For all these people and many more who’ve become my victims over the past. I look into the crowd outside and I see their faces amongst them. I see my high school headmaster and three ex-girlfriends and two hookers I used in between having the ex-girlfriends and a fat chef who dared to spit in my hamburger once.
I see my parents. I didn’t kill my father but he’s there anyway, stitching my mother’s head back on with some horrid looking black string and shaking his head at me saying, “No no, this won’t do, young Brady, you go to your room now!” and he points to the cinema behind him as if we’re at home, which is weird because I never met my father. He died before I was born. My mother’s head shakes too, still separated smoothly from her neck. I used an axe. I have good upper body strength, unlike the Chinese man. I killed her in one solid strike, but yet she rolls her eyes at me in disappointment at what I’ve become.
Napkin 7
Tears form in my eyes. I don’t know why. Maybe I miss my mother and father or maybe that’s what drove me to be…this laughing, prancing demon of the night who preys on the weak and powerless.
Maybe it’s being denied the pleasure of killing Richard. I was really looking forward to that. Or maybe it’s because I just relived every one of my hundred and forty-eight deaths in about a minute. That’s a lot of hard work, planning, effort and bloodshed to think about in sixty seconds. I don’t need to keep a memento of every kill because each is etched into my cerebrum. Mementos get you caught. Ironic, isn’t it? I’m telling you all of this, putting it to napkin and I’m concerned about getting caught.
A psycho with a conscience? I may well be.
I suppose you can call this a confession. I look at my watch and I can see I have…
Three minutes. Shit, where did the time go?
The crowd are still there, watching, waiting. I’ve got past the unnerving part now. It’s kind of amusing, really. I’ve decided to keep writing until the last possible minute. Who knows, despite my flaws, maybe I might become a hero out of this. Or is that delusion coming into play again?
Something just happened. I might be a bit shaky here so if you can’t understand this, I apologize.
Graham just sat up. NOT Clint, Graham. The pool table obviously didn’t do enough damage to the brain. His skin is white, like Jimmy’s, and his eyes are plain white orbs. HOLY SHIT! Mandy just moved. And Chad. Wait a second…
…they’re all moving. Every single fucking corpse in Jericho is moving. ARGH. The barman just snatched my pen and scratched my face. Cunt. Hang on, can I catch…the virus by touch? Or by breathing?
Clint is on his feet now. He just fingered the hole in his chest and started licking the tips slowly. Mandy’s climbing to her feet but her broken neck and obtuse-angled head are knocking her off balance. She looks like a human banana in her shape and skin color. Graham and Chad’s torso (no head, remember) are leaning against one another.
SHIT, Richard grabbed my foot. How the fuck is that possible?
The crowd moved. I didn’t see it, I sensed it. Like they all took a step forward! In unison. One step. A cohesive unit. I gotta get out of here…
…I’m in the toilet now. I have one napkin left, I didn’t grab a pile, and I wanted to escape with all of my limbs. I hobbled into the toilet and sat down, locking the door. I can hear the shuffling of…whatever they are…in the bar. As I sprinted to the toilet, even the fat barman moved and climbed to his feet. I heard his intestines slap the floor like a wet mop.
Zombies, my ass.
I mean, if you can’t hit them in the head then what’s the point? I mean, they all stood up. Even the headless corpses. Richard fell at my feet as I got in here. He’s scratching at the door now.
Looks like I’m a goner. The noted napkins are in my pocket. If I leave them in the toilet cistern, hopefully they’ll be safe. I mean, these monsters won’t need to take a dump and flush anytime soon. I’ll do that. If you find these notes, remember, I wasn’t all bad. I just had some issues. I wanted to make everything right.
Okay, I just unlocked the door. The second I release my foot…
Come and get it, you fuckers!
From Within
Only an hour to go. An hour, and the whole debacle will be over with, a forgotten memory. Finished. Done.
Victoria turned the shower on. The taps squeaked and groaned before bursting to life and spraying lukewarm water into the bath below. The pattering noise was soothing somewhat, relaxing. As she turned the taps with her fingers, the spray became more powerful. The pattering increased to a dull roar.
Victoria’s brain returned to the dilemma at hand.
Everything will be okay. It’s a quick procedure and the doctors know what they’re doing. They do this every day, repeatedly. You’re in good hands.
Yeah, but what if something goes wrong?
It won’t, you’re dealing with professionals here.
Victoria walked out of the bathroom, through her entrance hall and into the lounge-kitchen combo. Her stride was direct and full of purpose. Her feet slapped on the cold, smooth linoleum floor as she opened the fridge, took out a half-empty bottle of vodka and unscrewed the cap. Victoria tossed the cap on the counter and it bounced off an unopened loaf of wheat germ bread. It came to rest beside the toaster. Picking up the empty glass from the counter, one she’d prepared minutes earlier, she poured two fingers of the clear, pungent fluid and stared at the glass.
No alcohol before the procedure. Those were her clear instructions.
Doctors’ orders.
How would it make a difference anyway?
The liquid sat patient and unmoving. The stout stench of alcohol tinged Victoria’s nostrils. Bracing herself, she seized the glass and swirled the liquid around. The woman felt mesmerized by the vodka, possessed by it, as if it were the only thing left in her complex little world. A drop splashed onto the back of her hand. She licked it off. The taste was vulgar against her tongue and made her wince slightly.
Victoria looked around her apartment. The home was small, comfortable, and perfect for one. Her leather corner sofa, normally inviting, looked cold and out of place. The TV was off. The double doors beyond highlighted the gray sky outside, rain was tapping away on the glass like a constant stranger. Everything seemed so alien and foreboding.
Perfect for one.
The image of her doctor came into her brain, suddenly and forcefully. His balding pate and wrinkled nose made her feel ill. She’d seen him twice this week and both times, she'd felt violated and dirty. To her, he was peering into her personal life and messing with it. His decisions were affecting her life, her solitude and her privacy. He was doing his job, yes, but that didn’t mean she had to agree with it.
Perfect for one.
She closed her eyes.
“The choice is yours and it’s yours to make alone. You have your options all laid out in those documents. When you’re ready to make a decision, we will set the ball rolling as soon as possible. We want to make this as comfortable as possible for you.” The doctor pushed his glasses up his nose. That wrinkled, pudgy, fucking ugly nose. “Trust us, we’re professionals.” The doctor leered.
Or was that in Victoria’s imagination?
Victoria downed the vodka in one gulp. Fire seeped down her throat all the way to her stomach. Her tongue felt scorched and her teeth tingled, but the nerves started to subside. She leaned on the counter and let the alcohol go to work. After ten seconds, she breathed out and relaxed.
Fuck the doctor.
Victoria returned to the bathroom. The room had filled with hot steam and it was like moving into a fog. The heat felt good on her face and eyelids as she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She shut the door behind her. Victoria removed her robe and underwear and tossed them to the floor. Hoisting her leg, she stepped into the bath and moved under the hot spray.
Glorious water! The hot spray soothed her shoulders and arms, relaxed her muscles and cleansed her sweaty skin. Rivulets streamed down her chest, betwee
n her breasts, and curved between her legs before splashing onto the ceramic below. The stream was bouncing off her left foot. No number of showers would ever cleanse her completely but it would help in the short term.
Victoria stuck her head under the shower and instantly her hair matted to the shape of her petite skull. The water sluiced and danced across her head. She faced the spray, filled her mouth and swished it around before spitting it out. For a full minute, she let the water wash away her woes; it massaged her face, which became numb with the many miniscule shots of water. Victoria wished she could stay like this forever.
Pulling away from the spray, she picked up her shampoo bottle. As she was about to squirt the bottle into her hand, she heard a noise. It was faint, almost nothing, but it was there. A strange sound, foreign.
From somewhere in the flat.
Victoria poked her head from behind the shower curtain. “Hello?”
Just the shower, its roar as dull and overbearing as always.
Maybe your imagination? You’ll give yourself a heart attack.
Victoria massaged the suds into her hair and rinsed almost immediately. She didn’t bother with the Dove bar. Once clean, she turned the taps off and stood still.
Silence.
Steam roamed around her head and filled the bathroom. The door, inches away, was almost invisible behind the mist, closed. Victoria said a small ‘thank you’ and stepped out of the bath, pushing back the shower curtain gently. The rail scraped as the hooks slid along before the curtain was nothing more than a crumpled plastic sheet at the end of the bath.
Victoria stood naked on the bath rug. It felt plush and comfortable beneath her bare feet. After rubbing her slick arms in comfort, her hand selected a pink towel from the rack beside her and automatically started toweling her wet body. She wrapped the towel around her, selected a second, red towel, and bundled her soaked hair into it. She twisted it into a tight turban and stood still.
Her eyes never left the door.
She was sure she’d heard something.
Her left hand reached to the sink, her eyes still transfixed, and fell onto her grooming kit. By touch alone, she located her nail scissors and stepped forward. Victoria took a breath and pushed the door. It opened silently, the steam back drafting through the open space as fresh cold air mingled. The mist dissipated.
“Hello?” she said again.
Nothing. No noise.
Just her normal apartment, empty and secluded. Normalcy.
Victoria leaned to the door and listened. Silence greeted her. Apart from the clock in the living room.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Apart from the whirring of her laptop in the lounge.
Mmmmmmmm.
Otherwise silence. Satisfied and a little unnerved, Victoria finally detached her eyes from the doorway and looked at the mirror. Steamed glass stared back at her. Her hand shot out to wipe the moisture away and paused.
What if something’s standing behind me? Her hand retracted an inch.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Don’t be fucking stupid. You need to stop watching all those cheesy horror movies.
The thought scared her. With her left hand wrapped tightly around her scissors, the right wiped the moisture away in two broad strokes.
Nothing was there.
Mmmmmmmm.
The only thing on display was her showered self, hair bundled into a towel. The other towel sat above her breasts, bulging with its contents. Victoria smiled, proud of her body. Her eyes looked fatigued and bloodshot. A result of standing under the shower, or the vodka, or both? Her cheeks were rosy with warmth.
She placed the scissors on the side and toweled her hair until damp. When she pulled the towel away, her hair cascaded down over her shoulders. Victoria ran a hand through the damp mane, pushing it to the side. She dried off her body and threw both towels into the hamper beside her. She collected her panties from before and put them on. They were clean on this morning so she didn’t mind too much.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Mmmmmmmm.
Victoria removed some tweezers from the grooming kit and proceeded to remove stray hairs from her eyebrows. She plucked them one by one and washed them under the tap. With her spare hand, she masterfully squirted some moisturizer into her palm and applied it to her face. A routine she’d perfected in her teens. She massaged the cream into her cheeks slowly and gently. Finished with the tweezers, she dropped them onto the side and ran a hand through her hair.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Mmmmmmmm.
Satisfied with her hair, Victoria closed the grooming kit and pushed it aside. She grabbed her toothbrush and –
Hehehe.
Victoria dropped her toothbrush. It bounced into the sink, the noise almost deafening, amplified by the fear. That time she’d heard it. There was no mistaking it, no shower roar to camouflage it. A definite noise.
Was that a laugh?
From inside the apartment?
Victoria covered her breasts with both arms, crossed in a protective stance. She backed to the bathtub, the slippery ceramic pushing at the backs of her clammy knees. Beyond the door, she could see the lounge across the hall. Recalling the layout of her home, the bedroom was next door and the spare room to the left. The front door was right out of the bathroom.
But where had the noise come from?
Goose flesh erupted on her arms. She felt her hair tighten on her scalp. Despite the chill, sweat broke out on her forehead. Victoria’s tongue was suddenly paper-dry. She didn’t want to walk out of the bathroom but knew she had to.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
On the final tick of the clock, Victoria strained her ears.
Mmmmmmmm.
Then nothing.
She stepped forward. The lounge was empty, the hallway clear. The door to the spare room wasn’t open. The front door was enticing and it beckoned her to leave. And she would've if she’d been dressed.
Victoria breathed in and planned her movements. Walk quickly, out of the bathroom, turn, to the bedroom, get your clothes and head to the lounge, grab your keys and get the fuck out of dodge.
Everything went smoothly. She dressed in a yellow chamois shirt, a pair of faded blue jeans and some white sneakers. Dressed, she left the bedroom looking for her keys. She found them on the arm of the sofa beside her iPhone and purse. She grabbed both and turned around.
And stopped. The breath slammed out of her.
A child was standing in the hallway.
It faced the door, its back to her, blocking the exit. The front door remained closed but the child stood between her and freedom. Victoria’s chest pounded and she discovered she was hyperventilating. She dropped her phone and purse with a thud. Thankfully, for her, the child didn’t turn towards her.
It could still happen though.
Where had it come from?
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Hehehe.
Mmmmmmmm.
The child was motionless. The hair on its head was short and slicked, as if wet, almost as if it’d showered recently. An absurd thought entered her head.
Had it showered with me?
Victoria lost her legs and gravity forced her to sit on the sofa arm. After steadying herself, she dared another glance at the child. It wore a beige hoodie, kid’s size, and pair of baggy blue jeans. The hoodie had a tear in it from the left shoulder to the center of the back, as if something had hooked it and torn. A bloody handprint smeared its shoulder. Her stomach started to ache. An uneasiness settled on Victoria.
That’s when the child spoke.
“Hello, Victoria.” A boy’s voice. Innocent yet sinister.
Victoria felt her skin tighten once more. Sweat dripped in her eyes. Her skin was solid and spiked with gooseflesh. She couldn’t move and couldn’t react. Her mouth opened but no words escaped it.
“Wondering why I’m in your home?”
Victoria said nothing. The ache in her stomach was throbb
ing now.
“Not nice, is it…having your home invaded, having someone come into your home and violate your personal space?”
Victoria said nothing but found her head shaking, in agreement with the…child.
“I see you agree. I’m glad we agree on something.”
“Who…who are you?”
“Right now? I’m nothing. I’m a twinkle in an unknown man’s eye. I haven’t been born yet. And I don’t think I will be…if you have your way, anyway.”
A second later, a hissing noise filled the hall. White smoke spiraled off the child’s head. Victoria heard it, smelt it. It smelt like warm vodka and burnt meat. She saw hair and skin slide off the child’s head, exposing gleaming white skull, and slap her white carpet. The fibers turned red with blood. The child didn’t scream.
What the fuck?
Victoria gagged.
The child placed a small hand on the exposed skull and laughed. The sound sent chills up Victoria's spine. “My, my, just the one vodka today? Well, aren't we disciplined? Yes, we. After all, you're drinking for two now, isn't that right?" The child rubbed the slick skull with its fingertips, the bone squeaked under the soft, childlike skin. "I suppose you can call it progress. Baby steps, pardon the pun. Does it taste good?” The boy removed his fingers from his skull. Licking sounds came from his unseen face. "Tastes like death to me. But you know that anyway, don’t you?"
“What are you talking about?” Victoria stood again, finding her feet. The child still hadn’t turned to address her. Its unseen face stared into the bathroom, the bathroom she’d stood in minutes before. Naked. Exposed.
Where had it come from?
“You know what I’m talking about, Victoria.”
Silence between them. Victoria bit her lip. “No, I don’t.”
The pain spiked Victoria's stomach and she almost doubled over. She yelped in pain. The child laughed. Victoria looked up, grimacing. "I swear, I don’t."
“Bullshit, Victoria. You mean to tell me that this baby is a godsend? That you don’t see it as a major infraction on your personal life? A mother should be doting and caring, excited to bear a child. You seem inconvenienced."
Whispers - Volume 1: A Collection Page 4
