UNWELCOME GUESTS: An atmospheric, suspenseful thriller

by Anna Willett

  Her gaze fell on the yellow blanket. The form beneath it lay still. She let out a shaky sigh. Was it any wonder she felt spooked? Alone in the house with her husband’s body. A night of violence and murder, who wouldn’t let their imagination get the better of them? She turned away from the door and swung her feet off the sofa, tossing the ice-pack onto the coffee table.

  A sound, so faint, she almost missed it. Like the rustle of fabric. No, more of a whisper than a real rustle. She snapped her head around and stared at the body under the blanket. Was she going insane or had the head moved?

  Caitlin sat still, not allowing herself to blink. There was something off about Eli’s body. It had changed in some way. Every nerve in her body quivered with the realisation—there was another presence in the room.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  With the wadded-up t-shirt pressed to his wound, Felix managed to stop the bleeding. He forced himself to take shallow breaths mostly through his nose. Over the years, he’d become a master at controlling his excitement. Not that they’d hear him, the three of them were really having a heart-to-heart. From his vantage spot, he could hear every word.

  Kitty Cat started to speak. Her oh so sad voice grated on his nerves like squeaky wheels on a hospital trolley. She started talking about something that happened to her when she was a kid and his ears pricked up. So, this wasn’t her first rodeo, good for her. He’d have liked to have known her back in the day. A mournful sigh almost slipped out, he caught himself just in time.

  He listened carefully as Blyte explained the plan. He’d have bet his lunch money they were going to pile into the car and head for the nearest cop shop, but no. They had a plan. He forced his mind to slow and with it his heart rate. They really thought they could catch him like a desperate rat. It was almost too funny.

  Things were working out even better than he’d hoped. All he had to do was wait—quietly. That, he could do. Waiting was what he did best. Well, almost what he did best.

  When this night was over, he’d walk away. No, he’d drive away. Dump the car somewhere and… his thoughts faltered. He couldn’t go home again. There’d be doctors, questions, weekly urine tests. He’d be back to zombification. Besides, his blood was everywhere. At some point, someone would stumble upon the house and his DNA was on record. After this night, he’d move on. Start a new life. But for now, sit tight and breathe right.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Swinging the torch in a tight arc, Micky followed the trail. Globs of blood, still damp, led from the front door, across the gravel driveway and into the bush. The trees were packed in clusters some more thinly spaced than others. Bordering the Myalup Forest, this was virgin bushland where tall stands of gum trees and ragged bushy natives crowded the terrain. Around him, the humming of insects mingled with the cries of owls and the occasional squawk of roosting native birds.

  Less than fifteen metres into the bush, keeping track of the blood became almost impossible. Micky stopped moving and looked up at the sky. A blanket of darkness peppered with stars. The world seemed bigger at night, making finding Felix improbable. Micky had been in improbable situations in the past. He knew from experience sometimes the odds seem longer in the dark, but focus and persistence had a way of evening things up.

  He pulled the end of his shirt out of his pants and wiped his face. The temperature had dropped, but he could still feel the heat of the day leaching out of the ground, rising like steam off a hot pan. Micky moved deeper into the bush, eyes focused for signs of disruption. Something about the trail didn’t sit right.

  Pausing, he recounted his movements. He’d followed the blood from where it left the gravel and entered the bush. Apart from a few splatters on low-lying branches, he’d seen no other traces to indicate Felix came this way. But that couldn’t be right. He swore softly and stopped moving. Time to double back and sweep to the right.

  Ten minutes later he was back to the split in the bush where he began. It would be pointless going left. That way would ultimately lead to the back of the house, an area already covered by Jace. Micky swivelled his head in that direction. The lights from the second story were the only sign of life in the moonless night. Distant and golden light from a place where nothing good happened. Caitlin was there, waiting. Coming back empty-handed would be letting her and Amy down.

  He turned from the house and plunged back into the trees, this time veering sharply to the right. Under the artificial light of the torch, the bush turned silver. A few metres ahead, something moved. A crackle of dry leaves and twigs betraying the position. Micky clicked off the torch and froze. He could smell eucalyptus mixed with rot, the odours of the forest. No trace of human sweat or blood in the air.

  Something heavy thudded through the trees. Micky took a step in the blackness and let the shotgun slip off his shoulder. Inching closer with the gun at his side, he listened. Another thump and something broke through the trees. He clicked on the torch, the light shining into the large glassy eyes of a kangaroo. The animal froze as if expecting a bullet.

  Micky relaxed his grip on the shotgun. As if sensing the danger had passed, the roo ducked its head and came up chewing. It was small with slim shoulders. Too big to be a wallaby, clearly a doe. Micky side-stepped to give the creature her space, but his forward movement spooked the grazing animal and with lightning speed she bounced into the cover of the bushes. The creature disappeared as if swallowed by the dense growth.

  He shone the light on his watch. It had been thirty minutes since Jace headed for the rear of the house. Maybe Felix had doubled back. There was every chance he’d headed for the river. Even though he was pretty sure there was no trail to find, Micky tossed up the idea of veering further right, searching for twenty minutes or back-tracking in case he missed something. He turned off the torch and stood in the dark. Since returning to the house and finding it hijacked by Jace and his family, Micky’s brain had been in overdrive. What he needed was to clear his mind and listen to his gut.

  As always, in quiet moments, Amy invaded his thoughts. Her voice as she walked down the driveway towards the road. Her arm raised, a carefree wave. The images were so familiar, like an old photograph worn and aged from years of handling. The frozen picture, faded. He forced his sister out of his mind and found silence.

  The hush turned into another voice. Soft, with an undercurrent of melancholy, he heard Caitlin. I stabbed him with a broken bottle. Blood on the gravel, almost black in the white light from the torch. Large drops. Too large.

  He clicked the switch, illuminating the area around him. If Felix had been trying to escape, the bloody trail would have been thinner. Smaller drops as he hurried away from the house. Maybe even a narrow line of blood. It had bothered Micky since they left the house. The bloody trail was too easy to spot and follow. The large drops… it was as if Felix paused giving the blood time to drip.

  He turned back searching for the upstairs lights. For a moment, he saw only darkness. It was as if he’d walked off the edge of the world and could find no point of reference. His chest tightened. He turned in a circle, his movements jerky and clumsy. In his panic, he almost missed the light. So distant, the golden glow almost didn’t register.

  He ran, the torch’s beam bouncing around, bathing the bush in a wintery-blue that seemed desolate and endless. A place where nothing good happens. Why did he leave her alone? It was a stupid mistake, one he hoped Caitlin wouldn’t pay for.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The feet. Why hadn’t she noticed earlier? Or maybe there’d been nothing to notice. Caitlin inched to the edge of the sofa, wincing as the leather squeaked beneath her thighs. She’d been asleep for at least half an hour. Long enough for someone to tamper with her husband’s body?

  The nightmare had left her shaken. More than shaken—completely rattled. I’m awake now and I know those aren’t Eli’s feet. She swallowed and stood. Two years ago, Eli was standing on a glass outdoor table trying to sweep cobwebs from the ceiling of their tiny gazebo. Caitlin re
called the old familiar feeling of irritation. A few stray fibres in the corners, barely noticeable unless you were Eli. Still, he wouldn’t be dissuaded. Balancing on the table, one foot on the metal rim, the other on the glass, he set about cleaning the ceiling with an upturned broom. The table collapsed under him, aged and brittle glass shattering into thousands of razor sharp shards. He was lucky, eighteen stitches across the sole of his right foot and one night in hospital.

  Standing beside the sofa, Caitlin could see the bare feet peeking out from under the yellow blanket. Similar to Eli’s in size, but minus the long, jagged scar. The pool of congealed blood on the left of the body was as she remembered: a two-metre-wide puddle with wads of sodden tea towel plonked amidst the liquid like dark clots. Just looking at the mess made her stomach churn.

  Caitlin glanced to the right and noticed a smear of blood on the greyish brown stone flooring. Almost a skid. The details registered in the blink of an eye. Together with the missing scar, she had no doubt the body was not Eli.

  A breeze from somewhere behind her, most likely the back door, fluttered across her spine like cool fingers. She shuddered and took a step backwards. If it wasn’t Eli, then it had to be Felix.

  As if thinking the man’s name evoked the rising of the dead, the body moved, head turning from angled right to straight ahead. Caitlin almost believed she was still in the midst of the nightmare. However, the cold stone under her feet felt all too real. She should have been running, screaming for help, but instead she stayed rooted to the spot. Watching, mouth agape, as the corpse sat up and pulled the yellow rug away from its face.

  “Made you look.” Felix gave a snort.

  Caitlin hesitated, still trying to process what was happening. In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet and moving towards her. The gun was stuffed, barrel first, into the waistband of his pants. The bruising on his face glowed under the lights giving his skin the appearance of a ripe plum.

  “I don’t want to shoot you.” His tone was calm, conversational. “All this.” He waved an arm towards the stairs. “It’s Blyte’s doing. Not mine.”

  Her mind raced, weighing up the chances of making it through to the kitchen and out the back door before Felix could pull the gun and shoot her. Jolts of pain, like tiny electrical shocks, cut through her calf. Even if both her legs were working, she doubted she could make it out of the house before taking a bullet in the back.

  “You didn’t have to shoot my husband.” She hoped stalling him would give Micky and Jace time to get back to the house.

  “He was going to drive away and leave me here.” Felix’s voice rose slightly. He was almost at the edge of the sofa now. “I couldn’t just let him get away with that.” The blood on the left side of his shirt caught her gaze. With one eye swollen almost shut, it was difficult to read his expression. “I’m not a bad person.” He shuffled forward. “I’m the victim here.” He pointed at the front door. “I was telling the truth about Blyte abducting me and locking me in the cellar. All you had to do was drive me to the hospital.”

  “Why don’t you just go? There’s nothing stopping you leaving.” She tried to keep her voice even as if they were old friends discussing a problem.

  “With no car keys?” He held his hands up in a gesture of helplessness and winced. “No. I’ll wait. When they get back, I’ll shoot them.” His mouth slackened as though he were caught in a daydream. “I have no choice, he’d never let me go.”

  “You mean Micky?” She shuffled back a few centimetres hoping he wouldn’t notice. She tried to think of a way out so that when Jace and Micky came through the door, they’d stand a chance.

  “Micky?” He cocked his head to the side. “Your old man’s barely room temperature and you’re already getting friendly with the next thing that comes your way?” There was an edge to his voice now, cruelty bordering on anger. “I think Eli was right when he called you a slut.”

  She kept her expression bland. “You’ve got the gun, he can’t stop you. No one else needs to get hurt.”

  “I heard your story.” He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I wish I’d met fourteen-year-old Caitlin.” A smile lifted one side of his mouth. “But from what you said, someone beat me to it.” There was a light in his shifting brown eyes. Caitlin realised he wasn’t only a sexual predator, Felix enjoyed inflicting pain too.

  She felt a flicker of anger. Men like Felix and Campson, they didn’t just want to use young girls. It wasn’t enough to invade their bodies, they wanted to destroy them, body and soul. Torture them in any and all ways possible. She looked down so he wouldn’t see the disgust in her eyes. If I had a weapon, I’d kill him myself. With the thought came an idea. She’d left a knife on the counter when she cut up the tea towels. If she could get him into the other room, she might stand a chance.

  “His name was Campson. Andrew Campson.” It hurt just to say his name, but she made herself keep talking. Felix enjoyed pain, she bet he’d be hungry for gory details.

  His mouth, swollen and cut, dropped open slightly like a salivating pig. She felt a mixture of satisfaction and repulsion. She had his attention, now all she had to do was get him into the kitchen.

  “He offered us a ride, my friend Sharon and I.” The tremor in her voice wasn’t forced. “We had no reason not to trust him. He worked at the Civic Centre where we played netball. I’d seen him around town.” She covered her face with her hands and turned away stumbling a few steps closer to the kitchen. She could hear Felix’s breathing, heavy and excited.

  “Was he rough with you?” The question took her by surprise. There was a gentle quality to his voice. She could imagine that tone worked well on children.

  “I can’t.” She took another step. “I don’t know why I’m telling you these things.” Another step. “I need a drink. A real drink.” She took her hands away from her face. “Do you mind?”

  The steeliness in his gaze caught her off guard. She let out a gasp and quickly sniffed, hoping it sounded more like a sob. He didn’t answer at first, just held her with his unwavering stare. It was as if he were looking for something, searching her face and voice for deception.

  “Why not.” That gentle tone again. If she didn’t know better, she’d believe he actually cared.

  Walking towards the kitchen, Caitlin had to suppress the urge to run. She could feel Felix’s eyes on her, sliding over her body like the writhing worms in her nightmare. She wondered if him letting her enter the kitchen might be a trick. A way of making her turn her back so he could shoot her. No, she’d seen it in his eyes, Felix would want her looking at him when he killed her.

  Her right leg felt stiff as if the knee were heavy with fluid. She took deliberate steps, not letting him know she was limping. The worst thing she could do would be to let a predator like Felix see any signs of weakness.

  “Okay, Kitty Cat. Stop there.” He spoke from behind her. They were in the kitchen, just past the archway. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did to me in the cellar.” He touched her shoulder. His fingers were dry and cold yet she felt her skin burn with revulsion under his touch. “I’m only giving you this one warning. Try anything and I won’t waste a bullet on you.” His breath blew past her ear. “I’ll use my hands.”

  She had the feeling he was waiting for her to answer. “Okay.” He let go of her shoulder. Her hand itched with the need to rub the spot where he’d touched her.

  She pressed her lips together and walked towards the fridge. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the knife on the island bench. She wondered if he’d noticed it too.

  “I’m starting to think I should take you with me. I think we have a connection, you and me.”

  The back door was open, cool night air wafted through the opening. There was a glimpse of black and the sound of frogs as she opened the fridge. The sight and smell of the world outside the house made her want to weep. Eli would never see the sky again. For him, the sun had set for the final time. Not because of a long illness or an accident w
hile doing something he loved, but on the whim of a sadist. Caitlin’s hand closed around a can of beer.

  “Do you want one?” She spoke over her shoulder.

  “I don’t drink.” He sounded prissy, as if the thought of alcohol offended him. “You never answered my question.”

  Caitlin moved around the island bench and began opening cupboards, playing for time while inching her way towards the knife.

  The sound of his palm slapping the benchtop made her jump. “Stop doing that.” The gentle coxing tone vanished, replaced by rage.

  She froze, the beer held to her chest. The suddenness of his anger threw her off balance. His moods shifted so violently, he seemed off-balance. She felt tears stinging her eyes and with the tears came exhaustion. “I’m sorry.” It was all she could manage.

  “Answer my question.” Felix placed both hands on the island bench, palms down. “Was he rough with you?” He spoke slowly, enunciating every word.

  She was running out of time. Jace and Micky would be back at any second. And when they arrived, they’d be walking into a trap. Felix would shoot them. Unless, she could find a way of stopping him.

  “Yes.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “He… he was rough.”

  Felix sniffed and tilted his head back as if her words were scented with the pain and abuse she’d suffered. With his gaze off her, Caitlin moved to the left. The knife was within reach. She held the can in her right hand so that meant picking up the knife with her left.

  He dropped his head. “You mentioned your friend.” He drummed his fingers on the benchtop. “How did he kill her?”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze. “He strangled her.” It was the first time she’d repeated that part of the story in fifteen years. The day it happened, she recounted the details to a female police officer, her mother by her side. They’d tried to make her go to the hospital, but she refused.