by David Haynes
“Who are you talking to?” Panic had started to splash through his tears now and his voice lifted an octave.
“Melody.” Stokes reached Willis. They stood toe to toe and Stokes could see him clearly now. His coat gave him a false stature. He was nothing but a feeble old man.
“Look at her, you’ve scared her.” He pointed at the floor where there was now a hole.
Willis looked down where he was pointing. “Bones, it’s nothing but bones, Mr Stokes.” He dropped to his knees and wailed. “I put her there.” He lifted his head and shouted, “I put her there! Did you hear me? I put her there!”
Stokes looked at Melody. “Bones? That’s a beautiful little girl. Don’t you dare speak to her like that.”
“I’m frightened of him,” Melody whispered.
Stokes raised his fist and brought it down on Willis’s nose. He heard a terrible crack as the blow sent the old man to the earth.
“You won’t touch her again,” he snarled and raised his fist once more. Willis looked up at him and in that brief moment, Stokes saw his own reflection in the other man’s eyes. He was a skeletal horror with the word ‘dead’ painted in big red letters across his forehead. He smashed his fist into Willis’s face again and felt warm blood splash across his cheek. He raised his fist again. Nobody was going to take her away. Nobody.
“Kill him, send him down!” There was something about Melody’s voice, something he didn’t like and it brought him back from the brink.
“I can’t,” he muttered and looked down at Willis, then at his own hand. He uncurled his fist and felt a sticky resistance. How many times had he struck the man? Once? Twice? He couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
He reached down and tried to pull Willis upright but the man was a deadweight. He was out cold and judging by the distorted mass of flesh across the front of his face, his nose was now in several pieces.
“You shouldn’t have come here. You shouldn’t have touched her.” He grabbed Willis under the armpits and dragged him into the corner, away from the little hole he’d been digging. What would he do with him? Willis had broken in and attempted to... attempted to do what? Dig a hole? Whatever his intention it was still burglary and that meant he should call the local boys in blue, wherever they were stationed.
“We could have a party?” Melody appeared beside Willis in the corner. She stroked his head. “If we had a few more people, that is.”
“What?”
“There were others too.”
“Others? What do you mean?”
“This man killed me, Daddy. He killed me and do you know what he was?”
Stokes shook his head.
“He was an adulterer and he didn’t believe in God. He was a vicar, you know. He was other things too but I couldn’t see the other things quite so clearly.”
Stokes looked at them both. Willis’s head lolled over to one side with a dark stream of blood running from where his nose was. Melody wiggled her fingers in it as if it was a cool mountain stream.
“Mummy was an adulterer too, you know that don’t you, Daddy? She was an adulterer with the Vicar.”
Stokes opened his mouth to speak, to tell her he wasn’t her real daddy and that her daddy would be along soon to collect her and take her away.
Take her away.
“Did he keep you down here?”
She nodded.
“Did your mummy know?”
She nodded again.
“Why?” He took a step toward her.
“Because she couldn’t see the words like I could. Nobody could, not even the other girls at school, and it scared them. I think, I scared them. None of them would look at me anymore.”
Stokes knelt in front of her. “I want to look at you.”
“I know you do. You see the words too sometimes, don’t you?”
He nodded.
She beamed back at him and in that moment all of her perfect little teeth reflected what little light there was. They shone in the darkness like the little gems they were. Then they were gone again.
He looked at Willis and grimaced. “And this man kept you down here until all those beautiful teeth fell out, didn’t he?”
He reached down and pulled one free from his torso. He traced his finger over the jagged edge before pushing it into Willis’s forehead. It made a crude but effective blade.
“Now I’ll make sure everyone can see what’s written on his forehead.”
Slowly he scratched the word killer into Willis’s furrowed and bloody brow.
Melody giggled in his ear. She giggled like the little girl she was; like the little girl she had never been allowed to be.
He got to his feet and crouched over Willis. “How long were you down here?”
She looked up at him. “I don’t know. I think it was a long time though.”
“I think the Vicar should stay down here a very long time too.” He shuffled toward the hatch.
“Don’t leave me,” she whimpered.
He turned and smiled. “I’ll be right back, just watch him. I want to make sure he can’t leave.”
He resumed toward the hatch. He’d once found a man whose feet had been smashed to pieces over a drug feud. They’d been pounded with a lump hammer and chisel until they were nothing more than a tangled mass of splintered bones. The victim would never be able to walk again, let alone peddle his drugs through the city.
Now, where had he left his tools?
*
He dragged everything out of cupboards and even checked under the bed but he couldn’t find what he was looking for. There were spanners, screwdrivers and even an old rusty hacksaw, but no hammer. He had one, of course he did, but where was it? He stopped and scratched at the gaping hole in his gut. God, it itched. He wanted to stick his fingers inside and just give it a good old poke. Those little teeth in there helped but it was on the verge of driving him... what? Mad?
Was he there already? If he was asking the question then that was a good sign, it had to be. His whole body felt prickly, as if he’d just walked naked through a meadow full of nettles. It was difficult to see where his skin ended and the dirt began now. There was probably a good mix of blood in there too, blood and pus.
Was this real? Was any of it actually real?
Was Natalie real? Was Edward Willis really slumped in the cellar being watched over by a little, lost girl?
Was he really contemplating hobbling the man?
“Too many questions.” He rubbed at his temples with the heels of his hands. It didn’t matter if none of it was real, did it?
“Under the bed,” he whispered to himself and rushed upstairs. The toolbox, his good toolbox was under the bed.
“Jim?”
He heard the female voice but it didn’t register. It wasn’t as important as finding the toolbox and the lump hammer. The lighter claw hammer had been fine for DIY dentistry but he had no idea where that was. Besides, the lump hammer had a real heft to it, just right for breaking bones.
“Jim, are you there?”
There it was again.
“Go away,” he shouted. “Leave me alone, I’m busy.” And he was. He was about to break every fragile bone in Edward Willis’s ankles.
“Jim, it’s us.” This time it was a man’s voice.
“I said I’m busy!” He pulled the hammer out and spun it in the air. It landed perfectly in his hand. He smiled and ran down the stairs.
“Jim? What are you doing?”
Stokes was taken aback. Sure, he’d heard voices but they were somewhere else, someplace else. Now there were two people standing on the threshold to his cottage. He stared at them in the gloom.
“Jim, it’s me, Ina.”
Stokes stared at them. He knew Ina and Peter but were they really there?
“I told you, he needs to go to the hospital.” He saw Peter’s hand reach out and touch his wife’s shoulder.
Ina crouched and placed the cake tin she had been holding on the boards. Stoke
s smiled. If the cake was heavy enough it might just go right through the boards and land on Willis’s head. That would save him some trouble.
He tossed the hammer into the air and caught it. “What can I do for you?”
Neither of them made any effort to step inside the house. “Peter mentioned he’d seen you yesterday and you were...”
“I was what? Rude? Yes I was and I apologised.” He turned to Peter. “Didn’t I?” He knew he sounded aggressive. He didn’t care, he wanted to be.
“No, not rude, Jim, just odd.”
“Odd? Probably. Things have been a bit strange...” He paused and looked at them each in turn. “Sorry, what do you want?”
“We want to make sure you’re okay.”
Stokes laughed. “As you can see, I’m fine. I’m just finishing some home improvements in the cellar. It’s a mess down there so I’d like to get on with it if you don’t mind.”
He noticed the slight movement of their heads as they tried desperately not to look at each other. He’d seen that collusive look between them before.
“I think I’d like to take a look at that first.” Ina pointed at his torso.
Stokes looked down. “It itches.” He ran his finger around the edge. It took longer than he remembered, even longer than when Natalie Sutton had first created it with her double strike.
“It’s growing,” he added and looked up at them both.
He saw Ina swallow and wince before she took a step inside.
An enormous flash of pain ran through Stokes’s entire body. It was worse than when the blade had crept below his flesh for the first time and this time it reached not only inside his body, but also his mind.
The room revolved around him and in an instant Ina and Peter were turned inside out. Their organs beat, pulsed and seeped in front of him and it was horrific. Ina took another step toward him.
“Jim, you need to let me help?”
He watched thick globules of blood drip from her outstretched fingers and land on the exposed floorboards.
“Keep back.” He covered his eyes. “Stay away from me.”
“It’s okay, we’ll help.” Peter’s voice echoed as if it was coming from the inside of a barrel.
“Stay away. Keep away from me.” He could hear the throbbing rhythm of their hearts, the sloshing of their livers and the hissing of their kidneys and they were getting louder with each step. He could barely hear his own voice amid the cacophony.
Yet through it came the sound of a girl, a little girl screaming with all her might. “Keep them away from me, Daddy. Make them stay away.”
It was too much. This was simply too much to bear. Any moment now he would fall to the ground as sure as if he’d been stabbed with a shiny steel blade. Any moment now he’d feel Natalie Sutton licking the back of his neck with her bloody tongue.
“Stop! All of you just stop. Leave me alone, please!” He opened his eyes and fell to the floor. Through a little crack in the boards he saw Melody looking up at him. She smiled and he passed out.
*
Something was trying to eat him from the inside, something with sharp teeth. It gnawed at his intestines and guts, slicing through them with difficulty, but cutting through eventually. The funny thing was, it didn’t hurt quite as much as he imagined it might. In fact being eaten alive was probably an okay way to go if this was as bad as it got. He’d seen his dad eaten alive, not by a living creature but by cancer and that was about as far from okay as it was possible to be. No, this felt okay. Just wake me up when it’s all over.
“I’ll clean him up, you go back home and phone for an ambulance.”
“Are you sure? I’m not sure I should leave you al...”
Stokes came to. The shouting and beating and hissing had stopped but it had left a dirty great scar running through the middle of his skull.
“What..?”
“Just sit still for God’s sake.”
He opened his eyes and looked down at Ina. She was kneeling in front of him. Thankfully her guts had been returned to the inside of her body. He was sitting on the recliner.
“I think I might be sick.” He felt his stomach muscles spasm but the pain in his gut had lessened.
“Fetch a towel, Peter!”
Stokes heaved. It was a dry and rasping sound but it made his whole body convulse. There was nothing to bring up.
“Listen carefully, Jim. We need to get you to hospital and we need to get you there right now, okay?”
Stokes looked into her eyes. She was kind, they both were and he should listen to her, only the noises had started up again, faintly but they were there. Besides he’d been in the middle of something… something important.
“I was... I was about to...” What? What was he about to do?
“We know, you were about to make some improvements to the cellar, but they can wait. Believe me, they can wait.” Peter loomed over him. The man was usually happy and gentle but there was something vaguely threatening about him.
“It won’t wait,” he muttered. Whatever it was.
“Pass me the sponge and then go.” Ina held out her hand to Peter. The flesh on her fingers was gradually creeping back revealing beautifully clean and gleaming white bone underneath.
He handed her the sponge but didn’t move. Ina held it up to Stokes. “I’m going to try my best to be gentle but if I catch you I’m sure you’ll let me know.”
She dipped it in the bowl by her side and squeezed off the excess water. He knew it was water, so why was it bright red?
“I hope you weren’t saving this.” She shuffled forward on her knees and started wiping his torso with the damp sponge. There was something vaguely sexual about the way she looked up at him. Something dirty. After only a couple of passes, she squeezed it into the bucket and started again.
“I need to...” Stokes started.
“I know,” she replied and carried on.
What was it he needed to do? He looked at Ina and then at Peter. Their hearts were beating fast, faster than his own which pounded solidly in his chest. The skin on their faces looked wafer-thin and beneath the gossamer layer was a complicated-looking mess of ribbons and lines. It was like... like childish writing. What was written in there? He leaned forward. What was it?
“Now this might smart a little but we need to get the mud off.” She turned sharply. “Peter, I asked you to go home and call for an ambulance.”
“In a minute,” he answered brusquely.
Ina squeezed the sponge out. “At least fetch some clean water before you go.” She held the bowl out for him. He took it without a word and walked into the kitchen.
“Who did this to you?”
He looked down at the wound. “Natalie.”
“Was she your wife?”
“Wife?” Stokes laughed. “Not exactly, she tried to kill me. She’s dead.”
“Did you kill her?” Peter placed the bowl on the floor beside Ina.
“Yes,” he answered without pause. “I killed her the other night.” He leaned forward slightly. “I slashed her to pieces, just like she tried to do to me.”
He waited for the sharp intake of breath which surely must come after a disclosure like that but none came. Natalie had been dead long before he’d met her, she just hadn’t realised it. Their meeting in the cellar was nothing more than the final straw in their doomed relationship.
“You haven’t killed anyone, Jim.” Ina patted the scar and he felt warm water trickle inside his body. It was a strange feeling but not unpleasant.
“Jesus.” Peter’s voice came through clenched teeth and it sounded like a hiss.
“Bad, isn’t it?” Stokes winked at Peter. “I haven’t had a really good look for a few days but it feels pretty grim.”
He pulled himself a little more upright and examined it. There was a hole, there was nothing more to say about it than that, a hole somewhere between the size of a golf ball and a tennis ball. Ina’s fussing had removed the grimy seal and a fresh and putrid stench ro
se from it. Peter held his nose and looked away.
“Never been to a post-mortem, have you?” He looked down at Ina again who, despite the stink, carried on cleaning him.
“That’s what’s happening here, a post-mortem.” And it was. It was his own post-mortem and he had the best tickets in the house.
Ina pushed the sponge a little more vigorously against the edge of the hole, causing him to cry out.
