ever force a story to fit that set up. Doing so would be the kiss of death.

Anyway - I think I’ve gone on long enough. The only thing left for me to say is a thank you for purchasing my work and - more importantly - I hope you enjoy at least one of the stories within the coming pages!

Kind Regards,

Matt Shaw

Tastes of Horror

Matt Shaw

S M I L E

Introduction

I can’t stop shaking. Most notably in my legs. Even crossing my right leg over my left and holding onto the knee with my hands, pulling it up a bit.... even that won’t hide the shaking. If anything, it just makes it look worse as it makes my arms shake more noticeably.

Stupid.

Okay, just need something to distract myself.

Take my mind off it all.

Mobile phone.

Check my emails.

I released my shaking knee and reached into the trouser pocket on the right hand side of my bootleg jeans. There’s another missed call on it. Mum again. I can’t talk to her. Not yet. Soon. I know I should. I just can’t bring myself to tell her yet. The panic in her voice won’t help the situation - nor will the blame she’ll be sending my way. The telling off I’m to get. Hardly fair.

Is it really even my fault?

Of course it is. I’m the eldest. I’m the one who was supposed to be in charge. It’s all my fault. Definitely won’t call her back just yet. I don’t need to be shouted at just yet.

They still might find him.

So much for checking my emails and distracting my fretful mind.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Now probably isn’t the best of times to be checking such trivial things as emails anyway. Not when he is out there somewhere - lost.

Should I be out there too? Looking for him?

No.

They told me to wait here, in this small security office. I don’t know, maybe they’re right... Part of me.... I just..... I just feel as though I should be out there, looking for him too. They put an announcement out for him, over the speaker system... feels like ages ago. Called out I was looking for him and he should make his way to the security office.  Feels like ages ago. Surely he would have got here by now... probably eyes red raw from crying and shaking - scared I had abandoned him.

I stood up.

I should be out there. I should be looking.

What if he wasn’t in an area where he could hear the announcement being made? Have they just made one announcement or do they warn other shoppers too? I told them what he was wearing - as best as I could remember - would they have called out for other shoppers to keep an eye out as well? Warned others that my brother was missing... would they bring him to the security office? Would he even go with them?

A couple more minutes. That’s what I’ll give them. A couple. No more. No less. After that, I’ll go out there and look too. If he shows up here, they can always call me back too.

Jesus, I only turned my back for a minute. It was a minute! I swear! Turned back and he was gone. I looked around for him in the nearby toy shops thinking he would have made his own way there. A proper temper tantrum more or less as soon as we got to the shopping mall because I wouldn’t take him straight to the toy shops. I tried to calm him down. I tried to tell him I’d take him after we had bought the shoes we were sent out for but he wasn’t interested - didn’t listen - just kept shouting and screaming... and tears. Not even real tears. The tears a young child does when they’re trying to get attention... the tears a young child does when they’re just trying to cause a scene.

I couldn’t take him straight to the toys. He would have spent his pocket money and then wanted to go home and play with his new toys. I know he would. It’s what I used to do when I was eight years old too. It would have made it even harder to get the school shoes Mum sent us out to get. A pair for him and a new pair of shoes for me, for when I start college next week.

I glanced down to a shopping bag, on the floor, by my feet. His shoes. The box is so small. It just reminds me how small he is. And he’s out there alone... CCTV monitors line the back wall of the security office... each screen filled with people milling around, getting on with their shopping and general exploring. Each screen filled. And he’s out there somewhere, amongst the hustle and bustle of it all. I need to be out there too.

Suddenly the door to the security office swung open and the head security officer came in. He wasn’t smiling. Not the face of someone who had found the little lost boy.

“He hasn’t shown up?” I asked, a small part of me hoping that the security guard was just playing a cruel trick in pretending my brother was missing still but, in reality, he was waiting outside the door ready to burst in shouting ‘surprise’.

The security guard shook his head.

Mum’s going to kill me.

1.

Music blasted from the computer, across the room on my small office table - my favourite band; Muse. I find their music helps me zone out from the sounds and general disturbances of the family home - helps me concentrate on my writing - especially when my brother, Lewis, is kicking off.

Lewis kicking off - a frequent occurrence in this house. Normally over the silliest of things too. I never remember Mum and Dad being as soft on me as they are on him.

I guess it is true - the second child does have it easier.

I can’t hear exactly what he is shouting about this time, I just get snippets of the tantrum between tracks when the computer goes quiet. I’m not even sure if Mum or Dad are trying to calm him down, or telling him off... or even in the same room as him! If they’re talking to him they’re either so quiet I can’t hear them or his screaming is drowning them out. If that were me, I would have had a smack by now. Looking back at all of the tantrums I used to have, not that there were loads of them, I find myself cringing. I wonder, in years to come, whether Lewis will remember how he behaved and feel the shame I sometimes feel too.

Track change again, he’s still screaming.

“Shut up!” I shouted.

Typical, now I’ve heard his wailing, my ears have honed in onto him and I can hear him over Muse. I lashed back, against the wall where I’m leaning, and banged on the wall. If he didn’t hear me shouting for him to shut up, he might hear the banging - what with his room being directly next to mine. I hope he heard it; the thump hurt my hand a little. My bedroom door gently pushed open. I half expected Lewis to come in and give me a mouthful but it was Mum.

“What’s his problem this time?” I asked her.

Mum looked tired. Lewis often had a habit of wearing her down. She had to get up, most days, before six in the morning to make sure Lewis was ready for school. She’d drop him off before heading into the office, where she worked, for an eight hour day. By the time she got home, having collected Lewis from the ‘After School Club’ and made dinner, I guess she has plenty of reason to look tired. I feel sorry for her. Maybe I’ll drive him to school, and collect him, when I’ve passed my driving test in a couple of months.

Good reason for Mum and Dad to buy me a car, I reckon.

A conversation for another time.

“He wants to go to the shop,” she sighed. She sat down on the end of the bed. “What’s this song? I like it?” she asked referring to the music blasting from my computer.

I leaned across to a small control, next to where I lay on the bed, and turned it down.

“You look tired,” I said.

Mum just smiled at me.

“Dad not here?”

“He’s gone out,” she said, “something at the office he needed to get finalised for a meeting next week. I don’t suppose you want to take him to the shop, do you?” she continued.

“Lewis?”

“Just be nice to have a bit of peace and quiet whilst I get on with some housework,” she said.

“Why don’t you just smack him? Let him cry his tantrum off...”

“You know why...”

Last year, Mum and Dad took Lewis to the doctors when they couldn’t get a handle on his mood swings. They just thought he was difficult until a friend of the family pointed out he may have suffered from ADHD.... attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, or something like that. From there on in.... it seems as though it gave him a green card to be a little shit. Mum and Dad wouldn’t possibly dream of smacking him - after all, the moods aren’t his fault.... not really... just a chemical imbalance or some crap like that.

Maybe he needs a new course of medication.

Or a better therapist.

“It would really help me out,” Mum said. “You said you needed to get some new trainers for college...”

“I haven’t been paid yet,” not that I was expecting much pay from the part-time summer job I had, working in the local video store.

“I’ll buy them for you...”

She must be desperate.

“You’ll buy them?”

I can’t remember the last time she bought me something - other than my birthday or at Christmas.

“I need to get some new school shoes for Lewis too,” she said. “If you take him to the mall to find some shoes and get some for yourself... you could take him to the toy store afterwards. Let him spend his pocket money...”

Pocket money. I never used to get pocket money when I was growing up. Sure, I got cash but only after I had done some chores for it. Another perk of the ADHD? Seeing how they changed, after he was diagnosed... seeing how differently they started to treat him - I often wondered as to whether I should have tried to get myself diagnosed too.

“Please...” she said.

She did look tired. And to offer the bribe of the trainers, she must have been desperate for some ‘alone’ time.

“Fine.... but I don’t want to get cheap trainers...” Just because she’s tired, and I feel sorry for her, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take advantage of the situation. “You going to give us a lift?”

“Bus fare?”

“In that mood?” we both stopped and listened to him still ranting and raving in the room next door. “Maybe you need to talk to someone... get his medication increased or changed.”

Mum sighed as though I’d hit upon a much discussed topic of conversation, “Your father is taking him to Dr. Hood next week.”

I could see in her eyes that Mum had had enough. She was struggling with holding down the job, coping with Lewis’ moods and keeping the house looking nice. I keep meaning to do more around the place for her.

I’ll start tomorrow.

Until I go to college. I’ll probably be busy after that.

“So about the lift?” I asked again in the hope she’d see my point about having to take him on the bus.

“You know he’ll be okay once he knows he’s going to the shops.”

“Dad hasn’t taken me out for a driving lesson this week....”

“He’s busy, he’ll make it up to you - he always does...”

“I’ve got the plates, you could take me.”

“Please, can you just get the bus... please... for me?”

So much for the lift. Maybe I should just take a leaf out of Lewis’ book and throw a massive strop. I look at Mum and give it a little more, serious, consideration. If it works for him - it might work for me too... she looks tired. Really tired.

“I can’t wait to get my license,” I said, “fine.... we’ll get the bus.”

Mum smiled, “Thank you - I’ll get your money.... and your brother.”

She got up from the edge of the bed, and walked towards the doorway.

“Don’t forget... I don’t want cheap trainers!” I called out.

* * * * *

Standing at the bus stop - Mum was right, Lewis’ mood has improved. Sort of. He’s not screaming anymore, on the plus side, but - instead - he’s telling me what shops we’re going into and which ones we’re avoiding. Basically, he’s being just as irritating as if he was still throwing a strop.

“And we’re definitely not going into any clothes shops...” Lewis ordered.

I don’t agree nor disagree with what he’s saying. At the end of the day, we’ll go to the shops I want to go to. We’ll start with getting him his school shoes and then.... my trainers. After that, fair is fair, I’ll take him to the toy shop which caused the initial tantrum back at home.

“What shops do you want to go to?” asked Lewis - after he finally finished listing the ones we definitely wouldn’t be frequenting ‘under any circumstances’.

I didn’t answer him - no sense - he’ll probably only kick off. I’m not sure whether Mum even told him we had to get his school shoes today. I doubt it very much. If she had told him - would have taken longer for him to get out of the house. He would have just started complaining again... a quiet whinging sort of complaining which escalates up to yet another full-on tantrum. We all know how he works now.

“Alex.... Alex...... Alex.... Alex.... what shops?.... Alex.... Alex.....”

“What?!” I snapped.

“What shops are we going to?”

“Shut up!”

“Alex..... Alex..... Alex.........”

I love my brother. Sometimes. But it bothers me how he always gets what he wants. As though he’s the Golden Child. Sure, I understand the imbalance in his brain... I understand what causes his moods... it just annoys me how Mum and Dad tip toe their way around him for fear of setting him off. More annoying was when they first found out about his condition; beforehand we used to go out, as a family, at least a couple of times a week... soon as they found out, though, we stopped going out.

It was ‘easier’ to wait for a film to be released on DVD than to bother seeing it at the cinema. It was ‘easier’ for Mum to cook at home than to go to a nice restaurant for the evening. ‘Easier’ to buy a paddling pool, on a hot summer’s day, than it was to have a family trip to the beach... everything was ‘easier’ if we stayed at home.

Sure, I was at the age where it wasn’t ‘cool’ to be hanging out with your family but  I’d have liked to have made the choice myself, whether to hang around with them or not.... not have it forced upon me because of my fucked up brother and his moods.

“Alex.... Alex....”

“Be quiet and just wait for the bus,” I said. Thinking about his many episodes is winding me up; probably best thinking about something else so we don’t have a falling-out. Bus driver probably wouldn’t even let us on if we’re having a full on shouting match at each other.

“I just want to know what shops we’re going to visit...” he continued - like an annoying insect buzzing around your head whilst you’re trying to sleep at night.

“Let’s just get there, shall we....” I said, in the hope it would be enough to quieten him. “Look, here comes the bus now.”

I felt a little wave of relief wash through me, as the bus approached from up the road. So far so good and, better still, it’s not too far into town before we’re at the shopping mall either.

“What shops.....” he continued.

I wonder whether it will be easier to walk.

2.

Suddenly the door to the security office swung open and the head security officer came in. He wasn’t smiling. Not the face of someone who had found the little lost boy.

“He hasn’t shown up?” I asked, a small part of me hoping that the security guard was just playing a cruel trick in pretending my brother was missing still but, in reality, he was waiting outside the door ready to burst in shouting ‘surprise’.

The security guard shook his head.

Mum’s going to kill me.

“We’ve just made another announcement over the speaker,” said the security guard.

“I can’t just stand here,” I said. “I’ll go and look for him too.... if he comes back - you can put a call out for me.... or.... or you can take my mobile number,” I reached into my pocket and pulled my phone out again and instantly started to retrieve my number for the officer.

“It’s best if you wait here. It would be best for him to see a friendly face, when he comes here... he’s likely to be scared...” said the officer.

“Exactly. Scared. I’m not waiting here... please, take this number down,” I said. I held my phone out for the guard. He simply shrugged and took it from my grasp before walking over to the desk. Taking a pen from the top drawer, along with a scrap of paper, he made a note of the number.

“We’ll give you a ring,” he said, handing the phone back to me.

“Thank you.” I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

“Just to let you know, though... the centre closes in an hour...”

“Well what happens then?” I asked.

The security officer didn’t answer. He simply gave me, what he must have thought to be, a comforting smile. His smile offered no comfort. It’s obvious what happens in an hour - we find out whether Lewis wandered off and simply got lost... or whether he is no longer in the shopping centre.

“Is there anyone we can call for you?” the guard asked, as I walked to the door to begin my search.

I shook my head, “No thank you.”

I’ll look around for half an hour, I thought, half an hour and then I’ll give Mum a ring.

Part of me hoped I’d be able to find him in the half-hour timeframe I’d given myself. That, or he’d have made his way to the security office just as the announcement asked him. Either would be fine. Might even be able to bribe him with chocolates, or something, so as not to tell mum and Dad.

Please show up.

Why did I have to be such a dick? Okay, don’t think about that now. Concentrate on finding him. Where to start, though? Including the food hall, there are three floors here - not counting the car parking levels... no sense counting those... he wouldn’t go down there. He knows I wouldn’t be there. But then, maybe that’s a reason for him to go down to those levels - because he knows I’m not there - the best way to get away from me.

Maybe he doesn’t want to be found after our argument.

I told him I didn’t want to see him.... maybe he’s giving me what I wanted.

No, he’s too stubborn for that.

He’d sooner just stand there and rant and rave instead.

He must be lost.

He has to be lost.

Okay, three floors then... would he go up to the food hall? Only a handful of fast food restaurants, pizza shops and a sandwich shop up there.... already eaten today....

Two floors then.

Rule the food hall out.

Where to start now?

Back to where I last saw him... the sports shop...

As good a place as any to start.

I hurried away from the security office, down the back corridor, towards the large double doors which led back to the inside of the shopping centre. As soon as I pushed one of the doors open, carefully so as not to catch anyone on the other side, I was swept away with the busy hustle and bustle of the crowds... hundreds of people frantically walking around trying to get their shopping done.

Funny, now I’m listening out to hear Lewis crying out,  the general noise from the strangers seems louder than I’d noticed before. Their voices all blending into one to create a loud, unrecognisable din. If only there was a way to quieten all but Lewis down.

It’s hard to break into a full-on run, because of the crowds, but I manage to gather enough speed to break into a jog. A hasty jog towards the escalators, up to floor two where the sports shop is. Trying to think like a lost, eight year old boy; this place must feel enormous to him. So many shops. So many people. So many unfamiliar faces coming out of nowhere... so much noise. He must be petrified. If I were his age and in his position, I would have been. Especially in this shopping centre - one of the biggest. Perhaps asking him to make his way to the security office was a bad idea. Would he know where it is? I had to ask someone.... would he even ask?

Surely, he would... he’s not stupid. Difficult - yes. Stupid - no. But then, he’s lost. Probably not thinking straight. Probably panicking. I hope I find him in the sports shop. I hope.

It would be great if he was there. Sat on one of the many chairs that lined the wall, next to the trainer display.... sat there acting all innocent, as though he had never wandered off in the first place. If I do find him, I won’t shout at him for running off. I’ll just be grateful that I’ve found him....

If I find him?

When.

When I find him.

Definitely no shouting.

Stuck behind some fat people, on the escalators now. No point trying to say ‘excuse me’ - even if they both moved to the side, on their own step, there still wouldn’t be room enough for me to squeeze by. On their way to floor three, no doubt.... the food hall. I dodge past them as soon as we all step off the escalator... okay, I can see the sports shop now. Over by Julian Graves, the health store.

As I get closer to the store, I can see through the window that it’s not as busy as earlier... the staff members milling around by the till-point, no doubt counting down the minutes until the shop closes - thirty minutes before the centre does. Everyone seems to be relaxed and having a laugh - can’t see anyone making a fuss over a little, lost, eight year old boy.... Keep optimistic... it doesn’t mean he isn’t in there...

Running now.

I run through the main entrance and straight over to the trainers. To the store staff, I must just look desperate for a new pair of runners as one of them approaches me almost immediately.

“Good afternoon, can I help you with anything?” asked the blonde shop assistant. Either keen at greeting customers or keen to get me to leave so they stand a chance of getting out on time. I’ll never know.

“My brother....” Out of breath.

How embarrassing. I thought I was fitter.

“Excuse me?”

“My brother.... I was in here earlier and he wandered off.... has my brother been in here looking for me? He’s eight and he’s lost....” I sound like I’m out of breath and panicking... I am panicking. I am out of breath.

The shop assistant shook her head, “I’m sorry,” she said, “I haven’t seen anyone like that... not anyone who wasn’t with a parent anyway.... we do get children in here...”

What if he was with someone?

He wouldn’t have looked lost.

A photo - need a photo.... phone... I’ve got a picture. Once more, I fished in my pocket for my mobile phone. Upon pulling it out I navigated through to the pictures and found one I had taken of Lewis when he was in a full-on strop... something to embarrass him with when he was older... Not the best of pictures but better than nothing.

“Him... have you seen him? He’s my brother and he’s lost,” I repeated. Still out of breath. Still panicking. Mum’s going to kill me.

Again, the shop assistant shook her head, “I’m sorry....”

I dropped down onto one of the chairs. Shit. I really hoped he would have been here - or, at the very least, they would have seen him and helped him to the security office. Now what.... now where....

The girl gave me a sympathetic smile, “Well, I hope you find him... maybe you should ask them to put a call out....”

“They have already,” I said, deflated. She stood, for a moment, looking a little awkward - unsure of what to say to try and make me feel better - before she about-turned and walked away leaving me to my misery.

Now what...

The toy store, I had checked earlier when I realised he was missing but... maybe he had only just left my side and I got to the shop before him - I did, after all, run as fast as I could. It would have been quite easy for me to run past him without spotting him amongst the crowds.

Why didn’t I think of that earlier - perhaps I should have walked to the toy shop... or, at the very least, waited enough time there on the off chance he had shown up a couple of minutes later. Instead I had run there, seen he wasn’t there and then ran onto the security office without really thinking.

It’s fine to run now though, I think as I start to pick up speed. It’s easier to run faster now too - what with the majority of the shoppers making their way back to the mall’s exits and car park floors. Still enough people milling around to make it hard to spot Lewis, though.

Please be at the toy store.

Please.

I’ll never be horrible to you again.

As I dodge around the happy shoppers, I apologise for knocking into a few of them. I’m sure they’d understand my rush if they knew the circumstances. Thankfully it’s not too far to run - the toy shop Lewis likes is on the same floor as the sports shop I was trying to get my trainers in.

Hang a left out of the sports shop, run past Julian Graves, a few ladies’ clothes shops, the computer game shop, the bookstore, a small fountain which is stuck randomly in the middle of the walkway.... past a few other clothes stores and the chemist and you’re there.... the toy store.

Strategic placing - having the toy store next to the chemist. Mothers are always needing to pop to the chemist for bits and bobs - or even to treat themselves from the chemist’s large perfume counter, of all things. I wonder how many of them have kids who spot the toy store.

Growing up I remember what I was like with Mum, when I spotted a shop I wanted to go into. I’d make such a fuss about going into it, Mum would often say ‘okay’ and we’d go in.

“But I don’t have any money,” she’d always say.

Yet, nine times out of ten - I still left with some sort of present... even if it was only a toy yo-yo or a new, squishy ball from the cheaper back area of the store... I’d normally get something.

Casting my mind back to how I got when I saw a shop I wanted to go into - I should have just taken Lewis first. Taken him to the shop. He could have bought himself a toy with his pocket money and then, when we were looking around for my trainers, he could have kept himself occupied with whatever he bought. I should have done it that way round.

I’m an idiot.

In the toy shop now and it’s nearly empty. A few people in here, looking at various toys... plastic action figures, toy guns, one child choosing a new doll to add to, I guess, a pre-existing collection.... her mother telling her to hurry up because the store is closing soon... A few people in here but not Lewis.

I pulled the phone from my pocket and approached the counter - at least I know Lewis would have been in here. Maybe the young girl behind the counter had spoken to him, maybe even got her manager to take him to the security office..... but then, I would have had a call from them.... full signal and no missed calls, other than my Mum’s missed call earlier.

“Excuse me,” I said, “I was wondering whether you’ve seen my brother...”

I didn’t wait for her to answer, I simply held up the mobile phone showing the same picture I showed the assistant in the other shop. She looked at it and shook her head.

“I don’t think so.... but my colleague might have,” she said.

“Is she around? Can you ask?”

Again, she shook her head, “Her shift finished about an hour ago... she won’t be back until tomorrow now.”

That doesn’t mean she didn’t see him, though. Without her being able to say one way or the other - it doesn’t mean he wasn’t here. He could have still made his way to the shop, by himself.

I want to believe that... I need to.

If he hadn’t been here.... if this woman could say for definite Lewis hadn’t been here.... well, that would be worse...

This still leaves hope, though.

He could still have made it here...

I’d rather think that then think of him not coming....

.... if he hasn’t been here... hasn’t made it to the shop he was desperate to come...

... well, he might have been taken.

No, don’t think like that.

There’s no definite answer as to whether he came here.

Of course he came here.

He wouldn’t have been taken.

No.

No way.

Had someone grabbed him - he would have screamed the place down.

Besides, he was in a foul mood by the time he left... who would have wanted to take him?!

That’s cruel.

He’s lovely.

He’s my brother.

He’s.....

.... missing.

I need to phone home. Need to let Mum know.

“Are you alright? Did you need to call anyone?” asked the lady behind the counter - a genuine look of concern on her face. I smiled at her. No point dragging her day down too.

“It’s fine,” I said. “He’s probably already at the security office.... they put a call out for him already.”

The lady smiled, “I must have missed it... Well, if he shows up - I’ll call through to the office... can I see the picture again to refresh my memory?”

I showed her the photograph again and thanked her.

The shops are closing now. Soon the place will be empty, just before the doors are locked. I can’t put the phone call off anymore.

Need to phone Mum.

She’s going to kill me.

3.

I stepped back into the security office only to be confronted by the sight of two officers playing with a deck of cards. Laughing, with cups of coffee in front of them, they seem happy. I’m glad for them.

“Did my brother show up?” I asked, ever hopeful.

“Not yet,” said a guard from the other side of the room. His abrupt tone made me jump, I hadn’t seen him there, tucked away, when I first walked in. Like the other two guards, he didn’t seem to be too worried about finding Lewis either - just sitting on a chair, a newspaper in his lap and a mug of coffee to his side.

“I showed you guys the photograph,” I said. “Shouldn’t you be out there looking for him?”

The guard in the corner of the room, I presumed to be the man in charge, folded his newspaper up and turned his attentions to me - perhaps suddenly realising I might log a formal complaint against him if he didn’t at least appear to be interested, “We’ve made announcements... we have a couple of guys out there looking for him... we’ve been monitoring the monitors... what else are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I felt my face redden with embarrassment. This is all my fault and yet I’m expecting these strangers to set things right for me again. My dad always told me you tidy up your own mistakes.

“Not long before the shopping centre closes... it should be easy to see him when everyone else has left,” the guard continued. The other guards didn’t say anything - just kept staring at the deck of cards in their hands.

“And what if he leaves with everyone else?” I asked. I could just envision Lewis now - wandering the streets looking for me... panicking... A horrible thought. Alone out there. And the feeling of loneliness is normally multiplied when you’re surrounded by crowds, for some strange reason. The security guard didn’t have an answer for me. “Should we call the police?” I continued.

The two guards on the other side of the room, next to the monitors, stopped playing cards and turned to face me, “Do you really think we should disturb the police at the moment?” one of them asked.

“My brother is missing...”

“For all of about an hour or so,” the second card playing guard said. “Missing children need to be reported after twenty-four hours.... you know.... he could still show up. He could still walk through the door, any minute now, clutching a bag of toys in his hand... you did say he wanted to go and spend his pocket money... maybe that’s what he is doing... Look, why don’t you take a seat, have a hot drink and wait until the store closes...”

“A hot drink? Should I be playing cards too? My brother is missing... for all you know he could have been taken... but you’re still happy to sit there playing cards... How did you get your jobs?!”

“And for all you know - he’s fine and just hiding from you. To teach you a lesson for being horrible to him... you did say you were being horrible to him, right? As my colleague said - just wait a bit longer. The mall will be shut, we can give the place a final sweep - all of us... chances are he’ll turn up...”

I felt as though two of the three guards were ganging up on me. They couldn’t care less that Lewis was missing. At least, that’s the impression they gave. The third of the guards was staying relatively quiet. “What about you?” I asked the quieter of the guards. “What do you think?”

He simply shrugged, “This is my first week,” he said. “I haven’t been involved in anything like this yet.... but my colleagues....”

The lonesome guard in the corner butted in, “... but his colleagues see this quite a lot and know how many children show up... Trust us.”

“And of all the kids who do show up - how many fail to come back?”

The guard didn’t say anything.

“I have to call my Mum,” I said.

I stepped out of the main office, back into the deserted hallway, to phone home. I didn’t need the security guards hearing this conversation. Not with the way they were being. Mind you, if I played the reaction through the loud speaker of the phone and they heard how upset Mum will be.... I wonder if they’d suddenly feel more compassion.

I selected my home number, via the contacts list of my phone, and pressed the green button. Seconds later and the call connected - the ringing tone playing through the ear-piece at me.

I wish Lewis had shown up. I didn’t want to be making this call. Mum, and Dad for that matter, know what Lewis is like. They both know what a handful he can be. They’ve both experienced it for themselves... even so, I bet this is going to be my fault.

It is my fault. I can’t pretend otherwise.

The phone clicked on the other end of the line and I heard Mum’s voice, “Hello?” She sounded as though I’d just woken her up. Great.

“Mum, it’s me,” I said.

“Oh, hi, how you getting on? You on your way home soon?” she said - missing the sheepish tone of my voice.

I wasn’t sure how to break this news to her. How to say Lewis has run off without sending her into a complete panic. How to say you’ve lost your brother without then getting an ear-bashing as the news slowly sinks in. How to say I don’t know where he is. Security guards don’t know, or care, where he is... no one knows... he’s lost. How do you tell someone that?

“Can you hear me? Are you there?” she continued.

I’m going to have to tell her something, break it to her as gently as I can, “Mum, Lewis isn’t with me... he’s run off...”

There was silence. A quick check of the mobile phone screen reveals a full service is available.

“What? Well, where is he?”

She sounds worried.

Not angry.

Worried.

“I don’t know, Mum, they’ve been making announcements over the speaker system for him but he hasn’t shown up yet.... Mum, the mall closes soon, I think you need to come down here...”

“I’m on my way.”

“Just come to the security office,” I said. “I’ll meet you there; I’m going to go and see if I can find him again.”

“Just wait at the office! I don’t need to lose both of you!” she snapped.

Great, now she sounds angry.

“How could you let this happen?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. The phone line went dead.

I slipped the phone back into my trouser pocket. I should have stayed at home, on my bed, writing.

* * * * *

Holding Lewis’ hand, so he didn’t run off like he normally did when we went shopping, I pulled him in the direction of the first shoe shop I saw.

“Where are we going?” he yelled - same loud volume he usually used when he sensed things weren’t going in a direction he approved of. “The toy shop isn’t in this direction!”

“We aren’t going there, yet.” I said. I hoped he understood the word ‘yet’. “Mum told me to find you some school shoes first.... school shoes first and then the toy shop.”

“But I want to go to the toy shop... that was the whole point in coming!” He was starting to try and pull away from me so I simply tightened my grip.

“And we will be going there, but after we’ve got you some school shoes!”

“I don’t want to go and get school shoes! I don’t need school shoes! I don’t like them!” he started to get louder.

I stopped pulling him and turned around to face him - dropping to his level, in the process. I whispered, “Mum wants you to have some new school shoes for when you go back.... look.... you’re going to have to get them. But, with me, you can choose anything... any pair you want... even if you think Mum will hate them! You can get them! Otherwise, you’ll have to come back here with Mum and you’ll end up getting a pair that she likes....”

Lewis didn’t say anything. I could see from his expression, though, that he understood what I was saying... with his cool brother, he gets to choose any pair he wanted - maybe even the pair that offered the free ‘lightening strike’ badge like his friend had last year... Or the shoes with the flashing lights built into the heels...

“Sooner we’ve got your shoes,” I continued, “the sooner we get to the toys! Deal?”

I hoped he agreed but tried not to show my desperation. I wasn’t in the mood to fight my way around the shopping centre with him. I couldn’t be bothered with it all. I just wanted a new pair of trainers. Lewis hesitated for a moment before nodding, “Deal.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay, this way,” still holding his hand, I pulled him in the direction of the shoe shop. Get his shoes first, then my trainers and then, if there’s time, a quick trip to the toy store so he could spend his pocket money. The less I spend on his shoes, the more I get to spend on my trainers.

“You don’t have to hold my hand!” he barked from a few paces behind me. I slowed down to allow him the chance to catch up a little bit. I forget I have longer legs. Harder for him to catch up when I hit my stride. “I won’t run off,” he said.

“I don’t want you getting lost in the crowd,” I said, not letting go of his hand. Of all the days to come to the shopping mall, I think we’d chosen the busiest. God only knows what the queues are going to be like, inside the actual shops. I hate queues. Especially when I have Lewis with me - the ticking temper time-bomb. He gave another little struggle, against my grip, but I didn’t loosen it until we crossed into the first shoe shop. “Go and have a look around,” I told him. He didn’t need any more permission before he ran off towards the children’s shoes - against the far wall of the shop.

I left him to it for a while, so as not to cramp ‘his style’, and browsed the shoes in the men’s department. They all look the same....

Plain...

Simple...

Boring...

Safe...

The sort of shoe you’d choose to wear, I hazard a guess, if you were sat at a desk for the majority of your working day. They look the part but probably couldn’t take much wear and tear before they started to look as though they were ready to fall off your feet, in pieces. For the price, though, what did people expect?

Probably the cheapest shoes I’ve ever seen.

I remember why I’m in the store - looking for school shoes for Lewis. Cheap is good. It’s not like I’ll be getting my trainers from here, after all. Just need to convince him to like a pair in here, as opposed to one of the more expensive shops further into the mall... and I know the perfect way to convince him... I walked over to where he was looking at the trainers.

“You’re looking for shoes,” I reminded him.

“These are shoes!”

I frowned, “You know what I mean...” I pointed in the direction of the black shoes, a few shelves away from the trainers he was looking at.

“I don’t like them!” he said.

“No one likes school shoes,” I said. “You just need to choose a pair and then we can go... the sooner you choose them.... the sooner we get to the toy shop! Right?”

“I don’t want to choose a pair!”

“Grab any pair just to keep Mum happy or you’ll have to come back with her and she’ll drag you around all of the stores to find a pair she likes... I mean, if you’d rather that and spend a whole day trying on different shoes... that’s cool...” I picked up a pair of the cheapest looking shoes... “Look, these are nice...”

“No, they’re not!”

“Well, no, they’re not... but we could buy them and then.... it’s done. No more shoe shopping! Straight to the toy shop!” After I’d chosen some trainers, that is. No need to tell him that yet. Just get this bit finished first. If he’s being difficult now, he’ll only get more troublesome when he realises we have other shops to visit before he gets to the shop he really wants to go to. “You don’t even have to try them on... what do you think?”

Lewis was on the verge, I’m sure, of saying ‘yes’ when the shop assistant approached - a larger girl who looked as though she really wanted to be somewhere else. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.

I turned to Lewis, “What size are you?”

He simply shrugged, “I don’t know...”

“Can we get his feet measured?” I asked the assistant.

She rolled her eyes and disappeared to the far wall, where she collected the necessary equipment to measure Lewis’ feet - a piece of wood with a sliding scale on it.

“You said I don’t have to try anything on,” moaned Lewis.

“You don’t,” I said. “I just need to measure your feet and then we’re done. That’s it! Promise.”

Lewis gave me what he thought to be an Evil Look but I paid him no attention and he begrudgingly kicked his shoes off, before putting his left foot onto the contraption which was now on the floor in front of him - the large girl kneeling in front of him.

She slid the top bar down the bar until it touched the top of Lewis’ foot, “Size six...” Lewis stepped off and she beckoned him to put his right foot onto the board. Again, she slid the top bar down to the top of his foot, “Just over a six...”

“Okay,” I said, “let’s call it size six then.” I turned back to Lewis and held up the cheap shoe I found, “What do you think?”

“No more shoe shops?”

“For you,” I said. Not a lie. The other shoe shops will be for me. Lewis nodded  towards the shoe - closest I’ll get to an approval, I handed it to the shop assistant who took it and disappeared out the back - no doubt to find the other shoe. I wonder, at that price, does it come with a box too?

Minutes later and we were at the till point - Lewis was chomping at the bit to get out of there but I told him to be patient. After all, wouldn’t take long to ring it through the till. This shop is all about selling the most amount of shoes in a day - this girl wouldn’t want to be stuck serving us. Especially as the shoes are not even ten pounds. She’ll want to be back on the shop floor trying to hit her target to avoid a ticking off at the end of the day.

Not even a tenner.

They won’t be comfortable.

What do I care?

I won’t be wearing them.

Lewis is really going to suffer when he’s wearing them all day at school.

Did I really just snigger at the thought of that?!

Cash handed over.

Shoes boxed and bagged.

Receipt and change passed back.

Job done. Job done and that bargain shopping meant I had sixty-three pounds left to spend on my pair of trainers. Well, I did tell Mum I wasn’t going to get a cheap pair...

As I left the shop, I felt an unexpected pang of guilt shoot through me. She had given me seventy pounds to spend on a pair of trainers, a pair of shoes for Lewis and a drink and cake each from the mall’s cafe. I decided we didn’t need the drink and cake and.... well... she never specified how much I was to spend on each pair of shoes. I’m sure Lewis’ shoes won’t be that bad... He might just have to break them in for a month or two.

Maybe three.

4.

Mum was looking at the shoes Lewis and I chose, for him to wear to school, in the security office. Her eyes were watery, as though she’d been crying before she got there. Two of the security guards had left the office to look around and close various bits of the shopping mall - leaving the quieter of the guards with us.

“Have you ever had abductions from this shopping mall?” she asked the security guard, finally breaking the awkward silence.

“He’s new,” I told her.

She flashed me a look as if to say ‘be quiet’ - like she wanted the guard to answer for himself.

Taking note of the look Mum flashed me, he answered, “Your son’s right. I’m new here... but I understand that children go missing quite a lot but they tend to show up...” He smiled at Mum, a smile of reassurance.

She didn’t smile back.

“So where is he then?” she asked. The security officer didn’t answer so Mum turned to me, “Well? Where is he? Where’s my son? Where’s your brother?”

I looked to the floor; I couldn’t take looking her in the eyes which flashed from worry to anger to disappointment. Worried about Lewis.  Angry at me for losing him.  Disappointed in me for not being a better brother. A better son. A reliable son. Is this really in her eyes or am I just making it all up.

“Well?” she wanted an answer.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve been looking for him. I’ve looked everywhere.”

“And what have you done?” she asked the guard. The guard, like me, struggled to look Mum in the eye.

“We’ve been making announcements...”

“He’s eight years old. Do you really think he’s been listening out for your announcements or do you think he’s been lost in his own world of worry?”

Mum had a point. Would I have heard announcements being made for me if I were his age and lost? The security guard didn’t answer.

“Have the police been called?” she continued.

I didn’t answer. I learnt my lesson from the earlier look she shot me.

“No,” said the guard.

“And why not? Don’t you think it would be a smart move?”

“My colleagues said they wouldn’t come.... it’s not been long enough...”

“He’s eight years old and he’s by himself! How long is ‘long enough’ exactly?”

“Mum, he’s new...” I was starting to feel sorry for the security guard. I understood Mum was worrying and upset but this bloke really wasn’t the one to answer her questions. The other security guard should have stuck around to answer the queries. He’s had more dealings with me today, and knows  more about other cases of missing children. He should have sent the newer guard around with the other man... it was almost as though he wanted to get away from the questions.

“Then who’s in charge?” she asked. “I want to speak to the person in charge! Where’s the management?”

The security guard took his window of opportunity to escape, “I’ll find him....” He stood up and left me with my mum.

No sooner had the door closed, Mum broke down into floods of tears. I crossed the room and put my arm around her. I knew it wouldn’t make anything better. I knew it wouldn’t fix anything. I just hoped.... I just hoped it’d offer her some sort of comfort.

She pushed me away, “How could you let him run off? You knew what he was like... you know... how could you?” The tears are still flowing but she’s angry again. Her emotions bouncing all over the place.

“I didn’t mean to! I turned my back for a split second... a second,” I said - not quite shouting but not exactly speaking softly either. I knew I had done wrong. I knew I had caused this but I felt enough guilt as it was. I didn’t need her shouting at me. No matter how much I deserved it.

“What happened? Why did he run off?” she asked - calming ever so slightly.

I’m still not sure he did run off.

Had he run off - surely he would have surfaced by now... probably with a new toy, bought with his pocket money...

If he had run off....

.... he would have heard the announcements...

It’s been in my mind since he’s been missing but....

...what if....

...what if he didn’t run.

What if he was snatched?

I’ve been wanting to ignore it but... where is he?

He should have appeared by now.

What if he was snatched?!

How do we get him back?

How do we find him?!

What if we don’t find him?

What if he’s gone now?

“Please, tell me, what happened,” she repeated.

I can’t tell Mum what I’m thinking.

Chances are, she could well be thinking it herself but... she doesn’t need me saying it too.

Saying it out loud...

It makes it all the more real.

“Did you see him speaking to anyone... at any stage?” she asked. “What happened... what made him go?!” Her voice was getting more frantic.

“It was after we got the school shoes...” I mumbled. I already know she’s going to be even angrier with me when I tell her I didn’t take him directly to the toy store, as I had promised him. I knew it would only wind him up. Maybe, deep down, I wanted to upset him. Not sure.

I never wanted him to run off, though.

* * * * *

“You’re going the wrong way!” Lewis protested after we left the shoe shop, having just purchased the cheapest pair of shoes I’d ever seen.

“I just need to get some trainers,” I said in a very matter-of-fact tone - more or less dragging him by his spare hand. His other hand clutching onto the bag of shoes.

“What? You said there’d be no more shoe shops...”

“No, I said you wouldn’t need to try any on....” I replied although, technically, he was right of course.

“What about the toy shop?”

Lewis and that damned toy shop. I know, though, he’ll be itching to get home after going to the store. Itching to get home to play with whatever tat he’s got his heart set on this time - whether it’s the latest action figure, a new piece of Lego or this water pistol he keeps seeing advertised on the television. Although, why he’d want that I don’t understand... surely to get the most from a water pistol, you need friends to play with and he rarely leaves the house - let alone ventures off with like-minded pals.

“We’ll get to the toy shop, I just need to get myself some trainers first and then we have the rest of the afternoon....” Not that there’s much of the afternoon left. Maybe it would be easier to keep the money and come back tomorrow, without Lewis. Mind you, Mum would probably insist on me taking him again - just so she can have a bit more time to herself. No. I’ll get it done now. It won’t kill him to wait a while longer.

“We could go to my shop first and then go to your shop....” he continued.

Nice try.

“We’ve already been to one of your shops,” I said. “It’s my turn now.” A cruel way of looking at it but fair is fair, after all.

“Mum said you had to take me to the toy shop!”

“Mum told me to get you out of her hair because you were doing her head in,” I corrected him. “Just like you’re doing my head in now.... now shut up - we’re going to get the trainers and then I’m taking you to your fucking toy shop!” I shouldn’t have sworn... hopefully he didn’t hear....

“I’ll tell Mum you swore.”

He heard.

“And I’ll beat your head in,” I said. The threat of violence from an older brother was normally enough to quieten any threat of snitching to the parents. I noticed my shoelace was undone and stopped - momentarily letting go of his hand so I could tie it back up.

When I had completed the knot, I glanced over to Lewis who had gone quiet. He was stood next to me staring at a clown who was making a sad face back at him.

I hate clowns.

Always have.

I place the blame with Stephen King.

Still, it was nice to see Lewis quiet. He didn’t know what to make of the clown who was starting to rub his eyes, as though he were pretending to cry. He suddenly stopped with both of his hands covering his face...

“BOO!” the clown suddenly shouted as he took his hands away to reveal the most manic smile I’ve ever seen. Was this supposed to make Lewis smile or scare the shit out of him? Lewis didn’t bat an eyelid and slowly the clown’s smile turned back into a sad face. Seconds later the clown, dressed in a yellow and red outfit with a massive red and white spotted bow tie and overly large red shoes, mimed having an idea.... as though a light bulb went off in his head. He raised a finger, “Ah HA!” Lewis just kept on looking at him - mesmerised by the sheer craziness. The clown reached into a pocket, on the side of his pocket, and pulled out a handkerchief.... a handkerchief which appeared to be attached to numerous other handkerchiefs.... the more he pulled, the more came from his pocket.

By now a crowd had gathered to watch the clown trying to entertain Lewis. Some of the other children were laughing and enjoying the antics but Lewis just kept looking at him as though he were not from this planet. Who knows - maybe he is right. Maybe they aren’t. Would certainly explain the general creepiness about them.

Finally the handkerchiefs ran out and the clown dropped them to the floor, smiling his manic smile once more. He fished back in his pocket and pulled out a red balloon. I already know what’s coming. Sure enough, the clown started to blow into the deflated balloon - slowly inflating it. As soon as it had enough air in, the clown tied a knot in the balloon’s neck. Fishing back in his pocket, he pulled out a piece of string and effortlessly managed to get that around the balloon too... I have to confess, I was expecting a balloon animal not ‘just a balloon’.... a balloon with the word ‘smile’ written across it in thick black, gothic-style writing.

“If you flash me a smile, you can keep this,” the clown whispered, as he leaned in close to Lewis. Was it a whisper? Sounded more like a growl. Was the clown annoyed that Lewis, the one kid he wanted to please, was the one child who didn’t seem to appreciate his efforts?

Lewis didn’t flash him a smile.

“Lewis.... what do you say to the nice man?”

Lewis looked to me and looked back to the clown, “Fuck you!” he barked.

“LEWIS!”

The other parents took this as their time to leave us to it and, slowly, the crowd dissolved away from us.

“You swore... I swore,” he said - a look of complete defiance on his face. I have to confess this was a first and yet I wasn’t too angry at him because of who he said it to. He didn’t ask the clown to try and put on a show for him. I turned to the clown who simply looked angry.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t actually very sorry at all. He should have minded his own business. The clown simply stood back to his full height... he must have been six foot five... must have heels in those ridiculous shoes. He didn’t once take his eyes off Lewis. He smiled again. The huge smile, which showed all of his yellow teeth, made even bigger with the use of the red make-up around his lips - which ended halfway up his painted-white face. With no words, he shrugged and popped the balloon before laughing.

I gave him a puzzled look before taking Lewis’ hand and dragging him towards the sports shop. I feel like I should say something to him but... had it been the other way round, I probably would have said the same thing to the clown. He did, after all, butt in where he wasn’t invited. I turned to Lewis to see if he, at least, looked sorry for what he said but he wasn’t paying any attention. He was simply looking back. I followed his gaze; the clown stood out from the crowd.... watching us walk away - a fixed, crazy grin on his face.

I still hate clowns.

I gave Lewis’ hand a sharp tug to make him turn around.

He noticed I was looking at him, “And it was a rubbish balloon....”

He did have a point.

5.

The second sports shop had a better selection of trainers than the first shop we visited but, still, none of them jumped out at me screaming for me to buy them. A lot of them were bright too. I didn’t want bright shoes. Not to go to college with. I wanted cool trainers, yes, but... bright... I didn’t want to stand out for the wrong reasons.

The prices here are dearer, though. Even with the money I saved on Lewis’ shoes I wouldn’t have had enough for half of the trainers on display here. Typically, the one pair I did really like the look of were more than double what I had left to spend. I wonder if I could ask Mum for the extra. They might have paid the difference as part of my birthday next month. I can’t do that. I want to finish my driving lessons.... unless, it is an important birthday, maybe they’ll do both for me? Would it hurt to ask?

“How much longer?” moaned Lewis, from behind me on the chairs which were meant for people trying on the shoes.

“Ssh!” I hissed.

He huffed and puffed as he fidgeted in his chair. A quick check of my watch showed we were still on track to make it to his precious toy shop as well. Just, as usual, he wanted everything his own way.

I picked up the expensive trainer, a size seven, and caught the eye of one of the shop assistants, “Can I try these on in an eleven, please?”

“Certainly, I’ll just see if we have it,” said the shop assistant as he took the right footed shoe from me. With that, he disappeared out of the back door - not too far from the wall of trainers.

“I want to go!” shouted Lewis - louder than he had previously shouted since we got to the shopping centre.

“Be quiet! I’m nearly done!” I hissed, looking around to see how many people were looking at us.

“I hate you!” he continued, “I wish I came with Mum!”

“And I wish you hadn’t been born!” I spat back. I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth. It was a stupid thing to say - one of those venomous things you spit back when you’re angry with someone. A spur of the moment thing...

Lewis jumped off the chair, “I’m going!”

“No, you’re not! Sit back down!”

“Fuck you,” he shouted - this time loud enough for the whole store to hear. Again, without thinking, I shoved him back against the chairs. Harder than I thought - I just thought he’d have fallen back to a sitting down position on them, but instead he bounced off and fell to the floor. He stood up - I could see the anger in his eyes.

“I’m going to the toy shop,” he shouted again.

I didn’t react this time - I felt guilty for how hard I pushed him and the whole shop was watching us. So embarrassing.

“Fine, go... and don’t bother coming back!” I shouted back.

Lewis stormed past me and out of the shop. Of course I watched him. He got as far as outside of the store before he stopped and slumped back against the glass window of the shop - making it shake a little from the impact of his weight. If this was Lewis and Mum, she would have chased out after him and given into his demands but he needs to know - he needs to know you don’t get everything your own way all of the time. I carried on watching him. He must have realised I wasn’t coming right out and he slid down the glass until he was sitting on the cold floor of the shopping centre. He’ll stay there sulking, I expect. If he really was going off, like he shouted, he wouldn’t have stopped.

“We don’t have an eleven but we do have a size ten and twelve. I brought them for you to try because sometimes trainers come up a little bigger or a little smaller....” said the shop assistant. I turned to see he did, indeed, have both the size ten and twelve under his arms. Normally shops don’t have size twelves - it was typical of my luck that this was the one pair of trainers where the eleven was missing.

“Thank you,” I said. “Best to just try the twelves, though... I never fit into tens.”

The shop assistant checked which box was which and handed me the size twelve. I opened the box and instantly knew they weren’t going to fit me; they looked massive. Couldn’t help but think of the clown, outside. They look as though they’d fit him perfectly.

“Not too sure about this,” I said. I took the left shoe from the box and pulled the tissues from within the insides, so I could slip my foot in and see exactly how much bigger they were.

“To be honest, most people have said this particular style has come up a little tighter than they were used to wearing.... it could be just a bit too big, in which case we can try an inner-sole or a heel-grip.... You might find one of those will take the extra room up...”

Typical salesman-speak, I thought. “We can give it a go,” I said.

To be fair to the shop assistant, the shoe wasn’t quite as big as I first thought although it still didn’t fit properly. I was reluctant to try the heel-grip, or inner-sole, as the assistant offered because... well, my feet aren’t going to grow anymore and I’d sooner just have shoes that fitted correctly without the need for additional bits and pieces crammed inside. After all, I was going to be wearing these all day for five days a week. They had to be comfortable.

“Are you expecting any more in?” I asked.

The shop assistant shrugged, “I’m not sure.... we get our deliveries every Wednesday but we don’t know what’s coming in them until they are actually here... I could try another store for you? We could get them to do a transfer....”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I think I’ll carry on looking around and have a think,” I said. No point going to all of the effort of transferring them, or even reserving them, from another store because Mum still hadn’t agreed to funding the difference yet... even loaning me the difference until my next pay day. Besides, I built my hopes up for the trainers now so... you know how it is.... didn’t want to go home empty-handed.

“Okay, well is there another pair you like the look of?” the assistant asked. I shook my head and thanked him for his time.

There was one more shop, closer to the toy store, I could have a quick look in.  From the window of the next shop, they don’t appear to have the sort of trainer I like but... maybe they have different styles inside. Certainly can’t hurt to look.

I turned to the door and noticed Lewis was no longer slumped against the window, sitting on the floor. A quick look to the other side of the doorway, in case he moved positions... not there either.... can already feel my heart start to pace hard and fast.

I grabbed his pair of shoes, which he had kindly left for me to carry when he stormed out, and headed out of the shop to see if I could see him....

“Lewis?” Was there any point in calling his name - so many people milling around, talking amongst themselves... the shopping centre music playing... would he have heard me? “Lewis?!” I called again. Had to try. He might be close enough to hear. Where the hell is he? A quick look around - he’s not pacing the front of the shop... he’s not looking in any of the other store windows that I can see... he must have gone to the toy store like he said. What a little shit. I never once thought he’d have gone. It looked as though he was staying put. I’m going to kill him.

As quickly as the crowds let me, I ran in the direction of the toy store. It was only around the corner from the shop I was looking in so not too far to run.

As soon as I got there, I hurried across the width of the shop looking down the aisles.... can’t see him.

He could be down the other side of the shop, though...

... out of sight....

... I went down the furthest aisle and walked the width again...

... he’s not here...

... I can’t see him...

... panic setting in now...

“Lewis?” I called out.

He didn’t respond.

I feel dizzy.

Where is he?

Where’s he wandered off to?

* * * * *

Mum was crying. Tears rolling down her cheeks and she was shaking - just as I had been shaking when I first got to the security office... when I finally realised he was missing. She’s pushed me away once. I don’t put my arm around her. I don’t say anything. What do I say? I’ve already apologised... I’ve already told her how sorry I am. I didn’t mean for him to run off. I honestly thought he was going to just stay against the glass window of the shop and sulk until I went and got him. I never expected him to run.

“You shouldn’t have let him leave the shop!” she said. “You know what he’s like.... Where is he? Where?! My baby’s lost....”

Thankfully, the door to the security office opened and the guard came back in.

Mum looked up, “Have you found him?”

The man shook his head, “No.”

“And the management?”

“The centre’s manager has been away for a couple of weeks... annual leave...”

“What about the other security guards?” I asked, trying to be helpful and knowing they had more experience than this man.

He shook his head again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Mum.

“I’ve been calling them on the hand-helds but they aren’t answering....”

“So they’re missing too?” I asked.

The security guard just looked at me - clearly out of his depth.

“That’s it... I’m phoning the police....”

Mum stood up and fished her mobile phone out of the pocket before dialing ‘999’ on the keypad. With the phone ringing, she pressed it against her ear, “Police, please.”

I turned to the security guard, “Do your colleagues often wander off?” I asked. He shook his head again.

“I haven’t worked with them before today. Normally it’s another guy on, and a lady, that I work with.... Look, they’ll show up. They’re probably conducting a thorough search for Luke...”

“Lewis...”

“Sorry, Lewis... now... They’re probably hunting high and low. The main doors are locked now so if he’s in here, they’ll find him...”

“If he’s in here...” I said.

“Well, Barry said he checked the monitors at the time of the disappearance. He said he didn’t see anything.”

“Barry?”

“My colleague...”

“Those monitors?” I pointed to the CCTV screens on the desk.

“Yes - he said he checked the store at the time and it just showed Lewis wandering off.... didn’t show him being snatched or anything else...”

“I was sat in here from the moment I reported him missing... he didn’t check the monitors when I was in here...”

The security guard frowned. “He must have done....”

“I’m telling you....”

“The police are on their way,” said Mum, interrupting us, as she hung the phone up and slipped it back into her handbag. “What’s going on?”

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t feel as though it was my place to tell her about the missing guards and the fact it looked dubious as to whether they had even done their job properly before they did their amazing vanishing act.

“Just waiting to hear back from my colleagues,” said the security officer, keeping his eye on me just in case, I presume, I was to say anything... like the fact they’re ignoring his calls.

“The police should have been called immediately!” said Mum. “What were you all thinking?”

“I can only apologise,” said the guard. “Rest assured we’re doing everything we can to find him now, though.”

“How’s that?” I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “You don’t even know where your colleagues are, they’re ignoring your calls.... and.... it doesn’t even look like they checked the monitors.... You said yourself - your colleague told you he had checked them... but I was in here the whole time from reporting Lewis as missing...”

“What’s he saying...” said Mum.

I ignored her and carried on venting towards the guard who just appeared to be getting smaller and smaller, “... the whole time... not once did he even have a look at the monitors. Not once... by the time I got back from looking around myself.... you were all in here so you’d have seen him checking the monitors too....”

“Why would he lie to me?” said the security guard.

“You haven’t even checked the cameras? My baby is out there somewhere and you haven’t even checked to see if you could see what direction he went in.... or whether he was taken....”

Suddenly there was a knock on the security office’s door - a loud knock which made us all jump, Mum more so than the rest of us.

“Hello?” the security guard called out. He walked over to the door and pulled it open - probably thankful that it had stopped Mum and I from hitting him with awkward questions and finger pointing as to the poor job they had been doing. He pulled the door open to reveal two women - both of whom looked visibly shaken. “What can I do for you? The mall is closed now...”

“Our children are missing,” said the first of the women - a pretty blonde in her late twenties.

6.

Just as the world outside was probably starting to feel incredibly large to Lewis, the security office was becoming smaller and increasingly more cramped as the two women stepped inside to explain what had happened to their children. I didn’t know what was going on but it was looking less and less likely that Lewis had just wandered off in a sulk. Not with these two women stepping forward to report their children missing too.

“Where did you last see them?” the security guard asked.

“The police are already on their way - my son is missing too,” Mum said to the ladies. She probably thought she was offering them some comfort but, looking at them, it didn’t look as though her words offered much in the way of comfort at all.

“I was at the cashpoint getting some money out.... I turned around and she was gone...”

“And I was...” the other lady started.

“You two aren’t together?” asked the security guard.

The both shook their heads, “No. I was trying a dress on in Evan’s changing room... I came out and he wasn’t there... He was on the chairs, by the entrance to the fitting room... he was playing on his Nintendo...” finished the second lady, a larger brunette.

The security guard turned to me, “Look, I know you’ve told my colleagues already but... if you could tell me again... we’ll start from scratch and check the monitors whilst we wait for the police....”

“That’s it?” asked the first lady - the pretty blonde in her twenties.

“The police have been called; they’re on their way. I can check the screens and see if I can see anything... It’s a start,” said the security officer. I was watching him closely. Had to be said, he was looking pretty flustered. I bet he wished he hadn’t come in today. I know I was wishing the same thing. Should have told Mum I was busy. Should have stayed at home. Lewis would still be screaming in his room, kicking off about this or that but... at least we would have known where he was. He turned back to me, “And what shop were you in?”

“Nike,” I said. I half expected Mum to say something - especially given the standard of shoe I had picked up for Lewis. She didn’t say anything. More pressing things on her mind.

“Okay, we’ll start with Lewis... and then you,” he pointed to the brunette, “and then we’ll check for your daughter,” he said to the blonde.

We all nodded. There was nothing else we could do, after all. It’s not as though we knew how to use the equipment in the office. The security officer turned to me again and asked, “Do you know the approximate time?”

“Probably about quarter past four,” I said.

“Okay...” He pushed past the brunette lady to get to the screens. “Excuse me, please.” We all shuffled around to give him the necessary space to get to the desk.

A few buttons were pushed and all the screens flicked to various different images of some of the random stores, within the centre, before it settled on the storefront of Nike. We watched as people walked backwards, into and out of the store, as the security guard rewound the tape to the required timeframe, which was displayed in the top right of the monitor’s screen.

“About quarter past four....” he confirmed.

I didn’t say anything; there was no need, as we saw Lewis come out of the store, on the screen. Pretty much quarter past four on the dot.

“That’s my baby,” said Mum. She broke down into tears. “My baby...” she reached out for the screen but the security guard stopped her.

“We need to see...”

It was strange seeing Lewis throwing his strop from another angle. I watched as he threw himself back against the glass window before sliding down it until he was sat on the floor.

“I watched him do that,” I said, “I didn’t think he was going to go anywhere... I just thought he was having another tantrum...” I looked at Mum, hoping she would have agreed with me in that it didn’t look as though he was going anywhere. She didn’t say a word. I could see she was fighting back her tears and, if anything, looked a little embarrassed at the obvious, bad behaviour of her son. Maybe she didn’t hear me, “I didn’t think he was going anywhere, Mum...” I noticed the other two women were looking at me with pity in their eyes. Having lost their own children, they must have known how easy it was to lose them in the crowds. A glance to the security guard and he was still engrossed in the monitors.

“Who’s that?” asked the officer.

I looked to the monitor and saw the same clown, from earlier, talking with Lewis.

“Some clown,” I said. “He was trying to cheer Lewis up earlier...”

“And you didn’t think to say anything?” Mum asked.

“I didn’t get a chance to say anything, the first time... he told the man to fuck off.”

“What?!” Mum looked horrified.

“He told him to fuck off and I dragged him away.... we went, from there, to the Nike shop,” I said. “I told you...”

“You didn’t tell me what he said,” said Mum. Now she looked really embarrassed.

“He’s leaving,” the officer said. I turned back to the monitor, avoiding Mum’s stare and saw the clown leaving Lewis... leaving the shot. “Maybe he was just trying to cheer him up again... he looks pretty upset,” the guard finished.

Lewis didn’t move, to start with, he just kept sitting there - against the window where I knew he was. A couple more minutes went by, on the monitor, when he suddenly stood up and walked off in the same direction as the clown...

“He’s following the man,” said Mum. “He’s following him!” She turned back to me again, “You see what you’ve done?!”

“The toy shop is in the direction he’s walking,” I said.

The security officer flicked through various camera angles until he found the storefront of the toy shop. He set the time back a bit and we waited.... hoping to see Lewis walk into the store. Approximately six minutes went by before we suddenly saw me run into the shop. I looked at Mum and wondered whether she saw how worried I looked. I hope she did. A couple of minutes went by, on the screen, and I came back out again. If only he had been in there.

“Okay, so we aren’t sure where he went but at least the tape shows he wandered off by himself...” said the guard.

“What did that man say to him? Maybe he went off to meet him....?” asked Mum.

“The cameras don’t pick up sound,” he replied.

The security officer turned to the blonde lady, “Do you remember the approximate time?”

“That’s it?” said Mum - as though she expected Lewis to suddenly be found.

“You’ve seen your son just wandered off,” said the woman, suddenly getting angry.... “Let me see if my daughter did the same or whether she was snatched...”

Mum ignored the blonde woman and turned back to the security officer, “You must know the company who sent the clown... call them up.... they can get him to give us a ring... let us know what he said... it might help...”

The security guard nodded, “I’ll look the company up just as soon as I’ve checked the other children,” he said.

Mum went to say something else but the blonde lady butted in before she could get a word out, “It was the hole in the wall downstairs... next to The Gadget Shop and toilets.”

The guard nodded and flicked through the screens until he found the one of the cash machines next to The Gadget Shop. It wasn’t the best of camera angles but it was better than nothing. “Do you know what time it was?”

The woman shook her head, “Five, I think...”

We all watched as the time counter, in the corner of the screen, whizzed to five o’clock. People, on the screens, coming into and leaving the shot - some with bags of shopping, some stopping to use the cash machines and others disappearing through the doors to the toilet.

“STOP!” shouted the blonde haired lady.

The security guard hit play, slowing the cameras down to normal speed in the process. There, on the screen, we saw her slide her bank card into the cash machine. Behind her, a few feet away, we saw her daughter.

“That’s her,” she said.

The body language of the little girl, same sort of age as Lewis I would have guessed, was that of someone who was upset. Couldn’t tell from her facial expressions, though. The camera footage was too grainy. No one said anything as we continued to watch the little girl - waiting to see what she did next. Like Lewis, did she wander off too or was there someone else involved?

“Is she upset?” asked the brunette lady.

“I had just shouted at her,” said the blonde woman. “She wanted to go home but I hadn’t finished with what I needed to get done...”

“Look,” said the security guard.

The little girl on the screen suddenly turned towards the toilet door. A second or two went by. She looked to her mum and then back to the toilet door.... and then she went through it. The door slammed shut behind her. At not one stage did her mother turn around.

“No, I checked in the toilet... she wasn’t in there... it was the first place I checked...” said the lady. True to her word, on the screen she was frantically looking for her daughter. She disappeared into the toilet - out of shot for seconds before she reappeared without her child.

Just as Mum had reacted, the woman started to cry. The other lady, the brunette, put her arm around her. Little comfort for a missing child.

“Can you rewind it to when the girl went into the toilet?” said Mum.

The security guard nodded and rewound the recording back to where the girl was looking at the toilet door.

“Can you pause it?” Mum asked.

The security guard nodded, “Now?”

“Not yet...”

The girl, on screen, opened the door to the toilet again and Mum shouted, “There! Pause it! Look! What is that?”

Both Mum and the security guard peered closer to the screen to see what Mum had spotted. I didn’t need to, though. I knew what she had seen. “It’s a bit of a clown’s shoe,” I said.

“What? What do you mean?” asked the blonde mother - a look of concern on her face.

“The clown who was trying to cheer Lewis up, he was wearing these big red shoes... that looks like it’s part of one of the shoes...”

The girl on the screen was even looking up. As though she was looking to someone, in the toilet, who was out of camera shot.

“There wasn’t a clown in the toilets though,” said the mother. “I went in there... there wasn’t a clown.... one locked cubicle....”

“He could have been in the cubicle,” I said.

“Then where’s my daughter?”

No one wanted to say it but we all knew where she could have been. She could have been locked in the cubicle with Pogo the clown. The security guard un-paused the camera and we waited. First the mother went into the toilet before coming back out.... and then we waited... and waited.... fifteen minutes went by, on the screen, before the door opened again and a tall woman, dragging a suitcase behind her, came out.

“Who’s that?” asked the security guard.

No one knew the answer.

“Was the clown a woman?” the security guard turned to me.

“No. Definitely a man.”

The security guard hit fast forward again and, again, we watched as people went in and out of the toilet. As the time got closer to when the centre closed, the visitors got less and less. Before long the screen was empty and remained so.

“Where is she?” asked the mother. “Is she still in there?!” No one said anything. “Can you come with me to check?” she asked the security guard.

I stepped forward, “I’ll come with you.” Anything to get out of the security office. “Is that okay?” I asked the guard. He nodded.

“What about my son?” asked the brunette lady.

“I’ll check for him now.... you said you were in a clothes shop?” said the security guard.

I turned to the blonde lady, “Ready?”

She nodded, “Yes please...”

I walked over to Mum and gave her a kiss on the cheek, “I’ll be back soon...” She didn’t react in any way - just kept looking at the screen whilst the security guard hunted for the necessary camera.

7.

“Thank you for coming with me,” said the blonde lady.

“No worries, I’m just happy to get out of the office...”

“Have you been in there for long?”

“Since half four, although I did step out to have another look around to see if I could find my brother. I’m Alex, by the way.”

“Jackie.”

I would have said it was nice to meet her, as we walked down the staff corridor towards the double doors which would lead us to the shopping centre, but... we were only meeting because we had both lost someone close to us. It would have been nicer for us to both be at home, or on the way home at least, having successfully come to town to get the bits we needed before venturing back to our houses. It would have been nicer, still, to be stuck in a traffic jam, outside of the centre... anywhere would have been nicer than here right now.

“Do you think she’ll be there?” Jackie said.

I pushed one of the doors open and held it there so she could pass through.

“I’m not sure,” I said. I didn’t want to give her any false hopes by saying ‘yes’ - pretending that everything was going to work out okay. I don’t think she will still be in the toilet. Why would she be? There’s no reason for a child to stay somewhere like that - especially without their parent. Fine - it’s possible had they been somewhere like a toy shop, or a playground but... I’ve never known a child who actively wanted to stay in a public toilet.

I let Jackie lead the way to the restrooms; down the escalators, which had now been switched off - by the other security guards I presumed - and right past a row of different stores, towards the entrance to the shopping centre. I recognised we were in the right place as soon as we got there, from the images I saw on the monitors.

“I’m scared,” she said to me. “What if she’s not in here?”

I didn’t know the right words to offer her any sort of comfort.

Maybe I wasn’t the right person to have escorted her.

All this.... all this is new to me.

“What then?” she asked.

I gave her a sympathetic smile. It was all new to me but I knew exactly what she was going through. I had been going through it too and had the same thoughts when I was running around the stores, earlier, trying to find him - both before I went to the security office and after, when I decided it would be worthwhile to have another look for Lewis.

“Did you want me to go in?” I asked.

She nodded.

I was afraid of that.

“What’s her name?” I asked. If the girl was in there, stuck in one of the cubicles, she’d be scared. She might feel better if I knew her name, at least. I could reassure her, and tell her that her mum is outside, before coming back out to get Jackie to come in with me.

“Lisa,” Jackie replied.

She wiped a tear from her cheek with a shaky hand.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

I wonder if the security guard is currently watching us. I hope so. I’d feel a little better if I knew someone else was watching. Was that really the clown’s foot we saw on the screen? They didn’t come out either. What if the clown is still in here?

I hate clowns.

I think I hate the smiling ones worse.

There’s something really sinister about them.

Stephen Fucking King.

I’ll never read one of his books again, I swear.

With a shaking hand, I reached out and pushed the door open, before I peered into the room. White tiled floors, white walls, a flowery scent... the scent I didn’t expect. Not compared to the smells you normally get in the men’s public toilets - a mixture of crap and piss.

We should learn something from the female of the species, I thought, keep our toilets nice too.

That’s cool, keep thinking things like that.

Keep your mind focused on something other than clowns.

Dammit.

Thinking about clowns again.

“Lisa?” I called out.

No reply came.

Surely, if she were in the room... surely she would have responded. The door slammed shut behind me as I stepped in and I couldn’t help but jump. I’m kind of glad there wasn’t anyone else around to witness that.

Pathetic.

“Lisa?”

I pushed the first cubicle door open.

Empty.

The second.

Empty.

Third.

Empty.

Two left. She isn’t here.

“Lisa, you in here?”

Getting closer to the end of the row of cubicles, and still picturing a clown - with red eyes and a beaming manic grin - jumping out at me, I kicked the fourth cubicle door open with my foot.

Empty.

My heart is beating so fast it feels as though it’s going to burst through my chest.

Get a grip.

Sort it out.

Is that sweat I feel dripping down my forehead?

Last door.

“Lisa?”

I kicked the door open and froze when I saw a single red balloon on a piece of string - a weight tied to the other end of the string, holding the balloon a few feet off the floor and stopping it from floating off to the ceiling... ‘Smile’ written across it... the same type of balloon that was offered to Lewis earlier in the afternoon.

“What is it?” asked Jackie.

I jumped at the sound of her voice, didn’t even hear her come in.

“A balloon,” I said. I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t take my eyes off the balloon. I reached into the cubicle and took a hold of the string, pulling the balloon towards me - not even sure why. I didn’t want a souvenir from the day.

“Where is she?” said Jackie. Her eyes welled up once more.

I shrugged and put my arms around her.

Unlike my mother she didn’t pull away from me and we stood, for a moment, comforting each other. I have to confess, I didn’t want the hug to end. For the first time since losing my brother... I felt good. I felt safe. I felt as though everything was okay. When she spoke I felt my world come crashing down around me once more, “Do you think it was the clown?”

I didn’t answer her. I didn’t know. It was strange finding the balloon here but... it didn’t mean anything. Another child could have been given it earlier in the day. They could have left it in here without thinking. And the clown... was the clown even in here? It looks as though it could have been his foot but... no... I couldn’t say for definite. Maybe we just saw what we wanted to see... no... if that were the case, we wouldn’t have seen a clown. A shame the security guard couldn’t zoom in to get a closer look.

“You aren’t answering,” she said.

“I don’t know,” I said. It feels as though that’s all I’ve said today.

“But who else would have taken them?”

“We haven’t seen anyone take them,” I said - stepping out of our comforting hug. “Lewis wandered off and....”

“... and Lisa just vanished.”

“We should get back to the security office. See if anything showed up with the other boy.... and the police might be there. They’ll want to speak to us.”

Jackie nodded and turned towards the door.

I looked at the balloon.

I don’t need to take that.

I was glad to get out of the ladies’ toilet. The balloon reminded me of the clown. Reminded me of the way he looked at Lewis. Fine, there was no firm evidence he did anything but - he was still a creepy-ass clown.

Jackie and I walked back to the security office in silence. Silence because we’d both run out of things to say to each other or silence because we both hoped we may have heard Lewis or Lisa calling out for us.

“You didn’t find her?” the security guard asked.

Jackie shook her head.

“Anything?” I asked Mum.

She also shook her head, “The camera didn’t show inside the shop.... and....” she looked at the brunette, “couldn’t pinpoint a time she went into the store so we haven’t spotted them going in or out...”

I glanced over to the brunette lady. She was just looking at the monitor. Her eyes red-raw. She didn’t say anything.

Jackie asked, “Have the police arrived?”

“I’ve just called them again,” my mum said.

Jackie turned to me, “Tell them about the balloon....”

“Balloon?” asked the security guard.

“We found a balloon in the toilet.... the same type that the clown tried to give Lewis.... I mean, it doesn’t mean anything... someone else could have taken it into the toilet....”

“But we saw his foot... in the video,” said Jackie. She was clutching at anything. The slightest thing to hint at where her daughter was. But then, maybe she was right. Maybe it was his foot in the video.

“He’s right,” the security guard said as he nodded in my direction. “It doesn’t mean he took your daughter.... we didn’t see her leave with him... or Lewis... we didn’t see him leave with the clown...”

“We should still call the company,” said Mum. “I want to know what he said to my son!”

“We should wait and let the police investigate this!” said the security guard.

“Nonsense.... find their phone number..... the police will only want it anyway... the clown is a potential witness...” Mum continued.

“She’s right,” I said.

“Fine. We’ll call them... as you said, the police will want to talk to them anyway...” The security guard crossed the room over to the other side where there were some filing cabinets against the wall. He pulled open the top drawer of the first cabinet he came to and pulled out a diary. “The name of the company will be in here, under today’s date. Should have the phone number....” He flicked through the pages, until he got to today’s date, and frowned. “That’s strange.”

“What is it?” asked Jackie.

“There’s no one booked in here...”

“What does that mean?” asked Mum.

“It means we shouldn’t have had any entertainers walking around.... they shouldn’t have been here...” said the guard.

“Maybe they just showed up off the cuff...” I said.

“They wouldn’t have been allowed - they would have been asked to leave.... if people come in and want to sell things in the centre, or put on shows or displays... they have to pay a fee.... this clown hasn’t paid. He shouldn’t have been here...” He closed the diary.

“But you would have seen him on the monitors.... why didn’t you ask him to leave?” Jackie was getting angry now. Like my mum, she was working her way through the emotions.

“I don’t look at the monitors - I was working in the loading bays for most of the day.... signing in the different deliveries!”

“Then who should have been looking at the screens?” shouted Jackie.

“It was supposed to be my colleague!” said the security guard. Again, I started to feel sorry for him. We were all in the same position. Other than the guard - we had all lost someone. He was only working there but he was coming under fire from all directions.

“And where are they? Where are your colleagues?” asked Mum. She too started to raise her voice.

“I don’t know!”

“Do you know anything?” asked Jackie. “My daughter....”

“My son,” Mum chipped in...

“Our children,” continued Jackie, “are out there somewhere and you can’t even find your fellow work colleagues... what use are you?!”

“Maybe our children are with the security guards.... probably all sat around somewhere having a laugh at our expense!” said Mum.

The security guard raised his hands, “Look, this isn’t helping... I’m trying my best here. You know I’m new. You know I haven’t been at this post today. I was working out the back... I’m not trained for this... I’ve told you that... the police.... they’re on their way... let’s just see what they have to say...”

“He’s right,” I said. I felt as though he needed someone on his side but it just reminded Mum I was here.

“You should never have let him out of your sight!” she hissed.

I should have stayed quiet.

“This is your fault,” she finished.

“Look, let’s all calm down.... we’ll look at the screens again, see if we can see anything we may have missed.... until the police come, at least... There’s nothing else we can do.”

He was right. There was nothing else we could do. There was no point walking around the centre looking around for the missing children or the security guards. Not when the police were on their way. It was best just to stay put. Wait for the police and let them take charge of the situation.

“Can we have another look for my son?” asked the brunette - the only one who hadn’t stepped away from the screens. The whole time, since Jackie and I got back from the bathroom, she had sat there - staring at the screen which showed the front of Evans, the store where she lost her son.

“Certainly,” said the security guard. He pushed his way back to the desk with the monitors - thankful for the opportunity to get out of the corner where Mum and Jackie had backed him.

Jackie glared at him as he stepped around her.

My mother, meanwhile, was just staring at me.

Was that hate in her eyes?

8.

With the tension building in the cramped office - we hadn’t noticed the brunette lady was crying again until she was in proper hysterics. Immediately Mum and Jackie turned to comfort her, putting aside the fact that their children were also missing. The security guard did his best to ignore the wailing of the lady so as to concentrate on the shop. He had his work cut out for him - not even knowing an approximate time she had originally ventured into the store meant he had to keep his eyes peeled and refrain from blinking. I did my best just to stay out of their way. I’d proven I wasn’t the best at comforting people and I was still hurting from the look Mum had given me.

I never meant Lewis to run off. I watched him against the window and it looked as though he wasn’t going anywhere. Just looked like he was throwing his usual strop. Of course I would have left the store sooner, to run after him, had I noticed him get up and wander off. I would never have let him leave like that. Never. Why wouldn’t Mum believe me, though? She had looked at me as though it’s what I had wanted, right from the start. Like I had planned to lose him as soon as we were away from her. But that’s not the case. Lewis and I had been out together on numerous other occasions - always without incident... with the exception of once or twice where tears were concerned but... that’s normal when you go out with someone of that age. Especially given his condition.

Will she ever believe me?

If Lewis never comes home...

... will Mum realise I didn’t do it on purpose?

Will she ever forgive me?

I couldn’t live like that - knowing she hated me.

And what will Dad say?

Will he think I did it on purpose too?

They have to find him.

They have to.

I’m not leaving.

Not going home.

Not until they find out where he is.

The brunette lady was telling her story through sobs of tears, “I have to find him... we had an argument... I don’t want me telling him off being the last thing he heard from my mouth....” she turned to the security guard, “.... please find him....”

The security guard didn’t answer but he heard her. His eyes visibly straining as he watched on the monitor for signs of the mother and her son. Part of me just wants to leave the office - carry on wandering around the centre on the off chance I could see Lewis. Or even Lisa, Jackie’s daughter.... or the other lady’s son... I felt like a spare part just standing there... towards the back of the room.

“I could go down to the clothes shop?” I offered. I already knew the security guard wouldn’t allow it. The shop would be shut now. If the lad was there, the store’s staff would have spotted him and phoned through already.

Mum flashed me a look, “You can stay there - the police will be here soon enough.”

The police.

Feels like they were phoned ages ago.

I guess three missing children - potentially snatched - aren’t high on their list of priorities today. No wonder the police are always under-fire for not doing a good enough job. The police come under-fire first.... and then the government for not offering the police more resources. Same old, same old...

I sat back, on a chair, at the other side of the room and stared at the top row of monitors - unlike the ones the security guard was playing with, these were showing the centre as it was now. With the exception of a few staff members finally being allowed to leave their closed shops - it’s near enough empty. If Lewis and the others were here, they would have been found by now. They aren’t here. They can’t be. I felt my eyes well up.

No.

Give them a wipe.

Don’t cry.

Although, if I do... maybe Mum will come and comfort me. Maybe she’ll see, finally, that I didn’t want for this to happen. I just wish I could turn back the clock. Wish I could start the day again.

My mouth reacted quicker than my brain, “Look!” I pointed to the far left screen, across the top row. Dancing his way down the escalators looked to be the same clown who had spoken to Lewis earlier. A load of balloons on strings clutched together in his gloved hand. “That’s him!” I don’t know why I said that. There hadn’t been that many clowns wandering around, after all.

“I’ve got this,” the security guard stood up and leaned in closer to the screen, “that’s the first floor....” he turned to us, “okay, wait here for the police - I’ll go and have a word with whoever the hell that is...”

I stood up too, “I’m coming with you.”

“No, wait here!” the security guard raised his voice.

I stood firm for what felt like the first time, “No, he might remember Lewis if he sees me... I’m coming and you’re wasting time. Let’s go!”

“I’m coming too,” said Mum.

The security guard didn’t argue anymore as we all quickly filed from the room.  He realised there was little point in arguing. The more he argued - the more chance we had of losing the clown.

I never once thought I’d be running through a near-deserted shopping centre, looking for a clown...

The security guard was running at full speed and I struggled to keep up with him. My mother and the other two ladies were left behind but we couldn’t wait. They’d catch up with us when we caught up with the clown. We couldn’t afford to lose him. Sure, he might not have known anything. What he said to Lewis may have no bearing on what happened to him. It looked as though he had been in the bathroom but - if he had been in there – how had he got out? And the fact he was seen on the screen, clutching a fistful of balloons... well, that just proves he’d been giving them out all day - even if he didn’t have permission to be there.

I nearly stumbled as we ran down the escalators. I always struggled with keeping my balance on escalators after they’d been turned off. Like my brain struggled to cope with making sense of them because of the lines on each step... you look down at them, when they’re stationary, and they don’t resemble stairs... instead, they just look as though they’re a slope. Copying the security guard I jumped down the last few stairs.

“You! Wait there! I need a word!” the security guard called out.

There, in the distance, about to disappear down the stairs towards the car park was the clown.

“FREEZE!” the security guard shouted again.

The clown froze - over exaggerating his movements - mid-step.... one leg high in the air, the other leg at a funny angle... one arm, with the hand still clutching the balloons, stretched far in front of him and the other arm stretched out behind him. A manic grin on his face.

It wasn’t long before we were stood next to him.

He didn’t look at us.

He just kept staring dead ahead as though he were literally frozen to the spot.

“Who are you?” asked the security guard.

The clown mumbled through his over-stretched smile, “Can I unfreeze?” He didn’t wait for an answer, he simply stood up straight and slowly turned to look at the security guard. His grin remained fixed in place.

“Funny, you can stop smiling too....” said the security guard - obviously put off by it. I couldn’t say I blamed him. It wasn’t the nicest of smiles.

“If only I could....” growled the clown in his deep voice, “... industrial accident.... acid.... the smile stays.... but trust me.... I’m crying on the inside...”

I looked at the security guard. He simply looked nervous.

The clown laughed, a high-pitched squeal of a laugh which didn’t suit his outward appearance, “Not really...” he stopped smiling and, for the first time since I’d originally seen him, looked semi-human. “I just prefer it.” He smiled once more and fixed it in place. “Smile and the world smiles with you... a smile brightens up the day for you and those around you.... don’t you think?!”

“Can you just be serious for a minute...”

“Give it a go,” he hissed.

“Some children have gone missing today....”

The clown did an over-exaggerated ‘shocked’ face. “Oh no!” He stopped when he realised the security guard wasn’t laughing.

“I need you to come with me. Give a statement to the police...”

I butted in, “It was my brother... the one who swore at you...”

The clown adopted a serious voice, “I remember him. Short. Needs to smile more.”

I continued, “He’s gone missing.”

Another ‘shocked’ expression.

Again I ignored it, “And you were the last person to talk to him...”

Mum, Jackie and the other lady showed up behind us. The clown gave them a look and then turned back to me.

“I’ve spoken to lots of children today. I kind of attract them.... I mean, I am a clown....”

“What were you doing here? You shouldn’t have been here....” the security guard interrupted.

“What?”

“We didn’t have any entertainment booked in.”

“What did you say to my boy?” Mum said from the back of the group. The clown leaned around the security guard and me to see who was addressing him this time.

“I can’t quite recall... spoken to so many children....”

“My daughter?”

The clown shrugged, “Maybe.” He looked back to my mother, “Your son has a potty mouth....”

“Fuck you!” screamed Mum.

The clown looked at me. Another over-exaggerated expression of shock. “I guess we know where he gets it from.”

The security guard addressed everyone, “Look, can you let me do my job please...” He turned to the clown, “You shouldn’t have been here. You didn’t have permission. What were you doing...?”

“Every week, my troupe and I travel the country and visit places such as this...” he said, a serious voice for the first time since speaking to us, “...put on little shows for the children who don’t look as though they’re having any fun. We just want to spread a few smiles to the miserable. Spread some joy. Make children smile.” He flashed us his smile again before turning to Jackie, “So.... if your daughter was miserable... I may have spoken to her. I may have even given her a balloon....” He turned to the security guard, “If I should have had permission, I apologise...” He looked to Mum, “And if your son told me to fuck off.... you should have washed his mouth out with soap!” Another flash of his smile.

“Look, you’re a potential witness... you’re going to have to come with us and have a chat with the police. You were the last seen to be speaking to this lady’s son...”

“He’s missing. How do you know he isn’t talking to someone right now... and if that is the case... surely the person he is talking to... right now.... surely they are the last person he is speaking too....”

The security guard looked flummoxed.

“...Besides.....” continued the clown, “I have a party I need to get to and my friends are waiting for me in the car park... I have a card in there - I’ll be only too happy to pass one to you...”

The security guard didn’t know what to say. Neither did anyone else. Whatever we said, the clown had an answer... and, if he did have the children, he doesn’t have them now. The guard nodded. The clown copied his nod and about-turned, continuing his way down the stairs towards the car park.

9.

The car park was near enough empty now.  Just a few cars and, against the far wall, a van which was covered in paintings of clowns. It didn’t take a genius to figure out which vehicle we were heading for.

As we made our way closer to the van, the engine spat into life and the lights came on - helping to illuminate the otherwise dimly lit space. I couldn’t make out the driver but he drove the van towards us - to save the wear and tear on our shoes or because he couldn’t be bothered to wait for us to get to him, I’m not sure.

When the van was next to us, the driver wound down the tinted window. Another clown. I still hate clowns.

He turned to ‘our’ clown, “You know - I’m not sure we’re going to have room for everyone.... did you have a favourite?”

‘Our’ clown didn’t say anything. He simply walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and jumped in. The security guard walked around, with him. “Did you have a card then?” He had barely finished the sentence when the clown produced a business card from the glove compartment. I was a little disappointed when a springy-snake thing didn’t shoot out of the glove box after the clown opened it. “Thank you. Mind if I take a look in the back of the van?”

“Knock yourself out...” said the driver - a far more serious looking clown than the one we were used to dealing with. No manic smile here. More of a stern look.

I followed the security guard around to the back of the van and heard the door lock click open. He gave me a slightly uneasy look and whispered to me, “I hate clowns.” I couldn’t help but smile.

A nice tension breaker.

The guard took a hold of the handle and pulled the door open to reveal another four clowns - all in full make-up. Sat on the floor of the otherwise empty van. All pulling silly faces and waving at us. One of the most surreal things I’d ever seen, yes.... but no children.... and no traces of any children. The guard smiled back and slammed the door shut.

We walked back to the front of the van. Mum was looking at us, a look of ‘hope’ on her face. I shook my head.

“My friend here says you’re missing some children....” said the driver - a stern look still on his face. “You know... children who wander off.... they’re never missing... you’re just not looking in the right places... You check the ice-cream shops.... you check the toy shops... you check the playgrounds.... you look properly, you always find them eventually. Anyway, I hope you find them... really, I do... maybe we could come and do a party for them sometime....” There was something in his insincere tone which must have annoyed the security guard as much as me.

“Do you guys ever take your make-up off?” the guard asked.

The driver simply leaned out of the window, closer to the guard, and whispered, “What make-up?”

The passenger flashed us another of his manic grins and the van wheel spun from the car park.... just as a police car pulled in.

Jackie turned to the security guard, “We haven’t checked the play area. Did anyone check it?”

I looked at the security guard, “There’s a play area here?”

He nodded, “A soft play area just through there...” He pointed through some double doors. A sign stating the play area was on the other side. All this time, I’d never known there was a play area.

“How come we didn’t see video from that in the security office?” I asked.

“They have their own CCTV system - monitored by the staff... but it closed at half four.. The staff would have told us if they had any children there who hadn’t been collected...” He turned towards the police car as it pulled to a stop close by. “Excuse me a minute,” he said walking off.

I turned to the double doors - a strange uneasy feeling creeping over me... maybe left over from the sight of all those clowns. Maybe something else. I turned to Mum and she too was looking at the double doors.

“Shall I?”

She nodded.

I led the way, closely followed by Jackie, Mum and the other lady - through the double doors and down a short corridor towards another set of double doors with tinted windows... signs on the door ‘KidZone’. I pushed the door but they didn’t want to seem to budge. It was as though something was blocking them. A harder budge and they moved a fraction more. They weren’t locked. Something was definitely blocking them or keeping them back. Using my whole body-weight, I threw myself against the door and it swung open.... something clicking on when the door was fully open.... music began to play but no lights flickered on.... pitch black.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Louis Armstrong?” said Mum.

When you’re smiling ... when you’re smiling..... the whole world... smiles.... with you...... played the song.

“Who’s there?” I called out. I could see something in the darkness. Shapes. Looked like people.

“I think I’ve found the light,” said the brunette.

Click.

Keep on smiling..... and the whole world.... smiles.... with you........

The lights flickered on and the room burst into light. Mum screamed, followed by Jackie. My eyes adjusted to the sudden light. On the floor, in front of me, were the two security guards - their eyes ripped from their sockets and throats pulled out....

Don’t be sick.

Don’t scream.

Be strong...

I turned to Mum... I thought she and Jackie had screamed at the sight of the guards but they hadn’t.... they had rushed deeper into the room....  past a load of balloons..... I ran to their side.... Oh God...

No...

I started to cry.

All of us were crying.

The door swung open again and the security guard came in with two police officers. They too looked shocked.

We had found Lewis, Lisa and the other boy... slumped against the soft wall of the play area... their faces...

Oh God...

The record had stopped. All I could hear was my own heartbeat and the sobbing of the women.... the police calling for back up.... the security guard saying he had found two more bodies in the back area - those of the staff... All I could see... All I could see was Lewis’ face... His cheeks sliced upwards, from the corner of his mouth - the shape of a massive smile.... his mouth and the fresh cuts... stitched shut into a freakish smile....

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” shouted the security guard when he noticed the faces of the children. He crouched down next to Lewis... he’s breathing... He’s alive...

The police officers felt for a pulse on the other children; they too were breathing. They were alive. All the children lived.

But what happens when they wake up?

The clown’s voice played over the speaker system - pre-recorded on the end of the song, “We just want to spread a few smiles to the miserable. Spread some joy. Make children smile.”

“Shut that thing off!” one of the police officers shouted.

~ FIN

B U R I E D

PROLOGUE

Okay. I’ve stopped panicking now. Not because I’m not scared. I just know panicking won’t help the situation. It’ll only serve to make it worse.  Need to try and remain calm for as long as possible. Control my breathing. Save my oxygen. It was only natural to be scared. Waking up, like this, anyone would have been; nothing to be ashamed of. Being scared doesn’t help, though. Not in situations like this. To survive, you have to be strong.

My sister proved this a couple of years back.

I wonder, is it the same people? Targeting the family again because they were so quick to pay up the last time? Mum and Dad’s desperation, to get their precious daughter back, only serving to show them as easy targets for ‘repeat business’. Has to be the same group. Has to be. They were never caught and the media were kept out of the loop, thanks to the police. Even when it was over, nothing was ever reported. Big coincidence for another group to try their luck too. Whoever it is - they should have done a little more homework. Kidnapping the black sheep of the family can’t be the smartest of moves.

Saying that, I wonder what my going rate will be? If they ask for the same rate as my sister - I’m a dead man...

Don’t.

Don’t think like that.

You can’t think like that.

I’m sure every parent has their favourites. It doesn’t mean they’d turn their back on the other children. Certainly not in a situation like this. No parent would willingly let their child go through this. Even so, I wish I had spent more time with my dad and shown more interest in what he does. Maybe then he’d have loved me as much as my younger sister....

I felt my eyes well up.

Need to stop thinking about my family. Put those thoughts out of my head too, along with the nagging thought of Dad not deeming me worthy of the ransom money. I don’t need to miss my parents... or my sister. I’ll be seeing them soon. I know I will.

I know I will.

I breathed in and coughed. The air in here is stale. I hope I’m not in here for long.

Please, Dad.

Don’t let me be here for long.

Please.

I started to cry.

Helpless.

CHAPTER ONE

I woke with a start as my bedroom door crashed against the wall and my sister, Kayla, came running in shouting, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!”

Before I had time to respond, or even wake up properly, she grabbed the duvet and pulled it from me. The cold January air hitting my body like a sledgehammer. She screamed before I had a chance to cover myself, “Oh God! How long have you slept in the nude for?! Is there any way I can un-see that?” She threw the duvet back over me, helping to cover my embarrassment as well as my modesty. When I was properly under the duvet again, she jumped onto the bed next to me. “Happy Birthday,” she said - in calmer tone thankfully as all the screaming wasn’t the best of wake-up calls. She gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Kayla. Do I get a present to go with the rude awakening?”

She looked sheepish.

No present for me then.

“Is my sisterly love not enough?” she asked after a slight pause. A pause, no doubt, which was required ‘thinking-time’ to come back with a suitable answer.

I looked her up and down, “Does it come with a receipt?”

“You cheeky fuck!” A playful punch on my arm - thankfully shielded by the thickness of my duvet. “Anyway, it’s time to get up... you’re missing the best part of the day!”

“What time is it?” I rubbed my eyes.

“Half seven....”

A late night wasted online, chatting to friends overseas, made any time before ten o’clock seem offensive - especially considering tonight is likely to be a late one too. Reminds me, “So are you coming out tonight then?” I asked. “Not every day your big brother celebrates turning twenty-one!”

I watched as Kayla’s mood took an immediate turn. I thought that might have been the case but still felt as though I should have asked. I didn’t want her thinking she wasn’t invited.

“I can’t,” she said quietly. “I’m broke at the moment. Maybe next time?”

“Next time I turn twenty-one?” I laughed.

She smiled, “You don’t mind?”

I shook my head, “No. No fun watching everyone else getting drunk if you can’t afford to join in too!”

The money was just an excuse. If she wanted to come, she would have. Even if it meant asking the ‘birthday boy’ to borrow some cash. Not that she’d have to ask me - Mum and Dad would have given her some spending money. Probably grateful that she’d be leaving the house. Going out for a change. Since... since that night... she doesn’t go out anymore; near enough become a hermit - with the exception of popping out to the local shops for a magazine or sneaky bar of chocolate.

“We don’t have to go out,” I said.

“What?”

“My friends and I could hang out here...”

“No, no... go out... have fun... you’ve been looking forward to it.”

Before I had a chance to reply, my mum came through the door with a card in her hand and a big smile on her face. “Where’s the birthday boy?!”

Next year, for my birthday, I’m going to ask for a door lock. In fact, might even start believing in Father Christmas again - see if he can bring me one.

Kayla shifted over on the bed, allowing Mum to sit next to her.

“Happy Birthday,” she said as she kissed me on the cheek. She handed me the card.

“Thanks, Mum. Should I wait for the old man?”

Awkward pause. No sense waiting. He isn’t coming.

“He had to go to work early. Some sort of problem....”

Always a problem when there’s a family function centering around me. His precious office could be on fire for Kayla’s birthday but he’d still be here for her. I just can’t remember whether it’s always been like that.... or just since..... did he treat us the same before that happened, I wonder. Can’t recall. I’m happy for Kayla, though. Not because of what she went through - if indeed that’s what it took to get Dad’s attention. She just deserves it. Couldn’t ask for a better sister.

“What you staring at?” she asked.

I laughed. “Something real ugly.”

Didn’t even realise I was staring.

“Come on!” Mum tapped the card in my hand. “Hurry up! I have to get to work!”

I flashed her a smile and ripped the card open; a generic card. Not even one with the number ‘twenty-one’ on it. Inside a message, written from Mum just like every year, wishing me a happy birthday - hoping I get all that I deserve. Three kisses. The two outer kisses larger than the middle one.

“Like it?”

I nodded.

“Thanks, Mum.”

“Oh, and your dad wanted me to give you....” she fished in her trouser pocket and handed me a small key, “... this.... nearly forgot!”

“What is it?” I asked.

She nodded towards the bedroom window, “Have a look.”

I gave her a ‘look’. Had they really?

“Go on, I don’t want to be late for work!”

I turned to Kayla and pointed to a pair of trousers hanging over the radiator, “Can you pass me my jeans?”

“Oh God, yes!” she said, with no hesitation. She jumped up from the bed and fetched the jeans, before handing them to me.

I put them on, under the duvet, and jumped from the bed - to look out of the window. There, sitting on the drive, was a brand new Mini. Black body. White soft-top roof. Black alloy wheels. Sexiest car I’d ever seen. Inside, I could see it was filled with balloons - each one looked as though it had the number ‘twenty-one’ on it.

“Are you serious?” I turned to Mum.

“You like it?”

Kayla joined me at the window, “I best get the same for my twenty-first birthday!” she said - a hint of jealousy in her voice. And rightly so. The car was.... is.... gorgeous. “Although.... maybe not in black,” she said. At the age of nineteen, she has a few years’ wait yet.

I turned to Mum and gave her the biggest hug I could, squeezing her tightly. I kissed her on the forehead, “Thanks, Mum, it’s awesome.”

“Good, I’m glad you like it.... but don’t start thinking you’re taking it out tonight! We’re not having you done for drink driving!”

“If you need a lift, tonight,” said Kayla, “I could always drop you off. I mean, unfortunately I don’t have my own car, yet, but... well, I guess I could always borrow yours... you know, to help you out...”

“You forget I’ve seen your driving!” I said, a nervous laugh escaping my mouth. “But... thank you.... you know, for your kind offer.”

Mum leaned across and gave me another kiss, “I’m glad you like it, honey, just promise me you won’t be showing off in it - trying to impress your friends!”

“I promise...” fingers firmly crossed in my mind. Obviously I’d have to give the car a little test. See what it can do. Just one little test.

“But I really must go now, or I’ll be late.”

“Want a lift?” I offered.

Mum laughed, “And you forget, I’ve seen your driving.”

Kayla laughed and pointed a finger directly at me, “Ha! In your face!”

“Well, I know someone who won’t be getting any lifts anywhere if she ever needed them,” I said - a ‘fuck you’ expression on my face.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” said Mum. She could already sense where my conversation with Kayla was headed. She wished me a ‘happy birthday’ once more and slipped out of the room.

Kayla waved Mum goodbye and turned to me, “So - where shall we go then?”

“Surely you don’t want to get in the car with me,” I teased, “not with my poor driving abilities...”

“Aw, come on - you know I was playing...”

“Do I, though? Your ‘in your face comment’ really hurt my feelings...”

“Don’t be a dick!” she said. “I was just having a laugh.”

“So you agree I’m the better driver?”

She didn’t answer.

“I can’t hear you....” I said as I waved my new car key in front of her face.

“Okay, okay... you’re the better driver,” she said. “Come on - where are we going? Let’s do something!”

It wouldn’t have mattered if she hadn’t given me an answer. I still would have given her a lift wherever she wanted. Nice to hear her excited about going out for a change - even if it was only for a drive. Small steps - ones the counsellors said we should actively encourage.

I laughed. “Let me get dressed. Oh, and I’ve thought of a birthday present you can get me....”

“What’s that then....”

“Petrol money!” I smiled.

Seems only fair, I thought.

CHAPTER TWO

I don’t like the darkness.

I feel as though I’ve already died.

Nothing even moving from the limited depths of the blackness to make me believe there’s anything else in here with me. I know I’m alone but, even so, I can’t help but feel it would be nicer if my imagination was fooled into thinking there was something else in here. Some company for what could be my final hours.

But I am alone.

I know I am.

Just me and my, for once, unwelcome memories which remind me that, once upon a time, everything was fine. Everything was nice. Normal. The more memories flood into my consciousness, the more desperate my current situation feels. The more upset I find myself becoming. My eyes already sore from the tears already spilt. I can’t get upset. I can’t. I need to stay strong. I need to survive.

Thinking of my memories, on my eighteenth birthday, my absent father bought me a RADO watch. Analogue clock face with diamonds where the numbers twelve, three, six and nine are. I love that watch. I’ve worn it every day since I was given it - only taking it off when I go to sleep or wash. Right now, I’d give anything for a Casio watch - one of the ones you can get from a market stall for less than a tenner.

Digital display.

A light.

All that money spent on the RADO and it doesn’t come with a little light, to help see the screen. I guess the makers felt as though it’d cheapen their product.

Be nice to know what the time is, though.

I have no idea how long I’ve been in here.

Could be hours. Could be minutes. Feels like hours. Not even sure how long I was in here before I woke up. No way of knowing.

I wish I could turn the clock back to yesterday, even though I know it’s impossible. Wish I had let Kayla talk me into staying in for birthday drinks with my friends. Could have woken up in my own bed, instead of.... whatever this is.

I keep straining, occasionally, to try and hear anything outside but... since the banging noise which originally woke me - I’ve heard nothing.

Wish I could hear some voices.

Someone.

Anyone.

Could be someone walking past.

Could be whoever put me in here.

I don’t care.

If it’s the first group, they might hear me and help me out of here. If it’s the actual people who put me here - they might have pity and let me out... oh, who am I trying to kid? If they managed to think about putting me  here in the first place, I’m sure they wouldn’t care if they heard my cries. Won’t care that I’ll die if left alone. Especially if it’s the same people who took my sister when she was sixteen - after what they put her through, this is tame.

“HELLO? ANYONE?” I called out.

My damned heart beating so hard it’s all I can hear.

“PLEASE! IF ANYONE IS OUT THERE! PLEASE! LET ME OUT!”

I paused.

Nothing...

Wait.

What was that? Sounded as though a door closed. A door?

I’m not underground?

Of course I’m not. I woke up to a tapping noise. Most likely caused by nails being driven into the lid, pinning it into place. I’ve heard nothing since. Certainly haven’t heard the sound of soil, or anything, landing on the lid.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

It’s not over yet.

I might still get out of here. For the first time, since waking up, I felt a little bit of hope wash through me. A little bit. Better than the feeling I previously had - no hope.

“HELLO! PLEASE! PLEASE! LET ME OUT!”

I waited, desperately hoping to hear someone outside again - if only to hear someone tell me to shut up. At least I’d know I wasn’t alone.

Nothing.

The sound of the door closing must have been them leaving.

Not necessarily a bad thing, though. Maybe they’ve gone to get the ransom money. My dad already come through and paid to get me back?

Maybe.

Hopefully.

There it is again; the wonderful feeling of ‘hope’.

Just need to be strong a little while longer.

“Nice and spacious, isn’t it?” said Kayla.

I turned my head to the side and was pleased to note I was no longer lying in the claustrophobic blackness of my prison. Instead, I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my brand new Mini - admiring the leather interior as the helium-filled balloons escaped into the atmosphere. Kayla was sat next to me. Oh good, another memory reminding me that everything used to be okay. More than okay.

“I can’t believe they bought you a car....” she said, running her fingers across the cold leather of the door’s interior. “I want a car!”

“You haven’t turned twenty-one yet,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll treat you just the same as they’ve treated me when the time comes!” Although, deep down, I’m sure they’ll treat her slightly better - not that I’m not grateful for this car.

I put the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine quietly purred to life. Nice.

“I can’t wait that long, you think they’ll let me have it early?” she asked. I gave her a look - one I hoped told her not to be impatient but... “Might talk to them in a couple of weeks,” she said.

My look failed.

“If they buy you a car now,” I said, “I want an expensive non-birthday present when you turn twenty-one too!”

“That won’t ever happen,” she said. “You’re not the favourite...” she laughed.

Blackness. Back in the cold box. Her words echoing through my mind ‘you’re not the favourite... you’re not the favourite... you’re not the favourite...’ meant in jest but taken literally in these circumstances.

“Well how much do they want?” I can hear my dad asking my mother, who has answered the telephone to the kidnappers.

“Half a million,” she’d say in a matter of fact tone. No emotion.

“Go back and offer them £250,000 and see what they say,” he’ll counter-offer.

Mum would turn her back to him, when she addresses the person on the other end of the phone. A couple of minutes will pass before they offer their own counter-offer which Mum will repeat to Dad as he controls the finances, “They said we could have half back, for that amount.”

“Well, that seems a fair compromise.”

I need to stay positive. I know I do but it’s hard. My mind is playing tricks on me; making me think Mum and Dad don’t love me enough to want to pay anything to get me back.

“In our defence, we have another child... you were always the practice run,” whispered Dad’s voice in my head. Not his voice. My imagination. My poisoned imagination - damaged by the situation it’s currently trying to deal with. It’s not my dad’s voice.

It’s not my dad’s voice.

Mum and Dad always try and treat Kayla and me fairly. What they do for one, they usually try and repeat for the second. On the rare occasions they don’t - neither Kayla nor I moan about it. We were both raised to appreciate what we’ve already got. Even so, I really, really hope this isn’t one of the occasions where they don’t treat us equally.

CHAPTER THREE

I reversed the car into a tight parking spot, in the McDonald’s car park, and switched the engine off. My sister passed me the large drink I ordered and the brown paper bag which contained my meal, having already taken her own food out; placing it on her lap.

“Thanks for taking me out today,” said Kayla. “I’ve enjoyed myself.”

I smiled. It was always nice to hear she had enjoyed herself doing something outside of the house. Even if we didn’t actually get round to leaving the car. I bit into my hamburger. Nothing like lining the stomach with garbage before what was likely to be a heavy night drinking with my university friends.

I swallowed my mouthful and tried her one more time, “You sure you don’t want to come with me tonight? Big group of us going,” I said. I thought she might feel safe in a large crowd. “It should be a laugh.”

She shook her head, “No, thanks. I won’t know anyone.”

One more push, “They’re a friendly bunch.”

“Maybe next time?”

I took the hint, “Sure.” I passed her my meal to hold onto, “Can you hold this a minute?”

“What’s wrong?”

I shifted uneasily in my chair - my legs felt as though they were trapped under the steering wheel.

“Just trying to get comfortable,” I said.

I shifted my bum in the seat, to the right, trying to maneuver my legs around the steering wheel but this just made me aware of the lack of space I had in the chair; my elbow hitting the door.

“There’s not much room in here, is there?” I tried to laugh it off but I could feel myself getting hot and bothered. I flicked the electric window switch but it didn’t do anything.

“Probably for the best,” said Kayla. “Noisy out there,” she pointed out into the car park where a group of lads were mucking about, sitting on the bonnet of their cars whilst they ate their cheap burgers.

“Just feel uncomfortable,” I said. I could feel the sweat starting to form on my forehead as the air got staler. Even the tightness of my wrist watch was starting to bother me as claustrophobia started to set in.

“Turn the air-con on,” suggested Kayla. She was getting irritated too but not because of the lack of space she had - if anything it looked as though she had more space on her side - but rather, she was getting annoyed by the fact she still had hold of my food. Her own food getting colder on her lap with each passing second of my growing frustration.

A few button presses later and I couldn’t get the air-con working either. The sweat now really dripping from my forehead. Each breath feeling hot and empty of anything even remotely worthy of being called oxygen. At least I can do something about the watch... I undid the clip on the strap and pulled it off my wrist, accidentally dropping it to the floor.

“Shit,” I leaned forward to pick it up to save losing it under the chair.

THUMP!

“SHIT!”

I had banged my head into the wooden lid of the box.

Kayla laughed.

I turned to give her one of my typical ‘fuck you’ looks. Back in the car.

“Hurry up and take this back,” she moaned as she waved my meal in my face. “Mine’s getting cold!”

“Sorry,” I reluctantly took it from her and rested it back on my lap - trying my best to ignore my imagined feeling of being cramped.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked.

“Just feel funny...”

“Probably nervous about tonight. You know what happens when you normally go drinking with your friends. One of you always ends up in trouble.”

‘One of you always ends up in trouble.’

‘One of you always ends up in trouble.’

I wonder why that’s the only part of the fractured memory to echo in the small confines of my wooden box.

“That’s why you should come out with me,” I said - choosing to ignore the echoing of her previous sentence.

“I can’t,” she turned away.

Okay, definitely don’t bring it up again. No reason to upset her.

“Do you think we’d both be in here?” she asked. She was lying next to me in the box now.

“What do you mean?”

“If I had chosen to come with you.... would we both have ended up in here?”

I didn’t answer her. Just turned away. Looked dead ahead. Up to where the lid would be - if I could see it in the darkness. It was hard to say whether we’d have both ended up in here. Hard to say considering I don’t know who it was who had even put me here in the first place. Maybe they’d have just taken me. Or, maybe, they’d have chosen to take Kayla - thinking of her as the weaker of the two potential victims.

Victim.

Is that what I am now?

“I’m sorry,” said Kayla. “Had I known....”

I turned back to her; to tell her not to apologise. After all, she’d done nothing wrong. None of this was her fault and I’d hate for her to think it was.

She wasn’t there.

Just a wooden wall made from what felt to be the thickest of timber.

“It’s not your fault, Kayla!” I said - on the off chance she could hear.

I wiped some sweat from my forehead. It’s hot as Hell in here. For all I know, this is Hell. I hope not. Eternity stuck here. So claustrophobic, everything is starting to annoy me. Even my shoes feel tight. Wiggling my toes, I can feel how sticky my socks are. I desperately want to get air to them. Get rid of my shoes, and socks, at least. But there isn’t enough room. Too cramped.  Can’t lift my feet, or move around enough, to be able to kick the shoes off. Even if I could... of all the days I tied a double-knot in my black and white Converse All-Stars. They’re not coming off. Just need to try and ignore them. Try and ignore the fact I even have feet.

Why is it - the more you can’t move... the more you want to.

I took a big gulp of hot air in. I knew I shouldn’t really but it felt as though it was the smart thing to do; like my body needed it. Craved it, even.

“How did you do it?” I asked Kayla, as I sat on the edge of the dirty bed in the near empty room. She was huddled in the corner of the room, shaking. Her own kidnapper having only just left the room, doing his flies up as he made his most-welcome exit.

Kayla didn’t answer me. Too busy crying. I stood up and walked over to her. My hand, on her shoulder, caused her to jump. “It’s okay,” I reassured her, “it’s just me.”

I felt guilty making her relive this moment, even if it was only in my head, but I wanted to know how she managed it. I needed to know. I thought, if I could understand how she survived her ordeal - I could learn how to survive mine.

“Why us?” I imagined her asking me through her tears.

I had asked myself the same question, many times, from the blackness of my Hell.

I watched, unseen from the corner of the room, as the masked man forced himself upon Kayla for the second time that day. I’d have done anything to have been there, when it really happened. Anything. Even now, I’d love nothing more than to find the cunt who was doing this so I could end his insignificant life.

It broke my heart to hear Kayla screaming for our mum. Sometimes Dad. I kept telling her that everything was going to be okay. Kept whispering, from the eternal black of my box, that there’d be a phone call soon promising what the kidnapper sought and that she’d be released. Back home with Mum, Dad and me. She’s screaming so loud, with each penetrative thrust, trying to push the man away. I can’t hear if she is whispering reassurance to me, too. Reassurance that there’d be a phone call soon and the lid would be removed. Maybe I should take Kayla to a happier place, in my memories... somewhere where it’s easier for her to give me the same reassurances that I had given her - even if it were after the fact.

“You never answered me,” she said from the comfort of the picnic blanket we had set up in the privacy of the family garden. She lay down on her back, looking up to the sky, and took a deep breath of the fresh air.

“What’s that?” I asked as I lay down next to her. I too took a deep breath. Stale. Musty. Not pleasant.

She took another bite from her sandwich, “Why us?”

I took a bite from my sandwich; disappointed there was no taste other than the stale air I’d just breathed in. Ignore it.

“I don’t know,” I told her. I don’t know. I hadn’t chosen to ignore her question earlier, when she asked the same thing. I honestly had no idea why these people kept picking on our family. Sure, it was well known that our father had money. He was involved in so many different companies it was impossible for people not to know. And some of the companies were global. Multi-million pound companies.

“There’s lots of rich folk in London,” said Kayla. “Why’d they choose our family again?”

Why they chose our family the first time - when Kayla was taken on her way home from school... I don’t know. Someone spotted an opportunity, I guess. She was walking home, by herself. A thin, pretty little girl dressed in a school uniform... The world can be a sick place. But that is only a guess. I’ll never know why they originally targeted Kayla.

It was obvious why they targeted me, though. If Dad had paid once, to get one child back, he’d more than likely pay again to get the second back.

Dad passed me a cup of lemonade. Never been so grateful to see a drink in my whole life. Ice-cold lemonade bubbling away in a tall glass.

“Would you pay, son? If you were me? I’m not made of money...”

As I took the glass out of his hand - I could see his skin was literally made of money. A collage made from different denominations of notes: tens, twenties and even fifties.

“You can’t leave me here, Dad.... please…,” I begged. I took a swig from the glass. No lemonade. Just more stale air. Same repulsive taste. Fuck my imagination. Fuck my memories. If he is leaving me here; if this is to be - why can’t Death just come and get it over with?

No.

Don’t think that.

Kayla lay down, next to me, in the box. Even more cramped now. “Don’t worry,” she said. “They’ll pay. I’ll ask them too. I’ll tell them I want you for my twenty-first birthday. Wrapped up...”

I started to cry again.

Why is my mind being so cruel to me?

CHAPTER FOUR

Lying in a tight-fitting wooden box on the centre of the dinner table with Mum, Dad and Kayla sitting around me enjoying their dinner - I was pleased to hear Kayla telling Mum and Dad how much she missed me. Enjoying her steak, with chips, she even looked as though she’d been crying.

Steak and chips.

My favourite.

Why’d they have to eat that when I’m not there? Mum knows it’s my favourite. I wonder, did she cook it because she was subconsciously thinking of me? I say subconsciously because, now, whilst eating her dinner - she’s half watching the television in the far corner of the room.

“Don’t forget you have four lifelines,” I heard the presenter say.

“It’s Taphophobia,” said Mum, speaking over Kayla.

“What is?” asked Dad. Dad spun around in his chair to see what Mum was referring to.

The question, on the television game show, was asking for the name of the fear of being buried alive. Choices given were Arachnophobia, Vertigo, Taphophobia and Coulrophobia.

“Are you listening to me?” Kayla asked - still championing my corner.

“It’s Coulrophobia,” Dad corrected Mum.

“No, that’s the fear of clowns. I’m sure it’s Taphophobia - although, it’s not always spelt like that.”

I’m sure none of this is happening. I remember how Mum and Dad reacted to the news Kayla had been taken. It was nothing like this. They were crying. Even Dad. First, and only, time I’d ever seen him cry. I remember hearing them both pacing at night, until Kayla was back with us. Muffled voices comforting each other through the thin walls in our large, country house. So why is my mind making me think they’re behaving this way now? It’s almost as though I’m trying to prepare myself to die in here. Stopping me from building my hopes up.

“I’d like to phone a friend,” said the unknown contestant on the television channel. In my mind he wore a black ski-mask to protect his identity from the cameras filming the show. Is he my kidnapper?

Ringing....

What’s that?

A phone?

I reached into my trouser pocket and wiggled my body around, as much as I could, until I freed a phone from the depths. How’d that get in there? One of the first things I did - when I woke up in here and after I had my initial panic - was to reach for my mobile phone. Missing along with my black, leather wallet.

Not my phone - I don’t recognise it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is that Todd Swinson?” asked the voice down the other end of the phone.

“Speaking,” I whispered.

“The offer from the banker is two hundred and fifty thousand pounds,” said the presenter. A different game show on the television now, the host looking out of the camera, directly to where I lay in my box. “That’s a life changing amount of money,” the presenter continued. “What would you do with it?”

From here, there’s nothing I can do with it. Nothing. I need five hundred thousand pounds. I looked beyond the presenter, on the screen, to see there were two boxes left, unopened, from the game show. One had five hundred thousand pounds and the other had a pound. The banker’s offer was generous but two hundred and fifty wasn’t enough. If I risked it, I might have the five hundred thousand.... enough to pay off the kidnapper. Enough to go home. Two boxes. One decision.

The box, on a small table next to the presenter - the one I got to go home with if I turned the banker down had the number twenty-one on it. The other box, with Kayla now standing behind it, had her age.

“Would the banker let me swap boxes?” I said, softly, down the telephone - desperately trying to stay calm despite the soaring temperature of my own box fraying the last of my nerves.

The presenter made out as though he were exchanging words with someone down the other end of another telephone before he came back to me.

“He has agreed to a swap.”

“I’d like to swap the boxes then, please....” My sister had, so far, been on my side. I only hoped the box in front of her was also on my side.

The presenter took the box, with the number twenty-one on it, and walked to where Kayla was stood - on the screen - and exchanged it for the box she was guarding.

“Good luck,” wished Kayla.

“You have turned the banker’s offer of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds down... in a brave move you want to go for the full five hundred. You’ve already said, at the start of the show, you’d buy your freedom with the money.... Now the question is, have you bought your freedom.... or have you sentenced yourself to death?”

Music played, through the television, in a vague attempt to build even more tension up - not that it were needed on my part...

“You’ve been a tremendous contestant and I really do wish you.... the best of luck,” said the presenter. He pulled the small, red security tag from the box and lifted the lid. Music signalling, before I could even see the amount written on the lid, I had lost out on the big prize. The audience groaned with displeasure - obviously all wishing I was going to score the needed cash.

“NO!” I screamed. More tears. “NO!” I lashed out, as best I could, and hit the lid of the coffin. First with my left hand and then with the right. I couldn’t see, in the blackness, whether my hands were doing any damage as I continually slammed them against the lid but I could feel that they were sustaining it. Each punch causing my hand to throb that little bit more. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “PLEASE, LET ME OUT OF HERE! PLEASE!”

I can’t take much more.

Is this what happens? You slip into a kind of madness before you suffocate?

I don’t want to die.

I’m not ready.

“It’s okay,” whispered Kayla. She was next to me in my box again. Lying comfortably on her right side, her face resting in the palm of her right hand. A twinge of jealousy washed through me. I’d give anything to be able to roll into that position right now. Anything. “I heard Dad talking about the money - how he needs to move things around but they should have it by morning.”

It sounds like something Dad would say.

“Really?” I asked, immediately feeling myself calm a little.

A little.

Kayla nodded.

“I want to come home now.” I said - a slight crack in my voice.

“Try and stay calm,” she said, “I know it’s hard but you have to.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. But you have to trust me.”

I just tried that.

Walked away with a pound.

She did her best to give me a smile - no doubt it was meant to offer me some form of comfort. I wonder, when she was in that room, I wonder whether I had been there for her - offering her the same sort of support. I wonder whether I was any better at comforting her than she, in my mind, is at comforting me?

I hope so.

I was lying in a medium-sized pit on a sandy beach. It had taken Kayla and I ages to dig down deep enough for me to be able to jump down so it looked as though I was waist-deep in sand to anyone watching from a distance. Mum had occasionally helped with the digging but was always quick to give up so she could return to the shade of the umbrella we had brought with us, where she was happy to continue reading her book. I don’t blame her. It was hot. Real hot. One of the hottest days of the Summer Holiday, from what I remember.

The air’s stale. I’m not sure if that’s part of the memory or a trace of reality which has slipped into my fragmented thought.

“Can you bring me over a drink?” I called over to Mum. I couldn’t go myself - stuck down in this hole whilst Kayla was busy filling it back in again with sand.

Mum didn’t hear me - too engrossed in whatever romantic novel she was thumbing through this time.

“Do you have any idea what happened last night?” asked Kayla as she shovelled more sand back down into the pit. I shook my head. “Anything at all? Something that might help you figure out where you are or who has you?”

“I don’t remember.”

I followed the contents of Kayla’s spade, fine pieces of sand, down to where she tipped them. Strange, a minute ago the sand was only knee high. Now it’s up to my armpits. I tried to wiggle around but was stuck fast.

“What about your friends? Where’d they go?” she asked, tipping more sand to where I was buried.

“I don’t know.”

“Todd??!” A voice shouted my name from somewhere further down the beach. “Todd?!” It sounded as though it was coming from behind Kayla. I peered around her to see if I could see anyone... There, by the water and looking lost, my friends from last night. Still dressed in their going out clothes.

I strained to hear what they were saying, “Where the fuck did he go?”

“I don’t know, I thought he was with you guys...”

“Jesus, Ben, I said watch him... I’ve never seen him so drunk...”

I turned my attention back to Kayla. She had dropped the spade and was taking a nice long sip from a can of Coke. Cold condensation running down the can.

“I must have lost them,” I said to her.

She finished the drink and crunched the can up before setting it aside. My heart sank. No more cans near her - was kind of hoping she’d have saved me some.

I tried to move in the sand but was stuck fast, “Can you get me out of here?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I wish I could...”

I was back in the box.

CHAPTER FIVE

I think I prefer it in here, my little box, compared to being trapped in the sand in just another broken memory. On the beach, I felt so close to freedom. So close to being out of this nightmare, yet I still couldn’t get free. It felt more torturous to be trapped there with the sense of freedom to be had at any given moment compared to stuck in here where everything seems so hopeless.

“You should try and remain hopeful,” said Kayla, from where she lay next to me.

I shook my head.

“What’s the point of kidding myself? No one is coming.”

“Mum and Dad are coming.”

“They aren’t.”

“They are. They wouldn’t just leave you in here. You know they wouldn’t.”

“You’re Dad’s favourite...”

“Doesn’t come into it. Both of us are his flesh and blood. Do you really think he’d leave any of us in here? What’s he done to make you think he hates you so much?”

He was never there for me.

Business first.

Kayla second.

Me - never.

“They’re coming,” Kayla repeated. “Just hang in there.”

Nothing else to do but hang in there.

“Ssh.... listen.... can you hear?” she suddenly said.

I tried not to move. Just listened. Footsteps. Voices. Can’t make out whose voices but definitely voices. There’s someone in the room. So consumed by my memories and imagined conversations with Kayla that I had failed to hear the door open.

“MUM?! DAD?! I’M DOWN HERE! PLEASE! LET ME OUT OF HERE! IT’S HARD TO BREATHE!”

I stopped and waited for a response.

Nothing.

Couldn’t even hear anyone out there now.

Had I missed whoever it was? Had they left already, whilst I was shouting?

A single footstep.

No.

They’re still up there.

“HELLO?!”

I waited for a response again.

Come on.

Anything.

Even if it’s someone telling me to quieten down.

Suddenly I felt something thump against either side of the box, down by my feet. A split second later and a strange sensation as though I had been lifted to a forty-five degree angle; my feet higher than my head. A thump on either side of the box, next to my head, and I felt my body level out again.

Muffled voices.

Not Mum and Dad.

“HELLO?! PLEASE! PLEASE LET ME OUT OF HERE! WHATEVER YOU WANT, I’LL GET IT FOR YOU!”

My body rocked back and forth as I was, I presume, walked to another part of the room. My cries for help, and to be let out, ignored - to the best of my knowledge - although it was hard to hear what was being said.

I stopped rocking.

Have we stopped?

I haven’t felt as though I’ve been put down again.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! HELLO?! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!”

Can they hear me?

My body suddenly lifted itself from where it lay on the box. I felt as though I were weightless. The weirdest of sensa.....

I slammed back down onto the back of the box. The wind knocked from me. My head banging so hard against the wood I got an instant headache.

What the fuck was all that about?

Kayla turned to me, from the darkness, and whispered, “Stay calm, they’re coming....”

“When?” I asked.

I didn’t hear a response from her. Instead I heard the strange sound of something hitting the lid of the box. As though thousands of small stones were raining over me at once.

What is that?!

“HELLO! PLEASE! I’M ALIVE IN HERE!”

“Mum and Dad are coming for you, I promise,” Kayla repeated. “Don’t waste your breath...”

“What is that noise?” I asked her.

“Dirt. Whoever is up there... They’re filling the hole...”

“No... no....” I started to cry. The familiar, unwelcome, feeling of panic washing over me once more. “I don’t want them to... please.... make them stop.... please...”

“I wish I could,” whispered Kayla’s voice from the darkness.

“I’m scared,” I told her. My legs... arms.... everything shaking.

“Everything will be okay.”

“How did you survive what you went through? I can’t do this...”

“You can do this. You have to do this. What else is there to do down here?”

Die.

I don’t want to die yet.

I want to see my mummy.

“PLEAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs - my voice cracking through my tears of worry and stress.

The sound of the dirt spilling over the lid was getting softer. Can only presume that’s because the dirt is so high now. The strain of it causing the lid of my wooden box to creak. What if it comes through?

“It won’t,” Kayla promised.

But what if?

She didn’t answer me.

“I think they’ve gone,” I whispered.

I waited, in the darkness - hoping to hear something. Anything. Even if they were the ones who put me down here - buried me - I’d rather they were nearby.

Better than being left alone.

“You’re not alone,” said Kayla. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

She nodded, “And you? You won’t go anywhere?”

I shook my head.

“I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

I sat down, on the dirty bed, next to her and put my arm around her.

Kayla sat bolt upright in the bed, making me jump - her eyes fixed intently on the thick, wooden door. A ‘click’ from the locking mechanism as a key was turned from within.

The door swung open with much force - just as it always did - banging hard against the wall. I presumed the kidnappers always opened the door in such a violent manner to remind Kayla how powerful they were.... or, to catch her if she were stood close by - ready to try and make a run for it.

She never did stand by the door.

I stood up and stepped to one side. No point trying to get in the way. I know I’m not really here. I know where I am. If I were here - I’d have swung for them. I’d have done anything to protect my sister. Anything.

“Please, no more....” she started to cry.

The large, masked man walked to the end of the bed and simply stared at her. He made no attempt to make a move on her, much to my relief.

“It’s your lucky day,” he said. “Home time....”

Kayla didn’t move. She stayed there, huddled in a small curled up ball. I expect she felt it was a trick. A cruel trick to get her to lower her defences so he could make a move.

“Come on, bitch, we don’t have all day....” The kidnapper raised his voice.

Quick to anger.

Kayla flinched.

“You’re going home, Kayla, it’s going to be okay,” I said.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered - unheard by the kidnapper.

“Fucking move it!” the man shouted. He leant forward and grabbed Kayla by her ankle and dragged her towards him. As soon as she was close enough, he scooped her from the bed and threw her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing.

She screamed.

I went to make a move - my protective instincts kicking in.

“You want to go home or not?”

The kidnapper carried her over to, and out of, the door - slamming it shut behind him.

Once again, I was alone in my box.

If they let Kayla go, I’m sure they’ll let me go too.

“See,” whispered Kayla from the darkness, “everything will be okay.”

Did my spirits really just raise a little?

If Mum and Dad are coming...

... if the kidnappers do let me go...

... what am I supposed to do whilst I wait?

Just lie here?

I feel helpless.

“There’s nothing you can do,” said Kayla. “You’ve already tried...”

I had tried.

When I woke up in here, it was the first thing I did.

“Just try and calm your breathing down,” she said. “Try and save some of the air...”

The air.

I wonder how much air is left.

CHAPTER SIX

I wiped my face of sweat, banging my elbow on the side of the box in the process. So thirsty. I’d give anything for a drink right now. A drink and a mouthful of fresh, cool air.

It’s definitely hotter in here now, under whatever rubble has been thrown on top. I feel tired. Exhausted. The same kind of sleepiness that washes over you when you lie in a sunspot.

“Go to sleep if you’re tired,” said Mum.

“I can’t.”

“You can barely keep your eyes open. The rest will do you good.”

“What if I don’t wake up?” My eyes welled up once more.

“You will,” she whispered.

Lying in my childhood bed - shaped like a red racing car - my Mum turned around and tucked me in, under my cartoon character duvet. I caught a glimpse of myself, in a mirror on the opposite side of the room. I look as though I’m five years old.

“I don’t want the blanket,” I moaned. “It’s hot in here.”

Mum ignored me. I hated the way she tucked me in. The duvet covered me up to my neck and was tucked into the sides of the bed - making it feel almost impossible to move.

She flicked to the last few pages of a book she collected from the bookcase and began to read, “Say! I like green eggs and ham! I do!! I like them, Sam-I-am! And I would eat them in a boat! And I would eat them with a goat... And I will eat them in the rain. And in the dark. And on a train. And in a car. And in a tree. They are so good so good you see! So I will eat them in a box.....”

I opened my eyes.

Back in my box.

Must have dozed off.

No green eggs and ham. No Mum. Nothing.

“I’m here,” whispered Kayla. I couldn’t see her. In the dark, I presume.

“I thought you’d gone,” I said.

“I told you, I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“I’m scared,” I said, again, knowing full well I’m starting to sound like a broken record. Round and round in circles, repeating the same lines again and again.

“You’re doing so well,” said Mum.

Sat in a dentist chair. Six years old. Mum is stood next to me holding my hand.

“What sticker do you think you’ll choose?” she asked.

I looked to the wall, on my left, where the stickers were displayed.

“I like the Popeye one,” I said.

The dental nurse stood, from where she was sat just behind me, and fetched my sticker. I thanked her and realised I was back in the box.

Broken memories are taking over from reality more and more - just not lasting as long. I wish they would last longer, though. Keep me away from the box. I wonder, is this what people are referring to when they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die?

“You’re not going to die,” said Kayla.

I walked over to Kayla, in her bedroom, and sat with her on the edge of her bed. Mum and Dad had just left the room - having made a massive fuss over her; happy to see her back - just as I was.

“I missed you,” I said. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

She didn’t respond.

“Did you think you were going to die?” an insensitive thing to ask. I’m sure - when this really happened - I didn’t ask this question. I’m sure I had actually left the room with Mum and Dad, to give her some space and let her rest but... like I said - broken memories.

“No,” said Kayla. “You had told me you wouldn’t let me die. You promised me everything would be okay and it was...”

I smiled.

“And, now, I’m promising you everything is going to be okay,” she went on.

“And it will be,” I said.

“I’m sure Mum and Dad are coming for you right now, they’ll be here soon...”

“Can you tell them I don’t want to talk about this when they get here... I just want to go home. I’m not ready to talk to anyone.”

“The police will want to know what happened,” said Kayla.

“But I don’t know what happened. I told you. I don’t remember.”

“Try and remember,” she said. “It could help the police capture whoever did this to you... I know it’s hard... but you must try and remember....”

“What if I can’t?”

I was stood at the nightclub bar; leaning against it for support as my legs felt numb. Shouldn’t have tried to keep up with my friends. They always drink me under the table. A strange sensation - I know, from the way I’m slumped - I’m drunk yet... my brain is firing on all cylinders. I feel aware of everything going on around me.

“I can’t believe you wanted to bring me here,” shouted Kayla as she came over and stood with me, “it’s a cattle market!”

“It’s not that bad.”

A lie. This club was one of the worst cattle markets in the town but there was a reason for that - the women, who frequented this place over other clubs, were less inclined to turn down a drink when offered. Sure, my uni friends and I knew a drink didn’t necessarily mean you were going home with anyone - but it sure helped your chances.

“How do you even talk to anyone here? It’s so loud!”

I’d forgotten Kayla had never been to a nightclub before. She hardly visited pubs either, only on the rare occasions Mum and Dad took us out for a cheap pub meal - a trip out normally instigated by Mum who’d be too tired to cook.... or, at the very least, aware she had nothing in the cupboards worth eating.

“You get used to it,” I shouted back, leaning in close to her.

“Look...” Kayla pointed over my shoulder, “.... someone likes you.”

I followed her gaze to a woman standing at the far end of the bar. Nice, short black dress, shoulder length hair. Cleavage definitely put on display. I can’t tell if it’s fake, boosted by padding or real....

“Fake,” said Kayla.

I shrugged.

“You think she has anything to do with what happened?” asked Kayla.

“Not sure.”

Now I see her, stood there, I do recall seeing her in the club when I was here. Can’t recall if I spoke to her, though.

Back in the box, Kayla urged me to try and remember.

“So what if she does come over and start talking to me?” I said. “Who’s to say the memory is real? Unbroken?”

Kayla didn’t have an answer for me. She knew just as much as I did, if not more so, that my memories were betraying me with how fragmented they were. Hard to say what’s real and what’s not anymore. Part of me even believes Kayla really is here with me. I know she isn’t but... it’s a lie I’m willing, and grateful, to accept. Made more comforting with the knowledge Kayla is actually safe and sound at home.

“It’s getting harder to breathe,” I said.

“I know,” said Kayla, “just concentrate on trying to remember....”

I changed the subject, tired of trying to remember that which seemed lost to me, “You never gave me a proper answer.”

“About what?”

“How did you survive?”

She gave me a sympathetic smile, “I didn’t.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I turned to Kayla only to find myself stood outside, next to a coffin, in a graveyard; a funeral in progress. Kayla stood next to me, watching the coffin with tears in her eyes.

“Am I in there?” I asked.

“No. I am.”

“What?”

“You can’t be. You’re at home.”

She shook her head. I turned around to see who was at the funeral; Mum and Dad weeping, me in my late teens. Kayla’s school friends. Some of her teachers. The hot, stale air now tinged with sadness.

“No. I remember taking you for a drive in my car.... I remember. You even came in and woke me up on my twenty-first birthday...”

“You said it yourself. Broken memories.”

“No, this is a broken memory. This is the damaged one....”

She shook her head, “I wish it were.”

I ran over to the coffin and pulled the lid from the top. No body inside. Just a hole leading to what looked like a bedroom - I can see Kayla in there lying on the bed naked and crying.

I turned to the people watching the funeral to see if anyone was coming to stop me but no one was. They weren’t even moving. A vicar, stood near the coffin, wasn’t even reading from The Bible anymore - it was as though the Earth had stood still. I turned back to gazing into the room and climbed into the coffin.... dropping down onto the bed next to Kayla.

“Dad paid,” I said as I slipped my arm around her. “You came home.”

“He didn’t pay,” she said.

“You’re his favourite!” I protested. “Of course he paid! He paid and you came home.”

“You think I was his favourite, I wasn’t. He didn’t have favourites. It appears to you, that way, now because he simply misses me. He never forgave himself...”

“No. You’re wrong.”

The door to the bedroom swung open with force and slammed against the wall causing the plaster to crack. A man, no longer wearing a mask, with a blurred face stormed in and grabbed Kayla. I jumped up and took a swing for him but my fist merely passed right through. Clearly a memory I’m not to change.

Kayla barely registered when the man forced himself upon her, grunting as he slid inside of her. Instead, she continued to talk to me as though nothing was happening, “There was nothing to pay.”

“There was. A ransom.... Dad paid it.”

I was crying uncontrollably. Upset by the confused state of my brain and the fact I could do nothing to stop this man from raping my sister.

“You were supposed to pick her up!” I heard Mum shout out from behind me.

I spun around to see Mum yelling at Dad, in the corner of the room, watching the blurred man fucking their daughter. Both in tears.

“This isn’t right!” I screamed.

Mum didn’t hear me, just carried on shouting at Dad, “You were supposed to pick her up! If you had collected her on time - none of this would have happened...” She was hitting him, open palmed, in the chest. Dad barely flinched. Didn’t try stopping her - just continued to watch his daughter.

I turned back to Kayla, “This is the broken memory.... they let you go... the kidnappers let you go.... They got their money!”

The man suddenly moaned out loud, as he pulled Kayla close against him. I turned away. Back in the box. I think I prefer it in here. Kayla is lay down next to me.

“There was no ransom. He was just a pervert.”

“But I remember you coming home...”

“What you want to remember. Your mind clutching at anything to give you some hope that everything’s going to be okay.”

It’s coming back to me; Dad was meant to pick Kayla up from one of her many after-school clubs that day but got caught up in a meeting. I’m not sure how long she would have waited for him at the school gate before giving up and deciding to walk home.

They found her in the woods.

“I couldn’t save you.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“I’m not getting out of here, am I?” I whimpered - my voice cracking.

“I made you a promise.”

“Even if I do get out of here, what sort of state will my mind be in?”

“There’ll be an adjustment period, no doubt,” said Kayla. “You’ll be fine...”

“And you’ll be gone?”

“Only because you’re too slow to catch me.”

Kayla peddled off, up the street I suddenly found myself in, on her little pink bike. I gave her the briefest of head starts before giving chase. Every weekend, in the summer, was the same - chasing each other on our bikes.  Bought for us as Christmas presents one year. She’d always pedal as fast as she could and I’d go at about half-speed, just to give her a bit of a chance to get away.

This memory was different, though. I peddled as fast as I could. I didn’t want to lose her, not now.

Not now.

What if I can’t find her again?

She slammed on her brakes, at the end of the street, and skidded to a halt. I stopped next to her.

“Remember when we used to attach playing cards to the spokes of our bikes to make them sound like they had motors?” Kayla said.

I smiled but wasn’t really listening to her. I pulled her back into my box with me.

“What if I don’t want to get out?” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to stay with you.”

“You can’t.”

“I want to.”

“You know I’m not really here. I’m here because your mind wants me to be.”

“I could come to where you are.”

“Doesn’t work like that.”

“It might.”

“It’s not your time.”

“I feel like it is.”

“You just need to remember....”

“Remember what?”

“Anything that might help you piece together what happened.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You’re already starting... just, you’re starting in the wrong places. Concentrate on last night.”

“I can’t.”

“Go back to the bar.”

I’m stood in the bar. The pretty girl in the black dress is walking towards me, a smile on her face. I’d try to walk towards her but my legs still feel numb. I turned to Kayla who was stood next to me, “This is pointless.”

“Where are your friends?” asked Kayla.

I looked around - wasn’t long before I spotted them on the dance floor, showing their appreciation for the tunes by throwing some weird ‘dance’ moves.

“This is pointless,” I said again. “If you weren’t kidnapped... I wasn’t either.... whoever put me in here... whoever it was... they don’t want me alive. I’m just a victim. Like you.”

Kayla looked hurt by my words.

“I wasn’t a victim,” she said. “I never gave them the satisfaction.”

“Hi,” said the woman in black. “How’d you fancy buying me a drink?”

“Excuse me a minute, would you...” I said to the figment of my memory.

I took Kayla back into the darkness of the hot, sweaty box.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Why are you doing this?” I asked Kayla.

“Doing what?”

“Getting my hopes up. I’m dead already. My mind just hasn’t accepted it yet because you won’t let me.”

“No, you’re not. And no, I won’t. I won’t let you give up.”

“It’s prolonging the inevitable.”

“You have to trust me. They’re coming.”

“How are they? I might have believed that earlier - when I thought I was being held for ransom but.... now.... they probably don’t even know there’s a fucking problem...”

I grabbed the nightclub bar and steadied myself.

“What’s wrong?” asked Kayla.

“Dizzy.”

“Time’s running out.”

“Why am I back here? Just let me die...”

“I won’t give up on you - even if you want to give up on yourself. I won’t let you.”

“Are you okay?” came a voice from behind me.

I spun around and was confronted with the pretty girl in the black dress.

“I think I might have drunk a bit too much,” I slurred.

“I’ve got the perfect thing to help you,” she smiled. “Here....”

She wrapped her dainty arm around my own arm and walked me across the crowded dance floor towards the VIP area at the back of the club. It’s times like these I wish I were a pretty girl, who looked stunning in a black dress. She walked across the dance floor and people seemed to clear a path for her. Even with me on her arm, these very same people seemed to enjoy shoulder barging me and getting in my way. One of the busiest nightclubs; not really a place to visit if you get claustrophobic easily.

Better than a box, though. But only just.

I turned around to see if Kayla was following but she was nowhere to be seen - neither were my dancing friends.

I half-expected to be turned away at the VIP area, by the large burly bouncer, but he simply pulled the barrier across to grant us access.

“Over here,” came a voice I recognised from the corner of the various booths.

I turned in the voice’s direction and saw it belonged to my dad. He waved me over. As I approached the booth, he stood up to allow me the opportunity to sit down next to him - which I took. Wish I hadn’t. No sooner had I sat down, and he took his seat again, I felt trapped.

“You’re worrying your mother,” he said.

Stern voice.

Great.

Lecture time.

“Your behaviour....”

I feel drunk but am trying to act sober. The girl in the black dress has gone.

“.... you come home drunk most nights, if you come home at all. You’ve  been getting more and more reckless since...”

“Since you didn’t pick Kayla up,” I interrupted him.

He didn’t say anything but I could tell my comment hit home. There was a slight pause before he pointed towards another booth. I followed his finger and saw my friends on the other table - with me sat between them... We were chopping up white powder into long, thin lines. My friend on the right of the table rolled up a bank note and snorted the first line up.

I turned back to Dad.

“You’re killing your mother,” he said.

I don’t need this. A lecture. Again.

I turned away from my dad; back in my box.

Alone.

“Kayla?”

She wasn’t there.

I remember the talk now. Between my father and me. That memory, sadly unbroken. He was sat with me, in my bedroom, telling me how I was upsetting my mum, and him, with my actions. Since Kayla had... gone... my behaviour had been getting more and more reckless. I wasn’t doing it on purpose to upset them. I didn’t even realise that was what I was doing. Just.... did it. Tried most alcoholic drinks.... most.... substances... to help me try and numb the pain of losing Kayla. I remember that talk with Dad alright. Hurts me to think how much I’ve upset them. They had lost one child and felt as though they were losing another.

And now look where I am.

Stuck in a fucking hole.

Jesus, how long have I been down here now? Can’t even taste the stale air anymore. I tried to turn onto my side. Not sure how long I’ve been here but... however long it is, my back feels numb. Can just about lie on my side. It’s not the most comfortable of positions but, even so, it’ll do for a bit - just until I get some feeling back into my back.

“Was that your girlfriend?” asked Mum.

Didn’t realise she was in here with me now.

“Who?” I asked - already feeling my cheeks start to flush. I hate these talks with my mum.

“That pretty young girl you were with in the night club.”

Not a real memory. I never told my mum about the girl I met in the night club. I never had the chance. Mind you - had I made it back home... I probably still wouldn’t have mentioned her existence to my family. Maybe my sister...

What am I talking about?

She’s dead. My cruel imagination let me believe she were alive and well again. Stress of the situation, I guess.

“What’s her name?” my mum asked from the dark shadows of my imagination.

“I don’t know.”

What was her name?

I was sat opposite the pretty girl, back in the tight booths of the night club’s VIP area. She was smiling at me, I was smiling back - have no idea why. Is this a real memory?

“Well?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said by reflex. I had no idea what she was referring to but my mind seemed happy enough to go along with it. Back in my box, I’m trying to remember if this actually happened or not. Was this a part of my birthday evening? The more I see the woman.... the more familiar she’s becoming.

She reached down between her cleavage and pulled a small clear bag from between her breasts. Two blue, round tablets. She opened the bag and tipped them into the palm of her hand.

“One each,” she said, with a giggle.

I took one of the pills from her open hand, leaving her to neck the one I left behind. We both swallowed at the same time. The first time I’ve tried Ecstasy; my friends and I normally choosing to go with cocaine, on a night out.... or marijuana if we were to be staying in.

“Now what?” I slurred.

“We wait....”

“TODD! TODD!”

Someone shouting my name. Loud music. Did I even hear them or did I sense them calling me?

I turned in the direction of the voice.

One of my friends, standing at the barrier which separated the VIP section from the rest of the club.

“WHAT YOU DOING?!”

Can barely hear him over the loud thumping bass of the music, even with his shouting. Regardless, I gestured over to the girl I had just met, who gave my friend a little wave. My friend gave me a thumbs up - I’m guessing for how pretty my new friend was - and disappeared back into the crowded dance floor of the club’s main room.

“Did you want to dance?” asked the girl.

I nodded.

“Your friends didn’t leave you,” said Kayla, back in the discomfort of my little box.

“I wondered where you had gone,” I said to her after she pulled me from my memory.

“Gave you the space you needed to help you remember.”

Space.

I need more than just metaphorical ‘space’.

“You remember now? The girl...”

“We were dancing.”

“You were.”

“My friends were with me.”

Kayla nodded, “They never left you. Come on.... Mum and Dad are close.”

“Why can’t you just tell me...”

“I told you - you need to remember... you were dancing...”

CHAPTER NINE

I was dancing with the girl in the black dress. She certainly knew how to move. Tempted to ask if she dances professionally but I feared she’d take it the wrong way - probably end up worried that I’d think she’s a stripper, or something.

My friend approached me and passed me a bottle of water. He shouted, “You need to keep hydrated!” I nodded and twisted the cap off the bottle before I took a sip from it.

As soon as I put the lid back on the bottle, I stopped dancing; just froze to the spot. I wasn’t the only one to freeze either. Everyone in the club did - as though, for a second, time had stood still.

“I remember,” I said. “I know who took me from the club....”

“Who...”

Back in the box.

I remember the paramedics.

The worried voices of my friends - calling out to me.

I remember how desperate I was to answer them and yet I couldn’t respond.

Couldn’t let them know I was okay.

I remember the ambulance.

Sirens wailing through the dead of the night.

One of my best friends, sat in the back of the ambulance, frantically trying to make a call on his mobile; trying to call my mum. I wanted to tell him not to. I wanted to tell him everything was okay. I wanted to. But I couldn’t.

Couldn’t answer anything.

I even remember trying to sit up but, that too, proved impossible.

After that - I remember waking up in this box...

I turned to Kayla.

“What happened?” I asked.

I cast my mind back to being in the back of the ambulance again. One of the paramedics was fussing over me as the other drove the van back to the hospital, at some speed.

Remembering more now...

At the time, I was more concerned with trying to communicate with my friend - stop him from calling my mother and worrying her but I still managed to pick up bits and pieces of what the paramedic was saying; what he suspected had happened after my friends told him about the Ecstasy I had taken...

Hyponatremia.

Something about drinking too much fluid. Not sure whether that was true or not - I was drinking anything and everything people passed to me. I remember him explaining, to my worried friend, that drinking too much fluid could cause the brain to swell and the person to slip into a coma....

A coma...

So that’s where I am now...

The darkness.

The box....

My personal prison.

My coma.

“Mum and Dad are waiting for you,” Kayla whispered from the darkness.

If I’m in a coma then I’m not in the box.

I’m not here.

I’m not trapped.

I pushed, once more, on the lid and - this time - it lifted away from the box.

Nothing on top.

No dirt.

No stones.

No weight.

Nothing.

I sat up - grateful to be able to move freely again. The box had been dropped down a hole, which I still had to climb from, but I didn’t care. Looking up, I could see sky.

Bright, blue sky.

I could see....

Mum and Dad leaned into the hole.

“Don’t you leave us,” my mum sobbed, “I can’t lose another....”

My dad put his arm around her. He, too, was crying.

“Mum? Dad?”

Instantly I started to cry again; unable to control my emotions. I’m not free yet but it was so good to ‘see’ them.

“Mum! Dad!” I reached up to them but they didn’t reach down for me. “Please - help me out of here! Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

I pressed my hands against either side of the hole’s mud walls....

“Please, wake up.... please....” my mum wept.

My left foot against the left hand wall.... I lifted myself from the box by placing my right foot against the other side of the wall...

“Don’t go anywhere! I’m coming! Please! I’m sorry! I love you!”

One at a time, I carefully shifted my hands a little further up the wall.  When they felt secure, I move my feet up a little further too... Again, when I felt as though I was secure, and not about to fall back down into the box, I moved up the wall a little further - using the same method.

Dad pulled Mum away from the hole’s entrance so they were both out of sight. My heart sank but I was a little relieved I could hear my mum crying still. They were still there. They hadn’t gone anywhere.

“I’m coming!” I shouted again - desperate for them to hear me.

Finally at the top of the hole, I used my last bit of strength to pull myself clear from it - once and for all. Air had never tasted fresher. The sky had never seemed so clear and blue... so peaceful.... so.....

A gravestone - next to the hole where I was buried.

Kayla

In Loving Memory

I shut my eyes.

Don’t want to see it.

Don’t want to acknowledge it.

Why would my subconscious have put me there?

Ignore it.

I can’t ignore it.

It happened.

Need to deal with it.

Need to learn to live with it.

Accept it.

“I’m sorry, Kayla,” I whispered as I desperately fought back yet more tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Open your eyes,” she said. Her tone of voice was quiet... peaceful... Angelic, almost. “Open your eyes.”

Slowly, I opened them.

“Todd? Todd?” said Mum. Her voice excited.

“Son?” Dad’s voice too. “Can you hear us?”

Fuzzy outline of my parents and various pieces of hospital equipment. I tried to move but, so many cables... so many wires... I felt trapped. Tried to speak... tried to say sorry... but I couldn’t. Something in my mouth. A tube? My eyesight cleared a little more - enough to see Mum and Dad smiling at me.... enough to see, in the corner of the room and unseen by others, Kayla smiling at me.

By the time a nurse rushed into the room, Kayla was gone.

~ FIN

C O N S U M E D

TOMORROW

Her dark hair, stuck to her pretty but pale face, was matted with dried blood from where they had hit her earlier; not hard enough to kill her but hard enough to ensure she stopped running and screaming from them.

Her eyes opened as she slowly regained consciousness and fear set in almost immediately as she realised she was bound, naked, to a dining room table. The blow hadn’t robbed her of the memories of landing on the table - her bruised and battered body aching all over. She managed to fight her first reaction - to scream out in pain and alarm - she knew screaming wouldn’t do any good; it would only let them know she was awake.

She needed time to figure out an escape.

She fought the pain in the side of her head, throbbing from the earlier blow, and started to struggle against the restraints. A dazed look down to her ankles revealed them to be bound by leather straps - perhaps fashioned from old belts? A buckle system around her ankle, she couldn’t see how it was keeping her on the table - perhaps a buckle system around the table leg too? A few more seconds of struggling against the straps and it dawned on her they weren’t about to snap anytime soon.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath.

She looked up at her wrists.

A similar set-up.

“Shit!” she repeated.

Footsteps beyond the old, wooden door in the far corner of the room. They’re coming. Her heart skipped a beat and she screamed when the door was pushed open.

Out of time.

TODAY

CHAPTER ONE

Michael walked straight past screen nine as the doors opened and the audience slowly began to filter out. He walked straight past his colleague Emma - a short, bossy woman who looked as though she should still be at school and not working in the local multiplex - and threw his broom against the door of the usher’s cupboard.

“You’ll need that!” Emma called over to him.

“I’ve finished,” he called back. He didn’t even look at her when he spoke; he simply continued to walk towards the staffroom where he could fetch his belongings before signing out for the night.

“You’re not going to help?” Emma shouted. Michael pretended not to hear her. He could use the hustle and bustle of the leaving audience members as an excuse for his ignorance. He didn’t see why he should hang around and help her. He was supposed to finish at two o’clock in the morning and it was ten to now. From past experience, he knew he’d be late leaving if he did stay and help her with the final cleanup operation. Especially considering the cinema was packed to its three hundred seat capacity. “Thanks a bunch!” Emma yelled as Michael disappeared into the male locker room. Besides - Emma never was his favourite work colleague. Despite her small size, Michael found her overbearing. What she lacked in height she made up with the volume in her voice. And where did she get off with barking orders at people as though she were part of the management team? At the end of the day she was the same level as Michael; nothing more and nothing less.

Michael couldn’t help but smile as he pulled his belongings from his locker; the first smile of the day brought on by the fact it was not only the end of an extremely long ten hour shift but also because he’d never be returning to the cinema again. Not that they knew that. At the age of twenty-four, one of the oldest working there, he had always had trouble keeping hold of a job despite rarely being fired. He simply got bored with them and would walk out with little, or no, warning - often leaving his colleagues in dire straits as they’d try and manage their shift knowing they were a man down. Even if boredom hadn’t taken a hold of his senses, in this particular job, he had known from the first day of working there that he wouldn’t fit in. The other staff members were in their late teens and he found it difficult to speak to them on their level. Hell, even the managers looked as though they should have still been in diapers. Some of them even acted like it too.

Two o’clock in the morning and it was still warm outside the air-conditioned building, not that Michael minded having left his home without his coat. He stood in the doorway and lit up a cigarette; a quick drag and the sickly sweet nicotine evaporated any residue stress. He dropped his silver lighter back into his trouser pocket and ran his hand through his dark brown hair. He could feel it was messed up. Another problem with the job was that they forced you to wear a baseball cap. On some people they look cool. Not on Michael. He always complained they made him look special and a few nights into working there he had already come to the conclusion they weren’t even necessary; the management simply made the staff wear them to bring down their confidence a little more. With lowered confidence they’d be easier to control. No one else shared in his beliefs and he had already received two warning letters from the management for failing to turn up in the correct work uniform on the days he decided he didn’t want to wear the hat. A pointless show of disobedience, on his part, for there was always a spare hat close by for him to wear.

From across the car park a stationary van flashed its headlights catching Michael’s attention in the process. Another flash of the headlights when Michael smiled and raised his hand in the air to show he had noticed it and was on his way.

“See you tomorrow,” said Wayne - one of the cinema’s many managers - as he stepped out of the building behind Michael.

Michael flashed him a smile as he walked down the stairs towards the car park, “I don’t think so,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Wayne called out after him.

“I said okay,” Michael lied. He couldn’t be bothered to end the evening on an argument.

He pulled the van’s passenger door open as soon as he was close enough and peered in to one of his best friends, Joel.

“Put that shit out,” said Joel - his green eyes fixed on the cigarette hanging from Michael’s mouth.

“Can’t we just open the window?” asked Michael as he jumped up onto the seat of the VW camper van.

“I mean it, put that shit out,” Joel repeated. “You fucking stink.”

“Jesus, deny a man his simple pleasures, Joel...” moaned Michael. He took an extra long drag before flicking the butt out of the van. “Happy?”

“You going to spend the whole weekend smoking?”

“Depends if you’re going to spend the whole weekend being a miserable fuck.”

There was the slightest of pauses before they both started laughing.

“How have you been?” asked Joel as he started to drive the purple vehicle out of the car park.

“Well...I’m better now I’m not going back to that shit-hole. You got my bag?”

Joel nodded, “What did they say when you told them?”

“Told them? I haven’t told them anything.”

“You’re just not going back?” Joel was a little younger than Michael, not that you’d think it if you looked at them side by side. Years working in cold garages, training as a mechanic, had ruined his complexion and he always looked as though he hadn’t bothered to wash the various engine greases from his black hair; always knotted and matted.

“Damn straight. I don’t owe them any favours. You finished the van then?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Sort of.”

“Well it’s looking good.”

“Yeah, I got that bit fixed up okay.”

The van did look good. A classic VW camper van with a funky sparkling purple paint job which certainly caught the attention of people passing by. The roof rack was a shiny chrome metal. Even the van’s grill was chrome. The insides had been fixed too. The seats, once covered in torn smelly fabric, were now a lush leather - a lush leather Joel was extremely protective of even to the point of asking people to remove any keys from their back pockets before taking a seat for fear of causing a rip.

“So what bit wasn’t fixed up okay?” asked Michael.

“Let’s just say we nearly ended up having to get a taxi...”

“What?”

“It wouldn’t start.”

“But it’s okay now?”

“I guess. I haven’t actually switched the engine off to check if it starts again. I got it started. I figured why rock the boat?”

Michael laughed, “Don’t you think it would have been a better idea to get the engine fixed first?”

“Aren’t you a little old to be working in a cinema?” Joel countered.

“Ah ha! I don’t work there anymore!”

“Touché! Anyway, I don’t have the money to fix the engine at the moment.”

“Where are we picking the others up from?” Michael asked as he made himself comfortable.

“They’re all waiting at Lara’s house.”

“Lara?”

Joel nodded.

“She’s still coming?” asked Michael.

“You know, she never wanted to come on this trip. She was only doing it to please me...”

“And now you’ve broken up?”

“Well now she’s coming on it just to piss me off.” Joel noticed Michael was looking at him with a look of concern on his face. No doubt he was worried about the potential non-stop bickering from the ex-couple.

It wasn’t just jobs Michael drifted between - it was also girlfriends - and he was a firm believer in the impossibilities of remaining friends once you had broken up with someone you’d ejaculated in. ‘Lines had been crossed,’ he always told people who argued that it was possible to remain friends.

“It will be fine,” said Joel with what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, “we’re both adults...”

* * * * *

“Asshole.” Lara was standing at the van’s side door. It was the first time she had seen Joel since he had unceremoniously dumped her via text message; an act brought about by lack of phone credit as opposed to cowardice - not that Lara believed him and certainly not what she told their mutual friends who preferred to simply not get involved.

“Whore.” Joel’s insult was merely a reaction to being called an asshole. He didn’t believe Lara was a whore. He had been her first love and knew she hadn’t seen anyone since they had broken up. As soon as the word escaped his lips he regretted it - not that he wanted her to know.

“Okay, you can sit right at the back,” said Hayley - another of the group - as she pushed Lara into the seats towards the back of the van; the furthest point from Joel.

Hayley and Lara were complete opposites; whilst Hayley was a natural blonde, with brain cells to match, Lara was dark haired and highly intelligent. Hayley was stunningly attractive whereas you had to look deep to see any beauty in Lara - that’s not saying it wasn’t there, it was just well hidden underneath the shield she continually put up to protect herself from the assholes of the world. A shield which Joel saw straight through after initial, careful navigation. Hayley never left home without a full face of carefully applied make-up - used expertly to enhance her model-like looks - and Lara never left home with make-up. Even when she and Joel were dating she still preferred the natural look as opposed to a look which gave the impression of being too ‘try-hard’.

It would be a safe assumption that neither Hayley nor Lara would have been friends had it not been for their mutual acquaintances.

With Lara tucked into the corner of the back row of seats, Hayley climbed up onto the row of seats behind the driver’s seat.

“They haven’t started already, have they?” asked Dan. He jumped into the seat next to his girlfriend, Hayley, and turned to Lara. “You haven’t started already, have you? You’ll never win him back at that rate...”

“I wouldn’t take him back,” she hissed.

Michael leaned over to Joel and whispered in his ear, “Dude - she hates you...What did you say to her?”

“Not a lot. I only had enough credit to send the one text.”

“You texted her?”

Joel nodded.

Michael couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s awesome.”

Lara called from the back seat, “I can hear you, you know...”

Dan carried on pestering her, “Did you save the text? Can I read it?”

“Fuck off, Dan...” she hissed.

Charlotte, the final member of the group, climbed into the van and took her seat next to Lara, “Please stop arguing,” she urged. The youngest girl of the group, Charlotte hated anything to do with arguments or ill-feelings. Protected from the harsh realities of life, like arguments between friends, by her parents - the others often felt the need to try and protect her too. Anything to stop her from bursting into tears - something she was often prone to doing and often without much cause. “You said everything would be cool between you guys.”

“It will be,” said Lara. She turned to look out of the window, “As soon as he drops dead. Okay. I’m sorry. It’s out of my system now.”

“Look...” Joel went to argue.

“You’re talking to me? You sure you wouldn’t prefer to send me a text? I haven’t changed my number yet,” she retorted, cutting him short.

Michael leaned across and whispered, “Because she’s still hoping you’ll text an apology and go back out with her.”

“Not happening,” Joel whispered back. “Not got any credit, for one.”

“Come on already!” shouted Dan. “Let’s get this show on the fucking road already! We’ll never get there! Come on! Come on! Come on!”

“Okay!” Joel shouted back. “Charlotte, did you tie the bags in properly on the roof rack?”

Michael turned to look at Charlotte; sitting in the back playing with her dark hair - twiddling her ponytail between her fingers - something she often did when she was nervous. He turned back to Joel. “You seen the way her ponytail is tied back?”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” asked Charlotte.

Michael turned back to her, “Nothing, it looks lovely. I’m just saying he may want to give the knots a quick check before we set off. Be a shame to get to the site only to find everything has fallen off back where we set off.”

“They’ll be fine,” said Charlotte as she continued playing with her ponytail. Joel gave her a quick glance in the rearview mirror. Seconds later he jumped from the driver’s seat to give the ropes a quick check. “Jesus Christ, I do know how to fasten things to roof racks properly!”

Michael laughed and gave Charlotte a big, cheesy grin.

“I’ve got a question,” asked Dan - sitting in between them. “Are you two finally going to fuck and get it out of your system on this break, or what?”

“Me and her?” said Michael. “She wishes...”

“Uh huh...okay then, lover-boy,” said Dan with a grin on his face. He knew the constant bullying, from Michael to Charlotte, was nothing more than a playground mentality. He knew because it was exactly what he used to do with Hayley. In the end though, Hayley was too slow to notice any kind of signal from Dan so he had resorted to plying her with wine until she was bordering on unconsciousness for their first kiss...and more.

“Oh my God!” said Charlotte. She tried to hide her reddening face behind her hair. Unlike Hayley she wasn’t too slow to notice any signals. She just wasn’t used to receiving them in such a way and so, most of the time, they went over her head. A late starter in the romance department thanks to attending an all girls’ school until the age of eighteen.

“All good!” said Joel as he jumped into the driver’s seat. “Ready or not...Here we go!”

A cheer from Dan and Hayley. Lara was still sulking about having to share a van with Joel. Michael was staying silent hoping his denial of fancying Charlotte was enough to kill the conversation for the rest of the trip. Charlotte was wondering what she had let herself in for by agreeing to come on this trip in the first place.

The plan was simple. Drive through the early hours of the morning when traffic would be minimal and get to the campsite in time for a morning fry-up. The van reached the end of the road, the indicator flashing to all those nearby that they were about to turn left to head off towards the countryside.

Dan piped up from his seat, “Dude, I need to take a piss.”

CHAPTER TWO

‘In 200 yards, turn left’ chirped the female voice on the satellite navigation system, which had been suckered onto the middle of the van’s windscreen.

“Do we have to listen to that the whole way?” whined Michael - already irritated by the female’s robotic voice, despite only being on the road for five minutes.

“Well that is the whole point of sat navs; turn them on, when you’re ready to leave, put in the destination and - hey presto - follow the instructions until you arrive safely,” said Joel without even taking his eyes off the road.

There was a pause before Michael suddenly burst out with, “Yeah - fuck that.” Before Joel had a chance to realise what Michael was doing, he pulled the sat nav system off the window, switched it off, and threw it in the back of the van, “Head’s up back there!”

“Whoa! What are you doing! I need that!” moaned Joel.

“No, you don’t. You’ve got something better than a crappy little satellite navigation...You’ve got me. I know the way,” said Michael - an air of arrogance in his voice.

“Yeah, thanks but I’d rather have...”

Michael cut him off mid-sentence, “You realise those little machines...They take you miles out of your way.”

“Sorry but I have to call bullshit on that one,” Dan chipped in from the seat behind Michael’s. “You can program them in so they take you the most direct route.”

“Big companies...You know...The real big boys...Like McDonalds...KFC...even the main supermarket chains...They’re in with the people who make those little boxes.”

“What?!” Joel said.

“They pay them a substantial amount of money, I’m not sure whether it’s yearly or monthly or...whatever...They pay them a fuck load of money to ensure we, the drivers using the maps, are forced to drive past the various companies...All it takes is ten percent of us drivers to stop off and make a purchase...That’s a lot of money thanks to a forced route.”

“Really?” asked Hayley.

“No. Not really,” said Dan, “that’s complete shit.”

Joel called out to the back, “Can someone please just pass it back through?” he turned to Michael, “Can you put it back on the windscreen, please?”

“No!” barked Michael. He addressed the back of the van, “I swear, you pass that through, I’ll throw it out of the window.” He turned back to Joel who was still driving, “You just missed your turning.”

Joel was visibly getting stressed, “This is ridiculous.”

“Come on, trust me, I know a short cut. Turn right just up here, you can get back on route.”

“Fine but you’re paying the extra fuel money if we get lost.”

“We won’t get lost. Trust me.”

* * * * *

Joel was sitting in the driver’s seat still; the early morning sun illuminating his face - showing his irritation clearly to all those who glanced at him. Once comfortable, now he wanted nothing more than to swap with someone else so he could relax and de-stress from the journey already traveled - not that he’d swap with anyone else...Not whilst they were in his VW camper van. No one got to drive other than him. He was looking out of the window, staring towards a petrol station they had stumbled across - the only building they had seen for what felt like hours. A building that they were all surprised to see was open for business when they pulled up outside. On first impressions it looked as though it was derelict - ready for demolition. The back half of the building, visible as you drove up to the property, already looked as though it had been partly demolished.

“Just relax,” said Hayley, “it’s all part of the fun. And, on the bright side, we’re getting to see lots of new places.”

“I don’t want to see lots of new places,” hissed a clearly stressed Joel, “I want to see the campsite. I want to see the campsite. I want to see a nice pint of cider. I even want to see a warm sleeping bag...A comfortable pillow...”

“And I wanted a real man...I guess we can’t have everything we want, hey?” snapped Lara. Unlike Joel, she wasn’t stressed from the journey. She was already stressed simply from being in the same vehicle as Joel.

“Fuck off,” said Joel.

A bell, above the petrol station’s door, chimed - alerting everyone in the van that the door had been opened. Joel turned his attention back to the station’s entrance and watched as Michael stepped out, back into the fading daylight; a sheepish look on his face.

He crossed the forecourt and jumped into the front of the van, back onto the passenger seat, next to where Joel was sitting - and fuming.

“Well?” barked Joel.

“The funniest thing...” said Michael. He tried his best not to laugh, sensing Joel’s annoyance.

“How far?”

“Did you want that in miles or kilometres?”

“Cut the shit, Mike, how far out of the way have you taken us?”

The satellite navigation system had informed Joel the journey should have taken approximately four hours. So far, they had been on the road for just under six - extra time which was eating, slowly, into their camping trip.

“Relax,” said Michael, “if you think about it...We’re only camping...It’s not as though we’re staying in a hotel. We could pitch up anywhere and have a nice weekend...We don’t have to go to that particular site...We could find another...One that’s closer...”

“We agreed on this site,” said Joel. “We paid for space at this site...Now...Tell me, before I have to kill you...Where the fuck are we?”

“We’re about an hour in the wrong direction...About...Give or take...An hour...Or two...”

Joel turned to Dan, in the seats behind them, “Pass me the sat nav, will you?”

Dan knew when to keep his mouth shut and simply passed the little box over to Joel. With no further words, he snatched it and secured it to the windscreen again. He stopped when he saw Michael start to put his seat belt back on, “What are you doing?”

“Safety. You know, if we get pulled over and I’m not wearing a seat belt...I can get a fine...”

“Fuel.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We agreed, you pay the extra fuel costs if we get lost. Well, we’re lost...We’re running low on fuel...And, oh look, we’re at a petrol station...The chances!”

“They’re out.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they don’t have any fuel...” Michael finished putting his seat belt on.

“Did you think to ask where the nearest petrol station was?”

“No, but there is a McDonald’s about ten miles that way,” Michael helpfully pointed up the road. “Happy Meals all round?”

Dan helpfully pointed out, “We’re supposed to be at the site already. We should have been tucking into a nice healthy heart-attack fry-up...”

Michael, “McDonald’s could still be serving breakfast. What time is it?”

Joel shook his head, “You’re a dick. Really. You are.” He turned to the back of the van, “Lara, did you want to sit up here with me? Perhaps you could carry on calling me an asshole for the rest of the road trip? Yeah? Let’s really make it a trip to remember.”

Lara replied by raising her middle finger.

Michael leaned closer to Joel, “Come on, man, we’ll be laughing about this around the campfire in a few hours.”

Joel turned the satellite navigation system on and sat back, waiting for it to boot up properly, “You’re a dick, Mike...A dick. We’d have already been there. Tents would have been set up. Fry-up consumed. Laughter. Fun. Maybe we would have even had a little walk...” He addressed the rest of the group, “Everyone ready?”

The group, with the exception of Michael, agreed unenthusiastically. Clearly they were all wishing they hadn’t chosen to go with Michael’s own internal map system.

With no warning a hand slammed against the glass window on the driver’s side. They all jumped as no one had seen the person approach. Joel turned to see a rough looking man peering in. His clothes were tatty, his face was gaunt and unshaven, his dark brown hair messed up as though he had recently crawled through a hedge backwards.

Joel wound the window down, “Can I help you?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you...Was just wondering if you guys could help me out...”

“What’s up?” Dan called from the middle section of the van.

The stranger leaned in, making Joel feel uncomfortable in the process, to address Dan, “Hi...Sorry...It’s just that I...” The stranger stopped when he saw Hayley. He couldn’t help but smile at her beauty. She, in turn, smiled back at him - more out of politeness than anything else. “Oh, hi...” the man said.

“Hi,” said Hayley.

“You were saying?” asked Joel. He shifted forward in his seat forcing the stranger to pull his head out of the van.

“I broke down a little down the way. Just walked down here to use the phone...Just wondered if you’d mind driving me back to my car. My brother’s picking me up with his tow truck...”

“You didn’t think to ask him to collect you from here?”

The stranger paused. “No. No, I didn’t. So...A lift?”

Hayley leaned forward, “He seems nice enough...Give him a....”

Joel cut her off, “I’m sorry. We don’t even know you...”

“Does that matter?” the stranger asked. “It’s just a few miles in that direction...”

Joel continued, “And we’re running late. Not a lot of fuel...Heading in that direction. I’m sorry.”

“Come on, it’ll take you ten minutes max...”

“And I’m sure it won’t take you long to walk it. I’m sorry.”

Joel pressed his foot on the accelerator before the man could say anything and the van pulled away from the petrol station’s tatty forecourt.

“Whoa! What’s all that about?” Dan said from behind Joel and Michael.

“We don’t have the time or the petrol,” Joel spat - his temper frayed.

“That’s cold,” Dan moaned.

“And if we run empty,” Joel said to Michael, “you’re pushing. Got it?”

CHAPTER THREE

Joel was sat, twisted in his seat, staring at Michael who was refusing to budge.

“You weren’t joking?” asked Michael.

Joel didn’t say anything. He let the stern, pissed off, expression on his face do the talking.

Lara called out from the back of the van, “I don’t have any signal either.” A quick look on their phones revealed none of them had any network coverage with which to call for help.

“I’m not pushing,” said Michael. He looked out of the windscreen at the road ahead which seemed to stretch for miles and miles - as far as the eye could see. Nothing but fields and trees in the distance - the latter hiding signs of any civilisation. “I’m sure someone will be along any minute.”

“Well let’s hope they deal with stranded people better than we did,” said Dan.

“If we had helped him, we’d have broken down sooner!” Joel replied indignantly.

“Which, in turn, meant we’d have been closer to the petrol station...” Dan continued.

“Would that be the same petrol station which had run out of fuel?” asked Joel.

“At least they had a telephone,” Dan fired back.

“I thought all the arguments had stopped now?” whined Charlotte.

“That’s before I realised what a cock Michael was,” said Joel.

“What the fuck?! I wasn’t even arguing - it was Dan!” Michael pointed out.

Joel opened the van door and stepped onto the road. Without saying anything else, he turned and slammed the door shut.

“So what now?” asked Hayley.

“Now he gets to breathe some fresh country-air in and calm down,” said Lara. “He’ll be fine in a minute.” Lara knew better than anyone else in the van how hotheaded Joel could get when he was stressed. She also knew it never took a lot to get him to that level either. “Just give him some space.”

Michael didn’t say anything; he just sat there with a sheepish look upon his face.

“And then what?” Hayley continued.

“And then we continue sitting here, waiting for someone to come by...Or...Or we pitch the tents up in one of those fields...”

“Because that will help get the van fixed?” asked Charlotte.

“It will give us somewhere to stay for the night. Michael can sit up and keep watch for passing traffic,” Dan pointed out.

“Seems fair,” said Lara.

Michael turned to her, “And you wonder why Joel sent you that text?”

“Fuck you.”

“And what if we don’t want to go with any of those options?” asked Charlotte - ignoring the potential argument between Lara and Michael.

“Well then I guess we have a hike...Pick a direction and head off to try and find some help...Or a phone to get help. I don’t know...I didn’t put us in this position and I don’t have the answers...Jesus...” Dan opened the door and stepped out to join Joel. He too slammed the door. Not because he was in a mood with anyone, he just couldn’t be dealing with anymore of their questions. Especially when he didn’t have the answers they desperately wanted.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Charlotte.

“Might be my fault,” said Hayley. “Before we left he wanted...Well...You know...But we couldn’t. He always gets grumpy when I say no - as though I plan when to start my period just so I can deny him what he believes to be his right to sex.”

“You couldn’t just give him a quick hand-job?” asked Michael. “Use your mouth?”

Charlotte made a disapproving noise, from the back of her throat, as though the mere talk of hand-jobs and blow-jobs offended her. A disapproving noise which was, mostly, ignored by the rest of her friends.

“And get myself turned on in the process? Like that’s fair! He can wait. It’s not as though it’s normally for more than three or four days.”

“And there’s always the arse...” Michael chirped, wondering how far he could push Hayley. “Unless you’re one of these women who saves that for special occasions like Christmas and birthdays...”

“Joel was right,” said Hayley, “you’re a dick.” She opened her door and jumped out. The other girls didn’t wait around for Michael to start on them and also left the van.

“And now I’m sitting here all alone,” said Michael. He waited for a couple more seconds, “Yep...All alone...Fuck this.” He joined the rest of the group in the middle of the road.

Joel was in the middle of apologising, “I’m sorry...It’s been a long night and I’m just tired.”

Michael caught the tail end of the conversation as he closed the van door behind him and offered, “Want me to drive?”

Joel sighed, “Please can someone just shut him up? Please?”

Michael continued, “Come on, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. There, I said it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for us to get lost. I didn’t mean for us to run out of petrol. It’s happened, we just need to stick together and deal with it. Like I said, we’ll be laughing about it in hours to come. We just need to stick together and plan what to do. There’s no point arguing about it.”

“He’s right,” said Charlotte - she hoped his apology and Joel’s previous apology would be the first steps to getting the rest of the group to calm down and get their holiday back on track. “This was supposed to be a fun weekend, let’s not ruin it.”

“So where do we go from here?” asked Joel.

“Are you sure the van ran out of fuel?” Michael asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” replied Joel with a patronising tone in his voice.

“You say that but earlier you told me you had troubles starting the van...All that money to make it look good and yet nothing spent making it run as well as it could. Maybe something snapped under the hood?”

“You were having troubles with the van and you didn’t think to say anything?” Lara seized the opportunity to get involved.

“Yes, yes I was having troubles with the van. But I got it running again. And then we ran out of fuel. The orange light came on warning it was low ages ago...I’m telling you, we are running on empty.”

“As I said to the girls in the van, we have a choice. We can pitch up here and wait for someone to pass us by. It’s still early. This road could get busier later on. Or...Or we could pick a direction and head off to try and find a phone or someone who could help us. Finally we could just stand around here playing the blame game. Personally, I reckon we should pick a direction and start walking - for all we know there could be a petrol station just a little way over there behind the trees.”

“Or we could sit here and wait for someone to pass,” said Joel, “and Michael can go and see if he can find someone to help.”

“Whatever we decide,” Michael said, “we should stick together. What if I went off into the woods and I was attacked by a bear?”

“A bear? Seen many bears in England?” asked Lara.

Michael shrugged, “Doesn’t mean they aren’t out there. Could be really good at disguise.”

Charlotte blurted out, “Let’s take a vote.” Anything to stop another round of trying to get one up over each other in the argument stakes. “I say we go for a little walk and see what we can find. What about you?” she turned to Lara.

“We should wait. At least for a bit. As Dan said, it’s early at the moment. Could get busier here later on.”

“I’ll walk with you,” said Michael. In fairness, he didn’t need to answer. As soon as Charlotte had cast her vote - it was clear to the group which way Michael would go.

“Surprise,” muttered Dan. “Look...Why don’t you two walk to the tree line and see if you can see anything in the distance. If you can’t then come back and Hayley and I will walk through one of the other fields and see if we can spot anything, in the distance, which may be of use...But we won’t head off until you’re back. Otherwise we could all get lost or all end up calling people out. That way we get all directions covered and leave people at the van just on the off chance anyone drives on by. Sound like a plan?” They all nodded - much to Dan’s relief. “And don’t forget to keep checking your phone whilst you’re walking,” he told Charlotte and Michael. “Just because there’s no signal here - it doesn’t mean there won’t be any a little further down there. Might save yourselves a walk.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Michael - as though he was going to argue against having to spend time alone with Charlotte.

“Just try not to rape her when you get to the woods,” Dan pointed out, a wry smile on his face.

“What?” an alarmed look on Charlotte’s face.

“Fuck you!” Michael spat.

“I was joking,” Dan reassured Charlotte. “We all know Mike would never have been able to pin you!”

“Fuck you!” Michael spat once again.

The group laughed at Michael’s expense.

“Yeah, well, if I do happen to try it on and I do succeed...You only have yourselves to blame...Egging me on like that,” said Michael. He turned to Charlotte, “Let’s go.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He simply started walking in the direction of the nearest line of trees, at the far side of the field on the left hand side of the road.

“I don’t suppose anyone has a whistle I can blow on if he tries anything?” asked Charlotte - part of her joking, part of her deadly serious. The group took it as a joke and laughed it off as Charlotte started to walk after Michael.

“We’ll sound the horn if anyone comes down the road,” Joel called out after them.

Michael raised his hand in acknowledgement.

“So now what?” Joel asked as he turned back to the rest of the group. Immediately he noticed that Hayley and Dan had climbed back into the van, and closed the doors behind them and it was just Lara standing with him. “Oh...” he said.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk to me,” said Lara. “You have the perfect excuse not to, after all...No mobile phone signal. You couldn’t possibly send me a text message.”

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” said Joel. It was more of a rhetorical question but she answered anyway.

“You think I’m ever going to forget that my first proper boyfriend dumped me via text message? Worse still - completely out of the blue.”

“I did say sorry,” he pointed out.

“No. No I don’t think you did,” said Lara - clearly annoyed.

“Well for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

There was a pause as Lara waited for him to follow his apology up with a joke of some description. No joke came. “Thank you,” she said.

“And I promise not to dump my next girlfriend via text,” he joked.

Lara rolled her eyes.

* * * * *

“You don’t believe what they said, do you?” Michael asked Charlotte as they walked, side by side, through the country field of tall grass, towards the tree line on the horizon.

“That you’ll rape me?” she asked. She shook her head. “If I thought that...Firstly we wouldn’t be friends and secondly, I wouldn’t be walking towards a forest with you...”

“I actually meant about me fancying you...” he said sheepishly. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that she may have taken the previous conversations about ‘rape’ seriously.

“What? No. No,” she said.

“Because I don’t,” he continued.

“Oh, thanks. Good to know...”

“No...You know...You’re not my type...”

“Great. Anything else? Fat arse? Ugly?”

“No...Nothing like that. I just prefer blondes,” he continued - completely unaware of the hole he was digging for himself. “It’s not because you’re ugly. Because, you know, you’re not. Just, not for me...”

“Awesome,” she said in a completely monotone voice.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone though. Some day.” He meant it as a compliment despite how it came out.

“You think?” she asked sarcastically. “I do so hope so,” she continued, “I dream about it...”

“Well it will happen. No sense rushing it...”

“Look,” she said, “why don’t we walk in silence? Enjoy the peace and quiet of the countryside. It’s nice. Listen,” she lifted her hand to her ear and paused to take in the tranquility.

“I can’t hear anything,” said Michael missing the point completely.

Charlotte changed the subject, “Do you have any signal on your phone yet?” she asked as she checked her own mobile phone.

Michael fished his mobile from his pocket and gave it a check - still no service. He shook his head and started to walk again with Charlotte a few steps behind him - wishing she had stayed by the van with the others.

* * * * *

Joel shook his head in disgust, at the sight of Hayley and Dan making out in the van, “If they stain the seats...”

“At least someone is having a nice time on this trip,” said Lara. She walked over to the roadside and sat on the grass verge.

Joel walked over and sat next to her, “Is it really that bad?”

“Look where we are,” she pointed out. “Has the holiday even started?”

“At least we’re talking,” said Joel, “so one good thing has come from it already.”

“You’ve calmed down from earlier.”

“You know me. I blow up and calm down pretty soon afterwards.”

“Same old, same old...One day you might learn to grow up a bit.”

Joel smiled; he let her get away with the slur. She did, after all, know him better than anyone else on the trip. Part of him even believed she knew him better than he knew himself.

“You know I regretted that text more or less as soon as I sent it,” he told her - his voice hesitant as to whether he should be admitting any of this.

“What?”

“I was angry. Can’t even remember what set me off.”

“You dumped me because you were in a mood?” she asked. Her facial expression pointed out how she felt about this - her tone of voice backed it up.

“I remember being gutted a few hours later. I wanted to call you and explain...I had made a mistake...I...”

“You had made a mistake?” Lara pounced on his words.

Joel nodded. “That’s how I felt. Wished I could take the text back.”

“You didn’t think to call me? Talk to me?”

“Would you have answered even if I had?”

“Probably,” she pointed out, “even if it were just to shout at you.”

“Fair point.”

“And you don’t remember why you sent me the text?”

“That’s the really tragic thing about it,” he laughed - more of a laugh of embarrassment. “So...Have you been seeing anyone?” he asked. Joel already knew the answer. Their mutual friends often let slip how miserable Lara had been since they stopped going out - which made Joel distance himself from them. He didn’t need the extra feelings of guilt tied in with his feelings of stupidity for sending the text in the first place. He had been doing okay, since leaving Lara, as he rarely saw her; it was easier to put her out of mind, although it still hurt. Since picking her up, though, with the others - slowly he had begun to remember the reasons why he had originally dated her, despite the fact she had been giving him a hard time. He could forgive her for treating him badly that morning. He knew, as soon as he pressed ‘send’ on the text message, it would upset her.

“Have you been seeing anyone?” she asked.

He shook his head. She didn’t need to know about the series of one-night stands he had ‘enjoyed’ since splitting with her. Lara didn’t know the girls he had slept with so there was no danger of her ever finding out and it would only cause her more upset.

“You should have just called me,” she said. “We could have talked...”

“Just didn’t seem fair.”

“I loved you,” she pointed out. “Some nights I hated you and some nights I wished you would have called. I loved you,” she repeated.

“Well...I love you,” he said throwing all caution to the wind.

“What?”

“Seeing you today just makes me realise what a mistake I made...The old feelings I had for you - they’re still there...”

“I don’t believe it...”

“I know, right?  Who would have thought it?”

“No, look!” she pointed further down the road towards an oncoming truck.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Okay, I do like you,” Michael said as he suddenly spun around to face Charlotte. Charlotte stopped dead.

“That’s good to know, I like you too,” she said. She always knew Michael had the potential to be a little quirky but today she was seeing him in a whole new light.

“No...I mean obviously I like you but I meant to say...I like you. You know, more than a friend.”

Charlotte smiled as she felt her face redden. She wasn’t so much blushing at the sudden announcement of feelings towards her, more so because of the way they were being made clear to her. Michael, the quirky bull in a china shop. Next up she wondered whether he was just going to follow up his ‘love’ for her by reaching in and trying to fondle a breast.

“Well?” he asked. It was clear from his facial expression that he was hoping she was going to return the sentiment but she just stood there with the very same nervous smile on her face.

In Charlotte’s mind she had often wondered how this conversation would have gone. She pictured Michael to be capable of being extremely charming and romantic - especially considering he was often thought of as being some kind of modern-day Casanova amongst their friends who often told tales of his amazing ability at pulling the members of the opposite sex on crazy nights out. Now she could only picture him, in a club, sneaking rohypnol into the ladies’ drinks and waiting for them to fall unconscious so he could get his leg over. She opened her mouth, as though about to give him his answer, when she was suddenly disturbed by the sound of a horn - coming from across the field, back on the main road.

“Someone must have shown up,” she pointed out, with a barely audible sigh of relief that she hoped Michael didn’t pick up on. “Quick!” she about turned and started to run back towards the road - hopeful that all mention of the previous conversation would disappear, forgotten, by the time they rejoined the rest of the group.

By the time the two of them crossed the field, the ‘help’ had already pulled up; a large pick-up truck with a car already being towed behind it. The driver, and his passenger, jumped out.

“Well, well, well...Isn’t this a turn-up,” said the passenger; the same man whom Joel had refused to help at the petrol station earlier.

“Shit,” Joel muttered under his breath.

“What seems to be the trouble?” asked the other man - the driver of the truck.

Even if the stranger they had met earlier at the petrol station hadn’t mentioned the fact he wanted to call for his brother, you’d have been able to tell they were brothers just by looking at them. The only difference between the two of them was that the brother with the tow truck looked older. He had more specks of grey in his dark hair - longer hair than his brother’s at near shoulder length.

“We ran out of petrol,” said Dan.

“Too bad, petrol station is miles away,” said the younger of the brothers - the one they had abandoned earlier.

“Hush now, Johnny,” said the other brother.

“Stephen...These fucks...” Johnny fell silent as his brother, Stephen, shot him a look.

“You’ll have to excuse my brother,” said Stephen. “He’s been stuck with his car most of the night.”

“Because they wouldn’t help me....” Johnny moaned under his breath.

Joel spoke up, “Look we’re sorry. As you can see, we clearly didn’t have the petrol to help out. We didn’t even make it to our destination!”

“There you go,” said Johnny, “they apologised.” He addressed Joel, “Although, had you helped him...You’d have been a lot closer to the nearest petrol station...”

“We don’t know the area, we’re only over this way because we got lost,” said Joel.

“Regardless, it doesn’t matter...Doesn’t change a damned thing now, does it?” Johnny continued, a smile on his face. “Anyway, as you can see, I’m already helping my brother out...Unless of course you’d like for me to leave his car here whilst we tow you to a petrol station?”

Dan could tell by the expression on Joel’s face that he was desperate to agree that this was a good idea; leave the car there and tow them to get some fuel. He jumped in before Joel had a chance to annoy the strangers so much that they’d just leave them there stranded, “How about you give us a ride to the nearest? We could just hitch a lift until one of us has enough phone signal to make a call...Get some help? Or, if we happen to get to a station first, we could jump out there?”

“No petrol stations where we’re going,” said Johnny. “We only live a little way from here. Sorry.”

Johnny turned away from the group and returned to the passenger seat of the tow truck. Once in, he slammed the door behind him.

Stephen made an excuse, “You’ll have to excuse him. He always gets cranky when he’s tired and hungry. He’s right, though, we only live down the road. Tell you what, I could drive him home...I could dump his car...Come back for you and take you where ever you want...How’s that grab you?”

“Or we could come with you...Make a call from your place, if that’s okay, and then...You wouldn’t have to come back out. If you only live down the road, we could walk back...” said Michael - sensing that neither brother would return for them.

“Or we could get someone to collect us from your place?” Dan offered.

Stephen turned his attention to Hayley. “Come back to our place?”

“Probably be easier that way,” Michael said.

Hayley shifted uneasily under the continuing gaze of the stranger.

“I’m not sure,” said Stephen. He looked back to Michael. “I’ll have to check with my brother. You okay to wait a minute?”

“Sure,” said Dan.

“Thanks.” Stephen walked over to the tow truck and jumped in next to his brother. He closed the door behind him so none of the group - watching on - could hear what was being said.

“Of all the people to show up,” said Joel.

“Just play it cool,” Dan told him. “We need to make the best of this situation. Unless...Unless you’d rather be sitting here for the rest of the day?”

“No, I’d rather be at the campsite,” he said. He fired Michael a look to remind him that this was all his fault. Michael smiled.

The driver’s door opened and Stephen stepped down onto the road.

“Okay - hop in,” said Stephen. “You might have to sit on each other’s laps but...Should be enough room for you all to squeeze in,” he continued.

“What about our stuff?” asked Joel.

“Your stuff? Yeah, we aren’t going to fit that in,” said Stephen. “Seriously though, look around...It isn’t going anywhere...We’ll be back in about thirty minutes or so...I’ll take you back to my house...We’ll offload my brother’s car...We’ll come back and tow you to the nearest petrol station. Your stuff will still be here...”

“I’ll wait here,” said Joel, “at least we won’t all have to squeeze in together...One of us should wait.”

“Up to you,” said Stephen, “I’m not going to twist your arm to come. All of you can stay, if you want...”

Joel turned to the rest of the group, “I’ll wait here...”

Dan stepped over to the tow truck. “I’ll come with you,” he told Stephen.

“Me too,” said Hayley.

Stephen smiled, “So that’s settled...Unless anyone else wants to come along for the ride too?”

Charlotte stepped forward, “I’ll come,” she said - not because she felt it was necessary to go, she just wanted to get away from anymore awkward conversations with Michael.

“Okay, jump on in then,” said Stephen. He opened the back door of the tow truck so his new passengers could climb aboard. Dan was first in, followed by Hayley and Charlotte. Stephen closed the door behind Charlotte and climbed into the front seat.

The engine of the tow truck kicked into life as he wound down the window to talk to Joel, “So we’ll be back in about thirty minutes. You guys just hang tight and don’t go anywhere.”

Joel nodded.

“Thank you,” said Lara. She felt as though someone should say it and it was clear Joel wasn’t going to be the first in line to offer up some thanks for reasons unknown to her.

“My pleasure,” Stephen smiled. “What kind of human being would I be if I had just left you guys stranded?” He gave Lara a wink as the tow truck pulled away from the conked out van.

“What was all that about?” Lara asked Joel.

“What?”

“You were rude. They’re helping us out and you were rude.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were a little bit,” Michael chipped in.

“You know what, I don’t want to hear from you - this is your fault. Go for a walk, or something,” Joel told Michael.

“What’s wrong with you?” said Lara. “You’re like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde...One minute all nice - sweet even...”

“When was that?” Michael asked.

“The next, you’re back to being a bastard!” she finished.

“I’m tired,” said Joel, “and I don’t trust them. There’s something about them. Had we all gone with them - they’d probably have called one of their friends to come and take anything of worth from the van...It’s in the papers all the time, that sort of crime.”

“Well I don’t know what papers you’ve been reading,” Lara said. She turned her back on Joel and climbed back into the van. Once in, she laid down on the row of seats at the back.

“Shit,” Joel muttered. He had only just made it up with Lara; he didn’t want to ruin things again. Especially if he had any chance of fixing their broken relationship.

“What’s going on between you two?” Michael asked, picking up the mixed feelings between them.

“Just give us a minute,” said Joel. He walked over to the van and clambered up onto the seats in front of where Lara lay. He closed the door behind him to ensure Michael didn’t follow. “I’m sorry,” he told Lara. She didn’t reply. She just lay there, on the back seat, with her eyes closed. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes. Two apologies in one day. You must be coming down with something.”

“I meant what I said earlier,” he told her. He kept one eye on Michael to make sure he wasn’t listening to the private conversation but he needn’t have worried for Michael had turned his attention to throwing stones across the road. “I know it’s too late and the feelings aren’t mutual but...I do...I do still love you.”

“What do you want from me?” she asked without so much as moving. “Am I supposed to leap up and profess my undying love for you? Are we supposed to pick up from where you dropped us, as though it never happened? The two of us together forever? Back to boyfriend and girlfriend, married with kids before we know it...Live a long happy life, growing old together whilst watching our children continue in our footsteps...Starting their own family? Is that it?”

“What if I said yes?” he asked.

“What? I don’t have time for your games,” she moaned.

“Not a game. What if I said I did want to marry you? What if I told you that all this time, without you...I’ve been miserable. I know you have too...The time apart just made me realise how much I loved you...Helped by seeing you today...”

She opened her eyes to look at him, “You’re being serious?”

He nodded, “Marry me.”

“Do you know how ridiculous you sound?”

“I don’t care. We’ve wasted enough time.”

“We?”

“I...”

“We can’t get married,” she told him. “We’re too young for starters...”

“My folks got married early. They’re still together.”

“And mine are divorced so that must tell you what I think about the institution of marriage.”

“We could get engaged at least,” he pressed - desperation oozing from his voice.

“Do you have any idea how you are sounding at the moment?”

“I’m sounding like someone who is in love. Look, I want you. I know that now. I’m sorry for leaving you. I truly am. If I could take it back I would. Honestly. But I can’t. I just need for you to forgive me and say you’ll give it another go...That you want to give it another go...”

“And what if I don’t want to?” she asked.

He paused.

“What if I said okay to us getting back together and then you went and dumped me again? Do you know how much that hurt? How many nights I cried myself to sleep? Any idea?”

“It won’t happen again, I promise. I swear. You’re the one I want. We were great together, you know we were. And we’re meant to be together. If not then you’d have met someone else. Or I would have...But neither of us did, in the time we weren’t together. Come on, a speed bump, that’s what it was. We just need to get over it. I won’t let you down again. I won’t hurt you again.”

Lara sat up and rested her back against the back of the seat.

“I need to think,” she said. “This is all happening too fast.” And it was happening too fast. She had woken, that morning, hating him for what he had done for her. Deep down she knew she still loved him but what if he did dump her unceremoniously, by text, again? She knew she couldn’t take it a second time. Part of her wanted to tell him they could have another go but the other part of her feared they’d just be kidding themselves and the chances of them having a relationship were doomed from the offset.

Joel desperately wanted to push her for an answer but knew, to do so, would be to push her away. “Okay,” he said, “well...Take as long as you need,” he said. He only hoped that she didn’t need too long to think about it as he wanted nothing more than to cradle her in his arms once more. And some petrol for his van.

CHAPTER FIVE

The tow truck turned off the road and slowly made its way up a dirt-track towards a large, nice looking house which was set back against some woodlands.

“You guys live here?” Dan asked from the back seat.

“Whole family does,” said Stephen. Johnny simply muttered - still annoyed at his brother for offering help to the people who left him stranded. “Me and my brother grew up here!” he continued happily.

Stephen parked the truck outside the house and backed up slightly until the car was in line with a garage which was set apart from the rest of the house. Stephen hadn’t even turned the engine off before Johnny jumped out of the truck and made his way towards the house.

As soon as Stephen finished maneuvering the truck, he turned the engine off and climbed out. Dan took his lead and also stepped into the fresh air - followed by Hayley and Charlotte.

“Still no signal,” Dan moaned as he shot a quick glance at his mobile phone.

“Really is a nice home you have here,” said Hayley - for no other reason than to fill the silence.

“I’ll just get the car off and then we’ll go back for your friends...”

“Thanks, we really appreciate it,” said Charlotte.

“Not a problem,” said Stephen. “So you got anyone waiting for you? You need to borrow a phone and let them know you’re running late? We have a phone just inside the house,” he continued helpfully, “yours if you need it...” Stephen moved to the back of the tow truck and started lowering the car until all four wheels were back on the floor.

“We’re going camping,” said Hayley.

“Nice,” said Stephen. “Should have just pitched your tents where you ran out of petrol. Could have stayed close to the van and got someone to help with the fuel situation before you were ready to go home again.”

“Did cross our minds,” said Dan. He slid his mobile phone back into his pocket.

“You should have told me you were bringing back some friends!” called an elderly woman from over by the front door. Stephen rolled his eyes at the sound of her voice.

“My mother, Andrea...” he said. “I apologise now, she doesn’t get out much!”

“I’m just helping them out,” he called over to his mother. The group turned to see the lady, in her sixties, making her way over to greet them.

“I’m Stephen’s mother,” she said, “so very nice to meet you all...Are you staying for some dinner?”

“Mum, I’m just helping them out...I don’t even know them...They were just parked up on the side of the road...Ran out of petrol. We’re going any minute...”

“Going? You’ve only just got here!” his mother moaned.

“I’m just taking them back to their van and giving them a tow to the nearest petrol station.”

Dan stepped forward, “Honestly, if it’s a problem - we can make a call and get someone to come and meet us...”

“No!” said Stephen. “It’s not a problem. If it was, I’d say so. It’s all good.”

“Andrea,” said Stephen’s mother. She extended her hand towards Charlotte. “You are?”

“Charlotte.” She took Andrea’s hand and shook it. As soon as she let go, Andrea moved to Hayley and did the same.

“Dan,” said Dan when Andrea finally got to him.

“It’s lovely to meet you all. Now I insist you all stay for dinner,” said Andrea. She smiled at Stephen.

“They have friends waiting for them,” said Stephen whilst undoing the chain which bound the car to the truck.

“Well I suggest you go and get them,” she insisted. “Bring them back here. You can all have something to eat and then be on your way....”

“Thank you,” said Dan, “but that won’t be necessary. But thank you.”

“Nonsense. I insist. Come inside and meet the rest of the family.” She took him by the hand and pulled him towards the house. He had no choice but to go with her. “Come along, girls...” Andrea turned back to Stephen who was left standing by the truck, “Run along and fetch their friends,” she said, “we’ll be waiting.”

“Mum, they really don’t...” His words fell on deaf ears as the front door slammed shut. He sighed and reattached the chain to the back of his truck to stop it from swinging around when he next drove away.

* * * * *

“Please, make yourself at home,” Andrea told Dan and the two girls as she led them through to the living room. She pointed them towards the sofa which lined the longest wall of the room. Small coffee tables with lamps were on either side of the settee.

“Thank you,” Charlotte said.

“Listen, this really isn’t necessary...It was good enough of your son to help us in the first place. We don’t want to put you to any further trouble,” Dan tried to tell Andrea but she wouldn’t hear it.

“It really is no trouble at all,” she continued, “it’s nice to get visitors. We so rarely get visitors out here. The boys rarely bring anyone home. Their father, Robert, and I actively encourage it too!”

“Is that their dad?” asked Hayley. She was looking at one of the many framed pictures which were nailed to the walls - nearly all of them family related. The picture she pointed to was of Andrea standing next to a tall man who towered over her. The two of them were standing in front of some trees, in a small clearing, with their arms around each other. Both of them looking at the camera with a solemn expression upon their faces as though it were forbidden to smile in any of the photographs.

Andrea was a fairly small lady, with her grey hair and faded blue eyes, but she looked much, much, smaller standing next to the man in the photograph. Hayley considered that it could have just been the angle the photo was taken at but it was most likely the man would be well over six foot tall. Unlike Andrea’s all grey hair the man’s hair was quite a bit darker, with the exception of his beard which looked as though it belonged on someone else with the amount of grey hairs growing throughout it. Even had it not been for the grey of his beard, the wrinkles on his face would have given away his age; for other than those two factors, you’d be forgiven for thinking he was another son.

“Yes, that’s Robert,” said Andrea. “That photograph was taken sometime last year,” she carried on despite none of the three youths really needing to know. “The picture on the right,” she went on, “is of my daughters - Tammy and Suzanne...Tammy is the one on the left; my youngest daughter.”

Hayley looked at the picture of the two girls. The same pose as the previous picture and even the same spot. Tammy was standing, taller than her sister despite being the youngest, with her arm around her sister. She had waist length blonde hair. Despite the picture not being a close-up shot it was clear to see her eyes were of the brightest blue - maybe catching the sun’s reflection to make them appear brighter in the photo than they were in real life?

“Pretty,” said Hayley, a sting of jealousy flowing through her. Normally she was the prettiest of the girls she hung around with. She wasn’t used to someone stealing the limelight from her.

“Very,” the mother agreed. “Suzanne’s pretty in her own right too,” Andrea continued. “Very clever girl.”

In the picture, Suzanne was clearly a pretty girl too, let down only by the fact she was standing next to Tammy who’d naturally attract the attention of people looking at the picture. Unlike Tammy, her hair was darker and her eyes, although appearing blue if you looked hard enough, clearly weren’t as bright as her sister’s.

“How many of you are there?” asked Charlotte.

“There’s six in the house,” she said. “The two boys, who you’ve already met, my two girls, Robert and myself. I’m sure they’ll be along any minute now. The sound of strangers in the house no doubt luring them from whatever they’re up to. Now, can I get you a drink whilst we wait for your friends to arrive? Lemonade?”

“Sure, that would be nice,” said Charlotte not wishing to appear rude.

“Three lemonades coming right up,” said Andrea. She turned back to the door just as Tammy and Suzanne made an appearance. “Ah, girls, come in...Meet our guests.”

“Who you talking to?” asked Tammy - her voice soft and delicate. Another sting of jealousy rushed through every fibre of Hayley as she realised Tammy really was the perfect girl. It didn’t help that they were close in age.

“Come in,” Andrea repeated herself, “don’t loiter in the doorway.”

The girls walked into the room and said hello. Hayley couldn’t fail to miss the look on Dan’s face when he spotted Tammy.

“Hi,” he offered his hand for a shake, “pleased to meet you. I’m Danny. Or Dan if you prefer.”

“Hi Dan if you prefer,” said Tammy. She wasn’t stupid. She knew the effect she had on men and already Hayley could see that she was the sort of girl to use it to her advantage.

“Hello,” said Charlotte.

“I’ll leave you all to get acquainted,” said Andrea. “Three lemonades coming right up.”

Andrea left the room.

“What brings you out here?” asked Suzanne. “We don’t normally get visitors.”

“So your mum tells us,” said Dan who had suddenly become sociable despite being so quiet earlier when it was just the girls and Andrea. “It’s a nice house you have, I’m surprised you don’t have more visitors.” He did a little laugh as though he had made a great joke. Never once did he remove his eyes from Tammy.

“We broke down,” said Hayley - clearly irritated that her boyfriend was attempting to flirt with these girls. “Your brothers found us.”

“Oh,” said Tammy in such a way it made it painfully obvious to everyone that she didn’t really care why they were there. She looked at Dan, “Did you want to look around the house?”

Before Dan could answer her, Andrea came back into the room with a tray of drinks. One for each of the guests and one for her and her daughters. Hayley let out a little sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was go on a guided tour of the house with some bimbo.

“Here we go,” said Andrea. She set the tray down on another coffee table; this one was set in front of the settee where everyone was standing. “Please...Take a seat.”

Dan and Charlotte sat on the settee. Before Hayley could take her seat, Tammy took it, placing herself next to Dan much to Hayley’s annoyance - not that Dan noticed the fact she was clearly irritated. She turned around and sat on one of the other arm chairs whilst Suzanne sat on the last one, leaving her mother to stay standing.

“Hopefully your friends won’t be too long,” said Andrea. She walked over to the window, which overlooked the front garden, to keep an eye out.

“Are you staying for dinner?” asked Suzanne.

“I believe so - yes,” said Dan. Despite his best efforts to get out of the situation earlier, it didn’t seem to bother him as much now. Something else that Hayley noticed.

“Yummy,” sighed Tammy with a little laugh.

Hayley rolled her eyes.

CHAPTER SIX

Michael was sitting on the grass verge by the road - the opposite side to where the van had come to an untimely standstill. He took a puff on his cigarette as he nodded acknowledgement to Joel who was approaching, having left Lara in the van.

“Alright?” he asked.

Joel didn’t say anything. He simply took a seat, on the grass, next to Joel.

“Sorry if I’ve been a prick today,” said Joel.

“You’re apologising today? What about all the other days you’re a prick?” asked Michael, a smile on his face.

“Just feel on edge...It’s strange being around Lara again,” Joel continued, ignoring Michael’s attempt at humour.

“Saw you two talking in the van and thought I’d leave you to it. What’s the story with you guys anyway?”

“I’m not sure. I think I still love her?”

“You think?”

“I do.”

“You dumped her, man,” Michael reminded him.

“Yeah, I know. Regretted it ever since.”

“You never said anything. Not to me or the other women you fucked since leaving Lara...”

“Yeah well that’ll be our secret. She doesn’t need to know about them. They didn’t mean anything,” Joel whispered. “Besides - what good would it have done talking about it? I only went with the other girls to try and get Lara out of my mind.”

“And how’d that work for you?”

“Whilst I fucked the other girls...It was Lara’s face I was picturing,” said Joel.

Michael looked at him, unsure whether or not he was being serious. “Really? Because...The blonde you shacked up with on the first weekend of being single...She was hot. If I’d known you were going to waste her like that by picturing your ex...I’d have never let you go off with her.”

Joel laughed, “You let me?”

“Sure. I was toying with the idea of having her for myself but figured you could do with the pick-me-up.”

“Too generous.”

“What are friends for? Man, I can’t believe you were thinking about your ex the whole time. What a waste of that girl’s good looks.”

“Me and Lara - we had a connection,” said Joel. His eyes were fixed firmly on Lara, still in the van. She was looking out of the van so Joel only had a view of the back of her head but he didn’t care. He hoped she’d turn around and catch him looking. He hoped.

“You had a connection so you dumped her?” asked Michael.

“Well I didn’t know about the connection until after I didn’t have her.”

“So you should have called her.”

“And said what? She just said the same thing but what the fuck was I going to say to her? Sorry I dumped you via text but I’m a twat, fancy going back out again?”

“She said the same thing? You told her how you’re feeling?” asked Michael.

“That’s what we were talking about.”

“And how’d she take it?”

“Really well. We made up. Had a kiss. She rubbed my cock and told me she can’t wait to be alone with me as there’s a lot of angry make up sex to be had.”

“Dude, score!” Michael offered up his hand for a childish ‘high-five’ moment.

“Mate, I’m taking the piss. How do you think she took it?”

“Not good then?”

“I’m sitting on a damp grass verge with you...”

“Point taken. So what did she say?”

“She needs to think?”

“Ooh,” Michael scrunched his face up - not a good sign.

“Ooh?”

“If a woman says she needs time to think or asks for space...It’s because she wants...Well...” Michael tried to explain.

“Time to think or some space?”

“Or cock. More precisely...The cocks of other men....”

“Lara isn’t like that.”

“Push comes to shove all women are like that.”

“Even Charlotte?”

Michael didn’t say anything. He liked to believe Charlotte was different from the other women and, in his mind, she was; something about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. In the early days of their friendship, he thought she gave off a different vibe because she was a lesbian. As time went on, he realised this wasn’t the case.

“I just think,” Joel continued, “she needs space because I let her down so badly. That won’t be hard to forget. Or forgive. And I don’t expect her to make it easy for me but...Hopefully, in time, we can get back to what we had.”

Michael didn’t say anything. He took another drag on his cigarette. As he exhaled the smoke, he threw the butt across the road.

“Nothing to say?” asked Joel.

“Me? Like what?”

“We’ve been friends for years. Just thought...Just thought you might have something to say or some advice or something...”

Michael shook his head, “I just hope it all works out for you,” he said. “You talk about anything else?”

Joel shook his head.

“Where the hell are they?” Michael asked. He looked past Joel, down the road in the direction he expected the tow truck to appear.

“What are you not telling me?” Joel asked Michael. The sheepish look, Michael was desperately trying to hide, was too obvious for even a blind person to miss. “What is it?”

“What? Nothing,” said Michael doing his best to avoid eye contact.

“You’re lying. What is it? What? Tell me.”

“Nothing...”

“There’s nothing? We’ve been friends for years, more than I can remember, God only knows why. I know when you’re hiding something. It’s written all over your face!”

“I’m just tired...Like you were crabby because you’re tired...I guess I look...Look like I’m hiding something when I’m tired?”

“That’s bullshit! What is it?” Joel persisted.

“Nothing. Come on, if there was something, I’d tell you.”

“We were talking about Lara and you started to...That’s it!”

“What?” asked Michael, a flash of panic on his face.

“You don’t want me going back out with her,” said Joel, with a smug look on his face.

“Yes, yes...That’s it.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you want me going back out with her? You think it’s a mistake? You think I shouldn’t?” Joel continued.

“What? No. No, it’s not that at all...”

“It’s because he hit on me,” said Lara. Joel and Michael both jumped at the sound of her voice; neither of them had heard Lara approach them as they were so engrossed in their conversation - as well as keeping an eye out for the tow truck.

“He...He what?” asked Joel.

“He hit on me,” Lara repeated. “The day you sent me that text message...”

“This true?” Joel turned to Michael with a look of disgust on his face.

“Well...I wouldn’t say it happened like that...” Michael knew, out of everything he had ever annoyed Joel with, this would be the thing that killed their friendship - something he wanted to avoid.

“You hit on her?”

“He did,” Lara confirmed.

“What did you say to her?” asked Joel.

“I just thought,” Michael thought on his feet to find the perfect excuse, “I just thought she might have been suicidal...She loved you, man. She loved you.”

“Suicidal?” asked Lara - almost offended. “You think I’d kill myself over him? I’m that weak? Fuck you...”

“I thought you might have wanted to go out and have a laugh...Take your mind off things,” Michael butted in, trying his best at doing all round damage control. “I was trying to be a friend!”

Lara reached into her pocket and pulled out her mobile phone. “Trying to be a friend?” she asked. She started to flick through her messages.

Michael remembered the message he sent her. Another flash of panic across his face. “Well, obviously...If you were feeling low...I mean you could have read more into it.”

“Makes sense,” said Joel.

“And fuck you too,” said Lara - still frantically flicking through her messages. “Here...Here it is.” She handed the phone to Michael, “Does that ring any bells to you?”

Michael didn’t say anything.

“Show me,” said Joel.

“Okay, so...I think I remember sending it now...Yes...I was drunk. Definitely drunk. Extremely...And very...Disgustingly drunk. In fact, how I didn’t end up in hospital that night...With permanent liver damage is...”

“Show me the text message, Michael.” He didn’t wait for Michael to do as instructed; he simply reached across and snatched the phone from his hands. “Drunk?”

“Definitely.”

“You sent the message at two in the afternoon,” Joel showed him the message again.

“Alcoholic! That’s me.”

“You’re a piece of shit, really. How have we been friends for so long? How have I not seen this before? Truly. A piece of shit.”

“Ah, come on, man...You dumped her. Fair game.”

“You tried to fuck my girlfriend and that’s all you can say?”

“She wasn’t your girlfriend when I tried to fuck her, to be fair. And when you were together...I never once thought about it. Because friends don’t do that to each other.”

“You know what? I don’t want to hear this. You and me...We’re done,” said Joel. He passed the phone back to Lara and got up from where he was sitting on the grass verge. He walked over to the van and climbed in.

“Was that entirely necessary?” Michael asked Lara. “He didn’t need to know. It’s not as though anything happened between us. What was the point of doing that?”

“Because it’s what you deserve,” said Lara. She tucked the phone back into her jeans pocket and followed Joel to the camper van.

“That’s fucking great,” said Michael. “Thanks for that. Brilliant. Now I’m talking to myself...”

A horn sounded off from down the road. Michael turned his head to see the oncoming tow truck returning from dropping the car off.

* * * * *

Stephen was driving the tow truck. Michael was sitting next to him, with his head leaning against the window, staring at the world passing by.

Lara and Joel were sitting in the back - an all too obvious distance between them.

A few more silent minutes passed by slowly before Michael leaned forward and flicked on the radio.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“What are we doing here?” asked Joel when they finally pulled onto the family property where Dan, Hayley and Charlotte were already waiting.

“Oh, finally, it speaks!” said Stephen sarcastically. He pulled the tow truck up in front of the old house.

“Come on, I’m not in the mood for games...What are we doing here?” Joel continued.

“Collecting the others,” Michael muttered. “You think he dropped the car off here and then dropped the others off at the petrol station to wait for us?”

Stephen twisted in his seat to address everyone in the truck, “You’re really the life and soul of the party, aren’t you? Yes, your friends are here...But, we’re not going to the petrol station right away...”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me. Why not?” said Joel, fed up with the constant delays in getting to the campsite - although part of him just wanted to go home now.

“Because you’re staying for dinner,” said Stephen in a matter-of-fact tone. “My mother insisted, your friends agreed.”

“Brilliant!” moaned Joel ungratefully.

Stephen turned to him with a stern look on his face; for the first time since introducing himself to the group, he even sounded annoyed, “I suggest you don’t use that tone when you give thanks to my mother...And give thanks you will.”

Joel’s face flushed, “I’m sorry,” he said, “it’s just been one of those days.”

“That’s not my fault,” Stephen pointed out, “nor is it my mother’s fault so...Play nice...Unless you want me to take you back to where I found you and just leave you there?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any offence.”

Stephen suddenly smiled, “Come...Let me introduce you to the family.”

With no more words, Stephen opened the door and jumped down from the tow truck.

Michael laughed, “You certainly told him!”

“Just fuck off, Mike...Seriously fuck off!” Joel hissed. He opened the door and stepped out - slamming it behind him, despite Lara needing to get out too.

“This is your fault,” Michael pointed out to Lara. “You at least going to cheer him up by agreeing to go out with him again?”

“Don’t you get it yet, Michael? None of us like you. Why do you insist on hanging out with us? We can barely tolerate you.”

“Yeah, okay, if you say so...I’m sure you’re all big enough and ugly enough...Certainly ugly enough...To tell me to leave if you didn’t want me around.”

Lara leaned forward, into the front of the truck, and whispered slowly and clearly, “We don’t want you around anymore. Take the hint.” She didn’t wait for his response; she just left the truck via the same door Joel had used.

“You coming?” called Stephen from the front door.

Michael nodded and followed.

* * * * *

Dan was still sitting next to Tammy, on the sofa, along with Charlotte. Suzanne and Hayley were still in the armchairs with Andrea standing next to the window.

“Looks like your friends are here,” Andrea pointed out.

Tammy jumped up from her place on the sofa and joined Andrea at the window to see the new visitors - a sneaky glimpse before she had to meet them face to face. Hayley took the opportunity of the empty place on the sofa next to her man to swap seats.

“Jump in my grave just as quick?” Tammy asked with a cheeky grin on her face.

Hayley flashed her perfect white teeth at her in the most fake smile she had ever used. She managed to not blurt out, “No, I’d just piss on it,” although she desperately wanted to.

Suzanne couldn’t resist getting a sneaky look at the other guests either and joined the others at the window, just as Michael disappeared into the house. “They all staying for dinner?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Andrea - a welcoming smile on her face.

Dan tried to get out of it, once more, although he knew it was pointless, “Really, it isn’t a problem.”

“I know it isn’t,” Andrea quickly replied. “Honestly, we’d love to have you for dinner.”

“I’ll start preparing the vegetables,” said Suzanne as she left the room.

“Can we at least help?” asked Charlotte.

“No, no...” said Andrea. “It won’t take her anytime at all.”

Charlotte smiled at her despite feeling awkward at how generous the family were being.

Stephen stepped into the modestly decorated room, “Hello again,” he said to the house guests, “look who I found loitering out on the road.” He turned around and waved Joel, Michael and Lara in.

“And what are your names?” asked Andrea.

Joel did the introductions, “I’m Joel, this is Lara and this is Michael.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Michael - remembering what Stephen had said about playing nice to his mother.

“I’m Andrea, this is Tammy...You’ve just missed my other daughter, Suzanne. She’s just popped into the kitchen to prepare the vegetables.”

“Thank you for this, this is lovely,” said Lara taking heed of Stephen’s words too.

“It’s lovely for us too,” said Andrea. “Anyway, if you’d like to take a seat - we’ll go and start getting things ready. Stephen, you can help...”

“I’ve just got in, Mum, haven’t I done enough for today? It is supposed to be my day off after all! Do I not do enough during the week?”

“More hands make light work. And spuds don’t peel themselves,” said Andrea as she pushed him towards the living room door - followed by Tammy who gave a sly wink, which didn’t go unnoticed, at Dan.

“What the fuck was that about?” asked Hayley as the living room door closed.

“You’ve either got it, or you haven’t...” teased Dan, “...And I clearly have it.”

“What the fuck is any of this about?” asked Joel. “Someone want to explain how we ended up having dinner with these guys?”

“They were very persistent,” said Charlotte.

“I thought we were going camping. Clearly I was mistaken!” Joel sat on one of the spare armchairs.

“What harm does it do?” said Michael. “We’re already late...”

“No thanks to you,” Joel butted in.

Michael ignored him, “I’m just saying we may as well make the best of a bad situation. If these people offered dinner...We should accept. Not only is it free but it saves having to stop off later on.”

“Later on? That’s if we even get there today. We need to get the van sorted and they’re out there cutting up potatoes. Clearly their idea of dinner isn’t a round of sandwiches.”

“Which makes it all the better. I, for one, am hungry...Besides, I tried to tell her not to worry about it,” Dan chipped in.

“I think we should just go,” said Hayley.

“Let’s just eat their food. Say thank you. Get a lift. We don’t have to stay for hours and hours!” said Charlotte. “It’ll be fine. It could even be quite nice.”

“I agree with Hayley, this just feels wrong!” Joel argued.

“You lot listen to yourselves? Yes they’re strangers but, at the end of the day, they’re just being kind and helping us out. What’s wrong with that?” said Charlotte.

“Let’s just see what they make, eat it...Stay long enough to be polite, and then get to the petrol station,” said Michael. “We can still get to the site in a few hours. We can make this part of the holiday. Besides...That girl looks nice...Right Dan?”

Dan grinned from ear to ear fully aware that she did look nice and that she had also been flirting with him.

Joel didn’t share his enthusiasm, “Is there anyone you wouldn’t fuck, Michael? Jesus Christ...”

“Me!” Lara pointed out. “But only because I said no, right?”

“I told you...” Michael went to defend himself but was cut off mid-sentence.

“Fine, we’ll stay for dinner...We’ll get a lift to the petrol station but after that we’re going home!” hissed Joel.

“What?” asked Dan. “Home? What about the weekend we had planned?”

“I think we should cut our losses...I mean, is anyone even still in the mood for it? I, for one, am not. I don’t want to spend any more time with him,” Joel pointed to Michael.

“For fuck’s sake! I’m sorry!” said Michael - not keen on losing a friend nor his weekend away, especially as he had walked out of a job to make sure he could attend it.

“What for?” asked Joel. “Are you sorry for getting us in this position, in the first place, or are you sorry for trying to fuck Lara?”

“What? Whoa there...Have we missed something?” asked Dan.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” said Hayley, “you’ve had your eyes fixed firmly on that slut’s breasts since she introduced herself and tried giving you a lap dance?”

“What? Oh, come on, don’t you start...I was being friendly...They were being friendly to us! What was I supposed to do?” asked Dan.

“I think we all need to just calm down a little,” said Charlotte, “let’s not forget where we are...”

They all fell silent.

“Look, I just want to eat the meal and go home. If you lot want to go on to the site, you can...I’m just not in the mood for any further little adventures this weekend,” said Joel eventually.

“Fine, if that’s what you want,” said Dan. “I think it’s a shame but I won’t twist your arm.” He addressed the rest of the group, “What about the rest of you? What do you want to do?”

“I think things have been said and done already which would make for an unpleasant weekend,” said Lara. “I agree with Joel.”

“You can answer that but you can’t answer whether you want to go out with him again though?” spat Michael seizing his opportunity to make her feel as uncomfortable as him.

Dan, Charlotte and Hayley all turned to Lara, surprised to learn Joel had asked her out again.

“Fuck you,” hissed Lara.

“Didn’t we establish that was never going to happen?” said Joel, backing up Lara - although part of him had hoped it would prompt her to give him an answer.

“Fine! We’ll all go home!” said Michael. “But I think you’re being retarded! This was all nothing more than a mere speed bump. The text was taken out of context and the fact I got us lost...Just a mistake...You want to punish everyone because of that...Fine. Be my guest. But that’s your choice so fuck you.”

The living room door opened and Andrea walked in with a tray of drinks, “See - it never takes long when there’s more than one of you in the kitchen. And they say too many chefs ruin the broth. Proof in the pudding that this isn’t the case.” She put the tray down on the table opposite the group, “Are you having fun? Sorry to be so anti-social...We just want to ensure dinner is ready in a timely fashion...No doubt you’re all keen to get going!”

“It’s fine,” said Joel, trying his best to keep a civil tone in his voice despite his blackened mood. “We have all the time in the world,” he finished.

“That’s lovely, dear,” Andrea replied. “Well enjoy your drinks, you must be parched, and I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” She finished what she was saying but she didn’t leave. She simply stood there, in front of them, watching the glasses. Eventually the youths took the hint and took up a glass each.

“Thank you,” they all muttered before taking a sip each to keep her happy.

“My pleasure,” she said. She smiled and walked from the room, closing the living room door behind her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dan opened his eyes and sat bolt upright when he realised he was lying on a bed. Tammy was sitting on the end of it looking at him with a genuine look of concern on her face.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Where am I? What happened?” he asked. He looked around the decidedly pink bedroom; pink duvet, pink pillow cases, pink walls. Definitely her room. “Where the hell am I?”

“It’s okay,” said Tammy. “You’re in my bedroom.” She saw the look of panic on his face and went onto explain, “My dad put you in here after you fainted downstairs.”

“I fainted?”

“Banged your head pretty hard on the side too. We were worried.”

“I fainted?” he repeated. He rubbed his head as though it’d help with the banging headache he had pounding the inside of his skull. “Where’s Hayley?” he asked.

“She’s downstairs. They all are. They’re eating. I excused myself to go to the toilet. Wanted to make sure you were okay. They told me to leave you be but...I wanted to check. Is that bad?”

“What? No...No, it’s fine. Thank you. Fainted you say?”

She nodded, “You mentioned something about feeling funny one minute and the next, you dropped like a sack of spuds. How are you feeling now?”

He shook his head, “Okay I guess...I don’t remember anything. I best go and make my apologies.”

Tammy slid up the bed, closer to him, and pushed him back down so his head was on the pillow, “There’s no rush, is there?” she asked. “I’ve been wanting to get you to myself since I first saw you. Thought you looked tasty...”

“Tasty?” he laughed. “People still say that?”

“I do,” she nodded. She lay down next to him. “Kiss me?”

“What?”

“Please. I want to taste you. Kiss me.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. She kissed him on the mouth. A small peck to start off with. He kissed her back and she opened her mouth, slightly, to grant access to his wandering tongue. “You taste good,” she said at the first opportunity. She moved back in for another kiss but Dan stopped her.

“Wait.”

“What is it?” she asked. She looked more confused than hurt. As though she didn’t normally get men stopping her from kissing them.

“I have a girlfriend. She’s downstairs...You’re beautiful...Really you are but I can’t do this...” he said.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she purred. She kissed him on the right cheek whilst stroking her hand down his left. The hand didn’t stop there, and neither did her mouth. She kissed his mouth again, encouraging him to kiss her back, whilst her hand moved down his body. Down his strong chest, across his stomach and over his crotch. “Do you want me to stop? It doesn’t feel as though you want me to,” she whispered.

Dan sighed with pleasure and kissed her again whilst she fumbled with his belt. Seconds later she freed his erect penis.

“It’ll be our secret,” she whispered as she started to stroke his hard shaft. “Do you want me to kiss it?”

Dan was squirming on the bed with pleasure. He nodded without hesitation. Tammy smiled and kissed him again before positioning herself so she was sat on top of his chest, her hand reaching behind her - refusing to release her grip on his cock. She laughed as she repositioned her body so that she was sitting on his legs - making it hard for him to move, not that he had any intention of moving away from her. Seconds later her warm mouth enveloped his manhood. He sighed with pleasure again as her saliva trickled over his helmet with a gentle flick of her tongue.

“That feels so good,” he moaned.

Tammy looked up and sucked her way to the tip of his cock before letting it slip out of her mouth, “I want to taste you,” she said.

“Don’t stop, please...” he sighed.

Tammy smiled and continued to suck on his member, much to Dan’s delight.

“Ouch,” he suddenly sat upright. “Less teeth,” he whispered, still nervous of anyone catching them.

Despite having his penis in her mouth, Tammy couldn’t help but smile at his request.

“Tammy,” he whispered as he tried to get her attention as he felt she couldn’t have heard him. “Tammy,” he repeated. He looked down to where her head was bobbing up and down. When he whispered her name for a third time, she opened her eyes and looked him directly in the eye. “You’re hurting me,” he whispered, a frantic look in his eye and a quiver in his voice despite his best efforts to hide it from Tammy for fear of offending her.

Tammy didn’t release his penis from her mouth, instead she closed her eyes and - within a split second - clamped her teeth down, with enough force to ensure the top row met up with the bottom, before twisting her head to the side as hard as she possibly could, tearing his member from his body with an awful ripping sound that was nearly drowned out by his loud, ear-piercing scream. Blood spraying everywhere. She sat upright, her jaws chewing, with a devilish look in her perfect blue eyes. Had Dan been able to open his eyes he’d have been able to see a complete look of euphoria upon her pretty, but bloodied, face. A few determined chews before she took a hard swallow. Dan continued screaming, with his complexion getting paler, as Tammy sucked her fingers clean.

“You taste amazing,” she said, “nom nom nom.” She moved down his writhing body, back to where his appendage used to be, and stuck her tongue into the still bleeding hole. Dan’s shrieks of pain and terror abruptly stopped as shock, and blood loss, forced him into a state of unconsciousness - not that Tammy cared as she continued to lick at the blood as though she were a cat lapping up a bowl of delicious fresh milk.

A few more minutes of frenzied drinking and she moved back up to be face to face with him, “Why’d you have to fall unconscious? You missed the best bit.” She sighed, “They always do.” She prised his mouth open and tentatively reached in, with two fingers, and took hold of his tongue. With it firmly between her fingers, she pulled it out of his mouth and touched it with her own tongue, “Kiss me,” she purred. She made the tongue flap up and down, using her fingers, and matched its actions with her own tongue. “I knew you’d be a good kisser,” she said when she eventually stopped. She couldn’t help but laugh as she took his tongue between her teeth. She released her fingers and started to slowly move her head backwards until Dan’s tongue was stretched as far as it could possibly stretch.

The same mischievous grin spread across her face as it had done earlier. She took a hold of his tongue, once more, and informed him, “These are two of my favourite things,” she said. “The first...” she used her head to point downwards to his crotch, “...You can’t beat it. But, the second best bit?” she smiled again and gave Dan’s tongue a short, sharp tug - ripping it from his mouth. “Perfect!”

She tilted her head back, opened her mouth, and dropped the piece of tongue onto her own. She held it there for a moment to savor the flavour, “Oh my, how did you have this in your mouth for all these years and not get tempted to swallow it yourself? I don’t think I could have done it. Although, I’m not entirely sure how feasible it would have been to actually eat it yourself...” She looked at Dan. There was absolutely no colour in his complexion at all, other than the traces of slowly drying blood she had inadvertently wiped on his skin whilst getting close to him, and his chest was barely moving up and down. “You’re not listening to me at all, are you?” she said, a slight hint of disappointment in her voice that her playmate was already near death. She carried on chewing, occasionally sucking, on the tongue before swallowing it down her throat. “Yummy!”

A knock on the door shattered her euphoric bliss and made her jump.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“It’s me,” said Johnny. “Can I come in?”

“Hang on!”

Tammy jumped off the bed and pulled the duvet from underneath Dan, with some effort. As soon as he was clear of it she threw it over his dying body to hide what she had been doing. A quick look around the room to make sure everything was okay. She nodded with satisfaction. If she just stood in the doorway, to greet her brother, he wouldn’t be able to see the blood which had sprayed the wall next to her bed.

Another knock on the door.

Tammy casually walked over to the door and opened it ever so slightly - enough for her brother to see her but not enough for him to see into the room without having to strain past her and, even if he did, the blood wouldn’t be as noticeable as a body on her bed.

“You’ve been snacking, haven’t you?” he said.

“What? No. What are you talking about?”

He pointed to her face which, she had forgotten, was coated in bits of Dan. Johnny pushed past her and stepped into the bedroom, “What have you been doing?” he asked when he stopped by the blood splatter on the wall. His eyes fixed on the lump underneath the duvet - the duvet which was also starting to show blood slowly seeping through it. “What the hell, Tammy?”

“Don’t tell Dad!”

“Not sure how we’re going to hide this,” he said. He pulled back the duvet and saw the full horror of what she had been doing whilst left to her own devices. “Fuck...Was he at least still drugged whilst you...Well...That....” he pointed to where Dan’s penis used to be. Tammy looked to the floor in shame. “Brutal.”

“I got carried away.”

“Yeah, you did. Damn Tammy, you know Mum hates it when we snack between meals. And this...This is just wasteful. You know she’s preparing dinner as we speak right now, right? We won’t get through that and this before it goes bad. I don’t even want to know what Dad is going to say.”

“We could hide the body,” Tammy said, suddenly, as she desperately clutched at straws.

“You know that won’t work.”

“Could make it look as though he ran away?”

“They wouldn’t stop looking for him. They’d be too afraid he’d bring someone back to help his friends. Jesus Christ, what were you thinking?”

“I was hungry!”

“And you couldn’t wait a couple more hours? Or even have a biscuit? We can’t hide this from Mum and Dad.”

Tammy sat on the bed, deflated. The bliss she had from the taste of flesh was all but a distant memory now as she realised the disappointment and anger she’d cause her parents when they discovered what she had done.

“You’re better off telling them sooner rather than later,” said Johnny, “you never know, she may not have started preparing the meat...Could save her selection for another day.” He paused, “Do you want me to tell them?”

Tammy nodded. A scared little girl.

* * * * *

Even though the picture of Robert made him out to be tall - it’d still have come as a shock had you seen him face to face for the picture didn’t do his true height, six foot five inches, any kind of justice. He was an imposing figure with muscles clearly bulging under his tight v-neck t-shirts, despite the fact he was in his sixties. His face, mostly hidden behind a shaggy grey beard which didn’t match the colour of the hair on his head, permanently seemed to have a scowl upon it - something which made his height even scarier in reality.

He was standing in an old wooden barn, set back behind the house, muttering to himself whilst skinning a deer which hung from the barn’s rickety rafters. Hayley was hanging, next to the deer, by her feet. A look of sheer panic on her gagged face. Robert pulled the knife he was using, from the deer’s carcass, and gave the blade a careful lick.

“Dad?”

Johnny’s voice from the barn’s doorway startled Robert, not that it showed.

“Didn’t I tell you not to disturb me whilst I’m working, boy?”

Johnny didn’t answer him. Instead he waited, with Tammy by his side, for his father to turn to face him - something which didn’t take long. Robert noticed the state of Tammy’s face immediately.

“Speak!” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered.

“What’s happened?” he asked. “Whose blood is that?”

Tammy didn’t say anything for she knew what his temper was like and could tell he was already in one of those moods she had known from when she was a youngster - and had always feared so much. Johnny stepped in to help his sister.

“It’s the guy we put in her bedroom,” Johnny said.

“What about him?” Robert demanded.

“He tried to run,” Johnny lied. Tammy didn’t deny it. Instead she let her brother continue lying for her. “She didn’t have a choice...” he insisted.

“Where is he now?” Robert asked.

“He’s in the bedroom...” said Johnny. “She didn’t have a choice...”

Robert snarled as he pushed his way past his children to see what had happened. He knew the only way of knowing for sure was to see with his own eyes.

CHAPTER NINE

Tammy was sitting at a large kitchen table with tears in her eyes. Her face was still bloodied from her earlier feeding frenzy. Her hands rested, shaking, on the table surrounded by various bowls of vegetables.

Johnny was sitting with her. “It’ll be fine,” he told her.

The door opened revealing Robert and Andrea. Both of them looked angry.

“I’m sorry,” Tammy said to them.

Robert didn’t say anything. He crossed the room towards her in two single steps. He raised his hand, high in the air, and brought it down hard on Tammy’s face causing her to scream in pain.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” hissed Johnny. He leapt off his seat with his fists clenched, as though ready to strike back.

“Stop it!” screamed Andrea from the doorway where she had remained. “It’s not the end of the world. I haven’t started on the meat yet...Nothing’s been wasted. I’m sure I can salvage something.”

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Robert.

“He tried to run,” said Tammy - fighting back her tears.

“Rubbish!” shouted her father. “We saw what you did. He hadn’t tried to run and he wouldn’t have either...Not all the time you had a mouthful.” He looked as though he wanted to hit her again. “Or did you do that?” he asked Johnny who was still standing next to him - ready to take his swing.

“Fuck you!” hissed Johnny.

“And where were you last night? Cruising for more cock? You’re an embarrassment.”

“I’m not gay! How many times do I have to keep telling you?”

“Prove it!” Robert spat back. “Prove to me that you’re a man.”

“What?”

Robert grabbed Tammy by the hair and lifted her to her feet. Both Johnny and Andrea screamed for him to stop but he didn’t. He pushed her down on the table and pulled her jeans down using a swift, forceful, movement with his spare hand. “I said prove to me how much of a man you really are,” he hissed - a look of pure hatred and evil burning from his eyes.

Tammy screamed, “Get off! Please! I’m sorry!”

“Ssh,” Robert lifted her head off the table and slammed it back down - stunning her into silence. He turned his attention back to Johnny, “Well, boy, what are you waiting for. Stick her. Come on! Look at that tight, pretty little cunt...Doesn’t that make you hard? Don’t just stare at it...Fuck it!” he demanded. Keeping her head pinned to the table with one hand, he pulled her knickers to one side using the other - revealing her vagina to Johnny.

Johnny screamed at his father. Not from fear but more so out of hatred for his dad. He turned and fled the room hoping that Andrea would talk Robert down from his rage.

“Robert, please...” said Andrea, “you’re scaring us...Please...”

“No balls,” hissed Robert. “And he says he ain’t a faggot?”

“Robert, please...” Andrea continued.

“Shut up, whore. Something inside of you...Something...You did something to make him like that. Something broke him whilst he was cooking in you. Should have fucking stamped on the little shit as soon as you spat him out. Should have. Still should. Do us all a favour. One less mouth to feed.” Using his spare hand, he pulled at his belt until it undid. A quick fumble with the buttons on his dark blue jeans and, seconds later, he released his erection. “Look at this little cunt...” he continued, “have to be a queer not to want to fuck it.”

Tammy squealed in pain as her father pushed himself deep inside her. Andrea turned away, unable to watch what Robert was doing. Robert started to thrust in and out of his daughter but kept watching Andrea instead, “Remember when we used to do this?” he asked. “Remember what that was like? You feel wet or you still dry as a bone? Need me to spit on it again? The girls...What point is a daughter if not for this? You and your broken cunt...Good for nothing...Dry as a desert. You gonna keep watching or you gonna get dinner sorted? Clean up after what your daughter did? Run along and let me finish teaching her a lesson,” he hissed like a man possessed - thrusting hard with each sentence spat.

Andrea turned and ran from the room in floods of tears. She knew there was no point in trying to talk him down now. She knew that, once in one of his moods, there was no talking him down. You just had to let him get on with what he wanted to do or else feel his wrath too.

* * * * *

Johnny stormed into the dining room and slammed the door behind him. Without taking the time to look around the room he punched the wall as hard as he could - in his mind the plaster was his father. In his mind the crack in the plaster was a crack in his father’s face. The blood, from his knuckles, also belonged to his dad - in his fragile mind. He hit the wall again. And again. Each punch working out more of his frustration and anger at not being able to stand up to his own father. He knew someone had to. He knew someone had to put him in his place. For the sake of the family. He just wished he were strong enough. He went to swing at the wall again and suddenly froze when something, in the room, caught his eye. Slowly he turned to face the dining room table; a large oak table in the middle of the room with enough chairs, around it, to seat the entire family.

On the table, with two tall candles on either side of her, was Charlotte – naked, bound by restraints holding her wrists and ankles - a ball gag in her mouth and make-up smudged down her pretty face from the tears of fear which leaked from her eyes uncontrollably.

He stormed over to her and spat in her face. “This is your fault,” he whispered so as not to alert the rest of his family that he was talking to the dinner, “if we hadn’t picked you and your friends up...If we hadn’t...” he stopped talking and just stared at her naked body, suddenly overcome by lust. “I’m not gay!” he hissed at her as though she had been the one to name call him in the first place. “I’m not.”

Charlotte squirmed against the restraints as she felt her captor clamber up onto the table next to her. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing. She kept her eyes closed tightly. If she couldn’t see him, perhaps he wasn’t really there? She knew it wasn’t the case. She knew but hoped nevertheless.

He whispered in her ear, “I’m not gay. He wants me to prove it?” His gravelly voice sent a shiver down to the base of her bare spine. “You smell good,” he continued, “fresh...A hint of fear. Fear is good.” He nuzzled her neck and breathed in deeply - taking his time to take in her natural scent. “Mmmm...” he laughed, “....Good enough to eat. Good enough to fuck.”

He kissed his way down her chest. He stopped long enough to give her nipples a little flick with his tongue. She let out a sigh; one of surprise and not pleasure.

The restraints were straining as she pulled and twisted against them harder – straining, but not giving.

Her captor kissed down her stomach, another flick of his tongue - this time across her belly button. Hardly a pause before he continued moving southwards. A kiss against her pubic area. A small moan escaped his lips. A small whimper of panic, as she realised what was to come, from hers. He moved lower until his head was between her legs. A pause. She could feel his rancid breath against her vagina.

The restraints still refused to budge from her desperate squirming.

He breathed in deeply and sighed once more.

She clenched, bracing herself for what was to come; another flick of his tongue. Perhaps an experimental probing of his index finger? Nothing came. She opened her eyes and looked down. He was still there, between her legs. He was looking up at her. His eyes almost black in this light. Soulless. The lust and hunger overshadowing previous thoughts of despair and hatred for his father. He smiled.

“You smell great,” he repeated. He continued looking at her as he moved himself lower. He stopped just before he reached her knee and promptly ran his tongue up the inside of her quivering thigh.

The damned restraints not allowing any freedom. She couldn’t help but whimper. Tears of fear turned to those of disgust  as they ran down her pale cheeks.

He stopped when he reached her vagina again.

A lick of his lips.

“Salty. Your fear tastes salty. One can only imagine what that’ll do to the flavour of...”

He ran his hand up the inside of leg, where he had just licked. Whereas his face had stopped just before her vagina, his hand didn’t. His determined fingers ran across her labia.

“Please don’t...” she mumbled around the ball-gag but he ignored her. His fingers forcing themselves to slowly part her lips. His breath so close that she knew it was only a matter of seconds before she’d feel his lips against her skin again.

He suddenly stopped and withdrew his fingers.

She opened her eyes in time to see him climb from the table with a look of shame on his face. His eyes back to a more normal colour as though he had come to his senses - brought back, with a bump, by his own guilty conscience.

“No,” he whispered - more or less to himself. “No.” He turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him.

Charlotte couldn’t help but let slip with a sigh of relief even though she knew it was far from over. She called out, “Somebody help me!” despite knowing the chances of anyone coming to her aid were slim.

* * * * *

Tammy was in her bedroom, against Dan’s corpse, crying on the soiled bed. Suzanne was sitting on the side of the bed trying to comfort her.

“What’s happened?” she asked. “What is it? Tell me...” Suzanne didn’t need Tammy to say what was causing the tears. She knew only too well. She had been in the same position herself. She recognised the limp that Tammy walked with when she passed Suzanne’s bedroom to get to her own room. It was a limp she had walked with on many occasions - usually late at night after her father had paid her a visit, drunk on the taste of flesh. For him to attack Tammy without even a hint of the taste of flesh, without even taking a taste of what was to come...Clearly he was already in a frenzied mood. Suzanne put her arm around Tammy but still Tammy didn’t say what was wrong. She just buried her face against Suzanne’s chest as though it was a safe haven from any monsters looming.

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Come in,” Suzanne called out - she hoped that, whoever it was, they’d be able to have more success in calming Tammy down.

Johnny pushed the door open, “Can I come in?”

Suzanne nodded. Johnny stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, after a quick look to make sure his father wasn’t nearby.

“Are you okay?” he asked Tammy. He had partly felt responsible for what had happened. It had been his idea to tell their parents what Tammy had done - not that they had had much of a choice. She didn’t respond. “We need to do something about him...” It didn’t matter that Suzanne heard him. He knew she had suffered at the hands of Robert too. They all had. “We shouldn’t have to live like this...In fear of him...”

“It’s not him,” said Suzanne.

“Bullshit, who else is it?”

“You know who.”

“No, I don’t believe in that. And you don’t either,” he retorted.

“Maybe we should,” she continued.

“Believe in what?” asked Tammy, wiping away the tears from her cheeks.

“You don’t remember the stories Dad told us as we were growing up?” asked Suzanne.

She shook her head.

“Don’t even start, Suzanne...None of it...It’s not true. It’s just stories. Some little tribes in North America...Around that area...Stories to tell their children...To scare them away from what we have grown up enjoying...”

“Tell me,” Tammy insisted.

“I don’t think our dad is always himself,” said Suzanne. “He used to tell us of a legend...Told by...I think...Algonquian people...The legend of Wendigo...”

“Why are you telling her this? You don’t believe in it...You said so yourself.”

“Maybe I was wrong. We were wrong.” She continued, “A malevolent spirit that could possess humans. People who were...People who liked...What we like...Flesh...Human flesh...We are more at risk.”

“Then why haven’t we been possessed?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps because he has been doing it for longer. They say that, when possessed, you’d become violent and obsessed with eating human flesh...You know how hungry he can get...You know how violent he can get too.”

Tammy started to cry again, “But...I couldn’t stop myself either.”

“What do you mean?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have done what I did but I couldn’t stop myself. From the moment they got here...I knew what I wanted and, at the first opportunity, I took it.”

“It’s not the same,” said Suzanne. “You were just hungry. We all are. It’s been months since we’ve had a good meal. A proper meal. Other meat just doesn’t satisfy the cravings as much. You are not like him, though. None of us are. We wouldn’t hurt each other...We wouldn’t. How many times has he hurt you?”

“I forgot.”

“I try to too,” nodded Suzanne. “Too many times to count. Too many times to forget. He isn’t our father anymore. He is something else.”

“So you agree we need to do something then?” Johnny butted in.

Suzanne nodded, “What about Stephen and Mum though?”

“They’re either with us or against us.”

“And what about our guests?” Suzanne enquired further.

Johnny smiled, “I’m sure we’ll work up a hunger.”

* * * * *

“Who’s that?” asked Joel with a hint of fear in his voice. He was tied to a chair with ropes around his wrists and ankles. Unbeknownst to him, in the same position behind him was Lara.

“Joel? Is that you?”

“Lara?” Joel tried to turn his head to see her but couldn’t. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied - the same fear in her voice. “I just woke up here. What happened?”

“I’m the same. Just woke up. Can you see anything?” he asked.

“No.”

They were sitting in one of the house’s many rooms - not that they knew that as all the lights were off and there appeared to be no windows to let in any light or glimpse of their surroundings.

“I’m scared,” Lara whispered.

Joel wanted to tell her that everything was okay. He wanted to tell her that he’d protect her from whoever did this to them. He wanted to say it but didn’t because he knew it would’ve been nothing more than a lie - a lie which would have been easy for anyone to detect.

“Me too,” he whispered back.

“Where are the others?”

Again, he didn’t answer. Lara didn’t expect him to. It was more of a rhetorical question. After all, in the position he was in, there was no way for him to know where any of their friends were. He startled to struggle against the ropes which had him locked to the wooden chair.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Can you get your hands free?” he replied as he still battled against his restraints.

“I don’t know,” she started to fight against her ropes too. “They’re tight,” she moaned.

“Fuck!”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing. I cut myself on the rope. Fuck!” he said again. “What the fuck is going on? Where are we?”

“I don’t know!” said Lara. She started to cry as fear took hold of her senses.

“Lara, it’s okay. It’s okay. Just try and remember. Do you remember anything before waking up here?” he asked. “Anything at all?”

“I just remember that we were waiting for dinner. The old lady...She gave us some drinks and we drank.”

“The lemonade,” Joel suddenly realised what had happened, “it was drugged.”

“What? It couldn’t have been. She wouldn’t have!”

“She wouldn’t? You don’t even know her.”

“And you do? She seemed nice. They all did.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he pointed out to her. “Obviously there’s some fucked up family shit going on in here and we’re slap bang in the middle of it.” He started to fight against the ropes again, despite the damage they were doing to his wrists.

“What are you doing?” asked Lara. The more Joel fought against the ropes, the more he was bumping into her back.

“We can’t just sit here and wait for whoever it is to come back. We need to get out of here. And now.”

“What about the others?”

“They’re probably trying to get out too,” he pointed out. “If they’re even alive.”

“What?!” another flood of panic rushed through her body.

“Nothing. I’m being dramatic. Come on, we need to get out of here. Can you get your hands free? Anything? If one of us can get out...We can help the other...” he continued. “Before they come back!”

Light flooded into the room as the door suddenly opened - giving both Lara and Joel a view of their prison; a derelict room. No carpets, just wooden floorboards. No wallpaper, or even paint, just bricks. There was nothing. When Lara’s eyes adjusted to the sudden light, in the room, she noticed Stephen standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” he said. “Can I get you guys anything to eat or drink?”

“Quick!” whispered Joel, when he realised it was Stephen standing in the doorway. “Undo the ropes.”

Stephen laughed, “Undo them? It took me ages to do them up - why the Hell would I want to undo them?”

“Please...” said Lara.

“Oh ssh now!” said Stephen. “I came here, in good spirits, asking you if you fancied anything to eat. I didn’t come for an argument. Now, are you hungry or not?” He stepped into the room.

“Of course we don’t, you sick fuck. We want to go home...What are you playing at? What do you want?” shouted Joel.

“Okay, for your own sake, I’d stop shouting...You don’t want to disturb my da....” Stephen was cut off mid-sentence as the door slammed behind him plunging them all into darkness. “What the hell was that?” The door’s lock clicked shut. “Great!” He twisted the door handle but the door, unsurprisingly didn’t budge, “Okay, very funny...Come on...Let me out...” He pressed his ear to the door and listened as, whoever had closed it, walked further away from them. He banged on the door but the fading footsteps on the other side didn’t falter. “Brilliant!” he muttered.

“Let me out,” said Joel as he seized the opportunity, “we can force the door together...We can all get out.”

“Seriously...I’m in a good mood...It’s probably just my brother mucking about...Don’t ruin my good mood. Shut up!” Stephen warned.

Joel fell quiet.

* * * * *

On the other side of the door, Johnny quietly crept away - back down the hallway he had previously snuck up to catch his brother unaware. He turned the corner and bumped into his sisters.

“Well?” asked Suzanne.

Johnny held the key up that he had used to trap his brother.

“You didn’t talk to him?” asked Tammy.

“Even if he agreed with our plan - we don’t need him. It’s easier this way...We’ll deal with him afterwards...”

“He might be angry,” said Suzanne.

“And we’ll deal with him afterwards!” Johnny snapped. “What would you do if he didn’t agree with us? Back down? Carry on living as we are now?” The girls didn’t answer. “This is easier. It’s better,” he pointed out. “Trust me. This is for the best of the family. How long before his temper...His greed...How long before he decides he’s permitted to snack on his kids?” They knew he was right. “Look...Let’s just get this done, yeah? You want it too, right?”

There was a slight pause before they both nodded.

He pushed past them and walked down the stairs. The two girls followed close behind - both of them starting to feel nervous about what was to come.

CHAPTER TEN

The knife slid into Hayley’s face as though it were as soft as butter. She didn’t scream though. The knife’s first cut, across her throat, made sure she made no noise now - other than a strange gurgling noise coming from her mouth - and, more importantly, the first cut ensured she didn’t move around whilst Robert continued working on her body.

The knife moved down slowly so as not to prematurely tear the flesh off the bone. The blade was pulled upwards when it got to her chin - an action which ensured the piece of skin was cut cleanly off.

“Perfect!” sighed Robert as he held the flap of skin up to his eyes for a closer look. “Should have been a butcher!” He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out - dropping Hayley’s skin onto the middle of it. Another sigh escaped his mouth.

“Robert?”

He stopped chewing. “Robert?” he said. “Is that any way to speak to your father?” He didn’t turn around to see who was addressing him from the doorway to the barn. He didn’t need to. He recognised the insolence in the tone as Johnny’s.

“I’m ashamed you’re my father,” Johnny said. Had Robert turned around he’d have seen that Johnny was holding an extremely large knife.

“The question is, though...” said Robert whilst preparing another piece of Hayley’s flesh for mastication, “...are you as ashamed of me as I am of you? My own son...Disloyal...Disobedient...Disappointing...”

“Coming from a rapist? You fuck your own daughter,” Johnny hissed.

“Daughters!” Suzanne pointed out.

Robert stood upright. He had no idea Suzanne was standing next to Johnny. Slowly he turned around as he popped the next piece of skin into his mouth. He saw Tammy was there too.

Johnny looked at Suzanne. “I had no idea,” he said.

“It’s not something you brag about.”

“You’re standing with him?” Robert asked. He spotted the knife, “And what do you plan to do with that? Oh I see. You’ve come to put an end to my evil ways...”

“You’re not our father. You haven’t been for a long time,” said Johnny.

“Oh? So who am I?” asked Robert - trying his best to hide his smirk.

“Wendigo!” Tammy pointed out.

“Wendigo?” Robert laughed.

Tammy nodded.

“You’re not well,” Suzanne whispered.

“You want to know where I went yesterday? I left. I had a bag packed and I jumped into my car. I left here. I left you all. The only reason I came back is because the car broke down...”

Robert stared at her with a look of contempt on his face. How dare his own children talk to him as though he were mentally ill. After the briefest of silences he asked, “You think I’m ill?”

“You have been for a long time,” said Johnny as he took a step forward with the knife clutched firmly in his hand.

“You think I need to be put out of my misery?” Robert went on to ask.

“It ends. Now.” Johnny said.

“Yes,” his father agreed, “I do believe it does.” He smiled. “Well, come on then boy, make your move.”

Johnny paused. He looked at his sisters for encouragement - a sign that it was still the right thing to do. They both were watching their father intently. He guessed that, if either of them were opposed to the idea, they’d have already said something.

“There is just one thing though,” said Robert, “if I really am Wendigo, as you all seem to suspect, how do you think a knife is going to kill me? I mean, we’re supposed to have hearts of ice...Us Wendigo monsters...The only way to kill us is with a hot bullet through the heart. Do you remember anything I taught you?”

Johnny hesitated for a moment or two. Long enough for Robert to lunge forward and plunge his own knife straight into Johnny’s heart. Suzanne and Tammy screamed whilst Johnny just stood there with a startled look upon his face. He opened his mouth, as though he wanted to say something, but no words came - just blood trickling down his chin.

“You’re no son of mine,” hissed Robert as the life faded from Johnny’s clouding eyes. He let go of the knife - his own bodyweight stopping Johnny from dropping to the floor - and Johnny dropped to his knees. Knees first and then face forward; the force of the handle hitting the floor so hard it made the tip of the knife stick out of Johnny’s back. Robert spat on Johnny’s body and turned to his daughters who just stood there - too scared to do, or try, anything. “I believe it’s dinner time,” he whispered; a tone so threatening they didn’t dare to make a move of their own. He pushed past the girls and out of the barn.

“What now?” asked Tammy.

* * * * *

“Please...I won’t tell anyone...Please...Just let me go...Please...I beg you...” Charlotte was squirming against the restraints which kept her bound to the table where Johnny had previously left her. She was positioned in such a way on the table that her head was in front of Robert who was sitting at the head of the table, casually tucking a napkin into the top of his shirt - no doubt in preparation for unavoidable crumbs being spilt.

Andrea was sitting at the other end of the table - the raw deal as she had the end with Charlotte’s feet. Tammy and Suzanne were sitting on the sides, opposite one another. There was an empty seat where Johnny and Stephen should have been. The girls, and Andrea, were weeping for Johnny.

“Am I to presume Stephen didn’t want any part of your plan?” Robert asked as he continued adjusting his napkin. “I take it his body is somewhere around the house?” The girls didn’t answer. “A shame. He was a good son. At least I was able to count on one child out of four.” He looked to Andrea, “Did you know of their plan?” he asked - all the time trying to ignore the pleas of Charlotte.

“I swear, I didn’t...”

“Perhaps you even put them up to it?” he interrupted her.

Charlotte screamed.

“I suppose I have been strict,” he continued, ignoring Charlotte’s scream as though he were used to it, “but I have been so for your own good. I had to protect the family. What I did...What I do...It’s always been for the good of the family as a collective. But I don’t suppose you give a shit, do you?”

“Please...” Charlotte whispered looking directly at Robert.

He finally snapped, “I’m trying to have a conversation with my family,” he hissed. “You trying to talk over the top of me...It’s rude...Very fucking rude...Now...I’d be eternally grateful if you’d shut up. Food should be eaten and not heard!” He addressed the rest of the family, “Right now we should be eating as kings and queens. All of us. A family. A real family. Enough food to last us for months but you’ve all played your part in ruining that for each of us.”

“I won’t tell anyone...I won’t....I promise...” Charlotte pressed her luck. “Whatever I’ve done...I’m sorry.”

“It’s nice to get fresh food eaten like this,” Robert sighed, “but it’s a real pain in the arse when it doesn’t know its place and continues to yak. Shut...Up....” he bellowed.

“Maybe we should just eat,” said Andrea. “It might make us feel better.”

“For once we agree upon something,” said Robert. He leaned forward until his face was nearly touching Charlotte’s. “Now you can start screaming,” he told her.

He sat upright and put his hand over one of Charlotte’s eyes. As soon as his skin touched hers she let out a little scream of fright. A louder scream followed when he dug his fingers into her eye socket. By the time he removed them, he had her left eye in the palm of his hand. Charlotte’s screams got louder and louder - the pain from her eye so unbearable she probably didn’t notice the girls were pulling back her finger nails in a tried and tested method for removing them completely so they wouldn’t get stuck in their throats. Robert slid the eyeball into his mouth and held it there for a second before pressing down with his teeth to the satisfying sound of a pop. A little juice squirted down his chin much to his amusement. He had barely swallowed when he pressed his hand back against Charlotte’s face.

* * * * *

“What’s happening down there?” Joel asked from the darkness of the room where he was trapped with Lara and Stephen.

“It’s dinner time,” Stephen answered as though it were all perfectly normal.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Dinner time...”

“That sounds like Charlotte,” said Lara - her voice quivering with fright. “What are they doing to her? What’s happening?”

“I’m more concerned with how come they’re eating and yet I’m still locked in here,” said Stephen. He stumbled his way through the blackness to the locked door and started to bang on it as Charlotte screamed on downstairs. “Hello? Anyone? Come on! I’m hungry too! Why aren’t you letting me out? A joke’s a joke...Come on!”

“My friend is in trouble,” Joel pointed out. “Let me out so I can help her! Please!”

“Now why would I want to do a thing like that?” asked Stephen. He carried on banging the door; “I’m supposed to be down there with them!” he reminded Joel and Lara.

“They’re eating her?” asked Lara as another loud scream echoed through the house.

“I’d say so - yes,” said Stephen. “They’d better save me some that’s all I can say.”

“You’re fucking nuts! The lot of you!” Lara cried.

“We’re nuts?”

“You eat people?”

“We’re nuts?” Stephen repeated. “You’re nuts! You haven’t even tried it! If you had - you’d realise you were the crazy ones for going so long without trying it! It’s the best fucking meat in the world. Tastes so good. One taste - you never forget. Tell you what, if they’ve left any...” another scream filled the room, “...I’ll sneak some up for you to try. Fair’s fair...”

“You’re sick!” Joel shouted.

“I was sick,” Stephen pointed out, “when I was young. I was about five or six, if memory serves correctly, and I caught some disease. Doctors didn’t know what it was. They had me wired to all these machines in the hospital...My chances of survival, they said, were slim to none. My dad...My dad unplugged me from that bed and took me home. He didn’t want me dying in some strange hospital bed. Once home he stayed with me, day in and day out...He fed me this meat...A strange taste which I had never known before but loved...A week later, on this strange diet, and I had enough strength to leave the bed. Two weeks later I was running around in the woods with my younger brother...Years later, occasionally getting another taste of that strange meat, my dad took me into the barn where he had been preparing it...He told me what it was. He showed me. A person. I didn’t know who it was. Some stranger. He had taken them. Skinned them.  Fed them to his family. At first I was disgusted. I wanted to run but I didn’t. I was so young - where would I have gone? Mother was there, to reassure me it was okay. She told me they were bad people and it was their way of making amends for their wicked ways - they’d give themselves up to offer us strength in our hours of need. And strength they did give us...None of us...None...We never got ill. Not even a cold. We gained the strength and protection of those whom we devoured...Our own medication to keep us safe in this disease-ridden world...” He started to laugh, “I’m sorry, I can’t keep it up. I’m just playing with you...We just like the taste. Seriously...I mean it...If they leave any of your friend...I’ll get you some to try. Can’t say fairer than that.” He started to laugh when, suddenly, he saw a shadow in the darkness lunge at him. Before he had time to react a fist, hard as concrete, connected to his face causing him to stumble back blindly.

“What’s happening?” Lara screamed when she heard the commotion - unaware that Joel had managed to free himself from his ropes.

Stephen stood up, propping himself against the wall, in time for another fist to connect - this time to his stomach. A punch, so hard, it took the wind from him but he didn’t have time to react or attempt to catch his breath as a knee connected to his face; a loud crack from the bridge of his nose as the bone splintered under the skin. No relent. No forgiveness. Another knee directly in the same place as the last. Another. And another. By the time the blows stopping coming, Stephen slumped to the floor barely conscious. The last thing he saw, through instantly blackened eyes, was a large size eleven foot heading down towards his face.

“Joel?” Lara asked when the banging and crashing came to a stop. There was silence. “Joel?”

“Yeah,” he said - out of breath. “Talk to me...” he said.

“Is he dead?” she asked. Joel used the sound of his voice to find his way back to where Lara was tied to the chair. “Joel?” she asked again, “Did you kill him?”

“I think so. I hope so,” he told her as he fumbled with the ropes which bound her. He stopped when another of Charlotte’s screams ripped through the house. “We have to get out of here,” he said. He carried on with the ropes.

“What about the others?”

“What about them?” he asked. “They’re probably already dead...And if they’re not dead yet,” he said as another scream pointed out that at least one of them was still alive, “they’ll be dead soon.”

“We can’t just leave them,” said Lara.

“When I said I wanted us to be together...I didn’t mean in a stew!” he said.

“I’m not leaving them,” she said as the ropes were pulled away from her wrists. He leant forward and started to undo the ones around her ankles. “If you love me - you’ll help me...”

“This is fucking insane,” he said. “You know that, right? This whole situation...We need to get out of here. We need to...We can get help for them when we’re out!” he told her.

“I can’t leave it...Them...They’re our friends.”

“Fine!” he said. “But the first sign of trouble or even a hint that they’re dead...We leave.”

“Yes,” she said. She dropped the ropes to the floor - free at last.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Charlotte was lying motionless on the table - chunks of flesh missing from her body in various places, two deep black holes where her pretty eyes used to be. The majority of the flesh was missing from Robert’s end of the body.

“What’s the matter,” he asked as he swallowed the last piece he had in his mouth, “you’re not hungry? Be a shame to waste her.”

Suzanne looked at Robert whilst nibbling on one of Charlotte’s fingers - which she had already bitten off. “You just killed our brother...Her son...”

“You were there, Suzanne, it was kill or be killed. Right? Right?” He wiped the excess blood from around his mouth using a part of his napkin. “What do you think?” he asked Andrea.

“I just wish we could have talked...”

“That’s what we’re doing now.”

“Talked before anything happened,” she went on. “We used to talk.”

“They killed Stephen...Your other son...The three of them...They plotted together...Fucking killed...”

“He’s not dead,” Suzanne snapped, breaking Robert’s flow.

“Oh? Then where the fuck is he? He wouldn’t miss out on a meal!”

“He’s upstairs. Johnny locked him in with the two....” Tammy explained.

“He’s alive? Go and get him then. Before dinner gets cold,” said Robert. “And then the five of us...We can all sit here and sort this mess out once and for all. Like a proper family!”

Andrea stood up. “I’m going to start preparing pudding,” she informed the family. She wiped another tear from her face and walked from the room - not that anyone acknowledged her. They were all too busy staring at each other; Suzanne and Tammy watching their father and he was eye-balling them right back.

“Well? Go and get him,” he ordered the girls. They both stood up, to see his orders through. “Not you,” he pointed to Tammy, “you can wait here...Keep your old man company so I don’t get lonely.”

“I’ll be right back,” Suzanne told Tammy. She gave her a sympathetic smile. She knew that leaving Tammy with their father was a bad idea but also knew there was no choice without further angering him. Tammy smiled back and Suzanne left the room.

“You know,” said Robert, “the whole Wendigo thing is bullshit, right?” Tammy looked at him. “It’s a myth. A legend. A story to scare people into not eating Human Flesh. Why they’d want to deny their loved ones something that tastes so good is beyond me, though, it really is...You think...You think if your brother had managed to kill me - do you think you’d have still eaten flesh in years to come?” Tammy didn’t answer. “Yes. I think you would. You like the taste too much, don’t you? I’ve seen you feasting...The look in your eye. Sheer joy. Pleasure. The taste dancing around...Teasing your taste buds...Exploding your senses...Delightful, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you,” Tammy hissed.

“Whoa,” said Robert, “check out my little firecracker. I think that’s the first time you’ve ever sworn at me...But, come on, we’ll all chat...Tomorrow...You’ll realise how silly you’ve all been. But, don’t worry, I won’t hold a grudge. I’m not that sort of person. I’m more of a...”

“Rapist!” Tammy snapped.

Robert stood up and walked over to where Tammy was sat. He leaned down close to her and whispered, “It’s funny how that’s only a problem now the rest of the family know. You’ve never complained before. If memory serves correctly...Sometimes...”

“Shut up!”

“In fact, the first time we ever fucked...”

“Shut up!” she continued - louder this time.

“You begged me. When I found you in the car...With your date...He was in the back seat...I need to remind you of how he was? Trousers around his ankles...A slash across his throat...Blood in his lap...You on the back seat next to him...Little panties pulled to one side, rubbing yourself with what appeared to be a piece of his member...Moaning...Sighing...The blood around your mouth...The look in your eyes...”

“SHUT UP!” Tammy screamed.

“You begged me to fuck you. Remember that? Begged.”

“No...”

“And now the family know we’ve fucked...”

“You raped me in front of my brother and my mother...”

“You always liked it rough,” Robert reminded her. “Those nights you told me to come to your room...You’d whisper it in my ear before you’d go upstairs to bed...Whisper it so the rest of the family wouldn’t hear. You know, after feasting on flesh...Your sister...Suzanne...She’s the same. Begs me. Must be an alpha-male thing.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know? You didn’t compare notes?”

“You never fucked her in front of the rest of the family!” Tammy shouted again. “How am I supposed to look them in the eye now?”

“That’s what the problem is? All the times we’ve fucked...All those times...Now...Now you feel bad about it? Now you think it’s wrong? And now you think I deserve to die?”

“Johnny was right. You’re not our father anymore.”

“No. I thought we were something more,” he said. “You and I have always had a special connection but...Well...Now it appears I’m condemned to death. Is that because you want to fuck your brothers now? Younger? Better looking? Is that the real reason you were so happy to go along with Johnny’s stupid little plan?” He paused. “God only knows what was going on in your sister’s head. Probably jealous that I sleep with you. Rather see me dead than know we’re lovers too.”

The door suddenly swung open with so much force it hit the wall with a bang. Robert and Tammy spun around to see what caused it; Suzanne was standing there with a knife pressed against her throat. Hiding behind her were Joel and Lara.

Lara screamed when she saw Charlotte’s body.

“Dad!” shouted Suzanne.

Robert stood up, “What the fuck is this?”

“Where are our friends?” demanded Joel.

“Well - there’s a little of one of them on the table...If you give us a few days...You can probably fish the rest of them out of the toilet bowl...”

“Dad - please?” continued Suzanne.

“Oh - now I’m your father?”

“I’m not joking,” shouted Joel, “where are they? Tell me or she’s dead.”

“Kill her. I was only going to kill her later. You’ll be doing me a favour.”

“What? Dad?”

Robert noticed the knife for the first time, “The knife...You’ve been in the kitchen? What have you done with my wife?”

“What?”

“The woman...In the fucking kitchen...”

“There was no one there,” said Lara - unable to take her eyes off her friend’s half-eaten body. “Please...We just want to go home.”

“You’re not going home, okay?” said Robert. “You know it. I know it.”

“Where are our fucking friends?!” shouted Joel. He pressed the knife against Suzanne’s throat harder causing a little bit of blood to trickle down her neck. She let out a squeal of pain.

“Daddy - please...”

“Just kill her already,” said Robert - a smile on his face. “If you can’t kill her...How are you going to kill me? Think of her as the practice run before you come to me...I’m Wendigo, don’t you know?” He laughed and winked at Tammy. A laugh cut short by Joel’s scream.

Robert turned his attention back to Joel just in time to see him drag the knife across his daughter’s throat. Suzanne’s eyes went wide as panic set in - a jet spray of blood spurted from the slit, all across the dining room floor. Tammy screamed whilst Robert applauded, “Well done, you, I didn’t think you had it in you...” Joel pushed Suzanne to one side, whereupon she fell to the floor clutching hopelessly at her throat. Joel made a sudden dash forward for Tammy who did little to protect herself from the incoming attack. The knife’s blade pierced her skin as easily as it had slid across her sister’s - a funny sound from Tammy’s mouth, as opposed to a scream, to let all those around realise it was a serious impaling. Robert howled with laughter as he jumped to his feet. “What a day this is turning out to be!” he laughed.

Joel pulled the knife from Tammy’s chest, where he had stuck it for a second time, and looked at Robert who was still standing by his seat.

“You really should have given your friend a weapon too,” Robert said - a menacing tone in his voice and his eyes fixed on Joel. “You think you can get to me before I can get to her? Look at her skinny little neck...No weapon to protect herself from me...It won’t take much for me to snap her neck. I may be older than you but I bet I can move quicker,” he winked at Joel. “Really should have given her a wea...”

Joel cut him short, “Get out, Lara. Go and get help.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Oh how noble,” Robert teased.

“Just go!” he insisted.

“But you better run fast, little girl, because I’m right behind you,” Robert smiled and did a biting motion with his mouth. “Working up quite an appetite here.”

“Fuck you!” hissed Lara.

“A lot of people saying that to me today,” Robert pointed out. “They’re all dead now. Just saying. The two might not be related but, if they are, you’re fucked.”

“Fuck you!” she reiterated.

Robert laughed.

Lara turned and ran from the room - straight back into the hallway and towards the front door. She didn’t look back as she hurried towards it. Once there, she twisted the handle only to find it was locked. The sound of a car engine outside, followed by a wheel-spin. Someone clearly in a hurry to leave the property.

She tried the handle again on the off chance it was just stiff, “Fuck!” The kitchen, she thought, could have had a back door. Without knowing how much time she had to spare, she hurried back down the hallway into the kitchen where the stench of gas hit her. A quick glance at the hobs - everything was on, even the oven which had been left open. No time to worry about that as a crash came from the dining room. She rushed over to the back door and pulled at it but it didn’t budge - locked just as the front door had been.

Joel screamed from the other room.

“Come on, please!” she screamed at the door as she continued to tug at the handle in the hope it would magically unlock itself.

“We rarely keep that door unlocked,” said Robert from behind her.

She spun around and screamed when she saw him standing in the doorway, coated in blood and clutching the knife.

“Don’t be so afraid,” he said, “it’s not my blood...You’ll be pleased to hear...I’m actually okay...Although, I don’t think your friend is going to make it if I’m going to be honest.” He did his best to give a sympathetic smile before he started to laugh. He took a step closer, “Just so you know...I’m really going to enjoy eating you.” Lara started to cry. “Oh, don’t cry...Makes the skin all salty...I’ve been trying my best to keep salt out of my diet. My wife...She says it’s bad for you and, well, apparently it is. See, I didn’t know if she was telling the truth so I looked it up. Apparently too much salt is definitely bad for you.”

“Why are you doing this?”

He took another step closer.

“Because I can!” Robert said. He held the knife up and waved it at her. “Now, you going to save me the effort and come to me or are you going to make me come all the way over there?”

Lara, panicking, looked over to the wall where she saw a light switch. With a final scream she lunged forward and hit it with her elbow - her eyes closed tightly as though it would protect her from the explosion...She opened her eyes. The lights were on. There was no explosion.

Robert smiled and walked over to the hobs where he turned everything off, “The gas needs enough time to build up pressure,” he informed her. “All this has succeeded in is making you look stupid and giving me a headache...So...Yeah...Well done for that.” He opened the window above the kitchen sink. “Be fine when we let a little air in.”

Lara screamed as Robert suddenly rushed towards her - the knife held outright.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Andrea felt her face redden. Standing in the queue, to pay for the petrol for her son’s truck, she realised she’d left her purse at home by leaving in such a hurry.

“Next!” said the cashier, having waved the last customer off.

“I’m sorry,” said Andrea, “I’ve just realised...” She whispered so as not to be overheard by the customers behind her which would only embarrass her further, “I’ve left my purse at home.”

“Failed to see the sign then?” asked the cashier with an expression on his face which implied he had heard it all before.

“Which one would that be?”

“The one that warns you to make sure you have enough money to pay before using the pumps?” the cashier continued. A smug look on his face as though he was enjoying Andrea’s embarrassed squirming. “We just need you to fill in a form,” he said.

“A form?” she watched as the lanky cashier jumped up from his stool to fetch a form from across the other side of where he was serving. “What kind of form?”

“Name, address, phone number...That sort of thing. Gives us your details so we know you’ll be coming back to make the payment at some point.”

“Oh, I see. My home address?”

“That would be the one.” He passed the form over to Andrea, along with a half-chewed blue ballpoint pen, “There you go.”

Andrea hesitated for a second.

“We have your car registration on camera so the police would know where to find you - this is just a back-up,” the cashier informed her - aware that she didn’t seem in a hurry to pass over her details.

“The police?”

The cashier nodded, “Sometimes we get people who don’t pay for their petrol. Clearly you’re not one of those people. Obviously you’ve just left your purse at home, like you said, but...Sometimes...”

Andrea started to fill in her details. The cashier turned away to serve those waiting in the queue behind her. Andrea knew she couldn’t go home to get her purse. For years she had wanted to run away from the terrors under the roof but she was always too afraid to make a run for it just in case they found her trying to run - her husband, more to the point. Instead she just went along with the way he ruled the house to keep the peace. It was safer that way. She didn’t want to end up as a meal and it wasn’t as though they didn’t eat well. It certainly was a delicious taste, when they managed to bring the meat home.

At the start it all began so innocently. A hunting accident during a deepfreeze.  The worst the country had seen for well over a decade with the deepest snow they’d ever seen themselves. They couldn’t get out to go and get food. The snow and ice lasted for months and the problem with living in the middle of nowhere was that the routes to their house were rarely salted making it hard to venture out for supplies. The body of their middle son was just sitting there, in the barn - even after their cupboards ran dry. To start off with - it was a necessity - but, afterwards, it became a simple pleasure. With the taste so good it was easy to forget what it was - or who it was.

Over the years they tried cooking the meat in various ways but they always found the best way to eat it was raw - whilst the person was still living and breathing. Andrea knew it was wrong but she couldn’t stop herself. The taste of the meat was too good to pass up and it squashed any thoughts of right and wrong. Until recently that is. Recently she was starting to think of themselves as the monsters they really were. She didn’t believe in stories of Wendigo, or other such creatures, but she knew that people like her husband and she belonged in Hell. Now, today, she wished she could take it all back. She wished they had all starved when the food did run out, during that deepfreeze. Often she even found herself wondering whether they would have gone hungry or whether they could have made it until the thaw - a thought she always tried to suppress for she knew it was pointless to think like that.

She couldn’t remember how she was talked into eating the people alive. She couldn’t even remember if it was she who needed convincing. Part of her thought it could have been she who convinced the others to do it. The greed of human flesh robbing her of any sane thoughts? There was even talk of opening their own restaurant where other people could come and dine on the delights of humans - something they often joked about as they sat around, on a Sunday afternoon, making up potential menus.

“Adam’s Apple Crumble,” she muttered to herself with a smile on her face.

“I’m sorry?” the cashier asked as he walked back over to her.

She snapped back to reality, “Nothing. I’m sorry. Here.”

She had put a fake address down on the sheet which she handed back to the cashier. She had no intention of going home to get the money just in case her husband was still alive and she was dragged back into the argument. She had made it this far and was damned if she was going back just to try and get away from them again. She decided she’d have to raise the money some other way. Find the money to pay the cashier back before the police were alerted. She didn’t want to go home but she knew she couldn’t have the police go there either.

If her husband had survived, or any of the other family members had survived, she knew it would be bad enough with them hunting for her. She didn’t need the police hunting her too. That would have been too much.

“Thank you,” said the cashier. He placed the form on the side.

A fake address to slow them down if she didn’t manage to get back, with some cash, in the next twenty-four hours. She’d make it back. She had to. She gave the cashier a fake smile and left the petrol station.

She jumped into the front seat of the car, turned the ignition, and drove from the forecourt. She drove for a few miles down the road, with various scenarios running through her head, before she suddenly pulled the car over to one side. Nervously she climbed out and walked around to the boot. She opened it up and looked inside, “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m going to need to borrow some money.”

Michael laid in the boot, his hands and feet bound and a gag around his mouth...His eyes full of fear.

- END

T H E    8 T H

PROLOGUE

Just like every other day I was the last one into the classroom. It wasn’t because I was late. Most days I was early as I opted to get the earlier bus to avoid the crowds and my fellow classmates. It was just easier that way - with regards to getting the earlier bus and being one of the last into the classroom.

With my heart pounding hard in my chest I stepped into the classroom just behind Mrs.. Price, the teacher, who paid me little attention as she briskly walked across to her desk, in her tight-fitting black pencil skirt and white blouse, in front of the pupils. I closed the door and pulled the window-blind down to stop people from being able to look in. This was something I didn’t usually do. Normally I was happy for other teachers to poke their noses in - to make sure we were behaving while our teacher had her back to us as she scribbled on the blackboard. Today, though, I don’t welcome their attention.

By the time I turned away from the heavy oak door, Mrs.. Price was staring at me with a look of contempt on her face; an expression she regularly adopted whilst looking at me through no fault of my own. I’m almost positive she’s fairly pretty, with her curly shoulder length blonde hair, big blue eyes and full lips painted heavily in a seductive red lipstick...It’s hard to be sure whether she is actually pretty or not...under that stern expression. It was fair to say she was one of the stricter teachers. I didn’t move. Part of me wanted to go and take my usual seat in the front row of the classroom; as far away from Piers and his friends as I could possibly get without sitting in the teacher’s lap. The other part of me wanted to carry on as I had planned.

Mrs.. Price folded her arms. You knew she was angry when she did this. First came the deathly stare which could penetrate the most hardened of souls and then came the folding of the arms. Next up she’ll speak in a tone which would send most sane men running for the hills for fear of spontaneously combusting at the sound of her voice. I pity her husband. After a few warning words, which were normally laced with sarcasm, she’d suddenly flip a switch and start shouting.

A quick scan of my fellow classmates showed they were all looking at me. Some of them looked worried for me and others just sat there with a sadistic look of glee upon their faces as they waited to enjoy the floor show Mrs. Price and I were about to put on for them. All of them were thankful they weren’t standing in my shoes at this precise moment. I’m starting to wish I had waited for my second class of the day to do this. Mr. Smart was a much friendlier teacher.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were teaching the class today,” said Mrs. Price with just about the right level of sarcasm I was expecting. A few quiet sniggers from around the classroom. I didn’t say anything. I just stood there, blocking the doorway whilst wondering whether this was the right thing to do.  Had I really planned it through? It’s too late now. There’s no turning back. With my left hand shaking I reached into my rucksack, which was one-strapped over my right shoulder. I froze. I could feel it in my hand but part of me was still screaming that this wasn’t the right thing to do; screaming there were better ways of dealing with things...

“Shut up!” I whispered under my breath to the part of me which was scared. I knew this was the right thing to do. It had been building for far too long. They had it coming. They all did. Everything that was to follow, when I pulled my hand from the rucksack, is deserved and I refuse to let the scared part of me, the quiet side of my personality, ruin the enjoyment I’m going to get.

“What did you say?” said Mrs. Price; a tone of voice I had never heard before. Neither had the rest of the class. A quick scan of my classmates showed they had all sunk back, ever so slightly, in their uncomfortable grey plastic chairs. The ones who previously had gleeful smiles upon their faces were now sat expressionless so as not to attract the attention of Mrs. Price. Their faces were white as they feared what they were about to witness. They have no idea. Today, it’s not Mrs. Price they need to fear.

It’s me.

I pulled my hand from my rucksack, my father’s 9mm Glock gripped firmly in my palm with my index finger on the trigger and my other fingers around the handle. Everyone screamed, even Mrs. Price. Need to control them. Need to silence them. Don’t want to attract any unwanted attention. I don’t need this to be any worse than I already have planned.

“I said shut up!” I hissed. I pointed the gun at Mrs. Price first. She fell backwards onto the floor. I couldn’t help but smile a little. All those years of her shouting the odds at us. All those years of her believing she was untouchable. It was nice to see her fall. I spun the gun around to point at my classmates; some of whom were cowering behind their hands, as though they had the power to stop a bullet should I choose to fire, whilst others were trying to get under their desks. The sadistic part of me was surprised no one tried to make a dash for me. No one tried to wrestle the gun away from me. No one tried to control the situation. I’m glad. I don’t want the sound of gunfire. Not yet. That would have ruined everything I have planned. The fact they’re all petrified, it should make controlling them that much easier...

1

It was weird seeing Mrs. Price sitting in the front row, amongst the pupils who despised her so much. Not just because I was used to seeing her at the front of the class berating someone but...Her expression...Tears in her eyes, a pale complexion...Shaking...She’s shaking. I’ve never seen that before. Not from a woman who presents herself as being so domineering. Speaking of ‘domineering’ I had often heard Piers talking to his little gang, discussing whether Mrs. Price would look good in skin-tight latex with a whip in her hand. The majority of the group said she would. Some of them even admitted to masturbating to the thought of her like that.  One of the group said the bulge of her penis would ruin the overall look. Seeing her, sat here now...There’s nothing manly about her. There’s nothing domineering. She’s a nothing. Maybe I should get her to stand up and prove to Piers and his gang that she doesn’t have a cock hidden under her black pencil skirt. No. That’s not fair. This isn’t about belittling her despite what she puts us through on a day-to-day basis. At the end of the day she is just being strict to keep us in control. Outside of the school she’s probably a human. Deep down. Somewhere.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a meek voice. I have to confess, she surprised me. Most of the time there was a little masculinity in her voice but not now. Now she sounded like a scared little girl. Had you not seen who it was speaking you could have been forgiven for thinking it was one of the school’s many female pupils talking.

I didn’t answer her. Instead I reached across to her pile of folders, which she had placed on the desk when she first came into the room, and picked up the one labelled as ‘registration’. I flicked it open to the first page: a list of names of the boys and girls who should be sat in front of me for this lesson.

“When I call out your name,” I said, “please say here.” One by one I called out the various names from the list in front of me, not that I needed a list. I knew their names; my classmates. The people who had tormented me day in and day out for the past two years whether it was by name calling or physical abuse. I won’t ever forget their names. And after today, people won’t forget my name either. Minutes later and the roll call was done. No one was absent for a change. Good. I’d have hated for them to miss this.

I put the folder down and cast my eyes around the class. It’s unfortunate some of them are here and have to witness this. In a class of twenty-five there are some who are like me. They don’t deserve to be here. They don’t deserve what’s coming. I don’t have a choice but to include them, though. If I let them go, they’ll no doubt inform someone what is happening in here. If I were in their shoes I know I’d go and get help if I was let out.  My gaze fixed upon Rebecca Clarke who was sitting in the middle of the classroom, towards one of the walls. Rebecca was one of the louder girls in the class. She was more centred upon sleeping with as many of the boys as she could as opposed to soaking up useful information. If the rumors are to be believed, and I have no reason to doubt them, she’s swallowed more cum than I’ve had hot meals. Of course she doesn’t struggle to attract the boys’ attention looking the way she does: long dark hair down to her petite waist and large breasts enhanced further by a tight-fitting school shirt. Unlike a lot of the other girls who chose to wear trousers, she always opted for the skirt. She even took the time, in lunch-breaks, to roll it up a little to show off more leg. Sometimes she rolls it up so much you can’t help but think of it as nothing more than a belt. Pregnant by eighteen, I reckon.

Rebecca had her mobile phone in her hand and was frantically pressing buttons. I picked the handgun off the table and pointed it directly at her, looking down the aiming sights. It’s a little scary how easy it is to end her little life right about now. A simple squeeze of my trigger finger and her brains will be all over David Barlow who was sitting behind her. Poor David. He’s one of the good ones. Whenever I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself, I’d be feeling sorry for him. Unlike Rebecca, we both at least tried hard in class. We just struggled to ‘get it’ most of the time. Our stupidity was a great source of entertainment to the other classmates - some of whom were just as baffled as David and me by what we were being taught. The only difference was, they simply didn’t care.

“Rebecca,” I said. My voice was calm. No sense shouting. There’s no need. Not all the time I have a gun. Rebecca looked up and froze when she realised she was staring down the barrel of a 9mm pistol, “Be a good girl and pass your mobile phone to me...”

“I wasn’t doing anything...” she tried to tell me. How stupid does she think I am? Well, soon she’ll realise I’m someone to be reckoned with. She realised her words were of no use and slowly stood up. “Please don’t shoot...” she whimpered. She looks scared but it’s hard to feel sorry for her. Every time I look at her I just remember that night; her hand on my leg, her breath against my ear, the words she whispered, the glint in her eye as she gave my crotch a squeeze...

“I said give me your phone.”

She walked up to the front of the class and put her phone on the teacher’s desk where I was sat. I didn’t take my eyes off her. That night, the rare occasion I was actually invited to one of the many school parties, she thought it was a good idea to pretend to want me. Whispering sweet nothings into my ear she told me how she had always wanted to make love to me but was too scared to make a move. Part of me knew she was just winding me up but another part of me, the lonely part, wanted to believe her. I was stupid. Rebecca isn’t the sort of girl who enjoys ‘making love’. She just wants to fuck people. Trying to be clever, she got me aroused as Piers and his gang waited outside with their mobile phones at the ready...

“Is that everything?” she asked, her quivering voice pulled me back to the present. I shook my head. No, that’s not everything. “You can see I didn’t send any messages...” I pushed back on the chair to put some distance between myself and the table - enough of a gap to allow her through.

“Get under the table,” I said.

“What?”

Rebecca’s punishment was easy to think of. Ever since that night it’s all I have really thought about. Forcing her to do what she teased. Now’s a good a time as any. “Get under the table,” I said.

“No...”

I stood up and walked over to her with the gun still raised. I pressed it against her skull and she made a funny whimpering noise. She sounded a little like a dog crying when you stand on its tail. “I said...Get...Under...The...Table...”

She nodded and stepped round me to get to the space under the table. As soon as she was under there I sat down on the chair again, and rolled myself closer to the desk. Underneath the table I had a leg either side of Rebecca. I could hear her crying but it didn’t bother me.

“Please...This has gone far enough...” said Mrs. Price. I shot her a glare. I haven’t started yet. She fell silent.

With my spare hand I unzipped my trousers, out of sight of the rest of the class although they knew what I was doing, and pulled my penis out. Semi-hard already. Not sure whether that’s because of the control I have over everyone or because of what I’m about to get from Rebecca.

“Did you know,” I said to Mrs. Price, “I went to a party once and Rebecca was there. She was telling me how much she liked me and had always wanted to make love to me. She was being so kind. I’d never felt that from someone before...Kindness to that extent. A feeling of worth, you know. She was saying all sorts of nice things. She was touching me. Kissing me. Stroking me through my trousers. I honestly thought all my birthdays had come at once when she started to unbutton me...” I could hear Rebecca crying from underneath the table saying how sorry she was but I didn’t care, “...The next thing I know Piers and his little friends burst in on us...Laughing...Pointing their camera phones at me...Some of them videoing...I was just sat there exposed in more ways than one. I don’t know how many people saw that video...The video they were even kind enough to email over to me...You know, that night when I got home I tied a noose round my neck and sat on the edge of my bed thinking it was the best thing to do...Hang myself...Only the thought of my mum and dad finding me swinging in the morning stopped me from actually doing it. You know how it feels to feel that low?  Like you can’t go on living?”

“Think of your mum and dad now,” said Mrs. Price.

I shook my head. “I’ll never be the son they want. I know that now. They want someone academically bright. They want someone who can make something of their lives. That isn’t me. I’m a nothing. I’m a nobody. If it weren’t for what’s to come today, no one would remember me when I’m gone. No one.  Rebecca...put it in your mouth. If I feel teeth, I’ll shoot your friends.”

“This isn’t the way,” said Mrs. Price, “we can suspend them all whilst we look into this. We can...”

“Rebecca...What are you waiting for?” I said interrupting Mrs. Price from her desperate flow. A thousand jolts of electricity shot through my body as I felt Rebecca’s fingers brush against my hardening penis. Just as good as I had always imagined. I couldn’t help but close my eyes for the briefest of seconds as I felt her warm mouth envelop my shaft, sliding down to the base. Feels so fucking good. I knew it would. Slightly flustered, I addressed the rest of the class, “One by one, I want you all to bring your mobile phones to the desk...Starting with you...” I pointed the gun in the direction of Craig Clemo, a dark haired lad with big brown eyes who sat on the far right of the classroom, against the wall. I didn’t mind Craig. He’s a bit of a nothing like me. When the bullies are out in force he just keeps his head down and doesn’t get involved. I sometimes wonder how different my school days would have been if I had chosen his coping mechanisms too. Had I not stood up for David Barlow when Piers was picking on him would Piers ever have known of my existence or could I have just ghosted my way through his life?

Craig stood up and brought his phone to the front of the class. He put it on the desk and walked back to his seat.

“You,” I said pointing the gun to Rachel, who sat behind him. She too stood up and dropped her phone onto the desk. When she sat down the next person brought their phone forward too without having to be asked. I smiled and sat back. Whilst they’re doing that it affords me the time to enjoy what Rebecca is doing. A flicking sensation on the tip of my penis, with what feels to be her tongue. A gentle tickling around my scrotum. All those years of practising have   most certainly paid off for her. I couldn’t help but sigh as her mouth slipped down the shaft once more before sliding back up. Faster..Faster...Slower. Teasing. But nicely so. I wonder if the other girls in the class are as good as this. My eyes fix upon Mrs. Price. I wonder if she’s as good...

A tingling sensation, not dissimilar to pins and needles, spreads through the tops of my legs. The pleasurable, familiar feeling of an orgasm about to hit. I tried my best not to show it in my face as I continued staring at Mrs. Price, wondering what it would be like to fuck her. I moved my spare hand under the table and held Rebecca’s head in place. Just in time too. She tried to pull away from me as I ejaculated into her mouth. Hold her there. Listen how she chokes it down. Good girl. I released my grip on the back of her head and let her move away. I can hear that she’s crying. Was it really that bad?

A feeling of guilt rushed through me as I suddenly became aware of everyone looking at me. Watching my every move. Watching me cum. I pushed my cock, coated in Rebecca’s saliva, back into my trousers and zipped myself up. What have I done? What have I become? I don’t recognise myself anymore.

2

Another new school to find my way around. I love my dad but I don’t love what he does for a living. Constantly moving house and taking Mum and me with him, leaving behind friends I’ve only just met...Having to start again from scratch. Catching up in classes I already struggle with because they’ve chosen different books to study from the last school I attended. I hate being the outsider. The one who can’t find any friendly faces amongst the crowds. It’s always the same. Go to school. Get lost looking for class. Arrive at class late, or with a teacher escort - which is far worse...Stand in front of the room and introduce yourself. Explain why you’re new to the town. Sit in the only spare seat, in the front of the classroom, and feel the gaze of every pupil fix upon you for the rest of whatever lesson it is, awkwardly share books with someone who’d rather you had your own...A pile of homework to catch up on; mainly reading assignments you know you’ll never be able to complete. Yes, I love my dad but I hate that we have to move around so much.

“Have a good day, honey,” my mum called out. I turned back to her, when I got to the school gates, and saw her waving frantically. I should wave back but it’s embarrassing enough that she just called me ‘honey’ in earshot of other people who may or may not be in my classroom. I gave her a faint smile and turned towards the school. Here we go again.

The first days are always the worst. At least by the end of the first day you have normally made one friend; someone to look out for on the second and third day whilst you establish new friendships. As I scanned the various faces in the crowd walking with me to the front door, I wondered whether any of them were likely to be my new friends. I have to say, on first impressions none of them look to be that friendly! Not even through the front door yet and I feel uncomfortable. Not the best of starts I think to myself as I hear the random mutterings of small groups that I pass, all wondering who the ‘new kid’ is and how ‘weird’ I look.

How they can say I look ‘weird’ is beyond me. Across the car park, in the corner, I saw a group all dressed in black. Even the boys had make-up on from what I could see. Another group, in the same car park, all wore matching clothes with their hair styled in various multi-coloured spikes...And here I am dressed in faded blue jeans, a black hooded top with the hood down and newish white trainers - which, admittedly, are a little on the bright side but I expect that’ll change after a couple of days schooling here. My hair is the natural brown colour I was born with and I’m clean shaven. My eyes are the same  dark brown colour as each other, unlike the girl I just walked by who seemed to have one blue eye and one green...Yet people are saying I’m the weird one. If anything, I reckon I’ll blend in here. Unless, of course, I decide to take refuge in the car park at any moment. Definitely a place to avoid going to by what I’ve seen.

I pushed the large double doors open and stepped inside my new place of supposed learning. The familiar smell of ‘school’ hit me as soon as I stepped over the threshold. I don’t know what it is about schools which make them all have the same old musty scent. Perhaps it’s the old text books we’re to work from? Perhaps it’s those which smell of old-age and death and you just notice it more because there’s so many littered around the building. Perhaps.

The corridor in front of me stretched as far as the eye could see. The walls were lined with tall wooden lockers with occasional gaps between the lockers where the doors were to the various classrooms. What’s the betting this is like all the other schools I’ve been to and the classrooms aren’t in any particular order despite being known, on the timetable, as ‘class one’, ‘class two’ etc etc? The last school I was in, a few towns away from where I am today, the first door I came across was labelled number twenty-four. Days later I found number one stuck in a different wing entirely and even then it wasn’t by the main entrance. Instead it was tucked away on the top floor next to room sixty-five. The first time I noticed this - I can’t even remember what school it was - I thought it was because some bored student had simply gone around swapping door plaques around to confuse people. With all the different schools I’ve been to, I know this isn’t the case. Not unless the person responsible is in the same boat as me and doing it in every school he, or she, is visiting. I doubt it, though.

I stepped to the side of the corridor, to get out of the way of the never-ending sea of students, and reached into my pocket to find my timetable; a small piece of paper with my lessons and classrooms printed upon it which the school posted out to my house about a week ago.

“You new? Looking for somewhere in particular?” asked a quiet male voice from behind me. I turned around and saw a lad of similar age to myself. A mousey-blonde colour to his hair and freckles on his face. A cheeky smile with massive dimples on his cheeks. I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was a smile to be trusted or a smile because he was about to send me in the completely wrong direction just because he could.

“Is that obvious?” I asked.

“Well for starters you’re wearing your rucksack over both shoulders. No one does that in this school unless they’re new. And secondly, you’re looking at your timetable with a look of confusion on your face. You know...Putting two and two together...” he laughed. “Where you headed?”

I checked my timetable, “English with Mrs. Jones,” I said.

He smiled wider. “Snap! You may as well follow me,” he volunteered. I thanked him and slipped the timetable back into my pocket. “What’s your name?” he asked after informing me his name was David.

* * * * *

David was looking at me, from his seat just behind Rebecca’s, with a look in his eyes which suggested he had no idea who I was. As I listened to Rebecca’s sobs as she took her seat, I couldn’t help but wonder who I was too. I’m not this person. I’m not. I’m a good person. Normally. I’m like my friend David. I’m one of the good ones. Who I am today...This isn’t me, usually. It’s not. They made me. They turned me into this. Sadistic. Hateful. Vengeful. This is their fault.

I looked around the rest of the classroom. They’re all looking at me with the same look as David. Mrs. Price is looking at Rebecca. I can see in her eyes that she desperately wants to go and comfort her. She suddenly turned to look at me, as though she could feel my glare burning into the side of her pretty face. I don’t recognise the expression in her eyes. It’s as though she’s asking, ‘what have you done?’ without actually speaking the words. I forgot how much I hated myself, right now, to answer her with a look of my own. A look which told her - ‘I did what she deserved and that was only the beginning’.

I stood up, behind the teacher’s desk, to address the class. I feel as though I should say something. Whilst I am sure some of them know why I am here, I’m positive some of them don’t have a clue. After all, some of my classmates...I’ve hardly spoken to them and, in turn, they’ve hardly spoken to me. It’s only fair, given the circumstances, I give them a chance to understand what I’m doing here. And it’s only fair to let them know, they’ll come to no harm.

“If I call your name, I’d like you to stand up please...David Barlow...” the class went silent, “...Lindsey West...” One by one, when I called out the names, they stood up just as I had requested them to. Each of them looked just as nervous as the one who was called out before. They have nothing to be nervous about. Seven names in total - David, Lindsey, Elizabeth, Marcus, Samantha, Kate, Helen. Funny how it’s mainly girl’s names I’m calling out. I guess it’s more in boys’ nature to be cruel to one another. Not for much longer. Not by the time I’m done. And word of what’s to come will soon spread around the town too; a harsh warning to others who may be making similar mistakes as made by Piers and his little friends.

I looked around the classroom at the pupils still sat down. One of them was Craig Clemo. I considered calling his name out too but...I recall him being involved in one of the incidents where I was under fire. He kept his head down. He didn’t offer help or anything. Not even when the group left me alone and I was nursing a bloodied nose. He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t offer to get help. Nothing. Just stood there watching me. He can stay sat down.

“If you’re currently standing up, I’m sorry you’re here. Had there been any other way, I would have taken it I can assure you. I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve done nothing wrong to me or, as far as I know, anyone else. If you’d like to come forward...You can bring your chairs...You can sit to the side, near me; out of harm’s way...” There was the briefest of pauses before each of the seven came to the front of the class as I had requested. The rest of the class just looked nervous and confused. “I know you won’t but...Should any of you attempt anything funny...You’ll have to join the rest of your classmates. Understood?”

They nodded. David looked as though he desperately wanted to say something but no words came from his quivering mouth.

Mrs. Price asked, “What about me? What have I done?”

I shot her a look, “It’s what you didn’t do...” I know I originally thought this wasn’t about her but Mrs. Price is just as bad as some of the students who sit in front of me. The way she berated some of us, in front of the whole class, did nothing for self-esteem and embarrassed us. The more I see her, sitting there...The more I see her as another form of bully.

3.

David led the way to my first classroom. I have to say, it was a nice stroke of luck meeting him. I hate meeting new people; I always feel awkward...Never sure what to say to potential new friends. Normally I just hang around a large group and occasionally laugh at a joke one of them may say. Then, hopefully, one of them will start to include me in their conversations too. Of course, it doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes you can just sit there and be completely ignored. That’s never fun. It makes you feel worthless and insignificant. It was definitely a stroke of luck bumping into David now. I only but hope we share more than one class together.

“Here we are,” said David. He stopped outside a classroom door. “You might not want to go in with me,” he said.

Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. “Don’t want to be seen with the new guy, huh?” He didn’t answer, just looked away with a sheepish expression on his face - the once cheeky smile now faded. I can’t believe he actually looked worried about being seen with me. I know no one really likes to be seen with the new kid on the block but this was the most extreme I’ve seen it. “Fine, whatever.”

I pushed past him and walked through the busy sounding classroom. The room, full of my new classmates, went quiet as soon as they saw me. I won’t lie, it’s not the most comfortable of welcomes. I felt like a stranger stumbling through a small town for the first time...A town where they aren’t used to seeing a new face. They aren’t used to it and nor do they welcome it.

“Hi,” I said. Unsurprisingly no one answered. I turned back to the door hoping to see David’s once friendly face. He wasn’t there. Well...By myself then. “Okay then...” I muttered, more or less to myself, as I walked over to one of the spare seats at the front of the classroom. I always prefer sitting at the front of the class. I learned long ago that the teacher picks on you more if you choose to sit towards the back of the room as they think you’re not paying any attention to what they’re trying to teach you. I’m sure this teacher will be no different.

I started to root around in my rucksack. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular; simply trying to distract myself from the whisperings coming from behind me. Little voices enquiring who I was and what I was doing here...One voice explaining how bent I looked. A friendly bunch then. In times like these, as sadly it’s not the first time I’ve experienced this, I just have to keep telling myself that everything is going to be okay and they just need the chance to get to know me a little better. Day one is always awkward. By day two - you’re yesterday’s news. Just need to make it through to tomorrow.

“Faggot!” shouted a voice from behind me. I turned away from my rucksack and looked in the direction of the voice. One thing to whisper behind my back, it’s another thing altogether to start name calling me...The insult came from a lad in the back of the class. Of course it was the back. A scruffy, stocky lad with messy blonde hair. He wasn’t looking at me, though. Was the insult even meant for me? I followed his gaze to where David was stood in the doorway of the classroom. David looked anxious. Is this why he didn’t want to come in with me? Worried the lads would pick on me because I was with him? Makes sense. I did think it was weird how he went from being so friendly to so cold. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming in today,” said the boy at the back of the class.

“Just took him longer to wank off Mr. Fitzpatrick this morning...” said a lad to the left of the one who started the insults. Laughter rippled through the classroom from most of the students. David didn’t laugh. He simply walked over to an empty chair behind a pretty girl who was also laughing at him.

“Fuck,” said the first lad, “why are you such a fucking faggot? Your mum and dad must be gutted to have you as a son. Oh wait, your mum’s dead isn’t she? Surprised I forgot that. After all, it was only last night I was skull fucking her corpse...Still...Your dad isn’t dead. Probably just wishes he was. I reckon he’s sat at home now wondering why his son is such a bender...”

“Maybe he’s using you as his role model,” I said. I couldn’t help but speak up. David was visibly upset and this was obviously a daily occurrence. No sooner had the words escaped my mouth than the class fell silent. The lad looked at me; a look of hatred in his blue eyes.

“Fuck you say?”

“Well I too was wondering how he’s as gay as he is...The way he so expertly sucks cocks...The only way I can see someone his age, being so great at swallowing spunk, is if he had a role model. I look around here and the only possibility is you and your bum-chum friends.”

“Who the fuck are you anyway?”

“You don’t recognise me? I’m the one who was fucking your mother late last night...Could have sworn I saw you hiding in the cupboard tugging yourself off at the sight of my fine ass and your mum’s pert breasts.”

The lad stood up and started to walk over to me. I think it’s fair to say we’re never likely to be friends even though most of the other classmates were finding me hysterical.

“Take your seats!” shouted a female voice from the front of the classroom. I looked around and saw a pretty female teacher. I think it’s fair to say she couldn’t have timed that better if she had tried.

I turned my back on the lad. He wasn’t going to try anything with the teacher there. Who knows, maybe he’ll have a chance to calm down during this lesson? Don’t really care either way. Bullies like him...They’re all talk. I’ve met his kind before. I shot David a quick look and smiled at him. He wasn’t smiling back. He almost looked apologetic.

* * * * *

I recalled seeing that expression on David’s face the first day when I had stood up for him. He looked sorry for thinking he had got me involved in his troubles. I want to tell him this isn’t his fault. I want to tell him that they had brought it upon themselves. I want to tell him but I don’t. I turned back to the rest of the class. They all look worried. No doubt they’re wishing I had called their names out too. Give them a way out. Looking around at the remaining classmates, I didn’t realise there were so many who had wronged me. I can’t help but think it would have been better picking a double lesson to do this. Where to start? Where to start? Given the fact I might not get to everyone...Only one place to start really...

* * * * *

As another fist connected to my already bloodied nose, I couldn’t help but think - through the intense pain flowing through my body - day two was already worse than day one.

I dropped to my knees, on the bathroom floor, and tried to focus my vision. I could hear David screaming from the far side of the room as he was receiving the same treatment. My blurred vision snapped back to the best focus it was able to...Just in time to see Piers, the lad who I had had a run in with on day one, spit at me.

“Not such a smart-arse now, are you?”

I wish I could come back with a witty retort but my brain is telling me I’ve taken enough of a beating for today. Another fist to the face floored me. I didn’t move. I just lay there on the tiled floor, near the puddles of piss by the urinal, wishing for it to end. At least I think that’s what I am thinking about. So many thoughts buzzing through my brain that it’s hard to make sense of many of them. Another fist flew towards my face in a blurred motion. This will hurt...

By the time I could hear my thoughts clear enough to make sense of them, they were being drowned out by the sound of David’s voice. He was crying. My eyes focused on my surroundings. Still on the toilet floor, the stench of stale urine filling one of my nostrils. My other nostril blocked with blood. Every part of me aches.

“I’m sorry,” said David again. He helped me to my feet. He looked just as battered as I did although, I think it’s fair to say, I took the brunt of it. Probably deserved after sticking up for him yesterday.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” I said. Even my voice sounded broken. “Besides,” I lied, “I quite enjoyed that.” Not sure why I do that, trying to put a brave face on and all that. Not the first time I’ve used that as a defence mechanism for when I’m in agonising pain.

“If you hadn’t stuck up for me yesterday,” he started to say...

“I wouldn’t have been much of a friend,” I interrupted. Even had I known the beating I was to endure, I still would have spoken up yesterday. I hate bullies. They’re nothing more than cowards hiding behind their little friends. Normally picking on the weaker people just to try and make themselves feel better about their own miserable lives. Fuck them. We both looked at ourselves in the mirror. “Remember...” I said, “...The first rule of Fight Club is...Don’t talk about Fight Club.” David laughed and suddenly grabbed his jaw as a bolt of pain shot through him.

Surely Day Three will be easier.

4.

I think I’d make a good teacher. I believe I have the voice for it. The right amount of authority in my tone.

“Piers,” I said, using my teacher’s tone, “step forward.” If time is lacking, for my lesson, I’d best start with the main culprit. The one who has constantly been nasty. Seeing what I do to him...That might just be enough for the others to learn by, if I don’t have the time to get to them. Piers didn’t move from his seat; his usual place in the back of the classroom. Was he really going to make me repeat myself? “I’m sorry,” I continued, “maybe you didn’t hear me all the way back there.” I turned to Mrs. Price, “Do you often struggle with students at the back not hearing you properly?” She didn’t answer either. Can’t help but think that’s a little rude. It was a civil enough question, I feel. I’ll come back to her later. I turned my attention back to Piers. Just looking at his face makes me feel sick. Memories of what he’s put me through. I’m sure David must feel the same too. “Piers, don’t make me ask again.”

“Fuck you,” he spat from the area he foolishly perceived as being ‘safe’ at the back of the room. Little boy obviously doesn’t appreciate how far bullets can fly. The rest of the class, especially those who sat in close proximity, wasn’t as foolish as a clear gap appeared between me and Piers. I took the gun up from where it rested, close to me, on the table and pointed it directly at Piers. “You won’t shoot me,” he said. Damn, he’s clever. Shooting him will be too easy.

“You’re right,” I lowered the gun.

“You’re a fucking pussy,” Piers hissed. His voice so full of venom towards me. How did someone so young get so much hatred inside of them? I blame the parents. I stood up and walked down the aisle of wooden desks and chairs to where Piers sat.

“I forgot,” I said, “you’re the big man aren’t you? You’re the one people should be afraid of. You’re the one who calls the shots and controls the classrooms and corridors...Those who don’t like you, or follow you, you set about destroying...You and your little gang. You think you’re something special...You really do, don’t you?” He leaned back on his chair so that he was resting on the back two legs of the chair only; the front legs completely clear of the floor. A defiant expression on his face. I smiled at him. I have to say, had the situation been reversed...Had he been the one with the gun pointed at me, I’d have been trembling. I’d have done anything he asked to save myself from getting shot. Is he brave or mentally retarded? “Well, I guess we can come back to you...You know...When you’re ready to come forward,” I said.

“Long wait,” he muttered. A cocky glance to his surrounding friends. Little show-off.

“Well - long enough for you to start feeling better,” I said. His defiant expression turned to one of confusion. I flashed him a smile and then hit him in the face with the butt of the handgun. His nose cracked and split open as blood immediately gushed over the table he sat at. One of his friends, a dark haired jock to the left of me, made a move as though to take me on; a move which stopped when he came face to face with the barrel of the gun. “Be smart,” I whispered. I backed away from them...Back towards the front of the class...Back to where I could see everyone.

“Please stop!” Mrs. Price begged.

I shook my head. “These people...They made my life miserable...They didn’t stop. I asked them. David asked them. They never stopped. Even when we asked you for help...You turned us away. Remember that?”

“Had I known...”

“We tried telling you. You didn’t listen!”

“I would have stopped it.”

“Hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”

Thinking about hindsight I wonder whether I made things worse, for David and I, when I initially spoke up. Would things have turned out differently had I stayed quiet like Craig? David never said the general level of abuse had gotten worse because of me but he was the sort of person to keep that sort of thing to himself. Maybe it wasn’t as frequent before I came? Could ask him. Doubt he’ll answer.

“This isn’t the way to put things right,” Mrs. Price continued. You’d think she’d shut up but obviously it’s against her nature. “They can get suspended...Expelled even...”

“You really think they care whether they’re in school or not?

* * * * *

The third, fourth and fifth days were easier. They were even quite pleasant. Mainly because the back row of our class was empty as Piers and his friends didn’t show up. I’m not sure where they went and I don’t really care. Their absence, probably due to the beating they gave David and I. No doubt they were scared to come in, expecting a one-to-one with the Headmaster; not that David and I told anyone what had happened. Sure, we were asked but...We figured...It’s done. It’s over. Move on. Hopefully Piers, and all, will move on too.

By the end of the third day, I was comfortable enough to make my own way around the school without needing David showing me everything but I still hung around with him. Definitely one of the good ones. Who knows, when I leave this school - as, no doubt, I will as soon as Dad says we’re moving away - maybe, just maybe, this is a friendship that will stick. Be nice. Normally, when I move on, friendships are quick to disappear. That’s always disappointing.

* * * * *

“I’m sure they’ll care,” said Mrs. Price as she still tried to convince me that grassing the bullies up was still the right thing to do.

I shook my head again. “Do you know what they say about you?”

“I don’t care...”

“You should. Half of them want to fuck you...Disrespectful to both you and your husband...The other half...They think you have a cock...”

“Playground stuff...”

“Not denying it...”

“What?”

“Show us.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous.”

“I said show us...Prove they’re lying,” I pointed the gun at her.

“What have I ever done to you?”

My mind drifted back to the numerous occasions she made me, or one of my classmates, feel stupid in front of everyone else. We’d stand there, after she told us to stand, and not be able to do a damned thing to stop her from tearing us apart over the slightest thing. Talking in class, no homework, poor homework, not paying attention, not getting the required pass mark on one of her many surprise tests...Anything could set her off. Sometimes it was justified but most of the time the dressing-down we received was over the top and probably against the school’s policies. I wonder if the school actually has any policies, thinking about it.

“Come on,” I said. “We’re waiting.”

“What do you want?”

“What do I want? I want to make you feel as little as you make us feel...”

“I make you feel little?”

“You know you do and, more to the point, you know when you’re doing it. You always have the same wry smile upon your face.”

“If I’ve ever made you feel stupid, I’m sorry...” She looks as though she’s about to cry but I don’t care. She deserves this. I aimed the gun directly at her eye so she could see straight down the barrel. “Please don’t make me do this...” I pulled the hammer back once more, having carefully released it earlier. She started to cry. I, on the other hand, started to get excited. The feeling of power I’m wielding, I could get used to this. “Okay...” she said. She stood up, with her legs shaking, and unzipped the back of her tight black skirt. She paused, perhaps hoping I was going to tell her I was joking and she didn’t have to remove it. I’ll be doing no such thing. I could feel myself harden. Is it wrong to ask Rebecca to come back over? Maybe I should test out Mrs. Price? Well, that is if she doesn’t have a cock. Don’t think I fancy a blow job from a woman with a prick.

“What are you waiting for?” I asked, a wry smile on my face. Her face reddens as she drops her skirt. I can’t help but feel a little disappointed to note she isn’t wearing stockings but rather tights instead. On the plus side, they’re over the top of a white cotton thong. Not quite the PVC or latex we were expecting to see. Perhaps she saves that for the weekends and days where she works the detention hall? A further plus to the situation reveals no penis. Just a nice mound where her pubic bone is. I’d love to fuck her. I bet she fucks like a good ‘un.

“Happy?” she asked, fighting back her tears.

“What do you think class?” A quick scan of my fellow classmates, of which I thought the lads would be grateful for this, revealed no one was looking at Mrs. Price. They were all looking directly at me. “Look at her!” I ordered and they did. I looked back at Mrs. Price, “Turn around...Let them see you...” Following instructions like a good little student, she turned on the spot. She looked at them...A look in her eyes suggesting she was hoping one of them would come and help her, perhaps give her a jacket or something to wrap herself in. “Bend over I ordered.”

“Surely this is enough,” she said.

I shook my head. “Not yet. Bend over.” She wept as she bent over, facing me. “Now turn around,” I said. She did as she was told until her sweet arse was facing me directly. I can see the outline of her pussy lips through the material of both the tights and the thong. It makes me wonder what it would taste like. Perhaps a step too far? I’ll have a bet I’m not the only one thinking along those lines, though. Even Piers, through his bloodied face, must be fancying a taste too. I should have made him turn around. I didn’t mean to give him such a delightful treat. I licked my lips at the thought of what her juices would taste like and shifted in my chair. I’ve heard people say it tastes of fish but I don’t believe it. I hope it doesn’t. I’m not a fan of fish. I’m hoping it tastes like chicken, like one of my other friends described. Maybe I’ll be in this school long enough to make a relationship with a girl. That’d be nice. But then...Maybe I could just pull Mrs. Price towards me now...Pull her towards me, rip her tights...Pull her knickers to one side and give her a lick. My mouth is watering. I’m tempted but I won’t. Not because I don’t really want to and not because she isn’t attractive. It’s just...She is older than me. Maybe too old? Maybe she is past her sell by date and her creamy juices are off? Perhaps that is when they taste of fish. All this picturing what it tastes like...Rebecca...I’m ready for round two...

5.

“She is fit, though,” I said to David. He didn’t answer. He just smiled as he tucked into his lunchtime sandwich. “I mean, how are we supposed to concentrate when faced with that every day? I definitely would...”

“I wouldn’t,” said David. He swallowed his mouthful and took a sip of his carton of orange.

“What?”

“I said I wouldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t want to sleep with Mrs. Price?” I asked with a surprised tone of voice. David shook his head. “You’re kidding me, right? I think you’re the only person who doesn’t want to sleep with her...I mean, as long as the rumours aren’t true and she doesn’t have a manhood growing down there.”

“Not my cup of tea,” said David. I looked at him again. It was hard to tell whether he was having a laugh or not.

“Not your cup of tea?”

“No...Well...Not unless the rumours are true...” he continued.

“Wait...What? You want to sleep with her if she does have a cock?”

He smiled.

“What? Are you gay?”

David looked me straight in the eye as he swallowed his next mouthful of cucumber sandwich, “Yes...”

“Oh...”

“Is that a problem?”

I shook my head, “No, not at all...Just...You know...When Piers and his friends were calling you gay...I just thought...Well, you know...I thought they were name calling. I didn’t realise they were stating actual fact. Not really any of my business...” There was an awkward pause, “I’m not, by the way...”

David laughed, “It’s okay, I’m not about to pounce on you. I kind of guessed you weren’t going by conversations we’ve been having! But...I mean...How do you know if you’ve never tried it?” I looked at him with a worried look on my face. He gave me a wink and suddenly responded by bursting out with laughter, “I’m messing...Jesus, should have seen your face.”

“Yeah, good one...Okay...You got me...” I started to laugh; a delayed reaction.

I didn’t care whether David was straight or gay. His sexual preferences were of no concern to me. Just because he was homosexual, it didn’t mean I couldn’t have him as a good friend and, sitting here with him in my first week, I felt lucky to consider him a buddy.

“The story about you and Mr. Fitzpatrick?” I asked when he had stopped laughing long enough for me to get a word in edgeways.

“That is a lie,” he said.

“Fair enough...”

“I just wish I had!” he started to laugh again. His infectious laughter set me off too. “I mean, his arse...To die for...Seriously...”

“Dude, please stop...” I said, still laughing.

“Oh, I see, it’s okay for you to discuss Mrs. Price’s arse but not okay for me to discuss his tight, round butt...Imagine those muscles squeezing around your cock as you try not to squirt deep inside him...”

“Dude! I’m not listening anymore...”

“And he’d be groaning, and moaning...Begging even, to have it deeper in him...Deeper and harder...”

I put my fingers in my ears, “I’m not listening...I can’t hear your disgusting thoughts...La La Laaaaaaaa.....”

David cracked up and, as a result, thankfully stopped.

“You’re sick,” I told him.

“What are you two laughing about?” asked a pretty girl from my class. I think her name was Rebecca; the girl who sat in front of David. As soon as she got our attention by speaking, David stopped laughing and fell silent.

“You don’t want to know,” I said. I didn’t know her well enough to be sure she’d appreciate the comments between David and me. I had seen her hanging around with Piers and his narrow-minded friends so...

“Listen, I just wanted to say I think you two were really cool...” she went on.

“How so?” I asked.

“I’m not stupid. None of us are. We know who caused those bruises...You not grassing them up to the Head...That was cool...” She smiled at me, a flash in her beautiful eyes.

“Well...Thanks...” I said. I felt myself blush; an annoying habit whenever a pretty girl spoke to me. I wonder whether, in years to come, I’ll be able to control that...Better yet, I wonder whether it will stop completely. That’d be nice.

“Some of us are having a party this Saturday...Be nice if you could both come. Show there are no hard feelings between anyone. You know, a fresh start...” she continued.

I looked at David, “Sounds good, what do you think?” He didn’t answer, he just stared at Rebecca as though he were expecting a punch line to some amazing joke she was telling. “David?”

“I can’t,” he said. “Busy. Some gay thing.”

“That’s too bad,” said Rebecca, “it would have been nice...And...I could have got to know you a little better too.” Her eyes were fixed on me. It was everything I could do to keep focused on her and not her cleavage. “Look, if you change your mind...” she fished in her pocket and pulled out a small card with a phone number on it...”Just give me a call and I’ll pass on my address...Be nice if one of you could make it at least.”

I took the card off her and, just as suddenly as she had appeared, she vanished back into the crowds of pupils all milling about with their lunches.

I turned to David, “I knew they were hiding from us. Scared of whether we had gone to the teachers...It’s good, isn’t it? A fresh start she said. Might leave me alone from here on in...Us alone. Both of us. Come on, it will be a laugh...”

“Have you heard the term ‘fuck-buddy’?” asked David.

“Of course I have...”

“Well she is fuck-buddies with most of the school but...I think her and Piers are more than that. She’s a piece of shit.”

“She seems nice enough to me,” I said. I smelt the card in my hands, “Even her card smells like perfume...Come on, it will be a laugh,” I said.

“You can go if you want but I don’t want to. Wherever they are, I tend to avoid.”

“You mind if I go?” I didn’t want to upset David but at the same time I didn’t want to miss the chance to put things right with everyone. It would be nice to come to school not wondering whether I’m going to get another hiding or not.

“You do what you want,” said David. I could tell by his tone that he didn’t think it was a good idea and, more to the point, he didn’t really want me going but...Surely he wouldn’t fall out with me just because I chose to try and put things right...The chance to have things easier for both of us. How great would that be?

* * * * *

I couldn’t help but think how great this was, as Mrs. Price pulled her skirt back up and took her seat amongst my fellow classmates. Her face is still red and the tears, in her eyes, are nothing more than an added bonus. I have a feeling, if she survives this, she won’t be so keen to belittle any of her students again. Hell, she might even quit. Never teach again. No loss to the education system, that’s for sure.

Rebecca was still crying in her seat too. Two scarred, hopefully for life, and one battered. I’m just disappointed the bruises will heal.

“Well, Piers, you ready yet?” I hope he tells me to ‘fuck off’ or something similar from his lacking intelligence; give me another reason to smash him in the face. Normally I’m against violence. I don’t think it solves anything. That’s partly why I never fought back on the occasions they jumped me. I mean...Ignoring how big he is in comparison to my skinny frame anyway. Even if I had wanted to fight back, I wouldn’t have gotten very far. I’d have covered even less metaphorical distance on the times his friends were helping to give me a hiding. I never understood why he had them help - it’s not as though he needed a hand.

Piers tipped his head back so it was facing me. His nose was still bleeding. How satisfying. I’m loving this. It’s nearly making me as hard as the sight of Mrs. Price’s cunt and the feeling of Rebecca’s tongue. With his hand away from his face, he raised his middle finger.

Oh, Happy Days...A sadistic smile spread across my mouth. Like I said, normally I’m against violence but, I won’t lie, it’s slowly starting to grow on me.

6.

“Are you going to want us to pick you up?” asked my mum. The problem with my mum is that she wasn’t trying to be helpful. She was trying to be nosy. She just wanted to get a glimpse of my new friends. No doubt she wanted to thank them for taking me under their wings as I found my way around a new school. She was always the same. It was embarrassing. The friends I did make often asked whether my mum would be home before agreeing to come around for a night of gaming on the console. They said she freaked them out a little. I couldn’t blame them. Her only son, she had a habit of treating me as though I was still a baby. Definitely embarrassing. When she first saw the bruises Piers and his friends inflicted, she wanted to frog march me back to school and demand the Headmaster expelled everyone immediately. I tried telling her it wasn’t necessary. I tried telling her it would just make things worse for me but...You know how parents can be especially when they have a bee in their bonnet about something.

“I’m fine,” I muttered as I pulled a clean, black shirt from my wardrobe.

“Don’t you have anything brighter you can wear?” she asked. “You’re always dressing in black...Colour suits you so well...”

“I want black. Black is cool,” I said. I also perceived it was a power colour too. Mum once said she thought I was a Goth. I couldn’t help but laugh. I’m hardly a Goth. It’s not like I wear make-up and dress head to foot in black and go around listening to heavy metal whilst cutting myself...Mind you, I don’t really know any Goths...Maybe they don’t do that? Maybe it’s just bad movies portraying them in a negative light.

“Well it’s nice to see you settling so quickly,” she continued. “Especially after what happened at the start of the week...Do you at least want a lift?”

“It’s fine, Mum, really. I can make my own way.”

“Well, if you’re sure...”

I feel sorry for Mum really. I know why she is so keen to be part of my life. It’s because she doesn’t really have her own life. She gets moved around just as much as me, because of Dad. At least I have the chance to meet new friends and different people by going to school. She doesn’t have to work. In fact, Dad said he didn’t want her to. He wanted her to be at home...Keep the household together and meals on the table whilst he went out and provided. Old fashioned views, I guess. It did mean that Mum didn’t get to socialise with people her own age, especially as she lacked the confidence to join local groups that would have opened the door to meeting new, like-minded people. She just stayed in the house and went a little more stir-crazy each day.

“Thank you, Mum. Really. But I’m sure.”

She gave me a smile and said, “Well, I’ll leave you to get ready then...” and, with that, she left the room.

I do love her though.

* * * * *

My heart was beating fast and hard as I pressed the doorbell button to Rebecca’s house. I know this is all for the best; a fresh start. A chance to turn the hatred Piers and the others feel for me into something more positive. Doesn’t make me any less nervous though. Not a good thing, being nervous. I have a bad habit of being ultra-sarcastic, without meaning to be, or extremely quiet. Neither are traits which make me any more endearing. I wish David had come with me. At least there’d have been someone here who definitely liked me.

Footsteps from beyond the door. Someone is coming. The door opened and Rebecca was stood there. A vision of beauty. She was dressed in a short black dress which looks as though it’s barely covering her backside. I won’t lie; she looks hot. Really hot. Her face was done up with heavy make-up. Normally I prefer ‘subtle’ but...It suits her.

“You came!” she exclaimed. She actually sounded as though she was pleased. “I was hoping you would!” She reached across to my hand and led me into the house.

I already feel as though I’m out of my depth. She took me through to the lounge where Piers and his friends were sitting. There were six of them altogether. The room fell silent when they saw me. I feel sick but I can’t show it. Piers was the first to stand up and walk over.

“You didn’t grass,” he said, “I respect that...And look, we’ve both said and done some stupid things but...What do you say we start afresh?” he sounded sincere.

“I’d like that,” I said.

“You’re alright,” he said. He turned away from me and joined his friends again. Seconds later they were back to whatever it was they were talking about before I walked in.

“See,” said Rebecca, “a fresh start.”

I smiled at her. Was that it? Was that all that was needed?

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer. Still holding my hand she pulled me through to the large kitchen which was crammed full of various drinks - mainly of an ‘alcopop’ variety. “We pretty much have everything here,” she said.

“That’s a lot of alcohol,” I said.

“Everyone chipped in.” Whoops. Was I supposed to offer money too? A little bit of cash towards the alcohol pool? I don’t have anything on me now other than the cash I need to get the taxi home. Could give her that. Could give Mum a call to come and collect me...No. Forget that. I don’t need her seeing Rebecca. She’ll jump to conclusions, no doubt, that we’re a couple. Probably end up having the safe-sex speech and everything. Worse still, she’ll invite Rebecca over for Sunday dinner...Although, that wouldn’t be a bad thing...Ever since I first saw her I thought she looked nice. “Try that,” she passed me a red drink. Not got a clue what it is and what it’ll taste like but I don’t want to appear uncool by asking or refusing it.

“Thanks,” I said.

“David couldn’t make it, huh?” she asked.

“No, he said he was busy...”

“A shame.” Laughter boomed from the living room. “Did you want to go upstairs so we could talk? It’s quieter...”

“Ummm, sure,” I said. It was the first time I had had a girl inviting me upstairs. I desperately tried to sound relaxed and cool about it but I’m pretty sure I failed. She smiled and led me through the house, back towards the stairs. She went up the stairs first, leading the way. I always thought I was a gentleman but, as I stared at her tight little arse the whole way up...Well...I guess I’m not that much of a gentleman!

“It’s just through there,” she pointed to a door across the landing from the stairs, “I’ll be right there - make yourself comfortable.” She turned into what looked to be the bathroom and I crossed the landing to what turned out to be her room.

Weird. Everything is pink. I’m not sure what I expected but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a completely pink room. Pink walls, pink duvet...Even the carpet is a lighter shade of pink. Definitely a young girl’s room. You wouldn’t have guessed this was her room. I guess I half expected pictures of semi-naked  pop stars hanging from the walls and make-up scattered around the place...Hell, I even thought I’d see different outfits dropped on the floor from where she was trying things on for her party. But, in this room, everything seems to have its own place. Speaking of which, dressed in black, I must really look out of place here!

“Sorry about that,” she appeared in the doorway behind me. I turned to look at her. Was it just me or did her breasts suddenly appear to be...Well....larger? No complaints here. I tried to avert my eyes so as not to offend or come across as a creep. She simply smiled and walked past me, brushing my crotch with her hand. Was that a mistake? That smell...She smells even more so of the sweet perfume I caught a scent of when she first opened the door to me. I’m not sure what it is but I like it. She sat on the bed and patted the mattress next to her. An invitation for me to join her? Embarrassingly, I felt myself harden. I can only hope she didn’t notice.

I crossed the room and sat next to her. I wonder if I looked as nervous as I felt. Come on, you’re supposed to be a man. Act like one. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting your room to look like this,” I said.

“No? What were you expecting?” She turned her body to face me and dropped her hand on my leg. I am now fully erect and feeling incredibly awkward. “You look good tonight.”

“Thanks,” I stuttered. Stupid. I should have told her she looked good too and not just tonight. She always looked good.

She laughed, “You feel tense...Relax...”

Before I could answer she leant forward and kissed me on the mouth. Seconds later and she was kissing me again with her tongue down my throat.  Aggressive...Nice...

She pulled away slightly, “You’re a good kisser.”

I tried to answer but my mouth didn’t want to work. Besides...I wasn’t sure whether she was just saying that. Being kind. I wonder if she could tell it was my first kiss. She leant in again with her left hand on my cheek. As she continued to kiss me, her hand stroked down my cheek with her nails scratching me ever so gently. Lower it went...Down my neck...Down my chest...Until it rested on my crotch. She made a funny ‘mmm’ noise from her mouth and, using both hands, fussed around with my belt until it was undone - allowing her access to do the same to my jeans. Is this really happening? I desperately wanted to touch her, like she was touching me.  I wanted to feel the softness, and warmth, of her skin. I wanted to feel her breasts...I wanted to but didn’t. I was just frozen to the spot; allowing her to do as she pleased.

“Ooh, big boy,” she purred as she freed my erection from the confines of my boxer shorts. I feel like I should stop her. Perhaps get to know her a little first? I thought the correct order was a few dates, holding hands, couple more dates, a first kiss, more holding hands and then, eventually, some kind of sexual act. I didn’t think it would be like this. “I have some condoms in the drawer over there...” she whispered in my ear. Fuck it. Holding hands is lame anyway.

“Sure,” I stammered, my hands still frozen to the mattress.

She jumped off the bed and walked across the room, leaving me on the bed momentarily.

“Now!” she suddenly yelled. Within an instant, the bedroom door flew open and Piers burst in with a mobile phone in his hand and a huge, evil smile on his face.

“Gross! What are you doing! Having a wank in Rebecca’s little sister’s room? You know how fucked up that is? She’s only eight. You fucking pervert!”

I didn’t know what was going on nor did I hang around for an answer. I got up as quickly as I could, turning my back to the mobile phone, and adjusted myself to hide my erection. The sound of Rebecca laughing, from the corner of the room, echoing through my worried mind...

So much for a fresh start.

7.

If Piers had meant what he had said, that evening, about us having a fresh start...If Rebecca hadn’t tricked me into making me look stupid...Right now, Mrs. Price would, no doubt, be shouting at one of us for handing in a below par homework assignment. As it is, she’s just sat there, looking mortified at what she’s just done. Rebecca is still sniffling away in the corner of the room and Piers is still bleeding as he deserves to.

“Have another little think,” I said to Piers as I went back to the front of the classroom, “and we’ll have another chat in a bit,” I said. Back at the front of the class, I turned to Ben Griffin and Daniel Gordon. Two of Piers’ closest friends. Unlike the physical violence Piers liked to dish out, these two were too weak to do much damage like that. Instead they preferred the tried and tested method of name calling. Whoever said ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me’ clearly hasn’t been on the receiving end of people who spend the vast majority of their time using hateful words. I’ve lost count of the amount of times, in my short time in this school, where I’ve been on the receiving end of a bout of name calling from these two narrow minded little pricks. It’s stupid of me, and others, to get hurt by it but...You hear something enough times and you start to believe it. It wears you down. “Ben and Daniel, can you come to the front of the class please?” I’m not sure why I said ‘please’. I don’t need to say things like that anymore. I don’t need to be polite. I’m the one in charge. It wasn’t a friendly request. It was an order.

They looked at each other, unsure whether they should or not. A quick glance at Piers, who was barely conscious from the last pistol whipping he received, and the two of them stood up; neither of them wanting to be on the receiving end of that kind of brutality. I wonder, had they known what was coming their way...I wonder whether they’d still have chosen to stand up. I smiled. Slowly they came forward. Both of them were tall individuals. Both with dark hair. Both with dark brown eyes. Same size, width-wise, too. You’d be forgiven for thinking they were brothers.

“Do you remember when David told you about Ben and Daniel?” I asked Mrs. Price. She didn’t answer. How rude. “Do you remember he reported that they kept calling him names? I remember. He told you how it upset him and how he didn’t like it. He asked for your help and you told him not to be so silly. It was, after all, just name calling. Which, by the way, is still bullying. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“We were just playing around,” said Ben.

“Oh, well, that’s okay then...Please, take a seat...” I said. My sarcasm slipping out again. Ben, foolishly, went to move back to his seat at the back of the class, “Don’t you fucking move,” I hissed. He froze on the spot. Good lad. Not as stupid as he appears. “Tell me, what did you call David when you were playing around?” I asked. Neither of them answered. Maybe they’ve forgotten. “Faggot. Queer. Beaver-leaver. Homo. Gay. Gayboy. Rimmer...Just a few of the names...”

“We were just playing...”

“You knew it upset him. You knew he didn’t see it as playing.”

“We’re sorry,” said Daniel.

“Too late.” I tried not to show glee as they both looked as though they were about to cry. “Well...I suppose...We could kiss and make up...” They didn’t say anything. They just looked at one another hoping one of them would understand what I was talking about. They turned back to me with blank expressions on their faces. There was a pause. “Come on then, kiss and make up...”

After the video that Piers took on his mobile phone was emailed to - as it turned out - everyone who subscribed to the school’s digital magazine, which was run by the students, it was Daniel and Ben who started the rumour that I was a paedophile. It was them who stated the whole video couldn’t be shown because it showed Rebecca’s younger sister dancing for me in her underwear. They admitted that was a lie when the police were involved but not so everyone could hear - only the officers, my mum and Rebecca’s parents. Rebecca denied being in the room at the time; her denial helped by the fact that the sound was muted with dodgy ‘porn’ music edited over it. Ben and Daniel never did apologise for the trouble it landed me in. It didn’t help that David was sulking with me too. He had warned me not to go and felt that I should have trusted what he said.

“I don’t understand,” said Daniel.

“Let me spell it out to you,” I said. “I want you to kiss Ben.”

Daniel looked down to the gun, in my hand, and then over to Piers at the back of the room. He turned to Ben and leant forward. After he closed his eyes he gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Well,” I said, “that was very sweet but...I think you can do better than that. Kiss him like you mean it. I want to see tongues. You know...Because I’m such a faggot.”

“We didn’t mean it!” said Ben; a look of panic on his face and his voice shaking. “Please...We didn’t mean it. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks. Means a lot to me. Now...Kiss. And look as though you’re enjoying it.”

* * * * *

The fallout from the leaked video footage was more or less over by the third week. At least, it was at school. At home Mum still wouldn’t let me go out and she still wasn’t entirely happy with what had happened. I kept telling her it wasn’t my fault but she just kept saying how embarrassing it was for the family. For the family? What about me? I didn’t ask to have the video shown everywhere. I didn’t want people seeing it. I’m the one who has to go out and see the people who have seen the video. It’s not like Mum bumps into the people who watched it. It’s not as though Mum bumps into anyone.

“Your father is going to be so disappointed when he gets home,” Mum kept reminding me.

“Who cares what he thinks? Who cares what anyone thinks? It’s not like we’ll be here for very long! We never are!”

“And then what did she say?” asked David. I was sat with him in the cafeteria.  It was the first time we had spoken properly since the video leaked.

“She said I was ungrateful. Apparently Dad does all this for me...Moving around...The working...Apparently it’s all for me but that’s rubbish.”

“How so?”

“If they wanted the best for me, they’d have left me in the same school. They wouldn’t move me around. They’d want me to meet new people, make new friends and, more importantly, keep them!”

“Dad works because it’s what he wants. He doesn’t give a shit about me or Mum. Pretends he does but...He doesn’t.”

David didn’t say anything. I guess he realised I just needed to vent.

“Well, I’m sorry for everything you went through,” he said eventually.

“Thank you.”

“But...”

“Don’t say it.”

“I told you so...”

I gave him a look which said ‘thanks for that’. He simply smiled.

“Everything sorted now though?” he asked. “I mean, with regards to the police and Head?”

I nodded, “I nearly got expelled for it.”

“I saw the film...” he smiled, “...impressive.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

David laughed.

“Look out...a new film in the making,” said Daniel.

I spun around and saw Daniel and Ben on the table behind us. They were laughing, like they usually were when they were mocking someone or something. A real life version of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. David rolled his eyes.

“Who do you think will be the giver and who will be the taker?” asked Ben.

I didn’t say anything. There was so much I could say but...There was no point. I had already learnt that smart arse comments don’t make them go away. Today was all about trying something new; ignoring them. I looked at David and hoped he’d stay quiet too.

“Look...Look at the way they’re looking at each other...They’re going to kiss...”

* * * * *

“Look...” I said to my fellow classmates, “...Look, they’re going to kiss...”

“Please,” said Ben. “We’ve said we’re sorry.”

“And I appreciate it. Now kiss.” I raised the gun up to his face. “I won’t be asking again...”

Ben and Daniel looked at each other. A slight pause as they both processed what they were going to have to do.

“Wait!” I suddenly yelled. They pulled away from each other. “Wait...” There was relief on their faces. I took up a mobile phone, from the table on the teacher’s table, and loaded up the camera. “Okay, now you can kiss.” They knew I wasn’t joking. “And...Action...”

There was a long pause as they just looked at each other. They turned to the camera. Off shot I waved the gun in the air. They looked back to one another. They knew what they had to do. The funny thing is, though, they don’t know the half of what they have to do. Today, they are my performing monkeys and I’m going to make the most of it.

“Kiss him, faggot,” I hissed.

Mrs. Jones shifted uneasily in her chair. Probably remembering her little show and tell for the class. I shot her a glance to keep her quiet. By the time I looked back to Ben and Daniel they were standing nose to nose. Be interesting to see who makes the first move. My money is on Ben. ‘Bender Ben’ has a certain ring to it. Daniel leaned forward and kissed Ben on the mouth. I’m glad I didn’t put any real money on it. They stopped and turned to me. I hadn’t moved. I was still pointing the camera at them. That wasn’t a kiss. Not a proper one. Not like lovers. I peered out from behind the phone’s screen and gave them a stern look...A stern look they both understood. They turned back to each other. This time it was Ben to make the move. He stepped forward and tilted his head to the side with his mouth slightly opened. Daniel moved closer too, his mouth also open slightly. Soon their lips were interlocked in a passionate embrace. I could be wrong but...They look as though they’re enjoying it. Certainly making for interesting footage. Wonder what the rest of the school will think of it when I email it to the same people Piers emailed when he made his little video?

8.

“Let’s go,” I said to David. I did my best to ignore the comments from Ben and Daniel; did my best to rise above it but they were starting to annoy me and I knew David would have been feeling the same.

“Aw, where are you going?” Daniel asked.

“Toilets, I expect,” said Ben. “Probably want to have a little sausage for their pudding.” They laughed. Other people, who were sat around them listening, also laughed. Very funny.

* * * * *

Ben and Daniel pulled away from their kiss. A little string of saliva was the last to snap away from their embrace.

“So how was that?” I asked. “I have to say, and I’m sure I’m not alone in saying this, it looked as though you both enjoyed it. Did you?” They didn’t answer. First time ever they’ve both been silenced. Should have done this ages ago. “Remove your trousers.” They both looked startled. No doubt they had hoped I was going to let them sit back down. They’re wrong. I’m not done with them. I’m a way off being done. Daniel undid his trousers and dropped them to the floor. “Well, looks as though your efforts weren’t up to his standard,” I said to Ben. Ben didn’t budge. “Your turn.” Again, he didn’t move. “Help him, Dan...You’re his friend, aren’t you? You’d hate for him to be hurt, right?”

Daniel turned to Ben, “Please...Just do as he says...Don’t make me...”

Ben reluctantly lowered his trousers and I couldn’t help but laugh when I noticed he was hard. “I guess Dan’s the better kisser, huh?” Ben went bright red, as did Daniel. We’re still not done yet, though. “I bet you could murder a little sausage right about now, huh? Some nice pudding...”

I stepped forward and pulled Ben’s shorts down. His erection popped up, standing to attention for the whole class to see and be disgusted by. I don’t want to look too closely but I bet it’s covered in pre-cum.

“You talk about it all the time,” I said to Daniel, “because I reckon it’s what you want...YOU want to have a little sausage for pudding...”

“What? No. No...”

“I think you protest too much. Here’s your chance...Put him in your mouth.”

“Please, no...I’m not gay.”

“Me neither but you two insisted on saying I was just because I was friends with someone who happened to choose that particular path in life. And that wasn’t the worst that you said, let us not forget that...Now, put him in your fucking mouth and keep him there...” Daniel didn’t move. I stormed over to him and swung the gun down to his kneecap, catching him on the side. He let out a squeal and dropped to his knees. “I said, put him in your fucking mouth...”

“Just do it,” said Ben.

“See, he’s begging for it. He wants you to...This little faggot here...Put him in your mouth.”

Someone fidgeted in their seat behind me so I swung around with the gun and aimed it at them. They froze. I turned back to Daniel and pressed the gun against his temple.

“The lesson is almost over. You can nearly walk away from this...If you don’t do this...If you refuse...You won’t walk away.”

Slowly he edged closer and closer to Ben’s penis. He opened his mouth and let the shaft slide to the back of his throat. Ben moaned. Not sure if that was a groan of pleasure or one born from being uncomfortable.

“Doesn’t that taste good?” I asked. “Now move back and forwards...You’ve seen how the ladies do it in the movies you have undoubtedly watched...Do it. Do it.”

Daniel started to move back and forwards, just as I had told him to, and Ben’s moans became more frequent. Every time Ben’s penis hit the back of Daniel’s mouth, Daniel couldn’t help but gag.

“You like that?” I asked Ben. His eyes were shut. I’m not sure if he was picturing Daniel sucking him off or picturing, perhaps, Rebecca or Mrs. Price. Either way, this wasn’t for him to be enjoying. With no warning, I turned to Daniel and kicked up, as hard as I could, between his legs. The sudden rush of pain caused his mouth to clamp shut...I was surprised at how far the blood spurted, from Ben, when Daniel moved away. Both of them dropped to the floor in agony.

“Who’s next?” I asked the class.

John, one of the quieter members of the group, jumped up and made a dash for the door. I was unsure of his intentions. Maybe he wanted to get help for Ben. Maybe he wanted to escape his own lesson. Either way...Silly move considering I wasn’t exactly so far away I wouldn’t get to the door first. I thrust the gun in his face.

“Sit the fuck down.”

I’m still amazed at how easy it is to control a small group with one handgun. Surely they must realise I don’t have enough bullets for all of them? I guess none of them are willing to sacrifice themselves in order to save their friends.  The cowards. All they need to do is rush me. I probably wouldn’t even be able to empty the entire clip. It is, indeed, a selfish world we live in.

* * * * *

“I hate this place!” David exclaimed when we were away from Ben and Daniel’s earshot. “There are all these anti-bullying posters around making it look as though the school actually gives a damn but they don’t. They don’t give a flying fuck about their pupils getting bullied.” I didn’t say anything. I just let him have his little rant. “I’ve been to the teachers before but they don’t care. They don’t want to know. If they do say anything to the people involved...It’s half-hearted. It’s not meant and certainly isn’t enough to deter them. It makes me sick. Just shows you really are alone.” He started to cry. Should I put my arm around him? Not sure. Would he get the wrong idea? “All that talk about sticks and stones breaking bones but words never hurting...Broken bones heal. Bruises heal. Harsh words can have a long-lasting effect.” I couldn’t argue with him. He had a point. He looked to me, “You’re not doing a very good job of making me feel any better.”

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “Not really sure what to say.”

“Anything!” he said.

After a slight pause, “There, there...Everything will be okay...” He couldn’t help but laugh at how useless I was. Comforting people never really was my strong point. I guess I don’t really have the family background to afford me that little life skill. Dad was always working and Mum would always over compensate which I found annoying. “So what do you want to do?”

“I just wish I could make them all suffer.”

“Well, I’m sure that would be great but...I don’t think it’s very practical. Besides, I meant what do you want to do now?”

“I’m not going to class. Fancy going to the cinema or something?”

I nodded. Hopefully he’ll be paying.

* * * * *

Daniel was on the floor, at the front of the class, crying with blood smeared around his mouth. I’m not sure if he is crying because he’s just bitten his friend’s penis off or crying because of the pain from being kicked. Maybe a little bit of both? Ben, on the other hand, is deathly quiet in his unconscious state. He looks pale. I wonder whether he’ll eventually end up bleeding to death from his injury? Maybe. If he does, he brought it upon himself.

“Go back to your seat,” I said to Daniel.

Slowly he stood up and walked down the middle aisle back to his seat - all of his classmates staring at him. I liked how everyone was looking at him. All staring...All judging for what he has just done. He won’t be able to forget their looks. They’ll be with him forever...Just as the taste of human flesh will haunt him.

I looked around the class. Who’s next? My eyes settled on a girl at the front of the class. She immediately started to cry. She knows it is her turn.

“Please, I haven’t done anything to you...” It’s true. She hasn’t done anything to me. It’s only from hearing her call out, during the many registrations we have sat through, that I am aware of her name; Chloe. “Please...”

“I know you haven’t,” I said. “But this isn’t all about me.” I turned to look at the seven stood behind me: David, Lindsey, Elizabeth, Marcus, Samantha, Kate, Helen...They all look to be enjoying my little floor show. I turned back to Chloe...Sitting there, looking pretty with her short, dark hair and her big brown eyes, carefully applied make-up used to enhance her looks as opposed to hide them behind an unnecessary layer of slap. Looking into her eyes, she already looked as though she were going to start crying. Pathetic. You’d have thought people who were nasty to other people...You’d have thought it would have been harder to break them but this is proving fairly easy. “Come to the front of the class,” I instructed her. “Let’s have a chat.”

Reluctantly Chloe stood up. She gave a glance in the direction of her friends. No doubt she was hoping one of them would step forward and offer her some assistance. Not a chance. They didn’t want to get involved. They didn’t want the spotlight turned onto them. Chloe stood a few feet away from me. I had never really noticed before how skinny she was. I wonder if she was naturally that skinny or whether she was one of these girls who’d eat a meal just to sick it back up in the toilet when they thought no one was looking?

“Lindsey...” All I did was say a girl’s name and Chloe started to cry. She knew where this was going. “Do you want to tell the class what you did to Lindsey?” Chloe shook her head. “Oh, come on now...Don’t be shy...Would you rather we asked Lindsey?”

“Please stop it.”

They all say the same thing. It’s getting tiresome. I’m not going to stop, just as they didn’t either when they were asked. Fair is fair, after all.

“You look nervous. Don’t be. We’re all friends, aren’t we? Here...I got you something...” I reached into my rucksack, which I had left by the table at the front of the class, and pulled out a Tupperware box. I pulled the lid off and showed Chloe the contents. “Chocolate cake...”

“I don’t want any.”

“Of course you do, don’t be ungrateful. I got one for you and one for your friend Lindsey...You know she likes cakes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? You’ve done nothing to be sorry for...Have you? Have I missed something?” I hadn’t missed anything. I knew what Chloe had done. She would spend her time, with her friends from the year above, following Lindsey around taunting her because of her weight. Lindsey being one of the school’s larger pupils. I’m not sure if it was because she over-ate or some genetic thing which made her so. It wasn’t important. The consequences of their words always had the same ending; Lindsey would cry herself to sleep, sometimes cutting herself before she climbed into her bed.

“We need to get Ben some help,” said Mrs. Price. She wasn’t watching Chloe and me. Her eyes were fixed on Ben. He looked pale, there was no denying that. “He’s dying...”

“I’m talking to my friend. Please don’t interrupt me again,” I said. I turned back to Chloe and handed her a cake. “Eat it.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You can eat it willingly or I can feed you. I don’t mind which.”

She looked back to her friends. None of them made a move to help her. Slowly she took the cake from me and looked at it.

“It looks good, doesn’t it?” I asked. “I made it myself.”

“Please, I’m not hungry.”

“Of course you are. Look at it! How can that not make you hungry?”

The cake did look good. Chocolate sponge covered in chocolate icing. I would have eaten it myself. Had I not put in the little extra ingredient. Chloe moved the cake closer to her mouth. Slowly her mouth opened. It must be watering in there. How could it not? The cake looks amazing. I should set up a little shop. Start selling them. I could make a fortune.

9.

I was sitting with David, in the cinema, waiting for the film to start. He paid; some chick flick he had wanted to see. I should have known when he invited me to a film that it wouldn’t have been a typical horror for boys to enjoy. Ah well, I couldn’t grumble; it was still better than being in class, I suppose. Just.

“So how would you teach them a lesson?” I asked him.

“Not really thought about it.”

“Really?”

“Okay, I’d make them kiss each other,” he said, a split second later.

“What?”

“Piers and his friends...In front of the whole class...I’d make them kiss each other. That way they couldn’t call me gay anymore.”

“They couldn’t?”

“Of course not...” The lights dimmed and the screen flickered into life. David whispered to me, “If everyone has seen them kiss...They’d hardly be in a position to carry on calling me gay!” I didn’t answer him. I suppose, all being said and done, he had a point.

“How’d you make them kiss?” I asked.

He shrugged, “I don’t know...Wave a gun in their face?”

I laughed, “You have thought about this, haven’t you?”

“Lots,” he answered immediately. “Want some of my popcorn?” He tipped his large tub of popcorn towards me.

I shook my head, “No thanks. Hate popcorn. It tastes like shit.”

* * * * *

A smile spread across my face as fresh dog shit dribbled down Chloe’s chin. I guess the little stint in the oven made it runny? Should have expected that, not that it’s a problem. It was probably worse for her, to have it trickle down her face. She’ll be tasting that for days. As soon as she realised what it was, she gagged and spat the cake onto the floor.

“No!” I shouted. “You must eat it all!” I grabbed the cake and shoved it into her mouth. My hand clamped across her face to stop her from spitting it out once more. She struggled, in my grasp, but I didn’t release her until I felt her swallow some of it. “That’s it...Good girl...” I couldn’t help but think of Rebecca swallowing my own poison too. A smile spread across my face. As soon as I let go of Chloe, she threw up on the floor. It’s starting to smell in here...What with the blood, puke, shit and stench of fear. Thank God the lesson is nearly over. It’ll be nice to get some fresh air. “You can sit down now,” I whispered to Chloe when she finished sicking up, what she had eaten, onto the floor. She stood up and made her way back to her seat, spitting as she went.

“You’re going to burn in Hell for this,” said Mrs. Price. “You know that, don’t you?” She didn’t look scared of me anymore. She looked angry. A familiar expression we, as a class, were used to. Maybe she knew I wasn’t going to actually shoot anyone? “Your mum and dad will be known around the world for what you have done. You’ll be rotting in prison, and then Hell, and they’ll be having to live with the consequences of your actions.”

“Then I guess, with all of us residing there, Hell will be full.”

“Just let us go before you do something you’ll regret.”

“I’ll regret nothing of today.”

“You say that now but in years to come...You’ll realise...This wasn’t the way...”

I turned to David, behind me. The look on his face...The look of sorrow. Lindsey’s face...Having just seen her tormentor eat dog shit...I won’t regret anything about today.

“When you’re quite finished,” I said, “there’s still much to do.”

“You’re a psycho,” she continued.

“No, I’m not. I’m a product of my surroundings. You...All of you sitting here...You all made me.”

“That’s rubbish,” said Mrs. Price. I knew I could count on her to ruin my buzz. “People are bullied every day. You don’t see them holding their class to ransom.”

“I’m not holding anyone to ransom! As soon as the bell goes, you’re all free to leave.”

“Let us go now!”

“Now you know you’re not allowed to wander the corridors during lesson time. You can get sent to the Head’s office. You can go as soon as the bell goes. Those aren’t my rules. They’re the schools...”

“They’d allow an exception...”

I glared at her, “Did you want to come to the front of the class again? Have you not learned your lesson?” She didn’t say anything. “That’s what I thought.”

I turned back to the seven behind me. Lindsey seems satisfied how I dealt with Chloe. David seems to be quieter than usual. Funny, really, considering this was his plan initially. Five more students who need someone to fight their battles for them; Elizabeth, Marcus, Samantha, Kate, Helen. I’m not entirely sure I’ll be able to help them all. Not entirely sure there is time enough to deal with each of their complaints. Never enough time.

* * * * *

“Where have you been?” asked Mum as soon as I stepped into the family home. I didn’t answer her straight away. I wasn’t expecting to be bombarded with her questions as soon as I walked in. Couldn’t exactly tell her I had been at the cinema with David. She’d be mad that I hadn’t gone to school. She might even be mad enough, after the video incident, to report it to Dad too - when he comes home from work...If he comes home from work. “I asked you a question - where have you been? Dinner is ruined.” Dinner wouldn’t have been ruined; I doubt she would have even cooked it yet.

“I was in the library with David,” I lied. Stupid, really, as she knew it would be a lie. I can’t remember the last time I went to a library.

“The school phoned.”

“What?”

“They phoned. Apparently you didn’t show up for registration after lunch. They wanted to know if everything was okay.”

“They actually called?”

“Yes...”

“They do that?”

“So where were you?” Mum’s face reddened. I knew she was mad. One of the signs she was angry was when her face went a bright shade of red; similar to if she were embarrassed. The thing with Mum, though, is that she’d only be angry because she wouldn’t have known where I was...Because she would have been worried...Not because I didn’t go to class. “Well?”

“I was at the cinema...”

“With David?”

“Yes, with David. We had some problems at lunchtime and couldn’t face going back for the afternoon. We didn’t think it would be a problem...”

“More like you didn’t think the school would have called?”

“And that...Look, Mum, I don’t like it there. The name-calling...The bullying...”

“They’ll settle down, it’s just because you’re new.”

“What? No. No it’s not. It’s because I am friends with a homosexual and I dared stick up for him. You saw what happened with the video. You saw that. The trouble I got into...It’s going to carry on. God only knows what they’ll do next. I don’t want to go back...”

“You have to go back! I’m sure they’ll soon get bored and move onto someone else.”

“It’s different to the way it was when you were at school, Mum...You know, when the world was in black and white and you didn’t lock your front door at night...”

“Well you’re going back tomorrow. If you want I can go in with you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I didn’t mean to. “Thanks but I’m pretty sure that won’t help!”

“Well just stand up to them then! Now promise me you won’t bunk off again.” I didn’t say anything. “Promise me.”

“Fine. I promise. Whatever.” I pushed past her to head up the stairs to my room. I knew it was pointless telling her about what was happening at school but figured there was nothing to lose. Nothing to lose, at least, other than my patience. Once upstairs, and in my bedroom, I closed the door for some privacy. I don’t know how David does it. He’s been dealing with this for months now, I’ve only had it for a couple of weeks and it’s getting to me. Perhaps it’s because I am tired; tired of moving around from school to school...Home to home...Tired of the pressures of playing catch up with school work...Tired of having to meet new people and try and make new friends...Trying to pretend that everything is okay, at home, when really...I’ve had enough of my mum’s constant smothering and the fact my old man is never there - always working for the Ministry of Defence...I’m even tired of not knowing, exactly, what he does for a living which causes us to move around so much. I’m just tired. I’ve had enough. And...I can’t believe the school phoned home on my first missing afternoon. So much for escaping from time to time, to get some peace and quiet. I can’t have them call home all the time. It’ll only cause issues at home too. Then there’ll be no escape.

The door opened and Mum came in, “Your friend David is downstairs. Is he okay? His face looks terrible...”

“What?” I jumped off the bed, where I had slumped, and hurried downstairs. David was standing at the foot of the stairs with his face all battered and bruised. “What happened?” I asked.

“I’ve had enough!” he said before I had even finished my sentence. “I’ve fucking had enough of it all...” David was getting more upset. It looked as though the only reason he wasn’t already crying was because he was so angry. “All of them...I’ve had it...I’m not going back...That’s it...”

“What happened?” I asked again. “Jesus Christ, David...Just tell me!”

“Piers...His friends...They happened. Outside my house, man. Outside my house.”

“What about your parents? They didn’t see what happened?”

“They’re not home. They never get home until later in the evening. They fucking waited for me outside my house.”

Mum appeared behind me, “Are you okay?” she asked David.

“No, of course he’s not okay. Look at him!” I said. “This is what it’s like at school. Those bullies...The ones you said would leave us alone...This is what they do...” I felt myself getting as angry as David. “Come on,” I said to him, “you can get yourself cleaned up in the bathroom.” I led the way for him whilst Mum just watched, a look on her face which suggested she still didn’t get it. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would take for her to understand.

10.

“You okay now?” I asked David. We were standing outside his front door having been given a lift by Mum. She waited in the car whilst David and I chatted.

“I’m fine,” he said. I didn’t believe him. I was worried about him. He didn’t really seem as though he was there; the lights were on but he wasn’t home.

I looked towards the living room window. The lights were on so I guess one, or both, of his parents were home now. “Are you going to tell them what happened?”

“Don’t think I can hide it...” His face did look a mess. “It won’t make a difference, though. They’ll still make me go back tomorrow.”

“They don’t care?”

“Dad said once that it was deserved.”

“What? How?”

“Because...”

“You’re gay?” I asked. David didn’t say anything but I guessed that’s why his dad felt as though he deserved a beating from time to time. There was a slight pause. “You going to be okay?”

He shrugged, “What’s the alternative?”

“It’ll get better,” I said, not that I believed my own words. It has to get better. We don’t actually deserve any of what we are being subjected to. David didn’t react to what I said. “Well,” I continued, “I best get back...I’ll see you tomorrow. You never know, Piers and his friends might not show up again...Could be scared you’ll get the teachers involved and they’ll be suspended.”

David shrugged. I turned to look at Mum who was still sitting in the car. I could tell she was getting impatient but hated leaving David like this. I guess everyone has a breaking point and this must have been his. I don’t blame him. I haven’t been here half as long as him and I’m already close to mine. I turned back to David to continue our conversation but he was already stepping in through his front door. Without so much of a goodbye he closed the door. Maybe he’ll be back to normal tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep?

I walked back to the car and climbed into the front seat, next to my mum.

“He seems quiet,” she said. I shot her a look.

* * * * *

“What are you doing?” asked Mrs. Price. I was just standing there, in front of the class. My mind was elsewhere. Drifted off for a minute. Disappointed there isn’t enough time to deal with them all individually. “We need to get Ben some help.”

“He’s dead,” I said. I didn’t even look at him. I could tell he was dead. His breathing was noisy earlier. Now I can’t hear it at all.

“You’re going to prison...” said Mrs. Price, “for a very long time.”

“No, I’m not.” I smiled at her and glanced at the gun.

“You killed someone!” she continued.

“So did Piers!” I yelled. “Chloe...” I pointed to where she was still weeping. “Murderer! Lynn...” I pointed to a girl sat towards the back near to where Piers was sitting, “Murderer! Robert...” one of Piers’ friends, “...Murderer...John...” another lad close to Piers, “even Ben and Daniel...They’re all murderers...The only difference is they didn’t pull a trigger.”

* * * * *

Lessons are about to start. The class is quieter than usual. David is doing his usual trick of leaving it until the last possible minute to come to class. There are whisperings from the back row. I can’t quite make them out. Something about David. I wonder, after last night, whether he’s coming back to class or whether his mum and dad are finally pulling him out of here and sending him somewhere else?

I turned round to look at the back of the class. Piers and his friends are missing again. Same old story with them. They fight with someone and then disappear for a few days. A few days later they re-emerge from whatever hole they crawled into, as though nothing has happened. Pieces of shit. With the mood I’m in, it’s probably a good thing they’re missing. For what they did last night, I don’t think I could keep my calm. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were just Piers by himself but...Him and all of his gang? I would have just ended the same way as David did last night.

My attention turned to the back of the class, again, when the door opened. I half expected it to be David but it wasn’t. Mrs. Price walked in; a solemn expression on her face. Well, this is new.

The class watched, in silence, as she put her bag by her desk. She looked as though she was taking a couple of minutes to collect her thoughts.

“We’ve just heard,” she said after a few more minutes, “that last night David took his own life...”

* * * * *

“No one in this class is innocent!” I shouted. “No one!” I waved the gun around at each of the pupils. They tried their best to duck out of the way of the barrel. “Not you! Not you! Not you! No one! You all need to learn...You need to be taught a lesson. The only innocent ones are standing here...” I turned to see David, Lindsey, Elizabeth, Marcus, Samantha, Kate and Helen.

“There’s no one there,” said Mrs. Price.

“Just because you don’t see them, it doesn’t mean they aren’t there but they’re always here. Always walking the corridors where they were tormented for so long...What I’m doing...What I’m here for today. Someone should have done this a long time ago...”

“What you’re doing...This doesn’t make anything right. This doesn’t change anything...”

“It will! Don’t you see? People will hear of this. This story will spread across the world...Newspapers, television programmes...A warning to others who may be tormenting colleagues close to them...”

“It won’t. You’ll just go down in history as another psychopath killing innocent people in their school...”

“Just as David will be another suicide statistic?”

* * * * *

Mrs. Price’s short words were all that was mentioned of David in the school - at least in front of the pupils. There were no speeches in the morning assembly, offering people in the same position as David any help. There was no advice for handling bullies. There was nothing. Even the local newspaper hardly went into any details about it when it landed on the doorstep three days after the event.

My mum felt bad for me, as I had lost a friend, but then went on to say she could see it coming. She could see it in his eyes that he was a troubled young boy; a damaged soul. Teachers didn’t have much to say either. Apparently David had a history of depression which he brought to the school with him - documented in his file from his previous school. I told them about the bullying but it was, more or less, brushed under the carpet. Piers and his friends, of course, denied everything. What made it worse, with regards to Piers and his buddies, was that every time I looked at them - they were laughing. I’m not sure what about but...Did none of them feel any remorse? Did they honestly believe they weren’t to blame for what happened to David?

“What are you doing in here?” Mum asked. I was sitting in Dad’s office. An office which was normally out of bounds due to the sensitive documents he sometimes had with him. I could never help but wonder why, if they were so sensitive, he brought them home and, more importantly, what difference it made whether we were allowed in the study or not...It wasn’t as though he left them on his desk. They were all locked away in his large wall safe. Speaking of which...I was frantically trying to guess the combination. “I asked you a question.” The locking mechanism of the safe clicked open. Success. Having tried his date of birth, Mum’s date of birth, my date of birth...I was surprised when it clicked open on their wedding anniversary. In a world this shitty it was nice to see he still valued his marriage; more than can be said for some couples. Unless, of course, he just doesn’t know how to change the combination code now that it is set. “Get away from there...Your father will kill you.”

I doubt it. He’s never here.

I pulled the door open. There it is. Just as I had hoped. I reached in and took hold of his handgun. His favourite piece to use whenever he is training new cadets. At least, that’s what he tells me it’s for. For all I know he could have purchased it from the black market just as a source of protection for the house. I wonder if Mum knew it was here? I only knew from when I had seen it over his shoulder.

“Put that down!” Mum said sternly as I pulled the gun from the safe.

“I can’t. I need it.”

“Need it? For what?”

I just looked at her. She knew what it was for. Did I really have to spell it out? I need it to teach them a lesson. All of them. Just as David wanted to do. I’m doing it for David...

“You’re not leaving the house with it,” Mum said. She blocked the doorway. I can only hope she isn’t going to test me. “You’re not taking that to school,” she continued - proof that she knew exactly what I wanted it for.

“Yes, I am. I need to show them they can’t push people around anymore. I need to show them there are consequences to their actions. They need to know I’m not afraid. They need to know...”

“You’re not afraid? Then you don’t need to take a gun to school...”

“I need to show them!” I shouted. I could feel my eyes start to well up. “Did you know David wasn’t the first to kill himself at my school? There were others too...Others who were bullied like David. The first I have heard of this was yesterday...In the cafeteria...People talking about it...Remembering the others who had taken their lives as well because they were bullied...”

“So you go and hurt the one who bullied your friend?” said Mum. “There will just be another bully further down the line. No matter what is said and done, there will always be someone to take their place.”

“There doesn’t have to be. I can teach them. I can show them the error of their ways. I can show them. They won’t hurt anyone again. They won’t. And when news gets out about what I’ve done...When the news gets out - no one will want to hurt anyone again...”

“You’re being silly,” said Mum, “the world doesn’t work like that.”

“It can. No one has tried it yet.”

“I’m sorry about your friend. You know I am. If you want to look at changing schools, I’ll talk with your father when he calls...”

“What’s the point? Every school is the same! I need to do this. Not just for me but people like David....”

“But...”

“Lindsey, Elizabeth, Marcus, Samantha, Kate...Helen...Now David. I found the newspaper reports on them on the school computer. They all killed themselves using various methods. All dead because of bullies...”

“You don’t know that, it could have been because...”

“Of course it was to do with the bullies. There may have been something else in their life to upset them too but you know it would have been the likes of Piers who had tipped them over the edge. Every time I shut my eyes I see them standing there. Every time...”

* * * * *

I looked at David and the others. Time was running out. Too much taken up with arguing with Mrs. Price about what I was doing. How wrong I was. I’m not a psychopath. I’m not. I’m the innocent one. David and the other six students...We are the innocent ones...Backed into corners with no visible exit other than what I’m doing here or suicide. I need to do this. Just skip across to Piers. He is the main culprit, in my eyes. Teach him a lesson so harsh the others will learn from it.

This is it.

This is what I’ve been gearing towards.

11.

“Enough is enough,” barked Mrs. Price, “give me the gun!”

Who does she think she is giving orders like that? She forgets, this is my class. I am the one in charge. She is right, though, enough is enough. I’ve already passed the point of no return. Now it’s time to end it.

“Give me the gun!” she screamed.

* * * * *

I’d never heard my mum shout like that and it took me back a bit.

“Give me the gun!” she screamed again. I went to push past her but she grabbed for the gun. She was screaming for me to hand it over but I wouldn’t. For a split second we both danced around the room, fighting over the gun, when suddenly a shot rang through the house - echoing in the small room we were in.

* * * * *

Mrs. Price looked startled as I looked at her down the barrel of the smoking gun. Blood immediately poured from the hole in her chest. She dropped to her knees without another word and then face-planted onto the hard floor. The rest of the class screamed and immediately jumped up from their desks. Someone would have heard that. Someone would be coming now.

* * * * *

It doesn’t matter if the sound of the gunshot does attract people. I won’t be here. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t mean for the gun to go off but I can’t stay here regretting what’s happened. As I looked down at Mum, who was lying face down in a pooling puddle of blood, I knew that none of this was my fault. I feel numb about what I’ve done. It’s not my fault. None of it. This is their fault. The bullies. Piers. This is his fault. Lessons start in less than an hour. I need to be ready. I only hope I can get this finished before they come for me.

* * * * *

I didn’t care that the class was in a panic. I didn’t care that some of them had dared to make a rush for the door. They could go. It didn’t matter anymore. All that matters is him...Piers. He is still in the back row of the class. I’m not sure whether he is still too stunned to make a run for it or too stupid. Either way I’m grateful. I didn’t want to have to chase him through the school.

I stormed over to where Piers was sitting, smoking gun still in my hand, and grabbed him by his hair. He let out a funny little wail as I pulled him to his feet and marched him to the front of the classroom. By the time we get there, most of the class is empty. It’s just me...Ben, Mrs. Price and Piers. Even Daniel managed to get out of the room - no doubt racing off home to brush his teeth and rinse out the flavour of cock with extra strong mouthwash. Fucking faggot.

“You did all this!” I screamed at Piers. “You!”

It didn’t matter about being quiet now. I knew they were coming for me. Someone would have called the police by now...Someone would have run to the other teachers. Time is against me.

“Fuck you!” hissed Piers. I smashed him in the face with the butt of the gun and he let out a scream. His front two teeth cracked on impact with the hard metal. That’s going to hurt in the morning.

“No! Fuck you! You did all this.” I raised the butt of the gun back into the air and dropped it down onto his face once more. A loud crack. Was that his nose? He looked dazed. “Don’t you fucking pass out...”

“Stop! What are you doing?” came a voice from the doorway.

I looked up to see the Head Teacher standing there with a look of horror on his face. I pointed the gun directly at him. He put his hands out in front of him as though they’d stop a bullet from flying towards him.

“Tell me about David,” I shouted.

“What?”

“Tell me about David...What sort of person was he?”

There was a slight pause.

“He was a confused la....” he started.

I pulled the trigger and he dropped dead. David wasn’t confused. David was a victim. We’re all victims. “Because of people like you,” I said to Piers - the final string of my thoughts coming out vocally.

“Please...Don’t kill me...” he said. Have the beatings finally broken him down?  Or was it the sight of the Head Teacher and Mrs. Price getting a bullet? This ‘hard man’ who gives off an image of someone who won’t be controlled finally broken? I won’t pretend not to be a little disappointed. I was looking forward to hitting him some more but, truth be told, it’s probably for the best. I’m pretty sure I can already hear the sirens in the distance.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I said to Piers. “I want you to live with this. I want you to live with the knowledge you killed Mrs. Price. You killed the Head. You killed my mum, you son of a bitch, and David. Even Ben’s death is because of you. Everything that happened...Your fault. Say it...”

“It’s my fault,” he spluttered through broken teeth and bloody gums.

“Louder!” I ordered.

“It’s my fault,” he repeated.

“Shout it!”

“It’s my fault!” he shouted at the top of his voice.

“Again!”

“IT’S MY FAULT!”

The sirens are outside now. They’re here. That’s it. Game over.

“Open your fucking mouth,” I hissed. Piers was crying as he opened his mouth. “Wider!” I told him. Broken boy did as was instructed.

Doors are banging against walls in the corridors beyond the classroom. This is it. The lesson has come to an end. Seconds later there were officers standing in the doorway with guns pointed at me. I’m sure there are more, waiting for their turn to take a pop, in the corridor.

“DROP THE FUCKING GUN!” one of them shouted.

I put my head against Piers face so that my ear was level with his mouth. I swear, despite the shouting police, I could hear his fear coming from his body. And smell it. Broken boy wet himself? A smile spread across my face as I placed the gun against my other ear.

I hope the knowledge he is responsible for all these deaths...I hope it haunts Piers for as long as he lives. If he forgets, I hope the taste of my brains, in his mouth, serves as a distasteful reminder. As I ready myself to squeeze the trigger, I only hope the bullet doesn’t go through my head, and his too. I can’t promise it won’t.

If it does, it’s not the end of the world. Just his. I closed my eyes and readied myself. This is it. I wonder if it will hurt.

“I love you.”

A friendly voice, louder in my head than the shouting police officers and sirens...I opened my eyes. David was standing slightly in front of me.

“I love you,” he said again, “always have.”

I smiled, “I love you too.” All this time and I’ve only just come to realise I was living a lie. No previous girlfriend because, subconsciously, I didn’t want it? I never realised. It doesn’t matter now. “I love you too,” I repeated. I couldn’t help but laugh. All this time I was trying to teach everyone else a lesson. Trying to teach them something, for their lives, and it was me who ended up learning something.

The school, town even, were quick to forget the previous seven who had killed themselves. I bet they aren’t as quick to forget the eighth.

I ignored the shouting from the doorway, and squeezed the trigger.

~ FIN

T H E    C A B I N

PROLOGUE

“Dad, I’m bored!” my youngest daughter, Ava, yelled from the backseat of my Dodge Ram. I winced in pain as I bit my tongue. How can she be bored? She has everything she could possibly need back there. She has a television screen built into the back of my seat playing her favorite cartoon movie, the pink Nintendo DS she got for her sixth birthday last week after begging and pleading with us for several months prior, a stack of games to play on; most of which were also on her extensive present list she deemed fit to drop on our laps at the start of her birthday month. She even has the magazines she begged Susan for at the last gas station we visited. And yet she’s bored? She should try sitting in this traffic. She’d soon understand boredom then.

I looked in the rearview mirror at Jamie, my eldest daughter, who was staring out of the window blissfully unaware of her sister’s boredom thanks to the headset of her MP3 player replacing Ava’s whining voice with heavy metal. What happened to my sweet little girl? As soon as she turned seventeen years of age her pale complexion was made even paler with thick, white foundation and her dark brown eyes were suddenly surrounded by black eye shadow and eyeliner. When she first started wearing it, I teased her saying that she looked like a panda bear but she paid no attention; just grunted at me. The grunts being another side effect brought on by her seventeenth birthday. I’m just waiting for the day she comes home with tattoos and piercings all over her body. Susan, my snoring, open-mouthed wife in the passenger seat next to me, promised it was a phase. To her everything is a ‘phase’.

“Dad! I’m bored!” Ava yelled again.

I wonder whether Susan is even asleep or just pretending so as not to have to deal with Ava’s constant moaning. I swear, when I get home I’m selling Ava’s toys. Wonder if I can sell Susan too...

“Dad!”

It’s a shame I can’t get away with pretending to be asleep. I twisted the rearview mirror to make it easier to see her, “Play your game,” I said. I tried my best to sound ‘friendly’ despite my tired mood wavering towards psychotic.

“It’s boring,” she moaned.

“Well play another one.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t like them.”

I am definitely selling her toys, “Then watch the film!”

“I don’t like it!” she moaned. I hate it when she moans. Thankfully it isn’t very often. Nine times out of ten she’s a good kid. I guess she stayed up too late last night. No doubt, when Susan wakes up, that will be my fault.

“How about a game of I-Spy?” I suggested if only to keep the peace. I-Spy with my little eye – back-to-back fucking traffic.

“Noooo...” she whined.

I want to meet the person who put the rule in place which states you can’t hit children. I’d like them to borrow Ava for the day. Make that a week.

“How much furtheeeer?” she asked. I hate it when she moans. She seems to add extra vowels to the last word of the sentence to make it even longer and more whiney than if she had just said it normally.

“Stop whining,” I snapped. I don’t dare tell her we’re hours away yet. It’ll only set her off. Hopefully she’ll fall asleep when the truck starts moving, once we’re out of this God-awful traffic.

“Where are we? Are we there yet?” asked Susan as she stirred from her unexpected slumber. I shot her a look. I can see the headlines now, Local author guns down family out of frustration. “What?” she asked.

“We’re not even out of the city yet,” I replied.

“What? How come?” She looked out of the windscreen to see what the holdup was. “Traffic?”

I really wanted to say something like ‘No, I just thought I’d pull up to the sidewalk for a few hours’ but, instead, opted to go with, “Must have been an accident.”

“Mum, I’m boreeeed...” moaned Ava from the backseat.

“Play your game then,” said Susan.

“I don’t like them, they’re boring!”

“Then watch your film - it’s your favourite...”

It’s going to be a long trip. I reached across to the radio and turned the volume up.

1.

“The kids are getting hungry,” Susan pretended to observe.

“They’ve got food,” I said.

“Chocolate isn’t food,” Susan argued.

“Try telling them that. If you let them, they’d live off it.”

“Okay, I’m getting hungry,” she corrected me, “and I don’t want to live off chocolate.”

“Oh, well, darling why didn’t you say so? Of course I’d love to stop off to get some food for you, and our delightful children, just as the traffic has all cleared and we’ve finally managed to make some fucking progress...”

“Watch your language. It’s not my fault the traffic was bad.”

“I’m hungry too,” Ava piped up from the back.

“I know, baby, we’re stopping off soon,” said Susan even though, technically, I had made no such promise. I didn’t argue with her and took the next available turning off from the highway. I could already feel my temper was frayed and it would only lead onto a shouting match had I started an argument; neither of us like to back down once we get going. My temper because of everyday stress and her temper because she’s from Brooklyn. I had hoped leaving the city would have helped me calm down more or less straight away but then my temper probably wasn’t helped by the traffic. There’s something about New York, something in the air maybe? Something, that is, other than smog and pollution. I always feel so stressed which is why I like to escape the city life when the pressures are too much and, with my agent breathing down my neck for a new book, the pressures are definitely too high at the moment.

“Are you okay?” Susan asked. The first time she had asked for as long as I can remember. I must really look like I’m close to cracking.

“I’m fine,” I lied, “I just can’t wait to get to Brattleboro.”

“You have looked more stressed than usual,” she pointed out the obvious. “The break will do you some good.”

“Yeah, I know.” Another lie to keep the peace.

I love how she thinks this is a break. The whole point of escaping to the family cabin, in Brattleboro, was to try and get my head down to do some serious writing. Instead, she decided to turn it into a family weekend away. It’s not even as though the kids wanted to come. She made them. She said it would do us some good to get away, as a family, and they’ll enjoy it when they get there. Ava will be wanting whichever toys we didn’t pack for the trip and Jamie will be missing her boyfriend Zak. I have a feeling I won’t be getting any writing done.

“Fresh air, long walks, peace and quiet - it’ll be perfect. Romantic.”

I smiled at her but desperately wanted to weep.

“Sounds great but I do need to get some writing done too,” I said. I tried my best to stress the importance of the writing without making it sound as though her own plans weren’t important too.

“I know,” she said. I felt myself breathe a sigh of relief. “But it won’t take all weekend.” And, just like that, the relief I had just felt had completely disappeared and been replaced with dread once more. I suppose it’s my own fault as I tend to only write when she’s out of the house otherwise I can’t get anything done because she’s normally too busy fussing around me, or making noise, for me to be able to concentrate. Because she’s not normally present when I’m writing, the first she knows about my new book is when I tell her I’ve finished it; when I sit back with a cigar in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. My little rewards. The ‘speed’ in which these new books pop up probably makes her think they’re easy to write but they’re not. They’re incredibly draining. People don’t seem to understand that, as an author, you tend to experience all the emotions your character experiences too. What happens to them also happens to you and, if like me the authors write in the horror genre, well sometimes we can go through a lot of different emotions in any one given day of writing. Another good reason to ensure you’re home alone when you’re working. That way you don’t take your moods out on anyone else.

I turned into the car park for McDonald’s, “This’ll do.”

“MCDONALD’S!” screamed Ava with excitement. Finally, something to break the sound of whining.

“You’re joking, right?” said Susan.

“What?” I asked.

“McDonald’s? I think we can do something slightly better than McDonald’s.”

“Are you hungry?” I asked. She nodded. “Good,” I said, “then you’ll eat it.”

I turned the engine off, undid my seat belt, and climbed from the truck. Ah, fresh air. Immediately I felt my building headache begin to subside. We’d only been on the road for just over an hour and it had done me in. Perhaps stopping for food, if only for an hour, was the best thing to do for all concerned. Everyone can eat and I can unwind a little before setting off again. Definitely a good idea to unwind before we drive through Massachusetts regardless. If they still haven’t done anything to help the traffic flow there, other than to open the breakdown lane, I could end up getting stressed again as we go bumper to bumper once more. Maybe I should let Susan drive the rest of the way. Actually no, forget that. We’ll never get there whilst it’s still daylight.

Susan climbed from the truck still moaning about my choice of restaurant, “I just think we could go somewhere a little better than McDonald’s. A nice steak house or something.”

“And I heard you but, right now, all I want to do is get to Brattleboro. We can get a proper meal there this evening. Whatever you fancy, I promise. Besides which,” I pointed towards Ava who was excitedly bouncing around in the back of the Ram, “the kids are happy. In fact, if I were you, I’d take a picture; this is probably going to be the happiest you’ll see them all weekend. Well Ava at least. I think Jamie’s forgotten how to smile.”

“I heard that,” said Jamie as she climbed from the back seat.

“Did I hear that right?” I asked. “Did you really just speak to me in something other than a grunt? You did, didn’t you? Honey, did you hear that? We communicated!”

“Stop winding your daughter up,” said Susan as she helped Ava down from the truck. Meanwhile Jamie just shot me a dirty look.

I simply smiled back. “I have such a happy family.”

* * * * *

Susan reluctantly agreed to get our dinners on the understanding I looked after Jamie and Ava at the table in the far corner of the fast food restaurant. Given the choice between standing in what has to be one of the longest queues I’ve ever seen or looking after our children I’d always choose the latter of the two. Well, not always. Today, though, I think I’ve had my fair share of queuing.

“One happy meal with nuggets for Ava, one Big Mac for Daddy, a chicken wrap for Mummy and a box of nuggets for Jamie,” she said when she finally came back to the table. She sat on the opposite side to me, next to Ava who was more interested in the toy which came with her meal than she was in actually eating the food. “Put that away until you’ve finished your meal please, baby.” Susan took the toy from her and dropped it in her handbag. Oh good, more junk for the house. Had she let her play with it now Ava would have probably been bored with it by the time we came to leave and we could have just dropped it into the bin with the rest of the rubbish, or given it to another family to be stuck with until their next yard sale at the very least. I didn’t say anything. No point.

I looked at my miserable looking burger and laughed, “Have you ever noticed how these things look nothing like the pictures on the wall?” I picked it up and held it in perfect line with the poster which advertised it. “Look at that, the burger in the picture is all plump and juicy - tasty looking - but this...”

“It’s flat!” laughed Ava.

“See,” I said, “she gets it.” I peered into the box which hid her food, “What do you have? A box of chicken heads?”

“No, Daddy, nuggets!”

“Nuggets? You best let Daddy try one of those! Just to make sure, of course.” I leaned into the box and grabbed a nugget before I popped it into my mouth.

“Daddy, they’re mine!” she shouted.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, “did you want it back?”

I opened my mouth wide enough for her to see the mushed up state of the nugget within and she laughed. Even Susan, the ice maiden, laughed.

“You’re so disgusting!” moaned Jamie. There was a time when she would have laughed too. I turned my head to make sure Jamie had a good look too.

A step too far for Susan, “Stop being disgusting!”

“Yes, Mum!” I said. Ava and I laughed.

“What’s wrong with your burger?” Susan asked Jamie. Whilst the rest of us were tucking into our food she hadn’t touched any of hers other than her milkshake.

“I’m vegetarian,” she said before taking another sip from her milkshake.

“Since when?” asked Susan.

“Since seeing the state of this burger probably,” I said as I took another bite.

“You chose to come here so stop your complaining!” she said. She turned back to Jamie, “Why didn’t you say something when I went to get the food?”

“You didn’t ask,” Jamie answered back. This was typical Jamie. I had learnt to ignore it long ago but Susan always rose to the bait. Jamie would soon decide she wasn’t a vegetarian when the hunger kicked in. “Zak told me how the animals are treated right up until the time they die...Did you know sometimes...”

“I don’t want to hear it,” snapped Susan. “If you...”

I interrupted to save a full blown argument kicking off, “Do you honestly think they’ll stop killing them just because Jamie Hopkins of New York City decided to jump on the vegetarian bandwagon?”

“I don’t care...”

“What’s a vegetarian?” asked Ava.

“Someone who only eats vegetables,” said Jamie.

“Vegetables are yucky!”

“Do you know how they make what you’re eating right now?” said Jamie.

I had a feeling it was more of a rhetorical question and jumped in with, “They make it in the kitchen. Duh! Everyone knows that!”

“Yeah, everyone knows that!” shouted Ava. She mimicked my ‘duh’ sound too. A good effort. Jamie turned away. She’d already lost interest in the conversation.

Right from when I could first remember, Ava had been fussy with her food; the last thing we needed was for her to be scared off meat just because her sister was trying to impress some lad she had only just met in class.

“Did you want to get something else?” I reached into my pocket and pulled my wallet out. Jamie shook her head and started to eat her fries. I’m not entirely sure whether the fries are suitable for vegetarians but considering this is most likely, as Susan would put it, a phase - I’ll keep quiet. “How’s the chicken wrap?” I asked Susan. I don’t know why I asked her; I could tell by the expression on her face she wasn’t enjoying it.

“It’s good,” she lied. “Thank you for insisting we stopped here. I can’t believe I nearly missed out on experiencing this.”

Ooh, she nearly has the sarcasm as pinned down as I have. A little more practice and she might even be just as good as me.

“See I take you to all the best places,” I said. I flashed her a smile after ensuring my teeth were suitably coated in the various sauces found in my burger.

“Daddy!” laughed Ava.

“What?”

Susan gave me a playful slap on the arm and laughed, “You’re a dick!”

“Language!” I whispered. I have to confess it felt good to tell her off as opposed to the other way round. I wonder if she gets as much joy when she has a go at me for my occasional foul-mouthed slip up.

“Well at least your mood has improved,” Susan pointed out.

Jamie stood up and moved out from behind the table.

“Where are you going?” asked Susan.

“The bathroom. That okay?”

“Take your sister, please.” Susan ignored Jamie’s rolling-of-the-eyes expression and turned to Ava, “Go with your sister.” She slid herself away from the table’s bench, so Ava could get out, and sat back down again.

Just the two of us.

“I’m glad your daughter has stopped whining,” I said.

“Ava?”

I nodded. “I’m not sure I could have taken that all day.”

“Last I checked she was our daughter...”

“No, she’s our daughter when she’s being good and your daughter when she’s being bad. She falls into the latter of the categories when she’s whining.”

“She was just hungry. She didn’t eat much for breakfast. You seem better now,” Susan pointed out.

“Was just the traffic. Wound me up. Listen, I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick recently. It’s just I’ve had a lot on my plate. My agent is rushing me to get this novel to them and...Well...I’m struggling to be honest. That’s why I wanted a quiet weekend down the cabin.”

“It’ll do us all good to get out of the house for the weekend,” she said. She still didn’t take the subtle hint I wanted a quiet weekend down the cabin. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

A sweet gesture but an empty one as there was nothing she could do. Well, nothing other than stay at home and that ship had sailed already.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll figure it out. I have a good feeling about this weekend.”

Susan smiled and took another bite of her chicken wrap. Her smile faded when she noticed a hair sticking out of the wrap’s salad.

“See,” I said, “that could have been in my burger. I definitely have a good feeling about this weekend,” I laughed. Susan flashed me one of her speciality ‘angry’ looks as she hooked the hair from between the lettuce leaves and placed it on the side of the tray. I pushed Jamie’s nuggets towards her, “I don’t think Jamie’s going to be eating them,” I said, “not now she’s a vegetarian...”

Susan pushed the nuggets away from her, clearly put off by the stray hair nestled in her wrap, “It’s just a phase...”

2.

“This is your fault,” Susan helpfully pointed out. She was referring to the bumper to bumper traffic we were sat in. “You jinxed us when you said you had a good feeling about this weekend.

“Are we nearly there yet?” asked Ava.

“I can’t even see why you want to come up here anyway; we could have gone to the coast. What’s so special about this cabin anyway?” Great, even Jamie was starting too.

“The coast? I thought you people burn up in direct sunlight?” I snapped back. In the rearview mirror I saw Jamie pull a face.

“You’ve got such a lovely face,” Susan turned to talk to Jamie, “why do you have to hide it behind all that make-up?”

“I’m in mourning for my lost childhood,” retorted Jamie. Credit where credit was due, that was a good comeback; quick, witty and remarkably inoffensive by her usual standards although I’m not entirely sure whether it’s from a film or not.

Susan ignored her and turned back to me, “Why don’t you come off the highway? It might be easier taking the other route.”

“Did you want to drive?” I snapped. The traffic was getting to me again and the damned air conditioning was broken. Too much pollution and noise, outside, to want to have a window open.

“I’ll drive!” said Jamie with a flash of the excitable girl she used to be.

“I don’t think so,” I said. Might as well kill off the excitable little girl once more; I’ve grown fond of my truck and don’t need her crashing it! Besides which, I’m getting used to the black ‘mourning’ make-up she seems to favor. I’d probably die of shock now if she were to come downstairs with normal make-up on.

“When are you going to let me drive?” she moaned. “You’re so unfair!”

Ah, I wondered when we’d get the ‘so unfair’ whinge from her. I had my money on actually being in Brattleboro before we heard it. I guess I just lost that bet. Thankfully she didn’t continue with listing the ways in which her mother and I were so cruel to her, like she normally does; instead, she just sat back and continued staring out of the window at all the lucky people who have been allowed to drive.

“Are we nearly there yet?” asked Ava once more.

“Soon, baby,” said Susan.

Why does she always insist on calling her ‘baby’? It’s no wonder she seems to be maturing slower than the rest of the kids in her class; the poor kid is probably confused. Mum calls her a baby so she continues to act like one.

“I’m boreeeeed!” she whinged.

“Shut up moaning!” Jamie snapped.

“You shut up!”

“You!”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!” I snapped.

“Honey...” said Susan with her typical disapproving tone.

“What is up with this fucking traffic today? It’s not even rush hour yet! If we hadn’t stopped for McDonald’s...”

“...We’d be sat in traffic somewhere else. I’m sure it will start moving soon.”

“Well I’m glad you’re so sure,” I said.

True enough we did start moving. Not to a speed which could be considered ‘decent’ but I’d take what was offered. At least we were moving.

“We still could have gone to the beach. We would have been there by now.”

“Your father wants to visit his cabin,” said Susan.

“I just don’t see what’s so special about a cabin.”

“Tell them,” Susan urged.

“They’ll just think it’s stupid.”

“What’s stupid?” asked Jamie.

“His dad used to take him to this cabin every summer. It just used to be the two of them for the whole weekend...”

I cut her short, “It was nice.”

I used to love the trips away with my father. Whenever he was at home he was always highly strung, fretting about the state of the business and finances; worrying I had what I needed for my education and that Mum was able to keep the cupboards stocked with decent food. When I was younger I never understood why he was always in a bad mood. I remember constantly feeling the need to tread on eggshells around him; tiptoe so as not to cause him to get angry. It was different when he took me away. It was almost as though our father and son holidays were his way of apologizing to me for his moods. Just him and me. For those three days, sometimes four, he left all of his worries and stresses at home or in his office.

I hadn’t been to the cabin for years. In fact I think I had only managed to get there once since Jamie was born, and that was when I needed to finish my first horror novel, ‘The Spider’s Web’. The first piece of many works I had written which was picked up by a literary agent; the book which finally got me a decent publishing deal and afforded us the luxury of moving to a better neighborhood. Every year I promised myself a trip out there to make sure everything was okay but every year there was another reason why I couldn’t go. It’s stupid, really, considering it’s only four hours away from my home.

“Does it at least have a shower?” asked Jamie.

“Yes, Jamie, it has a shower,” I said. At least it did the last time I was there. God only knows what state the place is in now. For all I know, we could end up checking into a bed and breakfast. I hope not. That won’t exactly help my writing; the real reason I’m even going to the cabin in the first place!

“Is there a play area?” asked Ava.

“There’s a nice Princess Tower you can visit,” I said.

“Craig! Don’t!” Susan barked.

“What? I didn’t do anything!”

“You know what,” she said with a stern look on her face.

“Jamie would love it there...I bet you anything.”

“Love what?” she asked from the back of the car still trying to sound uninterested.

“The cabin is a short walk away from a large, stone tower. It was built by patients of the Vermont Asylum in the late eighteen hundreds...”

“So?”

“Craig, they don’t need to hear this.”

“At the time doctors believed hard labor could help patients regain some of their stability so some of them were made to build it as a nice, scenic overlook of the Asylum grounds. Rumor has it that, in the years following its construction, a number of patients threw themselves off of the top of the tower onto the rocks below. But, you know, you get those kinds of stories at most derelict constructions. The thing with this one is that hundreds of people have reported seeing an airborne human-like form at the top of the tower which just suddenly disappeared into thin air and other people have come forward to speak of seeing ghostly shadows in the woods...All pretty creepy.”

“Bullshit!”

“Jamie!” Susan snapped.

“What? That’s bullshit! Clearly!”

I gave Jamie a quick look in the rearview mirror and her expression gave a different story to the false bravado in her outburst. She looked nervous.

“It’s fine,” I said to Susan. I looked back to Jamie in the rearview mirror again, “I said the same thing to my dad when he told me the story but then...ah, forget it. You’d just think I was stupid.”

“No. What?” she asked. A clear look of nervousness on her face.

“Well...It’s just that...When we were at the cabin, I’d hear strange noises during the night...Like someone was walking around outside. I remember waking my dad up to tell him, but he didn’t believe me. Not until he heard it too; footsteps walking along the wooden porch which lined the front of the building. They passed right by his bedroom window and stopped at the front door. We both heard them, clear as day. I remember there was the briefest of pauses before a loud knocking on the front door...” I knocked on the truck’s dash four times for added drama. “Dad told me to wait in his room whilst he went and opened the door, to see who it was, but he said there was no one there. He just heard the loudest, most blood-curdling scream he had ever heard. He said it was as though whoever was doing it was stood directly in front of him yet there was no one. Scared the life out of him - and me when he told me. The next day he asked in town if anyone had experienced this and people got pretty nervous. Eventually we found out that anyone who had heard the scream, a year later they were dead. And, as you know, a year later my dad had a massive heart attack and died.”

“Is that what really happened?” asked Jamie.

“Of course it is! I’m hardly likely to make something up about my dad, am I? Actually that tower I told you about...There’s a nice walk we can do which lets us see it. Can head out there in the morning, if you want. See if we can see any shapes falling from the top.”

Jamie didn’t say anything, unlike Susan who, unsurprisingly, wasn’t impressed with my story, “That’s really nice! When the girls have nightmares tonight, you can go and sit with them and I’ll be the one staying in bed.”

“And good news, kids, we’re now officially in Vermont! Not too much longer now!” I said as we passed a road sign for Windham County.

“Can we see the Princess Tower too, Daddy?”

“Sure, sweetie,” I said.

* * * * *

I nudged Susan awake after I had stopped the truck, on the side of the road, next to the store. I’ve never known a passenger to fall asleep as much as her.

“Are we there?” she asked, her voice still sleepy.

“Hey! No. Not yet. Nearly.” I whispered, “I’m getting some supplies. Did you need anything?”

“What are you getting?”

“I don’t know yet. Probably just bread, milk, juice, potato chips, toilet paper...That kind of thing. Anything you can think of?”

“Not off the top of my head,” she said. “Can always pop down in the morning?”

“Okay. Sure there’s nothing you can think of now?”

She shook her head again and closed her eyes, keen to get back to whatever dream she must have been enjoying. “Don’t be too long, okay?”

I nodded, not that she saw, “The girls are with me,” I said. Had Susan paid attention, when I woke her up, she would have noticed they were already waiting for me outside. Susan didn’t answer back.

I climbed from the car and noticed Jamie and Ava were chatting to some kids to the side of the store. Kids? Not kids. They look older than Jamie. Six of them in total, five lads and a girl. The eldest looking one standing uncomfortably close to Jamie. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to even if I could.

“Jamie! Ava!” I called out. “Come on.” Ava came running over to me. She was excited to go into the store, no doubt, because she wanted to choose a chocolate bar. “Jamie!” I called again. I stopped by the store’s entrance and waited for her.

“Dad, I’m chatting to some friends! I’ll be in a minute!”

“Come on, Jamie, you don’t even know them!”

“Be cool, Dad, we go to the same school!” shouted the eldest of the group. “We’re in the same class.”

“Oh, really, and what school is it you all go to?” I asked.

“Dad, you’re embarrassing me!”

I shook my head disapprovingly and walked into the store with Ava, who was practically dragging me in by my jacket anyway. Jamie’s big enough to make her own mistakes and it’s not as though I’m going to be very long.

“Hi.” I greeted the shopkeeper, a podgy old man with white hair and a bushy white beard, as I walked past him towards the first aisle. It was quite weird seeing him; the last time I saw him he had jet black hair. He looked a lot slimmer back then too. The years have been unkind. Probably best if I don’t mention it. He looked at me the same way most small town shopkeepers look at strangers - a look of suspicion on his face. Obviously he doesn’t recognize me.

“Help you with anything?” he asked.

“I’m good thanks,” I replied, as I continued into the first aisle where Ava was waiting, “just getting some supplies...”

“Supplies?”

“Staying at my old man’s cabin down the road from here,” I called back. “Just for a weekend with the family.”

“Well the weather’s on your side,” he said.

Ava ran over to me with a packet of toilet roll, “That one?”

“It’ll do...Now see if you can find us some bread.” Ava smiled and ran off down the aisle before disappearing around the corner.

“You can put everything on the counter if you want; I’ll ring it through and bag it,” offered the old man. I wish I could remember his name. My dad used to chat to him for ages whilst I waited outside, kicking stones around impatiently. Although, when I was growing up, there weren’t as many idiots hanging around out there.

“Thank you,” I said. I put the toilet roll on the counter and, just as he said he would, he rung it through before placing it in a brown paper bag.

“Got the bread!” shouted Ava from somewhere in the store.

“Milk! We’re going to need milk!”

“The milk’s down the last aisle,” offered the old man.

“Ssh!” I said. “Trying to tire her out before we get to the cabin. It’ll be dark by the time we’re there so it would be useful if she just wanted to go to sleep!”

The old man laughed, “Not a lot to do in the woods at night for a young ‘un.”

“Exactly.”

“So what brings you down this neck of the woods? Just a vacation?”

“I was hoping for some peace and quiet,” I said. “Trying to make some progress on a book I’m working on.”

“Reading or writing?”

“Writing,” I laughed.

“You’re a writer?” he asked. “We used to have another writer come stay this way...Not seen him for a while...Wonder what happened to him...”

I smiled, “He died.” The old man looked at me. “He was my dad.”

“Well I’m sorry to hear that,” said the old man. “He used to spend hours in here talking about his work.”

I laughed, “And I used to stand outside kicking stones around whilst he did.”

“That was you?” The old man seemed surprised that I had grown up over the years.

“Taller and uglier!” I said.

“Decided to follow in your pa’s footsteps, huh?”

“I got the milk!” shouted Ava.

“I’m sorry,” I said to the old man. I called out to Ava, “Bring it all here then.”

I was sorry too. I’d have loved to carry on chatting with him. Who knows, I probably would have had it not been for the group outside. Not too comfortable at the thought of leaving Jamie out there any longer than necessary and I’m pretty sure my dad would have felt the same had it been me out there with them. Ava appeared from the far side of the store and handed over the milk and bread.

“Anything else you can think we need?” I asked her.

“Chocolate?”

“Quickly then.”

She smiled a broad smile and ran towards the rack of different chocolates.

“You written anything I would have read?” the old man asked as he seized the opportunity to engage in conversation again.

“My most popular book is ‘The Spider’s Web’.”

“No. Not read it. Don’t much like spiders.”

“Well it’s not actually about spiders...”

“Bit of a strange title then really, if you ask me...”

There was no sense arguing with the man. I don’t think he meant to be rude.

“Daddy...” Ava came bounding over with a bar of chocolate in her hand.

“Okay,” I said, “pass it to the nice man...”

Ava held it out for the man but he didn’t take it, “That’s okay,” he said, “you can have that on me.”

Ava looked at me, unsure of what to do.

“What do you say?” I said. She carried on staring at me. All those years of teaching her not to talk to strangers or accept anything from them - she’s probably confused.

“Thank you?”

“Not to me...”

She turned to the old man, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he turned back to me, “will that be everything?”

“For now. Sure there’ll be some other bits and pieces.”

He pressed a few buttons on the cash register, “That’ll be three dollars twenty-five...”

I fished around in my pocket and handed him the money I pulled out. He, in turn, handed me the change.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You be sure to come again.”

I thanked him again and left the shop with the bag of shopping tucked under my right arm, my left hand on top of Ava’s head who was already tucking into her chocolate bar.

Outside, and Jamie was still chatting to the youths. Her mobile phone was in her hand. Don’t get mad. She’ll never see the kids again even if she does have their number. Another good reason not to let her drive yet. I walked over to the car and threw the groceries in the back, after Ava jumped in, before opening the front door.

“Jamie, say goodbye to your friends, we’re on our way.”

She slipped her phone back into her jacket’s pocket and walked over to the truck. “I’ll call you later,” she called out to them. I can rest easy. The woods are so thick, I doubt she’ll have phone signal.

“You see who your daughter has been hanging out with?” I asked Susan who had just woken up due to the noise Ava and I had made climbing back into the truck.

“My daughter?”

“Yep, I’ve told you before...When they’re bad...Your daughter...When they’re good...Our daughter...”

“Who were they?” asked Susan.

Jamie jumped into the truck and slammed the door shut, after giving her new friends a final wave goodbye. “His name’s Josh. He plays for the school football team.”

“Of course he does,” I said as I turned the truck’s engine on.

“Are we nearly there yet?” asked Ava with chocolate smeared around her mouth.

“Did you get me some chocolate?” asked Jamie.

I ignored them both as I pulled out from the side of the road with a little spin of the wheels...Not a lot...Just enough to give Josh and his friends a coating of dust and dirt.

3.

“We’re not staying here!” said Jamie.

I killed the truck’s engine and just sat there, staring at the front of the cabin.

“Honey I’m sorry,” Susan said quietly in my ear.

“What? No. No. It’s fine. It’s cool,” I said. It wasn’t cool and it was far from fine.

I opened the door and climbed from the truck to get a better look at the cabin; the place which held so many happy memories between my father and me. A better look at the graffiti which decorated the front of it. I called back to the truck where the girls were waiting, “It’s probably just some bored kids, right? Probably Jamie’s new friends. You know what it’s like around here, there’s nothing to do so they make their own entertainment...” Their own destructive entertainment. “It’s probably purely cosmetic,” I said. “Inside will be fine.”

I walked towards the front door with the keys in my hand, not that I needed them as I noticed the door had been kicked open. I should have known I couldn’t just leave the cabin vacant for a number of years and expect to come back to find everything as I left it. No sense stressing about it, just go in and assess the damage. See if it’s fit for us to stay here. So much for a peaceful weekend writing.

I heard Susan open the truck door behind me, “How is it?”

I pointed to the various colors of spray paint plastering the outside wall, “Colorful? It’s probably fine inside. Wait there,” I said. I pushed the door open further and stepped inside.

First impressions it isn’t that bad. They’ve been good enough to leave the windows intact. Just looks as though someone has been using it as a little hideout. Somewhere to take shelter...I spotted some beer cans on the living room floor...Somewhere to drink....Potato chip packets scattered around the place with various empty sweet wrappers...Somewhere to snack between meals...I walked into the first of the two bedrooms. A dirty sheet was on the bed with condom packets scattered around the floor. Somewhere to fuck. Nice. A quick look in the second bedroom where the kids would be sleeping showed nothing that different in there; more of the same empty wrappers and evidence of kids having a good time. Nothing which can’t be scrubbed down and cleaned up. I should, at least, be grateful for that much.

“Well?” Susan was stood behind me. The sound of her voice made me jump; I didn’t even hear her come in.

“I told you to wait in the truck.”

“How bad is it?”

“Nothing which can’t be fixed. I should have expected something like this; a cabin in the woods...Asking for vandalism really. We should be thankful the place isn’t torched to the floor,” I said.

“Not from the want of trying by the looks of it.”

“What do you mean?”

She led me back through to the living room, which led onto the porch, and pointed to the middle of the carpet where there was a large black scorch mark. “Looks like they tried to start a fire.”

“No, I don’t think so. It would have been easy enough to set this place alight if they really wanted to. Probably just trying to keep warm.”

Susan looked around the room, “I don’t suppose you have some cleaning products here?”

I shrugged and walked through to the small kitchen. On first appearance everything looked as though it was still in its rightful place. The oven even looked as though it had been used. The cupboards were open, though. Open and bare.

“That’ll be a no then,” said Susan as she followed behind.

“I’ll pop back to the store and grab some bits,” I said. “You want to come with me?”

She shook her head, “If you want to stay here tonight it’ll probably be a good idea to start clearing this place out.”

“Thank you,” I said. I leant forward and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll start our holiday tomorrow, yeah?”

“Looks like it! What if they come back?” she asked.

“I doubt they will. Look at the place. Doesn’t look as though anyone has stopped by here for a while. Probably just used it as a shelter last winter.”

“You think?”

I nodded.

“I’ll take Ava with me. Don’t need her picking anything up which she shouldn’t. Jamie can give you a hand,” I said.  “I’ll go and get her.”

“Sure she’ll love that.”

“It won’t kill her,” I replied. I gave Susan another kiss on the forehead and walked out of the kitchen, through the living room and out of the cabin towards the truck.

“Tell me we’re not staying here,” said Jamie when I opened the truck door.

“Come on. Out! Go and help your mother, please.”

“You have got to be joking. I’m not cleaning that shit up!”

“Come on!” I repeated. “I’m taking Ava back to the store with me to get more supplies. Looks like we’re going to need them.”

“Why can’t I come with you?”

“You really want me to leave your mother here by herself?” I asked.

Jamie didn’t say anything, at first. She knew I had a point but the silence couldn’t last forever. “So unfair!” she moaned. She undid her seat belt and jumped from the truck. “And what if whoever did this comes back when you’re not here?”

“Can’t you just text him and ask him to stay away?” I joked as I slammed her door and climbed into the driver’s seat. “I mean you are best friends for life now, right?”

“Josh didn’t do this...”

“Because you know him so well.” I closed the door and fired the engine up once more. In the process I drowned out more of Jamie’s moaning. I’ll call that a success. Ava, bless her soul, didn’t say a word.

* * * * *

I pulled up by the side of the road, opposite the store, once more. Thankfully it was open. Sadly the youths were still hanging around to the side of the building; the same place I had hit them with a dust cloud earlier.

“It’ll probably be easier if you wait in here this time, Ava.”

“Can’t I come in and see the man again?”

I shook my head. I knew exactly what she meant by that. She was hoping he’d give her another bar of chocolate. “Not this time, Daddy’s in a rush.” I pulled the key from the ignition and jumped from the truck. “If you wait here, like a good girl, and promise not to tell your mum...Might even get you another bar of chocolate.” A huge smile spread across her face. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes!” she nodded with the grin securely fixed into place.

“That’s my girl! Now wait here and I’ll be right back!” I closed the door and pressed a button, on the key fob, to lock the door behind me.

“Hey, man! That was uncool what you did earlier!” said, I presume, Josh as I approached the store’s entrance.

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about...”

“You know,” he said. He positioned himself between the entrance and me. I looked at him. If he was Jamie’s age, he was big. Even if she hadn’t told me he was on the football team, I would have guessed. Looking at him now, up close, I doubt he’s her age, though. If anything, he has to be a couple of years older. Older than the rest of the group for sure. “I think you need to say sorry, man.”

“Yeah...Not going to happen. But speaking of apologies, do you guys owe me one?”

“Fuck you talking about?”

“You lot been hiding out in the woods at all?”

The youths looked at each other. Josh was the first one to speak again, “What the fuck are you talking about? I just want a fucking apology for the shit you covered us in.”

“And I want a fucking apology for the state you left my cabin in.”

“Ey! Yo! Just hit dis motherfucker, Josh!” said one of the other lads. The rest of the youths closed in around me. Part of me started to wish I had left Ava back at the cabin with Susan and Jamie. Josh, spurred on by the cheering of his friends, squared up to me.

“Step off. I won’t tell you again,” I warned him. I didn’t want to hit an embryo but, if it came down to it...

“What’s going on out here?” asked the old man. Over Josh’s shoulder, I saw that the old man was standing in the doorway of his store; an angry expression on his face.

“Go back inside, old-timer,” said Josh.

“I said what’s going on out here?” the old man repeated. This time he pumped a semi-automatic shotgun that must have been in his hands. I couldn’t see the gun, from the middle of the youths, I just recognized the sound of the pump-action being primed.  A sound, for some reason, the youths were also familiar with. The group separated and turned to see the old man. He was aiming the gun directly at Josh.

“Nothing’s going on. We were just having a conversation.” Josh turned to me, “Ain’t that right?”

“Cabin’s been vandalized,” I said ignoring Josh. “Just come by to get some cleaning products.”

“Well,” said the old man, “come on in then.” He stepped to one side to allow me entrance to his store but kept the gun aimed at Josh. “You lot got a home to go to?”

“Sure, we were just leaving.”

“I thought so.” The old man stood and watched as the youths slowly dispersed. They went so slowly it was almost as though none of them were worried about having the gun aimed at them. Had that been me as a teenager, I would have run and not looked back. When they were away from the store, the old man lowered the gun and came back into the store.

“Thank you for that,” I said.

“I saw what you did earlier...wheel-spinning off like that. Had no business covering them in dirt...Asking for trouble. Inviting it in.”

“It was an accident.”

“Bullshit. Look I don’t want any trouble. Business is quiet enough without having trouble from that lot to worry about. Just get what you came for and leave.”

I nodded. There was no point in arguing about who was right and who was wrong. “Can you point me in the direction of the cleaning products?” The old man pointed towards the middle aisles. “Thank you.” I walked down the aisle, as directed, whilst the old man returned to behind his counter. As I picked up the floor cleaner, I heard him put the shotgun down on the wooden flooring. I tried changing the subject to try and get him back on speaking terms, “We got to the cabin and it looks as though kids have been using it as a den; littered with all kinds of rubbish.” No answer. “I left my wife there to make a head start on the clean-up operation but I’m not sure we’ll be able to stay there tonight. You know of a good place with a couple of beds for the night?” No answer. “Or a locksmith? They kicked the door open to get in, busted up the lock real good.” Still no answer. Jesus. He had his say, how long’s he going to sulk for? Had it not been for the fact we spoke earlier, I’d have thought he was one of the inmates from the asylum. Or simple. “No matter,” I said, “the wife’s mum and dad live a couple of hours away, I suppose we could go and stay there for the night. Head back to the city tomorrow. So much for our family holiday, hey?” Again there was no answer. I’ve made enough effort, I feel. I continued to get the cleaning supplies trying my best to ignore the uncomfortable silence.

Maybe I should have brought Ava in with me too. I doubt he would manage to ignore her as well - not without coming across as really rude anyway. Mind you, he probably doesn’t care and I, for the sake of a conversation, I don’t think I’d want a shotgun waved around in Ava’s face!

I took the last item, a roll of black sacks, from the shelf and staggered across to the counter with the rest of the goods I wanted to buy. The old man didn’t even look in my direction when I dropped everything on the counter. He just stood there, staring out the front of his store. He didn’t even bat an eyelid when the roll of black sacks rolled off the counter and onto the floor by his feet.

This is ridiculous. “Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t like the way they were talking to my daughter. I just thought I’d have a little fun that’s all. No harm, no foul.”

The old man turned to me, “You live in New York?” I nodded. “Thought so. You big city folk are all the same...You come through here thinking you’re better than everyone...”

“No. That’s not true. Come on, man, let’s not do this. Can I just buy the stuff? I’ll get right out of your hair and, if you’d rather, I won’t even come back.”

The old man went to reply but stopped short when he noticed someone enter the store behind me, “Now look, I don’t want no trouble...”

I spun around to see who had him spooked; Josh. He looked angry; angrier than he had appeared earlier, outside of the shop during our confrontation. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t feel I needed to, not with the knowledge of the old man’s shotgun waiting behind the counter for times like these. Josh didn’t say anything.

“What the hell you want, boy?” the old man suddenly blurted out.

Josh reached inside his jacket and pulled a handgun from within. Both the old man and I jumped back in shock, neither of us having expected that.

“Not nice is it,” said Josh as he waved the gun between the old man and me, “having a gun shoved in your fucking face. How’d you like it?”

“Now look, son,” said the old man, “we don’t want any trouble...”

“Come on, Josh...That is your name, yeah? Come on...I’ve got a daughter waiting for me outside.”

“Fuck you!”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the old man slowly try to reach for his own gun. “Look,” I said, “let’s all calm down...” I cautiously edged myself between the old man and Josh. Whilst I was nervous of Josh’s trigger finger, I knew for certain the old man would shoot without hesitation. No one needed to die. “I’ve got money,” I said. “Whatever you want, you can have it...Just name it.” At this point I’d offer anything to get him to lower the gun. “Come on, I have a little girl in the car. You don’t want to do this. What’ll it take?”

“An apology,” said Josh. He aimed the gun directly at my forehead.

“What?”

“You heard me!” he shouted.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for covering you with dirt earlier,” I said. I knew an apology wouldn’t be enough to make him lower the gun. He was just playing the power card; showing me he was the one in charge. He is the one in charge too. For now. If I sidestep to the left, or the right, and the old man has the shotgun in his hands...Josh won’t be in charge of shit. “Come on, I’ve said sorry.”

“Beg.”

“What?”

“Beg for your fucking life.”

I couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t pull the trigger. I didn’t know him; didn’t know what sort of person he was. I knew nothing about him. Not even his family background. For all I knew he was on day release from the asylum, or the retreat as they prefer to call it these days...No, he couldn’t be from there. He’d have never got his hands on a gun so quickly.

“Step aside,” the old man urged me.

“I can’t do that,” I said. A statement aimed at both Josh and the old man behind the counter. If I did step aside, Josh would be dead; just another statistic. Maybe he’d get a shot off as he gets hit and the old man would die too? And I don’t want to beg for my life. I’ve given him the apology he most likely deserves but I’m not begging. Not even with a gun in my face.

“Step aside,” the old man said once more with a tone, in his voice, which suggested he wasn’t messing around.

“Ava!” I suddenly turned to the door. Josh turned too which was just what I wanted him to do. Ava wasn’t stood there but it gave me the distraction I needed. With a sudden surge of adrenalin, I Iunged forward and grabbed the barrel of the gun. A bit of a scuffle as Josh tried to maintain control of his weapon and a loud, ear shattering bang as he accidentally released a bullet from the chamber. A hard punch to his face was all that was needed, after that, to make him release the gun completely.

“Don’t shoot!” he screamed, putting his hands in the air, as I turned the gun on him.

“Call the sheriff!” I urged the old man. He didn’t answer. I turned to address him face-to-face, in case he didn’t hear me due to his ears ringing from the gunshot. As soon as I saw him stood there, I felt my life stop. He was looking down at his chest. Blood was seeping through his shirt’s material. He looked up at me and tried to say something but couldn’t. Before I knew what was happening, he dropped to his knees before falling to the floor behind the counter.

“You shot him!” screamed Josh.

I didn’t do it. Did I? No. Josh pulled the trigger. He did it. That doesn’t matter now, though...The smoking gun is in my hand. My prints all over it. “No, that’s not what happened,” I said. “That’s not what happened...You did it,” I said, “you had control over the gun...It was your finger which squeezed the trigger...”

“Fuck you! You did it!” Josh moved towards me.

“Don’t fucking move!” I screamed. Josh hesitated for a moment before he called my bluff and moved closer still. I need to get out of here. “We’ll call the sheriff...We’ll tell him what happened...” I reached into the right hand pocket of my black pants and pulled my cell phone out.

“What are you doing?”

“We need to call the sheriff...”

“I can’t let you do that!” Josh suddenly ran towards the counter. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was going for the old man’s gun. “You’re not calling the sheriff! I can’t go back...”

No time to second guess what he meant by that, as he dove to the floor behind the counter. I turned and ran from the store, keeping the gun in my hand. I can call the sheriff from the cabin. Let him know what happened. Explain it. As I hastily approached the truck I hid Josh’s gun beneath my jacket - tucked neatly into the top of my pants. Ava’s innocent face was looking at me through the slightly tinted window.

“What was that noise?” she asked as I climbed into the driver’s seat. I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. Didn’t know what to say. I had just killed someone...No...We...Josh and I had just killed someone.

Quickly I turned the key in the truck’s ignition, firing up the engine, and sped from the scene - Josh, in the rearview mirror, was standing in the road with the old man’s shotgun. I kept watch of him, not caring what was in front of the truck, as he raised the gun in our direction. Please don’t fire. Please don’t fire. Please don’t fire...Not with Ava here with me. Please don’t fire.

No shot came.

“Daddy you forgot my chocolate!” Ava noticed.

4.

By the time I came to stop the truck, outside of the cabin, my hands were still shaking and my ears were still ringing. I can’t believe he’s dead. Had I not left the youths in a dust cloud...Had I not answered them back, outside the store...Had I begged for my life...Had I not tried to wrestle the gun from Josh...The old man might still be alive. He might still be running his store. He might have sold me the cleaning products I needed...The group of teenagers might still have loitering outside, by the road...Teenagers...Teenager...Josh is a fucking teenager...Why’d he have a gun?! I swear to God this country has gone to shit.

“Craig?!”

I looked up from the steering wheel and saw Susan standing in the cabin’s broken doorway. No doubt she was waiting for the cleaning products.

“What are you doing?” she asked. I didn’t answer her. I just kept on staring. Truth be told, I’m not sure what to say. “Did you get the cleaning products?” I shook my head.

“Daddy, what are you doing?” asked Ava. I only registered I needed to answer after she shouted, “Daddy!”

I turned around to talk to her, “Wait here, baby.” I climbed from the truck and called out, “Jamie!”

“She’s inside. What’s wrong? You look upset...”

“Can you get Jamie, please.”

“Honey, what is it? You’re scaring me...”

“NOW!”

Susan leaned into the cabin and called out, “Jamie, your father wants you...”

Seconds later and Jamie appeared at the doorway. Susan stepped to one side so Jamie could talk to me. “What is it?” she asked.

“Get in the car, please, it’s time to go.”

“What? I’m in the middle of cleaning...” she started to say. I gave her a look to shut her up. Honestly, I ask her to clean and she starts an argument with me. I ask her to stop and she starts an argument...

Susan knew something was wrong and backed me up, “Get in the truck, Jamie.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Jamie pushed past Susan and stormed over to the truck.

I waited until I heard the obligatory door slam before I stepped up into the cabin so the girls couldn’t hear me. It was bad enough Ava heard the bang, I didn’t need her catching wind that someone had died...I didn’t need either of them hearing. Susan followed me in, “What’s the matter? Why were you gone for so long?” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to break it to her that I had just witnessed someone die and, more than likely, was to blame for it. “Craig! You’re scaring me! Say something!”

I tried my best to hold back the tears, “It was an accident.”

“What was?”

I need to tell her. I have to. “There’s been an accident.” I pulled the gun from under my jacket.

“What have you done? Who’s fucking gun is that? Craig?!”

“There was an argument at the store. Josh and the rest of the group blocked my path from getting into the shop...The old man came out with a shotgun and chased them off...”

“Whose gun is that, Craig?”

“Josh. He came back, whilst I was shopping for supplies...He had this with him...”

“Then how come you’ve got it?” she asked. Her face had gone as white as mine felt.

“I wrestled it from Josh but it went off...The clerk was hit in the chest...” I couldn’t hold the tears in anymore, “I think he’s fucking dead, Susan...”

“What?”

“We killed him!”

“Where’s the boy gone?”

“I went to phone the sheriff...Josh went for the shotgun...”

“What?”

“He didn’t want me calling anyone...said something about not wanting to go back...You don’t understand, I thought he was going to shoot me. I ran...”

“My baby!” Susan screamed as though she suddenly remembered Ava had been with me.

“She didn’t see anything. She was in the truck. She only asked what the noise was when I got back...I didn’t tell her. Of course I didn’t. She’s fine. She didn’t see anything...” and that was a relief. A girl so young, I couldn’t stand to have her innocence destroyed at such a young age. I know I do a bad job of it but I even try and protect Jamie from the badness which oozes from the world. I’d do anything for my girls.

“What are we going to do?” asked Susan. I had been wondering the very same thing myself. All I know is this is my mess. It’s nothing to do with them and I don’t want them caught up in it. “Craig? What are we going to do?”

“You need to leave.”

“What?”

“You have to go. Now,” I said.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“I’ve just witnessed a murder, Susan...Just saw an old man gunned down before my eyes. I need to stay and fix this.”

“Fix this? What are you talking about? How are you going to fix this?”

“I need to tell the sheriff what happened...”

“What if they try and blame you? What if they say you shot the clerk?”

“I don’t know, Susan, I don’t know! I can’t just leave it. I can’t just drive off. You realize how bad that would look if they did trace anything back to me?!” I felt myself getting wound up by the stress of the situation and tried to reel it in a bit. After all, there was no sense shouting at Susan.

“You left the scene anyway. That won’t look good!”

“He was going for the other gun! Josh...The boy...He ran for the store clerk’s shotgun...Had I stayed...I didn’t want to have to shoot him and I sure as Hell didn’t want to get shot! What was I supposed to do?!” She didn’t answer me. She knew I was right. What was I meant to do? It wasn’t a situation I had ever found myself in before. “Take the girls up to your mum and dad’s house...Stay there until you get a call from me. I’ll call the sheriff and ask him to meet me here...”

“I can take you to the station...”

“No! I just want you out of here...I don’t want the girls getting wind of this. None of you need to get in the middle of this. I’ll call you just as soon as everything is sorted. I promise. I could even get a cab up to you...We’ll take a completely different route home so as not to have to pass through this town again...It’ll be fine. It will all be fine. I promise.”

“What do I tell the girls? Jamie’ll know something is up.”

I paused for a moment before hatching an idea, “You can just tell her I’m staying here to make sure this place is secure and sorted and I’m joining you all later on. A couple of hours. Worst case, I’ll be with you by morning. Just tell her this place isn’t fit enough to stay in. She’s seen it in here! It’s not exactly a lie!” I cast my eyes, briefly, around the living room - the lack of cleaning products had certainly slowed down their progress with regards to sorting the mess out. Not that the mess is really an issue anymore. It’s taken a back seat along with my novel.

“I don’t like this,” said Susan.

“I don’t either but it’s for the best. The girls don’t need to know. Everything will be fine. The sheriff will know it was an accident. It’s not as though I have a record to worry about. What’s the betting the same can’t be said for the lad? He said he didn’t want to go back...Want to bet he’s been on the wrong side of prison bars before?” Susan didn’t say anything. “Look, go to your mum and dad’s, don’t tell them anything other than I’ve stayed on to sort this place out...”

“They’ll want to know why we didn’t stay to help. You know they will,” she said. Her voice was shaking.

“I really need you to hold it together Susan. It’s fine. Everything is fine. This is my mess and I’ll put it right. I promise. Look at me...” she looked me in the eyes, “I swear I’ll put it all right. I’ll sort it. Tell your parents you went on to their place without me because I told you to. I didn’t want the first day of the girls’ holiday to be spent cleaning...Okay?” She didn’t answer. “Okay?” I repeated.

“Okay.”

“Good. Now, give me a hug.”

I put the gun down on the side cupboard. She moved in close and put her arms around me. I put my arms around her and rested my chin against the top of her head. I’m not sure whether the hug was more to calm her nerves or mine. I pulled her closer.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you too.”

I pulled back slightly and kissed her on the forehead. “Everything will be fine.” I stepped back and wiped a rogue tear from my eye, “Come on,” I said, “put your happy face on...The kids will be wondering what’s taking so long.”

“Okay,” she said. She too stepped back, wiped her eyes, and then - together - we both took a deep breath and stepped out of the living room and out of the cabin, towards the truck where the girls were patiently waiting.

As we neared the truck, I passed her the key.

“Call me when you get to your mum and dad’s,” I said, “let me know you’ve got there okay.”

“Okay,” she opened the truck’s door and sat down in the driver’s seat. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

I nodded, “Of course...It’s only a bit of mess to clean up,” I said. I tried to act cheerful although I’m not entirely sure if I managed to pull it off. Neither of the kids said anything so I guess all was good. “Soon as I’m sorted I’ll give you a ring.”

“What’s going on?” asked Jamie.

“We can’t stay here,” I said saving Susan from having to tell a lie as I know she hates them. “I’m going to stay behind, clean up a bit and fix the door and then come and meet you guys...”

“Well where are we going?” Jamie asked again.

“I’m taking you to your grandma and grandpa’s. We’ll spend the weekend there...Be grateful,” said Susan, “at least they’re close to the beach.” Susan did well. Had I not been part of the conversation in the cabin, I’d have believed everything was fine. I certainly wouldn’t have believed someone had been killed. She turned to me, “You have got your cell phone, haven’t you?”

I nodded, “Actually, that reminded me...Jamie, can I see your cell?”

“Why?” she asked from the back seat.

“Jamie...Your cell!” I held my hand out. I’m fed up with having to justify everything to her. She moaned under her breath and passed me the handset.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

I didn’t tell her. I just opened up her contacts and found Josh’s number. As soon as I had it highlighted, I deleted it. Goodbye Josh.

“Thank you,” I passed her phone back. “You best get going,” I said to Susan. “Drive carefully, won’t you.”

“You sure you aren’t coming now?”

“I need to fix this,” I said. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can, okay?”

Susan looked as though she was going to cry but managed to hold it back. She looked like she wanted to tell me how scared she was, how she was worried about what was going to happen but she couldn’t. Just as I couldn’t tell her all the things I wanted to.

“Love you,” I said once more as I closed the truck’s door.

She fired the engine up and, after a beat, started to reverse down the dirt track towards the main road. I stood there, in the clearing, watching them go. Susan did a three-point turn when the track presented an opportunity. I could see Ava; she had turned her head to see out the back window - her little hand waving frantically. I gave her a wave back. In the panic to get them out of here, I forgot to say goodbye. I forgot to say how much I loved both of them dearly, just as I loved their mother....Even if I could be temperamental from time to time. I’ll just have to remember to say it when I see them both next. Hopefully it won’t be long before we’re together again...And away from here.

5.

The sheriff and his partner didn’t take long to get to the cabin. I gave them a minute to get out of their car before I walked over, having stepped down from the porch when I saw their car coming down the dirt track.

“Thanks for coming,” I said. I was unsure of what to say given the circumstances.

“Well that’s what we do when someone phones up to report a murder,” said the sheriff; an older, stern looking man who looked as though he had lost every ounce of whatever patience he had. “Now care to explain why my partner and I are way out here instead of sitting down to supper with our respective other halves?”

I looked over to his partner. He also looked as though he had little to no patience in him. I guess it must have been a tough day for law enforcement in the little town of Brattleboro...

“There’s been an accident...” I went onto explain.

The sheriff cut me short, “Accident? We’re here for a murder. Which is it, son?”

“Accident...Well...Murder....”

The two officers looked at each other wearily before turning their attention back to me. “Why don’t we take it from the top?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure whether to own up to spraying dirt and crap over Josh earlier or whether I should just keep that to myself. Was it relevant? Would I be seen as provoking what happened in the shop?

“If it’s easier we can do this down the station,” said the sheriff. He walked to the back of his car and opened the door so I could climb in.

“He had a gun...I tried to get it away from him but it went off...” I said. “It was an accident but the store clerk, he got hit...”

“What store clerk?” asked the sheriff.

“I don’t remember his name!” I said. I could feel myself getting upset as I recalled the look on the old man’s face when he noticed he’d been shot. I remember the look in his eyes as he went to say something to me. I wish I could remember his name.

“Get in the car, let’s continue this conversation down the station,” said the sheriff.

I didn’t argue with him. Not whilst he had that stern expression on his face and six-shooter in his holster. “I’ll just close the cabin up,” I said. The two officers stood and watched as I pulled the door to - as much as the broken hinges would let me. “I don’t suppose you know someone who could fix this?” Neither of them answered me. “Well, maybe you’ll be able to point me in the right direction after we’ve spoken down the station,” I said. I walked over to the car and climbed into the back whereupon the sheriff slammed the door shut. I put the seat belt on and waited as the two officers climbed into the front of the car. The sheriff started the engine. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever been in a police car...” No one said anything. Not even a ‘well done’.

The rest of the drive down the dirt track and through the pretty town of Brattleboro was done in relative silence, other than a strange whistling noise from the sheriff’s nose and a funny ‘throat-clearing’ noise he’d occasionally make. I didn’t think anything of it other than he must be coming down with a cold, or something. I didn’t feel the need to ask, given how chatty both the officers had already proven to be.

“We conducting the interview tonight?” asked the sheriff’s partner.

“Not sure,” the sheriff replied. “Already got one in the holding cell. Could just wait until morning. I have things to do tonight.”

“Sorry but can we do it tonight?” I asked having presumed they were talking about me. Nothing gets on my nerves more than being spoken about as though I’m not there; like I’m not worthy enough to talk to. “It’s just my wife is expecting me.” The officers didn’t acknowledge that I had even spoken. “Well, if that’s the case, can I at least call her when we get back to the station?” Again, they didn’t give me an answer one way or another. “This is fucking ridiculous,” I snapped. “I want to report a murder to you and...”

“Accident,” said the sheriff’s partner.

“What?”

“You said, earlier, that it was an accident. A night in the cell might help you get your story right in your own head,” he said. He twisted in his seat to look at me, as though he wanted to gauge my reaction. I tried my best not to show one.

“Look, I saw someone get shot today...The store clerk...He’s dead and I saw it happen. I just want to tell you guys what happened and get back to my wife and children.”

“And where are they now?” the sheriff’s partner asked.

“They’ve gone onto my mother-in-law’s house. I didn’t want the children involved with any of this...”

“If they were witness to a crime...”

“They didn’t see anything. They were at the cabin. I had popped to the stores to get some cleaning products to try and sort out the mess...You did notice the graffiti, right?” The sheriff’s partner gave me a stern look. He obviously didn’t like the tone of voice I was using despite it being their fault I had a tone in the first place. I tried to get it back to a more ‘normal’ tone. No sense getting angry with them, despite wanting to...Not whilst they’re already being difficult. It’d only make things worse. “My wife and children waited at the cabin,” I said. I didn’t bother telling them Ava was in the truck while I went into the store; didn’t want them deciding they have a need to question her too.

“So what happened at the store?” asked the sheriff’s partner. He was still twisted in his seat looking back at me.

I fired a quick glance to the sheriff. He was staring dead ahead, at the road he was driving down, unblinking. Was he even listening?

“There was a group of kids there...”

“How old?”

“What?”

“How old were they? How many were there?”

“What? I don’t know - late teens, I’d guess. Six or seven...I can’t remember. They stopped me from going into the store. They blocked my path...”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Just having a laugh? They said some stuff to me, I said some stuff to them...”

“Like what?”

“I can’t remember! I didn’t think I’d be needing to recall the conversation later on...Anyway, it got heated...”

“How so?”

“They started squaring up to me. One of the teenagers was encouraging the older of the boys to hit me and that’s when the store clerk came out. He had a shotgun and scared the group off before letting me into his store.”

“And they just left?”

“They had a shotgun aimed at them. What were you expecting them to do?” My rhetorical question earned me another stern look from the sheriff’s partner. “I went into the store to get the cleaning stuff I wanted and that’s when the oldest boy came back - this time with a gun.”

“A gun? What sort of gun?”

“I don’t know...The firing kind. He was waving it at the store clerk...saying how it wasn’t nice to get a gun pointed in your face and then he turned to me. He wanted an apology from me. He wanted me to say sorry for how I’d spoken to him...”

“So why didn’t you give him an apology?”

“I did! He had a gun in my face.”

“So what happened next?”

“He wanted me to beg for my life.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“What was the store clerk doing all this time.”

“I had stepped between the two of them. He had picked up his shotgun. He told me to step aside. I didn’t want to because I thought I could still talk the lad into putting the gun down. Had I stepped aside, the store clerk would have shot him. You know he would...”

“The store clerk was protecting his business and himself, maybe even you. The other was waving a gun around in a threatening manner. I know what I’d have done...”

“I didn’t think anyone needed to die!”

“So what happened?”

“I went for the gun and we wrestled with it...It went off...I turned around and the store clerk had been hit. He just dropped to the floor...”

“And now who had the gun?”

“I did.”

“So you shot him?”

“What? No. It was in the lad’s hand when it went off...I then got it free from his grasp and turned it on him...”

The sheriff’s partner looked to the sheriff to see his reaction but even he couldn’t get one from him. He turned back to me, “So where’s the boy now?”

“He knew I wasn’t going to shoot him...I’m not a murderer...He went for the clerk’s shotgun and I ran...”

“You ran?”

“Yes. I ran. I’m not in the business of shooting people. I didn’t want to shoot a boy...A fucking child...So I did what felt right and ran to my truck...Got in and sped off. As I was driving away I noticed the boy, in the rearview mirror, standing in the middle of the road with the shotgun in his hands.”

“Did he fire?”

“No. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to hit me. I wasn’t exactly taking my time to drive away from there.”

“And where’s the gun now?”

“I left it in the cabin,” I said. A genuine mistake. I didn’t mean to leave it behind. I had meant to tell the officers where it was immediately so they could take it away and do whatever they had to.

“You keeping it as a memento?” asked the sheriff’s partner.

“Look, this is all happening quite fast...I called you guys to tell you what happened and you’re not exactly being the most warm and friendly, you know what I’m saying?”

“What do you do for a living?”

“What has that got to do with anything?” I realized he wanted the answer regardless, “I’m an author. I write books for a living...”

“So you’re good at making up stories then?”

“You think I’m lying?” I asked. The officer smiled and turned to face forward, in his seat, again. “You think I walked to the store, shot the clerk and then left without taking the bits I needed or any of the money in the register? Why would I do that?!” Again, my question was ignored. “I want to call my lawyer,” I said.

“You’ll have your chance to make a phone call when we get back to the station,” said the sheriff, finally breaking his self-imposed silence.

Maybe Susan was right. Maybe we should have all just left and hoped for the best no one noticed and reported my truck leaving the scene.

Back at the station I was frog-marched through to the holding cells at the back of the building as though they had already decided I was the one who murdered the clerk. Once there, the sheriff opened the cell door, and invited me to step inside with a helpful shove from his partner.

“What about my phone call?” I asked as they closed the cell door.

“You can have your phone call in the morning,” said the sheriff.

“This is ridiculous,” I said, “you’re treating me like a fucking criminal.”

“No, we’re treating you like a material witness,” said the sheriff. “This is for your own protection.” The sly smile on his face suggested otherwise.

“Look, Sheriff...”

“Why do you keep calling me Sheriff? I’m not the sheriff...”

“What are you talking about? It says it on your badge...”

“Oh, I know what it says on the badge, it’s the reason I took it off his bloodied shirt. I thought it looked good.”

“What?”

The man I thought was the sheriff pointed over to a desk at the far end of the office. A foot clearly sticking out from behind it. “That’s the...Well, it was the sheriff anyway.” He laughed, “I think it’s fair to say the inmates are running the asylum now.”

My heart skipped a beat as panic set in...

* * * * *

I opened my eyes with a jump. I was sat on one of the living room chairs. I don’t even remember falling asleep; only that I sat down because the room had started to spin due to the stress of the situation, lack of proper food and general tiredness. At least, I presume it was because of those factors.  I never intended to actually doze off. The longer I leave stepping forward, about the murder, the more suspicious it will be. What’s the betting a store that size doesn’t have any CCTV which actually works?

I stood up and walked over to the door, which I had blocked shut with the single seat before I had sat down on the other chair. I pulled the chair away and the door slowly swung open. It’s getting dark outside.

I forgot how creepy the woods were, looking out from the cabin, when darkness fell. Years ago, I used to sit on the end of my bed and shine a torch out of the window into the darkness beyond just to check that nothing was out there that shouldn’t be. I blame my father for scaring me with all the local ghost stories before I was supposed to go to sleep; they never did invite me towards a peaceful slumber. I don’t believe in ghost stories and I don’t believe in things that go bump in the night but, even so, I’d give my right arm for a torch right about now.

I reached into my pocket, for my cell phone. No sense putting the phone call off. The body has, no doubt, already been reported so they’re probably already looking for me. I’m sure the sheriff will believe what I have to say. After all, I have no priors. Never even had a speeding ticket or parking fine. Shit...I checked my other pocket. Nothing. Where the Hell’s my phone? Don’t say I dropped it back at the store when I went to call the sheriff’s department? I remember having it in my hand...I don’t remember still having hold of it when I got to the truck, though. Or did I? I might have thrown it onto the passenger seat...Shit. I think I did.

I looked outside again. I don’t fancy walking through the woods in blackness. It’s about a two hour walk to get to the main road from here. Yet, when driving, it feels like no time at all. Still, walking in the darkness, that’s probably asking for trouble. Dammit. Why didn’t I check I had my phone before Susan drove off?

I should walk in the morning. In the daylight, there’s less chance of tripping on something and doing myself a mischief. Also less chance of stumbling into a predator. Not sure what’s in these woods but I’m pretty sure there’ll be some kind of nocturnal creature which will look upon me as a snack. I turned back into the cabin - shit everywhere. Kind of wish I had managed to grab some of the cleaning products before I left the store. Not quite sure where I really want to sit in here!

6.

I took refuge on the living room’s chair having moved the single seater across the door again, blocking me in once more. For two reasons: the first was so it would keep the draught from blowing a gale through the wooden cabin and the second was because it looked eerie as Hell outside as a sudden fog seemed to have started to descend, weaving its way through the thick rows of overly tall trees.

I felt nauseous. I don’t know whether I’m simply tired, hungry or nervous about what the morning will bring with the sheriff. What if he doesn’t believe me? Could I end up going to jail? What about my wife and kids? They’ll have to carry on living their lives with people looking at them and judging them because of what I’d done. At least, what everyone else will presume I’d done if I do get sent down for it. I know I didn’t do it. It was never my intention for someone to get killed.

Jesus, what was his name? That’ll probably end up haunting me along with the look on his face when he realized he had been hit. I had a hand in a man dying and I can’t remember his name.

I stood up and walked back over to the window, looking out into the eeriness beyond. I wished I still had my phone so I could call the sheriff and get this over and done with. I had ages to wait before the sun would start to come up - enough, at least, to make it possible to see where I’d be treading outside. That’s hours and hours’ worth of time to build it all up in my head and panic that everything is going to go extremely wrong when I do finally get to talk to them.

I started to wish that I had stayed at home instead of coming out here now. I should have sold this damned place when my father died. I should have known it stood a high risk of getting vandalized. I suppose I should be grateful there isn’t anyone living in here. Mind you, having said that, if someone was living here then I wouldn’t have had a reason to go back to the store and the clerk would still be alive.

I can’t quite believe how my feelings for this place have changed so fast. At the start of the day I was actually excited about coming back here and seeing the cabin again. I liked the idea of looking around it and having memories of my dad pop into my mind once more but now, when I look around, those happy memories are tainted.

Outside the fog is getting heavier. Can barely make the trees out more than a few hundred yards away from the cabin. Never seen it so thick. It’s probably a good thing that Jamie and Ava have gone with Susan, they’d both be freaking about now. My little ghost story, in the car earlier, wouldn’t have helped with that. I might have had to tell them that I had made it up...Well, not made it up so much. Just added to it. The locals always used the story of the asylum’s ghosts wandering around the area and the scream but I’m sure high stress levels and a poor diet were to blame for my dad’s eventual heart attack a year later. The timing was nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence.

I heard my dad’s voice in my head reminding me of the inmates, “They’d scream and scream, all night long in their tiny little rooms, banging their heads against the walls...For weeks their screams of terror, desperation and, of course, madness echoed through the corridors of the asylum driving the doctors to despair. Eventually, the doctors had had enough and they started performing procedures on the loudest of the patients whereby they’d cut down their necks and remove their vocal chords silencing them forever...” At the time my dad told me the story, he even demonstrated where the doctors would make the incision by running a pen down my neck. A move which would always make a cold shiver run down my spine. I remember my dad telling me what the locals had told him after he mentioned the ghostly footsteps and the scream whilst on a shopping trip, the following day, “You’d never see the ghosts, not properly. You’d only catch a glimpse of their shapes out of the corner of your eye and you’d hear their stolen, vengeful scream; an ear-piercing shriek to steal the lives of anyone who heard it.”

My dad always had a glint in his eye when he told that story and, when I grew up, I always wondered how much of his story was true to what the locals said and how much he had embellished. After all, being a writer, his imagination was more warped than that of the average man on the street and I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted to miss the chance of putting his own stamp on the story.

As I continued staring into the grey night outside, I couldn’t help but feel a chill run through me as I remembered the stories my dad used to tell. The more I think back, the more I have to question whether this really was a father and son holiday time, as I used to believe, or just the chance to scare the living shit out of me without Mum close by, ready to shout at him for taking a story too far.

“A car broke down just along that dirt road,” my old man had whispered once as I lay, as an eight year old boy, in bed with the duvet tucked around me. “The driver, a man in his forties, turned to his wife, a pretty lady in her late thirties, and told her to wait right there whilst he walked back to town to fetch help...She begged him not to go and leave her because it was dark outside, just as it is now, but he insisted. He said they couldn’t spend the cold night sitting in the car hoping for someone to stumble upon them. He kissed her on the forehead, reminded her that the town was only about half an hour’s walk back in the direction they had come, and whispered that he wouldn’t be long. Half an hour passed. An hour came and went...Two hours passed and still there was no sign of her husband. On the third hour there was a bang on the roof of her car... BANG! and then another... BANG! as though something heavy was being smacked against the car’s metal roof. She froze with fear as the heavy thuds continued to rain down upon the car and felt a huge sigh of relief when she noticed oncoming headlights in front of her. As the car neared, the thuds on the roof got louder and heavier and more constant...BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! She didn’t move, though. She desperately wanted to climb from the car and run towards what turned out to be the sheriff’s patrol car. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! on the roof. The sheriff jumped from his car and called for the lady to get out of the vehicle and walk towards him...He told her, whatever she does...She mustn’t look back...”

BANG!

Something heavy hit the wall of the cabin behind me and I jumped from my memories back to the present. I spun around to where I thought it had hit. Whatever it was, it sounded so hard, I thought it could have come through the wall. What the Hell was that?

BANG!

I looked out of the front window again. It doesn’t look windy out there. I thought, perhaps, it could have been a branch knocking against the wall. If anything, it looks stiller than I’ve ever seen it before.

BANG!

“Hello?” I called out. I waited...

BANG!

“Hello?”

BANG!

Curiosity got the better of me and I pulled the single-seater away from the cabin door and stepped outside into the darkness. This would probably be easier with a torch. I walked down the porch, which ran the entire length of the front of the cabin, and turned down the side of the building. From out here, I couldn’t hear the banging anymore. Even so, I continued to the back of the building. Nothing there. Not even any trees close to the back wall which could have been knocking against it had there been a sudden gust of wind. Weird. I peered into the darkness to see if I could see anything but it was too dark and, even if it hadn’t been, the fog was almost impenetrable.

“Hello?”

Nothing. Another chill ran down my back. A grown man and I’m getting creeped out by the woods and a little fog. My dad would be laughing in his grave if he knew the effect his stories were having on me. I about-turned and hurried back to the cabin’s living room. Once inside, I pushed the single-seater against the door again and took a step back.

BANG!

I jumped again. It came from the same place, on the back wall. I walked over to where I thought it came from and placed my hand on the wall. I jumped again when whatever it was banged against the wall once more. Whatever it is, it feels heavy. I bet if I check in the morning there’s a mark against the wall. What could it be? I held my breath as I waited for another impact but there was nothing. A minute passed and still there was nothing.

BANG!

It came from the next room, the bedroom just off the living room. I ran through, stopped in the middle of the room, and waited. Come on, you son of a bitch. Where are you?

BANG!

Back in the living room. I hurried back through and pulled the single-seater away from the cabin’s front door. Had I stopped to think about it I would have realized what a stupid idea it was, to try and catch whatever it was banging against the wall. For all I knew it could have been one of the inmates from the asylum...Don’t be so stupid. Within seconds I was stood out the back once more but there was still nothing to see.

“Hello?”

Leaves rustling in the wind were the only thing to respond to my call out. Nothing else.

“I have a gun!” I shouted just in case there was something else, other than the dancing leaves, out there. I waited a moment longer than entirely necessary giving whatever it was plenty of time to reveal itself yet nothing came and nothing happened. Thinking of the gun, as much as I hate them, I’m kind of glad I have it. I returned back to the inside of the cabin and retrieved the gun, from the side where I had placed it earlier.

I pushed the door to but didn’t block it with the seat this time. I want to be ready if the noise happens again. I don’t want to give whatever it is any idea that I’m coming for it. I’ll just run out there and squeeze a few rounds off into the darkness. Perhaps I should do that anyway without waiting for the noise to happen again. If there is something out there it will soon disappear if I start firing bullets. It would show I’m not afraid to use the gun and that’s not a bad thing to reveal even if I don’t really want to kill anything. A couple more minutes went by with nothing happening and I started to relax a little - well, as much as I could given the circumstances.

BANG!

It came from the kitchen area of the cabin. I ran out the front of the cabin and ran to that side of the building with the gun raised high in the air - pointing to the black sky.

“Fuck you!” I yelled. I pulled the trigger twice letting off two rounds into the foggy air. With the gun still raised I froze and waited, listening for the sounds of something running from me. Nothing. Either there really is nothing out there and I’m going mad, hearing things, or - whatever it is - it’s not scared of bullets. If it’s the latter, I really don’t want to know what it is or what it wants. A few more silent seconds went by. I lowered the gun and walked backwards, towards the cabin’s entrance, keeping my eyes on what I could see of the tree line.

Back in the cabin I moved the larger of the living room’s seats in front of the broken door. I slid the single-seater across the room from where I had pulled the larger one. With that done I closed the curtains to the windows. Seeing outside was only fueling my childish thoughts of monsters in the fog. With everything done I dropped down in the single seat once more and rested the gun in my lap.

“You know there’s nothing out there,” my dad used to tell me on the nights where I was so scared I couldn’t fall asleep because of his stories; the nights when he pushed it too far.

“There’s nothing out there,” I repeated his words out loud. “Nothing out there.”

BANG!

* * * * *

It’s been about twenty minutes or so and everything’s gone quiet. Whatever it was, out there, must have got bored and wandered off. It was probably the people, or person, responsible for all of the graffiti and general damage. I expect they came back and saw me here...Probably tried to scare me off so they can take refuge in their den.

“See I told you everything was okay,” my dad would say once he’d proven there was nothing outside waiting to get me as soon as I closed my eyes. I wish he was still here to reassure me; not that there’s nothing outside - despite my over-active imagination, I know there’s nothing outside. At least, nothing waiting to get me. I just wish he was here to reassure me that everything’s going to be okay when I see the sheriff tomorrow. I’d give anything to hear his voice. Anything.

Yesterday I couldn’t wait to come to the cabin for some peace and quiet. Some isolation. Now I just want to disappear, though. The isolation paired with the guilt I’m feeling is killing me and reminding me more and more of memories I’d sooner keep buried. This cabin was supposed to remind me of the good times with my dad, as well as give me the peace needed to write, not drag up the shit I’d rather forget.

“How long have you been seeing her?” I had asked Dad after I burst into his study; a small room where he used to sit and write his novels.

I remember how my dad swiveled around, in his chair, to look at me. He didn’t even get up to talk. Just sat there and tilted his head down so he could peer at me over the top of his black-rimmed glasses. Already he had had a look of denial on his face but his eyes gave him away just as they always had when he was guilty of something or simply bending the truth to put himself in a more favorable light.

Mum had suspected for years that Dad was seeing the other woman. Every year he’d get the Valentine’s Day cards, penned in the same styled handwriting as the birthday cards he thought we never knew about; the secret cards he’d stash in his office despite putting all the others out on display in our front room. Why else would you hide something away other than to conceal a guilty conscience? What made it worse is that she wasn’t even that special, this woman he chose over my own mother. Just a cheap tart who liked to dress herself up in high market clothes and designer jewelry to try and make herself look important. Even then, the jewelry was most likely paid for by my father. No matter how you paint a turd, though...A turd will always be just that.

I never told Mum. I never told her how I found the notes between Dad and this woman. Dad hadn’t been around. He must have popped out to pick something up or run a chore and simply forgot to lock his study like he normally did. He often went out without locking it but would always remember it and come back to close it up as soon as he possibly could, even if it made him late for meetings. This time he wasn’t there, though, and a constant ringing of the alarm was annoying me so, despite knowing he didn’t like people going in his study when he wasn’t there, I went in. There were notes scattered all over his desk. Most of them seemed to be about a new book he was working on but one in particular caught my eye. Obviously I was going to take a closer look. I’m only human. I wish I hadn’t. If I had just ignored it I’d have never seen the messages backwards and forwards with this woman. This piece of shit friend of the family. The most two-faced human you could possibly imagine. Numerous messages where they declared their love for one another and called each other by their sick-inducing pet names.

Despite bursting in on my dad and confronting him, I never told him I had seen the notes. I wanted him to be man enough to admit to me that he was cheating on my mother. His wife. But he couldn’t even do that. Not man enough. It’s funny, I always thought he would have been, given his dislike of anything less than ‘honest’. Maybe it’s the way I burst in on him? Maybe if I had handled it differently he would have responded truthfully? I was young, didn’t have much control over my emotions back then. Especially when it came down to people, or things, hurting my mum.

I’d never forgive my dad for what he had been doing behind my mum’s back but I’ll always regret not being able to establish some form of relationship with him again before his heart attack. The last words we had were said in anger and it tears me apart inside. I sat back in the chair and wiped a tear from my eye. So much for reminiscing about the happier times.

I closed my eyes and tried to block it all out: the guilt from what I had been a part of earlier in the day, the deep feeling of regret at not being able to patch things up with my dad before his heart attack...I was even feeling guilty about how I had been treating Jamie this past year. She was obviously going through a difficult time, trying to discover who she really is, and I’d just take the piss out of her if I’d even comment on it in the first place. More often than not, I’d simply shut myself away in my own little study and work on my own pieces of fiction. With things feeling a little strained, from time to time, between Susan and me as well...Am I turning into my father? I hope not. I promised myself I’d never do that. I promised myself I’d be a better father and a better husband but at the moment it feels as though I’m failing on both accounts.

As soon as I see them again, I’ll start to make amends.

Another promise to myself.

7.

A gentle knocking on the cabin’s door stirred me from my unexpected sleep. There was no light coming through the cracks in the curtains so I couldn’t have been asleep for long. Was there even a knocking or did I imagine it? I didn’t move. I just stayed rooted to my seat with the gun still in my lap and my hand close by, ready to grab it should it be needed.

“Hello?” I said quietly. Deep down I hoped that, if there was someone out there, they wouldn’t hear me and they’d leave. I’ve learnt from writing horror and watching films over the years, hell even watching the news on television...I’ve learnt that if someone is out walking in the woods, late at night, it’s generally a good idea not to open the door to them should they come knocking. “Anyone there?” I asked again in a quieter tone than strictly necessary. I waited in silence desperately hoping no one would answer. With a general feeling of unease creeping over me I took up the gun in my writing hand and raised it towards the door. Part of me just wants to put two bullets through the door on the off chance someone is out there but I hold back from firing. Good self-control. Guess I’m hearing things. Either that or I dreamt it in my shallow sleep.

A couple more seconds passed before I heard the familiar sounds of heavy footsteps walking the length of the cabin, away from the front door. My heart jumped in my throat as I recalled the sound from my childhood when it woke me from my sleep and I had gone running into my dad.

Someone was out there.

I leapt up from the chair, with the gun in hand, and dashed through to the bedroom, as quietly as I could, where the sounds of the footsteps were headed. With any luck they’d pass in front of the bedroom window and I’d be able to see who it was but by the time I crossed the bedroom, to the window, the footsteps had all but disappeared. Whoever it was had obviously stepped off the wooden porch, down onto the soft mud to mute the sounds of their unwelcome steps. Dammit. I peered out of the window but, again, could see nothing. Even less by the time my heavy breathing had misted the window panes up. I wiped them clear with my free hand and suddenly screamed, falling backwards onto my ass, when I saw the pale face of a young boy staring right back at me, inches away from my own face.

Whoever it was stepped back, into the blackness, out of view. I rushed over to the window again and peered out but they were gone.

I closed my eyes tight and tried desperately to remember his face in case I recognized him as being one of the youngsters hanging around outside the store earlier but all I could recall was a long scar running down his neck. Did I really see that or did my imagination paint that picture to fool me and make me feel even more nervous? I opened my eyes again and squinted into the eerie night-air.

BANG!

The thud echoed through the cabin causing my heart to miss a beat once more - a horrible feeling becoming all too familiar.

“Leave me alone!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I didn’t believe my yelling would help. If the sound of bullets flying through the air didn’t scare off whoever was trying to mess with me then I’m sure my pathetic cries would do nothing apart from maybe encourage them to continue.

BANG!

I don’t know why but I hurried back through to the living room, where the noise was coming from, and froze in the middle of the room as I nervously waited for the next bang.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

I spun around, on the spot, to face the front door; someone’s knocking again.

“Who is it?” I demanded. I raised the gun to what I thought would be head level for whoever was out there. “Who’s there?” I watched, in terror, as the door handle started to slowly twist counter-clockwise. “I have a gun!” I warned them. The handle stopped moving. It seems, whoever it is, does have some common sense in them after all.

BANG!

I spun back towards the wall behind me. How many people are here?

“Fuck off!” I yelled. Yelling is all I can do. I’m too afraid to move the seat out of the way of the door to run out and confront whoever it is. It’s fair to say the image of someone standing at the window and old memories of what I had heard when I was here with my dad, all those years ago, have me more or less frozen with fear. Morning can’t come quick enough.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

I looked down at my watch. It’s only just turned midnight. There’s at least five hours before the sun will start to come up, illuminating enough of the woods to allow me to walk into town.

BANG!

I can’t take five hours of this. I turned my attention back to the door handle which had started to slowly turn again. I hesitated for a split second before raising the barrel of the gun back towards the door. I mentally gave whoever was out there a couple more seconds to stop moving the handle. One. Two. I squeezed the trigger and put a hole straight through the door. The handle stopped moving immediately. I lowered the gun and froze, waiting to hear if someone would cry out in pain or if I’d hear the sound of someone dropping to the floor like a dead weight. There was nothing. Did I even hit anyone?

“Hello?” I called out nervously. No one replied.

Suddenly, with no warning, a loud ear-piercing scream echoed through the house followed by loud banging noises from what felt to be all of the cabin’s walls. I too screamed as I dropped to my knees, letting the gun fall to the floor beside me. I placed my hands over my ears to drown the racket out.

Before I knew it, the only noise in the cabin was the sound of my own screaming. I stopped. My throat was sore from the strain I had put upon it. I nervously moved my hands away from my ears. Silence. Blissful silence. I wonder how long for, though? I didn’t get up. I didn’t move in case my movement triggered it all off again. I just stayed there, on my knees, in the middle of the living room.

This is stupid. I’m stupid. No. I’m being stupid. There’s nothing out there. My dad told me so. There’s no such thing as ghosts. Ghosts are nothing more than figments of a tired imagination or cruel tricks of the mind. It’s probably just a group of teenagers mucking around. Probably the same people who caused all the damage to the cabin. I expect they came back to hang out in their den and were annoyed to see me here. They’re probably just trying to scare me out; a logical reason to calm my shattered nerves.

My logical reason isn’t helping much. I’ve fired three shots now; two outside and one through the door. How would that not have scared them off by now? Had the shoe been on the other foot, I would have run after the first shot had been fired. I certainly wouldn’t have hung around to encourage more bullets to be shot towards me.

Slowly and quietly, I pulled myself up from my knees and onto the seat. Once comfortable, I reached down and collected the gun from the floor. If the gunshots weren’t enough to deter whoever is trying to scare me, maybe I’d be better off just leaving the cabin and letting them have it. I mean, if they want it that desperately they fear no bullets...Perhaps they deserve it?

“There’s no one out there,” Dad had said after I’d woken him up to tell him about the footsteps I’d heard out the front. Dad seemed to be more annoyed by the fact I’d disturbed him than by the fact someone could be outside pacing up and down in front of his cabin. I’ll never forget that. On the rare occasions when one of my girls had woken me up, in the past, to tell me something was wrong - I always checked out their story with no hint of my annoyance, no matter how tired I was. What if they had been right and someone was in their closet or someone was stood at the back window, looking in?

“There is someone out there,” I had insisted as I tried to pull him from his bed.

“Just ignore them,” he had replied, “they’ll soon go away.”

Is my subconscious serving up that memory as a way of telling me to simply ignore whoever is out there? Is that what I need to do? Just ignore them and they’ll leave. Worry about them if and when they decide to try and walk through the front door. Why should I feel scared anyway? I’m the one with the gun after all. Perhaps they should be out there fearing me?

This is silly. They’ve gone quiet again. I’ll do the same. I’ll creep around here, until morning. I won’t shout at them anymore. I won’t go running out there or start screaming. Whatever they do, I’ll just ignore it. I just need something to help distract my mind; I’m sure it’s my own mind making this feel a lot worse than it actually is anyway. I’m tempted to try and go back to sleep but I know my body won’t let me. I know I’ll regret the lack of sleep in the morning, when I go to the sheriff’s department, but I have too much adrenalin flowing through my system at the moment. Besides, if I did doze off, whoever’s outside will only give me a jolt awake again when they start their scaremongering once more. Fuck that. I won’t give them the satisfaction. And I had best be on my guard on the off chance they do happen to come in. I’m not saying they’ll try anything, if they crossed the threshold but, even so, I’d rather be ready for anything. Sleep can wait. So much for trying to distract my mind from thinking of them. I think, since deciding that, I’ve actually thought about them more.

I shook my head and stood up as quietly as the creaking chair allowed me to. I wonder if any of my dad’s old paperwork bits and pieces are still here? The last time I was here, I found some stashed in a drawer in the office. I had always promised myself to have a flick through, in case there were any notes or anything I could use for a new story, but I never got around to it. Despite wanting to do it - I never seemed to manage to find the time. Well, time is all I have now...

I crept through to my study, and my father’s study before that, and sat down at the desk where we used to write. Where he used to scribble notes down, on various scraps of paper, at the desk - before using a typewriter - I used to just bring my laptop and do everything on that. It was much easier. Back in those days, though, I guess my father didn’t have the luxury of computers. Even when he could have turned to them, towards the end of his writing career, he never bothered. He said he preferred the feel of using his typewriter. He wasn’t superstitious with most things in life but he did always worry his words would never flow so well if he changed from using his trusty typewriter.

For a while, after his death, I tried to use his typewriter after my mother passed it down to me. I hated it. I guess I make too many mistakes to use a typewriter. It’s much easier with a computer; the ‘backspace’ key in particular.

I sat at the desk, on the old wooden chair, once I had brushed the various bits of rubbish from the surface of both of them. The wooden table used to be a fine piece of furniture but now there’s hardly an area which doesn’t have some kind of childish etching scratched into it; whether it’s some silly slang or some immature doodle.

BANG!

That’s cool. Ignore it. They’ll go away. Besides, it came from the living room and I’m not there anymore. They’re not even near me. Forget about it. I pulled open the desk’s drawer and was confronted by an old photograph of my father and me. My heart sank as I realized it had been drawn on. The young image of me was untouched but my father’s image; his eyes had been crossed out and a line, with stitches, had been drawn down the length of his neck. Had my dad still been alive, it probably wouldn’t have angered me as much. I took the photo from the drawer and placed it on the top of the table.

BANG!

I wet the bottom of my thumb, with my tongue, and ran it across the ink but it made no difference. I had hoped it would have wiped it clean off but no such luck.

“They said, if you hear the scream, you die a year later and your soul goes to haunt the very same woods where you originally heard the scream...” Dad had told me. His face was so serious, why wouldn’t I have believed him as he passed on what he was told by the locals? Twelve years old, I would never have believed he’d lie to me. I had no reason to doubt him. Not until just under a year later when I discovered the affair more or less detailed in the many notes. Part of me wonders why he had kept them. Surely, for a man who liked to keep his own business private, he’d have just burned them once he had read them and savored the words within. I’ll never know for sure but maybe he was planning on publishing them; a cruel way to inform his wife, who read all of his work, that he was actually having an affair with this whore. I digress. Before I read those notes... I’d have never doubted him and so I never doubted what he said the locals had told him about the footsteps and the scream.

Although I still dreamt about hearing the footsteps, I more or less had forgotten about the story until Dad’s death. Practically a year to the day since the final night of our last happy holiday together. It was but a few months, from getting home from our cabin adventure, that I ventured into his empty office and read the truth about my father.

Now his story is at the forefront of my mind and I can’t shake it out despite knowing, deep down, it’s ridiculous.

“...your soul goes to haunt the very same woods where you originally heard the scream...” his words echoed through my mind as I tried to ignore the footsteps which were pacing the front of the cabin once more.

“It’s just a story,” I said to myself. “A story to scare kids from venturing into the woods by themselves. That’s what all ghost stories are - simple, yet effective, storytelling methods to keep you from doing something stupid.”

KNOCK! KNOCK!

“It’s just kids out there. Nothing more, nothing less. They’ll get bored eventually and they’ll go home. Worst case scenario, they’ll come in and then you can scare them away with your gun...” I whispered to myself. The sound of my own voice offered me little comfort.

Your gun? I’d rather not get used to referring to the gun as mine. It’s not my gun. It’s Josh’s gun. It’s the murder weapon. Don’t refer to it as ‘your gun’ again.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Why did I have to leave my cell phone in the car with Susan? This could have all been dealt with by now and I might have even been on the way to meeting her at her mum’s. I picked the gun up, once more, and crept back through to the living room, where the knocking was coming from.

I’ll wait. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll wait until they go quiet again. And then I’ll creep out of here, into the woods, where I can watch the cabin. I’d bet my last dime that, as soon as I’m out, they’ll all come in and start their partying. It’s just kids. It’s just kids. It’s just kids...I crept across to the chair, opposite the door, and quietly lowered myself into it before I placed the gun to my side. I’m just going to sit here until they go quiet and then I’ll make my move.

‘What if there’s no one out there and no one runs in the cabin, after I vacate it?’ a random thought asks in the back of my mind. I don’t even want to think about it. If it’s no one fucking with me then I’m going mad. There’s no other explanation.

I’m just grateful Susan and the kids didn’t stay here tonight. I’d have hated for them to have to sit through this too. I know it would petrify Susan and Jamie but Ava...She’s too young to be exposed to these kinds of mind games. She’d never sleep again. Not entirely sure I will yet.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

* * * * *

“Yes?” my dad had called out from his office door. He needn’t have bothered.  I would have gone in regardless as to whether he had invited me or not. I hadn’t meant to knock on his door, when I went to confront him. It was force of habit. I had meant to just burst in and have it out with him.

I stormed over to his desk. So young and yet acting so old I demanded to know, “How long have you been seeing her?”

Dad spun around in his swivel chair to look at me. He didn’t even bother getting up. I remember, at the time, how it annoyed me; the way he dared to look at me as though it was I who was in the wrong and not the other way around. He tilted his head down and looked at me over the top of his black-rimmed glasses - couldn’t even be bothered to take them off to address me properly.

“What are you talking about?” he had asked me.

“I know, Dad, I know...”

“Know what?”

“Just tell me how long you’ve been seeing her?”

“What do you think you know, son? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me!” I remember I shouted at him. The first time, and not the last, that I’d dare to stand up to him; dare to point out how he, Mr. Perfect, was in the wrong.

“Look, I’m really busy at the moment. These books don’t write themselves...What do you want?”

“I want to know how long you’ve been cheating on my mum!” I yelled.

Dad didn’t say anything. I remember how he just looked at me as though I was muck on his shoe, like I was nothing more than an unpleasant inconvenience to him. I remember, at the time, wondering whether the previous times we’d spent together, laughing and generally being happy, were nothing more than a lie on his part. An act he’d put on to keep both my mother and me happy so as to give him a relatively easy life. It’s amazing how one look from someone can ruin years and years of ‘progress’ with regards to a relationship.

“Son, I don’t have time for this...” he had told me. It was at that point, in the conversation, he originally turned his back on me and, from that moment on, it felt as though he had his back to me for the rest of his life.

I’ve just realized that everything is quiet outside. They must be taking another break before they start again. Okay...This is it. Stick to the plan. Get out. Keep watch. And then it’s my turn to scare the shit out of whoever comes in. I grabbed the gun, tucked it into my belt, and stood up. With the adrenalin back to pounding through my body, I stood up and made my way over to the seat which blocked my exit. Not quite sure how to do this...Do I do it quickly and risk making noise and making it obvious as to what I’m doing or do I try and keep it as quiet as possible? Noisy. Has to be noisy. I want them to know I’m vacating the property. Okay...Here we go...

“Leave me alone!” I yelled at the top of my lungs as I ran from the cabin, having unblocked the way to the front door. As I ran, as fast as I could, down the dirt track which I drove in on, I panicked that the gun was going to slip from where I had it hidden. The last thing I need, right now, is to drop that. I hoped that whoever would have been watching me run away would think I had left the gun inside - giving them more reason to go in; anything to get them to come out from the darkness they hid in.

As soon as I was out of view of the cabin I stopped running. I took a moment, bent forward to catch my breath and turned back towards where I had just run. I felt that went well. I especially liked my acting abilities begging for them to leave me alone. Hopefully they bought it as I had intended them to.

I quickly walked over to the trees and stepped off the dirt track. If I’m careful, I’ll be able to sneak through the woods until I can see the cabin again. From my new, hidden, vantage point, I’ll hopefully be able to see them enter the cabin. As I crept through the undergrowth my heart was beating fast with the surge of adrenalin. Not because I’m scared. I’m not scared anymore. No. Now I’m excited. I’m looking forward to catching whoever it is and giving them a piece of my mind. If they’re willing to go to such extremes to get me out of the cabin, you can bet it was them who trashed it in the first place. Little fuckers. I wondered what the chances were of getting some money out of them to cover the damage they had caused and the necessary clean-up operations. Chance would be a fine thing.

As I crept the last few hundred yards, towards the large oak tree I had my heart set on as my lookout post, I tried desperately hard not to tread on any of the many branches and sticks which littered the muddy floor. With every ‘snap’ and ‘crunch’ I accidentally caused, I increased my chances of being seen or heard at the very least.

For this to succeed I’m going to need the element of surprise and I really, really want this to work out.

8.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been waiting here now. The only two things I’m sure about are the following:  it’s damned cold out here and no one has gone into the cabin yet. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to check my watch before I got too carried away with spying on the door.

Come on, they must have seen me leave and even if they didn’t see me, they surely must have heard me running and shouting as I left. What are they waiting for?

I heard something snap behind me and spun around to see what it was. Nothing there. Could have been anything. I waited a few moments more to see if anything moved in the many shadows but it was dead out here. Had it not been for all the banging, footsteps and the scream earlier - I’d have believed I was completely alone. I wished I was. Actually, no, I wished my wife was with me. I wished my wife and my children were with me. I wished the cabin was fine and I wished, more than anything, the whole incident in the store didn’t happen. Seeing as I’m wishing for the impossible, I might as well wish for it all.

“Come on, come on, what are you waiting for?” I whispered.

They can’t have been that desperate to get in there. Maybe they were more interested in seeing if they could scare me out and they didn’t actually want the cabin for themselves? I looked at my watch in the limited light on offer. I’ll give them another fifteen minutes. No. Twenty. I’ll give them another twenty minutes, just in case they’re watching the cabin to make sure I’ve definitely gone. I don’t want to have done this for...

SNAP!

I spun around again as another branch snapped behind me. I couldn’t tell exactly where it came from other than to my rear and that it sounded close. I held my breath and lay perfectly still, amongst the dead leaves and fallen branches. Could just be an animal. Could be nothing. In my mind I see the face of the boy, with the scar running the length of his neck, staring at me but I’m quick to shake it off. Ghosts don’t exist. Just an animal. I turned back to the cabin. First impressions show nothing has changed since the distraction behind me. The door is still half open, the lights are still on and, more importantly, I can’t hear the cheering or laughter of any kids who’ve succeeded in what they set out to achieve. Where are you, you little fuckers? I know you’re out there somewhere, hiding like the little cowards you are. Come on, show yourselves...

Suddenly the same haunting scream, from earlier in the night, filled my ears as though it was coming from close behind me. I spun around to see if I could make out where it was coming from but was soon distracted by another scream coming from my right...And then another scream coming from my left. I jumped up and wasted no time in getting back to the dirt track. As soon as my feet touched the solid dirt of the track I started to run, as fast as I could, back towards the cabin; all the time, the screams filled my ears. I pulled the gun from where I had it stashed, down my belt, and carried on running with it close to my side on the off chance anything jumped out on me.

It didn’t take me long to reach the cabin’s porch. I leapt up the two wooden steps and bounded over the porch and into the living room where I quickly spun around and slammed the door shut. Seconds later the larger of the seats was across the door and I was standing at the window, peering out from behind the old, tatty curtain with my heart pounding in my throat. Seconds later, all of the screams stopped. Regardless of the silence, I stayed at the window in case I could...what the fuck...

I see it. Down in the dirt track where I had just come from. It looked like a young lad was just standing there watching the cabin. It was so dark out there it was hard to make anything else out, other than his size. I let the curtain fall back into place, blocking my view in the process, and stepped back shaking, violently, with fear.

I took a few deep breaths. I should go out there. Confront them. It’s only a lad. One of many, probably. It’s not a ghost. It’s not a ghost. Just a lad. They only want to scare me. They succeeded.

I stepped forward, back to the window, and pulled the curtain across again. The dirt track was deserted. Whoever it was had disappeared into the night. I let the curtain drop to the side and pushed the chair away from the door again. I pulled the door open and stepped onto the porch.

“Who’s out there?” I called out. “Come on, I saw you! What do you fucking want?! Money?! I have money! If that’s what you want...” I stopped speaking and gave them a chance to answer but no one spoke out. “Come on, this is stupid. I’m sure there are places you’d rather be than out here, right? Hello? Anyone?” still no one answered. “What’s the matter? You too chicken shit to face me?!” I yelled.

When it was apparent no one was going to step forward, I returned to the living room and pushed the door to. I didn’t block it this time. Instead I’ll simply sit opposite and wait for them to knock again. If there’s nothing to stop the door from opening, the force of their hand, against the wooden door panel, will expose them to me.

“There’s no one out there,” my dad had said.

Times have changed. There is someone out there and we’re going to have words...I went to sit on the seat, opposite the door, when I noticed a piece of cloth, on the arm of it, which wasn’t there earlier when I had been sitting there. I walked over and picked it up. On closer inspection it looked to be a piece of cloth torn from a shirt. Perhaps from a pocket you’d find on the chest area? Red ink in the corner where a pen could have leaked...I froze. I recognized the pattern on the cloth. It belonged to the store clerk’s shirt. How the Hell did it get in here? I ran through and checked the other rooms to see if any of the windows were open. None of them were. They couldn’t have come through the front door, though. They couldn’t have! I was watching it the whole time.

Unless...

I only took my eyes off the door from a split second, when I heard the snapping sound from behind me. Could they have run in and out again in the time it took for me to make sure nothing was behind me? Surely I would have heard them? Everything else, out there, was so deathly quiet. It’s practically impossible to walk on the cabin’s wooden porch without your footsteps being audible. I should know, I used to try and do it years ago when I tried sneaking up on my dad.

“The screams would be of the dead, haunting the woods as they sought vengeance for what had happened to them when they were still breathing,” my dad had told me years ago. The inmates were given jobs around the town to help with the rehabilitation program. What if the store clerk was previously one of the inmates and now his ghost had been added to the others which haunted the town? The cloth is a sign he’s come for vengeance for what happened to him? No. That’s stupid. Just my overactive, guilty imagination again poisoned with memories from my childhood. It’s ridiculous. I know who it is. It’s Josh.

Josh and his friends are probably trying to scare me out of the town completely so I don’t go to the sheriff. Another negative thought sprung to the forefront of my mind; what if he wants to do more than scare me? What if he wants to make sure I never say anything to anyone? What if he wants to silence me permanently? He’s already shot one person and even though it was an accident, he didn’t seem very remorseful. Even less guilty when he ran for the dead store clerk’s shotgun...I’m even more grateful for having made Susan and the kids leave now. They don’t need to be part of this. If that is the case, though...If he is here to silence me for good...How come he hasn’t already done it then?

I glanced down to the gun in my hand. I don’t want to have to use this other than to scare someone away but if it comes down to it...If it’s between him and me...I’ll do what needs to be done. All I can do is sit and wait him out...Him and his friends...Hopefully nothing more, other than noises, will happen before morning and I’ll be able to get away from here and into town. Once I’m in the town I know I’ll be okay. Even better when I’m sat opposite the sheriff in his office.

I quickly walked through the cabin closing all of the doors. I figured if they tried to sneak in through one of the windows, to surprise me, I’d hear them come through the door and be able to act accordingly. Other than that, all I can do is sit on the living room’s seat, again, and wait. If they’re going to make a move, hopefully they’ll do it sooner rather than later. I just want to get this over with. This whole nasty experience. I want it finished and as far out of my mind as someone’s dead body resting on my conscience will allow.

I sat down on the chair, opposite the door, and mentally prepared myself for what I might have to do. I didn’t have to wait very long.

BANG!

Ah, I wondered where they’d gone. It obviously took them some time to get back to behind the cabin, from after they’d surrounded me further down the dirt track. Come on, you son of a bitch, stop playing ‘ghosts’ and come say hi.

BANG!

The banging noises which bounced off the various cabin walls didn’t even bother me now. They needed to learn some new tricks. Something I hadn’t grown used to hearing in the darkness. A little part of me felt disappointed they hadn’t yet started to moan, groan and rattle chains. Everyone knows that’s what evil spirits are meant to be doing as they haunt the living.

Footsteps started to pace the front of the cabin. This is it, I thought. This is it. I raised the gun towards the door. Come on then, Josh, stick your head through the gap. I dare you. I double dare you. The footsteps didn’t stop at the door, though. They continued past it towards the other side of the cabin. I tracked them, along the wall, with my eyes looking down the barrel of the gun. They stopped. They must have reached the far end of the porch. They didn’t stop for long, though, before they about turned and walked along the wooden boards of the porch once more - following the path they had just walked down. Again I kept track of them down the gun’s barrel. I had expected them to knock on the door this time but they didn’t and I watched as a dark shadow passed between the slight gap caused by the door not being closed properly. I didn’t even call out to them. I didn’t invite them in. Although I’m not worried about doing what needs to be done...At the same time, I don’t wish to invite it.

BANG!

Another thud on the wall behind me. Meanwhile whoever paced the front of the cabin, turned and walked back down the length of the porch once more. Big, heavy footsteps. Either Josh knew some big lads who were in need of a diet or they were purposefully stamping their feet to make the steps sound louder in here. Regardless, they aren’t coming in. They’re just trying to mess with my mind. True to form a dark shadow passed between the gap as I had expected them to. Part of me was tempted to rugby tackle them to the floor when they walked on by but I didn’t. I stayed rooted to the spot. No need for me to invite trouble.

BANG!

The more they do it, the more pathetic they’re coming across. Surely they couldn’t have honestly believed doing the same thing over and over again would be enough to get to me? Sure, to start off with, it was a little unpleasant but not now - now it’s just laughable.

The footsteps out the front stopped just as suddenly as they had started. Must be draining, stamping their feet like that. They probably need a little break. If that were me out there organizing things then I would have had a system set up which would see a few lads take it in turn to stamp their feet. That way they would get tired less quickly.

BANG!

But then maybe there aren’t enough of them out there to make that a possibility. The footsteps started again. I tried not to laugh out loud. Okay, I guess they just needed a little more time to switch places. No doubt the one who had paced the front of the cabin a minute ago is now standing out the back ready to hit the wall with whatever it is they’re using to cause such a thud and the youth who had been out the back...Well, now he is the one pacing.

Sure enough a shadow passed the gap in the doorway.

BANG!

I smiled. The other youth has now managed to take up his position at the back of the building. Absolutely pathetic. In fact, I’ve had enough of this. I stood up and dashed out of the front door with the gun raised.

“Okay, you little shit!” I yelled.

What the Hell? By my calculations the foot-stamping culprit should have been standing by the far bedroom window, the same window I had seen them through earlier, but there was no one there.

BANG!

They’re still around the back of the cabin. I’ll catch them there. I ran around to confront them but, again, by the time I got there - no one was to be seen.

“Okay, you’re quick. I’ll give you that...”

Slowly I backed up along the side of the building, towards the front, as I kept a watchful eye on the bushes which lined the back of the building. None of them were even swaying as they might have done had someone recently disturbed them. Everything was eerily still. Where the Hell do they run off to then?

“I know it’s you, Josh...This is pointless. You might as well just come out here and face me. Let’s deal with what you want...” I stopped moving and waited for a response. “I am going to the sheriff in the morning...Now’s your chance to come out here and talk about what happened at the store...” Still nothing. No movement. No laughter. Nothing. Just stillness. “I know it was an accident...Come on...We can talk about this...Talk about what we’re going to tell the sheriff...It was all just a big misunderstanding...What happened was an accident...They’ll be able to see that. We didn’t want anyone hurt. No one wanted anyone hurt. It just happened...” Still nothing. “Come on, talk to me...Show me you’re not as stupid as you’re making out...”

With no warning, something hit the window next to me from the inside. I spun around and yelled in terror as I saw the face of a young lad staring back at me in the brightness of the room. His skin was pale and I could make out tiny, blue veins all over his face, his eyes were cloudy-blue surrounded by red rings, hair greasy black, his teeth were stained yellow and his lips crusted over with dried skin caused, at a quick guess, by dehydration. Down the length of his neck was a long scar which looked as though it had been stitched shut in a hurry. He pointed a bony finger at me and his eyes went wide before I heard a god-awful scream. The loudest of the screams so far but it wasn’t coming from his mouth. His mouth remained as closed as his bucked teeth allowed. It was as though it was only heard in my head. I yelled again, shut my eyes and dropped the gun, choosing to cover my ears with my hands instead of pulling the trigger. By the time I dared to open my eyes again, only after the screaming had stopped, the boy was gone from the window. I pulled my shaking hands away from my ears and grabbed the gun from where it had landed amongst the dead leaves and mud; all the time I refused to look away from the window in case the boy appeared again.

“Okay, very good,” I yelled, “you got me...”

My voice was shaking, nearly as much as my hands, and my heart was beating harder and faster than it had ever beaten before. So hard, in fact, I thought it was going to burst out from my ribcage. A quick check behind me to make sure nothing was there before I turned the corner of the cabin and talked myself into heading back in to catch whoever was in there. It was just make-up, I kept saying over and over again in my mind. Just make-up. There’s no such thing as ghosts. The lad just took the opportunity to run into the room, whilst I was outside, to try and scare me. Little fucker succeeded.

“Come out, I know you’re in here,” I called into the cabin, from the doorway. I waited to hear the laughter of someone whose prank had just worked beautifully but there was nothing. No laughter. No gloating. Nothing. “Come on...You got me...Very good...Well done...” Still nothing. I raised the gun and stepped in. Weird, it feels colder inside than it does out. Forget about it. A quick look around the first room soon revealed it was empty. There aren’t even any places someone could hide in here. Definitely rule this room out. I opened the living room door which led onto the rest of the cabin...All the other doors were still closed, from where I had closed them earlier.

Another feeling of unease spread through my body. No. Ignore the feeling. They’re obviously good at whatever game they’re playing. It wouldn’t have been hard for them to close the doors behind them, even if they were in a hurry so as not to be spotted by me. They’re trying to keep everything as authentic as possible; of course they would have closed the doors. They wouldn’t go to all this effort just to ruin it there.

I opened the door to the bedroom where I had seen the boy. How old must he have been anyway? Hard to pinpoint an exact age, given the make-up, but he didn’t look a day over ten years old. I wonder if his mother knows he is out so late. “I know you’re in here,” I said. “You might as well come out...I’m not angry.” Given what they’ve put me through, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t believe me but I felt it was worth a shot. I felt as though I’ve tried everything else.

Like the living room, there’s not much in here for anyone to hide behind other than...No...Surely not...I dropped to my knees and rested my head on the wooden floorboard so I could get a good view under the bed. No one is there. Not just that but, considering the state they had left the rest of the cabin, there was nothing under the bed at all; no rubbish, none of my old bits and pieces, not even any evidence of spiders. Who’d have thought it would be the cleanest part of the whole damned cabin?!

I sat upright and instantly felt the hairs on my neck stand to attention as the feeling of warm air was breathed against my skin by someone standing behind me.

“I know you’re there,” I whispered. “What do you want?”

I didn’t dare turn around. I desperately wanted to, just so we could finally finish everything but every part of my body refused to allow me to do it; too scared by the stories I grew up with and the night’s weirdness.

“This is silly,” I said. I tried to sound cool and collected but knew I failed miserably. I sounded as scared as I felt. “We can all be friends,” I continued shakily, “we don’t have to do this...”

Whoever it was didn’t say anything. They just stood there. I could feel they were practically on top of me. Why weren’t they saying anything? Why? All I could hear were strange gargled noises which sounded as though they were coming from the back of their throat.

“Why won’t you talk to me? What’s all this meant to achieve?” I tried to take control of the situation but was once again let down by my tone.

Nervously I turned my head to see who was behind me. I managed to twist my head halfway round before I froze with fear. Out of the corner of my eye I could see all I wanted to see.

“Please...Tell me what you want...” I begged. I felt my eyes begin to fill up as the fear became too much for me to handle. The sound of my own heart pumping was nearly drowning out the weird clicking noises from the back of his throat - perhaps forming where his vocal chords used to be.

With no warning he placed his hand on my shoulder and an ear-piercing scream filled the room.

9.

I opened my eyes. I was face down on the bedroom’s wooden floorboards. I must have blacked out; the shock of what was happening too much for my body to take. As soon as I realized where I was I sat up and cast my eyes around the room. It’s empty. I’m alone again. I must have been unconscious for some time as daylight is spilling in from the window on the side of the room. Thank God for that. I need to get out of here. It’s over...

BANG!

No. It can’t be. It came from the front of the cabin this time. What do they want? It’s daylight now. They must know it’s over. They must do. My dad used to tell me things only went bump in the night.

I heard footsteps across the front of the porch. Will they ever leave me alone? A knocking on the front door followed. No. I’m not having it. I’m not. I looked to the floor and spotted the gun. Without giving it any hesitation I grabbed it and aimed it at the door.

“I’m in here!” I called out. “Come and get me!”

Footsteps across the floorboards in the other room. The door opened and I pulled the trigger.

BANG!

I screamed and dropped the gun. It hit the floor before Ava’s body did. My daughter. My beautiful daughter. She fell backwards with blood trickling from the front of her delicate face. What have I done? What have I done?

“Baby?!” I called out as I scrambled over to her lifeless body.

More footsteps from outside which sounded as though they were running towards where I was sat, cradling the body of my youngest. What had I done?

Susan screamed as she came through the cabin’s front door.

“My baby!” she screamed. “What have you done?!”

I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t know how to. Jamie came in and stopped in the cabin’s doorway. Her face was pale as she took in the scene before her eyes.

I screamed out as Susan pulled Ava’s body away from me and cradled it in her own arms.

“Daddy?” said Jamie from the doorway where she’d just stopped in her tracks. Her voice was shaking.

“My baby! My baby! What have you done!” Susan kept wailing over and over again.

“I’m sorry,” I wept, with my head in my hands, tears flowing uncontrollably.

“Call someone!” Susan demanded. “Make it better! Make it better!” she screamed.

Jamie dropped to her knees and started to weep, her black mascara running down her pale face, as what had happened slowly started to sink in.

“Don’t just sit there!” screamed Susan. “Call someone!”

“I’m sorry,” I cried as I tried to put a comforting arm around Susan.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” she screamed; the anguish and hatred in her voice flowing through every syllable.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated.

I stood up and staggered out of the cabin, into the bright daylight of the warm Saturday morning. I didn’t even manage to get off the porch before I threw up over the side, into the foliage below. I’ve killed my daughter. I’ve killed my daughter. I desperately wanted to forget...Block out the pain...But the screams of Susan’s pain and the whimpering of Jamie, from the doorway, refused me the luxury of forgetting and pretending it never happened. I need to call someone. I need to get help. I ran over to the car...I didn’t even hear them pull up...It was an accident....Had I known it was them...I opened the car door, which must have banged shut when they climbed out, and reached into the passenger seat to grab my cell phone. I flipped it open and pressed ‘9’ on the keypad. I stopped.

Who am I supposed to call? Who can make this all better? No one can. There’s no one. No one can bring little Ava back to life. No one can erase the pain Susan, Jamie and I will feel for the rest of our lives. No one can take away the image of the bullet piercing the front of Ava’s face and the look of shock in her eyes. No one can fix this. They’ll never forgive me. I’ll never forgive myself. Our lives will never be the same again. I’ve destroyed them for good. People won’t believe what happened during the night to make me feel on edge. They won’t. They’ll just know I killed my daughter. And, if I did that, I must have killed the store clerk too. Josh wins. He’ll get away with it. They probably won’t even know he was even in the store when the gun went off. They’ll pin it all on the city-man. I’ve lost everything. I’ve destroyed everything.

I’m not crying anymore. I’m in shock. Nothing can fix this. Where do we go from here? How do we move on? I sat for a moment with only the sounds of the girls screaming keeping me from being in complete silence.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Moments later I knew what needed to be done. I know how to take the pain away. It’s the only way. I climbed from the car and walked back to the cabin. I passed Jamie who was still crying in the doorway and I tried to block the image of Susan cradling Ava as I stepped past them and across to the bedroom. With no hesitation I picked the gun up. This is the only way I know how to take their pain away. This is the only way. I’ll have to be quick. I’ll have to make it quick. They don’t deserve any of this. The least I can do is make it so they don’t know what happened.

“What did you do?!” Susan screamed from the other room.

I walked back to where she was huddled over Ava and apologized once more. I raised the gun to Jamie first and pulled the trigger. I shot her straight through the head; the force of the bullet sending her out of the cabin’s doorway and onto the porch. Susan screamed.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered; the shame oozing through the tone of my voice. “I’ll always love you. I’m sorry.” I turned the gun on Susan. Her final scream was cut short with the sound of a bang. She slumped over Ava’s body. I just stood there, for a moment, as I took in my actions. Seconds later, without even realizing I had started, I was screaming at the top of my lungs.

This isn’t my fault. This isn’t my fault. It’s whoever was tormenting me through the night. Whatever was tormenting me. If they had just left me alone, I’d have had no reason to have kept the gun so close to my side. Ava would have run into the room and into my loving arms. Susan and Jamie would have followed. Why did they even come back? Why? They weren’t supposed to come back. They were supposed to wait for me to call them. Susan must have known I didn’t have the numbers because my phone was on the seat. She must have come back to find me. She must have come back to make sure everything was okay. To make sure I was okay. Maybe her mum and dad weren’t in and they had had no choice but to come back? I screamed again.

“Please forgive me...Please...”

I walked through to my dad’s office and slumped down in his old chair. I looked down to the picture of my dad and me, for one final time. The picture had been changed again. My face had the eyes crossed out too, along with a scar drawn down my neck. I didn’t care how or why. Not anymore. I was past caring. I raised the gun to my head. As well as the cold metal of the gun, against my temple, I felt the horrible feeling of warm breath against the back of my neck. I didn’t care anymore. I was numb to it all.

“Please forgive me,” I whispered.

I squeezed the trigger.

CLICK!

“NO! PLEASE! NO!”

I pulled the trigger again.

CLICK!

No. It can’t be. It can’t.

CLICK!

It’s empty. It can’t be. Please God no. Let me finish it. Please. I frantically started squeezing the trigger again and again and again on the off chance there was, somewhere, one final bullet in the chamber. I know I hadn’t fired them all. I know I didn’t. There should have been one left. There should have been one left. I wept as I realized the gun couldn’t have been fully loaded in the first place. Come on, keep squeezing the trigger. There must be one left. There has to be one left. Come on, please. Please don’t do this to me. I’ve been through enough. Please...

CLICK!

CLICK!

CLICK!

I screamed as loud as I could.

~ FIN

Enjoyed The Cabin?

Be sure to check out the sequel: The Cabin: Asylum

H A P P Y    E V E R

A F T E R

PROLOGUE

CCTV camera one is on. The hallway needs decorating, looks like a throwback to the seventies. I might get some paint, another thing for the shopping list? I suppose I could live with the décor.

CCTV camera two is on. Fuzzy picture. Why? A mental note to self: hit the camera. Maybe the last time I hit it made it worse? Perhaps it will be easier to just buy another camera and another set of connections? Did I really get the best stuff to begin with? I must have done. It was expensive enough and I’m sure the salesman that helped me pick it out wouldn’t have sold me the cheapest. It doesn’t matter. I need to get it fixed; I’ll go back to the shop this afternoon. I best scribble that down before I forget; so much to remember, ‘spare bedroom camera not working again.’

CCTV camera three is off. My fault. I unplugged it yesterday to plug in the vacuum cleaner. All the drilling in the wall had made a mess of dust and brick. I couldn’t leave that for her to see. It’s not too important yet though; she won’t see this room for a while. I’ll get around to it next time I need the vacuum cleaner.

CCTV camera four is on. There’s the lounge. Looking good. There she is at the dinner table. She’s looking good. So is the lounge. I think this room is ready now. Thank God, something I can scribble from my list.

She’s moving. It looks like she is getting agitated. I best get down there and see her again before she gets angry with me. I hate it when they shout. I’ll check the other cameras later this afternoon. I best write that down too or I might forget and think I’ve already checked them.

I think everything is going well but, even so, I never knew it would all be so complicated.

Date One

She smells so good. I don’t know what her perfume is and I don’t think she’d actually tell me yet. As far as dates go – I’ve had livelier. She hasn’t even touched her meal; I’m glad I only served up the supermarket’s own brand of roast meal today. Christ, imagine if I gave her a Birds Eye meal and she just wasted that? That’d upset me.

“Do I know you?”

Does she know me? It just goes to show that shop assistants, bank workers, basically anyone working with the public... It just goes to show that they don’t really like you, as they pretend they do. They just want to be your friend whilst they wait on you – getting you to spend more of your money. Bastards. Of course she knows me! For the last four weeks she has seen me in the bank, where she worked, as I’ve been trying to sort out Internet banking. Ha! Internet banking.  They say it’s a simple way to pay your bills. That all depends on what computers you use. Before I upgraded, my computer crashed constantly making any online payments a nightmare.

She looks as though she has a headache, “Does your head hurt?”

“Please, what do you want with me?”

I want her to try and be civil and at least pretend to eat her meal. It’s a shame to waste any food, even more so as we’ll be wishing we still had the food to waste one day.

“WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT WITH ME?”

Oh God, the shouting has started. Why do they always have to shout at me? I don’t shout at them. Perhaps I should. A mental note to myself:  get nasty with them.

“Your meal’s getting cold.”

“Please... just let me go....”

She’s the same as the others. They all go the same way: starting with confusion, then to anger, to fear and finally begging me for their life.

I really don’t want to have to kill her. She’s prettier than the others and the garage is getting full. That reminds me; I need to buy more air freshener.

“Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you. I’ll do it for you. Please, tell me what you want and let me go.”

I think this date is over, “Here, take these pills, they’ll help with your headache.” The pills are always kept in the same place on the dinner table, a small little mat next to their plastic cup of water. They always have plastic cups and plastic cutlery so they can’t hurt themselves. Or me.

It makes me laugh when I give them these pills. At first they carry on jabbering away, trying to find out what is going on and then they all seem to go boss-eyed and fall face-first into their dinner. They should be grateful they are unconscious so they don’t see how stupid they look when they fall into their uneaten meals. I really should get a digital camera to take a picture of them; it could make for a funny conversation months down the line when things are cool between us.

Speaking of the ‘Kodak moment’, here it comes now. Her eyes are rolling to the back of her head and a little bit of dribble is starting to form at the corner of her pretty mouth. Actually, this seems more immediate than before. Did I give her the right dosage? Maybe I should have force-fed her a little food first so they weren’t taken on an empty stomach. Black market drugs or not, these things should come with an instruction pamphlet.

“I don’t feel so good,” she said. Well, actually, she’s not looking so good either... “What, what.... What have...?”

Other side effects, confusion and drowsiness, it’s coming now – the classic ‘face-first into the dinner moment’ they each go through. It nearly takes the sting off wasting the food they never touch. Nearly.

Three, two, fuck. Her head went backwards! That never happens, I feel cheated! I wonder, is it malicious to paste her face with the food anyway? Restrain yourself; it’s just something else that needs to be cleaned up for her bedtime. Speaking of which, I best move her now; her throat is making a funny gargling noise with the way her head is tilted right back. I can’t believe the noise her neck made when it fell back like that.

That was sick.

Preparations

The tatty bed, with the uncomfortable foam mattress, looks much more appealing with her lying there, so peaceful, begging to be cuddled. I’d love nothing more than to snuggle in next to her and hold her close, breathing in that sweet scented perfume that lingers around her peachy, kissable skin. She looks like an angel lying there, even with the handcuffs that bind her wrists to the bed’s headboard. They are a necessity but, in time, I hope we’ll be able to lose them. Not entirely though. I’m sure the handcuffs could still come in useful from time to time when the mood takes us. Don’t think about that now. There’s too much to get through still and she’ll be awake in a couple of hours.

Bedtime.

When I got her ready for bed, I dressed her in a cute, pink pyjama set that’s got a cartoon character mouse design on the front. It’s not Mickey or Minnie Mouse; I got this from the market, a cheap knock-off that in no way reflects my feelings for her. It’s just that I don’t think she’ll be wearing it much after the initial few days whilst she settles in. It is a comfortable pair of pyjamas to make her feel more at home. Once she is “at home” I’m hoping that she’ll choose one of the other outfits in the wardrobe that I filled for her.

I didn’t want her to want for anything so I got as many different styles of clothes that I could think of. At least, the ones that I thought would suit her petite frame anyway, keeping the colours to mainly blues and blacks because they are the colours that I like. The exception is the red PVC dress that I ordered online, too embarrassed to buy from a normal store. I really hope she likes this one as much as I do.

She’s got jumpers, cardigans, a business suit that may have been a waste of money for I can’t think of a time where she would wear it when it’s just the two of us, trousers, jeans, skirts, dresses, one of being a pretty floral little number that I made her wear for our first date. I regret that choice as it made her look a little ’mumsy’ but I was running out of time to change her again – God knows, it is pretty hard getting them ready in the first place, especially with time being of the essence.

I went just as silly with the shoes and purchased more pairs than she could ever wish for. I know, for a fact, that she’ll fall in love with them. I’m hoping that there will be enough love for me, after the love for the shoes.

The only downer being that they are all flat-soled. There are no sharp heels on these shoes, apart from one pair, for I dread to think of the damage that she could do with spikes. The only pair with the heel being a pair of black, leather thigh high boots; my personal favourite, a pair that will only be brought out for special occasions – like my birthday perhaps? The mere thought of her dressed in these, with the dress, arouses me. I could just fuck her now but I won’t.

I’m not a rapist.

I’m not a monster.

The rest of the spare bedroom is pretty much bare. I doubt we’ll use it much once she has moved into the main room with me. There’s no need. If anything, it will probably only be used if we ever argue and I’m going to do everything that I can to stop this from occurring. I love her too much to argue with her. And I can do without the headaches.

The last room I have to work on, other than rechecking the cameras (did I make a note of that already?), is the kitchen. I’m halfway through filling it with food. The food has been the hardest bit to organise for I don’t know what she likes and if I don’t manage to get things she will like, she’ll starve quicker.

Once I’ve bought the food I’ve had to empty the contents from the cans and place them in easy-to-open, plastic containers. The plastic containers then needed small notes written on them telling me, for it will only be me that cooks, what’s in each one. Along with the names of the food, I have also written the best before dates. Given time, though, the dates won’t matter – we’ll have to eat them regardless. The last task for the food is the cutting of the meat – I need to cut it into different slices and then put them in the fridge-freezers in the garage before getting rid of the sharp knife that’s needed for the job. As useful as the sharp knife is – I don’t dare leave it around the house.

What time is it? She’ll be waking in a couple of hours and I really want to be here for her, so she’s not scared. There are only a couple of hours; so much to do and so little time. I need more food. Even with the cupboards all filled and the sides stacked up to the ceiling, there isn’t enough food there. I can still fill the floor space.

The drive to the shop is nice. There is nothing but empty, quiet roads all the way. These roads are nothing like the roads I was used to when I didn’t live on my foster mum’s old farm, a farm that she stayed in after the death of my foster father. Mum didn’t do anything with the farm apart from worrying about the interior whilst watching the exterior of the building rot. She loved to clean but, as she began to rot, the interior also deteriorated. By the time the building got handed down to me it was practically beyond repair – looking abandoned. I could see that it would be the perfect love nest for my partner and me. I’m hoping she can also see the potential. I suppose I’ll know soon enough.

Driving to the store normally took about thirty minutes. It was further away than thirty minutes’ worth of driving but with no other cars around to cause traffic, I could always break the speed limits. The only witnesses to my lawbreaking were normally the badgers that meet an untimely demise on the front bumper. They are a cheap source of meat. With that in mind I often drove, at night, with no lights shining, in a hope to catch them unaware. The only flaw of this plan was when I caught the cyclist unaware too. I would just like to go on record now and say, ‘this was not intentional’. I wonder, though, if he had a light on, so that he was visible to me, would I still have hit him? Part of me hopes that I wouldn’t hit them but another part of me can’t help but think of all the meat that it frees up whilst saving money.

The local supermarket ladies know me by name, “Good evening, Mr Jenkins,” they’d often say. I give them a polite nod and smile and leave it at that. I was never any good with the small talk. Crowds of people, queues, shops, they all make me feel uncomfortable. That’s not a problem tonight.

It’s quiet. Thank God. Just the usual night-time worker who’s normally too tired to even acknowledge me. She’s the replacement after young Susie went missing a few weeks ago. She’s not missing. She’s in my garage.

A mental note to myself, don’t forget the air freshener. Young Susie isn’t quite as fresh as she used to be – even with the extra cooling units in the garage.

Date Two

She knows who I am. She sits there at the dining room table, complaining about the handcuffs, that restrain her to the chair, and bitching about not knowing who I am, but she knows me all right.

“Please, just tell me who you are.... What you want....”

She sounds like a broken record. The first dates are easy to get. You just need a couple of tabs of rohypnol or other sedative, depending on what you can get your hands on. If you can’t get any, I’ve also found a heavy, blunt object achieves the same desired effect. With the paper plates, the chairs bolted to the wooden floor, the plastic cutlery – I wish I had a heavy, blunt object to hand now; with this woman’s constant nagging it’d be perfect. If she shut up for long enough, I’d explain everything that she’s demanding to know but I’m not going to talk over her.

Motormouth here proves to me, again, that the second dates are always harder. The element of surprise is gone and the excitement faded. Instead it’s all down to conversation. In this case, a pretty one-sided conversation. Please shut up.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked. When she takes a breath, I’ll jump in and explain. “Look, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone,” she continued. She’ll take a breath soon. “Whatever you want from me, I’ll get it. Money? Did you want money?”

Oh my God.

“Please just tell me who you are.”

And we’re back to that. I can see it in her face that she knows who I am. She’s just trying to throw me, make me think I have the wrong person and let her go. Why would I let her go? She’s the prettiest so far and, all the time, she was right under my nose at the bank. I have travelled so far trying to find the perfect partner and she was always there. There is no way I want to let her go.

“Who are you? I don’t know you...”

Huh, maybe she doesn’t know me. Of course she does. She’s dealt with me so much at the bank, how could she not know me? She’s just looking at me now. Ooh, she’s just looking at me now. She’s not talking. Perhaps I can...

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

.... I was going to say, ‘Perhaps I can get a word in now?’ I’ll have to be quicker if I am to explain things to her.

“Please stop looking at me, just tell me what you want.” She’s calming down now.

“I just want to ask you a question,” I said at last, breaking my previous, unnerving silence.

“A question? You want to ask a fucking question? Why couldn’t you ask me at the bank?” she screamed.

Ah ha! I knew she knew me.

Sneaky bitch. “I want to ask you a question but I can only ask when you’ve calmed down.”

She’s crying now. The wide range of emotions that I take these people through - why can’t love be one of them? I think it’s possible.

“What question?” she asked through some pathetic snivels.

“If there was no one else, just you and me for the rest of our lives... do you think you could ever love me?”

“What?”

All the ladies that I have seen, they all seem to be hard of hearing for I always find myself repeating the question. Sometimes I think about writing it down for them but then I think that may be patronizing. “If there was no one else, just you and me for the rest of our lives... do you think you could ever love me?”

Silence now. I hate silence as much as I hate too much chitter-chatter. Both have an air of unease about them that set me on edge. Just give me the answer. Don’t make me wait.

“Can’t you just let me go?” she eventually asked.

“Answer the question and I’ll let you go.”

She is definitely prettier than the other ladies. I normally go for blondes but, this time, I chose a brunette and I think it was the smartest choice I’ve made for a fairly long time.

I’ve just noticed she’s not eating her food again.

“Yes.”

Yes? Yes what? Did she just say ‘yes’?

“Yes, I could,” she continued. “Will you let me go now?”

Did she say ‘yes’ just to please me? Did she think it was the answer that I wanted to hear?

Regardless, she said ‘yes’. The wheels are set in motion now.

“That’s great,” I told her, for it truly was great. I raised my glass in the air to toast her answer and with a little bit of encouragement, she also raised her glass as high as he handcuffed wrist would allow. “A toast to us.”

I love the taste of red wine. I haven’t bought too much though – it’s bad for the liver.

I’ve finished my glass and she’s halfway through hers.

I wonder what way her head will flop this time.

When she wakes this time, in the comfortable pyjamas I’ll change her into, she’ll be waking into her new world. It will be a beautiful world with just the two of us. There will be no outside interferences. There will be no one to ruin things between us, as there was the last time I had this special bond with someone, when a stranger came along and fucked my consenting cunt of a partner. This time will be different, just the two of us. Pure love. I can’t wait but, first, I need to make sure everything is as it should be with the house – our own private little world, for the rest of our lives. It’s going to be wonderful.

Her head’s flopped backwards again, with another loud crack coming from the bones in her neck. I wonder if, even though she was falling unconscious, she felt it. It sounded painful.

A mental-note to myself, give her a neck massage in the morning.

Another mental-note to myself, find out what her name is...

Bedtime. I want to be with her when she wakes up in the morning, perhaps bring her breakfast in bed. The eggs are fresh. I could bring her fresh eggs, toast, baked beans and a glass of freshly, squeezed orange juice. They say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Tomorrow it will be. That is, until we get to lunchtime and then that will be the most important meal. And then, when we get to dinner - that will be the most important meal. Basically, any meal, with her, will be important to me.

Before I think about what to cook her for breakfast, I suppose I had better get her upstairs into bed. I doubt the romantic breakfast gesture would have the same impact if she woke and found that she was still in the same clothes and with the same meal in front of her as she had the previous night. Actually, this meal still looks pretty edible considering it’s stone-cold now. Perhaps I could reheat it tomorrow. It’s not important now, forget about it; you’ve got to get her upstairs now before she wakes.

I can’t wait until time is no longer an issue. After undoing the restraints that hold her down to the chair, I put my arms under hers and carefully lift her from the seat, dragging her towards the doorway.

I look up. The camera, on the ceiling at the corner of the room, is filming me. The bastard thing with its red light flashing, filming me as I struggle with this nine-stone dead weight. Why didn’t I set the spare room up on the ground floor? In the hallway now: a short corridor, from the dining room, leading to the kitchen, downstairs bathroom and twenty-three stairs leading to the landing above. Can I just dump her here? So much preparation to do, I haven’t slept for days. I’m tired. I’m tired and she’s heavier than she looks. A mental note to myself – don’t let her know you think she’s heavy!

At the bottom of the stairs now and I’m knackered. Those twenty-three stairs seem a lot more than what they actually are. Rest her here. Pick her legs up and swivel her around. I’ve always found it easier to drag them up the stairs by their legs. I find it easier to manoeuvre them in this position. It’s still not easy work though. Rest a bit.

I’m positive I’ve made the right choice with her. She made the uncomfortable spare bed I have look good and now, as she lies on the carpet, she even makes the floral-patterned design look great. The carpet: another throwback to the seventies.

Okay. Here we go.

I take her left foot with my left hand and her right foot with my right hand. I walk backwards up the stairs, a quick look over my shoulder to remind me of just how many stairs that I have to climb. That carpet is truly hideous.

Even if I didn’t find it easier to drag the girls up the stairs, by their feet, I’d still do it just to watch their head bump down on each step. Their mouths open and close with each jolt of the step and, for some reason, it always makes me smile. It makes me think though; are the headaches they have when they wake up to do with the stairs or the drugs? It doesn’t matter now. It won’t be long before she doesn’t need drugs anymore and I won’t have to drag her up the stairs.

Halfway there now and I can hardly breathe. Am I really that unfit? Huffing and puffing like the big, bad wolf. I’m only thirty- two. This is ridiculous. I wonder how old she is. By the smoothness of her skin, I’d guess at late twenties. The bags under her eyes do add a couple of years but, again, that could be down to the drugs I’ve been giving her.

I’ve just noticed the dress I put her in today is riding up further with each step we venture up together. I’m hoping that, by the time we get to the top, I’ll be able to see her underwear. I know I could sneak a look at any moment after I’ve drugged her but I think that’s cheap. It’s not fair on her. It’s disrespectful and taking advantage. Imagine if she woke from her sleep to find me standing above her, knocking one out. I don’t think it would be the greatest start to our relationship. On the other hand, if her underwear is revealed in an innocent situation, such as dragging her up the stairs, that’s fair game. I get to look as much as I want to.

I chose a kinky little black thong for her tonight. It’s made from a light silk material that’s smooth to the touch. I tried not to pay too much attention when I put it on her, as I want her to model it for me later when the mood is right. If I get a good mental image of it now, it will ruin the surprise later. I want to keep the ‘wow’ factor.

I’m at the top of the stairs now. Just one sharp tug and her head will also be on the landing with her long hair still trailing down the steps we’ve just conquered together.

Her dress hasn’t raised enough for my cheap thrill to be satisfied. I can’t help but feel a little disappointed, having built my hopes up for the last couple of steps. At least I’ll be changing her soon so I’ll get to see her panties then. It’s not the same as being teased by the accidental glimpse of the forbidden but it’s better than nothing.

Perhaps I could touch her when I change her. Touch her and touch myself at the same time. No. She wouldn’t want that. You might but she wouldn’t. Stop being a fucking pervert and get her off this narrow landing and into the spare room – there’s still work to be done.

I start dragging her by her feet again, banging her pretty head on the banister as we move around the landing towards our destination.

She’ll feel that when she wakes up.

The spare room; I can see her bed now. Nearly there, just as well. My heart is pounding the inside of my thin chest. It hasn’t pounded like this since that night: the night where I took possession of my new girlfriend.

My heart pounded every time I made a move on a potential new girlfriend. Perhaps it was to do with the risk of getting caught, something going wrong? Or perhaps it was because of the excitement involved with lying in wait for them to be alone so that I could make my move? Whatever the reason – my heart was pounding for a completely different reason now.

I’m fucking knackered.

By the time I got to the bed I was tempted to leave her on the floor and have a quick rest myself but I don’t dare to. Knowing my luck I’d fall asleep and she’d wake up before me. She doesn’t love me yet. She certainly wouldn’t hang around for me to wake up. Not yet. We haven’t formed the bond yet. Soon though, I’m sure.

Just get her in the bed.

Still using her ankles to navigate her around the room, I swivel her round so that her head is at the ‘pillow-end’ of the bed. It’s not easy getting her on the bed by her ankles so I put them down and walk around to the top end of her body and take her under the arms again. A quick breather but I lift her off the floor and slump her onto the bed, face down. Her feet are still hanging off the bed so I take her by the ankles again and move them over so that they too are resting on the bed. In this position it’s easy to unzip the zipper on the back of her dress. All I have to do now is roll her over.

When I first got a girlfriend in this position I thought that I had done all the hard work by this stage but I was proven wrong when I tried to turn them onto their back. I tried, unsuccessfully, to roll her by reaching over her body and grabbing her far arm and pulling it towards me. At the time I wasn’t sure about the timings of the drug that I had used and was in a hurry so put quite a lot of effort into rolling the sleeping stranger. The end result saw them drop off the bed, onto the floor. That particular girl didn’t wake up in the morning for I noticed that she had landed awkwardly and her arm was at a funny angle. I couldn’t exactly take her to the hospital so I did the only thing that I could. I put her out of her misery.

She was the first lady to take up residence in my garage.

It was different now. Now I knew to roll the girl carefully and that’s exactly what I did with this new lady. I rolled her carefully onto her back so she didn’t suffocate in her sleep. In this position she looks completely natural, a sleeping beauty.

The home straight now, she just needs a change of clothes.

I move to the foot of the bed and reach towards her, taking hold of the bottom of her dress. A careful tug and it easily slides off her body, revealing her matching underwear. Now is not the time to get an erection and yet that’s what happens. Every time. I’ll worry about that later, if I have the time. If I have the energy!

The panties, although enticing, smell of urine. I presume she must have wet herself earlier and I simply hadn’t noticed. I can’t leave it like that. It’s not fair on her. She’ll feel extra self-conscious when she wakes up. Tomorrow is the first time that we’ll meet properly and she’ll feel uneasy about that anyway. Even more so if she knows that she smells of piss.

In the cupboard is a small bag that I have prepared for, complete with make-up remover, wet wipes, and other make-up goods that women would appreciate having close to hand. I pull out the wet wipes and ease her underwear off.

She could do with a trim.

Her vagina looks perfect. It doesn’t smell perfect but it definitely looks perfect. I can almost sense how snug it will be when I finally penetrate it. My erection is starting to hurt. Control yourself. Now isn’t the time. I shake the lewd thoughts from my diseased mind and pull a wet wipe from the packet.

Holding the wet wipe across my fingers I carefully wipe down her vagina, my middle finger sliding down her slit. It feels so fucking good. The temptation is unbearable but I mustn’t betray her trust. Another wipe downward, starting at the top of her vagina and sliding towards her anus. That’s enough. It will do. She can have a proper wash tomorrow. Get her pyjamas on; the pink set with the cartoon mouse will do.

Sliding the trouser bottoms on is easier than the top as I always struggle getting her head through the hole but I eventually manage it. I can’t wait for her to be able to dress herself. It’s so time consuming but, once I’ve got the handcuffs on and the restraints around her ankles, she’s ready for bed.

So am I.

A quick look around the room tells me that everything is okay in here. A peek behind the curtain shows that the bricks in the window place have set well. I’ve done a good job. Close the curtains again. The bricks, although needed, look ugly and may cause alarm if she seems them in the morning. There’s no need to cause additional alarm.

Everything else, in this room, is as it should be and I leave the room, closing the door behind me. The spare room is one of very few rooms that are lockable in the house. I keep the kitchen locked so she doesn’t get near the food. We’re on strict rations. The computer room is locked so she can’t access the Internet where I pay the bills with the savings in my online bank account. She also can’t access the pornography that’s hidden deep within my system files as a precaution for the times ahead where we don’t get to have sex. I’ve thought of everything. Even if she does get into the room, the computer is password protected with a fifteen-digit number, completely random. The rest of the rooms are completely open to her. Once she has my trust.

I walk away from the door of the spare room knowing that I have a couple of hours left before she wakes up and starts, I guess, screaming. She can scream as much as she wants. No one will hear her. I feel a different kind of excitement now; after the hard night ahead of me, tomorrow is our first day as a couple. Tomorrow I get to meet her properly. No more drugs.

Meeting Vanessa

“LET ME GO, YOU SICK FUCK!”

I open my eyes and wait for my vision to focus on what’s in front of me: my computer screen. The last thing I remember last night was finishing my jobs and coming online to check everything was set up correctly with regards to my finances and bill payments. I don’t remember dozing off and yet that’s exactly what I must have done. I wipe the yellow crust from my eyes and sit up in my leather chair. A little puddle of my saliva has spread on the desk, where I had been resting my head. My cheek still feels wet from sitting in it, oblivious. I have a nasty tendency to dribble in my sleep, which I find most embarrassing.

“HELLO? IS ANYONE THERE?”

I don’t know how long she has been awake for, let alone screaming at the top of her voice. It must be a while as she’s starting to sound a little croaky in the throat. She’ll have to scream a little while longer. The late night activities I had to finish last night have taken their toll on the clothes that I am wearing. Dry cement is stuck to the fabrics and my hands are coated in a white powder. Running my hands through my long, dark hair I can feel that I have ‘bedhead’. She can’t see me like this. I need to smarten myself.

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!”

She’s on the second monitor to the left of the computer screen, wide awake and struggling pathetically against the cuffs that hold her in place. I have time to wash; if that’s the best that she can do – she’s not going anywhere.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?”

Locking the computer room behind me, I head off down the landing towards the main bedroom – trying to be extra quiet so as not to give her any clues that I am only a few feet away. I don’t want to talk to her until I have made myself look better. First impressions, I find, are very important. Although, technically, this won’t be her ‘first impression’ of me, it will be the first day of the rest of our lives together so I’m sure looking good is just as important as when we first met in the bank. On that occasion I had gone in wearing a black suit with a pink shirt.

I’m comfortable with my sexuality so I can get away with wearing pink. Most men can’t pull it off. I’m not like most men.

“HELLO? ANYONE?”

The main bedroom has been divided into a side for her things and a side for mine. Currently there are few things on her side as they are all in the spare room. When we both feel the connection we’ll spend a day, together, moving her things into the main room – a very important step in our blossoming relationship. I long for that day and all that it brings.

“SOMEONE HELP ME, PLEASE!” I hope her voice gives in soon.

I kick my trousers off and into the corner of the room, where there is small wash bin, and fling my shirt over soon after. Standing in my blank boxers, I walk over to my cupboard and open it up to reveal identical clothes all hanging in a row.

I’ve never been one for shopping and different styles so I’ve always found myself to be a bulk buyer. Having nothing but the same clothes certainly saves time in the morning too. Where some people are stuck for ‘what to wear’, I simply grab any of the clothes from my cupboard. The trousers are to the left and the shirts are hanging to the right. Some people might say they’d get bored wearing the same thing on a daily basis but I get bored with the idea of having to wear different things on a daily basis. I like my black shirts and black trousers. On formal occasions you can tuck the shirt in and on casual occasions you simply untuck it. Black suits all occasions.

After I’ve pulled on a new pair of trousers and buttoned up a new black shirt, I walk over to the bedside cabinet on my side and open the drawer to find a new pack of wet wipes. A quick rub down, over my hands, soon dispenses of the cement mix from the previous night. The used wet wipe, I simply put in my pocket as I reach back into the drawer to pull out a hairbrush.

Always a parting to the side, it makes me look like Clark Kent if he were to have slightly longer hair.

Nailed to the wall, by the bedroom door, is a full-length mirror. I check my reflection and agree with myself that I am ready to see her again. Perhaps I should undo the restraints and leave her in the room for five minutes, so she too can get herself prepared for me? Nah. Forget that. I’m too impatient. I can’t wait for this.

“PLEASE! IS THERE ANYONE OUT THERE?”

“I’m coming,” I call out to her; let her know that I’m here and coming for her. Coming for the love of my life. This is going to be another one of those Kodak moments.

“WHO ARE YOU? WANT DO YOU WANT?”

If she’d just wait a few more minutes, we’d be in the same room and she wouldn’t have to shout – but that’s a woman for you. No patience.

“FUCK OFF! GET AWAY FROM ME!”

She’s shouting at me through the door whilst I turn the key in the keyhole, to unlock it and gain entrance. ‘Fuck off,’ she shouts and yet, a minute ago, she wanted me to go to her. I open the door anyway and stand there for a moment, looking at her as she looks back to me, still struggling in her restraints. It’s the first time this morning that she’s remained silent, obviously unsure of what I am going to do. I don’t want to ‘do’ anything other than get to know her and love her but she doesn’t know this yet.

I break the silence, “Hi.”

“Please let me go.”

“Do you remember me?”

“From the bank,” she replies.

I walk over to her and she backs away as far as the restraints allow her to. Why does she think I’m going to hurt her?

“Does your head hurt?” I ask.

“Yes.”

She looks scared and tired.

She has black bags under her eyes, heavier than the previous night, and red eyes from when she must have been crying this morning. I kneel on the floor and reach under the bed. She tries to pull away from me again and, again, she is stopped from getting further away by the restraints.

“Stop struggling. You’ll make your wrists sore,” I plead.

My pleas fall on deaf ears and she continues to struggle. I pull a small box from under the bed and put it on the mattress next to her. Opening it reveals a needle, some small vials of morphine and some tablets – all of which I have used, before now, to knock her out.

“These are what I’ve been using to keep you sedated...,” I explain.

“Please, just let me go...”

I ignore her, “This one is just for your headache and any other minor pains you may have.” I pull out another box, from under the bed, that holds a box of painkillers. “Here...,” I open the packaging and hold a pill to her mouth. She simply pulls away.

“Just take it, it’ll help your headache. Whilst it’s working I’ll go downstairs and prepare you some breakfast. Whatever you want.”

“I don’t want any more pills.”

Fair enough. I don’t want to force her. If she wants to live with the headache, it’s her choice.

“If you change your mind, you can just call down to me and I’ll come right back up,” I explain. “What would you like to eat for breakfast? You must be starving!”

“I want to go home.”

“You are home.”

“This isn’t my home.”

“No it’s not. It’s our home.”

“Please...”

I didn’t expect it to go this way. I thought, after agreeing that she could fall in love with me if we were the last two people, she’d be happy to see me. If anything, she seems scared of me.

“You have to eat. You haven’t eaten for a couple of days now, you must get your energy levels up,” I continued despite her asking to go to her old home. There was no chance I was letting her go now. The wheels were set into motion last night, when she said that she could fall in love with me. If it were a lie, then it will make the coming days.... Interesting. “What do you fancy eating?” I ask again.

She’s crying now, “I’m not hungry. I just want to go home.” The record has broken again.

“You are hungry. You must eat. If you don’t choose something, I’ll choose it for you. I want your first meal to be special. Our first breakfast together.”

“I don’t even know you, please, just let me go home. I won’t tell anyone.”

I’m getting angrier now. This isn’t going right at all. “You are home,” I said. Great, now I’m starting to sound like the broken record. “You will know me, in time. In time you could love me. You said that yourself yesterday,” I carried on.

“I didn’t want to make you angry. You said I could go home if I answered the question,” she explained.

“You said ‘yes’. By saying ‘yes’ you made this home your new home.”

I don’t believe this. The others just said ‘no’ when I asked the question so I let them go. Admittedly I didn’t let them go in the way they thought I meant, but I did let them out of the house – and into the garage. Well, this woman doesn’t have a choice now. She’s stuck with me. She said ‘yes’ and that’s that. There is no way back now. Not for either of us. Even if I there was a way back, I wouldn’t want to take it – I’ve grown to like her already. I just hope that, in time, she’ll get to like me too. Eventually love me.

“I’ll get you your breakfast,” I said. Even if she didn’t want the food, I couldn’t carry on with this conversation now. I’ll give her time to think things through whilst I get her some cornflakes. Maybe, by the time I get back upstairs, she’d see things differently. If not, I could always drug her and try again tomorrow.

“Wait, where are you going? Please, just let me go!” she screamed after me as I left the room again. I didn’t close the door behind me. There was no need to – she was still bound to the bed.

The door to the kitchen only just opened without hitting any food. I had divided the room into different food groups. There were vegetables, different kinds of meat (and the human variety in the garage that will do when we are desperate) and fruits from all over the world. Well, I say the fruits are from all over the world but, in actual fact, they are from ASDA. I just meant that you’d normally find them in different parts of the world. There was also a section of the room dedicated to sweet things, my personal favourite part of the room.

I meant for us to share a special breakfast today but, as she’s not in the mood, I just poured a bowl of cornflakes out for her. I didn’t even use the special brand – I stuck to the supermarket’s own. She hasn’t earned the named brand yet. Whatever she doesn’t eat, I’ll just pour back into the carton later. Waste not – want not.

I put the plastic bowl of cornflakes onto a tray, ready to take upstairs. I’m not putting milk on them. She’s not going to eat it so there’s no point. I’ll just pour a little water on top of them to help make them soggy, if she chooses to eat them. If.

I wanted a special meal for us today and she fucked that but in one area, I wasn’t about to compromise. For the first few days, I had some fresh flowers prepared and, with each meal, I’d place a single flower on the tray. I placed the first red rose on the tray, alongside the cornflake and a paper cup of water. Breakfast was ready.

False Start

“LET ME OUT, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!”

I have to confess, it wasn’t the welcome I was hoping for as I returned to the spare room, carrying her breakfast. I smiled at her anyway.

“I hope cornflakes are okay,” I said. “If you want something else though, just let me know and I’ll get it for you.”

A generous offer, I thought.

“I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I WANT! I WANT YOU TO LET ME OUT OF HERE!” she screamed.

Why do women always have to scream to get their point across? It’s not as though shouting makes something correct.

I sat on the bed, next to where she lay.

“If I free one of your wrists, are you going to be a good girl?” I asked.

My answer was a small dollop of spit directly in the face. It hit me above my top lip, under my nostril. Morning breath. I’ll have to get her some toothpaste soon to fix that. There’s no way I want to be kissing her with breath like that.

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!”

I felt myself fill with rage. On one hand I had to commend her as the distance she achieved, with her venom, was impressive but, on the other hand, it wasn’t ladylike. I didn’t want my partner to behave like this.

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!” she screamed again, as if I didn’t hear her the first time.

I looked her in the eyes. She spat at me; this little cunt, the love of my fucking life, spat at me. Without a second thought I returned the compliment and spat on her right cheek where, on impact, it began trickling down her skin towards the flimsy pillow.

“I think it’s time you and I had a little fucking chat, honey,” I said.

I need to calm down. I can feel the anger inside of me starting to bubble to the surface.

She’d pushed me too far.

I don’t like myself when I get like this, and yet, I can’t help it.

I wasn’t planning to have this chat until I had got to know her a little better as, this chat, it wasn’t the best of icebreakers. The anger spilling over my usual, calm persona dictated to me that I had to have the chat now.

“I’m sorry, I’m just scared, and I’ll do what you want.”

Can she see the anger in my eyes or is she just saying what she thinks I want to hear? Who knows? I can’t be sure so I spit in her face again, another small puddle of saliva to add to the other one that still sticks to her cheek. She starts crying harder than she’s cried before and tries to move her head to the side to wipe the spit on the pillow but can’t quite get the angle.

“Please....”

I spit again. This time it lands on the other cheek. I have her attention now.

“Listen to me and listen carefully,” I said. I must calm down. I can’t. “Last night you said you could love me given time...”

“I’m sorry,” she tried interrupting me again.

I spit again, another patch of spit, this time on her forehead. She’s looking pretty stupid now. She drops her sentence and continues to cry.

“You said you could love me. If you couldn’t love me in time, you should have said and we wouldn’t be in this position. You wouldn’t be here. But you lied to me. You fucking lied to me. You caused us to be in this awkward situation and there’s no turning back now...”

She looks as though she is about to say something. I flex my mouth muscles and produce more saliva – ready to cut her off mid-sentence again. She doesn’t speak.

“This is your home now, with me. There is no leaving. Do you understand me?” I think I’m making enough sense and speaking the Queen’s proper English. If she doesn’t understand, she’s a retard.

“Yes.”

“If you have any questions, now is the time to get them in the open.”

“When can I go home?”

I sigh.

She doesn’t understand. More spit might help. My mouth feels dry now but I manage to produce another small load for her.

“THIS IS YOUR HOME!” It’s rare for me to shout. I don’t like it when anyone shouts, even me. I like everything to be calm and quiet. Even background noise, no matter how slight, annoys me.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

“Is there anything else?” I ask, hoping that the answer is ‘no’.

“If this is my home, why do I have to be kept tied to a bed?”

Ah-ha. A sensible question! I won’t spit at her. “There are rules to living with me. All the time there is no trust, or connection, you still stay in this room. As the trust and bond grows between us I will slowly let you out of your restraints, one pair at a time, until you are free to go about the house, by yourself. When you start loving me, as much as I love you – we’ll move your belongings into the main bedroom with mine and we’ll start sharing a bed. Once we get through this initial rough patch, I’m sure you’ll see that I’ve tried to do the best for you.”

“What about my parents? They’ll be wondering where I am. They’ll look for me.”

“There is no one else, it’s just you and me. No outside influences to ruin our love for one another.”

“But I miss them.”

“In time, you won’t. You have me to look after you.”

I can feel myself calming down now and reach for a wet wipe to clean her face. She doesn’t say anything but, by the look in her eyes, I can tell she’s grateful. Perhaps I should apologise?

“I’m sorry,” I said, “it’s just that I’ve gone to so much trouble for this and it’s all going wrong. Look, I got you a flower.” I show her the rose from the breakfast tray but she doesn’t acknowledge it. Waving the flower in front of her eyes also gets no reaction. “You’re tired, I’ll leave you alone for a couple of hours, let you gather your thoughts.”

Nearly forgot something. “Before I go,” I asked, “what’s your first name?”

She still doesn’t look at me but answers, “Vanessa.”

Vanessa. I like that. It’s a pretty name that suits her well.

“Well, Vanessa, if you need anything just give me a shout,” I say as I turn and leave the room, closing the door behind me. I’ll watch her from the computer room – make sure she’s okay.

As I returned to the computer room where I could continue to monitor her from the CCTV cameras, I couldn’t help but feel that today had set our relationship back significantly. I wanted everything to be special today but now I just wished that I could turn the clock back and start again, pretend as though the day never happened.

I sit down and watch her on the monitor. She’s staring ahead, at the wall, not blinking and not moving. I hope that she can forgive me of my outburst. I truly am ashamed of myself. I keep trying to reassure myself that everything will be fine. Just give her time. They do say that ‘time is a great healer’. I don’t know who ‘they’ are but I do hope that ‘they’ are right.

I did tell her that I’d leave her alone for a couple of hours but I think that, maybe, half an hour should be enough time before I check on her again. I don’t like leaving her by herself. I just want to make everything right.

When you find yourself sitting and just watching, half an hour seems like a lifetime ticking away. What feels like twenty minutes is, in reality, a mere two minutes of passed time. I can feel myself getting tense as she continues to just lie there – not that she has much choice being bound to the bed in such a manner. I like the quiet and yet this quiet is disturbing to me. I can’t tell whether she is okay or whether she wants anything. It’s as though she’s just shut down. Given up. Have I not offered her enough? I’ve given her a home to live in, food to eat, water to drink and, most importantly, my heart and yet she returns nothing.

I think I’ve broken her.

“How are you feeling?” I tentatively ask as I return to the spare room. “I got you some fresh water,” I continue, not giving her a chance to answer, not giving her a chance to shout or swear at me.

It’s been twenty-three minutes since I left her staring blankly at the wall. I couldn’t wait any longer to see her. Make sure she is okay.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“What?” Why was she apologising to me? I mean, sure, she made the first day awkward between us and got me more angry than what I like to get but I was the one that went too far.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Perhaps we could work as a couple, after all?

“You’ve obviously gone to a lot of trouble and I didn’t mean to ruin things for you,” she continued. “Thank you for my flower, it’s lovely.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.”

“I do.”

‘I do’: the two words I’d love to hear the most from her mouth but in a different context.

“Maybe we could just forget about earlier,” she carried on.

That sounded like a good idea to me. We could have the first day all over again; do all the things that I wanted to do.

“And I’m sorry but I need to go to the toilet.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Sorry.”

I like the ‘new’ Vanessa. She’s more obedient and I can sense that she’s going to be a pleasure to talk to, unlike before when she was shouting and cursing – two traits that I despise in women. The keys to the different cuffs are hanging on a long necklace that I keep around my neck with the keys to the lockable rooms of the house. They can be annoying, with the cold metal against my bare skin, but it’s the safest place for them to be. I can’t have her getting hold of the keys before the trust is in place – after that, it won’t matter although it’s still not ideal. Better than that though, I can’t lose the keys this way.

I take the left hand restraint off first and her immediate reaction is to swirl her wrist around, getting the blood to circulate again, before wiping her face where I shamed myself earlier. She smiles at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile at me since I pulled her from her workplace where she had to smile at me as part of her job role. You can’t give good customer service by frowning at customers, although many a shop assistant seem to forget this.

I leave the right hand bound to the headboard temporarily whilst I undo the restraints keeping her legs held down. With the cuffs no longer in place she bends her knees up, clicking them in the process. Maybe she needs more manoeuvrability in the chains to allow her to bend her knees up? I don’t want her to be uncomfortable. Sure, things are looking promising now but she is a long way of gaining my trust. Unfortunately. Even without a proper wash for a few days, she still looks hot. If anything, the ‘sleepy look’ makes her look cuter.

I move up to her right hand and she’s still smiling at me. She’s trying too hard now and I feel like something’s not right, “Remember, as soon as I trust you completely, you won’t need to go back into the restraints. You can have free roam of the house.” Perhaps by telling her this it will put any silly ideas out of her head.

I undo the last restraint. She doesn’t move.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

I’m pleased and excited that she hasn’t tried to run. Not that she can run anywhere. I lead her out of the spare room and onto the landing, passing the computer room with its locked door and the main bedroom that looks one hundred percent comfier than the room she is currently used to. She looks in and sees the large, double bed and posh duvet set, another reason to behave and do her part to get the trust into our relationship.

The bathroom is at the far end of the landing, with the door closed. I open the door for her and point the way inside, “Feel free to have a wash too, if you’d like, there’s a towel hanging on the side.” I’m hoping she’ll go for the wash as well as the toilet break. The days in bed have taken their toll on her hygiene.

“Thank you.” She walks in and I close the door behind her safe in the knowledge that she can’t go anywhere, or do anything, that I don’t want her to. She’s mine. I sit on the floor, to the side of the door, and wait. Hopefully she won’t be long.

Play The Game

I don’t know who he is other than the fact that I saw him in the bank a couple of times. I’m scared and I want to go home to my mum and dad. The last thing I said to them was, ‘see you later’ and I don’t want that to be a lie.

I look around the bathroom: wooden floor, white toilet bowl with no lid to the cistern, white sink that’s marked from years of neglect, no towel rail; there’s a handful of clean towels on the floor, a medicine cabinet that reveals nothing but bars and bars of sealed-soap when I open it, a tatty bath that, even in my current unwashed state, doesn’t look appealing to use. I can’t find anything to hit him with, knock him out so I can escape.

I’ll jump out of the window instead; I’d rather die in the landing than stay here with him. I want my mum and dad. I pull back the curtain to let the light from the outside world spill in but there’s no light. The window is blocked up with bricks. My way out is blocked up with bricks. Fuck it.

“Are you okay in there?” his voice comes from right outside the door.

He’s waiting for me. I can’t get out that way either. “Vanessa?” he calls me again.

I’d best answer him. “I was just looking for the soap,” I lied.

A silly lie as there was only one place that it could be in this small room.

“It’s in the medicine cabinet. I told you, treat this house as your own, feel free to look around and explore things.”

But this house isn’t my own. I live with my mum and dad. I lived with my mum and dad until he jumped me in the car park. I remember now. I was leaving the nightclub earlier than my friends as I had an early start in the morning. I was walking to my car when I felt a hand around my mouth and something sharp digging in my skin. It was him. Forget about that now. It’s not important. Thank him for his generosity before he gets upset again. I mustn’t get him upset.

“Found it, thank you,” I called out.

“My pleasure.”

I run the bath water and sit on the toilet whilst I think of what to do. I was stupid earlier for shouting at him and getting him angry. My best chance of escape is to be able to walk around the house without him constantly following me with the chains in his hand. The only way I can do that is get the trust up between us.

‘Play the game’.

The bath water feels warm enough now and I take my clothes off.

What the fuck am I wearing anyway? It doesn’t even look like Minnie Mouse on these pyjamas. Standing, naked, I hope he doesn’t come in. Is he even there still?

“So what did you want to do today?” He’s still there. “I’ve got some board games, a handful of books to read or we could just talk together,” he continues. Board games? He does know I’m twenty-nine years old, doesn’t he? I wonder what sort of books a madman stocks in his home. The more I think about it, the only way we can build trust up is to talk. Perhaps I can find out why he is doing this to me, if I know the motive I may be able to help him find another way to deal with it.

“We can just talk, if you want,” I call out to him.

The bath water feels nice against my skin. I ache all over from being cuffed to the bed for so long. I close my eyes and try to go to a ‘Happy Place’. Is he going to expect sex once he believes there is trust between us? I don’t know if I can go through with that. He’s thin, like a walking skeleton. The thought of him being inside me repulses me. Has he been inside me?

So much for finding my ‘Happy Place’!

‘Worry about that if it comes down to it,’ I think to myself. I’m hoping I’ll find another way to get out of here before that. I don’t know how long it will be before he thinks I trust him but, whatever timeframe that is, I want to be out of here sooner, a lot sooner.

Despite being up to my neck in warm water, a cold shiver runs down my back as I think of him touching me and wondering whether he took things further when I was unconscious. He talks of trust like it’s one of the most important things to him but how can I trust someone that knocks me out cold whenever he chooses.

I can’t hear him outside the door anymore. Is he still there?

“Hello?” I call out quietly enough for him to be able to hear me if he is there but not so that he’d hear me if he was somewhere else in the house. There’s no response. “Hello?” I say again.

He’s gone. This is it, Vanessa, get your act together. Get out of the bath and just run down the stairs to the front door. Run as fast as you can. I climb from the bath as quietly as I possibly can so as not to disturb the water too much, the water that will betray my motives if heard. Once out, I call out for him again, “Hello?” but, again, nothing. This is it. My heart is beating hard and fast now as adrenalin rushes through my tired veins. Leave the towel, it’ll only slow you down, just open the door and sneak down the stairs. If he’s in one of the bedrooms, just try and outrun him.

The door opens surprisingly quietly despite the old house. I thought it would have made more of a creak but, thankfully, there’s nothing. Not a peep. The landing stretches out in front of me. He’s not here. I listen out. I can’t hear him.

I stretch my head around the top of the stairs. The front door is just a few feet in front of the bottom step. If I’m quick, I can make it. My first foot goes on the top step, a slight creak. He couldn’t have heard that, I only just heard it. My right foot follows, another slight creak that’s only just audible to me. I can make it. I can hear my heart beating loudly. I wonder, can he?

Another quick check of the doorways upstairs, make sure he hasn’t seen me. He’s not there. Clear passage. Home and dry. The next step, watch where I’m going, I don’t want to trip.

“Where are you going?”

Fuck. My heart skips a beat. I was so busy looking across the landing for him I didn’t realise that he was standing at the foot of the stairs, between the door and me.

“I said, where are you going?”

He’s holding a cup of tea. Use it for my excuse. “I was looking for you, I was wondering if you could get me a hot drink.” A beat. He’s staring at my body as the water drips from my naked skin. “It looks like you read my mind.” I continue gesturing towards the cup of tea, hoping to distract him from my true intentions and from my naked body.

“Erm, yes. Yes, I made you a cup of tea,” he stammers. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d want sugar.”

Use my sexuality.

“No, thanks, I’m sweet enough.”

He smiles, “So I can see.”

A smile from a monster doesn’t have the same reaction as when you receive a smile from a true friend and, for a second time, a shiver runs down by back. Get a towel. Cover up.

I take the necessary steps back into the bathroom and close the door behind me before wrapping myself in one of the provided towels. My heart is still beating hard. I’m disappointed with myself; I was so close and yet, if anything, I’ve gone back a step in the trust department.

A knock at the door distracts me from my thoughts. “Where did you want your cup of tea?” A hard question to answer as I don’t know what options I have with regards to rooms in which to drink it, “Downstairs?”

“Okay, the spare room it is.”

Obviously ‘downstairs’ isn’t open to me yet. I should go out and face him but I’m scared to see his reaction. Did my excuse work? Was the sight of my naked body enough to distract him? Regardless, I can’t stay in here – as much as I want to.

When I open the door he’s stood directly in front of me. Upon sight of me, he looks my body up and down. His smile fades from his face, “I like your towel.”

Fuck.

Show Time

He’s allowed my feet to be free, this time around, as I lie on the bed. My left hand is also free, my right hand being the only thing that binds me to this god-forsaken bed. I wonder whether it would be a different scenario had I not left the bathroom without his prior knowledge. The cup of tea sits on a rickety table to the left of me – in easy reach when I feel the need for it. I’m still not thirsty though. My nerves are all over the place and suppressing my hunger and thirst.

“You aren’t thirsty?” he asks from the corner of the room, where he sits upon a chair that looks as though it’s bolted to the floor.

“It’s too hot at the moment,” I lie.

Silence again. I suggested that we talked together but I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to upset him and I don’t want him reading me, my true intentions – looking for a way out. He’s looking at my body still, not so much my face. Before cuffing me down he allowed me to put some knickers on, but only knickers. Now he just sat there, saying nothing, his eyes raping me as they had done when he stood at the foot of the stairs.

“So what did you want to talk about?” he asked.

I don’t know. Think. Don’t upset him. Small talk. Pretend you’ve only just met him and you’re in a coffee bar or somewhere similar. You’re just two ordinary people meeting for the first time over an over-priced cappuccino.

“What’s your name?” I ask, the first logical question.

“You know my name.”

“Mr Jenkins. I know your surname. What’s your first name?”

“Peter.”

“I like that. It suits you.”

My ex was called Peter. He was a psycho too. He smiles, unaware that I’ve just insulted him.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

The smile fades from his face again.

Conversation was already starting to dry up. The situation I found myself in left me feeling awkward and unsure of what to ask next. He keeps glancing at the tea. Is it a problem that I haven’t touched it yet? I pick it up and take a sip.

The smile returns to his face.

“It’s nice, thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

It’s not nice. It needs sugar. I don’t say anything, I’m just thankful it’s not drugged.

“What did you want for dinner, this evening?” he asks.

I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to be there ‘this evening’. I was still trying to figure a way out of this predicament.

“I don’t mind, you pick. It’s more romantic.”

He looks puzzled. Was that pushing it too far? In some films I’ve seen, the men ordered the food for the ladies when they frequented fine restaurants. I guess he hasn’t seen the same films as me, his film choice probably not straying too far from ‘The Texas Chainsaw

Massacre’.

“Do you like tuna?” he asked.

Not really, but I don’t care. I won’t be here this evening, as I keep telling myself.

“Sure.”

“I’ll make some Tuna steaks with some potatoes, if you’d like.”

“That sounds lovely,” I lied once more. Once more, we were back to silence. ‘He doesn’t trust me as it is, so why am I so scared of asking the wrong questions,’ I thought to myself, ‘just ask him.’

“Why me?” I asked.

“What?”

“Why me? Out of everyone you meet in your life, why did you choose me to be your girlfriend?” A question I thought deserved an answer. Perhaps I could convince him that he doesn’t need to keep me prisoner to be his partner. I might be able to convince him that our relationship would blossom even if I were allowed back to work.... Back to my mum and dad.

“You were the only one to say ‘yes’,” came his reply.

Who said ‘romance was dead’?

“There’ve been other ladies?” I asked.

“A few.”

“How many is ‘a few’?”

“Just because there were more before you, it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.”

I ignored him, how many other women did he put through this?

“How many?” I repeated.

“Fourteen.”

“I’m the fourteenth?”

“No.”

“I’m the fifteenth?” I couldn’t believe it. Fourteen other women had been subjected to the same treatment, “What happened to them?”

“They said they couldn’t love me.”

“So what happened to them?” I repeated again. He seems subdued.

“I let them go.”

He let them go? Had I sealed my own fate by saying that I could love him? If I had said ‘no’, would he have let me go as well? I can’t tell from his facial expression, or body language, whether he’s telling the truth.

“If you didn’t think that you could love me, why did you say that you could, in time?” he asked.

“Because I was scared that you might have hurt me.” There was no need to lie, after all, that’s what I felt at the time. I still don’t know what he truly wants. He doesn’t answer back.

“Do you still think that?” he continues, still showing no emotion to give himself away.

“I don’t know.” I said but ‘yes’ I do still think that he may hurt me. Let’s face it, he did drug me and kidnap me in the first place! I pushed him further, “What do you want from me?”

He looked away from me, the first time since restraining me on the bed again, “I just want you to love me.”

“And you think this is the best way?”

“We’re just getting to know each other. In time, you could love me. If there is no one else to put their points across or interfere in other ways, you could get to love me.”

And there was the problem that I needed to work on. He was scared that, in the real world, because of other people – I’d stop loving him, if we were a real couple.

“With just the two of us, our love will continue to grow. Until death us do part,” he went on.

I didn’t like the sound of ‘until death us do part’ and I had news for him that I’ll keep to myself for now but it’s not ‘until death us do part’ – it’s ‘until tonight us do part’. I smile at him – a fake smile to try and show him that I understand where he’s coming from, “I’ve been hurt in the past before too.” I haven’t. In the past, with old boyfriends, it’s always been me that leaves them for whatever reason. This ‘boyfriend’ is going to be the same. I’ll be leaving him.

With no warning he suddenly stood up. A look on his face that suggests perhaps he has given away a little more than he planned to, “I’ve got some things to sort out before I prepare dinner. If you need anything, give me a shout.” He turned and walked from the room, closing the door behind him, leaving me alone again. Leaving me with my feet and left hand free.

I think back to what I said that caused the ‘run’ reaction. I’ll keep working on that angle if I can’t get out tonight. If he isn’t comfortable in the same room as me, perhaps he’ll release me. Let me go, like the other girls. What’s that noise – a whirring noise from the ceiling? I look up and see a small camera – he’s watching me?

The camera is non-moving so I presume the whirring noise it’s making is the zoom function. He’s run from me due to possible embarrassment and yet he can’t help but to watch me. For the first time since being in this house, I feel I have the upper hand. If he wants to watch, I’ll give him a show.

‘Given the circumstances, I’ll have to fake it,’ I think to myself as I stare into the camera, stroking my breast with my free hand – trying to get the nipple to stand out. I moan out loud in ‘pleasure’ as I touch myself up, licking my lips and hoping that the camera picks up audio.

I’m disgusted with myself but I can’t help but hope he’s sat at the monitor, touching himself. If I can make him cum from a private show, he may believe that I am starting to like him, “I hope you like what you see.”

The thought of him rubbing himself slowly, as I caress my breasts in turn, repulses me but I need to continue. I need to strengthen an imaginary bond between us so I can get access to the rest of the house, “My way of saying ‘thank you’ for not restraining me completely,” I say to the camera. I slowly stroke my fingertips downwards towards my dry pussy.

I’m going to have to close my eyes, try and take myself somewhere completely different if I am to stand any chance of getting wet enough to slide a finger deep inside of myself without it hurting. ‘Just keep up with the fake moans, look as though I’m enjoying myself,’ I think to myself as I circle my clitoris through my underwear.

The door opening shatters my deep concentration and I open my eyes to see him standing in the doorway, a look of lust in his eyes. I carry on running my finger up and down my slit as he approaches me, taking his top off and dropping it to the floor. I push my index finger inside of me and let out a loud sigh, staring him directly in his eyes. I have him exactly where I want him. He crouches over the bed and extends his hand to touch me.

“Wait,” I tell him as I pull away from myself.

“What?”

“I’m not ready for that yet. I just wanted to give you a private show – a thank you for not restraining me completely.” He looks flustered, a bulge in his trousers shows me that he wants more than a private show but that’s all I’m offering. If he wants more he’ll have to force it and that will destroy everything he wants to get from me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to get the wrong impression,” I say, trying to sound sincere.

He stands in silence for a while looking at my breasts, my erect nipples, before looking me in the eye and saying, “I just came to let you know I’m putting the dinner on.”

He turned and walked from the room – the door slamming behind him.

I win. I like having the upper hand. By tonight, I’ll be out of here.

Tuna Steak

She thinks she’s been clever but she’s been far from. When she was in the bathroom looking for a weapon, or a way out, I knew what she was doing. Every room has CCTV – even the bathroom. The show in the spare bedroom – a desperate attempt by her to try and convince me that she’s starting to fall for me or, at the very least, please me. I’ll play along for now. Just give her enough rope to hang herself. Maybe, in time, she’ll stop trying to play games with me and things will progress in the direction that I want them to. At the moment though, she’s amusing to watch – a broken character trying to get her strength back.

Is this really the girl that I chose above the others?

She’s not saying anything at the moment, as she sits opposite me at the dinner table. I’ve gone to so much trouble to make things look romantic and she hasn’t even commented on that. Sometimes, I don’t know why I bother.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she says. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Ooh. Here we go again. I best turn my vulnerable side on again.

“No, I’m sorry,” I said, acting all coy and embarrassed. I’m not sorry in the slightest. I enjoyed my show. Hell, I was even tempted to finish it but I knew that would ruin my chances with her in the long run.

“I just wanted to show you how grateful I was for being allowed to stay out of restraints back in the bedroom.” She’s pathetic. She’s gone from upset, to angry, to upset, to shock, to sexual predator in the space of a day and she expects me to believe it. She gives me another fake smile. A smile filled with fake sympathy. Fuck her. I just want to see how far she’s going to go and what her end game is. If the end game is ‘escape’, she’s in for a shock.

“If that’s the thanks I get,” I said, “maybe I’ll leave you in that position again tonight.” Of course I won’t. I can see where this evening is going already. The needle is primed, under the table – ready to use as a last resort. I’m hoping she is going to come to her senses.

“Dinner looks nice,” she says changing the conversation at last.

“Thank you, hopefully you’ll like the taste too.” I don’t care whether she likes the taste or not. I’m just hoping that she eats it. I’m losing count of the amount of meals that I’ve had to bin. “I’ve got strawberries for pudding, if you’d like.”

“Sounds great.”

She takes a mouthful of potato.

Hallelujah! It’s not a complete waste.

“Listen, could we just forget about earlier on?” She’s back to that again.

I crack a joke, “What happened earlier on?”

“You know...” The joke washes over her head.

“Sure.”

I’ve spat at her repeatedly and she masturbated in front of me. It’s been a strange first day.

She looks towards the curtains that hide the window – or, at the very least, hide where the window has been blocked up with bricks.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “the darkness in here is giving me a headache. Do you think we could open the curtain and let some light in?”

“No.”

A simple answer that I thought would answer the question for her.

“Is it blocked like the one in the bathroom?”

She looks at me. Did she really want me to know that she was looking for a way out when I let her have a bath?

“I wasn’t aware that you checked. You didn’t say anything.”

I knew that she checked. I just wasn’t aware that she wanted me knowing she did.

“I was trying to get some fresh air.”

Liar.

I know what you were trying to achieve – a way out. Come on. Think. There must be a way of turning this around. Stop it from heading towards failure. It’d be a waste of all the work and planning that I’ve put into this.

“So tell me about yourself,” I ask.

“Well my name is Vanessa and I’m being held against my will by a man that could have been perfect boyfriend material in the real world.” Clever bitch, “I’m in my twenties, hoping to see my thirties and still live with my mum and dad whilst I save up to get my own house, that I’m very much looking forward to shopping for – with the right man.”

A clever answer: it contained enough facts to keep me happy and also a dig about being here against her will. A sly reference to me being the ‘perfect boyfriend material’ in the outside world was a great touch that seemed to flow from her with no effort. She’s definitely clever.

Not as clever as me.

“With all the horrible things happening in the outside world, surely it’s better to be sealed away from it. Nothing to stand between true loves, nothing to bring unnecessary hurt into your life, nothing to tear us apart. Just ‘true love’.” I show her that I hate the outside world and all that reside within. She just looks at me with a face that suggests she’s smelt something funny in the air. Perhaps she has – young Susie is on the other side of wall, in the garage, and the lemon air freshener must be wearing off by now.

A mental note to myself: spray the garage again. “I like the outside world,” she says. “I miss it.”

I cut her dead, not literally, not yet, “In time you won’t.”

“We’ll have to venture out together sooner or later, our grocery shopping.” She’s persistent, almost too persistent. There’s desperation in her voice at the thought of getting out to the outside world.

“We have enough food to last us, we’ll be fine.”

“But eventually...”

“We’ll be fine,” I reassure.

I lie.

In truth, eventually, we’ll run out of food and, with no way out of the house, in all likeliness – we’ll starve to death. When I sealed us in I made sure there was no way out. No way of breaking down the brick walls of this old house to let the outside world infect our relationship. Yes, we’ll eventually starve to death but we’ll do it lovingly, in each other’s arms - just the two of us.

“Well I’ll have to let my parents know, at some point, that I’m okay.”

I don’t answer back. I just look down and continue to eat my now-cold tuna steak. I don’t have the heart to tell her but her parents are currently looking after young Susie in the garage. I’m guessing the news won’t be great for our already fragile relationship.

I had been watching Vanessa for a while before I made my move. The first time I met her, at the bank, I didn’t even consider her to be girlfriend material as she had kept me waiting in line for so long and didn’t even apologise for the delay when she finally did serve me. I just thought, ‘that’s bad manners’.

It was the third trip to the bank, to transfer the last of my money into the one account, that I realised she was actually quite nice. She was certainly pretty. I put the first encounter down to her being hassled – either by customers or by her work colleagues. Whatever the reason, I forgave her.

Whenever I watched a potential girlfriend, I got to know her family too and I could see that Vanessa’s parents could have been a problem, as they seemed to be a very close family unit. On the second week I stopped watching Vanessa and concentrated on the parents – to learn their routine so I could, at a quiet time for them, meet up with them and explain my concerns about their role in my girlfriend’s, their daughter’s, life.

I’ve always found explaining things to be so much easier when the other party has been unconscious, dying or even dead. Sometimes, when people answer back, I can get flustered and fuck up what I’m about to say – losing the point that I am trying to make in the process.

In my head I can hear that I am rambling.

Although her parents both have a great deal of time for their daughter, I realised, when watching them, that they have very little time for each other. It was four nights before they left their smart home to do a trip together. Wednesday night.

To this day, I don’t know what is so special about Wednesday nights.

I followed their red, Mercedes estate car through the town and into the country – quiet country lanes that had the potential to be of use to me. After twenty minutes of steady driving through these roads they turned left onto what appeared to be a farmhouse. I didn’t follow, as that would be too suspicious. Instead I simply drove on up the road, hoping that there’d be a point where I could turn the car around further on up.

Turn the car around, drive back on myself, passed the farmhouse where their car still remained and a little further down the road where I could just stop in the middle of the road and put my hazards on. It was just a broken down car in the country – nothing strange or sinister about that. I’m just a poor stranger in need of some help. I just need to wait for the help to come.

Whatever Wednesday nights were about – it certainly wasn’t about getting home at a decent hour for an early morning start. The time had gone two in the morning by the time I saw a car’s headlights - a car, which turned out to be their Mercedes estate. Thank God.

I was too pumped up on adrenalin at that time to think about what I would have done if Vanessa’s parents hadn’t stopped to give me the help that, in actual fact, I didn’t need. Would I have had to chase them down and ram them from the road, leading to more ‘clean-up’ complications? Would I have had to abandon any thoughts of taking care of them and just hope that they wouldn’t come looking for their daughter? That wasn’t an option. A family that close, they would have looked. They wouldn’t have found her but I didn’t want the added pressure.

Thankfully, when I waved them down with a pathetic look on my face, her parents did pull over to the side of the road. At first the father got out to take a look under the bonnet and offer me the use of his mobile phone. When he didn’t return to his own car straight away the mother got out too. It’s amazing how much damage a metal bar makes to a human skull – even with a weak swing such as mine.

Their car was the perfect size to lay their bodies in, after I had put the back seats down and it was a far comfier drive to my home using the Mercedes than my clapped out old banger of a car. When I dumped the car in my garage and walked into the village to get a taxi, at four in the morning, I was almost dreading the same drive home, from where I left my car, having gotten used to the comfort that the Mercedes offered. By that time in the morning though, I was past caring and just sped along the country lanes as fast as I could – I knew Vanessa would be waking soon enough and I still had to finish cleaning up and running through the final checks.

A smile creeps onto my face as I cast my mind back to that night and take another bite of my tuna steak.

“What’s funny?” she asked.

“Nothing.” I couldn’t exactly tell her that the smell of her dead mother was what made me crave for a tuna steak.

She moved the conversation back, “You never said about me contacting my parents.”

I wonder if she believes in séances?

A New Day

Another day is about to start. I watch on the monitors as she stirs on the bed, twisting her body as much as the restraints allow. I don’t have a game plan for today. Truth be told, I thought she’d at least be out of the restraints by now, free to wander the house.

Had she been out of the restraints, today could have been used to give her the guided tour of her new home. Our home. Then we could have snuggled on the sofa sharing stories of our childhood.

Well, her childhood at least.

My childhood doesn’t exactly put people in the mood for sharing or romance. The bastard child of a whore, my earliest memories of watching my birth mother fuck another man on the bed. Who knows, perhaps this man was my real father?

As the years went on and I got older – I’d still be forced to watch and, if they paid enough, I was brought into their little games as well. Finally I got old enough to see sense and run away. Run as far as I could before turning back home. Where else was I supposed to go? I had no one else – not until social services got to hear about what was happening behind our closed doors and took me away from my mum. She didn’t care.

What my mum had with those men, that wasn’t love. What I have with Vanessa – that’s love. She doesn’t need to know about my past. I’ll make up a happier childhood for her to hear about when we come to share.

Her eyes are open now. A look of panic on her face as she realises where she is – the kind dreams the drugs awarded her obviously took her far, far away from here. From me. She isn’t ready to come out of the restraints yet.

Soon though, I hope.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she says as I walk into the room carrying a tray with some breakfast on it. “I didn’t mean to keep going on about my mum and dad, it’s just that I miss them.”

With the constant questions about her precious little mum and dad, I had no choice but to drug her again to shut her up. I didn’t want to but, perhaps, now she realises that line of questioning is a bit of a ‘no-no’.

“You know how much I miss them and we’ll leave it at that. Perhaps one day, when we have the trust you mention, you’ll permit me to get in touch with them,” she continues.

I smile at her as I un-cuff her wrists, leaving her ankles bound to the bed. A smile leaves her suggestion open – a possibility that I heard what she said and agree that, one day, I’ll let her make contact. There’s only one way she can see her mum and dad now, and I don’t think she’d like it.

“I understand why you injected me last night. I certainly didn’t want to upset you. You have to understand that this is all new to me and I’m just trying to get used to the situation. And you.”

Perhaps I am asking a lot of her. “Maybe next time you could just say whether I am annoying you,” she carries on. “I want to earn your trust but it’s impossible to do that unconscious. If you just say that I’m doing something wrong, give me a warning, I can try and stop. You’ll see that I can do as you ask.”

A good idea; I never give them a chance normally. I just get stuck in with the pills and needles as soon as they get out of line. I’ll start to give her the benefit of the doubt - a good starting point at getting the trust between us.

“Okay,” I say.

She smiles at me and picks up the flower that sits on the side of the breakfast tray, smells it and places it down again before tucking into her cereal. It’s the first time I’ve seen her eat properly since she has been here; another good sign.

“Are you not eating?” she asks.

“I’m not hungry. I rarely eat first thing in the morning.”

She looks around the walls for something, “What time is it?”

“Morning time,” I say. I feel stupid telling her that I forgot to put any clocks in the house – other than the small clock on the bottom of my computer screen. When I prepared the house I was only thinking about ‘love’ and ‘love’ is eternal. Time doesn’t come into ‘love’.

“We don’t have any clocks?” she asks.

“No.”

“Who needs clocks when you have love, right?” I’m starting to lose track of whether she is being genuine or not.

“Exactly.” I play along.

She swallows another mouthful of her cereal, “What are we going to do today?”

I’ll let her decide, I’ve planned enough. “What did you want to do?” I ask.

“You could show me around the house.”

No. Too soon - I still don’t know whether I can trust her yet.

I want to trust her; even with her bed-head she still looks hot. I sow the seed of a different idea into her clever mind, “Perhaps we could just talk today, and learn more about each other.” Learn more about her, at least.

“Okay, if that’s what you want,” she says.

She looks like she wants to say something else but stops herself.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She puts the tray and near-empty bowl on the bedside table and sits up, “I was wondering whether you could undo my ankles? If it makes you feel happier you can always lock the bedroom door but I won’t try anything. I promise.”

I look her in the eye. She looks sincere now. I believe her.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll undo your cuffs and take your tray downstairs. Give you some time to get changed into something from your wardrobe.”

She looks over to her wardrobe and sees the clothes all hanging there for her to choose from, “That’d be nice.”

“Do you want to go to the bathroom first?” I ask.

“Yes, please.”

I use the handcuff keys to free her swollen ankles and she immediately starts to rub them, “They’re sore.” I just smile at her, feeling a little bad that I put them on her for so long. Perhaps I should have just bound one wrist – it’s not like she can go anywhere anyway. Shake the ‘self-doubt’ from my mind. It’s her fault she’s not out of the cuffs yet.

“I’ll take you through to the bathroom.”

She stands up, her bones creaking back into place as she’s permitted the freedom to stretch again. “That feels so good,” she laughs. She leans forward and kisses me on the cheek, “Thank you.”

A nice surprise. “No problem,” I stutter.

I turn away from her, hiding my embarrassment. “This way,” and lead her through to the bathroom. I open the door and she goes in.

“I won’t be long.”

“Just go through to the bedroom, when you are done,” I say. I’m not going anywhere but, if she thinks I’ve gone downstairs, maybe she’ll try something again, like last time. She smiles at me and closes the door.

I wait. I can hear water running from within the room and I can hear her splashing around as though she’s having a wash. Perhaps she is. Another noise, a quiet humming. Is she singing to herself? I want to believe that she’s actually having a proper wash as opposed to just getting ready to run out on me – or try at least.

The humming has stopped now. I can’t hear anything other than the water running. This is it – the door is about to open. Here she comes – any minute now.

The door doesn’t open.

I press my ear against the door. She’s brushing her teeth. My heart starts to slow down again. Perhaps she can be trusted. I stand up just as the door opens revealing Vanessa with a towel wrapped around her, her pyjamas in her hands. She jumps when she sees me.

“Sorry, you scared me. I thought you had gone downstairs.”

I lie, “I was just on my way.”

She smiles at me; she knows I was waiting for her, “I presumed the pink toothbrush was mine.”

I smile back, “Yes.”

For the first time since she has been awake, I’m feeling excited. She didn’t try to run. She does want to be with me. A mental note to myself, don’t be so suspicious.

Progress

“What do you think?” Vanessa asks.

She’s pacing the bedroom, wearing a figure hugging blue dress that she chose from her wardrobe. It looks good. She looks good.

“I like it,” I reply.

Why wouldn’t I like it? If I didn’t like it then I wouldn’t have bought it for her in the first place.

She moves back over to the wardrobe and starts going through the clothes that I bought her again, like a little child in a toyshop.

“I’ve had relationships with men in the past who were seeing me for months and yet they still couldn’t get my size right. You’ve known me for days and yet you’ve got it spot on.” She pulls out the red PVC dress and holds it against herself, “Ooh la la.”

Tease. I can’t wait for her to want to wear that one. My heart sinks as she puts it back into the wardrobe, “I love them all.”

“Sit down with me, you’re making me tired with all your running around.” It’s nice to see her excited but I want her to sit with me. I want her to talk with me.

“Sorry, I just love the idea of having a complete new collection of clothes – what woman wouldn’t?” She sits with me.

“And shoes...”

“Shoes?”

“I’ve bought you lots of different shoes too.”

She smiles at me, “You really have thought of everything.”

“I like to think so.”

She looks at me expectantly, like I am supposed to say something, “Well, I’m sitting with you,” she says still waiting for me to tell her why, or do something. She’s slightly breathless from her previous excitement and pacing of the room, obviously not as fit as she could be, the heavy breathing causing her breasts to heave. Her lips opened ever so slightly as she breathes from her mouth. Her lips: so kissable. I shake the thought from my mind; she won’t thank me yet for a kiss. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

I realise that I’ve just been rudely staring at her; I smile a true smile of embarrassment and look away. “Nothing,” I lie. I want her. “I just thought we could talk together,” I stutter. “I don’t really know much about where you grew up or what your mum and dad were like.”

“What my mum and dad are like,” she corrects me. At least, she thinks that she corrects me. I know very well what they are like now – a little off-colour with grey, pappy skin and a foggy, dark mist sucking the colour from their lifeless eyes and a smell of tuna from her mother.

“I just don’t really know much about your past.”

“What do you want to know?” she asks as she starts to play with her hair, moving it out of her pretty eyes. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Tell me about your parents.” I kick start her in the right direction; let’s see what makes her parents so perfect that she can’t live without them.

“They aren’t my real parents.”

What?

“My real parents died before I got to know them. Keith and Lilly are my foster parents who have looked after me since I was two. I just like to think of them as my real mum and dad,” she smiles. “They’ve never made me want for anything, they’ve always been there for me and they’ve always loved me as though I were their real daughter.”

I feel something strange in the pit of my stomach. What is that? Is that guilt? No. I don’t feel guilt. It’s probably just wind.

“Every year we go away together, on a nice family holiday and, although I work hard at the bank, they never want my money or make me pay for anything. I try but they say it’s their right to be able to spoil their daughter.” Her eyes are starting to well up. I need to change the conversation before she starts crying. I can’t handle it when women cry. It frustrates me.

“My mother was a whore.”

There was probably a better way to turn the conversation around to stop any impending tears but it was the first thing that I thought of and I couldn’t help but blurt it out as my own mind betrayed me.

“What?” she wipes her eyes, also frustrated by the ‘welling up’.

“She used to make me sit and watch her when I was younger. Watch her fuck men. As I got older sometimes I was forced to join in.”

Shut up. Why am I telling her this? Just shut up.

“That’s terrible,” she states the obvious.

“If I put up a struggle, when the men raped me or played with me whilst my own mother took a strap-on to me, they’d take it in turns to whip me with a leather belt as I lay on the bed, tied down.”

I look at Vanessa’s bed. The restraints securely on the corners of the bed, ready for me to put Vanessa into them. Am I as bad as my mother? I need to be able to trust her. I need to be able to get rid of the restraints.

“So what did you do?” asked Vanessa with what appears to be a true look of concern on her face.

“Eventually, social services got wind of what was happening and took me away from it all. They put me with a new family. The owners of this old building.”

The two of us, sitting there, thinking about our foster parents – without realising it, when I chose Vanessa I was choosing a girl that already shared something in common with me.

“So where are they now?” she asks. I think she really is interested in me now.

“They’re dead. My foster dad died a few years back and my foster mum died early last year.”

I blink. Wet. My eyes are welling up. Jesus. Pull yourself together!

“I’m sorry,” she says as she leans over to me and embraces me in a warm, safe hug. I breathe her sweet scent in deep into my lungs. Coconut. After her wash this morning, she smells as good as she looks.

She pulls away from the embrace but stays inches away from my face, her eyes staring deep into mine. She closes her eyes and moves her face closer until I can feel the warmth of her breath close to my lips. I close my eyes.

A kiss. A peck on the lips. Another peck on the lips. My mouth slightly opens in response to hers and I feel her tongue enter my mouth as our lips lock together. My tongue strokes against hers as they explore each other. I like the taste of the Aquafresh toothpaste.

A few more seconds and she pulls away from me. I open my eyes whilst her eyes are still closed. A few more seconds and she slowly opens her eyes, as though she’s just come back from Heaven.

“I’m sorry,” she says licking her lips.

“Don’t be.” I smile at her.

“I don’t know what came over me.” I want to take things further but I know it’s not appropriate.

I’ll just wait for her to make the first move. I don’t want to ruin anything.

“I don’t think we need the restraints anymore,” I say. I trust her. That kiss felt real. That kiss felt nice.

She smiles and leans in for another kiss; just a peck on the cheek this time. I’ll take anything she offers.

“Thank you,” she says.

Thank you. Had I known that would have been my reward for sharing, I would have shared a long time ago.

Out Of The Comfort Zone

Eventually he went downstairs to prepare dinner for us. I thought he’d never leave me alone. I can still taste him. I can still feel his rough tongue on my tongue. I feel sick. I’m thankful to whatever God exists that he stopped there and didn’t try and take things further.

Forget about that though. I’m one step closer to freedom – one step closer to being with my mum and dad again. It’s been so long since I’ve been outside, I’m even starting to miss my job and that’s saying something!

He trusts me now. Not completely but at least it’s a step in the right direction again. I just can’t afford to take any steps backwards again. Keep out of those restraints. Get myself more time to wander around the house how I please without him following me every step of the way.

He’s left the bedroom door open. I won’t leave the room yet though. It’s too obvious – like he is inviting me to try and run again. Testing me. I won’t fall for it. I won’t undo all the good work I’ve already done. The thought of kissing him for nothing sends a cold shiver down my spine. Stop thinking about it – it’ll only make it harder if I have to kiss him again although I do hope to be out of here before that becomes a possibility.

I move off the bed, on which I am still sitting, and go back to the wardrobe, filled with clothes. So much blue and black, where is the variety? I dread to look at the shoes he has chosen. I half expect to find Dr Martins or Caterpillar boots – picked out in different colours to try and complement the hideous dresses he has purchased.

It’s a shame we can’t leave the house. We could have had a nice day in town, exchanging everything for clothes that are halfway decent. Ooh. I can hear him coming up the stairs. Quick, fake interest in the clothes again. Pretend not to hear him. Pretend that you weren’t listening out for his return.

“Dinner’s cooking.”

Great. I have to get out of here. I can’t live the rest of my life with the same boring routine. Wake up, breakfast, have a chat, dinner, have a chat, tea, have a chat, bed. I don’t see how he thinks this will work.

“Have you found a favourite yet?” He’s referring to the dresses that line the rack in front of where I am standing.

“I like them all. Maybe I’ll spend an afternoon trying them on if you are ever busy doing something else.” He may pretend to be busy, but I know he’ll just be in the other room watching me through the CCTV.

“Just let me know when and I’ll leave you to get on with it. Perhaps you could model the ones you like the best for me?”

“I’d already thought about that for you,” I lie.

The more I think about him watching me, eyeing my body up, the more it creeps me out. Even when he’s not in the same room, I know he’s close by – like a predator lying in wait.

There’s silence again. This keeps happening, a little small talk and then nothing. It’s uncomfortable and yet he just stands there with the same look on his face as though he’s judging me and sizing me up – waiting for me to take the initiative yet I have nothing to say. What do you say to someone who has you imprisoned against your will? Anything.

Keep him happy.

Keep him trusting.

“What are we having for dinner?” I ask as I frantically try and think of something else to say.

“It’s a surprise.” Just like that, he kills the conversation.

Think. Think before I ruin my earlier attempts to gain his trust. Go back to using my sexuality. He responded to the kiss. Go back to that.

“Was I out of line earlier, when I kissed you?” I ask.

He smiles at me. “No. It was nice.”

Nice for him perhaps.

I move closer to him and stroke his chest through his shirt. “I wasn’t sure whether we were moving too fast. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

“I liked it.”

He liked it.

I shudder.

“So did I.” I never used to be able to lie when I was growing up. I used to go a red colour in the cheeks – a colour that always gave me away. Recently though, I’ve been able to lie.

With no warning he suddenly grabs me around my shoulders and pulls me closer to him before kissing me hard. I’m not ready. I try not to gag as his tongue trespasses into my mouth. Close my eyes. Pretend it’s someone else. Johnny Depp. It’s a lot to ask of my imagination to believe that this monster kisses in the same league as Johnny but I try. It helps me relax into the kiss. It helps me be more responsive to his flicking tongue. Keep my eyes shut. Keep my imagination working overtime.

Much to my relief he stops and gently pushes me away. “I’m sorry,” he says.

I’m not.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” he continues.

“It’s okay,” I purr another lie without going red in the face.

I’m getting good at this - a real professional, “it was nice.” It wasn’t nice but I’m completely in control now. “How long is dinner going to be?” I ask. I know what I have to do. I have to go far out of my comfort zone to earn the final bit of trust between us. I just hope he believes me so it’s not a completely wasted gesture.

“About forty-five minutes,” he replies.

“Well,” I can’t believe I’m going to offer this but I need his trust and can’t think of another way of earning it as quickly, “Did you want me to try on the red dress for you?”

He goes red in the face and a small schoolboy smile turns the corners of his mouth upwards, “Would you?”

“Sure. It’ll be fun.”

It won’t be fun. It’ll be uncomfortable but at least there’s a time limit on it – he’s always watching how much I eat and I know he won’t let dinner go to waste.

“Unless you want to try it on after dinner?” he suggests.

Fuck.

Long Afternoon

I stare into my stew and idly swirl my spoon around the mixture, upsetting the strange looking meat and vegetables. I can’t get this afternoon out of my head and how far I am going to have to go with him.

“Do you not like it?” he asks.

I look up at him. He isn’t looking at me. He’s too busy wolfing his food down with an unnecessary speed that’s sure to cause indigestion. Perhaps that’s no bad thing. If he has indigestion he may not try anything when I model the dress for him.

“It’s a bit hot, I’m just cooling it down,” I lie. I’m not in the mood for eating. My appetite has gone. I can’t show him though. I need to pretend to be excited about this afternoon.

“It tastes great.” He takes another mouthful.

I need to pretend to be excited about the meal too. If not – that could put him in a bad mood. How did this happen? One minute I was in control and now I feel as though he has taken it away from me again.

He looks up, “If you aren’t hungry I could always reheat it for you later on.”

Stop being silly, take a mouthful. Drag out this meal for as long as possible so as to avoid going upstairs. I spoon a lump of meat into my mouth and chew slowly as though I’m savouring the taste.

“What meat is it?” I ask, unsure.

“My own secret recipe. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He laughs.

I don’t laugh. I don’t think he is joking.

He continues to shovel more food into his mouth. Does he really like it that much he can’t get enough of it – or is he trying to eat it as fast as possible just to get upstairs with me? I dread to think. I take another small mouthful, even though it tastes completely alien to me.

“You had me worried for a bit, yesterday,” he said with a mouthful. “I thought things weren’t going to work out between us even after all the careful planning I put in place.”

Things aren’t going to work out between us.

He pushes his plate to one side. I’ve hardly touched mine and yet he’s cleared his, “That was lovely.”

My heart skips a beat. He’ll be ready to go upstairs soon. Stall him.

“If it’s just the two of us, with no one else to talk to or bother us, why can’t you let me know what your secret recipe is?” I ask hoping to engage him in a long, drawn out conversation.

“I need my secrets.” He smiles again and takes a swig from his plastic cup of wine.

“How am I supposed to cook it for you?”

“I do the cooking.” His face changes at the mere suggestion of me going in the kitchen and preparing food for him. Leave it. Drop it. Don’t push him. Keep things happy between us.

“Oh, okay,” I say with yet another fake smile.

I take another mouthful; careful not to accidentally spoon any more of the meat into my mouth, and his face lightens a little.

“Are you ready to go upstairs?” he asks.

He reminds me of an impatient child, dying to leave the table to play with his new toy. Even if I said ‘no’ to him, I don’t think he would take it as a final answer.

“Sure.”

I’m nervous. I don’t want this. I don’t have a choice. I push my plate away from my place setting as a final show that I’ve finished.

“Do you want a hand out with the plates?” I ask, still hoping to stall him. Still hoping to stall us.

“I’ll worry about them later.” He stands up and offers me his hand. I smile and take it, all the time telling myself to stay strong. “Are you sure about this?” he asks.

I am sure about this. I’m sure that I don’t want to do it.

“Yes.” I smile.

The fake smile that’s so used to creeping across my face now, “It’ll be fun.”

He leads me out of the dining room and up the stairs. I feel as though my heart is louder than our footsteps on the creaking stairs. I hope he can’t hear it. I hope he can’t hear it give away my nervousness.

“I’m just going to freshen up. Do you want to go through and put it on then?” he asks as he stops at the top of the stairs.

No. “Okay.” He lets go of my hand and watches as I walk towards the room. I stop just before I go in and turn to him, “Don’t be too long.” I give him a little wave (I don’t know where that came from) and vanish into the room. I hear the bathroom door close behind him.

Fuck.

I’m alone. I know where he is. I know there’s no way of him seeing what I am doing whilst he is in the bathroom. I could run. I should run. No. I should stay. Carry on building the trust up. If I did try and run he’d hear me as soon as I got close to the stairs - this old house with the noisy fucking floorboards.

The toilet flushes. He’ll be out soon.

I close the bedroom door and take a deep breath. I have to do this. There’s no point in putting it off. It’s going to happen. I might as well just get it over with. I cross the room to the wardrobe and pull the red, PVC dress from where it hangs. It’s fucking hideous.

I hear him at the door, “Vanessa?”

“Don’t come in, I’m just changing. I want you to see the finished look.”

“Okay. Give me a shout if you need anything or are ready.”

No turning back now. He’s expecting it. If I suddenly dash his hopes he’s only going to get angry – maybe even put me back into the restraints.

I unzip myself from the dress and slide it down my body, stepping out of it the first opportunity I get. I hold the PVC dress up and admire it. At least I pretend to admire it. It’s still hideous but I know he’s probably watching via the CCTV. Don’t look at the camera. Don’t let on you know he’s watching you.

I kick my underwear off and step into the PVC dress. It’s cold against my skin. As I pull it up my nervous body it feels tight. It’s the first time I’ve worn anything like this. From the way that it feels, I’m hoping it’ll be the last. Part of me hopes that he doesn’t like the look of it, once I’m wearing it, and yet the other part of me hopes he can’t get enough of it. The more he likes it, the more chance there is I’ll be rewarded with free reign of the house – and ultimately, my freedom.

I pull on the zip at the back of my dress. It’s on. I can barely breathe. I wonder whether that’s because of the dress or my nerves.

“I’m ready,” I call out.

I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready for him but I may as well get it over with. There is no sense delaying the inevitable.

I perch myself seductively on the edge of the bed and look on as the bedroom door slowly opens with him standing there. Standing there, looking at me. I stand up and give him the full effect of the dress.

“Well...?” I ask, hiding my anxiety.

He doesn’t say anything for a while. He just continues to stand there, mouth wide open. “You look great.”

“It feels great.” I still hate it. “Have a feel,” I offer. I don’t want him to feel but if I just put the dress on and take it off again, he’ll think I’m just teasing him and I won’t make any progress.

“Are you sure?” he asks politely.

I wasn’t expecting that. I was expecting him to just lunge for me. I was expecting him to make a move as soon as the door opened and yet, so far, he’s been a perfect gentleman. If anything – he seems a little uneasy.

“Of course.” I walk over, stand directly in front of him and watch as he gingerly raises his hands and strokes the side of my body through the PVC. ‘Don’t think about it’, I keep telling myself.

The touch of his hands, against my sides, sends little shivers through my body. I long for him to get embarrassed and stop, but he doesn’t and it’s not long before his hands are roaming the rest of my body; my stomach, my breasts, the top of my back, my lower back and caressing my buttocks – all through the cloth.

“I like it,” he says. My heart sinks. I pull myself closer to him until our bodies are touching. I
can feel that he likes it, his erect penis straining against his jeans. I want to stop. I can’t stop.

“Kiss me,” I plead. Shut your eyes. Think of someone else. Johnny. He doesn’t wait to be asked again, probably scared that I’ll change my mind. I won’t change my mind, as much as I’d like to. He kisses me, starting with a peck on the lips, as we started the last time we kissed together. Another kiss on the lips again, I open my mouth slightly to allow a deeper kiss. He senses my invitation and kisses me deeply. I make all the right noises as my mind takes me to another place far away from here.

His hands tightly clenched around my buttocks. Let go. Please. He doesn’t. Just take it to the next step. Get it over with.

“What do you think of my underwear?” I ask.

His hands move underneath the PVC dress, still around my back. I feel a twitch as he realises I’m not wearing any underwear. For the first time since seeing me in the dress, he smiles – the smile of a monster.

“Are you wearing any?” I ask pretending that I want to know the answer. I deserve a medal as I unbutton his jeans and let them drop to the floor, freeing him. His isn’t wearing any.

He pulls away from me, “Are you sure you want this?”

He wants this. I can see that clearly. I know, deep down, that if I go through with it – I’ll have freedom soon after.

“Do you have any protection?” I ask. I don’t know what to do if he hasn’t.

“I’ll get some.” He kicks his jeans off completely and gives me a quick kiss before leaving the room. It takes all of my willpower not to make a run for it there and then. I wonder though, would he chase me down the street with no trousers and pants on? Be strong. Stand your ground.

I don’t stand my ground for long before he comes back into the room, holding a packet of condoms in his left hand. I smile at him as I take them from him and use my teeth to tear the clear wrapping off. Show him I want this as much as he does. Take charge of the situation.

“Sit on the bed,” I order him.

He doesn’t move. “After you.”

I turn from him and walk, nervously, to the bed. This is it.

There is definitely no turning back now. When I get to the foot of the bed I feel his hands around my shoulders and he spins me round to face him.

“You look so fucking hot,” he whispers.

Something is wrong. He’s changed. He’s gone from being a stuttering schoolboy – scared at his next sexual encounter – to the predator I’ve seen in him before. He kisses me again before pushing me back onto the bed.

I’ve lost the control.

“I’ve wanted this since I first saw you,” he tells me as he strokes my arms before taking hold of my wrists and moving them up to the restraints.

“What are you doing?” I ask. I don’t like where this is going.

“I’m sorry, I have to.”

The cuffs lock my wrists above my head.

Once again I’m his prisoner. This is it. “Please, go slow,” I beg trying not to sound like the scared little girl that I am. I look to my hand and notice that I’m still clutching onto the
condoms. It doesn’t matter now. It’s too late as he pushes deep inside of me, letting out a long sigh as he does. I’m not wet enough and the first few thrusts sting.

Afterwards

I want to weep but I can’t. I just lay on the bed with my eyes closed pretending to be in a post-coital state of bliss. I’m in a post- coital state of horror as I feel his sperm trickle out of my vagina, dampening the mattress. I try and move from the wet patch but my wrists are still cuffed and I can’t move far enough over.

I don’t know where he is. As soon as he came he pulled out and left the room. I expect he’s watching me though and that’s why I can’t show my true emotions. I need him to believe it was what I wanted but with my wrists still cuffed, I fear I put myself through that for nothing.

I fidget uncomfortably as the hot PVC sticks to my sweaty flesh. It’s starting to itch now and I want to call for him so he can free me – perhaps even let me have a wash; wash away my shame.

“Peter?” I call out, quietly at first for fear of disturbing him and getting him angry and then louder when I realise I’m being stupid and want him to come to me, “PETER?”

Nothing.

For a brief moment I kid myself that all he ever wanted, all along, was sex and that he’d left now. Gone on to find another girlfriend. My heart sinks as I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, the creaky floorboard giving them away as they continue to get closer to the bedroom door.

“Yes?” The door opens, “What’s wrong?” Think fast. Keep him happy.

“I missed you, I wondered where you went.” A good lie.

“I thought you might have wanted a nap, or something. I was getting you a snack together for when you woke up. Did you want anything?”

Be honest. “Could you let me out of the dress?” His face changes, “You don’t like it?” Keep him happy. “I love it, I’m just hot and sticky. I’m going to need to freshen up!” I smile at him.

He cracks a smile, “Yes, of course, I’m sorry.”

He walks over to me and undoes my wrists, allowing me to sit up, allowing me to get out of the wet patch – the sheet on the mattress sticking to my inner thigh.

“Could you?” I refer to the zip on the back of my dress. He doesn’t hesitate to undo it for me. I sense relief as the cool air hits my skin. “Thank you.”

“I’ll let you get freshened up and then show you around, if you want.”

“You mean I’m free to wander around?”

“Sure. There’s a couple of rooms that are out of bounds but I’ll show you around so you know where they are and then, help yourself.” He smiles again before leaning forward and kissing me on the forehead. The sort of kiss a father would give to his daughter before leaving for a day at the office; the sort of kiss that I miss from my father.

It won’t be long now. I’m in control again.

“Give me a shout when you are ready to look around, I’ll be downstairs,” and with that, he stands and leaves the room – leaves me with a new sense of both hope and freedom. Today’s the day. This is it.

I stand up and slowly peel the dress off before kicking it into the corner of the room. I’m done with it. I won’t need it anymore.

Stop. Gather your thoughts. He’s probably still watching you. He’ll probably continue to do so for a while – watch what you do with your newfound freedom. The important thing is not to be too hasty. It’ll be so easy to undo all the hard work I’ve put in so far. Take your time. Relax. Make sure he’s relaxed. He does seem to be relaxed.

I walk over to the wardrobe and pull a light, summery dress from the rack and throw it over myself. I know I’m just going to take it off again when I get into the bathroom to wash away the stench of his touch but I don’t want to walk around naked. I don’t want to put that thought back into his head.

It’s weird walking to the bathroom. It feels wrong – like he’s about to jump out on me and curse me for trying to run. I look around nervously; am I really allowed to walk around without him? Is he watching me still?

I call down the stairs to try and find out where he is, “Pete, could you get me a cup of tea when you get a minute please?”

“I’ll bring it right up.”

He’s downstairs. He is giving me room to move around. Little by little, I relax a little more, “Thank you, I’ll be in the bathroom.” I close the door behind me, hoping that he has the decency to knock before coming in.

The taps are on full and yet they can’t fill the bath quick enough. I can feel where he’s been and I feel violated. I feel disgusted. Fill, damn you bath, fill. I pour bubble bath in, more than what I need but not as much as what I want. Let it cleanse him from my soul. I can’t stop thinking about the unopened condom and I worry myself as to whether he’s clean or not.

Worry about it later. Just get in the bath. Let it fill around you. Shut your eyes for a while. Visit a happy place. I climb into the bath and shut my eyes tight. Before I get a chance to take myself to the happy place there’s a knock at the door.

“Did you want it in there?” comes his voice from beyond.

“Yes, please.” After what I’ve been through it takes even more effort to sound convincing, to sound pleased to hear from him. Nevertheless the door swings open and he comes in, holding out a hot cup of tea in front of him - a hot cup of tea that I don’t even want.

“Here,” he says as he puts it on the side barely paying attention to the fact that I’m naked in front of him – much to my relief.

“Thank you.”

“Did you want me to scrub your back?” he asks as if we were a normal couple.

I want you to fuck off and die. Think it. Don’t say it. Force another smile. Come on, girl, you’re doing well. You’re nearly there.

“No, but thank you. I’ll be out soon. I can’t wait to look around the house.” Another lie from the champion of liars. To be more precise I can’t wait to find out where all the possible exits are.

“There’s no rush. We have all the time in the world.”

No, we haven’t.

“I’ll leave you to it, if you need anything else just give me a shout, I’m never far away.”

And that’s the problem.

“Thank you,” I say with another well-practised smile. As he closes the door, “Enjoy your bath.”

The Guided Tour

A mental note to myself: apologise for the lack of condom. I got carried away. She looked so good in that dress it was hard not to. She hasn’t mentioned it; maybe she only wanted me to wear a condom for my own peace of mind. Perhaps she was just being polite by asking for protection and that she didn’t really want it. I know some girls don’t like the feel of the rubber. Maybe she’s one of those girls? Be on the safe side and apologise anyway, it won’t hurt.

She’s drying herself off in the spare room, occasionally looking at the camera and smiling at me. I can’t believe how far we have come in such a short space. This is even better than I had imagined it. I thought it would be at least ten days before we got to have sex with each other. I have to keep pinching myself to see if I am dreaming or not.

So this must be what ‘true love’ is. I feel privileged and sorry for my real mum for never finding it for herself.

Vanessa’s nearly ready now, sliding into the same dress as this morning. I’ll wait for her to call me so she doesn’t see that I’ve been spying on her even though I can’t help it. I love watching her – even more so now that I know she likes me too.

She waves to the CCTV camera, no doubt in an effort to signal she’s ready for me. I won’t acknowledge her. Wait for her to call me, another wave of her dainty little hand and another gesture for me to ignore. She’ll call and I can go in pretending I was busy elsewhere in the house. I could always say that I was doing some last minute tidying before she sees the place. Just as an excuse. The house doesn’t need any more tidying – even her parents, young Susie and the others smell nice and lemony at the moment.

They had a whole can yesterday and should be good for at least another day. Maybe two. I won’t push it to ‘three’ though. Once the odours start they have a bad habit of creeping around the rest of the house before you can do anything about them.

Three waves now. Does she not get the message? “PETER!” she calls.

Hallelujah!

“Coming,” I call back, not that she can hear me from within this room. I flick the monitor off and make sure I’ve locked the computer, just in case, before leaving the room to get to Vanessa.

“Peter?”

I meet her outside of the spare room just as she comes out to investigate my whereabouts, “Sorry about that, I thought you were going to come and find me when you were ready.” A lie. I would have been upset if she had left the room, in this instance, without waiting for me. I want to show her the house together – let her see what is off limits before leaving her to her own devices. The fact that she waited in the room for me though, that’s a good sign and another show of trust and respect.

“Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“No need to apologise.” None whatsoever. If anyone should apologise it’s me for doubting her again. I must stop doing that. I’m obviously not taking notice of my mental note to myself to stop being so suspicious.

“So, what now?” she asks, with a keen look on her face.

“I’ll show you around.” I take her arm and interlock it with mine as though we are about to walk down the aisle together. “So this is upstairs,” I point out the obvious.

“I’ve seen upstairs,” she laughs.

The first room we come to is the computer room with its door shut firmly and the lock keeping us at bay, as I demonstrate to her.

“This is my private room. Under no circumstances can you come in here.” I sound stricter than I need to be but I can’t help myself. I don’t want her prying where she’s not welcome.

“Understood.” I was worried a locked room would cause issues but she doesn’t seem to care and looks towards the next room, “And that room?”

The main bedroom; she’s seen it already and I did promise that she could move in when things were good between us. Things are good between us.

“Did you want to move in with me this afternoon?” I wish I could just order her to move in with me but I don’t want to force her into anything she’s not happy with. It has to be her choice – like the PVC dress.

“Can I?” A genuine look of pleasure and excitement on her face and a red glow to her cheeks. Of course she can.

“Sure, you can get you things together when I make tea tonight, if you’d like.” I wonder whether we can make love again tonight. I feel a twitch. Put the thought out of your head. It’s not appropriate now. Get back to the guided tour. “Through there is obviously the bathroom. I’ll show you downstairs.”

The guided tour is starting to look redundant now – in actual fact there aren’t many rooms that she hasn’t already seen but she doesn’t show her dissatisfaction – if anything, she seems to be taking more of an interest in her surroundings. Another positive step, I think to myself.

Downstairs doesn’t take long either. I show her the dining room that she is used to eating in, the small cupboard under the stairs that holds the many board games I have stockpiled and the front room that only has a sofa and small table in it – the small table, again, being bolted to the floor.

“Why is everything bolted down?” a fair question escapes her precious lips.

“I don’t like things being moved around. OCD.”

Blame an illness, she can’t argue with that. Things are bolted down so she can’t use them to hurt herself, me or attempt to get out. Not that she would now.

“I just thought it would be nice to move things together, decide where we want things,” she continues.

“No. I like the things where they are.”

She moves the conversation on, “And the kitchen?” I walk her through to the kitchen but can’t show her much of it due to having to clamber over cartons and containers filled with different food groups – all stacked up high to the ceiling and forming a maze around the large room.

“Fuck me!”

If you insist, I think to myself.

“Do you think we have enough food?” she asks. “How am I supposed to find things to choose for us to eat?”

“Chances are, if you like it, I have it,” I reassure her.

She walks down the corridor of containers and peeks around the corner. More containers – all stacked just as high as the first corridor. There’s a door at the far end of the room.

“What’s through there?” she asks. Does she mean other than her dead mother and father?

“It’s locked.” Tell another lie, “It’s where I put the rubbish.”

Not entirely a ‘lie’.

“Fair enough.” She turns to me, “It’s a nice house, and I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thank you.” I’m still shocked that she doesn’t mind the locked doors - shocked but relieved. She walks back to me and kisses me on the cheek.

“I’m going to get my things and put them in our room,” she passes me and leaves the kitchen.

“Our room. I like that.” Today has been a good day. “I’m going to have a wash then,” I called after her; after the afternoon we’ve had together, I think I need one now.

“Okay,” her voice getting fainter as she retires to the spare room to start moving things out. I double check that the garage door is locked and leave the kitchen, closing the door behind me.

First Chance

I’ve carried on pretending for long enough now and moved most of the clothes into the main bedroom. Admittedly the main bedroom is far more luxurious than the shit-hole he’s been keeping me locked in but it’s still not where I want to spend the rest of my days as a prisoner or a girlfriend. I have to get out of here and now’s a good a time as any – the bath water is still running in the other room and I can hear him splashing around, washing himself.

This is it. This is my chance. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Quiet as a mouse. I creep out of the bedroom and stick as close to the walls as possible as I begin creeping across the landing to the top of the stairs. If I stick close to the walls I’m less likely to make the floorboards....

‘Creak.’

Damn it. Be careful. Don’t let him think you are out of the bedroom. If he thinks you are still moving things around in there, he’s more likely to stay in the bath. Less likely to call for you to join him to engage in more idle chit chat as you both continue to ‘get to know each other’.

I’m at the top of the stairs now, next to the bathroom door. The bath water is still gushing from the taps. The bath must be nearly full now. Why are they still running? I stop and listen carefully for a minute. Along with the running water, I can hear my heart beating loudly. It feels as though it’s going to burst from my chest. I’m scared.

I can’t be scared. Must stay strong. This is my chance. Don’t fuck it up. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Quiet as a mouse.

I tackle the first step.

‘Creak.’

Fuck. Stop. Listen. More running water. Strong heart beat. It’s okay.

Tackle the second step. Keep going. What if he comes out? Don’t think about that now. Think of nothing but getting out of the house. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Quiet as a mouse.

I move my other foot so it’s on the same step. There’s no ‘creak’ from the floorboards now.

Good.

But too slow.

Speed things up.

Get out of the house.

I take the next step trying to make myself as light as a feather. There is the slightest of creaks. He wouldn’t have heard that. I’m safe. Go for the next step. Doing well.

I look at each step I’m about to stand on, trying to judge where the best placing for my foot is – trying to figure out where the floorboard is at its strongest.

I look ahead. There are ten more steps to go. Wait. Listen.

The water has stopped running, a bad sign. The running water was helping to drown out the noise of the stairs and now there’s nothing. My heart skips a beat. Pull yourself together. You’re so close. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Quiet as a mouse.

I take another step. There’s another ‘creak’ but now there are only nine more steps to go. I can do this. I have to do this. Thoughts of my mum and dad flash through my mind. Not now. I don’t need the distractions. Concentrate.

Another step is conquered. I’m starting to worry that I can’t hear him in the bathroom now. I keep expecting to hear him shout at me from the doorway. Part of me wants to give in and skip down the stairs, shouting to him that ‘I’m getting myself a glass of water and does he want anything?’ Don’t do it. Don’t give in. Another step and there’s only seven left, seven stairs, a short run, a front door and then freedom. Mum and Dad.

What is he doing in the bathroom? How much time do I have?

I take another step, and another one, and another one; I’m getting quicker now, ignoring the stairs calling out to the homeowner – warning him of my attempted escape.

“Vanessa?” his voice calls from the bathroom, “Is that you?” He heard me. Fuck. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Quiet as a mouse.

Just take another step and then jump the remaining ones. You’ll be louder but at least you’ll be close to the front door. What if it’s locked? Don’t think about that now. Worry about it later. I can’t help but worry about it. What if the front door is locked? Stay calm. I can run through to the back door – it might not be locked. He might have left it open.

Concentrate on the task at hand.

“Vanessa?” he calls again. It doesn’t sound like he is in the bath.

Fuck.

I take my last step before jumping the remaining few. I land with a bump that he couldn’t have failed to hear. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care if he does hear it. This is it. I’m nearly there. The front door is only a few feet away from me now.

“What are you doing?”

I spin around, terror on my face as I see him stood at the top of the stairs looking at me with a look of bemusement on his face, “What are you doing?” he repeats.

Fuck him. Don’t answer. Just go. This is your chance. I spin around and run towards the front door and pull on the handle and it doesn’t budge.

Locked.

Fuck.

I can hear him close behind me as he thunders down the stairs. I turn around to face him; perhaps I can still make a run for the back door. Perhaps it may not be locked..

Consequences

Her eye has bruised from the impact of my fist. That happened more or less straight away. Perhaps I hit her too hard? I didn’t mean to but I couldn’t help myself. I press a cold piece of meat against the bruise to try and take the swelling down. It’s funny but whenever you are hurt or feeling low – you always turn to your mother and here I am, with a piece of her mother trying to take away Vanessa’s pain.

She moans as I press it firmly against her skin. She’s coming to. Good. I have some questions for her.

“What...?” she whispers as her brain tries to make sense of what happened.

“Ssh,” I tell her; not because everything’s okay now and that I have her but because I don’t want to hear her voice just yet. I’m on the edge at the moment and I’m worried she’s going to take me to a place I’ll struggle to come back from.

“I’m sorry,” she continues.

I believe her. She is sorry. Sorry that she was discovered. Has she been playing me all along? I’m confused. I don’t know where I stand. We had sex. She must love me. Women don’t do that.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, “I’m sorry.” I think I did hit her too hard. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” I think I broke her.

“Ssh,” I stroke her hair. “I’m sorry.” Shut the fuck up. “I’m sorry.”

“Ssh,” I try and calm her again. Her good eye weeps a single tear. I wonder whether it’s a tear of sorrow or frustration from being so close and yet so far from escape.

“Please believe me, I’m sorry...”

I can’t help but feel sorry for her. I don’t pretend to know what she is going through but I know part of it must be hard. I just thought that our love would be strong enough to pull her through it.

“I’m sorry,” she’s crying now.

It doesn’t matter that I do feel sorry for her, or do believe that she’s sorry for the right reasons. She tried to escape and she has this coming.

“I’m sorry.”

I take her by the wrist and drag her from the bed, in the spare bedroom where I put her whilst she slept. She lands on the floor with a bump and lets out a small moan of pain. She doesn’t know pain yet. But she will.

She’s louder now, “I’m sorry. Peter, I’m sorry.”

Don’t listen to her. Teach her the lesson that needs to be taught.

I pull her through the spare bedroom’s doorway and let her go. She tries to get up but my foot on her shoulder stops her in her tracks.

“Please, Peter, I’m sorry.”

“I’ve tried to be nice to you. I’ve tried to love you. I do love you.”

“I love you too. I just miss my mum and dad. I’m sorry.”

Stop saying you are sorry. You have this coming. You need this. We need to go through this to progress – as a couple.

“LISTEN TO ME!” The anger is coming now. I want to stop it but I can’t; I’ll see this through to the conclusion and hope that she is able to see it through to the recovery. I beg myself not to take it too far. Deep down I don’t want it to go too far. On the surface though, there is no limit to where this will go. I can’t control the surface.

“Listen to me,” I repeat quieter but with a definite authority in my voice, “I love you. Why can’t you love me?”

“I do love you.” Tears continue to flow.

“Why did you have to try and run from me? Why do you want to run? I’ve provided everything you could wish for.”

“I don’t want to run from you. I just wanted to see my mum and dad. I was going to come back. I don’t want it to just be the two of us forever. I want you to meet my parents.”

“Your parents are dead!” I didn’t mean to say that. She’ll never forgive me if she learns the truth. Control the temper.

“My foster parents.”

She thinks I meant the foster parents. Thank God. The temper still controls me though. Don’t explain what you meant to her. Don’t tell her that her foster parents are also dead.

“I wanted you to meet my foster parents. I want a boyfriend that I can show off to people. One that I can be proud to be seen with,” she continues.

“And I want a girlfriend that doesn’t run. I want a girlfriend that loves me. I want a girlfriend that I can trust.” I’m halfway between shouting and talking. Control yourself, Peter.

“I won’t run. I promise. I was just homesick.”

“You’re right. You won’t run.”

I take hold of her barefoot and put it in the doorway; she’s still crying. Her crying is about to turn to screaming. A smile sneaks onto my face. A sadistic smile that I can’t control.

“Please – what are you doing?”

“I don’t want a girlfriend that’ll run.” I slam the door shut on her ankle and she lets out an ear-piercing scream that echoes through the empty house. An instant bruise swells across her already-tender ankle.

I offer no sympathy. Instead I pick her up and take her through the doorway back into the spare room where I drop her on the bed. She’s crying hard and whimpering how much it hurts but I don’t care. If I feel anything, it’s anger towards her. She made me do this. Not me.

I take her wrists and cuff them to the headboard before moving down the bed and slamming the other cuffs around her ankles – causing another scream. For a moment she struggles until she realises, within seconds, that she’s not going anywhere.

I hope she can forgive me. I hope I can forgive her.

Unconditional Love

I love her so much.

I didn’t want to hurt her but I believe I wasn’t left with an option. I need to be able to trust her. I need to know she loves me too. She said she does love me but just needed to see her mum and dad. I want to believe her.

I think I feel guilt in the pit of my stomach as I watch her on the monitor. She is asleep now but it took a good few hours for her to get to sleep. I want to wake her and apologise. I want to wake her to see if she forgives me. I want, even more, to wake her and see if she apologises to me.

Let her sleep. I can talk to her later. I’m at a loss as to what to do now, though, I don’t like it when she sleeps or when things aren’t working between us. I find myself at a loss. I can’t believe how the day has changed so much.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter quietly to myself. It doesn’t matter that she tries to run from me. Whenever she does anything wrong – it doesn’t matter, once I’m calmed down from the initial shock of discovering the wrongdoing. She could do anything – I’d still love her.

I wonder whether it would calm her down if I did let her see her mum and dad. In the long run – would she thank me? Perhaps the knowledge that they aren’t sat at home worrying about her whereabouts would make her feel better about our current situation. Don’t even think about it.

She won’t thank you.

She’d thank you even less when she realises you’ve been cutting bits from her dearly departed mother; her mother that smelt faintly of tuna and tasted like beef.

That was strange. Young Susie tasted like chicken. I look to the monitor and forget my concern as I can’t help but wonder what Vanessa tastes like. Don’t go there. Don’t make things worse. They are bad enough already. I’m in control of the temper now. Had I not been in control I would have satisfied my curiosity and taken things too far to bring back. I keep telling myself – keep control.

She’s awake now. She hasn’t been awake for more than a minute before she starts to cry again. Let her cry. There’s nothing I can do for her. The pain will go, in time. It’s not a bad thing if the pain doesn’t go quickly. At least she won’t try and run again.

“Peter,” she cries out for me. She probably wants to beg me for painkillers. I’d want to give them to her, if that’s what she wants, but I also want her to learn from it. Would giving her painkillers teach her anything? Or would it just show her I’m a pushover.

It’s not just my temper I need to keep control of. I need to keep control of her.

“Peter, please I know you are there. Please, listen to me, I’m sorry,” she continues, looking directly at the monitor: directly at me.

I won’t go in. I’ll listen from here.

“I do love you. I promise I love you. Keep me chained up if you want, I’ll understand if that’s what you want. I was just missing my mum and dad. I want you to meet them. I want them to meet you, my boyfriend.”

She’s lying. Is she?

“I don’t want to run from you. I thought we had something special growing between us.”

I thought we had something special growing between us. She ruined it.

“I know I ruined that but, please, let me fix it. Let me prove how much I love you. I still want to sleep in the same room as you. I want us to be able to cuddle up together. I want us to be able to play games together. Share stories, jokes and just chat together. I want us to be a proper couple.”

That’s all I’ve ever wanted from the first day I knew ‘love’ existed. I’ve only ever wanted a woman to love me. I’ve only wanted to find a woman I could give ‘love’ to – someone to care for and look after.

“Come on, please come and see me. Let me fix things for us. Let me try at least. Please just come in here and cuddle me, show me that everything is going to be okay between us.”

Stand your ground. Keep control. I can’t stand my ground. I need to go in. Everything she wants, I want. I flick the monitor off and leave the room, locking it behind me. I put the keys in my pocket as I opened the door to the spare bedroom.

She sees me, “I’m sorry.”

I can’t go in. I want to go in but I’m ashamed. I can see her ankle from here and I can clearly see that I’ve made a mess of it. Apologise to her.

No. I have nothing to apologise for. She did this. If you love her, you’d apologise to her anyway. She has apologised to you. You should apologise back.

“Please believe me, I’m sorry.” Is she sorry because of the pain she’s in? Is she sorry because of the pain I’m in? I don’t know what to think anymore. “Aren’t you coming in?” she asks. I want to. “Please come in. Hold me. Let me out so we can cuddle. Please.”

She’s begging.

I am in control.

I cautiously walk into the room and up to the bed. She tries to sit up to greet me but is stopped by the cuffs. I look down to her ankle and it’s swollen to nearly double the size of the other one.

“Hi,” she says to me with a sheepish look in her eyes.

“Hi.”

I didn’t know what else to say, “How’s your ankle?”

“I’d rather know how we are.” A clever answer if it’s a lie – it’ll make me believe she wants
us to work more than how much pain her ankle is causing her which, by the looks of the swelling, should be significant.

“So,” she continues, “how are we?” Answer her.

“I’d always love you,” my voice is quiet now, quieter than it has been for a good few days now. I’m sure she can sense my personal shame.

“Please hold me.”

I put my hand on her leg and give it a squeeze. An embarrassed smile twitches over my mouth and my little sign of affection starts her off crying again.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again as she pulls her wrists, struggling against her cuffs, “I want to hold you.”

Later. I’m not ready yet.

I stand up, “I’m going to start to get tea ready; is there anything special you want?”

“Whatever you want to make for me will be great.” I think for a while. It would be a shame to waste her mother.

Nothing’s Changed

I can barely think straight. The pain from my ankle is unbearable. I need to push it to the back of my mind and fix his trust in me. I need him to believe that I do still love him. I need him to allow me out of the cuffs again. Hopefully he will trust me again soon and allow me my confined freedom – he’s made it so I can’t run anywhere. As soon as my ankle heals, if it heals, I’ll try again. I’ll keep trying.

He’s going to have to kill me.

As I lie here, keeping my mind busy and trying to ignore the pain from my eye and ankle I realise that I’m going to need to get the keys to the locked rooms. With the keys, I’ll be able to open the front door and get out.

When my ankle heals I’ll be able to run.

The keys. Get the keys. There’s a thought easier said than done. He keeps the keys on him at all times, either in his pocket or, from what I’ve seen, on a chain around his neck. It’s not going to be easy. It will be less easy now he’ll be even more suspicious of me.

Fuck.

I can’t think of a way to get the keys. My ankle hurts too much. It might help if I could at least caress it; massage some of the pain away. Surely cuffing me to the bed was a bit much? Where does he think I am going to hobble? He’s taken control back.

Temporarily.

Come on, think Vanessa, think. How can you get the keys? Fuck the keys, how can you get out of the cuffs? All the time I’m stuck on the bed, all thoughts of escape are redundant. Forget the keys for a moment. How can I get out of these restraints?

I’m deep in thought when the door swings open, revealing Peter.

“Dinner won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything else. He just continues to stand there, looking at me – a look on the face telling me that he wants to say something else. Perhaps I should try and start a conversation.

“Am I going to eat it up here?” I ask, hoping that he’ll allow me out of the restraints.

“Did you want to?”

“I want to be with you.” I know he’s angry but I also know that he’ll want to be with me. His love for me is nothing but his downfall, “I want to be with you for dinner, and forever. If that means it just has to be the two of us, I can accept that. Just as long as I have you.”

He pulls a key ring, crammed with different sized keys, from his pocket. The keys are kept in his pocket. Forget about the keys. Get out of the restraints and then worry about them.

“You won’t try and run?” he asks. Of course I will – just as soon as my ankle permits it.

“No. I won’t.” He singles a small silver key, the smallest in the bunch, and uses it to unlock the cuffs. Don’t sit up. Wait for him to invite you to sit up.

He looks at my ankle, “Did you want me to carry you downstairs?”

“I’ll try and walk.”

I need to get used to walking on my bad ankle, no matter how much it hurts. He helps me sit up and takes a step back, ready to catch me should I stand and fall.

I stand. I wobble. I don’t fall. It hurts though; I don’t dare put all of my weight on it. “Are you okay?” he asks with a genuine look of concern.

No, I’m not.

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry you?”

I don’t want you to touch me.

“Perhaps you could help support me?” I ask begrudgingly. He takes my arm and we walk from the room – slowly. Pain shoots from my ankle with every tender step.

Ignore it. Don’t give in to the pain. Don’t show him how much it hurts.

At the top of the stairs and they’ve never looked so treacherous – the noisy stairs that played their part in foiling my escape. I don’t think I can do it. There’re too many stairs.

“Can you carry me?”

He doesn’t need asking twice. He simply scoops me up in his arms, his skinny arms. I’m worried that he won’t be able to take my weight and we’ll both plummet to the ground floor and land in a crumpled heap.

Thankfully his arms don’t give in and we do make it to the bottom. He doesn’t put me down; instead he walks us through to the dining room where the table’s set up different to his usual standards.

In the centre of the table is the usual candle. The paper plates are situated at either end of the table – the same place he normally puts them, with the plastic knives and forks placed next to them. On my plate though is an envelope – sealed. He puts me down in my chair and sits opposite me.

“What’s this?” I ask referring to the envelope.

“For you.” Obviously. I nervously pick it up. I can’t help but wonder what he has in store for me this time. Is it something else to slow my progress in getting out?

“I’ll go and get our dinner.” He stands and leaves the room as I tear the envelope open and pull out the card. I get the impression that the gesture of the card has even embarrassed him. A single red rose is painted on the front of the small card with a solitary word written underneath in gold embroidered letters: ‘Sorry’. The inside of the card is blank except for a neatly scribbled message:

‘I’m sorry for all the bad things that I have done to you. I’m sorry for not being enough for you and I’m sorry that I can’t let you see your mum and dad. I wish I was enough.’

I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what I am supposed to say to him when he does come back into the room. Think of something. Anything.

Too late!

Before I’ve thought of anything, he walks back into the room holding out two bowls of food – some sort of soup.

“Thank you for the card,” I say.

He doesn’t say anything back. He just puts the bowl of soup in front of me and the other bowl in front of his own seat where he sits down.

“Did you hear me?” I ask.

“After dinner, I’ll let you go to your mum and dad.”

What? Don’t register any emotions yet. It could be a trick.

Maybe I even misheard him. My brain twisting what he actually said to something that I’d like him to say.

“What?”

“If that’s what you want. I’ll let you go.”

He looks sad. Would he really just let me go? After everything we’ve been through, he’d just let me walk out the front door? I don’t believe him. It can’t be that easy.

“I won’t try and stop you.”

A trick? Is it a trick to see how I’d react? If I say that I want to leave, he’ll continue using the restraints? If I say I want to stay – I get free reign of the house again?

“I’d like for you to stay but I see that I can’t make you.”

“No. You can’t make me,” I agree. Careful. Don’t fall into his trap. “But I want to stay.”

What am I doing? You’re proving him you can be trusted and that you do love him.

“What?” My answer was obviously not what he was expecting.

“I told you that I just wanted you to meet my mum and dad. I said that I loved you. I do love you.” Play the game. Make him believe.

“You do love me?”

“Yes. I don’t want to go anywhere. If you don’t want to leave the house or let me see my old family then I understand. If never seeing them again is what I have to do to show you how much I love you, or keep you as a partner – that’s what I’ll do.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m sorry about earlier. I get it now though. It doesn’t matter. You matter. You matter to me.”

He smiles at me – the first time since hurting me. Bingo.

I pick the card up and tear it up in front of him. His face temporarily drops before I explain to him, “And I don’t need your apologies. I just need your love.”

The smile creeps back onto his face. “Your soup’s getting cold,” he says.

Everything is back to normal.

Our First Night Together

“I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. He’s sorry. He’s not as sorry as I am. I was hoping that I’d be free enough to plot how to get the keys from him, and act upon my ideas tonight but it’s going to be impossible cuffed to the bed.

It’s going to be even more impossible all the time I’m cuffed to the same bed he’s going to be sleeping in.

“Is this necessary?” I ask as he takes his top off, getting ready for bed himself.

“I’d be more comfortable. For now.”

“Is this how it’s going to be?” He climbs into the bed next to me and kisses me on the cheek before turning onto his back.

“For now.”

How long is ‘for now’? “How long is for now?” I think and ask.

“Until the next stage of our relationship.” I wonder what the next stage of our relationship is going to entail considering all I’ve been through already. I wonder if I would have been at the ‘next stage’ if I hadn’t tried to run.

“I just thought we were going to spend our first night together cuddling,” I say hoping that he’ll release me.

“We can.”

He rolls over, to face me, and cuddles in close to me.

Get the fuck off. I’d love to say that.

“You know I’m not going to run,” I persist. He knows that I’m not going to run. He had to carry me downstairs and back up the stairs because of my swollen ankle. How am I supposed to run anywhere?

“I’m sorry, but this is how it has to be. For now.” His voice has changed in tone – a tone that suggests now is a good time for me to stop being persistent.

“Okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s far from ‘okay’.

He kisses me on the cheek again. “Night, night.”

I don’t return the kiss, “Good night.”

He rolls over again and flicks a switch, killing the light on the bedside cabinet, before rolling back over and kissing me again – cuddling in to my side and knocking my ankle.

“I love you,” he says, hopefully his final words of the night.

The darkness in the room hides the look of hate that flashes in my eyes. I shut my eyes and wish my mum and dad a ‘good night’. In my mind, they wish me a ‘good night’ too. A genuine smile creeps onto my face.

“I can’t wait for the morning,” his voice shatters the quietness.

The smile fades from my face and the dark room suddenly seems a lot darker than before.

I have to get out.

I try and roll onto my side but he pulls me closer, stopping my efforts.

I feel more trapped than before. Think. Think.

All Good Things...

For the first time since we’ve been a couple, we’ve woken up in the same bed and it feels great. As I watch her sleep I can’t help but feel as though I’ve finally achieved what I set out to achieve. She looks at peace. She makes me feel at peace.

It would be better without the morning breath but it’s still a good start.

I want to wake her up. I can’t wait for the two of us to start our day together. Let her sleep. Perhaps creep from the room and get her breakfast ready? No. I want her to wake up next to me, as I did next to her. I want her to feel what I felt when I first opened my eyes.

Love.

She’s stirring. Don’t stare. It might freak her out to know that you’ve been watching her sleep. Why would it? Don’t be stupid. She wouldn’t mind. Her left eye opens first, followed by the right eye that’s a little sticky from sleepy dust.

“Morning.” I lean in and kiss her. She’s wide-eyed. She’s awake. “How did you sleep?” I ask. A polite question, I feel.

“You snore.” I laugh until I realise she’s being serious.

“I’m sorry.” What else can I say? She tries to bring her arm down but the cuff stops her.

“Can you get this off, please?” she asks. She seems grumpy. Perhaps she isn’t a morning person. I climb from the bed and walk to the radiator where my trousers are hanging. Inside the left hand pocket are the keys that I need to free her. They don’t take long to find and I walk back, to unlock her.

“Thank you.” She rubs her wrists as I put the key ring around the chain on my neck.

“Do I get a morning kiss?” I ask. I haven’t had one yet and I crave it.

“Sorry.” She kisses me on the cheek.

A kiss on the cheek, what am I – her mother? I’d jokingly ask but I feel any conversations about mothers could open a can of worms that leads to nothing but more trouble for us. I’ll settle for the cheek. For now.

“Do I have to have the cuffs again tonight?” she asks as she still rubs her wrists.

I don’t know. It depends how the day goes. Lie to her. Improve her mood, “No. It was just for our first night whilst you got used to being in the same bed as me.”

It’ll be for as long as I deem necessary.

“I didn’t sleep well. It was uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry.” I kiss her on the cheek, “What would you like for breakfast?”

She turns away from me and stretches her arm, “Just some toast, please.”

I can’t help but feel a little disappointed this morning. I was hoping for a little romance; our first proper morning together – I feel it should be celebrated.

Don’t force her. Let her come to you.

“Toast it is.” I kiss her again and leave the room wearing nothing but my underwear.

I don’t feel the cold air as I walk across the landing and down the stairs, towards the kitchen with a skip in my step. I feel a different kind of warmth flowing through my veins – warmth that I’m not used to feeling in my skinny body.

Just as I don’t feel the cold air against me, I also don’t realise that I’m whistling a tune to myself; a tune that I don’t recognise or particularly like – an annoyingly catchy, happy tune that I can’t shake from my thoughts.

“Toast?” I say out loud to myself.

I pull the bread from the second row of plastic containers, on the right hand side, and drop it into the toaster that’s on the floor due to lack of space on the sideboard. I can’t believe she only wants toast. I wanted our first breakfast together to be special and I struggle to think of a way to make ‘toast’ appear special, or desirable.

I should have locked her in the bedroom. I need the butter and that’s in the fridge. The fridge is in the garage. It’s okay. She won’t come downstairs. Her ankle is still swollen. If she does try and come downstairs, I’ll hear her anyway. Just be quick.

I should have locked the bedroom.

Before I go to the garage, I listen carefully for her. I hear nothing. She isn’t trying to get out of the bed. I have time. Taking the chain from around my neck, I open the garage door and am instantly hit by the smell.

I need more air freshener. Perhaps I didn’t think everything through properly. The air freshener is stored to the left of the garage door, immediately as you walk in. I kept it there, in easy reach, for times such as this. Taking a can of the lemon scent, I spray my way past the bodies, past the red Mercedes, and to the first fridge, of many, where I find the butter. I spray my way back to the kitchen, giving Young Susie a little wave as I pass what’s left.

The door is shut and locked. Keep spraying. Just a little while longer. Be sure that the smell is gone. A few more minutes on the nozzle empties the can and kills the room with the lemon scent – even masking the smell of the burning toast.

Damn it.

It’s only slightly blackened. With some frantic scraping, with the plastic knife, and more butter than you’d normally put on a slice of toast – I’m sure it’ll be fine. I can’t afford to waste any food. We are already halfway down the first stack.

Maybe, in the future, I should make smaller portions.

A mental note to myself – make smaller portions. She rarely eats it all anyway.

I grab a hold of the toast and put it on a plate before returning upstairs, singing the same irritating song as before. Where do I know it from?

“Morning!” she shouts at me as soon as I set foot into the bedroom, “I’m sorry about earlier, if I seemed a little grumpy. I’m not a morning person.”

She’s beaming now.

“I guessed that,” I smile at her, pleased for her sudden change in mood. I was worried that she was going to put a dampener on our day. Again.

“Did you get my toast?”

I hand her the toast and she pulls me down to her level before kissing me full on the lips – a slight shock, but enjoyable.

“Thank you.” She starts to tuck in with an appetite that suggests she hasn’t eaten for months, “I’m glad you burnt it slightly, I like it like that.”

Good coincidence.

I climb into bed next to her and join her under the thick duvet, careful not to accidentally knock her ankle.

“Aren’t you having any breakfast?” she asks as she takes another bite of toast.

“I don’t eat breakfast. I don’t enjoy it that much. It feels as though my body hasn’t woken up properly and struggles to digest it.”

“But how will you keep your strength up?”

“For what?” I ask – ever hopeful.

“For this.”

She drops the plastic plate to the floor and pushes me onto my back, climbing on top of me.

“What are you doing?” I ask half-heartedly. I think I know what’s coming and I don’t want to put her off.

“Ssh,” she whispers into my ear, “it’s my turn now.”

She kisses me hard on the mouth. I wonder - do I bring up anything about a condom?

...Come To An End

Her kisses feel nice against my skin. My neck. My shoulders. My chest.

Wet. Warm. A playful little nibble on my nipple causing it to harden.

Think of someone else. Kiss him all over – past the keys on the chain around his neck. Get him excited. Make him hard. It’ll be easier if it’s hard. This is the only way.

I shut my eyes as she kisses my stomach. Her kisses feel full of passion.

Tenderness.

Love.

I wish I had a drink by the bed.

Something to wash the taste from my mouth.

I look up to his face - his eyes are closed tight.

That makes it easier. I close mine.

She’s taking more time around my stomach.

Kissing it all over.

Running her tongue around my belly button.

Teasing me.

Putting it off.

Delaying it.

Don’t delay it.

It’s the only way.

Get it over with.

This is it. She’s moving lower. I feel hot air over my penis. Teasing me.

What are we waiting for? I open my eyes and look at her. She’s looking at me. “Do it, please,” I beg.

She slides her mouth over my penis. Her wet mouth –warm, snug. She slides down the shaft to the base. Her hands cup my balls firmly.

Glance down. He’s hard.

I pause. I’m not sure if I can do this. I look up at him again.

If you insist.

I get a good grip – extra support.

I look back to his face - his eyes are shut again.

This is it.

Clamp.

I love the flick of her tongue.

I love the feel of her saliva as it trickles down me.

I love the feel of her...

Teeth?

...........................

...........................

My mouth fills with his blood as I chew down hard.

A twist of my head and his shaft tears off in my mouth.

Chewy.

I choke on his blood and gag as I come to terms with what I’ve done.

Spit it out.

Don’t think about it – it had to be done.

The Keys To Nowhere

The house fills with his screams as he pushes me off – onto the floor where I land with a bump. I let out a whimper as I bang my ankle, dropping his now-limp member to the floor. It takes all my effort not to throw up – the taste of his blood still strong in my mouth and trickling down my chin. His screams continue.

I stand up and look at him as he writhes around on the bed, holding where his penis used to be. His eyes shut tight – the pain stopping him from opening them.

I try and walk towards the bed but fall as I forget about my ankle and put pressure on it. Landing next to him, he takes the opportunity to grab me.

His eyes open. I see his pain. I see his hate. He tries to say something but I don’t want to hear it. He can’t speak anyway; the pain is too much for him and he lets go of me before holding onto where his penis used to be. The blood is gushing out thick and fast – spraying the entire length of the bed.

Part of me feels sorry for him. Most of me feels no sorrow for him. He did this to himself.

I grab the keys from around his neck and pull on them so hard that the chain snaps, “Fuck you!” I spit in his face just as he spat on mine, repeatedly when I was unable to move – when I was unable to do anything about it. How the table has turned.

I scream another “Fuck you” for good measure. This is it – I’m free. I’m going home. Holding the keys in my hand, I fight through the pain from my ankle and hobble to the bedroom door, using the wall as extra support. The staircase, from the landing, that was so uninviting earlier, looks like a Godsend in the dim light.

I can do this. Nothing can stop me.

The banister is my support now and I get to the stairs in a good time, hopping along and keeping my weight off my bad ankle that’s raised off the floor. The staircase is going to be the challenge.

Pause.

Rest a minute. You have the time. I look back to the main bedroom. His screams have stopped now. I can’t hear him at all – not even writhing around on the bed. Good. He’s probably passed out from lack of blood or shock. Maybe even both.

Fuck him. Forget about him. Concentrate. The stairs. I slide the keys down the back of my underwear. Had I thought about it, in the bedroom, I would have stopped long enough to throw some trousers on, or a dress at least. An outfit wasn’t high on my list of priorities though – I just want to get out of here. Worry about clothes later. Hopefully, whomever I stumble across first will lend me their coat or shirt.

The keys are cold against my skin. At least I won’t forget they are there. Concentrate. The stairs.

I rest my left hand against the wall and grip the wooden railing with my right hand. Go careful. Another short pause before I, once again, lift my foot off the floor so as not to put unnecessary strain on my ankle. This is it. Just ‘hop’ down the stairs – one at a time.

Go.

Surprisingly I manage to get down the stairs fairly easily. The wall and railing offering me all the support I need to keep my ankle from causing me any more pain. My heart beats faster due to both the level of energy this is taking and the thought of getting outside. Just a few more steps to go and I will be down. Careful. Don’t rush. There’s no need. You’ll only do something stupid.

The last stair is the hardest as I run out of railing and have to rely on the wall for all of my support. I land awkwardly and slam my foot down – a scream escapes my throat as the pain shoots up through my body. Forget about it. You have time to hurt later.

Still using the wall for support I drag myself up and ‘hop’ over to the front door. I pull the keys from where I put them, scratching my skin in the process, and frantically search through the numerous designs. There are so many different styles – all different shapes and sizes – I have no idea which one is the one that I need.

Stop panicking. The key will be there. Just try them all. One by one I systematically go about trying each of the keys in the lock until finally I hear the ‘click’ that I’ve longed for since finding myself a prisoner in this house.

This is it. I’m going home.

I can’t help but let out a joyous shriek as I pull the door open wide.

Fuck. Bricks. Beyond the door is a wall of bricks – like the wall of bricks that has blocked some of the windows I’ve encountered. I want to cry. Don’t cry. There must be a way out. Try the other locked rooms. One of them must lead to freedom.

I’m so close now that I forget about my ankle and catch it repeatedly as I take the keys and hobble through to the kitchen. I ignore the pain just as I ignore his system for storing food and throw myself through the containers in an effort to get to the door quicker than following the path he’s left.

I land in a messy heap, laughing to myself. It was loud, and painful, but destroying what he spent so much time setting up was satisfying. I pick the keys up and pull myself to my feet before falling against the door that I’m supposedly forbidden to go through. Fuck him. He can’t stop me now.

The same process that I employed before helps me to discover the needed key and get the satisfying ‘click’.

Please. No bricks. I’m in luck. It’s the garage. Jesus, what’s that fucking smell?

The Garage

Don’t think about the smell. Just find the light switch. Breathe through your mouth not your nose. Ignore the air. You can get all the clean air you need when you get outside. Just get outside.

I lean into the garage and scrabble against the wall, just inside of the doorway, hoping to find a light switch. Peering into the darkness I see the outline of a car. Until this very moment I’ve never been excited about cars. This car, however, makes my heart beat fast and adrenalin surge through my body. This is it. There’s no stopping me now.

Another stroke of luck: my hand stumbles across the needed switch.

‘On’.

The lights flicker on and off for a second, teasing me with the horrors they are about to reveal. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want the lights on. Shut your eyes. Pretend you didn’t see anything. Pretend you didn’t see the bodies. He didn’t let them go. He lied. He didn’t let anyone go. Keep your eyes shut. Don’t look. Don’t put yourself through it. The glimpse was enough. Just feel your way to the car and get in. Keep your eyes shut. Get in the car and just drive. Go straight through the door. Don’t look. Don’t look back.

I stumble into the garage and clumsily stagger down the stairs trying to ignore the intense pain each step causes because of my ankle. I think I’m off the final step and yet I know I’m not standing on the floor.

Don’t look.

I’ve been through enough. I don’t need to see what he put others through as well. It will be hard enough to move on with my life as it is. Just take another step.

Now I know I’m standing on the floor. I shuffle my feet forward a little more. There’s something else in front of me. I lift my good foot up and use it to ‘feel’ how high the ‘something’ is. Whatever it is – it’s the same size as what I just got off.

I step up. Slowly. Carefully. It’s soft under foot. Fleshy. Don’t think about it. I bring my other foot up, carefully, so I’m standing on the ‘something’ completely. Shuffle your good foot forward. Whatever it is – it’s not big and it drops off again. My good foot finds the floor again. Good. I step off completely.

Where’s the car? Am I close yet? Just sneak a peek. A quick flash can’t hurt. Can it? Just don’t pay attention to what you see. Just get an idea on where the car is.

I open my eyes, for what’s supposed to be a quick ‘second’, and stop dead. I don’t want them open and yet I can’t bring myself to close them.

A red Mercedes – like the one my mum and dad drive.

I can’t take my eyes off it. Even the knowledge that rotting corpses surround me doesn’t distract me from the car – the red Mercedes.

It’s exactly the same colour on the exterior and interior. The number plate: the same. The scratch in the bonnet: the same. It can’t be.

Shut your eyes. Close them. Ignore it. Pretend you haven’t seen it. Just get in and drive. Drive far from here. Just keep driving.

No. You need to know. It can’t be the same car. He doesn’t know Mum and Dad. A few more tense seconds pass until it dawns on me that the boot is wide open. Why would the boot be open? Never mind that – why would the fucking car be here in the first place. Take a look. What’s in the boot?

I step over the bodies, without giving them a second thought, not feeling the pain that should be coming from my ankle. I can’t swallow.

I’m scared.

There are two bodies in the boot. I can see their feet.

It’s okay. It won’t be Mum and Dad. He doesn’t know them. They don’t know him. They wouldn’t be in his house. They certainly wouldn’t be in his garage.

I peer in to see the faces; blue skinned, rotting. I’m struggling to fight back the tears. My heart stops.

“Mummy? Daddy?”

I can’t fight back the tears and they flow freely from my eyes as I wail like a lost little girl. First of all he took my freedom and then he took my parents. The ‘man’ that said he loved me.

I drop to the floor – a hand on each parent, refusing to let them go. I won’t let go of them. I climb into the car with them and cuddle in close. I can’t believe this – what he’s done to me.

I’m so very tired.

“I love you,” I say – truthfully for the first time since being in this god-forsaken house, “I love you so much.”

In turn, I kiss them both – noticing cracks in their heads. Along with the crack in the head, my mum also has some deep cuts in her leg. Why?

“What’s he done?”

I shut my eyes. Tighter. Tighter still. Leave this place. Go somewhere else. Somewhere when everything was okay. Somewhere with my mum and dad.

No. Open your eyes. Don’t give up. You’re so close. Grieve later. Just get out of the house. I roll over and clamber through to the front seat. This is it and the keys in the ignition. Freedom. I turn the key. Nothing. Fuck. I turn it again and, again, nothing. I twist another turn of the key and another sting of disappointment hits home.

Fuck. One more turn. Nothing. It’s dead. Everything is fucking dead. “Please start!” I beg. Nothing. I sit back, deflated. It doesn’t matter. Forget about the car.

Just get out. Run! Ignore the ankle. You don’t need the car. Don’t give up now. Just open the garage door and run...

Bricks.

I was so transfixed by the car and my parents that I failed to notice that the entrance to the garage had been completely filled in, with more bricks. Everything’s been sealed up. Everything. There’s no escape.

Fuck him. There has to be a way out. He won’t beat you. Don’t give up. I climb from the car and climb my way to the bricked entrance. The bricked ‘exit’ to be more precise. Maybe they aren’t secure. I start kicking them, with my good foot and they don’t budge. Kick them harder. Nothing. There’s no movement.

More force.

More disappointment. Find something in the room. There must be something in here that I can use to break out. Something. Anything.

I frantically stagger around the room, tripping over strangers who all stare dead-eyed and hunt on the shelves and in the many fridges. There’s nothing. No heavy instruments.

Nothing sharp.

He’s thought of everything.

I only find slithers of meat and tubs of butter along with other refrigerated perishables – nothing that I can use. There’s nothing in here.

There’s nothing in here.

There might be something in the main house. Get out of the garage but keep looking. Don’t give up. You’ve come so far – achieved so much.

I won’t let him win, and lock the door behind me as I leave the garage.

I won’t go in there again. Ever.

Desperation

I’m exhausted. I feel sick – either caused by hunger or the feeling that I’m stuck here. I’ve looked all through the downstairs of the house; I can’t find anything that I can use to break the bricks down and my ankle is killing me.

There’s just upstairs left and the next room on the list. His room. As I stand at the doorway of the main bedroom, I struggle to cross the threshold. I’m being silly. I know he can’t hurt me now – he’s lying on the bed, motionless. I can’t tell if he’s dead or unconscious.

Just go in there. Keep looking. He isn’t going to hurt you. He can’t.

What if he’s pretending? What if I enter the room and he suddenly springs to life like a typical ‘bad guy’ from a poorly written Hollywood movie; the sort of bad guy that comes at you, from the shadows, despite previously being set on fire and shot in the head.

Don’t be stupid.

He isn’t coming for you. Just look at the duvet. The mattress soaked heavily in a pool of deep red blood. He isn’t coming for you. I put my first foot over the doorway. He doesn’t move.

His non-movement is a good sign that encourages my second foot to cross over the threshold. I don’t take my eyes off him though.

Check to see if he’s breathing. At least if I check, I’ll know for sure.

“Peter?” Stupid girl. He isn’t moving. He isn’t going to answer you. “Peter?” I take a few ‘limps’ closer to him and hold out a hand that shakes uncontrollably. Why am I so scared? He’s motionless. “Peter?”

I’m close enough to touch him now but I don’t. I don’t dare. Instead, I pull at as much of the cover as I can get to and throw it over his body. Out of sight, out of mind.

I take a step away from him; something soft is underfoot. I already know what it is. Don’t look at it. Don’t remind yourself. Just kick it under the bed. Out of sight, out of mind. Done.

Out of sight, out of mind is a lot easier said than done and I struggle to stop casting a nervous glance in his direction as I look around the room – a look around the room that turns out to be fruitless with no heavy objects that I can use and, if there were heavy objects, they were bolted to the floor.

Fuck.

I turn and leave the room – I leave him. He hasn’t moved. As I give his body a final glance, before closing the door on him, I can’t help but feel sorry for him, in a weird sort of way that’s hard to explain.

He killed my parents. Why do I feel sorry for him? Fuck him. I close the door and move towards the next room. I ignore the bathroom. I’ve been in there enough times to
know that there’s nothing in there that I can use; nothing that would smash through bricks. The same for the spare bedroom – I know what’s in there and I know there’s nothing in there either.

There’s only one room left and it’s hidden by another locked door. I take the keys from the back of my underwear and, once again, set about trying them in the lock, one at a time, until I stumble across the one that’s needed: a large, silver key.

‘Click’.

The door swings open, into a room, which contains a handful of monitors that show the other rooms of the house. Next to the last monitor on the right is a computer terminal. Thank fuck. Send an email to someone. Anyone. I rush over to the seat, in front of the computer screen, as fast as I can and flick the on switch to the screen that wastes no time in asking me for a password.

A password? He has thought of everything.

Think. What would he have? Love? Eternity? Together?

One, Two, Three, Four? None of them work. Peter? Vanessa? Peter and Vanessa? Vanessa and Peter? Rejected. All of them, rejected. Fuck. I should have spoken to him more. I should have tried to get into his head. I might have stood more of a chance in finding the right combination of letters, the right word to unlock the freedom that the real keys have failed to get for me.

What else did he say to me? He just wanted it to be... Just the two of us?

The phrase doesn’t unlock the access to his computer. He also spoke about his...

Mother? Again, the password is denied. He said that his mother was a... Whore? Nothing, again the password is spat back at me. Rejected. I hit the keyboard out of frustration and my ‘hit’ accidentally inputs a random series of letters. I doubt it’ll work but I press ‘return’ anyway.

Access denied. No surprise there. I sit back, beaten again. No emails are getting sent today. Fuck. Wait. Perhaps the computer can unlock my freedom. I check the base unit and it’s not bolted down to the floor. The monitors, both for the CCTV and the computer itself, aren’t bolted either. He obviously thought there’d be no need to bolt it down as they were in a room that I wasn’t supposed to get into. If I throw them hard enough, at the bricks, perhaps the bricks would loosen a little? Even if they loosen a little, it might be enough to help me break through with some well-placed kicks.

Anything is worth a try but I’m reluctant to use anything to do with the computer – if all else fails, I could always spend my time guessing his password. Failing that, maybe he’ll wake up and tell me? In his current state, I’m sure he’ll want me to get help for him.

I look at the monitor to the main bedroom. He hasn’t moved. He isn’t going to move ever again. Part of me is relieved. Part of me feels even more isolated than before. At least he offered a bit of company.

A tear trickles from my eye. I wipe it away. Don’t be stupid. He killed Mum and Dad. I pull the plug from the CCTV monitors, killing them instantly. Now I just need to get them down the stairs.

*****

I would have looked stupid to anyone watching me get down the stairs with each monitor, one at a time. I sat at the top, with my arm around the screen, my other hand steadying myself on the wall and carefully ‘bumped’ my way down the stairs, one step at a time.

I wished someone were there to see how stupid I looked. At least they would have been able to take me away from this place, when they had finished laughing of course.

It didn’t matter though, what did matter was that I managed to get the screens downstairs unbroken – unbroken and relatively strong. I stand at the blocked wall of the front door with the monitors lined up next to me. I’m hoping that they’ll be able to do enough damage. Even if they don’t break the wall down, maybe a passer-by will hear the crashing and come to investigate?

Where is this house? I wonder whether there are even people to pass by ‘out there’? Forget about it. Concentrate on the task at hand.

I take hold of the first monitor and struggle to lift it above my head. I’m wobbly on my feet but at least I managed to get it over my head. Arch my back. Bring the monitor back as far as I can without dropping it. Hold it. Take aim...

Throw!

I throw the monitor as hard as I can and it crashes against the wall before dropping to the floor in several pieces.

Wall = one. Monitor = zero. Fuck. It’s not over yet. There’s seven monitors left yet. I pick the next monitor up and follow through with the same process, believing that the faster I accomplish it – the more damage is done to the wall. The second monitor falls to the floor and joins the rubble of the first.

Don’t get deflated. Keep it going.

The third monitor joins the first and second with its pieces scattered across the floor. With the way the monitors are smashing so easily, I’m glad I didn’t roll them down the stairs as I had originally planned to.

I check the wall. He’s done a good job or cementing the bricks in place as there is hardly a mark. Maybe the next monitor will have more luck?

‘CRASH!’

Evidently not!

The broken pieces are getting in my way and putting me off so I kick them out of the way before picking up the next screen. The same process; above my head, tilt back and full force into the wall. I must have done it harder than before as the collision is a lot more violent than the others and some of the glass comes back into my face, cutting my cheek. It’s a cut that stings like a paper cut.

Ignore it.

There still isn’t a mark on the bricks and the last monitors don’t make any impact either. I drop to my knees. There’s nothing else I can use. I’m tired both physically and mentally. I can’t even cry.

I try using the last of my strength to hit the walls down with my bare hands. Each open-palmed hit stinging sharply. Please fall down. Please.

The bricks don’t budge.

I realise I’m going nowhere fast and scream at the top of my lungs – a scream that echoes around the lifeless house, a scream that no one hears.

You’re tired. Try again in the morning. One more night won’t hurt.

I can’t sleep.

A Restless Night

The bed in the spare bedroom is too uncomfortable. I should have dragged him from the main bedroom and slept there but I couldn’t bring myself to go in there and see him. What if he had moved?

He hasn’t moved. He’s dead. You killed him.

I wish I paid attention to how he used the syringe; I could have dosed myself up tonight. I could have made myself sleep so I could be fresh in the morning – full of energy; energy that I’m obviously going to need if I’m to break through the bricks.

Stupid idea.

Even if I did pay attention – I’d never know what dose to use. I’m not ready to give in yet and I certainly don’t want to kill myself even though I sometimes think that would be easier. An early death would let me be free. An early death would let me be with my mum and dad again.

Stop it. Stop thinking like that. You’re going to get out of here. They wouldn’t want you
thinking like that – and you know it. You’re just tired. Get some sleep. I can’t.

As I lie awake frantically trying to think of a way out of the house I remember the cutlery. It’s only plastic but I could use it to scrape the concrete away from between the bricks – a long task but a task that could reward me with freedom.

Why wait until the morning? Try it now. It might be a lot easier than you think. You won’t know until you try it. I wait a couple more sleepless minutes before coming to terms with the fact that I won’t get any sleep tonight. I may as well get up and carry on trying to break free.

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed, putting my feet onto the floor. My joints scream at me to stop and rest up but I’m not going to. I have to try the plastic cutlery. I stand up and limp out of the door and down the stairs, heading for the kitchen.

The cutlery is stored in a large, aluminium bin in the corner of the kitchen. Plastic knives and plastic forks, stored as a pair in a clear wrapping. I’d take the bin, to save going backwards and forwards, to get more cutlery when the ones that I use give in to the strength of the bricks and snap, but it’s bolted to the floor – the same as everything else. I take an armful, holding them close to my chest as I limp back out of the kitchen towards the front door, only dropping a few. Let them drop. I can come back for them if I need them.

I drop the rest by the brick wall and drop to my knees, once again. I can scrape at the concrete at this level. I don’t need to stand. After all, if I can get some bricks out, it will be easier to crawl out if the gap is on the floor.

I don’t know where to start. Do I start two rows from the bottom? Perhaps three rows would be better? Wait. Think. You’ll need to take enough bricks out to be able to crawl through the hole afterwards.

I lie down next to the bricks and measure my chest up against them. Four rows should be enough. I could put my arms out first and then allow the rest of my body to follow. Four rows will be fine.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. Try the cutlery first.

I tear a packet open and pull out the knife. Pressing the knife against the bricks with any amount of force, no matter how slight, sees the knife bend slightly. I scrape the knife across the cement. It gouges out a tiny amount, a small amount of dust and debris. Crumbs.

It’s working. It’s going to take ages but it’s working. Keep going. More scraping. More dust. I can’t help but laugh. More scraping. More dust. More laughter. I press harder and the knife snaps. Fuck.

Don’t panic. There’s plenty more. I take another packet and tear it open, the cutlery drops into my lap. Ignore the fork. Grab the knife. Get back to it. Scrape like your life depends on it.

Your life does depend on it. More scraping. “Where are you going?” he asks making me jump and snap another knife. Ignore him. He isn’t there. He’s upstairs. You killed him. I killed him. “You said that you loved me.” I lied that I loved him. I never loved him. “You said that you wanted me to meet your parents.” He did meet my parents. He killed my parents. Ignore him.

He’s not real. He’s just a figment of my imagination. I pick up another cutlery set and pull the knife from within the wrapping.

“I miss you. Come upstairs.”

In a weird sort of way, I miss him too. In his own weird way, he wanted what was best for me. He wanted to love me. He just didn’t go about it in the more conventional way of ‘dating’ and ‘getting to know me’. His heart was in the right place though.

What are you doing?

This is the man that kidnapped you. He killed your mum and dad. Get him out of your head. Concentrate on the bricks. I frantically start scraping again. Get out of the house. Forget about him. Move on with your life.

More dust sprinkles to the floor as I scrape harder than before, careful not to snap the knife. Another knife.

“Please stop trying to get away from me.” I hear him approach me cautiously from behind. His hand falls on my shoulder as a form of comfort. No it doesn’t. His hand is not there. He is not there. He is upstairs where you left him.

I laugh at how stupid I’m being. “Admit it; you were getting feelings for me.” I wasn’t getting feelings for him. There’s no way that I’d get feelings for him – my kidnapper.

The murderer.

“They might not have been as strong as my feelings for you but they were there. On some level.”

I turn to the thin air behind me, swipe at it with the knife and scream, “Fuck off!”

Don’t let him get to you. Don’t forget the wall. More scraping. I stop, temporarily, and start kicking the wall with my good foot, hoping that I’ve loosened the brick enough to make it drop to the outside world that it hides from me. It doesn’t move. Some more crumbs fall to the floor and that’s about it.

Fuck. “Please. Stop,” he begs me. I stop long enough to spin around and lash out with the
plastic knife. There’s nothing there. He’s not there. Why do I keep thinking that he is? I know where he is. He’s where I left him.

Stop it.

I turn around again and, again, scrape the cement away. I look to the floor and see that I’m making a nice mess of cement crumbs and dust, but that’s it. I blow hard on the area that I’ve been scraping and look at my handiwork.

My lack of handiwork... I don’t think this is working. “You’re being silly,” he doesn’t say to me, “come upstairs and lie with me – everything will feel better in the morning.” Perhaps he’s right. Maybe everything will be better in the morning. I drop the knife to the floor and sit back. I’m so very tired. My arm is especially tired. I regret killing him. I’m so tired he could have given me a massage. Give up Vanessa; you aren’t going anywhere tonight. “Come upstairs, you look tired. If you still want to leave in the morning, I promise I won’t try and stop you.”

“Okay. I am tired.”

I stand up and limp up the stairs to the main bedroom. I open the door and smile at him. He smiles back and pats the bed next to him, inviting me to rest with him.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I limp into the room with my thoughts fuzzy and my head heavy. I climb onto the bed with Peter and cuddle into him, resting my head on his lap – letting him stroke my hair.

“You’ll feel better in the morning,” he comforts me.

“I hope so.” Tomorrow will be another day. We’ll wake up together; I’ll make us some breakfast and then carry on scraping at the bricks with the cutlery. I doubt he’ll help me but at least he’ll talk to me as I work. At least he’ll keep me company and who knows – maybe, one day, I’ll manage to ease enough bricks from the wall to climb out. Failing that, part of me hopes that maybe some squatters will stumble across the house and break in – looking for a new home.

Someone, one day, has to find us. “Good night, Peter.”

“Good night, Vanessa.”

I close my eyes.

- The End

Peter’s story continues in the rest of “The Peter Chronicles”

9 Months Trilogy

Once Upon a Time

Happy Ever After

G.S.O.H Essential

A Fresh Start

Peter

All Good Things

Coming next is the most personal piece I’ve ever written.

Inspired by my recent stay in hospital.

A big thank you to the nurses and doctors who looked after me.

I woke up from my open surgery, blurry eyed and hungry from where I’d been Nil by Mouth for a couple of days. I turned to the pretty blonde nurse, Natalie, who was checking I was okay. I asked her, as you do, “Can I have a Burger King now?”

She laughed as I fell back into a deep sleep.

I never got my Burger King.

T H E    W A R D

A short story by Matt Shaw

1.

Voices. Sound Echoey. Distant and hollow. Familiar yet unknown.

Eyes opened. Blurry vision. Misted. Few blinks. Clear the hazy fog.

On a bed. Room unknown. Large. Filled with other beds with people of all ages, races and sexes lying upon them. Some motionless. At peace. Others writhing around. Agony and frustration driving their limbs into gestures either premeditated or not.

Two Nurses. Blue uniforms. One standing at the side of my bed. One holding my wrist putting on a tag with my name typed onto the plastic material which made it up. A serial number typed, double spaced, underneath. The other nurse, on the other arm, drawing blood into a small vial attached to a cannula in my hand - a bruising around the skin where the needle penetrated my skin.

Not sure what happened. Not sure how I got here. Can’t think. Can’t concentrate. Too much pain. Too many distractions. Closed my eyes to try and block both the pain and the distractions. Clear the mind. Concentrate. Ignore everything else. How’d I get here?

Mind blank. Pain hard to block out. Screaming through my entire body starting...I don’t know where. Every joint, every muscle...All hurting as much as each other. All shrieking for attention from anyone who’d listen long enough to be willing to help. Behind it all - a silly voice telling me to just ‘let go’. Ignore it. Fight it. Give up trying to recollect. Remember later. Opened my eyes. Screamed. The nurses in front of me demonic in their appearance. Heart skips a beat causing the machine recording its pattern to increase the rhythm it records. Closed my eyes. It’s not real. Broken mind. Nothing more, nothing less. Can’t get them from my mind. Their red skin, yellow bright eyes, purple veins on the side of their temples, long dark yellow fingernails  and sharp teeth - all etched forever into my mind. The once unseen never to be forgotten. Opened my eyes again fearful of what I’d see. Normality. One of the nurses, the one of the left, telling me that everything would be ‘okay’ and to ‘take it easy’. My tired imagination playing a cruel trick on me. I closed my eyes once more, as a blackness took a hold pulling me into a necessary sleep.

“Matthew...,” a soft female voice spoke out, stirring me from my dreamless sleep, “...Matthew...Can I take your blood pressure, Matthew?” A cold grip around my skinny arm forced me to open my tired eyes to see what was happening. A nurse was standing by my side. Her face was emotionless despite the clear sounds of kindness in her gentle tones. I didn’t answer her - not out of rudeness but more because I was finding it hard to get my bearings. My head lolled to the side and I looked to the room I now found myself in. Similar to the one downstairs where I originally woke - but smaller. About six beds in total. A sign above most of them stating the occupants were to be Nil by Mouth. Same sign above my own hard bed. I heard the sound of a woman shushing someone and turned to my side. A lady dressed in what looked to be a nun’s uniform from the seventies was standing in front of the man on the bed next to me. He was groaning in pain. She shushed him again, a skeletal finger raised to where her lips would be - not that I could see her face due to the shadow caused by her habit. The man fell silent and pulled the duvet up close to him - as though he were fearful of the woman before him. She turned on the spot and moved towards the exit - her hands pressed together as though she were silently speaking a prayer to the Lord Almighty; more alarming was the fact her feet appeared to be a few centimetres from the floor. I looked to the man. He was staring at me with his eyes so wide and full of fear I worried that he might have a heart attack any moment.

The nurse pulled my thoughts back to my own current situation as she pulled the equipment just used from my arm with little care for my feelings. She threw it over the machine she wheeled with her and jotted something down in a folder at the end of my bed. Then, without a word, she proceeded to the next bed. “I need to take your blood pressure,” she said to the next occupant. He wasn’t paying her any attention. His eyes were fixed clearly on me. A look of hate radiating from them as though I had caused him a serious wrong. I hadn’t. I had never seen the man before. An elderly man with thick grey hair and stubble which peppered his face making his mustache harder to notice. Uncomfortable, I looked away. Closed my eyes to my surroundings and tried to get some more needed sleep. Everything will be better by the morning.

Can’t get any worse.

* * * * *

I was standing on the landing of my childhood home. I could feel the rage burning within me. The anger eating away at what was once an innocent soul. My mother was standing on the stairs - shouting at me - not that I could make the words out which came from her mouth. The look on her face suggested they weren’t as kind as they could have been. Words fuelling the anger radiating from within as opposed to cooling the fires of my vengeance - the cause of which I don’t remember. Words were vomited from my mouth in a poisonous concoction of verbal diarrhea; ‘hate’ being one of the most prominent in my mind. Mother was standing strong, letting my venom bounce from her tough skin as though it had no effect, yet  a new perspective let me see that some of my words hit the heart and would haunt her for the days when she felt her lowest. Her own son hated her. Her own son didn’t love her. Her own son.

* * * * *

A pale faced creature was perched on the end of my hospital bed screeching at me. Veins sticking from the side of his head just as veins had stuck out from the head of the nurses in the emergency room. It screamed at me at the top of its lungs - seemingly unheard by the other patients and healthcare workers in the room, “HYPOCRITE! COWARD! DISOBEDIENT! HYPOCRITE! COWARD! DISOBEDIENT!” It kept repeating the words again and again, spitting a green saliva over me as it did so. A black tar-like substance leaking from one of his eyes. “DISAPPOINTMENT!” he screamed. I sat up fast, in the hospital bed, and also screamed. The shock of seeing him there was completely unexpected. I kicked out with my left foot despite the pain it caused sending the hobbit-like creature crashing to the floor. He bounced straight back to his feet and ran from the room using both his feet and his hands to help it move faster - as though he were a strange gorilla or monkey. The double doors slammed shut behind him. I tried to relax back into my bed but jumped again when I realised that a tall nun - like the one I had seen standing at the foot of the bed next to me yesterday - was now standing where the creature had once been verbally attacking me.

It raised a boney finger to its unseen mouth and shushed me into a silence.

“What’s the matter?” a raspy voice from the bed to my left asked. I turned to see them after the nun left the foot of my bed. “Guilty conscience?” the person asked. I couldn’t see their face as they were buried under covers - no doubt an idle effort to hide from the unforgiving lights hanging from the low ceiling. Perhaps he wasn’t talking to me, I thought. Perhaps he was talking to someone else? Not the person on the bed on his other side - that person is sound asleep. Might be that he is talking to himself, I suppose. I knew he wasn’t though. Not sure how. Just sensed he was talking to me - disturbed, no doubt, by my scream. “Everyone goes through it,” he continued. “At least - everyone who has done something in their life to be...Not so proud of.”

I had done much in my life not to be proud of. The incident, remembered in my broken dream, whereby I was standing on the stairs having a shouting match with my mother - for reasons I don’t remember - was just one of the many things I had done and felt guilty about. Silly little things where you know the person, who shared the experience with you, wouldn’t be upset about it now but - even so - you never took the time to talk about it after the event. You never took the time to clear the air and apologise for your childish actions. You don’t remember what prompted them but you do remember that your reactions and the way you handled it had been completely ridiculous. There were lots of silly events, in my life, like that one - forgotten or brushed under the carper over the many years but never apologised for.

“What’s your name?” I asked the man. He didn’t answer me back. He just laughed at me as though I had asked him the most ridiculous question I could have ever asked. He shifted under his blanket but still didn’t reveal himself to me. “So,” I asked changing the conversation, “do you have a guilty conscience?” He didn’t answer me again. I rolled onto my side, away from him; our conversation was clearly over.

2.

Despite my best efforts to remember what brought me here, I couldn’t recall the days leading up to getting to hospital. My earliest memory being waking up in the emergency ward with those nurses surrounding my bed running various tests whilst waiting for a doctor to come and check me out. I don’t even remember the doctor visiting me. Just blackness and then waking up on this strange ward where the strong drugs trickling into my arm via an IV drip were causing me to hallucinate strange images and sounds.

All I can think is that I must have been involved in some kind of accident or something. Although my thoughts and memories seem to be disjointed, all over the place, I’m pretty sure I was otherwise fine. Certainly nothing serious enough, in my life, to cause me to end up here. Hopefully I won’t be lying here too long before a doctor, or even a nurse, comes along and tells me what has happened and - more importantly - when I can get myself home again. I need to feed my cat - Nellie.

“How are you feeling today?” asked a female voice.

I had closed my eyes for what I thought had been a second. Certainly no more than a couple of seconds. Just long enough to rest the ache I was feeling in my lids. By the time I opened them again - when the woman standing by my bed asked the question about my welfare - the curtain around my area of the ward was closed off.

“I feel confused,” I said. “I don’t understand how I got here...What happened?”

“A common feeling to those new here. Everything will become clear when you’re ready to remember,” she said as she started to wrap the sleeve, from the blood pressure machine, around my skinny arm again. “Everyone remembers eventually. And how’s the pain?”

I paused a moment. How was the pain? I felt tired. A sore throat. A few aches. Other than that the pain wasn’t as bad as the confusion in my brain as it continually struggled to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Erm - I ache,” I told the nurse.

“We can give you something for that,” she said.

“When can I go home?” I asked.

She laughed, flashing her pretty white teeth. “We need to get you downstairs first...We’ll know more then.” I didn’t ask why. I presumed it was tests to look at whether my body was broken or not. Perhaps an X-Ray or some other kind of scan. “Okay, well your blood pressure is fine,” she said as she took the equipment from my arm. “I’ll come by and check up on you soon - with some pain relief,” she said as she opened the curtains back up.

The nurse wasn’t the only person to visit my bedside over the coming hours. More faces did - some looked friendly and others, well, not so much. All of them with questions though. Some of them even going so far as to repeat questions previously asked by one of the earlier visitors.

“What’s your date of birth?” would be one question - one which I had to answer every time they’d offer me any medication to ease the pain I was in.

“September 30th 1980,” I’d tell them.

“What do you do for a living?” another question would be - this one saw the answer jotted down on a form. When I told them I was an author they just looked at me and asked what I actually did to make money. I told them, again, that I was a writer. They ended up begrudgingly writing the word author down onto the form  but - even so - they felt the need to put it in inverted commas.

Other questions centred on where I hurt (all over), how I got there (I don’t remember) and whether I had any allergies (penicillin). None of the other answers I gave seemed to cause as much ‘concern’ as the one I gave to the previous question about what I did for a living. Part of me felt as though I should tell them to look me up on Amazon but I didn’t bother. I just let them doubt me. After all, no skin off my nose.

“They know everything anyway,” the man in the bed on my right said. I hadn’t heard him speak to anyone since watching him cower behind his sheets last night when the nun shushed him silent. “They’re just testing you. Judging your character,” he continued. He sounded nervous. A wild look in his eyes. Perhaps too much medication, I thought. “They want to see if you’re the sort of person who’d lie if push came to shove...” He leaned closer to me, “Don’t lie,” he said. “Don’t. It’ll only make things worse.”

“Make things worse?” I questioned him. “Honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know you’ve seen them too. Everyone in this room - at some point - has seen them.”

“Seen what?”

The man didn’t answer me. He moved back until he was in the centre of his bed and clutched the bed sheet close to him - as though he was scared someone would hear us talk. “Don’t lie to them,” he whispered again. “If you lie, or deny things...They’ll haunt you more. See people don’t realise...It’s us that control them...The things we see...We see them because we force their hand. I realise that now...”

The doors to the room swung open with force and two men in white uniforms came in. The man I was talking too flinched at the sound of the doors and instantly turned to confront the men who approached his bed.

“They’re ready for you now!” one of them told the man. He took a hold of the bed and pulled it towards him - pulling it away from the wall in the process. The second man, in white, walked around to the new gap and pushed the bed from there. Within seconds they were wheeling the petrified patient from the room.

He screamed back at me, “Don’t hide anything. Let it all out! You’ll make it easier on yourself! I know now! I know!” his voice echoed down the hallway as the doors closed behind him. I sat back in my bed confused by what he was talking about. Confused but, at the same time, a little bit nervous.

Don’t be, I told myself, he’s just a nut. You’re in the best place possible.

“I heard that you write books,” the grumpy person - still hidden under his sheets - hissed from the other side of my bed. “They can’t be very good!” he continued. “I mean - if they were - you’d be on the private ward, yes?”

I kept telling myself, I’m in the best possible place. I’m in the best possible place.

* * * * *

I was standing in my father’s office. A clever businessman with no formal qualifications as such. He forged his own success out of nothing and simply went from strength to strength. Some people are born with it - others have to fight for it every step of the way. My father - a brilliant man - was a fighter and someone that I looked up to. He was sitting in his swivel chair. As usual his back was to me as he concentrated upon what he was writing on the keyboard of the open laptop sitting on his large office desk. I had merely popped in to say a quick ‘hello’. I knew better than to disturb him when he was hard at work. Not because he didn’t welcome a brief moment to stop and focus his mind on something other than business but because, despite the welcome relief, he found it all too difficult to stop and then - even if he did manage it - it never stopped people from calling his mobile phone continually forcing any in-depth conversations you could have been sharing to cease whilst he took what may or may not have been an important call.

“Books are selling well,” I told him. He didn’t respond with anything other than a grunt type noise from the back of his throat. The sort of noise which was supposed to fool me into thinking that he was actually listening to the words that were coming from my mouth. Little did he know the grunt sent a different message to people close enough to him to understand what it truly meant.

That’s nice, boy, but I’m busy. Is this really important? One grunt with so many meanings.

Something caught my eye in the corner of the room. A little movement in the corner’s shadow. I turned but saw nothing. I ignored it and looked back to my father who was still engrossed in his work, “Probably a record month,” I told him.

Another grunt. Another meaning.

“If it carries on like this,” I went to say. I stopped when he suddenly, unexpectedly, swivelled his chair to face me.

He took his thick rimmed glasses from his face and dropped them to the table, taking the opportunity to rub his eyes - clearly sore from staring at the screen, “I bet you wish you wrote that Fifty Shades book...” he said.

Laughter from the corner of the room distracted me once more. A quick look - no one was there. I turned back to my father, “Not really,” I told him. “I’m happy with my stories...”

“I read a newspaper report only yesterday about how much money the author has made from that - already...Bet you wish that was you...” The expression on his face was one which hinted that I couldn’t win any conversation from this point on. Any fact, or statement, I made defending my own work would only be met with yet another snide comment to prove to the pair of us that I’m not a real writer. I’m merely a nobody playing at being an author - a nobody, I hasten to add, that my father wishes would hurry up and realise it’s not where I am destined to be before pushing it under the carpet and choosing a sensible career.

I shrugged, “Well anyway,” I said, “I just popped in here to say goodbye. Popping off,” I finished.

“Off to write that masterpiece?” my father seemed to taunt me as he slid the frames of his glasses back onto his head and up the bridge of his nose. He didn’t wait for an answer - didn’t even wish me a good evening or a good night - just turned in his chair and started tapping away at seemingly meaningful numbers. I smirked to myself when I realised I found myself wishing for an abrupt power-cut - one which would ruin his afternoon’s work. I turned for the door and stopped dead when I realised there was a little creature leaning upon it - staring directly at me - tutting as though it could read my thoughts.

Tut! Tut! Tut!

I shook my head and it disappeared. A quick look back to my father. Had he seen it? Still tapping away. He saw nothing.

3.

Ugly unwelcome thoughts clouded my mind as I lay upon the sheets of the hospital bed. Hard to think positive thoughts when I find myself trapped in a ward with nothing to do and no literal exit in sight. Thoughts of feeling neglected by a father who was too busy providing for me to actually provide what I craved. Thoughts of hateful words I’ve said to my mother, over the years, because she was simply standing in my way at the time; had it been someone else standing there then they would have surely received the insults instead. Even childhood taunts I spat at supposed friends because I enjoyed tormenting them and upsetting them. Silly inconsequential thoughts bustling through my mind just because there’s nothing else to do and I’m already feeling down about myself - it’s almost as though my diseased brain does it on purpose to prolong my suffering a little bit more.

Maybe it’s the medication that’s being issued to me every couple of hours? Maybe a side effect is to remember the thoughts you’d sooner forget - the silly little things which make you realise that, despite your best efforts, you’re not actually the nice person you once believed yourself to be. Not that I often believed that of myself - a deep depression which I carried with me was often there to remind me that I’m far from perfect. The days I pretend I am - merely that...Days where I am pretending. Pretending for my own peace of mind.

“You’re an asshole, I get it...I totally get it...” the doctor said. He hadn’t been standing there long - certainly not long enough to come out with something like that anyway.

“I’m sorry?” I had been looking down at the blanket - waiting for him to speak to me instead of filling in the various boxes on the form he had pulled from the folder which lived at the foot of my bed in a special little tray. When he did finally talk to me, I certainly wasn’t expecting him to come out with such a statement.  I looked up at him, expecting him to say something completely different and that - what I heard him say - was nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

“And the blood results confirm it. There’s nothing special about you. Certainly nothing to warrant you being here,” the doctor looked up. His eyes were a dark red colour and there was a hiss in his voice which seemed to be non-human. I jumped. Should be used to seeing things now - what with the painkillers they slip me and whatever hallucinogenic is dripping into my bloodstream via the IV feeding into my hand. I closed my eyes and shook my head - a tried and tested method of ridding one’s demons from sight. I opened my eyes and - hey presto - normality had returned. I breathed a sigh of relief as he asked me, “How do you feel?”

“There are gaps in my mind,” I told him just as I had told people before who had come to my bedside. “I don’t know how I got here...” I didn’t bother telling him about the things I was seeing. I didn’t want him thinking I was crazy. Besides which - I knew it was down to the medication. There was nothing else it could have been. I certainly never used to see little creatures and demons and floating nuns before they started pumping me with this shit so - it has to be that.

“That’s not uncommon,” he told me. I couldn’t help but wonder why they hadn’t done something to fix it then. If it were a common experience - surely someone, somewhere, would have thought of a way to make it less frequent. “We should be taking you downstairs soon enough,” he told me, “and then everything will be better for you.” Was that a promise? A bold thing to say to a patient lying in a hospital bed. The doctor slipped the file back on the end of the bed and went to leave.

“Wait!” I called out.

He turned to me, “What is it? Are you in pain?”

“No - I just wondered - sorry...But...Where am I? I haven’t told anyone I am here and they may be panicking.” I’m sure I have at least one friend who may think my sudden disappearance is a little bit strange. “What hospital is this? Need to know where the visitors can come and see me...” I continued - a desperate hope in my tone that the one friend who may be wondering about my sudden vanishing would want to come and see me as well as wonder where I had gone.

The doctor frowned at me as though I had lost the plot completely, “No visitors,” he snapped - a tint of red in his angered eyes. He didn’t wait for me to kick up an argument - he left my bedside and walked from the ward. The old man - to my side - chuckling from under the safety of his covers.

“You have no idea,” he sniggered.

* * * * *

I was sitting on the floor of my history class. The teacher absent from the room. The pupils, my classmates, were laughing at me. Most of them at least. Some of them didn’t even see me - just as they hadn’t seen me any other of the days we had attended class together. I remember this incident. Another broken dream reminiscing about my past. I could feel the rage burning within me. A gentle stirring to start off with which gradually gathered more momentum and more fury with each laugh from my classmates.

I hadn’t been sitting on the floor intentionally. I had been sitting on a chair, at the back of the class, waiting for the teacher to come along and start the lessons off. He was late. As usual. A young lad, named Ollie, had come up to me and told me that I was in his seat. I wasn’t. The class was made up in such a way that we could sit where we wanted and I just happened to choose a seat next to Ollie’s best friend - someone who he deemed it necessary to sit next to in every lesson despite the teachers trying to break the pair of them up.

“You’re in my seat,” he had spat at me.

“No, I’m not. I’m in my seat,” I replied. At that moment I was relatively calm. I was in a bad mood - I remember that much - but certainly nothing to write home about or warrant what was to come.

Ollie didn’t like my answer. He pushed my books onto the floor. I think the idea was that I was supposed to stand up and pick them up. And - when I did stand up - he was going to steal my chair and put his own belongings on the desk. I had been there before and wasn’t about to fall for it again. Not this time. I remember clearly thinking I’d pick the books up when the teacher entered the room - not giving Ollie the time needed to steal my chair. He didn’t like that idea though. He leaned down and took a hold of the chair, from the legs below, where I was seated, and pulled it from underneath my lacking bodyweight. I crashed to the floor with a bump - the bump drowned out by the laughter of my classmates. The laughter echoing around the room at my expense.

A shadow leaned out to me, from the corner of the room, and whispered, “You think this is the moment where you turned? You think this is when you lost the last grip of your tattered soul but it’s not. You were corrupt long before this...This...This was always going to happen.”

I listened to the shadow with confusion. That hadn’t happened when I lived this moment for real. What happened was that I stood up and I pulled the chair from underneath Ollie - just as he had done to me. But - when he crashed to the floor - I lifted the chair as high as I could and brought it down upon his stupid head. Repeatedly. From that moment on - I never took shit from people. If I felt they wronged me - no matter how slight - I set about hurting them. Emotionally and physically - whatever I could get away with.

“It’s not Ollie’s fault,” the shadow whispered, “it’s you. All you. Badness in you.”

* * * * *

I woke up screaming in a pool of my own sweat. The old man sniggering by my side.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” I hissed when my heart calmed long enough to form a sentence.

The old man answered from underneath his sheets, “Everything,” he laughed. “Why else do you think I’m not moving from this spot?” I turned my back on him and pulled the bed sheet over my head. If he can hide from everything - why can’t I?

4.

The hours dwindled by more slowly than they have ever gone by before. Nurses, and some doctors, came into the ward and left just as quickly. Occasionally a patient would get wheeled out of the room on the verge of tears - as though they’d been broken. Perhaps they’re on the same drugs too - seeing things rather left unseen. After a while you just tuned out from these occurrences though, as you realised they were nothing new and you only found yourself getting your hopes up every time you heard the ward door open: maybe it was a visitor? Maybe it was your turn to go to another ward or to the theatre? Maybe you were finally going to get some answers as to what happened to see you here? The latter being something I had given up all hope of finding out. I’m sure - by the time I leave - someone will fill me in as to what happened and - more importantly - how to stop it from happening again. Until then, little point in thinking about it.

“I came as soon as I heard,” a familiar voice grabbed my attention and I twisted my head - shocked to see the face of my ex-wife sitting next to my bed; a genuine look of concern on her face.

“What are you doing here?” I asked - bemused as to why she’d come, let alone how she found out where I was. “You shouldn’t...” I stopped myself and smiled. The person sitting next to me wasn’t my ex-wife. It couldn’t have been. Not only would it be impossible for her to have found me but - even if she had - she wouldn’t have come by. She’s happily married now, to someone else, just as I am. We hadn’t been married for a long time; a couple of years. I had broken it off when I realised I just didn’t love her anymore and - when I did so - I wasn’t particularly pleasant about it. This person sitting next to me, this thing, this is not my ex-wife.

“I still love you,” it told me, “I had to come. Nothing could have kept me away.” She pulled her seat closer to my bed.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, ignoring the old man’s stifled laughter from the bed next door. I wasn’t asking my ex-wife. I was asking the creature pretending to be her. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

She smiled at me, “I told you - I still love you. We should never have broken up.” I flinched back when she slid a hand under the thin bed sheet and touched my bare skin. “Just relax,” she said, “I want to make you happy...” She grabbed a hold of my penis and frantically started rubbing it as though trying to harden it.

“GET THE FUCK OFF!” I screamed. I pulled away.

She was laughing at me. At least -  the creature pretending to be her was laughing at me. The red tint in its eyes, the veins throbbing on the side of its head; the demon revealed. I closed my eyes as I knew it’d make the demon disappear yet - all I could see in my mind - was the face of my ex-wife on the day I told her that I wanted a divorce; the look of hurt and shock in her eyes, the quivering bottom lip as she tried her best not to break down into tears in front of me, the desperation in her voice as she explained why we were good together even though - deep down - she knew splitting up was the right thing to do. She didn’t love me just as I didn’t love her. We were both going with the idea of being in love and that wasn’t enough to build a relationship upon. It was just a shame it took us all those wasted years to realise this. As I kept my eyes closed - I couldn’t help but recall the sound of her wailing from upstairs, in the bedroom, with the door closed. The sounds of a heartbroken woman who had woken up that day, happy in the morning, unaware that her day would come to a crashing end. Of course I felt bad for making her suffer like that but then she made me do something I’d always regret...

The demon by my bed spoke to me, “She made you do it? She didn’t make you do it. She wouldn’t have wanted that treatment...That was all down to you.”

Shut up! I thought. Please, for the love of God, shut up!

It was right though. It was down to me. The way I treated my ex. The way I spoke to her. I bullied her. I tormented her. When she kept trying to talk to me, convince me to get back together - I played on her emotions and ran circles around her - the asshole that I am...

“Asshole.”

...I just kept on pushing her to the edge, a sick satisfaction of making her cry. I could see myself doing it and hated myself for it yet - at the same time - I couldn’t stop. A sick part of me was enjoying it too much.

“You’re going to go to Hell!” the creature told me. I opened my eyes to confront it and jumped when I realised the bed was surrounded by demons of various shapes and sizes - all of them smirking at me. I closed my eyes again.

They’re not real! I told myself. It’s just the drugs!

“Is it though?” the old man whispered from the next bed. I didn’t need to look at him to know he was still hiding under the sheet with his muffled voice; the irritating tone I had grown accustomed to. I ignored him as best as I could. No need to get into a conversation with him - he obviously had his own demons to deal with....I froze.

All along - they’ve been taunting me. Plaguing my thoughts. I knew all along that they were demons. Not just any demon though - my personal demons. I opened my eyes again. My mum, my ex-wife, my brother - even my new wife who I’d married earlier this year...All of them were standing around my bed laughing at me, calling me names. All of them looked as though they had a little of the devil inside of them. They’re my own personal demons - here to torment me for past actions where I had hurt, or upset, people. All the wrongs, or silly things I’d done in my life, back to haunt me.

I closed my eyes again, “I’m sorry,” I said. Not to any of them in particular. I was just sorry for everything I had ever done that could have caused hurt to someone. The times I told my parents that I hated them, the times I lied for the sake of saving face, the times my depression made me take my mood out on others around me even though none of what I was going through was necessarily their fault. I was sorry for it all.

It made sense now, what the man in the bed next to me had said before he was taken away: “If you lie, or deny things...They’ll haunt you more. See people don’t realise...It’s us that control them...The things we see...We see them because we force their hand. I realise that now...”

I opened my eyes again and was relieved to see that no one was standing around my bed.  Suddenly the double doors to the ward swung open and two men in white uniforms came in and approached my bed.

“They’re ready for you now,” one of them said as he pulled my bed away from the wall to allow the second man room to squeeze into the gap in order to help direct my bed from the room.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“All depends on you but I have my suspicions,” said the man on the bed next to me. With my bed in the middle of the ward, I noticed the chart on the front of the man’s bed. More specifically - I noticed his name. The name of my father. The man who disowned me for reasons I no longer remember - nor wish to remember.  I didn’t get a chance to say anything to him, or to call for him, before my bed was wheeled from the room.

5.

“Why do you think you do it?” the psychiatrist asked me. There was no expression on her face, nor on the face of the person who was sitting next to her. First introduced as someone who was in charge of medication, I later found out that the second person was sitting there because they were worried I had the potential to fly off the handle and hurt the female psychiatrist if I felt her questions were wrong.

“I don’t know,” I said. Emotion lacking from my voice and expression from my face. She had asked why I enjoyed picking people to pieces, preying on their weaknesses, when I was in my darker moods. “Maybe,” I said after a pause, “it’s because it makes me feel better about my own messed up life?” I suggested. She raised an eyebrow and scribbled a note on the A4 pad which was sitting on the desk to her side. “I just know I enjoy it - you know, when I’m in one of those moods...”

Not a day goes by that I don’t regret something I’ve said to someone throughout my life. To this day I still don’t understand why I feel it necessary to be cruel to people. I blame the darkness within me but I had recently been feeling as though the darkness - the one I like to blame - isn’t actually hiding in me at all. It’s who I am. And that scares me. I don’t like it when I turn into that person. The one who can use words to break another human. The one who likes to watch as the other person breaks down into tears as I pull away at their insecurities. At least, I don’t like it days later when I think back to the situation which caused it all to happen in the first place. When I’m living the moment - I love it. It didn’t matter who was on the receiving end of my words: my wife, my ex, old flames, parents, siblings, even total strangers - when the darkness takes a hold, I love it.

I just kept repeating how sorry I was as the two men, in their spotlessly clean white uniforms, wheeled me down the long corridor. They didn’t hear me though. At least, if they did, they didn’t care. Why would they? It wasn’t their place to care. It was their place to simply take me down to...

“Where are we going?” I asked. They didn’t answer. “Please! Tell me! Where are we going? Let me call my wife! Please!” Before I could plead with them again, we arrived at some double doors. The man, at the front of the bed, abandoned his position to hold the doors open whilst the second man, behind me, pushed me through them...

A large room with nothing in it other than a man who had his back to us. He was dressed in a surgical gown as though ready to do an operation. He can’t be though. I don’t need an operation. No one has told me I’m having one. No one has told me anything. The two men, who brought me to the room, left.

“Where am I?” I asked.

The man turned around. Another demon? No. Wait. He’s different. Half of his face is burnt as though he had fallen into a fire as a child. The second half of his face - normal. Kind looking, even. I wanted to look away from him but I couldn’t. It was like my eyes were fixed on him to the point of struggling, even, to blink.

I asked again, “Please - where am I? Look, I don’t even know how I got here. Why won’t anyone talk to me?”

“Because it’s not their job to talk to you. It’s your job to remember. Remember why you are here. Remember the type of person you are. Remember.”

“I can’t.”

“You’ve been remembering since the moment you got here. Silly little thoughts about people you may have wronged when you were alive...”

“When I was alive? What? I don’t understand! Please, just tell me!”

“I need to spell it out to you? You’re dead, Matthew Shaw, wannabe author. You’re dead. Tragic thing is it’s before your time but you forced my hand...”

“What? No...I didn’t force your hand. I didn’t.”

“But you did. You still don’t remember?”

* * * * *

I had been awake all night. The short spaces when I did sleep, and dream, I soon woke again. My wife sleeping soundly to my side, the occasional snore from her mouth. I remember looking at her, wishing I had been able to be as content as her. A ping of jealousy in the back of my mind. The forefront of my mind clouded with ill thoughts - personal demons haunting me; the things I had said to people, the things I had done. Things that I regret and wished I could take back. All spurned from another bad review on the Internet for my writing. Another speed bump in life which made me feel as though life was going nowhere.

Matthew Shaw. Failed author. Life’s reject.

Whenever I got into my deep depressions, I found it hard to crawl my way back out of them. It didn’t matter who I surrounded myself with; the love of my life, my new stories...Once the depression was there, it was nigh on impossible to hold it at bay and - even if I managed it with a rare ‘good’ day - it didn’t take much to bring my world crashing back around me again with thoughts about how I had previously hurt people, thoughts about what a failure I was and thoughts about how I had messed things up in my family - with my own father especially. Should have kept my head down. Should have buried it in the sand like everyone else around me. The only one to suffer from speaking out was me.

Family reject. Life’s reject.

* * * * *

The two-faced man raised his eyebrow, “Starting to remember?”

“I want to go home,” I said. I had remembered. Everything. The feeling of hopelessness that I experienced the night prior to coming in here. The feeling of desperation. The feeling of no way out and nothing left to live for. The feeling of the noose around my neck, as soon as my wife had stepped from the house that morning, the feeling of the snap. The blackness. The nothing. And then here. “We can fix this,” I said.

The man shook his head. “We can’t. You forced my hand. Shame, though, because there was nothing in your file - well nothing really serious anyway - which would have got you this ending but,” he took a step away from the bed, “what you did is a sin.”

“No - please - we can fix this...”

The man shook his head and pointed to the side - a door that I had previously not seen. Had it just appeared? “That’s your exit,” he said. I didn’t need to take a step closer to it to feel the heat radiating from beyond the door. He sighed, “I give you free will and this is how you choose to use it?” He shook his head, “It’s sad.” The man walked to the door and opened it - flames from beyond licked into the room with a blistering heat, the likes of which I had never felt before.

“Please! We can fix this! Send me back!”

With no warning, my bed suddenly turned on the spot and started to wheel itself towards the heat. I screamed as loudly as I could but it was as though my screams were unheard.

Either that or no one cared.

* * * * *

I opened my eyes.

I was standing on a wooden chair.

A rope was around my neck.

My legs were quivering.

What am I doing? I thought to myself. I’m not sure if any of what happened really did happen. Did it actually happen or was that how your life flashes before your eyes the moment before you die? I don’t know. All I know is that I was about to give everything up. I was about to let the words of the mindless ruin my chances of chasing the career I was so desperate for. Not today. Not now. I won’t give up. Not with this. Not with my family. Not with my soul. I want to live. For as long as I can. I need to. I need the years. Time to say sorry.

Time to make amends.

Be a better person.

Someone to be proud of.

I shifted my weight and reached up to the rope around my neck. Get this thing off of me. A sudden crack from one of the chair’s legs. What? Wait. No...A splintered noise as the chair gave way and I dropped. The rope went tight. Another crack.

Blackness.

The End

Enjoyed what you’ve read? Why not check out some of the other stories from the same author?

FROM THE SAME AUTHOR

Novels

The Infestation

The Lost Son

Love Life

The Vampire’s Treaty

(The Peter Chronicles)

Happy Ever After

G.S.O.H Essential

A Fresh Start

PETER

All Good Things

Once Upon a TIme

9 Months Book One

9 Months Book Two

9 Months Book Three

Non-Fiction titles

im fine

Still Fine

PlentyOfFreaks

Wasting Stamps

Self-publishing: Releasing your book to the digital market

Collections

Scribblings From a Dark Place

9 Months Trilogy

Happy Ever After Trilogy

Reviews, Critics & Mystery Shopping (DELETED TITLE)

The Story Collection: Volume One

The Story Collection: Volume Two

Shorts

A Taste of Your Fears (part of the Literature-Ly You range)

A Taste of Your Fears 2 (part of the Literature-Ly You range)

Taste of Horror

The Peter Chronicles (includes bonus stories)

Novellas

Smile

The Dead Don’t Knock

Writer’s Block

Buried

The Last Stop

The Chosen Routes

A Christmas to Remember (YOU choose the story)

Romance is Dead

The Breakdown

The Cabin

The 8th

The Cabin II: Asylum

The Missing Years of Thomas Pritchard

Consumed

Influenza: Strain ‘Z’

Heaven Calling

Picture Books

I Hate Fruit & Veg

Want to find Matt Shaw?

www.facebook.com/mattshawpublications

www.mattshawpublications.co.uk

matt@mattshawpublications.co.uk

Table of Contents

- Copyright
- INCLUDED IN THIS COLLECTION OF STORIES
- Introduction
- S M I L E
- B U R I E D
- C O N S U M E D
- T H E 8 T H
- T H E C A B I N
- H A P P Y E V E R A F T E R
- FROM THE SAME AUTHOR