Even Pretty Things Rot: A dark, heart-pounding psychic thriller

by Farah Ali

  He nodded with aplomb. ‘Uh-huh.’

  Sickened, Lila could only stare. ‘But the flowers and the...petals? What’s the point of it?’

  Alma brought her face even closer to Lila’s. ‘I make their rotting corpses look beautiful. A girl’s looks won’t last forever anyway so what difference does it make? One day they’ll be old, they’ll become invisible to men, to society. At least this way they’ll be remembered forever in their prime.’ She paused and grinned. ‘Besides everybody needs a hobby, don’t you think?’

  Lila’s stomach lurched. She didn’t have to be psychic to know that Alma was a sadist who liked watching the girls suffer. Why else would she remove the hood before they were hanged? She wanted to see them squirm, to see their pretty faces turn blue and bloated before they died.

  How powerful you must feel when you rob them of their beauty. Their fear and torment fills that empty gnawing hole inside of you, at least for a little while, doesn’t it?

  Perhaps angered by the unconcealed revulsion in Lila’s eyes, parts of Alma’s skin reddened. ‘You have no idea what I’ve been through, what I’ve suffered. How dare you judge me!’

  Shaking with rage she let go of Lila’s chin. Little by little Alma calmed herself, smoothing down her dress and adjusting her wig. She smiled pleasantly at Bert.

  ‘Is everything ready, love?’

  ‘Yeah. All set.’

  Numbly, Lila looked up, noticing for the first time the monstrous noose draped across the branch of a misshapen tree, swinging in the breeze as if in anticipation of what was to come.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The noose chafed around Lila’s neck as she kneeled on the ground, the shadow cast by the tree pooling around her. With hands tied behind her back she couldn’t see anything apart from tiny gaps of light passing through the hessian hood.

  She took in the reek of straw and mould with every breath, sucking in the rough material with each inhale. She prayed that death would come quickly but memories of Bianca, Abigail and Pari rose up and Lila sobbed in terror. She thought about George and Daisy and wondered whether Jack was still alive. The only solace she had was the knowledge that she would be joining her family soon, wherever they were.

  Laughter floated on the wind and Lila stiffened. As per Alma’s instructions, Bert had placed the noose around her neck tying the other end to the trunk so there was no slack in the rope—Lila was forced upright on the very tips of her knees. If she slumped by even a centimetre the rope pressed into her oesophagus and choked her.

  The couple had gone inside the cabin to eat and although Alma pretended she had changed her mind about killing Lila straightaway, Lila knew it was all part of the game.

  A twig snapped and she sensed a movement to the left. It couldn’t be Alma and Bert because she could still hear the clink of cutlery and the low murmur of their voices.

  ‘Who...who’s there?’ Her heart lurched. ‘Jack?’

  Slowly, carefully she shifted her head to the side and gasped, cowering in the presence of a vast, terrible power. The noose tightened and she lifted her head to ease the pressure.

  ‘Verily, hundreds of years have passed since a cry of such anguish has been heard in this sacred land.’

  The grave, formidable voice boomed and echoed in her head and with eyes widening beneath the musty hood Lila saw a muscular stag with gigantic, elaborate antlers, a colossal animal not possible within the natural world, its shaggy pelt a mixture of hues.

  Lila stunned into silence thought she was hallucinating. She shook her head, but the stag remained, encompassing her vision. She licked her cracked lips.

  ‘This isn’t real. I’m going mad.’

  ‘The Great Stag has answered thy call.’

  ‘Call? What call?’ Then with a sudden shock of awareness she remembered summoning all her strength and roaring in desperation, flinging her pain through the trees, towards the mountain, probably triggering her seizure this morning.

  ‘The Great Stag?’ The name was tantalisingly familiar and she groped around in her memory. ‘The one the Ayal people worshipped.’

  The stag tossed its magnificent head and its hide alternated between red, black and brown in the fading sunlight.

  ‘The Ayal are my kin. Their spirits live on in the deer. Alas for the betrayal of the Ayal. Alas for the sorrow of the Ayal. Now speak, witch. What does thou require?’

  Witch? Lila was baffled. ‘I’m not a witch.’ She closed her eyes yet the creature did not disappear.

  The Great Stag lapsed into a brooding silence and all Lila could hear was the sound of her own ragged breathing. This isn’t real, I’m imagining it. Tears sprung to her eyes. Then the frightening creature spoke again.

  ‘Thy worthiness shall be tested. If worthy thou shall have what thou desires most in the world. If unworthy the abyss awaits thy soul.

  The voice deepened and Lila trembled in the face of such wrath.

  ‘Such is the cost of summoning the Great Stag.’

  Unfathomable eyes bored into Lila and she shrieked as the beast raked her mind, turning her inside out, examining all her memories, all her deeds, the very story of her life. Half-crazed, Lila bucked and twisted trying to free herself from that unrelenting black stare, fighting against the rope and almost strangling herself, righting her body just in time. Never would she forget the raw, naked sensation as a lifetime of thoughts, a lifetime of secrets were exposed and assessed.

  Long ago Lila had borrowed a library book on Ancient Egypt, poring over that exotic, baffling world, huddled beneath a blanket, her torch illuminating a picture of the terrible canine-headed god Anubis weighing the heart of a man on the golden scales of justice. If the scales did not balance the heart was devoured and the soul condemned to hell. It had given young Lila nightmares for weeks, and now the memory returned to haunt her once more.

  The Great Stag continued to probe, lingering in places, the images skimming across her eyelids—Lila curling up against her parent’s headstones in the graveyard, the cast antlers she collected and painted, the antlers on the door of her home, her confrontation with David Ash, caring for the fawn Jack had struck and carrying it back into the forest.

  Finally, it was done. The Great Stag withdrew and Lila exhaled in relief, spent and hollow.

  A deep, rumbling sigh issued out of the creature. ‘Thy soul is clean. Speak witch, what does thou desire most?

  Lila, dazed and bewildered with relief, blurted the first thing that came to mind: ‘I want to remember what happened the night my family were murdered.’

  The instant the words left her mouth she realised her mistake. She should have asked for Jack’s life to be saved, or at least her own so she could save him.

  ‘Wait. I take it back, please save my friend, he—’

  But the Great Stag ignored her. It snorted and stamped its front hooves, raising plumes of dirt.

  ‘It shall be done. At the next full—’

  ‘Shoo, shoo you horrid thing, SHOO!’

  The Great Stag swung its mighty head towards the cabin as metallic clanging, loud and obnoxious, erupted in the air. Haughty and unafraid, it turned and headed back into the forest.

  ‘Wait, please wait don’t go,’ sobbed Lila. ‘My friend is in danger—’

  But Lila was alone. She heard Alma’s hateful, grating voice and louder clanging as two saucepans were beaten together.

  Bert lumbered after his wife, his voice full of wonder. ‘That has to be the biggest deer I’ve ever seen. Did you see the size of those antlers, Alma? That animal must have been ten foot at least and that’s not even including the antlers.’

  Alma stamped her foot, dropping the saucepans onto the grass. ‘I want you to buy a gun Bert, I can’t take it anymore, all these deer, trampling over my—’ she broke off suddenly remembering Lila. Her lips curved.

  ‘Ah. I’d almost forgotten about our guest. I think it’s time now.’

  Bert ripped off the hood and Lila glared through the hair plastered across he
r face, pure hatred burning inside her like a lump of smouldering coal.

  They had chased the Great Stag away, Jack was doomed and Lila would die before she ever learned the truth about her family. She collected all the spit she could muster in her dry mouth and spat. It was a pathetic attempt, landing at Alma’s feet, but it enraged her. With teeth clenched Alma leaned over and slapped Lila across the cheek, breathing hard.

  ‘You’re going to pay for that.’ She turned to Bert. ‘Fetch your knives, love. I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll take great pleasure in seeing her cut up.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A band of pressure crushed her windpipe as Lila was pulled onto her tiptoes, her tied hands flapping uselessly. Bert was behind her, tugging on the rope, not too hard, not yet. Alma sat on the grass watching Lila struggle, sipping lemonade, the skirt of her dress neatly arranged around her. To the side a roll of surgical knives, the cruel stainless steel blades glinting in the setting rays of the sun, reminded Lila of the fate of the other girls. Throttled, Lila’s vision was obscured by blooms of violent colour.

  It was only a matter of time before she was fully suspended in the air and once that happened, all hope was lost for her, and for Jack.

  I have to do something, anything. There must be something, a weak spot. She focused on Bert trying to ignore Alma’s piercing stare, the rope scratching and bruising her skin, the painful struggle to breathe.

  For a couple of seconds she caught the trail of the man’s thoughts—anticipation of Alma in a black satin robe, Alma naked on the bed, rose petals scattered over her—but the only emotions strong enough for Lila to latch onto in her weakened state were love and lust. Thwarted, increasingly desperate, she turned to Alma. Alma was different—her thoughts were venomous and serrated, lacerating Lila’s own.

  She saw hazy images of Alma watering Pari, Alma applying makeup, Alma carefully cutting out dresses she liked from a catalogue ensuring she chopped off the model’s inane smiling face. Lila saw her own body exposed night after night as crows feasted on her face and with a jolt, she realised Alma was anticipating her demise.

  Lila whimpered. It was like thrusting your body into a spider’s nest and becoming ensnared in a sticky web, as poison filled your soul. Her head throbbed fiercely but she forced herself to delve deeper.

  Random fragments flashed into her mind, but nothing Lila could use. Tears dripped down her cheeks. Come on, you bitch, you must have a secret. Something that will distract Bert.

  ‘Should I pull her up, Alma?’ panted Bert.

  ‘No love, not yet. I’ll tell you when. Just keep her on her tippy-toes.’

  Struggling to breathe Lila tried again, plunging past the surface into the gauzy dark. She saw smoke, a house on fire, a red candle, searing flames, then two young women, a baby boy and a man and woman with greying hair and worried faces—Alma’s parents. Footsteps creeping into the basement at night. Alma on a hospital bed, red-raw skin with blackened patches and weeping flesh, gums displayed in a lipless mouth, shrieking in agony and striking the nurses who attempted to calm her. A younger Bert in a sickly-green corridor holding his head as he wept.

  Even in her predicament, Lila sucked her teeth in pity. Lila’s eyes began to flit from side to side beneath her eyelids. There was something here, a secret, something Alma had locked away, hiding even from herself which made it harder for Lila to penetrate through her defences. But Lila had to uncover it—her life depended on it.

  Layers peeled away, with difficulty at first, then faster, one after the other.

  ‘Pull her up a little more, Bert,’ called Alma cheerfully. ‘She looks like she’s going to faint—it’ll spoil the show, I want to see her alive and kicking.’

  Bert planted his feet apart and pulled the rope until Lila was an inch or so off the ground. Alma clapped and giggled in delight.

  Lila’s eyes flew open as her oxygen supply was cut off. Straining every sinew, she pointed her bare toes, desperate to make contact with the ground again.

  ‘Higher!’

  With a grunt, Bert heaved and Lila shot up another three inches. Her legs bicycled in the air and an incredible pressure grew behind her eyes as her capillaries burst.

  ‘Drop her.’

  Lila was on the ground again. She took a series of whooping breaths, knowing that the torture would go on until Alma got bored.

  Alma rested her chin on her hand. ‘Again.’

  Bert pulled the rope and Lila began to rise.

  ‘Norma,’ Lila gasped as her toes lost contact with the ground.

  Alma didn’t hear the utterance, but Bert did. Stunned, his mouth gaping like a fish, he clutched the rope holding Lila’s weight.

  ‘Bert? Pull her up higher, she’s too low. Bert? What’s wrong?’

  Stars bloomed across Lila’s vision, the world was turning black. She crashed onto her knees as the rope slid through Bert’s gloved hands.

  Alma got to her feet and placed her hands on her hips. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Ignoring her Bert squatted in front of Lila whose whole body heaved as she drank in air.

  ‘Bert? Explain yourself, what—’

  Bert looked up at his wife, excitement lighting up his dull face. ‘She said Norma’s name. I heard her.’

  ‘Saint’s sake Bert, have you lost your mind? Of course she didn’t, you’re hearing things.’

  Bert placed a hand on Lila’s shoulder and shook her. ‘Hey. Did you say Norma?’

  There was a rotten ache in Lila’s neck and shoulders and she tasted blood. Her eyes felt like overfilled balloons and her throat and tongue were swollen. But she couldn’t get distracted, not now. She raised her sore eyes and met his eager ones.

  ‘Norma...Norma was your girlfriend.’

  Awed, Bert’s jaw dropped open. ‘Yeah, that’s right, she was my first love and—’ He turned to Alma. ‘She really is psychic. The Inspector said she could talk to the dead. I thought he was lying.’

  Alma rolled her eyes. ‘Of course she can’t, it was just a lucky guess.’

  Bert’s eyes became shrewd. ‘But how would she know that, love? You didn’t tell her did you?’

  ‘No, but—’ Alma floundered as she tried to think of an explanation. She was torn between contempt and frustration. They were spoiling her fun. She stamped her foot.

  ‘Enough, Bert. String her up again. Now.’

  ‘Uh-huh, sure, in a minute.’ Bert nodded, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Lila. ‘Does Norma want to talk to me?’

  Lila hesitated, before plunging on. ‘Yes. Yes, she does.’ Wracked by a coughing fit, she spat blood before continuing in a wheezing voice. ‘She wants you to know the truth, the truth about her death.’

  So intent was Bert he didn’t hear Alma’s sharp intake of breath, or see her take a step backwards. His doughy face creased in confusion.

  ‘The truth? What truth? Norma died in the fire.’

  Lila played her trump card. ‘It wasn’t an accident. Alma started it.’

  Bert’s face turned to stone and Lila recoiled at the dangerous glint in his eye. He jabbed a finger into her collarbone. ‘I see what you’re doing. You think you’re clever don’t you? Making up nonsense to try and distract me, I’m not stupid.’ He stood, disappointed, turning to Alma who was glaring at Lila through slits of fury. ‘You were right. Sorry, I got distracted.’

  ‘Oh, I’m going to make you suffer for that,’ snarled Alma, picking up a scalpel and touching the tip with her finger. ‘Bert, I’ve changed my mind. I think hanging is too kind for a snake like her. I want to cut her open before she’s dead.’

  ‘No! No, wait. It’s true, Norma did speak to me.’ Air whistled in and out of Lila’s tender throat. ‘Alma snuck down into the basement with a red candle. She knocked the candle over onto some old newspapers deliberately and went back up to bed expecting the fire alarm to go off before anybody could get hurt, but she never tested the alarm—the batteries were dead. The fire grew out of control.’ Li
la didn’t dare break eye contact with Bert. ‘As smoke filled the house her parents woke up and tried to tackle the flames, but they died from smoke inhalation—I saw them collapsed next to the basement door.’ She was approaching the critical part and took a series of deep croaking breaths.

  ‘She’s lying, it’s all rotten lies, DON’T LISTEN TO HER BERT,’ Alma screamed, launching at Lila, but Bert shoved her aside, harder than he intended and Alma landed on the grass with a thud, staring up at him in shock, the scalpel flung out of her hand.

  Lila plunged on knowing that at this point in time Bert was more of an immediate danger to her than Alma. His large fists were clenched and a series of veins stood out on his forehead and neck like thick vines. In a low, urgent voice she told him what happened next, some of which she had seen, other events which she had pieced together from the fragments.

  By now the lower part of the house was ablaze and the fire was growing rapidly. Norma, holding baby Simon in her arms ran into Alma’s bedroom to see if she was all right. But Alma wasn’t there—her plan had gone horribly wrong and in her panic she fled to the top of the big, shabby house and stood frozen to the spot in the windowless attic, her knuckles stuffed into her mouth.

  Norma found her. ‘Come on, we can’t stay up here we have to get out, we have to jump, it’s too late for Mother and Father,’ she sobbed. But Alma didn’t move. There were red marks on Alma’s imitation-satin pyjamas and Norma darted over to her sister afraid she had hurt herself, shifting a crying Simon from one arm to the other. But it wasn’t blood. With a fingernail she scraped it off—wax. A horrible suspicion unfurled its wings in Norma’s mind.

  ‘Alma? Why do you have wax on you?’

  Alma’s eyes were blank and unfocused. ‘I didn’t mean to...it was an accident...thought the fire alarm would go off.’

  Norma gaped at Alma. ‘It was you? Why? Why would you start a fire—’ She paled, gripping Simon so tightly he stopped his cries to squeal. ‘It’s because of the engagement party tomorrow isn’t it? You wanted to spoil my day, didn’t you? Didn’t you?’