The Lost Son: A Supernatural Novel of Suspense

by Matt Shaw

“Josh! I’m sorry...I thought...”

  The ghost of the boy stopped screaming and glared at her before he started to approach her - a look of pure hatred in his dead eyes. His feet a good few inches off the floor. He screamed again as he stretched his hands out towards Emily. She screamed too as she ran for the door. A quick turn of the handle and it opened allowing her access to the landing. She closed the door behind her as though it would save her.

  Josh screamed again but the sound didn’t come from the nursery. It came from the other end of the landing - the bathroom where he had previously sat with Emily whilst she was being sick early in the morning. He screamed again and, one by one, all the doors to the various rooms slammed shut - each one making Emily jump.

  “Stop it!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  Josh suddenly rushed her with his hands posed as though ready to throttle her. Emily screamed and turned towards the stairs - the front door clearly in her sight, she just needed to get down the stairs and out into the garden where he couldn’t follow. She took the first step as she awkwardly turned her head to see where the ghostly child was now.

  “YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT IT ALONE!” he screamed - his voice echoey but full of hatred for her. His face practically filling her vision. She screamed and stumbled backwards down the stairs. Her scream cut short by the sound of a snap when her neck took the majority of her weight on the second step she landed on. She landed, with a thud, at the bottom of the stairs - motionless.

  Had Emily opened her eyes she would have realised she was alone. Had Emily opened her eyes she would have realised Josh had disappeared. Had Emily opened her eyes she would have realised the house was silent.

  Had Emily opened her eyes.

  25.

  Jason pulled into the driveway with his head pounding from the previous night’s alcoholic beverages. He couldn’t remember how much he had had to drink. He couldn’t even remember getting home. Travis said he had had to carry him most of the way as Jason was so drunk but he didn’t remember a thing of it. Normally he’d have just taken Travis’ word for it but it was hard to believe him that morning for he had also informed Jason that he had even tried it on with two girls during the course of the evening and ended up kissing one of them. Of course Travis promised the little secret was their’s and their’s alone but Jason didn’t know whether to trust him or not. After all - he had never cheated on Emily before, or anyone else for that matter, and certainly hadn’t planned to when he went out. Unless it was the alcohol which had made him do it? He tried his best to block the thought from his mind as he killed the car’s engine.

  If he didn’t remember it then it never happened.

  Now sober, albeit with a serious hangover, the last thing he wanted to do was to cheat on Emily - or even attempt to cheat on her. He loved her more than he had loved anyone else before and wouldn’t do anything to ruin that - not even a ‘no-strings attached’ one night stand with some drunken floozy he met on a night out.

  “Nothing happened,” he told himself - whilst looking at his tired reflection in the car’s rearview mirror. For a time, he contemplated telling Emily what Travis had said but he didn’t want to hurt her. More to the point, he didn’t want an argument about something he didn’t even remember. “You love Emily. Emily is the one for you,” he told himself. “You look a fucking wreck,” he shook his head and climbed from the car whilst muttering to himself that, “No one would have wanted to kiss that.”

  He slammed the car door shut and walked up to the front door. A quick fumble with the keys, he selected the necessary one and slid it into the lock. Feeling fragile he pushed the door open and immediately froze.

  There, at the bottom of the stairs, laid Emily.

  His wife.

  The love of his life.

  “Emily?” he said. He didn’t move. “Emily?” It finally sunk in that she may be hurt and he hurried to her side. “Oh God!” He spotted the twist in her arm. “Emily!” He spotted the foot which faced the wrong way around. The lump in the side of her neck. Was that bone? “Honey! Please...Talk to me...Can you hear me?” He lowered his face to her level and looked at her face. She looked back at him. Her eyes unblinking. A bump on her forehead. Her mouth slightly open. His wife. The love of his life. “Honey?” he whispered.

  He knew she wasn’t going to answer back. He screamed. A scream which echoed through out the seemingly empty house. A scream which disturbed...A baby?

  Jason looked up to the top of the stairs. A baby was crying.

  “What?”

  He rushed to the top of the stairs and into the nursery where the noise was coming from.

  Standing in the room he could hear a baby crying from an empty cot. He could see the rocking chair gently rocking backwards and forwards. He could see a small car racing around a race track. He dropped to his knees in floods of tears as a ball rolled from the far side of the room, right up to where he was kneeling.

  He screamed once more.

  * * * * *

  Jason was sitting in his office. His hands were poised on his typewriter’s keyboard. His mind kept wondering what had happened during the night to cause the accident. So many questions. He wondered whether they’d be answered by the Ouija board. For a moment he even thought about asking his questions but he was fearful of the answer. Was it an accident? Was there more to it? Why was the bedroom window smashed. What had happened?

  The questions weren’t important. It didn’t change the outcome. His wife and unborn child were dead - along with his pet dog. He had lost everything.

  He had his story now though.

  His new book about a new husband and wife.

  The story he was struggling to write for so long was obvious now. He’d start with their marriage. The happy couple. Go onto their Honeymoon. Describe their experiences living in their new house. A house which turned out to be haunted by a spirit of a ghostly boy. One of them was to have an accident, leaving the other behind. But their love was to be forever. He was going to end it just as he was going to end his own life - as soon as the story was complete and submitted, as his final piece of tragic work, to his agent.

  His hero was going to take an overdose. Maybe jump out of the window? Toaster, plugged in, dropped in the bathtub where he’d be found? Whatever the method - the result was to be the same. His fans, the ones who liked his horror stories, would have a story they’d enjoy too. They knew he didn’t do happy endings. A book about a happy marriage was never going to be the sort of story he’d write. It took this turn in his life to make him realise this. He’d never escape to another genre. Forever - he’d be a horror author. He had his story. He had his ending.

  Not just the ending of his book but his very own literal ending to his life.

  Once his words were down on paper - he’d be with his family once more.

  He kept thinking, if only they had moved out when they had the chance. When they first spoke about it. Not that it mattered now. Now he just needed to get his story out there so he could be with his wife. The love of his life. And the baby...

  The baby screaming.

  He couldn’t help but wonder whether it was a boy or a girl.

  Time would tell.

  The End

  BONUS SHORT STORY FROM THE BOOK “SHORTS”

  “I Lay Still”

  “How’s it going champ?” my friend asked as he looked down to where I was laying on my back.

  That’s a rhetorical question - yeah?

  “I saw the mess you made of the car! Jesus!” he continued, ignoring me. I guess it was a rhetorical question. After all, I’m the one stuck here much to my annoyance - and own stupidity. My friend continued, “They say you were over the limit. Wish I’d had known at the time, I’d have driven you where you needed to go. Unless you were going out just for the sake of having an accident?”

  Not really! It was just that - an accident! You think I want to be lying here on my back with you all crowding around me?

  “Should have known so
mething like this was going to happen. It was just a matter of time. You’ve not been yourself since Catherine...”

  The whore.

  “...since Catherine left,” my friend finished. “I haven’t seen her - probably feels guilty. Too guilty to come. You seen her?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  My friend shrugged and muttered something about seeing me soon before he moved from my limited line of sight. Kind of glad he’s gone, to be honest, he seemed pretty judgmental - as though this was my fault. Well, technically, I guess it was. Even so. I’m the one who had the accident. I’m the one who’s, no doubt, in trouble with the police. I don’t need my supposed friends judging me too. Be nice if they could just be here to support me.

  It’s been a week now since the accident. They were right; I was over the limit. At least three times over, I reckon. Probably doesn’t help that I’m so skinny. Skinnier now, mind you. A week since the accident and I’ve been on my back since. Occasionally people have moved me into a different position but I always end up on my back again. I guess they think it’s comfier for me - perhaps better for me in the long run? I don’t know. It’s just my back is starting to hurt a little bit. Not a lot. Just enough for it to be annoying. Still, I can’t complain seeing as it was my fault.

  Just wish I could get up and move around a little but - in my current state - it’s frowned upon. Pretty much impossible too. Stupid. I was so stupid. One less drink and I might be walking today instead of being stuck here.

  Such an idiot.

  Has it really been a week? Doesn’t time fly. A week and my relatives, and friends for that matter, are only just coming to visit me. Nice to know they care - eventually. Be nicer if they could have staggered the visits out a little though. I’ve only seen a couple of them and I’m already pretty tired.

  Wonder if there’s something I can take to waken me up a little. Should have asked one of them to sneak me in an energy drink - or something.

  Oh, hi mum.

  My mum leaned down so I could see her.

  “Hi,” her voice is quiet. One word and I can already detect it sounds as though she’s trying not to cry. Probably ashamed of me. Her drink-driving son. Such a disappointment. Only passed my test two years ago, when I turned eighteen, and already I’ve crashed my car. She should be thankful it wasn’t her car. It’s not as though she’s never let me drive it before now. “Your sister’s wedding was lovely. We wished you could have seen it but, as instructed, we took lots of pictures and I believe your Uncle Frank filmed it. So, you know, perhaps...” she stopped talking. “We still think it could have been nice if we’d cancelled it - just for a little while...”

  No way! The amount of time and effort she put into it! Not a chance. I don’t need to ruin that too.

  My sister has been organising the wedding for over a year. At least, that’s how long she has been chatting about it to me. For all I know - she could have been planning it for a lot longer. Regardless, I didn’t need her to postpone it for me. That wouldn’t have been fair. Besides which, the family probably would have hated me that little bit more for delaying something so special. As mum said - there’s pictures at least.

  Mum held up a small wallet of pictures, “Here’s the photos,” she said. She put them down on my chest.

  Thanks! I’m sure I’ll get someone to hold them up for me later.

  “Your father is here,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind but he insisted.”

  What? I do mind actually.

  “Just...Give him a chance,” mum said. She kissed her fingertip and pressed it against my forehead as though she didn’t want to be seen actually kissing me. Am I that shameful to her now? Jesus - it was a fucking accident. These things happen from time to time and, yes, sometimes they happen in your own family. It’s not as though we can’t learn from them! Mum moved from my line of vision. I feel too ashamed to cry but I wish she’d come back. Just for a little longer.

  I’ve missed her.

  Even if her breath did smell of the garlic she obviously ate last night.

  My mum’s friendly face was replaced with my father’s stern expression; an expression I was used to for it was the one he often used when addressing me - at least, it was when we last properly spoke during the last time I disappointed him. I can’t remember what that occasion was. Hard to keep track. Surprising really - considering there have been so many.

  The disappointing son.

  Quite funny really; I disappointed them as soon as I was born into the world. They had wanted a girl. Ah well, they had me. I’m sure I wasn’t always a disappointment. Well - even if I was - tough really. Mum’s gone through the change now so the only way they’ll have a girl is if they adopt.

  “I’m sorry, son,” said dad. His stern expression melted away. Well this is new.

  What? Can you repeat that? You know - loud enough so the other relatives can hear you.

  In my twenty short years, on this planet, I think that was the first time dad had actually apologised to me. It’s actually made me feel a little weird inside.

  “I’m sorry for everything,” he continued.

  I still think it’s typical of him to come in now, though, when I can’t swing for him. Apologies be damned, I’ve wanted to take a swing for him since our last fall out - whatever it was about. I just remember he pissed me off. Hmmm - I wonder if there’s a button I can press to get someone to come in and take a swing at him on my behalf? Doubtful.

  Dad’s looking at me as though he’s waiting for some kind of answer. I’ve not giving him one yet. He can stew a little while longer. I’m sure we’ll make it up in time but all the time he is feeling guilty and I’m lying here. Well - be rude not to milk this a little while longer. At least it puts off the lecture I’m due for breaking my car and drink driving.

  Dad turned around as though someone else had caught his attention. Man I wish I could see the rest of the room and not just stare up to the ceiling - not knowing what’s going on is really starting to stress me out. Dad nodded.

  What is it?

  He moved from my line of sight without so much of a goodbye. Charming. He’s sorry but not sorry enough to say goodbye when he leaves me again. Typical dad. Tomorrow he’ll probably come in here shouting the odds at me again. Yes, that’s it. The sorry dad is just a show for the sake of the others in the room. No doubt he’ll have his say tomorrow. I know his tricks. He can’t fool me despite what he thinks.

  Seconds pass and suddenly Catherine leaned into my line of sight. Her eyes are red raw. Either she’s been swimming underwater or she’s been crying. A lot. Probably swimming. The whore. It’s my fault I’m in here. It was me who was driving the car. But - it’s her fault I was drinking.

  “What did you do?” she started to cry.

  Weird. I wasn’t expecting that. We haven’t spoken since the row. The row where she finally confessed, after months of me accusing her and demanding the truth, she’d been sleeping with my so-called friend. Now she’s here, looking at me with real tears streaming from her eyes. Definitely weird.

  You made me to it. You drove me to it.

  Okay - I drove me to it but I knew what I meant and I’m sure she did too.

  “That night - the argument...I was lying,” she said, “I just said it to upset you...”

  What are you talking about?

  “I didn’t sleep with him. I hadn’t been sleeping with anyone. Only you. I was just so mad at you for always accusing me. I just wanted to shut you up. I’m didn’t think this would happen...”

  What the hell are you talking about? Seriously? You fucking lied about it? That’s kind of sick!

  “I didn’t think this would happen,” she said again. She broke down into full on floods of tears.

  This is awkward. It’s not exactly like I can give her a cuddle in my present state. Before the accident, sure, but...Not now. My responses are somewhat limited.

  There, there.

  Yeah - that didn’t help. She moved from my line
of vision.

  “Okay, if that’s everyone,” a voice said that I didn’t recognise.

  I wonder who that was.

  What the hell is this? My vision turned to blackness as though someone covered my face.

  Seriously - not funny, people.

  Whatever it is - it’s quite heavy as it’s muffled the voices. Sounds like people are crying...No...Wait...It sounds like...Ah sweet...Guns N Roses...My favourite. “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” - a true classic.

  Ooh. Moving.

  Seriously what the hell is going on here?

  I stopped moving with a sudden jolt. Yeah because that will make my neck a million times better, won’t it? Idiots...Whoa...Someone turned the temperature up in here or is it just me? Some kind of fever???