The Lost Son: A Supernatural Novel of Suspense

by Matt Shaw

  As she neared the top of the stairs she quietly went on all fours. If Jason was about to leap out from behind the corner - he wouldn’t expect her to be down here so she’d still have a chance of making him jump.

  “What the hell are you doing?” asked Jason - his voice came from the other side of the landing and made Emily jump before bursting into a fit of laughter. “I’ll repeat,” he said, her laughter being contagious and spreading to him, “what the hell are you doing?”

  “I thought you were hiding behind the wall to scare me,” she admitted, “I was going to get you first!” She stood up, “Must have been Roald,” she laughed.

  “I don’t think so - look!” Jason pointed to the bedroom behind him. Emily looked where he was pointing. Roald was on the bed, sound asleep. “I think he overdid it in the garden,” Jason continued. “Shall we just put it down to you being overtired?” he joked.

  “Shut up!” she carried on up the stairs to join him on the landing.

  “It’s okay - it’s been a hard couple of days!” he continued.

  “I thought I saw something!” she moaned.

  “Well when you’re quite finished - I believe we were about to have us some sexy time?” he took her hand and led her through to the bedroom. “Oh there is one thing,” he said without turning around to face her.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  With no warning Jason quickly turned his head back to Emily and screamed in her face - an action which, in turn, caused her to scream with fright.

  “Asshole!” she yelled when she came to her senses. She slapped him across the arm whilst he stood there and laughed.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he laughed, “I couldn’t resist!”

  “Why would you do that?” Emily whined.

  “I’m sorry!” he kissed her on the mouth. “I’m sorry!” he repeated as he pulled her closer. His breathing changed as he kissed her again - his hands sliding down her back and caressing her bottom.

  “You’re an asshole!” she reminded him before kissing him back.

  Roald woke up - as though disturbed by a sixth sense telling him what was about to happen. He whined, jumped down from the bed, and curled up on the floor before trying to return to whatever happy dream he was previously having.

  Jason pulled Emily back, still kissing her, towards the bed - where they both landed on the unmade mattress.

  “I love you,” he whispered when they stopped kissing.

  “I love you too - even though I don’t know why!” Emily replied.

  Roald suddenly sat up and started to growl. The sound snapped Jason and Emily out of their heated moment as they both turned to see what was wrong with him.

  “Great timing, Roald!” Jason laughed. Normally when he mentioned Roald’s name it would make the dog look at him, even if Roald was busy chasing wildlife - at the sound of his name he’d stop whatever it was he was doing and pay his master attention. Not this time, though. He simply growled again - his dark eyes fixed on the bedroom door. “What is it, boy?”

  Roald suddenly jumped to his feet and ran from the room.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Jason called out after him - not that Roald answered him or even acknowledged the question.

  “Well you can go and investigate,” said Emily, “whilst I find the bedding.” She jumped up and straightened her clothes out.

  “What? No! Come on! You can’t leave me like this!” complained Jason as he pointed to the rather obvious bulge in his trousers.

  “Come on,” Emily verbally pushed him. “Besides, you still need a wash - as do I!”

  “But we were just starting something nice...” Jason playfully moaned.

  “And the sooner you check on the dog and have a wash...The sooner I’ve found the bedding...The sooner we can pick up where we left off!” Emily said - a tone of a strict parent as opposed to an amorous lover, despite the situation they were both in. She walked from the room, determined to find the bedding wherever it had been left.

  Jason thumped down on the bed out of frustration.

  “I heard that!” Emily called from the stairs.

  * * * * *

  “What do you think?” Jason asked Emily as he span around, impatiently, on his leather office chair. He was sitting in front of his typewriter - an empty page resting in the machine waiting for his words to turn it into something more interesting than just another dead tree. Half full cardboard boxes surrounded him and filled every free space in the room.

  Emily was sitting in the corner of the room, on a black leather bean-bag, thumbing through the first pages of his latest novel - a novel that was now overdue with his frustrated, and frustrating, agent. Emily always read his work before anyone else. He used her as a gauge. She normally liked his books and he trusted her judgement. If she even hesitated as to whether she thought it was a good idea or not, he’d scrap it without a second thought.

  “Well?” he pushed her for an answer.

  “Ssh!” she hissed at him. She was annoyed at being made to read his current progress in the first place. After all he was supposed to be upstairs unpacking the remaining boxes in his office - not working on his book. Especially considering he had told her he wouldn’t work on it until she went back to work - instead he’d leave the typewriter boxed up and help her unpack everything so she didn’t have to return to work with the job unfinished. She didn’t moan at him, though. She knew there was no point. There was never any point when his ideas hit him - she knew, when the muse hit home, he had to get the words down or else he’d forget them or they’d get diluted over time.

  She put the handful of pages down and smiled, “It’s good.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t think it.” She stood up, “So are you going to carry on helping me now?” she asked.

  “So you didn’t like it but you want me to think you did just so I’ll carry on unpacking?” he ventured.

  “No, I liked it. I wouldn’t have said so if I didn’t. I could just really do with a hand unpacking. She could feel her temper starting to rise, not that she wanted it to. She didn’t want to be one of those wives - the nagging kind - but she was due back to work the following day and there was still lots to get done. Their progress had been hampered by the friends and family members who had dropped by to see their new place since the day they had moved in just over a week ago. The fact that they showed up, out of the blue, annoyed both Emily and Jason - not that they showed their feelings - because they had already told people they’d be holding a house-warming party when they were settled in properly. But no, a handful of family members and friends were all too impatient and swung by anyway, with kind intentions of helping out; offers of help which were declined by the happy, but stressed, couple as they knew it would lead to a barrage of questions all centered around, “Where does this belong?”

  Jason stood up, “Come on,” he said, “get your coat...”

  “What?”

  “I’m taking my wife out for dinner.”

  “I can’t. There’s too much to get done!” Emily pointed out - desperately trying to hold back the tears of frustration which were starting to fill her eyes.

  “It’s not going anywhere,” Jason pushed, “and we need to eat. I promise, when we get back, we can get our heads down, get cracking, and I’ll even carry on whilst you have a soak in the tub.”

  “Promise?”

  Jason nodded, “Get your coat. We’ll try the pub down the road.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time Jason had promised to do something and then failed to actually follow it through. Not because he was being malicious, or trying to upset Emily, he’d just forget. He’d find himself easily distracted by something else rather than what he was actually meant to be doing - only remembering the original duties when he saw Emily doing it herself. By then it was too late. He’d always offer to take over but she’d tell him not to worry about it and, worse still, she’d use that tone of voice. At first this
little trait of his annoyed her - especially when she initially thought he did it on purpose - but now she was used to it. She just hoped that today, of all days, he’d remember his promise and actually help her out as she didn’t want to go back to work knowing there was still a load of unpacking waiting for her at home.

  “What shall we do with Roald?” Jason asked as he struggled to his feet. He always struggled to his feet after any amount of time writing. His body had gotten too used to the comfort of his office chair and would tend to doze off.

  “He’ll be fine here,” said Emily. She stepped forward and snuggled into her husband as he desperately kicked his left leg around in the hope it would get the blood circulating again. “Besides - they might not allow dogs in the local pub. It probably won’t be the best of introductions to make to the owners; walking in with a dog.”

  Jason was apprehensive about leaving Roald alone in the house for the first time, especially considering they hadn’t finished properly moving in, but he knew Emily was right.

  “Come on - let’s eat!” He span her around and gave her a playful push towards the door - a push, no doubt, helped by the little smack he gave her bum. “I’m having scampi and chips!”

  “You always have scampi and chips,” she laughed.

  “Can’t fault a classic!”

  4.

  Pubs in the country were nicer than city pubs - not just in the way they looked but with the sort of people they attracted and with their atmosphere as a whole. At least - that was usually the case.

  This pub was very much like other country pubs that Emily and Jason had frequented - with regards to the layout and the general look; old brickwork, inviting sign on the doorway introducing the owners and welcoming you in, pretty curtains hanging in the open windows that blew gently in the breeze, low ceilings with wooden beams, a long oak bar with various taps sat upon it with spirits all hanging on the walls behind, round oak tables dotted around the room with wooden spoons - poking up from cutlery holders - boasting the table’s number. A classic country pub for sure.

  The only difference was the atmosphere.

  It wasn’t unfriendly, as such. The bar area, which was full with people enjoying a liquid lunch or waiting for a table in the seated area, didn’t just stop and go deathly quiet when Emily and Jason walked in. It just went a little quieter with a few people being rather obvious about looking at the new couple - as though they already knew of them before any introductions had been made and were now curious as to put faces to the names they’d heard around the small village.

  Jason took the lead towards the bar, with Emily a few steps behind him - where she was happy to remain until the locals got the curiosity out of their systems.

  “Hi,” Jason approached the petite girl behind the bar - a girl in her late twenties with long, wet-look curly hair and nicely applied make-up, black pencil skirt with a white blouse - top two buttons undone. She smiled her response. “Busy!” he pointed out. “Do you know if there’s a long wait for a table?”

  “About an hour,” she said keeping her conversation short and simple. She took a step towards the bar as though she expected him to carry on with his conversation.

  “An hour? Okay.” He turned to Emily and shrugged. She shrugged back. He turned back to the bar, “That’s fine...Do we need to book in or anything?”

  The girl went to the other side of the bar and returned with a wooden spoon. “When it’s ready,” she said, “we’ll call the number.”

  Jason smiled, “Thank you. So - we okay to get some drinks?”

  The girl nodded, “What can I get for you?”

  “I’ll have a Coke, please.” He turned back to Emily, “What can I get you?”

  “The same,” Emily replied. The more time they spent at the bar - the more uncomfortable she was feeling with the way they were being treated. Occasionally she was used to people recognising Jason but normally they were happy to meet him. Sometimes they even asked for an autograph although, much to his disappointment, those times were rare. Usually they just looked as though trying to place his face - they knew him but couldn’t say where from until they’d see his picture, once again, on the back cover of one of his books.

  “Two Cokes,” he told the girl. Desperate for conversation he tried again, “Always this busy? I thought it would be quiet at this time of day.”

  “Lunch time? Pubs have a habit of getting a little busier at lunch time,” she retorted - her reply dripping heavy with sarcasm. She poured the two drinks using the Coke tap and passed them over. “Four pounds eighty, please.”

  “Can we open a tab?”

  She shook her head.

  “Useful,” said Jason. He tried his best to match her previous sarcasm level but failed by a country mile. “We’ll wait over there then,” he pointed over to a quieter section of the bar and gave her a smile. Emily, meanwhile, leaned over and took the drinks before making her way to where her husband had pointed.

  “What the hell was that about?” she asked him when he caught up with her. She handed him one of the drinks.

  “Maybe they treat everyone like that? Just need a little time to warm to us.”

  “You think I want to give them time to warm to us after that? I wouldn’t be sad if we never came here again!” she said.

  “It might be nice,” he pointed out. He picked up the menu and flicked through to the fish section, “No scampi. Yeah, maybe we don’t have to come back here again,” he said.

  “It’s not you,” said a man close to where they were sitting. Harold, an older man in his late sixties. The way he sat on the stool, leaning against the bar with his pint to the side of him - he looked as though he was at home. No doubt one of the regulars - an older gentleman who’d moved to the country for peace and quiet and the fine comforts of a country pub. His hair was grey and his face clean-shaven with the exception of an odd tuft of stubble which was on his neck line where he must have missed when he was shaving it.

  Jason looked to him, “It’s you?”

  “You trying to be clever?” asked Harold.

  “No. It’s just when someone says it’s not you they tend to go on and say it’s them before breaking someone’s heart.”

  Harold slowly turned his head to see Jason properly for the first time. He didn’t say anything. He just sat and stared whilst trying to work out whether this man in front of him was trying to be a smart-ass with him or not.

  “Okay then,” said Jason slowly as he felt the burning stare of the stranger.

  “Let’s just go,” said Emily.

  “I was saying,” Harold started again, “it’s not you...They’re not being funny with you. The looks you’re getting...The way Lucy was...It’s not you...”

  “Good to know,” said Jason who had no idea what the old man was going on about.

  “It’s the memories you bring back,” Harold finished.

  “Memories? What memories? We’ve never been here before,” Jason pointed out.

  The old man stood up and downed his pint, “A lot of sad memories,” he said thoughtfully. He put his glass down and walked out of the pub.

  “What the hell was that about?” asked Jason.

  “I mean it - let’s just go. We’re clearly not welcome.”

  “This is bullshit - we haven’t done anything!” He looked at everyone else in the bar. No one was looking at them. No one was watching. No one even looked as though they wanted to. It was as though they didn’t exist. The other patrons blanked them out - if they weren’t there then it meant the memories of what had happened wouldn’t come storming back to haunt them. “Come on,” he took Emily’s hand and pulled her up from the stool she had claimed as her own, “let’s go. I fancied a take-away anyway.” He led his beloved from the pub.

  * * * * *

  The front door to their newly acquired house opened and Emily and Jason stepped inside - Emily with the keys in her hand and Jason with two large pizza boxes and a couple of smaller boxes which contained the sides they had
ordered.

  Emily threw the keys into an ash-tray, which was on a small table with a vase of flowers on it by the front door, and closed the door behind Jason. Both of them still clearly annoyed by what they had experienced in the pub.

  “I’ll have a word,” said Jason. “By myself, I’ll go in during the day when it’s a little quieter and ask what the problem is...You heard the man...It’s them...Not us...”

  “He was just trying to make us feel better!” Emily pointed out, kicking her shoes into the corner of the hallway where Jason also kicked his.

  “Did you see his face? I don’t think he gave a shit about our feelings! He was just telling us how it was. Something about bad memories.”