Bury Them Deep

by Marie O'Regan

  He’d followed her home, of course, walking a safe distance behind as she chattered to her companions, the night air carrying her voice to him as clearly as if she were standing beside him. She’d hugged her friends goodbye and then run up some steps to a large, old house in a nice part of town, and then the door opened and shut and she was gone.

  He stood there, watching the house, lost in thought. He stood there so long he saw the lights click off, one by one, until the house joined him in darkness. There was no traffic, no sound… nothing; just the calm of standing in the dark watching the house that contained his light as a cool breeze calmed him. He could smell smoke, but the night was clear and calm – a memory, perhaps?

  He shook his head, focussed. Annie was that, he realised. She was his light. Elsa was gone (had there been someone before that? He couldn’t remember. The smell of smoke intensified for a moment, then was gone), he had no one. He was alone. Correction. He had been alone. Now he had her. Annie. And he was content to let her realise that in her own time, bit by bit, if it came to that.

  He’d been watching her for three days, wondering how to introduce himself, how to make himself part of her life, when Elsa came back for the first time. He remembered it vividly. He’d been lying in the narrow single bed in his crappy little bedsit, thinking about Annie, when someone had sat on the end of the bed. It had felt just like that; someone’s weight pushing down the mattress at the bottom of the bed. He’d even heard the springs protest.

  He’d pushed the covers back and leapt up as if the devil himself were after him, chilled to hear someone – a woman – laughing in delight at his terror.

  Relax, she’d said, and he’d recognised her voice at once, even if it had only echoed inside his head rather than her speaking out loud for all to hear. It’s me, she’d gone on, the love of your life, remember?

  For a moment he’d been lost, the only name that sprang to mind beginning with something else… an L, maybe?... then he knew. It was Elsa. Of course it was.

  The cruelty in her tone had paralysed him, and he knew then that she’d been with him all along, watching, biding her time – unwilling to let him go, to allow him to live his life. He was hers, and that was all. And she’d kill anyone that threatened that.

  He remembered lying in the dark, too scared almost to breathe, as she whispered in his head how much she loved him, how much she needed him – and how she could come back and be his once more.

  And he was ashamed to remember how that made him feel; how the reality of Annie, a living, breathing, beautiful young woman who might, conceivably, have given him the time of day once she got to know him, faded into the distance as the alluring prospect of a new Elsa, an Elsa returned from the grave with new power and a deadly charm, supplanted any other possible future he might have had.

  Annie hadn’t lived long after that. He’d kept following her for a few more days, allowing the Elsa inside his head to watch, learn, confirm this girl’s suitability as a vessel for his returned love – and then he’d struck.

  One night she’d left the house early, around seven o’clock, and walked not in the direction of the city centre, where she routinely met her friends before heading off to whatever they had planned for that night, but in the opposite direction – one that would eventually lead her out of town. Perturbed, Frank had lagged back as he followed, uncertain as to whether this was the night, this was the right opportunity. Maybe she had a boyfriend after all, and all hope of him being her lover was lost. After about twenty minutes walking through near-deserted streets, she’d turned into a driveway that led between two high wrought-iron gates and started walking up the tree-lined path. As Frank neared, he looked at the sign fastened to the brick wall beside the gate, and all made sense.

  She was heading through the local park, probably heading straight across so she could leave by the entrance on the other side of the hill and make her way down towards the shops at the bottom. It was a common shortcut for those living at the top of the hill on this side of the park. At this time of night the park would be almost deserted, and if he let her reach the midpoint, he’d be far enough away from either entrance that no one on the street would hear if she screamed.

  Perfect. He hurried after her, careful not to get too close just yet, careful to let her get far enough into the park. The start of the bridge over the lake was roughly in the middle of the park, with a path breaking off to the left just before it; that left-hand path curved back and was lined by some huge rhododendron bushes that grew close together, almost as tall as he was. If he could grab her and drag her into the cover afforded by those, no one would be able to see.

  She was almost there. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the way was clear – he had to make his move now. He hurried forward, glad the path was concrete rather than gravel, and within seconds he’d closed the distance and wrapped one arm around her waist, the other over her mouth. He lifted her off the floor, excited by the soft, panicked exhalations against the sweaty palm of his hand, the squirming of her body against his as she fought to get free. He turned and ran, eager to get into the darkness provided by the bushes before anyone came.

  Seconds later they were alone, and Frank grimaced as she kicked backwards, catching him in the shin. Cursing, he threw her onto the ground, hard, and smiled as, wheezing for breath, she tried to cry. He drew back and kicked her in the stomach, forcing the wind out of her, and now there was no fight left for her to give. She lay on her side, moaning, and barely moved as he bent down and grasped her throat, feeling her windpipe crumple in his grip as he leant forward to kiss her, forcing his tongue into her mouth even as he choked her to death.

  Afterwards, when she was Elsa again, this body subjugated to her spirit, and once again knew what pleased, things were better – at least for a time. She was happy to be back in this world, a thing of flesh and bone, with all the pleasures that came with that. And at the start she was grateful, inclined to indulge Frank’s little games and fantasies. So long as they didn’t damage the carcass, that was. She needed that to last as long as possible.

  All too soon the decay had started, as they’d both known it would, and the façade began to slip. The real Elsa started to show herself, little by little, and this one Frank didn’t like so much. She could be cruel, this Elsa, she found joy in pain just so long as it wasn’t hers. And she was far less willing to indulge her servant’s whims.

  It wasn’t so easy to love this Elsa; once the flesh started to sag, to smell like rotting meat and soften under his fingers – and yet she still wanted his love, still wanted him to hold her in the night and allay her fears, tell her she was beautiful. Frank often thought, as he lay staring at the ceiling waiting to fall unconscious (you couldn’t call it sleep) with his decaying love in his arms, that he’d never be able to rid himself of the stench – it would be with him always, till his dying day. He wondered if he’d notice when it drove him mad.

  Maddie sat on her bed, the debris of her meal strewn around her. There was nothing left of the chicken but bones and a few scraps of skin, and she’d drunk a whole pint of milk with it, along with some crusty bread and butter. Bliss. She burped, and leant back, stuffed. She stared at the table by the window and saw she had a bag of apples left, along with more milk for some tea, bread, butter and even some eggs and bacon. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much food; over time she’d got used to getting by, never really feeling full. She’d forgotten what that felt like. Groaning, she began to clear away the meal’s remains, stuffing the rubbish into a carrier bag so she could take it out to a bin next time she went outside. Then she put the meat and milk into the tiny fridge alongside the butter, and put the eggs on top with the rest of the bread. She emptied the apples into a chipped enamel bowl and sat that on top of the fridge, too. Moving across to the window, she pulled the dirty net curtain aside and looked out, searching for any sign that he’d found her again. After a few minutes she shut the curtains on the fading light and withdrew back to the
bed, where she curled up with the duvet over her knees and closed her eyes.

  It had been a weird day. She was no stranger to weirdness, not after all this time, but she couldn’t remember her mother ever intervening directly to make sure she survived before. Then again, she’d never had quite such a bad begging day before. Normally, you could rely on at least a handful of people feeling sorry for you, sorry enough to put their hands in their pocket and donate the price of a coffee, a burger maybe, or even – on rare occasions – enough to get a proper meal and have some food left over. Her mind turned to the afternoon’s shopping. She hadn’t spent that much – by her reckoning she had upwards of thirty pounds left, so could afford to eat for a while yet. She smiled, and gathered her things to take to the bathroom, ready to don her pyjamas and get some sleep. It hadn’t been a physically tiring day, she’d basically sat there and looked pitiful for hours, at least until her mother had stepped in (and she had to find out at some point exactly how she’d done that, Maddy thought), but it was still tiring – sitting on the cold, hard ground begging for charity. It took little nips out of you, left you a little more diminished each time you had to do it – with a little less pride in yourself and a little more disgust at what you’ve had to stoop to in order to get by. She resolved to try and find some work the next day, something menial, as always – maybe McDonalds or somewhere similar; they usually let you grab something to eat at the end of the day from whatever was left over. She’d kept herself going like that more than once, and it wasn’t so bad, if you didn’t mind the smell of grease and your skin breaking out on a regular basis. At least you were warm, and you could guarantee at least one meal a day.

  Maddie heard the sound of a door closing, further down the hall, and stiffened, her hand on the doorknob. She’d been just about to open her own door and head for the bathroom, but now she wondered if that was wise. Who else was staying on this floor? She tried to think, but couldn’t remember. She’d been under the impression this floor was empty apart from her; she was in the attic, which meant there was only one other bedsit and a tiny, very grubby bathroom. When had someone moved into that?

  There it was again, and Maddie relaxed as she belatedly realised what it was. Someone had left the bathroom door ajar, and the wind was knocking it into the door jamb as it swayed to and fro. That bathroom was supposed to be for her and whoever else stayed on this floor, but when the house was full the people downstairs routinely hijacked her bathroom rather than wait to use their own – she’d learnt not to risk going out into the hall without being fully covered; the last time she’d forgotten and nipped out in pyjama shorts and a vest top she’d only just made it back to her room unscathed. The huge alcoholic lech that lived just by the stairs on the floor underneath had spotted her and decided to have a go at persuading her to let him into her room. ‘For company,’ he’d slurred. When he’d tried to grab her she’d kicked him in the balls and turned and ran – he’d yelped and sworn at her for some minutes outside her now-shut door (the sheer diversity of the profanities he knew was impressive, she had to admit) before lumbering back downstairs, presumably in search of ice for his swollen nether regions. Maddie grinned. She’d always thought her mother was making a fuss over nothing when she insisted on teaching her some self-defence moves, but they’d come in handy more than once – and the Neanderthal downstairs had given her a wide berth ever since.

  Now she opened her door a crack and peeped outside, relaxing slightly when she saw the bathroom door was indeed reeling to and fro on what was left of its hinges in the breeze. Someone must have left a window open. She reached outside, terrified someone would reach out and grasp her hand, and her fingers skirted the wall beside her until she found the light switch and pushed it in. The relief was immense. The dim light wasn’t much, but it was preferable to making her way down that narrow hallway in the dark, blind to whatever or whoever was watching. She didn’t like passing the staircase, the dark hole it made in the passage made her feel exposed and she usually rushed past it at high speed. She shut her front door behind her and headed for the bathroom at a run; knowing the switch was on a timer and she’d be plunged into darkness any minute now. She could already hear the slight ticking sound that meant the button was starting to ease its way outward. Only when the bathroom door was shut and bolted and the light in there was on did she allow herself to let out a long, shuddering breath. Made it.

  She didn’t waste any time; within ten minutes she was finished and back on her way to the safety of her own room. As she crossed the stairwell a shadow just below her moved, and she heard someone growl. The smell of beer rose from the darkness, and her stomach rolled. She ran. She slammed her door shut and turned the key in the lock, heedless of the noise she was making. The neighbours would have to put up with it; it wasn’t like they ever paid attention to whether or not they were disturbing her.

  She left the light off, and stayed leaning against the door, trying not to cry. She squeezed her eyes tight shut, and tried to calm her breathing. She felt, rather than heard, someone moving outside her room and prayed they’d go away. Worst of all was the realisation that she couldn’t feel her mother; there was no sign of her presence, none at all. And that meant… what, exactly? Was she gone? Had she left her? Had he found them and taken her back?

  Someone leant against her door; Maddie felt the wood shift in the frame as whoever it was pressed their considerable weight against it. She could hear someone breathing, the sound heavy and somehow thick, and she could smell the booze through the door.

  “Another time, blondie,” someone muttered. “Another time.” Then footsteps thudded down the hall towards the stairs, their progress laboured and far from steady.

  Maddie slid down the door into a heap and wrapped her arms around her head, rested her forehead on her knees and cried. It was him, the drunken git from downstairs; he’d obviously recovered enough to try his chances again, and this time he’d almost succeeded.

  He won’t get you.

  “There you are,” Maddie muttered, wiping her eyes furiously. “How do you know?”

  I won’t let him.

  Maddie felt a little better at that, although she didn’t know how her mother could stop a drunk intent on rape.

  The air around Maddie warmed slightly, as if her mother was trying to give comfort. I have my ways, she said, and now Maddie relaxed. Her mother had got them out of so many scrapes over the years; and now she wasn’t limited by anything as banal as being strong enough. Maddie didn’t like to think about how her mother would deal with him, but she knew she would. After all, she always had before.

  Maddie was four. She was supposed to be asleep, but Mummy was scared, she could tell. Maddie lay quiet on the camp bed in front of the sofa her mother slept on, huddled into her blankets, and blinked in the light of the table lamp as she watched her mother reading the newspaper. There was a frown on her face, and she was worrying at her bottom lip the way she did when she was worried, or scared.

  Her mother turned, then, and saw Maddie staring. She smiled, and just like that Maddie relaxed; opening her arms to her mother as she came over and hugged her close.

  “How do you fancy a trip to the seaside?” her mother said, and Maddie smiled.

  Her mother wasn’t scared, after all; she was giving Maddie a surprise.

  Maddie went back to sleep, her world right again. She never saw her mother staring at the door of their bedsit, watching as if daring it to open.

  Thinking back, Maddie wondered when it was she’d realised what her mother was doing. The endless trips to the seaside, moving somewhere new because she was ‘bored with the flat’, or room, or just ‘fancied somewhere new.’ Maddie had grown up thinking her mum was a free spirit, someone who loved to travel, to wander, and was intent on making sure her daughter shared her wanderlust. Now she knew better; her mother had raised her daughter as best she could, trying hard not to impart the fear she lived with; the sheer bloody terror of never knowing when your stalker was just g
oing to walk round the next corner and stare you in the face.

  Try as she might, Maddie couldn’t pinpoint when that had changed; when she’d realised her mother was trying to keep them safe from something, or someone. Someone that was following them to place after place, never letting them rest. Never really allowing them to have a life, as most people knew it.

  Maddie was eight. She sat in the cupboard, peeking out through the door her mother had left ajar and she didn’t make a sound. She’d promised to be quiet, to be good, and she would be. Mummy would keep her safe. A floorboard creaked and Maddie stiffened, her fingers going without thought to her mouth, her thumb sneaking inside, where she sucked on it furiously, her fingers stroking an errant strand of her hair as she rocked to and fro, tears coursing silently down her cheeks. She shouldn’t cry. Mummy promised. Mummy promised she’d be safe, and she was always right. Always. There was a sound. What was it? Maddie listened hard, her thumb still in her open mouth as she waited, slack-jawed, for the sound to come again. There it was. Someone was moaning softly, but was it because they’d hurt themselves or because they were sad? Maddie wasn’t sure. And she didn’t know where her mother was, or who it was that was making that awful sound. Was it Mummy? Silently, Maddie began to sob, her shoulders shaking and her body trembling as she fought to make no sound. She had to be quiet. Mummy said. It would all be okay, she’d promised, if only Maddie could be quiet.