The House of Wood

by Anthony Price

  “Man,” he said, leaning against the cue. “I suck at this game.”

  Becky gave him a pat on the back, a wry grin on her face. “Not bad for a girl, huh?”

  “Guess not.”

  For the last hour, he hadn’t thought about anything other than enjoying the night. He deserved it. It had been a long time since he’d been in the place without wanting to drown his sorrows. In such a short time, the girl kicking his ass at pool had managed to achieve more than councillors, medication and alcohol had achieved put together. The weight no longer hung heavy around his neck.

  “Fancy another beer?” Becky asked, placing her cue back on its rack.

  “Ummm.”

  “Go on, one more won’t hurt.”

  It might, he thought. “Okay, I guess one more’ll be fine.”

  They walked over to the busy bar and ordered a couple of drinks. Nathan was beginning to wonder whether it really was his present company lifting his spirits. He had already been drunk before meeting her, but managed to compose himself. Now he could feel that familiar numbness creeping its way back in to him; a dulling of the senses, a clouding of his vision. Maybe he should slow down a bit? He contemplated. He knew he wouldn’t.

  “Can I ask you something, Nate?”

  He put his beer glass down. “Go for it.”

  “When you were younger, did you have a thing for Rachel?”

  Rachel again. Why did it always come back to her? No matter how hard he tried to run, he couldn’t get away.

  “No, not really.”

  “Are you sure? It’s just…” Becky let the sentence trail off. “You know what, forget it. It’s stupid.”

  “No, go on. What was you going to say?” Nathan asked.

  “It’s just, when I mentioned that she’d gone on a date with David, you seemed to get really jealous. I noticed it the other day at the bed and breakfast as well.”

  Nathan laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s just a friend. I don’t want to see her getting hurt, that’s all. Our beloved Doctor Cochrane isn’t all he’s cracked up to be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s just say, he has a few skeletons in his closet. And I don’t mean the kind that they practice on in medical school.”

  “He seems nice enough to me,” Becky said.

  Nathan took a huge gulp of his beer. The glass was already half empty. “Anyway, I don’t have any feelings for Rachel.” He jumped down off his bar stool. “Do you fancy going for a walk?”

  “In this weather? I don’t think so.”

  “It’s getting really stuffy in here.” He pulled at his t-shirt collar. “Don’t you think?”

  “I hadn’t really noticed.” Becky gave him a concerned look. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m peachy.”

  “Okay, well I’m going to go to the bathroom. Maybe you should get some fresh air?”

  “That’s a great idea. I’ll do that.”

  Before Becky could even say another word, Nathan had staggered off in the direction of the door.

  The cold air hit him full in the face, as he wobbled over to a nearby bench. At least it had stopped raining, he thought. He breathed in deeply, hoping to get rid of some cobwebs. He had to stop. Bad things always happened when he was drunk. It had been drink that had screwed his life up in the first place. If he hadn’t been on it that day the call came in about the shooting, then things might be different. He had let himself down. He had let the department down. If his father hadn’t been the sheriff, then he probably wouldn’t even have a job. It had taken him a long time to prove to his Pa that he could do it and that he was over it. Ever since then he had been living a lie. One that was getting harder to cover up. Everything was going perfect so far with Becky, he didn’t want to blow it with her. Not now.

  Usually, he was a functioning drunk. Somebody that could pass themselves off as sober, even if they were so inebriated that the world felt like it was spinning around them. But for just a minute, he had felt like losing control, letting everything go. Just like his father used to when he was a kid. He came home from school one day, his mother black and blue. When he had asked what was wrong, she’d told him Daddy had got mad, but Mummy had deserved it. They said alcoholism was genetic. Maybe it was? He thought. But he would never let it get that bad. He prayed he would never let it get that bad.

  ***

  Nathan closed the front door as quietly as he could. He wanted to smash it, to pretend it was that guy Justin’s head. He hated him for taking Rachel away. They had all gone up to the house and left him. He had watched them leave, hiding himself away in the bushes. His blood had boiled over to the point where he had gone and sat in the park, the blackbirds his only company. Rachel was his. She had always been his, ever since his Ma had passed away. He couldn't think of a single moment in the time, when she had ignored his advice. It stunk. They can all go to hell, he thought, going deeper into the hallway.

  It was always dark in his house. The lights hurt his Pa’s eyes, especially if he'd had one beer too many. No doubt he was passed out on the sofa right now, he realised. His ears strained, listening for the low growl of drunken snores. It was silent. Maybe he was still at work? He thought, his fingers crossed behind his back. He had been lucky once before. But he could never be too careful. It wasn’t a good idea to make his Pa angry, not at this time of night.

  He stood there for a few moments, waiting for a sound. There wasn't one. Not wanting to tempt fate, he kept his footfalls light on the shaggy rug that stretched the length of the hallway. His hands were trembling. The fading bruises on his back felt raw again, as if they remembered what happened the last time he broke curfew. That had been a trip to the ER. Fell down the stairs, didn't you? Stupid boy, never looks where he's going, Doc. Nathan had seen the doctor’s face; knowing and yet powerless to offer any form of salvation. He'd seen it so many times before with his Ma. Mr Ross is a respected member of the community, Nathan realised. No one will ever stand up to him.

  His feet stopped, before climbing the short staircase. He had to be sure. There was still no sound, no light. Nothing. He let his building anxiety subside.

  One step.

  He has to still be at work.

  Two steps.

  Three steps.

  Thank God for small mercies.

  “Why are you late?”

  The deep voice made his blood run cold. His Pa had been skulking in the kitchen all along. Waiting like a predator. Every instinct Nathan had was screaming at him to bolt up the stairs, jam his bedroom door shut and sit tight until the storm passed. But he couldn't move. All he could do was stand there and wait for the onslaught.

  “I asked you a question, boy. Why are you late?”

  “I-I -“

  “Are you a retard?”

  Nathan could smell the alcoholic fumes coming towards him. “N-No.”

  “Then stop stuttering,” his Pa said keeping his voice level.

  He was on the bottom step now. Nathan could hear him undoing his belt buckle.

  “I’ll give you one last chance, son. Why are you late?”

  “I-I’m sorry, Pa. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  “You may be eighteen, but you live under my roof. My rules.”

  Nathan still couldn't see anything, as he stepped backwards up the stairs. His Pa was within striking distance. The smell of yeast on his breath was so strong, it almost made Nathan gag.

  “Your mother used to make promises that she knew she wouldn't keep. You know what I did to help her keep them?”

  Something inside Nathan woke up.

  “Don’t you dare talk about Ma. I know what you did. She gave you everything and you treated her like dirt, beating her like a dog until she killed herself. Well you won't break me.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  He felt the sting of leather bite into the exposed flesh on his arm, milliseconds before the sound of the slap filled the hallway. Then another. And another. Several m
issed, as he dodged side to side. He was too angry to be afraid now. He kicked his leg up in the direction of the smell. A grunt, followed by several dull thuds in quick succession announced that he had knocked his Pa down the stairs.

  Had he killed him? He wondered. He hated his father with a passion, but he was still his blood and Nathan was no murderer. He stopped for a few moments. No, he was alive. Soft murmurs hovered up to his ears. He bolted to his room.

  Locking the door, he dragged his dresser across to act like an extra barrier, before slumping down to the floor, his head tucked between his knees. He felt sick. He clutched at his arms to stop them from shaking. No doubt it was the adrenaline, he realised. He had never stood up to his Pa, no one had. It was the strangest feeling; full of victory and yet poisoned by a dull sadness. If only he had stood up to him sooner, then maybe his Ma would still be around. They would be a family.

  Time slipped past. He had no idea how long he had been sat there. The last thing he had heard from downstairs was the fridge door opening and then an audible chink of glass bottles. He obviously wasn't hurt bad, Nathan realised. For an instant, he wasn't sure whether he was happy about it, or not. There was only one person he could talk to. He didn't care if it interrupted her or not.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialled Rachel’s number. It rung a couple of times before she picked up.

  “Oh my God Nathan, I…”

  Then it went dead.

  “Hello, Rachel. You there? Rach, pick up.”

  Nothing.

  “Rach?”

  His stomach dropped.

  “RACHEL!”

  ***

  It was the last time Nathan’s Pa ever touched him. And one of his last memories of Rachel. He turned his eyes up to the sky. Everything in his past was entwined with hers. He was sick of it, tired of the memories and of people asking him about her. Yes, he had loved her, but this was the second time she had chosen someone else over him. It was time to move on.

  The fresh air had done some good. He stood up, feeling a lot steadier on his feet. He took one more deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then he returned to the bar.

  He saw Becky sitting down at a table. He gave her a smile.

  “You feeling better now?” She asked.

  “Much better. Not sure what came over me.”

  “We can call it a night if you want? I can make my own way home.”

  Nathan gave her a serious look. “Look missy, you’ve beaten me five games in a row. Do you really think I’m going to let you go that easily?”

  She laughed. “Fancy another whooping, do ya?”

  “From you, anytime.”

  He watched her as she strolled off towards the pool table, her hips swaying from side to side. He could feel a familiar stirring in his trousers. She looked over her shoulder and gave him a cheeky wink. Time to let go of the past, he thought. Time to let go of Rachel.

  ***

  “The part in the woods sounds like a harrowing experience,” David said. “Shall we take a break for a second?”

  “Please,” Rachel said, sitting herself back down.

  She was glad that was over. Her experience in the woods had haunted her every night since. She was also glad that they were taking a short break. She could feel her hands trembling underneath the table. It was awful, having to relive it all; David was right, remembering was almost as bad as going through it the first time. The further she got through her story, the harder it was getting. She hadn’t even got to the worst part yet.

  Despite the storm, the air in the restaurant seemed stifling. Every now and again, she would have to wipe the sweat forming on her forehead.

  “I’m just going to visit the ladies room again,” she said.

  “Is everything okay? You’ve only just been.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’ve left my cell phone in there.”

  “If the waitress comes shall I order you a coffee, or anything?” David asked.

  “Not for me thank you. I’ll be back in a tick.”

  Rachel walked off in the direction of the ladies room again, leaving David alone at the table. She hated lying, but she needed to clear her head, calm her nerves down. She felt like an idiot. They were only memories, how could she still be afraid after all this time? She thought. The house was rebuilt, big deal. It wasn’t as if the house could hurt her. It had been Justin. And he was dead. The dead can’t hurt anyone.

  The bright lights of the bathroom dazzled her, as she stepped inside again. She took a quick look around to make sure there was nobody else, ducking down low to look beneath the cubicle doors. It was deserted. She took a deep breath and walked over to the counter.

  The harsh cold water burst from the tap with a hiss. She put her hands underneath and splashed it on to her warm face. Her eyelids felt heavy. Forcing them open, she took a long hard look in the mirror. What had happened to the girl she used to be? She wondered. Had she died up at the house? Physically, she looked no different, three years older, but that was all. Mentally, it was like two different people. She used to be loving, caring and open to the possibility of an exciting future. Full of life. Now she was cold and hard like granite. Maybe after tonight, after exorcising her demons, she could get back to the way she used to be. But first she had to face her biggest fear. Facing Justin for one last time.

  Her make-up had run from the water on her face. Black lines had started to smear down her cheeks. She wiped them with her hands and then opened up her purse to take out her eyeliner.

  “Shit,” she said, as the black cylinder fell to the floor.

  She bent down to pick it up.

  “Tee hee.”

  Rachel stood bolt upright. The child’s laugh had come from one of the cubicles.

  “Who’s there?” She called out.

  Silence.

  “Come on, I heard you.”

  There was still no answer. Must’ve been my imagination, she thought, turning back to the mirror. She had checked every cubicle, and there had been no one there. Stop being so stupid, she thought. There’s nothing here.

  She blinked. For a second she thought she’d saw a familiar face hovering over her shoulder, smiling. Lilly. But it couldn’t be. It was just the stress, she kept telling herself. She prayed to God that she wasn’t losing her mind.

  “Tee hee.”

  She whipped her head around.

  “Come out, whoever’s doing that. It’s not funny.”

  She was becoming scared now. The fear was crawling up her spine, numbing her. A cold breeze brushed along the back of her shoulders. She spun around again. Nothing. What the hell’s going on? She thought.

  “Tee hee.”

  The toilet door flew open, as a group of women walked in, giggling and screaming. They looked at her with contemptuous eyes.

  Rachel grabbed her bag and flew from the toilet. She needed to get out. Not just out of the bathroom, but out of the restaurant, the town. Being home was the worst place she could be. Except back at the house. She would finish her story and then get the hell out of there. She owed it to herself to finish after getting this far.

  David stood up, as she reached the table.

  “What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  The phrase struck her as odd. Had it been a figment of her imagination caused by stress, or had she actually seen a ghost? She didn’t believe in ghosts.

  “It’s nothing, I’m just tired.”

  She sat back down. This was it, the hardest part to relive. If she couldn’t get through this next part, then she may as well pick up the fork on the table and jab it through her eye socket and in to her brain. If she couldn’t be fixed, she thought, then life wasn’t worth living.

  “I’m ready to continue,” she said.

  David sipped at his coffee, before placing it on the table. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Okay.”

  She started to fiddle with the locket. “After he hit
me, the world seemed to go black. I could hear everything, feel everything, but I was in a different place. Every now and then I would feel a sharp tug at my hair, or a sharp stone slice along my back, as he dragged me along the drive and in to the house…”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The house had grown cold and silent, the final embers in the fireplace dead. Inside was pitch black without the roaring flames to give off its warm, orange glow. I couldn’t see a thing, as he dragged my body along the hard wooden floor towards the living room. Not that my eyes would focus anyway; I was still dazed and confused from the sudden blow to the back of my head. I could feel a thin trickle of blood running down the nape of my neck. My body groaned as I felt his firm grip lift me up and throw me on to the sofa.

  I heard his feet shuffle over towards the fireplace. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The pain in my body mixed with the fear had almost paralysed me. What was he going to do with me? I wondered. An un-numbered amount of scenarios ran through my head. Maybe this was a prank? Any minute now, Chelsea and Tim would jump out and scream, gotcha! The image of Justin standing there, with the severed head of my best friend, flashed in my mind; her flowing red locks marred by the blood that had tangled the strands together; her eyes rolled back in to the skull; her face stuck forever in a twisted scream. No. This was real. I was trapped in the middle of nowhere with a guy that was clearly out of his mind. What was he going to do to me?

  I lay on the sofa, focusing on the steady rise and fall of my chest, trying to block out the pain. I tried to move my legs a few inches, so as not to alert his attention. It hurt, but not unbearably so.

  The sound of liquid pouring and a clicking from the fireplace to my right drew my eyes in that direction. A sudden spark ignited the logs in to life. At first the flames were small, but within seconds they spread over the untouched wood like a disease, growing bigger as their insatiable hunger was appeased. Justin was crouched at the side looking in to the fire.

  “Mesmerising aren’t they?” He said, moving over to a nearby table. He placed a large jerry can down with a dull thud. Not once did he turn to look at me. All I could see was the back of his head.