Daddy Won't Kill You- The Haunting in the Woods

by Caroline Clark

  He found another chocolate bar and shared it between the two children. It would give them a nice energy spike and hopefully make the last part of the journey bearable. He felt something sticky touch his hand and looked down to see half of Chase’s chocolate. “You have it,” he said.

  “No, Dad, you need the energy.” Chase walked away, ending the conversation and looking out through the trees.

  They still had another half hour’s walking, at least, and Steve wanted to sit down and sleep. Should they? He had slept under the stars before. Would it be safer than returning to Lauren and the cabin? If it was just him and Chase, they could do it, but they were lightly dressed, and it would get cold tonight. There would probably be a frost.

  He walked over to Chase and put his arm around the boy, who looked out over the lake. A spike of adrenaline more potent than the chocolate ran through him, and Chase turned. They shared a glance and hope was rekindled.

  “The boat,” Chase said.

  Chapter 25

  Val rocked in the chair, backward and forward. A slight breeze lifted her hair and let it settle back into the fifties’ bob. Her ice-blue eyes were full of hate. She closed them and relaxed back as the wind turned the paper to another page. Another victim smiled back from the newsprint.

  In the chair, this new victim was tied. She was in her early twenties, with light hair and a pleasant face that spoke of innocence and the country. She looked exhausted, beaten. Her face was browned by the sun but marred by purple bruises and blood that ran down and splattered the white dress that was probably her favorite. She squeezed her eyes tight as the chair rocked forward, and a knife appeared over her hand. The chair rocked backward, and she was gone, replaced by Val. She opened her eyes, rubbed her fingers, and shivered with delight, smiling as the chair rocked backward.

  The girl appeared to be sleeping as the knife sliced into her little finger. She jerked awake and screamed a silent scream. Her body bucked violently almost out of the chair, but the rope pulled it back. The knife hesitated as it hit bone, and then seemed to crunch through, and the finger dropped to the deck, bouncing before it came to rest. The girl screamed away her innocence, but no sound escaped her bruised lips.

  The chair rocked forward, and Val rubbed her little finger.

  Behind her, Steve and the children stumbled out of the dusk.

  The chair rocked back. A second finger was under the knife. The girl was rigid, as if frozen as the knife bit into her flesh. She bucked, fought, and pushed against the chair, but there was nowhere to escape. The finger fell to the deck and rolled over and over, agonizingly slowly as the knife sliced into the blood- soaked wood of the arm. The girl sobbed, her eyes screwed tight into her tortured face.

  Steve left the kids by the lake and rushed to the cabin. He knew they would be fine. It would be cold on the lake, but the journey would only take an hour and soon they would be safe and warm, and Lauren could get help. He felt a new release of energy as he jogged to the cabin.

  The chair rocked forward; Val giggled to herself and hugged her arms around her chest. “Come to momma,” she said in a voice that was deeper and coarser, almost as if she had smoked for forty years.

  The chair rocked back. The girl’s hand was a bloody stump, on the deck, the useless remnants of her scattered fingers looking like sausages. Her dress was splattered with dark, almost brown stains, and her head lay to one side. Her eyes were milky white; her lips open. A cockroach scuttled out of her mouth and ran down her cheek.

  The chair rocked forward, and Val was back. She looked calm, smug, and in control.

  Steve stepped onto the deck. Is that Lauren? She looked so different but he could not think of that now. He had to get the kids away, and if Lauren wouldn’t come, he would leave her and come back with help.

  “We’re leaving. Come with us.”

  “Again,” she said in a coarse voice.

  Steve’s hope was fading. What should he do?

  The wind blew past him, and the paper on the deck flipped through the pages and settled with the front page showing.

  Steve almost dropped to his knees. The picture staring at him, the picture was Lauren ... no, not his Lauren ... she was different. She was the woman Lauren had become, the woman sitting before him.

  The world shimmered and for a moment his legs were as weak as a ragdoll’s. Biting his lip, he fought for control and stared at the image and the words leaped out at him.

  “Evil Val – Killer of 20 Dies in Rocker.”

  Could this be, or am I as mad as her mother?

  In his heart, Steve knew something very strange was happening, but there was no time to work it out. All he could do now was save the children and come back for Lauren/Val.

  A lump formed in his throat as he wondered, is it too late?

  The chair creaked on the deck and the paper fluttered, flicking back and forward through the pages until it settled on a different view.

  A young man stared back from the print.

  The chair rocked away from him.

  Steve jumped backward as icy cold terror pumped through his veins and stopped his heart.

  Lauren was gone, replaced by a young man from the paper who sat tied to the chair. He was a teenager, tall and gangly. In the paper, he looked immensely pleased with himself, with a cheeky, yet kind grin that defined his character; you knew he was trouble.

  In the chair, his cheeks were pulled back to create a gaunt, almost skeletal vision. Sweat ran down his face to mix with splatters of blood as he screamed out his pain and terror. A bloody stump wept pus and blood onto the deck from where his right leg should have been.

  Steve reached for his chest. His skin tingled, and his hair stood on end as his heart seemed to leap into his throat. Instinct brought him forward, but he tripped on the deck and landed hard on his coccyx.

  The boy stared at him; defeated eyes pleaded for help from ashen skin.

  Steve scuttled back away from the apparition. Icy fingers seemed to claw at his stomach, and his mind just kept repeating no, no, no.

  Val laughed as the chair rocked forward.

  Steve stood up and looked behind him at the children. They were holding hands, standing just within his sight; they were fine for now. He moved toward Lauren. Was it Lauren? She looked so different, yet the bone structure was hers. But Lauren never had that look and the eyes were lighter, like shards of ice, whereas Lauren’s were the warm sky blue of summer. “Lauren?” he asked.

  “She’s not here anymore,” Val said, and the chair started to rock backward.

  Steve lurched forwards; he wanted to grab her, to pull her from the chair and carry her to the boat. He stopped. If she were to fight him in the boat it could capsize, and the children could be lost. He looked down to the lake and then back at her. “Lauren, I know you’re in there. Stay strong. I have to get the pumpkins to safety, but I’ll be back for you.”

  He took one last look and then ran from the deck before the chair could rock back to another nightmare.

  As he reached the children, the paper on the deck flicked through its pages; backward and forward, the paper fanned continuously.

  The chair rocked back; the young man reappeared, covered in blood. Dark splashes ranged from his face, down over his chest, and seemed to soak into his trousers. A crudely bound stump seeped blood through the faded gauze that bound what was left of his right leg.

  A saw appeared above his left leg. The blade was rusty; the teeth plastered with dried blood and flesh. It lowered and touched his trousers, just below the knee. He jerked awake and the chair rocked forward.

  Val laughed and rubbed her knees; the chair rocked back. The man screamed silently. He rocked in the chair from side to side as it traveled backward so slowly. His legs kicked, the left one held by rope that grazed his ankle below blue trousers. His right stump waved forlornly as he struggled to avoid the saw.

  The blade ripped through the material and bit into skin. Blood erupted from the wound, and he bucked in the chair;
it looked as if it would fall over but then it rocked forward.

  Val was back she stopped the chair and stared at the lake. With a mean, spiteful smile she relaxed back. Her eyes closed in concentration, wrinkling her forehead and showing in her tensed fists. For a second, the faint image of the girl in white overlaid her body. The image rose from her as if it would float away, a translucent horror that hovered above the chair. The twisted face of the tortured woman grew larger and fainter, and then the image was just mist in the night and Val sat in the chair, a knowing expression on her hateful face.

  Chapter 26

  The children clung to each other as they huddled at the front of the boat. Shivering and tired, they looked like giant teddies bundled up in their life jackets.

  “Soon be outta here,” Steve said.

  He flicked a switch to turn on the fuel and then pulled hard on the boat’s starter cord. The engine turned over but did not fire. Not again!

  On the deck, Val watched the lake, a deliriously mad expression on her face. As the chair rocked backward, a young girl appeared. With blonde curls and a pretty face, she could almost be Lucy. Blood ran down her tear-stained cheek, like a splash of sauce on white porcelain. As the chair traveled back, she bit her lip and shrank as far as she could into the wood. Terrified eyes seemed to fill her face as she fought the ropes with her tiny arms. Panic set her thrashing against her bonds, but she could not break free. Silently, she wailed out her terror.

  The chair rocked forward; Val laughed and pushed back. The rusty saw appeared just above the girl’s left arm. She looked eight years old and frightened for her life. Her eyes screwed tight into her imploded cheeks as tears squeezed between them and ran down her perfect face. They made clean tracks through the grime and blood, leaving little rivers of white.

  The chair moved in slow motion, and the blade touched her tiny arm. Blood erupted beneath it and streamed down onto her thighs. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Her miniscule body convulsed with sobs as the saw bit deeper.

  The saw sliced through the skin and muscle with ease, catching for a moment as it hit bone. Her head was back, spasmed into a silent scream that went on and on as if there was no end. The saw was through the bone and back into flesh. The blade glided through muscle and skin and into the marks on the chair’s arms. For a second, her scream was real, a high-pitched wail of despair. It floated out toward the lake, and the chair rocked forward.

  The little girl’s scream pierced the distance and scratched like nails down Steve’s spine. He spun around, a greasy sickness in his stomach at the scream that sounded so like Lucy. The urge to go back, to help, was almost irresistible, but he knew it was not real. He must protect his own children, for if he didn’t, they would become the chair’s next victims.

  Lucy and Chase both jumped at the terrified wail, the boat rocking precariously on the water.

  Steve balanced his feet, holding the boat firm, and could see them looking past him, back at the cabin. He prayed they were too far away for them to see anything. Desperate, he pulled again on the starter cord. The engine turned over, but it still wouldn’t fire.

  “Shit.”

  “Daddy. Naughty.” Lucy waved a finger at her father.

  “I know, pumpkin, but tonight it’s allowed.” He adjusted the choke and pulled the starter cord again, giving it all he had.

  “Then shit, shit, shit,” Lucy chanted as Steve tried the engine one more time.

  He jumped out of the boat, almost laughing, but knowing if he started that he wouldn’t be able to stop; hysteria was knocking at his door. He gasped as he hit the cold water.

  “Dad, is it all right?” Chase asked.

  Steve waded through the chilly waist-high water and moved around to the engine. His breath was coming fast and he could feel his heart racing. He knew he must stay calm, get this over and done with, and haul himself out of the freezing water. He lifted the engine cover and shone a torch beneath. Cut wires waved back at him. His heart dropped.

  “Bitch.”

  “Daddy,” Lucy said.

  “Daddy’s sorry.”

  “Dad?” Chase asked.

  What could he do? It couldn’t be fixed, well, not here. It didn’t matter; they had to leave. He must get the kids to safety. He felt like the world was spinning away from him as the cold water seeped into his bones and the chill froze his brain.

  It took more effort that it should have, but he hauled himself back into the boat, splashing water across the bottom and the knees of both children.

  They both winced but never said a word and sat stoically, their faces eager and expectant.

  “Don’t worry. I can row us outta here.”

  On the deck, the chair held a blood-splattered Val, laughing with that manic grin spread across her face. The chair rocked backward.

  The little girl had the saw halfway through her left leg. Like a joint in a butcher’s shop, red flesh protruded from white skin and blood splattered and ran from the saw’s cutting edge.

  She had stopped screaming. Her head was bent over her chest, and her golden curls, matted and dull, hung down her bloody, bruised face. As the saw dragged back, blood oozed from the meat, and she screamed again, mouthing words. The saw hit the bone and caught. She screamed for her life, and the words “Mummy, please,” were real; they echoed down to the lake, just as the chair rocked forward.

  Steve was pushing the boat away from the shore with an oar. The words tore at his soul, and he looked at his own children to steady himself. He smiled weakly. He had to keep their spirits up; this would be a long, cold journey.

  “Chase, keep the torch handy, but save the batteries. Right, let’s go.” He settled back into his seat and prepared to row.

  He dug the oars into the crystal-clear lake and slowly, the boat moved away from the shore. The lake was dark, but there was enough light for them to navigate. There had to be.

  He pushed the oars into the water and pulled with all his might. The boat sprang across the water and pulled away from the shore. It was hard work heaving the heavy boat through the still lake, and he tried to regulate his breathing and calm his heart.

  They were safe now; all he had to do was make it across the lake and 30-odd miles downstream to the town.

  Up on the deck, Val stopped the chair and watched as the small boat pulled away from shore. She reached down and picked up a kitchen knife. With the gleaming blade in her hand, the chair rocked backward.

  A young woman dressed all in white was in the chair, holding the kitchen knife. Her shift dress was sheer perfection but as the chair continued back, it was sprinkled with blood. Cuts appeared over the dress, across her arms, her stomach, her thighs; the chair rocked forward. The woman was still there; her face was drawn, the skin collapsed inwards as the muscle beneath it decomposed. She had a gray-blue complexion and her eyes were milky white. Flies buzzed around her face.

  As the chair rocked backward, she remained there. Val was in the chair, but the woman stood before her. She stepped away from the chair, a translucent nightmare. The only thing real about her was the knife.

  The dress seemed to shimmer as she stepped toward the lake, her head turning back to the chair. She opened her mouth as if to protest, and beetles scuttled from it and ran down the white of the dress to the deck. She turned, as if resigned to her fate, and with the knife before her, she walked across the grass toward the lake.

  Chapter 27

  Silver moonlight shone down on the lake as the oars dug deep into the silent waters. Steve rowed them away from the shore. He was puffing badly, and his arms burned, but they were moving, if painfully slowly.

  “Daddy,” Lucy shrieked, her arm pointed to the shore.

  Steve followed her hand, while still pulling with the oars. He could see a figure in white standing at the side of the lake. His heart leapt. Was Lauren coming with them? No, he could see it better now. It was the girl he had seen in the chair, a decomposed nightmare dressed in white cotton.

&
nbsp; The corpse smiled through missing lips as a cockroach scuttled from its mouth across a paper-thin cheek and into its ear.

  “Kids, look away. It’s just the mist,” Steve said, putting more effort into the oars.

  “What mist?” Chase challenged.

  “Look after Lucy,” Steve grunted as he tugged on the oars.

  Chase nodded and pulled his sister’s head away. He retrieved Bunkie from the pack at her feet and stuffed him into her arms.

  Steve could see the boy’s face, ghostly white in the moonlight. His hands were shaking, but he kept his sister amused with the rabbit, keeping her looking into the boat.

  The figure on the shoreline changed. For a second, it was Val, then Lauren, and then it was back to the distraught girl, pointing her decomposed arm accusingly at them. It was as if she blamed them for her fate.

  Steve stopped rowing. The oars lay still. He had to get them away.

  He clasped the oars and pushed them deep into the water, pulling back with all his strength. The splash of the water drew his eyes and he felt better; they were moving.

  On the shore, the white figure opened its mouth to scream at them, a silent, eerie scream.

  Steve wanted to look down at the lake, at the kids, at anything, but he couldn’t drag his eyes from the figure as he pulled on the oars. The girl shimmered and now it was Lauren. As he watched, her face twisted with anguish and horror, then it was Val’s smug expression looking back at him. Hatred shone hot in those cold blue eyes, and then it turned back to the corpse.

  Steve rowed for all he was worth. The tune to “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” came into his mind, and he almost laughed.

  The figure on the shore raised her almost skeletal head and projected insects up into the night. More and more insects were spewed from the paper-thin mouth, up into the air, finally landing silently on the lake’s stony shore.