After Darkness Falls 2 - 10 Tales of Terror - Volume Two

by Matt Drabble

  Geraldine suddenly let out a gasp of pure terror and Monica snapped her head back to where the other woman was staring. The trunk was almost beneath the surface now but the top had burst open and, just before it sank, she could clearly see a pale arm sticking out waving sluggishly and then it was gone from sight beneath the choppy black river.

  “I don’t care what you thought you saw, you just didn’t, okay?” Geraldine said as they climbed back into her car.

  Monica could hear the uncertainty in the other woman’s voice for the first time since they had hatched their plan and it shook her badly. Monica hadn’t grown up strong like her father; she was used to being told what to think and what to do. “He was still alive,” she said quietly.

  “Bullshit!” Geraldine snapped. “He was dead. You saw it, I saw it; he was fucking dead!”

  Monica sat in silence as Geraldine tried to start the car with a trembling hand that couldn’t quite slip the key into the ignition.

  “Dead, that’s all there is to it,” Geraldine stated again. “The lid just popped open and the choppy water made it look like he was moving, nothing else.”

  Monica said nothing as Geraldine got herself under a little more control and started the car. They pulled away from the picnic area where they’d parked and back out onto the main road.

  The plan had been to stay away from each other, as once the police started looking into Terrence’s disappearance they would surely uncover his other wife. But now, as they drove along the dark and deserted lanes towards Crowtree Manor, the last thing that Monica wanted was to be alone.

  “Will you come in?” she whispered, not daring to look at Geraldine directly.

  The older woman seemed somewhat shaken, more so than Monica would have thought given Geraldine’s strong willed personality. “It isn’t safe” She whispered hoarsely.

  “Just for tonight. Terrence won’t be missing for a few days and if anyone was going to see your car they would have done so by now. Besides, there’s not another neighbor for miles,” Monica pleaded.

  Geraldine answered by pulling up the long drive to the house and parking around the back. Once she had stopped, she switched off the engine and they sat together in the dark. Several minutes passed as they stared up at the great house before Monica climbed out into the night.

  She felt, rather than saw Geraldine follow her and together they ran for the back door through the cold winter rain. Monica unlocked the large wooden door and pushed her way in.

  She had lived in the manor ever since she was born and had never thought to be afraid of the long dark corridors and the shadows cast upon her child’s bedroom walls in the black of night. The house, however large, was still just a house: four walls and a roof overhead. Growing up, the place had been filled with the noise of bustling staff carrying out their duties; many of the older ones were also quick with a smile to her or a hair ruffle. Now, however, the place seemed cavernous and full of danger. Before tonight, she could have never imagined leaving but right now it was the last place that she wanted to be.

  The back door opened into the large kitchen. Monica searched on the wall for the light switch and flicked it on. The room was flooded with light and Monica’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream.

  “What is it?” Geraldine asked breathlessly.

  Monica pointed to the long oak table. In the centre there sat a watch glistening under the florescent lights that buzzed overhead. The watch was instantly recognizable to her as she had bought it for Terrence. It had been the first time that she had ever bought a man anything and she had agonized over the purchase for weeks, trawling through endless shops looking for inspiration. The one that she had finally selected was a gold Rolex that had cost a small fortune, or at least that was what she had been told. Living a secluded and closeted life, she had little concept of money and honestly had no idea what constituted a “small fortune”. She had stared at the watch for at least a week before finally summoning up enough courage to give it to Terrence. She knew every speck of the watch, every contour, every hand and dial. Terrence had seemed overjoyed with the present and had sworn that he would never take it off and now it was sat facing her on the kitchen table. “The watch,” she stammered. “It’s his, he’s here.”

  “Wait a minute, that’s not possible,” Geraldine said uncertainly. “He’s dead and we both know it.”

  “That’s his watch, he never took it off,” Monica gasped nervously.

  “Well, today he must have because it’s sitting on your kitchen table!”

  “No,” Monica said, shaking her head.

  “Monica, listen to me. He must have taken it off. Think - do you remember seeing it on his wrist earlier?”

  Monica thought back to when his hands had been all over her in the hallway tryst and then when they’d been forcing his head under the bath water. In truth she couldn’t remember seeing the watch on his wrist but that didn’t mean that it hadn’t been there. “I don’t know,” she admitted reluctantly.

  “Right, so he just left it there this morning for some reason,” Geraldine said but Monica wondered just who the woman was trying to convince.

  Monica started to try and rationalize what she was looking at when her thoughts were interrupted by the front door bell clanging on the antique wire that ran throughout the house. The two women turned to stare at each other as the bell clanged again, only this time more insistently.

  “Who the hell is that?” Geraldine hissed quietly through clenched teeth.

  Monica could only shrug helplessly. She had few callers to the house and none that arrived unannounced. She held up a hand to Geraldine and they both stood rock still and quiet, hoping that the caller would go away.

  Just then, the bells stopped ringing and they both let out a sigh of relief. The relief was short lived, however, as the sound of the large locks in the huge front door tumbled and the door creaked open loudly.

  Monica stared at Geraldine in sheer terror. Someone had just let themselves into her home and she could hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps walking tentatively along the hallway. Her heart had already taken more of a pounding in the last few hours than the rest of her life put together. She clutched her shirt tightly at the chest and desperately tried to slow her breathing back to some sort of normal level to stop herself from passing out.

  Geraldine glanced around the kitchen for a weapon of some kind and eventually took a gleaming meat cleaver that hung on the wall. She motioned for Monica to likewise arm herself but Monica had no taste for violence; her experience with Terrence had proven that to her beyond any doubt. However, she still grabbed a small knife from the block and held it out in front of her like a magic wand to ward off evil.

  Geraldine slipped to the side of the kitchen door and held the cleaver aloft while Monica ducked down beneath the table.

  The footsteps grew closer, softly echoing in the long open manor house hallway until they stopped outside the kitchen. The door had a long frosted glass panel that obscured the person’s features and only showed a silhouette through the glass. A hand took the handle and it turned slowly to one side as the door creaked open slowly.

  Monica looked on in horror as she saw that Geraldine was about to swing the cleaver. “Hello?” she shouted to avert a possible second murder in one night.

  “Mrs. Donovan?” a woman’s authoritative voice rang out.

  “Yes?” Monica and Geraldine both answered together instinctively.

  Monica frowned at Geraldine and the woman realised her mistake.

  “I mean, she is and what can we do for you?” Geraldine said, quickly hiding the cleaver behind her back.

  “I’m Detective Inspector Chartres,” the new woman said, entering the kitchen. “I’m sorry for sneaking in but I couldn’t get an answer at the front door and we were a little alarmed.”

  Monica quickly slipped the knife into her pocket as the woman entered and she eyed the Inspector carefully. She was tall and broad, attractive but with a certain kind of
hardness to her features that must be necessary in her line of work. She looked around Geraldine’s age with short brown hair and no makeup, just a thin mouth and suspicious eyes.

  “Alarmed?” Geraldine asked pertinently.

  “And you are?” Chartres demanded rather than asked.

  “Geraldine Don…,” Geraldine started before managing to stop herself.

  “Don?” Chartres asked with raised eyebrows.

  “Yes, just Don. Geraldine Don.” Geraldine shrugged awkwardly.

  “Can I ask why you’re breaking into my house, Inspector?” Monica said, striving for a commanding outraged tone but falling some way short.

  “We received an anonymous report earlier this evening that there was a crime committed at this address. Someone reported seeing a murder, ladies, and I would like to see Mr. Terrace Donovan and I’d like to see him now.”

  They were sitting around the kitchen table twenty minutes later with three steaming coffees in front of them but Monica was forcing sips down as she thought it might look suspicious if she didn’t.

  “Probably just kids messing about making prank calls,” Geraldine said in response to the inspector’s earlier assertion.

  “That’s what I thought,” Chartres responded.

  “But you’re here anyway?” Geraldine asked.

  “With a family as old and as influential as the Winchesters, I’m afraid that my boss insisted on no less than an inspector to check it out.”

  “Well, like Monica said, Terrence is away on business.”

  “And when exactly do you expect your husband back?” Chartres enquired.

  “Tomorrow,” Monica said meekly.

  “And what sort of business is your husband in?” Chartres asked.

  “Oh, he handles the Winchester Family Holdings,” Monica answered. “I’m afraid that I don’t have much of a head for business,” she admitted honestly.

  “And you, Ms Don, you’re just here for a sleepover?”

  Geraldine smiled coldly at the inspector’s obvious jibe. Monica had noticed that she had regained some of her composure since almost decapitating the policewoman with a cleaver. “Well, Monica isn’t a fan of being alone in such a big house.”

  “And it’s just the two of you here? No staff or servants?”

  “Just little old us,” Geraldine smiled, lighting a cigarette like a film noir vixen.

  “Would you mind if I took a quick look around?” Chartres asked nonchalantly.

  “Would you mind showing us a warrant?” Geraldine smiled back.

  Monica didn’t like the adversarial vibe in the room as the other two women stared at each other across the table, neither one blinking. The last thing that Monica thought they should be doing was drawing more attention to themselves. At some point, Terrence was going to be found and Chartres seemed far too intelligent to not remember this conversation. Her eyes drifted away from the women and back to the expensive watch facing her on the table. She caught a glimpse of her own pale reflection in the face of the timepiece and wondered again just how it had come to be sitting there.

  There was suddenly the sound of movement upstairs and her heart beat a little bit faster and her mouth ran dry. Chartres looked up curiously and Monica saw Geraldine’s face turn as pale as her own.

  “I thought that you were alone?” Chartres asked, puzzled.

  “We are,” Geraldine said quickly. “It was just the wind, right Monica?”

  “Yes,” Monica replied quietly, while staring up at the ceiling. “It’s a draughty house.”

  “Are you alright, Mrs. Winchester? You look a little peculiar,” Chartres observed.

  “She’s fine, Inspector,” Geraldine interrupted quickly, “and if you’ll excuse us, it’s late.”

  Monica couldn’t take her eyes off the ceiling as Geraldine hustled the policewoman to the door. Part of her didn’t want Chartres to leave; she wasn’t convinced that it was the wind moving things around upstairs.

  Geraldine soon returned to her after showing the Inspector out. “Jesus, what a nosy bitch,” she said, shaking her head. “Who the hell called the police, for Christ’s sake? I mean, there’s only the two of us here.”

  Monica thought that she saw a flash of suspicion in Geraldine’s eyes which seemed ludicrous. However, how well did she actually know this woman? They had conversed for several weeks about what to do about Terrence but even Monica had to admit that she was monumentally naïve. What if Geraldine was not what she seemed; what if this woman was somehow playing her? After all, Geraldine had been the one to suggest deceiving Terrence and even murder.

  “We should check upstairs,” Monica said, not wanting to but rather needing to see Geraldine’s expression.

  The woman set her jaw straight and retrieved the cleaver from the kitchen table, which was now both comforting and disturbing depending on Geraldine’s motivations for the sharp blade.

  “So let’s go,” Geraldine said starting for the stairs.

  Monica followed her, one foot after the other, bringing up the rear. They were halfway up when something smashed loudly from above. Monica’s first instinct was to run the other way but Geraldine ran quickly forwards, inexplicably towards the noise. All Monica could think about was Terrence returning home and desperate for revenge. Had she thought that such a man would be so easy to get rid of?

  “Come on!” Geraldine barked from the top of the staircase, flapping the cleaver.

  “It’s him!” she whispered,. “He’s come back.”

  “Terrence is dead. You know how I know? Because we fucking killed him!”

  “Then who’s up there?” Monica snapped back, finding a little courage through fear.

  Geraldine turned away angrily and stormed off into the shadows. Monica stood there for a moment before following reluctantly.

  “Monica, MONICA!” Geraldine shouted loudly.

  Monica ran forward towards the voice. The hallway was long and she found Geraldine standing in one of the guestrooms. The window was flapping open and a pot plant was lying on the floor with the ceramic container in pieces.

  “Here’s your ghost,” Geraldine laughed mockingly. “The wind blew the window open and the plant fell on the floor, simple.”

  Monica stared past the woman at the window frame that was swinging on the wind. “Really? Just the wind? What kind of a wind leaves a HANDPRINT?” she shouted, pointing at the clear muddy print on the wooden frame.

  ----------

  They were sitting in the large open lounge in front of the fireplace, sometime later, holding crystal glasses of whisky in shaky hands. Geraldine’s blood-red painted nails were chinking against the glass nervously.

  They had searched the rest of the house at Geraldine’s insistence but had found nothing. It wasn’t exactly a scientific search but it was the best they could do under the circumstances.

  “I say that we call Inspector Chartres,” Monica insisted again.

  “Oh, brilliant plan,” Geraldine snapped in retort. “Let’s just hand ourselves over to the police; either for murder, if Terrence is dead and someone is pissing us about, or attempted murder if he didn’t drown.”

  “It has to be better than this. What if Terrence is still here? What if he’s come back to kill us?” Monica demanded but in a weak voice. Her head was spinning and she felt nauseous; her heart seemed to be forgoing its usual steady tempo, operating instead on some kind of irregular jazz beat.

  “Are you ok?” Geraldine asked curiously. “You know, you don’t look well at all.”

  “It’s my heart,” Monica managed. “I have a serious condition and it can’t stand much more of this.”

  Just then, she could clearly hear footsteps walking across the landing above. “Oh God, it’s him,” she stammered.

  “I told you, he’s dead. I checked his pulse myself - he’s dead!” Geraldine insisted.

  “That doesn’t matter, not to him.”

  They both turned their heads upwards as the footsteps approached the large wi
nding staircase.

  “It’s just someone screwing with us, that’s all; someone saw what we did and now wants paying for the information,” Geraldine spat. “Shit, that policewoman! Do you realise that she didn’t even show us any identification? She just told us that she was an inspector and we took her word for it. And what the hell kind of copper just lets herself into someone’s house?”

  “I did think it a little odd that she didn’t have a partner,” Monica conceded.

  “Jesus, I bet that’s it! She saw what we did and wanted to goose us a little. Come out, you bitch!” Geraldine suddenly bellowed towards the stairs, standing up and grabbing the shiny meat cleaver up from the sofa next to her.

  “Put that down,” Monica said adamantly. “We can’t just kill someone else. If she wants money then we’ll give it to her.”

  “Crap all over that! We killed him and I’m not sharing the money with anyone!”

  Monica looked up at the woman. Their plan had always revolved around Geraldine’s desire to rid herself of a bastard and Monica’s motivations had been ruled by Geraldine’s assertion that Terrence was planning on killing her so that he could sell the house. “What money, Geraldine?”

  The woman looked down at her, trying to remember what she’d said. “What?”

  “You said that you weren’t going to share the money. What money?”

  “I…, well it’s just that…, I thought…,” Geraldine mumbled.

  “Oh my God, what is this?” Monica said, shakily climbing to her feet and stepping away. “Where is he? Is that Terrence upstairs? You thought that you could both scare me to death, is that it? Get me onboard with a story about him wanting to kill me and then fake Terrence’s death only for him to come back and literally scare me to death?”

  “No, no, that’s not it at all!” Geraldine said, stepping towards her.