by Matt Shaw
© Matt Shaw
The right of Matt Shaw to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.
The characters, and story, in this book are purely fictitious. Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
From the same author
Scribblings From A Dark Place
Desmodus Rotundus
Love Life
Happy Ever After (Part of the Happy Ever After Trilogy)
G.S.O.H Essential (Part of the Happy Ever After Trilogy)
A Fresh Start (Part of the Happy Ever After Trilogy)
Happy Ever After Trilogy
I Hate Fruit & Veg
Writer’s Block
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Wasting Stamps
PlentyofFreaks
The Last Stop
INTRODUCTION
I’m tired; barely keep my eyes open.
Not that I go to them often but, sleep-overs round my friends’ houses often end up with very little sleep - one of the reasons my mum and dad don’t normally let me go to them. They say, it makes me sluggish the following day and more likely to make a mistake in whatever needs to be done. They can’t be angry this time. They suggested I went to Donna’s for the night.
“Can I come up yet?” I called up the stairs.
I’m tired; barely keep my eyes open.
All I want to do is crawl up the stairs and climb into my bed. Mum and dad won’t let me sleep the whole day away but, as it’s my birthday, I’m hoping they’ll at least permit me a couple of hours.
Minimum - so tired.
It was a good night, though. Donna’s mum bought us a take-away pizza and let us crash in the main room, in front of Dirty Dancing; a large bowl of popcorn between the two of us and an endless supply of fizzy drinks.
What are they doing up there?
“Mum? Dad? Can I come up yet? What are you doing?” I called out, half expecting to get moaned at for using a tone of voice they’d class as ‘whinging’. I just want a reaction. Are they even up there? Of course they are, as soon as I walked through the front door they both vanished upstairs telling me not to come up.
What are they doing?
“Mum? Dad?”
No answer.
“I’m coming up!”
I walked to the bottom of the stairs and made stamping noises on the bottom step, with my feet - a poor impression of actually going up the stairs. I thought the noise might be able to stir some sort of reaction from them.
Nothing.
This is stupid.
I’ve given them fair warning. I started to walk up the stairs - slowly - expecting one of them to appear on the landing, yelling for me to go back downstairs but no one came. No one shouted. No one tried to stop me.
At the top of the stairs now - all the bedroom doors are closed. Even the bathroom door has been shut. That’s weird. The doors are never closed. Dad prefers them to be open. An open door policy, in this house.
“Mum? Dad?”
Stuff them. I’m too tired for this. I turned to my right and walked towards the door to my bedroom. I’m not sure what they’re playing at but, I don’t care. I’m too tired to play silly buggers with them.
I need my bed!
I pulled open the door - - -
“SURPRISE!”
SHIT!
Mum and dad are stood in my bedroom - freshly ‘popped’ party-poppers in their hands and beaming smiles on their faces.
“Happy Birthday, Jessica!” they both shouted in unison.
What did your mum and dad get you for your birthday? My school friends will ask on Monday.
I can now reply, a heart attack.
A camera flashes in my face causing me to jump again and shut my eyes from the unexpected brightness of the flash...
“Well?” mum’s voice.
I opened my eyes.
This time, when I looked at my parents, I realised everything had changed. The whole room. The walls, smelling of fresh paint, are a light pink colour. My old single bed, replaced with a large double-bed with pink sheets and matching duvet and pillow cases.
A classy pink.
As opposed to a Barbie Pink.
Everything looks nice.
My old posters of my favourite hollywood crushes have even been replaced with large, framed pictures of the same actors - Depp, Pitt and Clooney.
Fairy lights across the top of the curtain pole and new curtains to match the rest of the room.
“Well?” mum repeated. “What do you think?”
I can’t speak. My heart is still pounding from the fright they gave me but I’m sure mum can tell I love it going by the smile on my face.
Mum turned to my dad, “I think she likes it.”
I closed my eyes. Maybe I’m seeing things. The camera flash caused some sort of weird hallucination. Keep the eyes closed for a couple of seconds and allow the possible hallucinations time to dissolve and normality to return.
Okay.
That’ll do.
I opened my eyes.
* * * * *
Dingy.
Dark.
The air is stagnant with the smell of stale urine and dust.
My stale urine.
The springs of the broken mattress digging into my bare back and the piss-stained bed linen stinging my naked flesh.
“Mum? Dad?” I called out.
They don’t answer me.
They wouldn’t.
They aren’t here.
No one is.
I’m alone.
I scream.
At first; just a scream.
Then a scream for them....
“MUM! DAD! PLEASE!”
9 MONTHS
MATT SHAW
1.
“I love it!” I said as I went over to hug and kiss them both.
I wasn’t tired anymore. Certainly not as tired as they both looked. They must have worked through the night to get this done for me.
“Happy Birthday,” said dad as he put his big, strong arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. “I hope you like the colour scheme, your mother chose it.”
“I do, I love it. Thank you!”
Actually, I felt as though I was a little old for pink walls and pink bedding but, I didn’t care. The effort they both went to was amazing.
“And the fairy lights?” mum pointed out the lights on the curtain pole, just in case I had missed them in all of the excitement.
“Your idea too?” I asked.
Dad grinned at me and, I have to say, looked a little sheepish.
“Your idea?” I questioned him.
Mum laughed, “He was very adamant about the fairy lights.”
“Yes, well, that can be our little family secret now, yeah?” said dad.
“We’ll leave you to freshen up and get used to your new room,” said mum as she walked towards the bedroom door, followed by dad.
Dad walked through, without so much as a glance backwards - muttering something about the fairy lights and why did mum have to say it was his idea.
Mum turned to me, “Do you really like it?”
“Yes, mum, it’s great - thank you.”
Mum smiled. A smile of relief? A smile of happiness because I’m happy?
I can’t tell.
She turned, again, and left the room -
closing the door behind her, leaving me alone.
* * * * *
Alone.
Always alone.
I wish someone would make themselves known to me.
I’m not sure where I am.
I’m not sure who I can hear walking around upstairs.
Loud footsteps.
Wooden floors?
Muttered voices.
Some laughter.
Laughter?
I’m not sure how long I’ve been here but I know my voice is already strained from all of the screaming.
Pointless screaming.
I scream.
He plays music and drowns me out.
He?
Maybe a she?
Maybe both?
Two voices - at least.
Could be more. I can’t make them out. They’re just mutterings at the moment.
I looked around the room. It’s hard to see the corners of the room due to the level of light. Hard to see what room I’m in. I’m on a bed but - this can’t be a bedroom.
A cellar?
Stairs in the corner of the room and no windows, that I can see.
It has to be a cellar.
“Hello? Please? Anyone?” my voice is croaky. Give it a rest. Leave it be. Try and get someone’s attention tomorrow....
If I’m still here.
Someone might come for me before then.
They have to.
Hopefully, at least, tell me why I’m here. Tell me what they want.
They have to.
There must be a reason why I’m here.
Who would want me, anyway?
There’s nothing special about me.
I’m a no-one.
* * * * *
“Don’t be so stupid,” said mum, “of course you’re not a no-one. And he doesn’t think so, either.”
“But why would he ask me out?”
“He’s obviously a smart lad,” said mum - she always had a way of reassuring me.
A way of making things seem better.
We were in my bedroom, my mum was sat on my bed and I was standing by the closet looking for something to wear for my first ever date, having been asked out by Darren.
“This one?” I pulled a dress from the cupboard and held it against my body. Mum shook her head and I flung the dress on the floor.
“That’s it, I don’t have anything to wear.”
Mum stood up and walked over to the cupboard, with me, “Don’t be stupid - you have plenty of nice things.”
Within seconds she pulled out a little black dress and passed it to me.
“You think?”
“Yes... now stop worrying. You’ll be fine. Just go out - be yourself and have a nice evening. What time is he picking you up?”
“In a couple of hours,” I said as I nervously glanced towards the clock on the wall. “Oh God.”
“It will be fine and if it’s not, for any reason, we’ll come and get you...”
“What if he doesn’t like me?”
“He asked you out. He will like you. And if he doesn’t, your father will have a quiet word with him.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of dad having a word with someone. He’s such a mild-mannered quiet man, I couldn’t ever imagine him getting angry. Even when I was failing at school, he didn’t get angry. Instead, he just took me out for a burger to talk about what was going wrong. The conversation lasted less than ten minutes before we changed the subject.
If anyone would have a quiet word with Darren - it would be mum.
“Is it normal to feel so nervous?” I asked.
“I still get butterflies when I see your father. If you’re getting that feeling - you’re on the right track...”
I sat down on the bed. Obviously, I have a lot to learn...
* * * * *
Butterflies....
I have them in my stomach now.
I don’t think they’re the same butterflies mum was talking about. Whatever these butterflies are, though... they’re all I feel.
I don’t feel scared.
I don’t feel nervous.
I feel nothing.
Except these butterflies.
And my wrists.
I feel them.
Bruised.
The handcuffs, keeping me secure on the bed have bruised my thin wrists. If anything it’s the pain, from my wrists, which keeps bringing me back to this room - stopping my happier memories from taking me to a better place.
Go back to your happy place....
Footsteps across the floorboards above my head again, headed in the direction of the cellar stairs. I can’t see the top of the stairs, as they disappear around the corner but the footsteps definitely stopped there.
Someone coming?
I listened as the footsteps stopped at what could only be the top of the stairs. A clicking noise as, what I presume to be, a door handle was twisted. As the door opened, light flooded in illuminating the stairwell.
My heart skipped a beat as a shadow was cast down the stairs.
“Hello?”
They didn’t answer.
I feel adrenaline.
“What do you want?”
Again, there was no answer.
“Please, let me out.... please.”
The door closed, plunging the room back into darkness.
Now I feel panic.
Fear.
I wish the butterflies would come back.
2.
I hid around the corner as my mum let Darren into the house. Dad was in the room, behind me, reading from his book - his feet up on the coffee table, as per usual.
“Remember, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If he tries to pressurize you into anything...”
“Ssh,” I urged him. I knew where the conversation was going and didn’t need it. I didn’t plan to do anything with Darren.... well, not like that anyway. I hardly know him. And, even if I did plan to do something with him - I didn’t need him hearing my little pep talk from my father!
So embarrassing.
“Jessica!”
My mum called me from the other room.
The butterflies feel as though they’re going to break through my tummy and fly off into the lounge. This is it.
“Coming,” I answered, my feet seemingly unwilling to move.
“This will be the part when you go and greet your date,” dad said helpfully without even looking up from his book. A shame he didn’t look up, as he missed the look I gave him.
Come on, Jess, stop being so stupid. It’s not like you don’t know him at all - he’s in your class. Straight away you have something in common... even if he appears to enjoy that class and you hate it.
Oh God.
We’ve got nothing in common.
Already.
This is going to be a disaster.
No, don’t think like that. It’s going to be fine.
He asked me out.
He asked me out.
And, they say, opposites attract.
As casually as I could, I left the lounge and walked into the hallway - where mum and Darren were both standing; watching me make my grand entrance.
Oh God.
Don’t trip up.
Act cool.
“Hi,” said Darren - as he held out a small bouquet of flowers.
Mum, stood slightly behind him out of his eye-line, gave me a thumbs up.
