The BIG Horror Pack 2

by Iain Rob Wright

  Blake stumbled through the family room, heading for the door. He moved as quickly as he could with Liz over his shoulder, but stopped when something caught his eye. The old picture frame was back on the side table.

  Hadn’t he thrown it in the bin?

  “Blake, come on! We have to get out.” Blake spun around to find Stevie standing in the doorway. He had Ricky limping alongside him.

  “Dad, what’s happening?”

  “There’s a fire,” said Blake, snapping back to the present. “We have to get outside.”

  And so they did. They raced out onto the driveway, holding their breath as they passed the billowing black cloud coming from the kitchen. Blake saw that at least another three-feet of ceiling had ignited, and was relieved to hear the sound of sirens in the distance.

  Help arrived a short time later and a fire engine parked on the driveway while a team of six firemen directed a hose towards the cottage. The sirens remained on, adding to the chaos and bathing Poe’s Place in an unsettling crimson light. Liz remained semi-conscious the entire time, while Ricky sobbed constantly. Stevie rubbed Blake’s back and reassured him. Suddenly Blake was grateful to have his younger brother around.

  It took almost two hours for the no-nonsense men and women of the fire department to get the blaze under control, and by that time it had gone seven o’clock. The damage was unknown, but at least it had been contained to the annex. The main house was safe to return to, so Stevie put Ricky to bed early, while Blake did the same with Liz. Stevie hovered around for a while, but eventually bunkered down in the guest room.

  Blake returned to the driveway and spent the next three hours dealing with firemen and police. When he finally got to bed himself, it was early morning.

  14

  Waking up was like recovering from surgery. There was a brief moment of confusion, where Blake stared up at the ceiling, before the doom and despair came flooding into him like a blood transfusion. Once again he’d forgotten his pill, making his head fuzzy, but what made him worse were the memories of Liz passed-out on the recliner while their kitchen burned.

  Blake sniffed hard to clear the mucousy ash in his airways and then sat up. The sun was up but the day was grey. The windows were beaded with raindrops. Beside him, Liz snored on her back, as still as a corpse. He decided not to wake her while his head was still in such a mess.

  He slipped from beneath the duvet and stumbled into the shower, turning the temperature as hot as he could stand. The heat relaxed him and allowed him to get his head together enough to face going downstairs.

  What was he going to say to Liz when she woke up? She’d lost her mother, and it was hard on her, but she was responsible for letting part of the house burn down in the middle of the day. It was pretty clear her drinking was a problem, but would she take responsibility for it? It seemed that the merest mention was enough to make her angry and defensive. Alcohol had always been a destructive force in Blake’s life, starting with his father and carrying onto himself and his brother, and now it had claimed Liz.

  Blake switched off the shower and stepped out onto the mat. He took his time getting dressed, trying to delay facing the mess downstairs. Facing problems was not something he was good at. Liz was the problem-solver in their relationship, but she was incapable right now.

  Perhaps it was his fear of confrontation that led Liz to the dark place she was in now. He tried so hard to avoid stress in his life, but that meant that Liz was often left to deal with them instead. Blake wondered how he could’ve been so selfish for so long. It didn’t excuse Liz’s behaviour, though. Ricky had been in the house while she popped pills and drank herself unconscious. Blake wasn’t even sure how to start to forgive her for that.

  He finally summed up the courage to head downstairs, and it was a relief when he found the main house undamaged, almost as if there’d been no fire at all. It was a different story when he headed to the kitchen annex. Smoke had painted the entire area black, and the odour it gave off was caustic, as if the flames had left behind a remnant of their fury. It was difficult not to choke. Blake saw countless flecks of ash swirling in the dim shaft of light.

  “Hope you have insurance,” said Stevie, staring at the blackened oven. He’d been standing in the kitchen when Blake arrived. Having someone there made the situation a little less overwhelming.

  “I do have insurance, but I don’t think I can wait to cash in. I need to get this sorted right away.”

  “Just use some of those millions you have,” muttered Stevie, looking away.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That it’s just money. You’ll buy a new kitchen. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Stevie looked at Blake like he was a child. “You’re a moron sometimes, big bro.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The fire isn’t the important thing here. What’s important is that your wife, who used to be a happy, friendly chick, was miserable enough last night to check out on pills and booze. What have you done to her, man?”

  Blake took three angry steps towards his brother, but stopped himself short. “I haven’t done anything,” he shouted. “I provide for this family. They want for nothing.”

  “Look around you, man. That’s not true.”

  “Piss off! I’m not about to accept judgement from my degenerate brother.” Blake couldn’t believe how angry he was.

  Stevie’s eyes rolled towards the floor, but then he looked up again, also furious. “You’re right. How can I possibly criticise the great Blake Price? You have everything, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something, big bro: I am a degenerate, which is why I can see, clear as day, the path Liz is wandering down. I know because I’ve walked it myself, man, there and back, every day since Mum topped herself and left me all alone.”

  “You weren’t alone. You had me.”

  “Your pity, you mean? You write a bestseller and give me a few hand-outs here and there, but I was never anything but a burden to you. I haven’t even seen you in two years. I live in Colchester, not Buenos Aries.”

  “You know where I am.”

  “Yeah, I do, and when I turn up to see you, you want me gone as soon as I walk up the drive. You think you’re so goddamn perfect, but you’re deluding yourself. You think that by avoiding all of life’s problems, they’ll go away, but all you’re doing is burying yourself—and your family. You were at university when Mum and Dad died. I was the one who had to clear out the family home and sort out their estate, while you partied with your buddies at the Student Union and spoke about your feelings. You even credited you first book to them, like their deaths had been a goddamn inspiration.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “I know you didn’t come home to help me back then. I wasn’t much more than a kid.”

  “I was at the funeral.”

  “Gone the next day.”

  Blake kicked at one of the charred kitchen cupboards. It crumbled into ash and splinters. “When are you going to stop blaming your screw-ups on everybody else? You’re a grown man, Steven. The only person responsible for your life is you. I’m not going to feel guilty for not being there for you. It was never my job to be. I never agreed to provide for you.”

  “No,” said Stevie. “You made that vow to Liz, though. How is she, by the way?”

  Blake snarled. “Get out of my house before I fucking throttle you.”

  Stevie rubbed at his forehead like he was tired. “See, now there’s the great Blake Price I know, just a bundle of nerves and anger bubbling beneath the surface. Do you know something, big bro? I like that part of you best. That emotional headcase I grew up with is far better than the grey, featureless human being you’ve become. Escaping to the country was just your way of escaping life. The tragedy is that you took your wife and son with you.”

  Blake lunged at his brother; but Stevie was ready for him. Before Blake knew it, he had an arm around his throat, choking the life out of him.<
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  “There you go,” whispered Stevie in his ear. “Doesn’t that feel better? Where’s all that emotion you have inside? Let it out and be a man again.” Blake struggled, but Stevie had always been the athletic one and held him tight, continuing to whisper in his ear. “You’re a good man, Blake. When did you start being so afraid of you?”

  “When…one of…my fans…raped…Liz.”

  Stevie broke away, leaving Blake to slump back against the cupboards. A cloud of ash billowed into the air. He coughed and spluttered, rubbed at his windpipe. He considered lunging at Stevie again, but most of the anger had left him. Stevie was right. He had pulled Liz and Ricky away from the world. He’d cocooned them in a prison of misery and nothingness. Ricky was ten-years-old and didn’t have a single friend he could bring home from school. Liz hardly ever left the house.

  Blake knew there were tears on his face, but he left them there.

  Stevie was staring at him. His eyes were as wide as saucers and his mouth opened and closed like a fish. He too had slumped to the floor.

  “It was back when we lived in the city,” Blake began. “Back then I used to travel a lot—meetings with editors, book signings, marketing campaigns, and everything else I used to think was important. Liz was pregnant and had decided to quit her job to raise Ricky and the baby-on-the-way. Ricky was at school by then, so Liz spent most of her days at home, alone. I regret that so deeply now.”

  Stevie said nothing. He just listened.

  “I thought I was God’s gift to the world. I drove a Maserati, I ate lobster with agents in New York, even met the odd celebrity. I felt as if the world was made for me and that nothing could ever touch me. It was that hubris that ended up hurting my family—Liz most of all.

  “The love and admiration I got from fans and critics was intoxicating. I became addicted to it. I expected everyone to be in awe of me, and usually they were. That’s why I would give out my address from time-to-time; but only to my biggest, most loyal fans. Not so they could visit, of course, but they liked to send gifts, fan mail. It seemed harmless at the time.”

  Stevie leant on his fist and look ill, like he didn’t want to hear whatever came next.

  Blake had to finish the story, though. “There would be presents sent to the house every Christmas—postcards, family photos, invitations, all kinds of things. It all just added to my ego. I never considered the danger I was putting my family in. You think a guy who writes about maniacs and killers would know a little better, huh? I used to think all the monsters in my life were made up.”

  “What happened,” asked Stevie. “What are you telling me?”

  “One day, a long-time fan of mine, a guy who’d been in touch with me almost since the beginning of my career, turned up on the doorstep wanting to meet me. His name was Richard Heinz. Liz said the man had seemed friendly and polite at first. He’d dressed smartly and had bought a bottle of expensive Scotch as a gift—he knew it was my favourite, knew everything about me. Liz let him inside the house.” Blake swallowed hard as he fought to go on. “She tried calling me, but I was in a meeting with a magazine writer in SoHo. I got the call, even saw her name come up on my phone, but I…”

  Stevie nodded. He understood Blake was trying to tell him he’d rejected Liz’s call.

  “Liz left me a couple of messages, but a couple of hours dragged by before she decided she’d have to ask Richard Heinz to come back another day. She couldn’t get a hold of me and didn’t know when I’d be back. But Heinz wasn’t leaving without meeting his idle—the wonderful Blake Price. He got angry with Liz for trying to come between him and me. She demanded he leave but he became even more furious. When she tried to call the police, he hit her. Liz has never told me exactly what happened after that, but I know he used the bottle of Scotch on her, and by the time he was done, there was no more baby.”

  Stevie had gone deathly pale. “Did they…did they catch the guy?”

  “The very same day. He was a convicted sex offender, already on police supervision. In his statement, Richard Heinz said he’d been trying to save me from a controlling harridan and that the Scotch was an extra special gift now. Heinz had a whole host of mental conditions, I’ve forgotten most of them, to be honest—schizophrenia was one, I think—but they charged him and gave him fifteen years in an institution. When they found out about two other women he’d attacked, they changed his sentence to life.”

  Stevie shook his head. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Heinz can’t hurt anybody else now,” said Blake. “At least there’s that. Didn’t stop him from sending me letters, though. I didn’t read any of them, but I made up my mind to move then. I needed to get my family out of the danger I’d put them in. I bought Poe’s Place, sold the Maserati, and stopped meeting with big-shot editors in the city. Even if I never write another book again, I have enough money to look after us all here forever.”

  “But that’s no way to live,” said Stevie. “What happened to Liz—to you—is just about the sickest, most wretched thing I’ve ever heard, but teaching your son to retreat from the world won’t do him any good. How do you expect Liz to regain her confidence if you hide her away?”

  Blake blinked slowly and felt his shoulders drop of their own accord. “You’re right. I’ve neglected Liz ever since it happened. I’ve done what was best for me, not her. Ricky is collateral damage for my mistakes.” Stevie gave Blake a hug. For once, Blake felt like the younger brother. “Thanks, Stevie,” he said.

  “Hey, for a degenerate, I’ve been known to speak some sense on occasion.”

  Blake rubbed his face and straightened up. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Yeah, you did, but I can hardly blame you. Never given you much reason to trust me. You’re right, I only have myself to blame for my past. I came to that conclusion a while ago.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Stevie raised an eyebrow as if to suggest his brother was an idiot. “Have you seen me take a drink the whole time I’ve been here?”

  “No, I haven’t. You mean…you’re clean?”

  “As a whistle. I haven’t had a drink in almost a year.”

  Blake couldn’t help but grin. In the dark ruin of his kitchen, he was glad to finally hear some good news. “That’s great. How did you do it?”

  Stevie shook his head as if he were ashamed. “Let’s get out of this skanky kitchen, shall we?”

  “Okay.”

  They walked into the hallway and Stevie started to explain. “It was my wedding to Cindi. Not the day itself, but the DVD of it. Last year, Cindi and I were having a few spats so I stuck our wedding DVD on to cheer myself up—or to remind myself why I loved her, I dunno. Anyway, I saw what a mess I was, slurring through my speech and stumbling around with a glass in my hand. I saw the awkward looks on people’s faces. It’s weird, but I never felt like such a loser until I saw myself like other people did. I went cold turkey the very next day. It was tough—Christ, it was tough—but I feel like a different person now, and it’s only been a year. I’m sorry I let you down so much, but I don’t want to waste any more time. I want to rebuild bridges, get to know my nephew.”

  “I’m so proud of you, Stevie.”

  Stevie went red in the cheeks and looked away. “I’m pretty proud of me, too. I’m just sorry that my turning up was at such a bad time.”

  “Did you really know Val was dead when you got here?”

  “No. I didn’t know what I was going to say when I turned up, but I expected to be unwelcome, so when you said Val had died I just went with it. It’s pretty shitty, I know, but it made me want to stick around even more. I could see how stressed you were. You used to get so emotional as a kid. I still know that look you have.”

  “The pills I take help a lot, but I keep forgetting them with what’s been happening.”

  “Probably not a good idea to forget your crazy pills, man.”

  “Nope, certainly doesn’t help. I’m okay. I just get a little…shaky. After a while
I start losing my temper easily and become a bit of a shit. Liz jokes that the pills are for her mental health, not mine.”

  “Always did love her sense of humour.”

  “I hope she can get it back.”

  Stevie pat him on the back. “She will. Things will get better.”

  “Can’t get any worse. Bailey getting hit by a van, Val dying, Ricky getting injured, and now the kitchen burning down. It’s like there’s a curse on this family.”

  Stevie chuckled. “D’you still think it’s that creepy picture frame? Maybe the guy who made it was a voodoo priest.”

  Blake’s eyes widened. “Damn it, I forgot about that.”

  “Forgot what?”

  Blake grabbed his brother’s wrist. “Come with me.”

  He led Stevie into the family room and pointed at the side table.

  Stevie’s eyes went wide. “It’s back. But I watched you throw it in the bin.”

  “Yes, you did. Somehow it found its way out.”

  “It must’ve been Ricky or Liz.”

  Blake nodded. “Call me crazy, but I’d like to find out one way or the other. Part of me is worried the thing made its way back all on its own.”

  Stevie surprised him by not laughing at his paranoia. “I should be making fun of you right now,” he said, “but I can’t deny that the thing is pretty creepy.”

  “Yeah,” said Blake. “One way or another, it’s going back in the rubbish and staying there.”

  15

  Ricky was playing video games in bed. Blake entered slowly so as not to startle him. “What you playing?” he asked.

  “War Duty. Want to play?”

  “Not right now. How long you been up?” The Liverpool FC clock on the wall read 10.35AM.

  “I dunno. Couple hours. Everyone else was asleep.”

  “How’s your leg?”

  Ricky didn’t take his eyes off the television and rhythmically tapped buttons on his controller. “It hurts a bit, but not much. It itches mostly.”

  “Let me take a look.” Blake inspected his son’s bandage. The wound underneath was sticky, but it seemed to be healing well. “I’ll be up with some fresh bandages later. You sure you’re alright?” Blake pressed the back of his hand against Ricky’s forehead, checking for a temperature. You could never be too sure.