Some Kind of Cu*t: A novella of extreme horror

by Matt Shaw

  He looked across the room to Tom. He’d meant to get him some new clothes, nothing flashy; just something to make him a little more presentable, but the money was starting to go down heavily. More so now that Alexis hadn’t been going to work. She was holed up in the bedroom, refusing to be seen by anyone; not because she was worried Chris would get sent back to prison for breaking the terms of his parole - she couldn’t give a shit about the asshole - but rather she didn’t want to be seen as the victim. He hadn’t been out more than forty-eight hours and he’d already shown his true colours again by beating her black and blue. Her mother’s words (from when she’d been alive at least) replaying over and over in her mind telling her that leopards never change their spots and it would only be a matter of time before he turned his violence towards her.

  “How you doing?” he asked the boy.

  Tom smiled at him yet Chris knew it was a smile more for effect than anything else. He’d promised to help his nephew out yet here he was, not even living up to the standards offered by the woman in the trailer park.

  “Has your aunty said hello today?” he asked.

  Tom shook his head.

  “Let’s go and see what she’s doing,” said Chris. If she was sleeping, he’d let her continue to do so. If she were awake, he knew he had to tell her how the interview went. He couldn’t help but think of it as another nail in the coffin. For days now she’d been off with him, telling him that he needed to leave - and to take the boy with him - and he’d hoped that getting the job would prove to her he was turning a new leaf, or trying at least. It could have been a new chapter in their life, their relationship. He walked through to the bedroom. Alexis was sitting on the edge of the bed looking out of the window and down the street. She didn’t even register that Chris had come in. “I’m back,” he told her.

  He crossed the room and sat next to her on the bed. He noticed her bruises - and cuts - were looking so much better today. Still not entirely healed but they were on their way at least. Soon she’d be back to her beautiful, flawless self.

  He took a breath and confessed, “I don’t think I got the job. The guy knew who I was before he’d even looked at my CV.” He laughed not out of amusement but rather frustration, “Of all the people I get to interview me, I get one who remembers my one fucking mistake.”

  Alexis turned to him, “Your one fucking mistake?”

  He turned away sheepishly.

  Alexis continued with venom oozing from her voice, “You never told me how you got your nephew back either…”

  “What? I did. I told you I went and collected him.”

  “And the woman - this desperate lady who’d thought she’d finally got the child she always wanted - just happened to be okay with that?”

  “I reimbursed her what she paid in the first place,” Chris lied, “plus a little extra.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. You’re a fucking liar. Tom was watching television and the news came on. I heard it from the other room. The body of a young woman was found dead in her trailer home. Beaten to death apparently. Police are appealing for witnesses at the moment.”

  Chris shifted uneasily on the end of the bed.

  “You killed her,” Alexis continued. “You killed her. You nearly killed that man. You nearly killed me. Me? I waited for you when people said I shouldn’t. I fell out with my family over you. Did you know that? I haven't seen my sister for a couple of years now. She told me that if I stayed with you then she didn’t want me in her life, or the life of her son…”

  “Your sister had a baby?”

  “But I stuck by my man and for what? To become another statistic… And now this… I hear you’ve killed someone. Hardly been on release for any time and you’ve done it again - not once but twice! Only this time you actually managed to kill someone.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “What? Hit me or kill someone?”

  “Both.”

  “You enjoy the violence. You like hitting people. I don’t know why. Maybe it gives you a sense of power or a sense of being the top of the imaginary food chain. I really don’t know but I don’t want to be a part of it. I’ve given up so much for you. I’m not losing anything else.” She looked down. At the foot of the bed - previously unnoticed by Chris - was the telephone; its cord running in from the hallway.

  “What have you done?” he asked with panic laced in his voice. He didn’t need her to answer the question. He didn’t need her to confess. He knew. She’d reported him. He stood up and hurried over to the window. Was that why she was sitting, staring up the street? Was she waiting for the squad of police cars to appear around the corner heading in this direction? “Jesus Alexis, what the fuck have you done?” He felt the rage brewing up within him once more and tried his best to swallow it down.

  “People aren’t safe around you. You shouldn’t be on the streets. You need to be locked up. You can do what you want to me, I don’t care anymore, but you need to be locked up.”

  Tom appeared in the bedroom doorway, alerted by Chris’ raised, panicked voice. Chris saw him standing there and pointed to him. Alexis followed his finger and looked towards the boy.

  “And what about Tom?” Chris asked. “Who’s going to look after him with me banged up? Are you going to do it?”

  Alexis smiled at Tom but shook her head, “No. I told you; we weren’t in the position to look after him. Look at him, Chris, he’s wearing the same clothes day in and day out. He looks malnourished, he doesn’t look happy… He needs professional help. He needs to be away from your bad influence. He needs to be away from his mother. If they put him in a home - chances are he’ll end up with a good loving family who can give him everything he needs. It’s for the best. Everything I have done is for the best.”

  “You selfish cunt!” Chris spat. Without a second thought to the young eyes watching from the doorway he turned and belted Alexis in the face with a solid clenched fist. She screamed as she fell from the bed and landed, hard, on the bedroom floor. “You realise what you’ve fucking done?” Chris started to kick the woman as she lay on the floor. With each raining blow, she tried to curl herself into a ball and protect her head with her arms but - whatever she tried - a booted foot found another sensitive area to connect with.

  Sirens started to wail from outside. Chris didn’t look out of the window to see the many squad cars headed in his apartment’s direction. He stayed focus on what he was doing.

  The boy watched on. The boy said nothing.

  Present Day:

  My Favourite Time

  “My mother kicked me out when I was seventeen and I didn’t have anywhere to go. I ended up drifting from place to place. Sometimes I spent the night on friends’ sofas and other nights I slept out in the cold. Then I heard about this small community of people in a similar position to myself, I thought I’d look into it. When I arrived to the halfway house, I couldn’t believe the community was as big as I had heard; supposedly many, many family members. The halfway house was tiny with only a couple of bedrooms yet I’d heard there were over twenty people living together, each looking after themselves with everything overseen by one individual who appeared to be one man who I initially thought was Father,” she turned to me and smiled. I nodded. “I was in the halfway house for a couple of days only before I was given the chance to prove myself. I remember thinking it was a joke at first. I just thought Father was being weird; he had a quirky sense of humour. When I found out he was serious - when I saw what was expected - I didn’t hesitate. Here was a family offering me what my so-called real family couldn’t. I wasn’t about to lose that. I didn’t hesitate. I did what was asked and the next day I was moved into this house and I saw the full-scale of the family and met you lovely people; each one of you more welcoming than anyone I’d ever had in my life before. So - I know I’ve said this before but - I would like to thank you all for being you. I would like to thank you all for being my family.” She ra
ised her glass in the air. I looked around the room as others raised their glasses too. A few voices muttered ‘cheers’ before each and every person - myself included - took a sip from their drink; wine poured from bottles of plain water to give the impression that I too could turn water into wine.

  Dinner was my favourite part of the day. We’d all sit together in the main dining room, around a series of large tables laid out in an even square with each and every person facing another member of the family. In this house we do not have a head of the table. Each person at the dinner table is equal to the brother and sister sitting with them. We would recount stories of how we got here and where we came from. We would say what we were grateful for. There was no negativity allowed. The girl - a lady in her twenties who’d been with me for over a year - sat down as the group applauded her. One of her brothers - sitting next to her - gave her a friendly congratulatory pat on her back before leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. I smiled. The love in this room - the love we’d all been denied elsewhere in life - was clear to all.

  “Would anyone else like to say something?” I asked.

  I looked around the room. A few hands went up. I had hoped to see our new member’s hand go up. I had hoped to hear from James considering it was his first official meal as part of the family. His hands were on the table. He was smiling but not holding eye-contact with me; his attention seemingly drawn to Charles who was walking around the table dishing up the first courses from the trolley he pushed.

  “James!” I called out, ignoring the hands in the air from those wishing to be picked. James looked at me; his face immediately starting to redden in the cheeks. “What about you? Want to tell the group about yourself? I’m not sure you’ve had the chance to properly meet everyone yet. It might be a good opportunity for you.”

  James shifted in his seat. According to Charles, who I had asked to watch over him, he had been a little quiet since coming in from the garden earlier. Of course I’d gone to check on his handiwork and he’d done a good job. I didn’t give him a get out opportunity. I just kept my gaze firmly upon him. Other family members - by now - had also turned to look at him.

  “I’m not really sure what you want me to say,” said James.

  “Just tell us a little about yourself. Your name, where you came from, how you came to be here - that kind of thing.” I could see that he was nervous. That was fine. Not everyone liked to speak out in front of a group - especially in front of people you hardly knew.

  “Can I say something?” Graeme asked from the right of where I was sitting.

  “No!” I said abruptly without looking at him. “It’s James’ turn.”

  “I’m fine if Graeme wants to say something,” James said.

  “We want to hear from you. Come now, don’t be shy, we’re among family here.”

  James reluctantly stood up. His eyes were fixed on me. I was trying to work out whether his prolonged stare was a challenge or whether he was simply too embarrassed to acknowledge the many people looking at him. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and put it down to the fact he wasn’t good at speaking out to large groups of people.

  “Well - hello - my name is James,” he gave a little wave with his right hand. “I’m not actually very good at public speaking so you’ll have to forgive me if I seem a little off.”

  “Relax. All friends here,” I reminded him.

  He took a couple of seconds to seemingly catch a hold of his nerves a little.

  “Well I’m clearly older than a lot of you here. Took me a long time to find somewhere I fit in. All of my life, I’ve been shipped from pillar to post like so many of you have. I’ve never really landed in a place I thought I could honestly call home. For a time I was married to a woman whom I thought I loved but things didn’t work out. She cheated on me and left me with nothing…”

  “Should have kicked the bitch out of the fucking house,” a voice piped up from my left. It was one of the younger family members. The youngsters always had a problem with blurting things out at inappropriate moments. I shushed him silent and turned my attention back to James, apologising for the rudeness of his brother. James took it in his stride to his credit.

  “It was her home. I had moved in with her. She moved me out and her lover in.”

  “Go on,” I urged him forward with his story.

  “I drifted around, got myself a little flat of my own when the next paycheck came in and tried to pick up the pieces,” he sighed. “And then I ended up with you - my new brothers and sisters. It couldn’t have come at a better time either, as I’d just been made redundant from my job so it was only a matter of time before I couldn’t pay my rent and lost my flat.” He looked at me and gave me a nod before sitting down. He hadn’t discussed how he came to meet us and he hadn’t told us what he was thankful for but - considering it was his first time - I would let it slide. He could finish his story tomorrow when I make him stand before this audience once more.

  Charles had finally finished serving up the meals and had taken his own seat among his fellow brothers and sisters. I looked at the plate before me; boiled potatoes, peas and some kind of fish in batter. There was a little nob of butter melting over the potatoes.

  “Well, Charles, this looks simply delightful. You have outdone yourself once again.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now,” I continued, “who wants to say grace?”

  “Grace!” a voice shouted from my left. I sighed as a thought flashed through my mind that - perhaps - only mature members should be allowed to join the family ranks.

  #

  The way James held my eye contact at the dinner table - earlier this evening - had been playing on my mind. I’m not sure if it was what Charles had told me, about him being quiet having done his job in the garden - or whether he was having difficulty adjusting to fitting in with such a large family but something just felt wrong.

  After the meal - delicious of course - I had retreated back to my office to finish the household figures and yet every time I looked at the columns and columns of figures, I continually found my mind drifting back to James and the look. I don’t know - perhaps it was foolish of me to allow someone of his age into the family. Maybe our family only works with one obvious person in charge (me) and that bringing in people of a similar age to myself - maybe that just opens the door to possible confrontation? Am I to come downstairs in the morning and find him standing in a clearing challenging me to do battle for top spot in the house? The loser being put down like a broken animal?

  For the second time today I threw the accounts back in the drawer of my desk and pushed myself and the chair away from the table. As the chair swivelled around to face the window, I hopped off and walked over to look outside. The window looked out over the garden where I could see the row of trees with the makeshift headstone made from twigs and branches. Was it too soon to get a new family member to bury one of their own? I find that hard to believe considering what he did to become a part of our little community and all that he’d been through before. It’s not as though he had a hand in the killing of Fred.

  I could second guess his problem all night long - though I’d sooner not – but the easiest thing to do is have it out with him once and for all; clear the air and make sure we’re good. Make sure he is still happy to be a part of us after all - it’s not as though we force people to stay. If they want to leave, they can do so. We do not run a prison. I just need to talk to him and - the way I see it - there’s no time like the present.

  I walked from the office and locked the door behind me before heading off down the hallway towards the stairs. Most of the family members had gone to bed now with only one or two still milling around either having a clean-up or watching the television in one of the living rooms. Anyone I saw greeted me with a nod of their head and a warm hello. The girls would smile at me with a naughty, wanting little twinkle in their eyes, but that could only be expected considering I have helped most of my daughters with their sexual frus
trations at some stage or other. I didn’t stop for conversation as I walked by them and soon headed up the stairs. James had gone to bed soon after dinner, excusing himself from the table on account of being tired after a long day. He didn’t even clear his plate away; something else we need to discuss. Charles cooks, he does not clean. We clean up after ourselves.

  I approached his bedroom door and let myself in. If his roommates were in here - also sleeping - then I didn’t feel it fair to wake them unnecessarily. James’ bunk was on the left hand side of the room. He was snoring - loudly - from under his duvet. One of his roommates was on the top bed of the other bunk; wide awake and browsing whatever it was that held his attention on his mobile phone with the light, from the screen, offering little illumination to the room. He looked at me and gave me a little wave before he went back to what he was doing. I walked over to James’ bunk and stood at the foot of the bed.

  “James!”

  My voice was loud enough to wake him but not loud enough to do so with a jump.

  “James!”

  Slowly he stirred.

  36 Years Earlier:

  The First Night