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

by Farah Ali

  ‘Lila? Are you okay?’ repeated Jack, trying to ignore the maddening itch beneath his cast.

  She rubbed her head. ‘Yes. I’m fine. I just wanted to see how you were. I...I’ll leave you to it.’

  Jack watched her go, the lines in his careworn face deepening. Ignoring a creeping sense of unease he turned his attention back to the Cassandra file.

  ***

  Daisy invited Lila to lunch the next day. The kidnap had shaken her and she was being unusually kind and sweet. Not that Daisy wasn’t a nice person, but kind and sweet weren’t the first words that sprang to Lila’s mind when she thought of her temperamental, rebellious cousin.

  “Why don’t you stay here for a few nights? You must be getting fed up with all the nosey parkers coming to the shop to stare at you.’ She examined her neon blue nails. ‘You look like you need a break. I’m owed some days off work maybe we could go shopping, watch a movie, take a trip out of Deerleap, whatever you feel like?’

  Lila, in the process of scattering croutons over her soup, paused. In truth, she was getting a little sick of people, even if it meant more money in her pocket. Daisy had never invited her to stay the night or spend the day together before and who knew, they might even become friends.

  ‘Okay. Sure, that sounds great. Thanks. I’ll go home and pack some stuff after lunch.’

  Daisy tossed a hank of hair over her shoulder and beamed. Lila’s eyebrows knitted together.

  ‘But what about your dad? Maybe you should ask him first.’

  Daisy blew on her spoon and took a noisy slurp of carrot and coriander soup. ‘What about him? He won’t mind, why would he?’

  Unconvinced, Lila stirred her bowl. Daisy had visited her during her check-up at the hospital after Jack’s rescue, bursting into the ward, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. She had wrapped her arms around Lila and said, ‘Oh my God, don’t you dare get kidnapped again, I was so worried.’

  When Lila managed to untangle herself from the hug she asked Daisy where George was. Sniffling, Daisy avoided looking in her the eye.

  ‘Dad sends his love, he’s just really busy. He was like so worried when I told him you were missing.’

  Lila examined the blood-pressure cuff the nurse was wrapping around her arm. ‘Did he help the police look for me?’

  Daisy, clearly uncomfortable, shrugged. ‘I’m sure he did.’

  He didn’t even look for me. I’m sure if I died he wouldn’t have cared less. Lila stayed quiet pretending to be distracted by the cuff as it expanded and cut off her blood supply.

  Daisy nudged her. ‘Eat up. Your soup is getting cold.’

  With a start, Lila obeyed, bringing a spoonful of orange gloop to her mouth. But she couldn’t shake the sadness squeezing her heart.

  ***

  The thin curtains were no match for the pearlescent moon and the whole room was sheathed in silvery light. After tossing and turning on a too-soft mattress and staring up at the cracked paint on the ceiling for hours, Lila finally dropped off to sleep with the blanket tangled in her feet and an arm over her eyes.

  She dreamed, stirring restlessly on the bed.

  Lila was back in the forest, mist swirling around her ankles as she followed the Great Stag towards the mountain. The forest was eerily silent, no birds, no wind, but she wasn’t afraid. The Great Stag climbed a rocky moss-covered mound and raised his head. Lila watched in fascination as the yellow and brown clad Ayal emerged from the shadows to encircle the Great Stag, clasping hands and staring up expectantly. The clouds marring the starry sky shifted revealing a bulbous moon and the Great Stag lifted its immense head and bayed. The Ayal began to chant, in a language Lila could not understand, louder and louder.

  Lila sank to her knees ramming fingers into her ears at the earth-shattering volume. Then, as one, the Ayal unclasped their hands and turned, staring at Lila with solemn eyes. They parted as the Great Stag descended the mound, walking regally towards her, towering over them all.

  ‘Thou shall have what thou desires most, witch. At the next full—

  The Great Stag and the Ayal disintegrated into the wind before her eyes.

  ‘No, wait!’ begged Lila. But it was too late and she was left alone in the thickening mist.

  Full?

  Full moon

  FULL MOON.

  Lila jerked awake. The old tobacco taste was back in her mouth, but ignoring it she glided over to the window and drew the curtains staring at the swollen moon hanging low in the sky.

  ‘At the next full moon,’ whispered Lila. Almost in a trance Lila left the room, not hearing Daisy’s gentle snores, padding down the hallway until she reached the stairs.

  ‘Lila?’

  Yawning, George paused on the way to the bathroom wondering where his niece was going barefoot in her pyjamas in the middle of the night.

  ‘Lila? What are you doing?’

  Pausing at the head of the stairs Lila turned, and George experienced a jolt of anxiety. Her eyes had rolled up exposing the whites. ‘Mama and Papa are waiting for me. Look, Lila look. Pretty girl can’t you see? Aren’t you a pretty girl? Come out pretty girl.’

  George flinched. She wasn’t talking like a woman—instead her voice had the lilting, lisping quality of a child. He swallowed and clenched his fists, apprehension slinking up his spine.

  ‘Now wait a damn minute—‘

  But Lila ignored him and continued down the stairs until he heard the soft thud of the front door. He considered following, but the pressure on his bladder was intense. His anger grew as he flipped the toilet seat up and urinated turning the blue scented water an ugly green. Washing his shaking hands and splashing cold water onto his clammy face, George studied the haggard, stubble-cheeked man in the mirror above the sink.

  That girl. Nothing but trouble since the day she arrived in the town. I should never have written that letter. She’s totally cuckoo.

  He scoffed, but he couldn’t loosen the fingers of fear clutching his ribs. Yanking the cord, George plunged into darkness, yet he remained there, staring at a reflection he could no longer see.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Lila gazed at the pockmarked farmhouse that was once the Cassandra family home. She had seen it so many times, in both dreams and reality, and had memorised every single flaw. Years of abandonment had disfigured the handsome building and a riot of lewd graffiti marred the outside. The smashed windows reminded her of teeth, the door swung on rusted hinges, and the land was barren and unkempt. Hard to imagine that two little girls had lived and played here.

  Shallow breaths plumed out of Lila into the chilled air, but she didn’t feel the cold. The wind whipped hair across her face and she stared up at the bright, white moon. Her head tilted to the side and she smiled sadly.

  ‘Hi Mama. Hi Papa. I’m ready now.’

  The wind whined around her. Lila waited. An urgent whisper filtered through the silence.

  ‘Look, Lila. Look.’

  Mama’s voice. Lila traced the dent in her skull.

  ‘Lila. Can you see?’

  ‘What is it, Papa?’ whispered Lila.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  A small hand slipped into hers. She looked down. It was Maura in a pair of floral dungarees.

  ‘Are you ready to see?’

  Lila nodded, the weight of destiny numbing her body. Even now a part of her urged her to turn back, to leave and not return. Don’t do it. It won’t change anything. You’ll never be able to unlearn it. Ignorance is bliss, isn’t it?

  No. No it’s not. I have to know. If it destroys me, so be it.

  So be it.

  With a tug Maura led Lila over the threshold into the house, up the staircase, the rotten wood creaking in protest. Smears of black mould mushroomed unchecked across the walls and the air was stagnant. Lila carefully avoided the dead rat outside the bathroom trying not to breathe in its noisome odour.

  Maura paused outside Lila’s bedroom, her little face grave. She pushed the water-stained door open and p
ointed into the dark room.

  ‘LOOK.’

  Lila met her sister’s eyes and nodded. She stepped into the room.

  ***

  ‘Pretty girl. Aren’t you a pretty girl?’

  George shifted her onto the other side of his lap. Lila froze and stared at the Mickey Mouse clock on the bedside table. Mickey’s chubby gloved hands pointed to the big cheerful numbers. Maura had taught her how to tell time a few months ago. A frown puckered her small forehead. The small hand was on eight and the big was on twelve...so that meant it was eight o’clock. That was easy—it was much harder when the big hand wasn’t on the twelve.

  Tick, tick, tick. She liked the sound it made. Sometimes it stopped working, but Papa always fixed it and she liked it because it reminded her of her wonderful Papa who could fix anything. Tick, tick, tick. It made her feel safe.

  But not today.

  Mama and Papa had kissed her on the cheek before they rushed out the door. ‘Be good, Lila.’

  Lila hadn’t wanted them to go. She’d hung onto Papa’s leg until he’d shaken her off in irritation.

  ‘Don’t be silly Li-Li, we’re going to be late for Maura’s concert.’

  Mama, perhaps noticing something in her daughter’s overly bright eyes, leaned down wiping a lipstick smudge. ‘What’s wrong sweetheart? I’m sorry you can’t come, but you’ve only just gotten over your cold and the school hall is always freezing.’

  Lila opened her mouth, but there was a bubble in her throat.

  Maura, impatient and looking pretty with her hair in ribbons, ran in from the car. ‘Hurry up!’

  Mama smoothed down Lila’s hair and went to say goodbye to her brother who was watching the TV.

  ‘Put Lila to bed as soon as we leave. And if she asks for ice cream, don’t give it to her, she’s already had a bowl.’

  ‘Sure thing, Amelia,’ George said, glancing over the top of the sofa.

  And Uncle George had done just that. But instead of leaving and letting her change into her pyjamas and switching the light off like he should, he was still in her bedroom which was a little messy because Papa was going to put up shelves on the wall.

  The bubble in Lila’s throat expanded. She knew what it meant when Uncle George didn’t leave as he should. It wouldn’t be so bad if Daisy was staying over too, Uncle George never came into her room then, but Daisy was with her dead Mama’s relatives somewhere far away.

  He lifted her dress, his breathing heavy and thick with tobacco. He kissed her cheek then her lips, and she winced as rough stubble scraped her soft skin.

  She struggled against him until he growled in her ear.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Uncle George loves you.’

  Lila squeezed her eyes shut biting the insides of her cheek. Think of Mama and Papa. And Maura. Think of the new puppy Papa promised to buy if you do all your chores.

  With a groan and renewed urgency he clutched Lila against him, his breath hot against the back of her head.

  So intent on his own pleasure he didn’t hear the front door close.

  Lila did.

  Stuck in his hot embrace her heart leaped, then thumped with fear. She didn’t understand what Uncle George did to her on these visits, but she knew it must be wrong—he made her promise not to tell anyone and it left her with a sickly, empty feeling in her belly.

  ‘George? Where are you?’ called Amelia. ‘Maura threw up, bless her, I think she has Lila’s bug so we had to come home. No way can she sing in the choir, she’s definitely gone green around the gills. How so much vomit can come out of such a little person I’ll never know.’

  A sharp intake of breath and he froze. The family weren’t supposed to return home from the concert for an hour and a half at least.

  Footsteps along the hallway. He shoved Lila off and grappled with his belt. Lila shuffled up the bed and huddled against the headboard, her light pink dress pulled down over her knees. A giddy sort of glee gurgled up her throat.

  Mama is going to shout. Uncle George will be in trouble.

  Good.

  Amelia ran lightly up the stairs. George would have tucked Lila in bed by now and was probably having a bath. Either that or he was outside smoking. She would tell him to go home and then phone Stephanie Ascher to let her know they weren’t coming.

  ‘George?’ The bathroom was empty. The light was on in Lila’s room.

  George, flustered and sweating, swore as the fly on his jeans got caught. Just in time he pulled it up, stepping away from the bed, rearranging his face into an easy grin as his sister walked into the room and came up short.

  ‘Lila why aren’t you in bed yet I—’

  Amelia glanced at her daughter’s saucer-eyed face and then at George.

  ‘Oh hey. Just reading Lila a story she wasn’t sleepy and—’

  But Amelia wasn’t listening. A deep unease grew within her like a tumour and she looked at her youngest daughter. Lila’s chest was hitching up and down and she was hugging her knees. She wasn’t in her mermaid-patterned pyjamas. Amelia crossed the room and leaned across the bed touching Lila’s cheek with the back of her hand. It was hot, feverish almost. Amelia focused on George’s flushed, handsome face.

  ‘What book were you reading to her?’

  George stumbled over his words, unnerved by her flat tone. ‘We were about to decide, weren’t we, Li?’

  He grinned at the girl on the bed, warning her with his eyes. Lila turned her head away. She wished Papa was here. The colour drained from Amelia’s face.

  ‘Lila?’ whispered Amelia.

  Lila looked up at her mother her cheeks drooping with shame and at that instance Amelia knew. She just knew.

  ‘Oh my God. You’ve been...touching her, haven’t you?’

  George strode forward angrily. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Don’t be ridiculous. How can you say something like that?’

  Amelia stepped back, anguish, betrayal and nausea making it hard to think. She had trusted him with the most precious thing she had.

  ‘How long? How long have you been abusing her?’

  He made a grab for her wrist, but she edged away almost tripping over Noah’s toolkit.

  ‘Amelia don’t talk like that. Come on now, this is stupid. Nothing’s happened. Calm down you’re getting hysterical.’

  Her ears were ringing. How could he? It all made sense now. Lila’s increasing bad behaviour, her reluctance to play with Daisy or go over to George’s house, her clinginess when George was around. Amelia covered her mouth. She had connected all the dots and revealed a nightmare. The ringing became a roar.

  ‘You sick bastard. Oh, you sick bastard. You’re going to pay for this. Wait till I tell Noah—’

  Amelia tried to run past but George grabbed her shoulder pinning her against the wall.

  George’s face darkened. He brought it close to hers, panic almost oozing out of his pores.

  ‘You’re not going to say anything because I’ve done nothing wrong,’ he hissed. ‘Ask Lila, she’ll tell you.’

  The bubble in Lila’s throat swelled. She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t swallow, in fact she could hardly breathe. She was frightened for Mama. So very frightened.

  ‘Don’t you dare even say her name,’ cried Amelia trying to twist out of his grasp.

  ‘Mama? What’s wrong?’ Maura stood in the doorway clutching her belly. She met Lila’s eyes and instinctively came towards them.

  ‘Run Maura, go get Papa,’ gasped Amelia. Noah had gone to the stables to see the horse they’d rescued, a creature traumatised by the beatings it had suffered at the hands of its previous owner.

  Maura hesitated. She’d never seen Mama and Uncle George so upset before. Desperate, George cast his eyes around the floor. He picked up the hammer snarling. What are you doing? a little voice in his head asked. But he was beyond reasonable thought now. He’d been caught in the act and all he could think about was saving his own skin.

  With a cry of terror Amelia lurched towards the door. G
eorge swung the hammer. It made contact with Amelia’s skull with a sickening crunch and she toppled. Maura, shrieking, tried to dodge past George. He struck the back of her head and she collapsed, a red puddle forming around her. Amelia, her golden hair rusty with blood, dragged herself to Maura and using the last ounce of her strength shielded her daughter’s body with her own.

  George rained blows on Amelia until she moved no more.

  The bubble in Lila’s throat burst. She screamed—a high keening sound. Her gore-covered uncle stared blankly at her, the hammer trembling in his hand before it slid onto the floor with a thunk.

  ‘Amelia? What’s going on? AMELIA? Answer me!’ shouted Noah from downstairs.

  He had been returning to the house when Lila’s screams punctured the air. The screams stopped abruptly as he ran through the front door and now all was still and silent. His scalp prickled. Something was terribly wrong. Swearing as he fumbled with the key to the draw where he kept an old revolver, Noah streaked up the stairs.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  When Noah Cassandra stormed into Lila’s bedroom he was confronted with a scene of carnage. Without a second thought he ran to his wife and daughter to see if they were breathing, kneeling in a steadily increasing pool of blood. With a wrenching sob he grasped his wife’s head against his chest and rocked, calling her name over and over.

  Amelia and Maura were dead. What about Lila? He rose, blinded by tears, a wild hope in his heart.

  George, hiding behind the door, clutching Lila with both hands clamped over her mouth, watched Noah run to Amelia and Maura noting the revolver in his hand. Before Noah could turn, George launched. Lila, crying, screaming for Papa, could only stand and watch as George gained the advantage and snatched the gun.

  Noah looked at Lila then at his brother-in-law.

  ‘George,’ said Noah, his voice hoarse. ‘What have you done?’