9 Months Trilogy: A Novel of Horror and Suspense

by Matt Shaw

  I stared at my dad. The piece of shit. I hate him. Hate. What he has put me through.... putting me through. This should never have happened.

  Hate.

  I stood up and he instantly looked up - his eyes are alert. Black, even.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Just getting a drink. Did you want anything?”

  He looked to the table, to the side of the sofa - his mug of coffee was still half empty.

  Half-empty.

  What the fuck.

  I used to be an optimist.

  The glass used to be half-full.

  He’s taken that from me.

  Hate.

  “I’ve still got a drink, thank you.”

  I flashed him a smile and walked from the room - towards the kitchen.

  Hate.

  I can feel my mask slipping. Just stay in the kitchen for a couple of minutes. Stay here and calm down - don’t let him get to me again. I’m doing so well and pretending I’m coming around to the situation. I can’t ruin that now. I can’t go back to the cellar.

  I stood in the kitchen, with the tap water running straight into the sink and down the plug-hole. Make it sound as though I’m doing something; occasionally clang a few dishes together. Anything to stop him from coming into the room to see what I’m doing.

  * * * * *

  My bedroom door swings open, revealing mum and dad standing there - both Darren and I jumped. So blissfully comfortable on my bed, cuddled up and chatting, we completely forgot mum and dad were even in the house. Thank God I have clothes on.

  “Do you two fancy joining us for some dinner - we were thinking pizza....”

  Not really, we were quite comfortable.

  “That would be great, I’m starving,” said Darren.

  So much for getting some quiet time together.

  “Up you get then, we leave in five,” and with that, the bedroom door was closed and we were alone again.

  “Why did you say that?”

  “What?”

  “Pizza!”

  Darren looked at me as though I had completely lost the plot.

  “I’m hungry,” he complained.

  “We could have had some quiet time,” I said.

  “We’ve been having some quiet time....” he said - still completely lost.

  I thought men had one track minds. Why can’t he see what I’m talking about?

  “Not that sort of quiet time,” I whispered.

  There was a slight delay.

  “You mean....”

  And the penny drops.

  “We don’t have to go for pizza,” he said.

  “Well, it’s too late now - you said we’ll go with them.”

  “I could go downstairs and tell them I’ve suddenly gone past it?”

  “Past it?”

  “You know, so hungry you sort of go past being hungry....”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “You don’t get that?”

  “No. I’m normal.”

  “Loads of people get it, hang on...”

  He stood up and walked from the room. I couldn’t help but laugh, I’ve never heard of anything so stupid. He’ll never get away with it.

  I listened out - can’t hear anything. On the plus side, I can’t hear any laughter either so that’s a positive. It looks so obvious now. Funny how he couldn’t see that either; the boyfriend running down to the girlfriend’s mum and dad to say they’ve suddenly changed their mind about joining them for dinner.

  Mum and dad aren’t stupid.

  They’ll see straight through it. They’ll know he’s angling for some alone time with me and they’ll know exactly what he’s after. So obvious. I feel a little bit sorry for him - shouldn’t have let him go downstairs.

  Should have gone for pizza.

  Darren suddenly burst through the bedroom door - a huge grin on his face.

  “Your mum and dad have gone for pizza,” he said. “Now, where were we?”

  He jumped back on the bed and snuggled into my neck - soft kisses.

  “Actually,” I said, “I quite fancy the idea of pizza now...”

  He stopped his kissing and sat bolt upright, “What?”

  I burst out laughing.

  “You’re a dick,” he said, cuddling down once more.

  “Oh, what romantic pillow talk you have. I’m so lucky to have you!”

  I only just managed to finish my sentence before he kissed me passionately.

  A nice kiss.

  Gentle yet strong.

  He stopped and pulled away from me, “Are you sure about this?”

  A beat.

  “Yes,” I said, “yes, I am.”

  He smiled and moved in for another kiss.

  Dad called out from the other room, “Jessica....”

  * * * * *

  “Jessica?”

  Dad’s voice broke my day-dream - pulling me right back to the here and now.

  A shame.

  I don’t like it here.

  Things were much better back then.

  A second passed, as I came back to realising where I was, before I answered him.

  “Yes,” I called out.

  “Everything okay?”

  I looked down to my hand, blood on my fingertip. How’d that get there? A knife in my other hand; I must have cut myself. Don’t remember doing that. Don’t even remember picking the knife out of the dirty plates in the sink.

  “Jess?” he called out again.

  “Yes. Everything’s fine. Was just about to do the washing up...” I lied.

  A lie too far?

  He knows I hate washing up.

  I can hear movement from the other room.

  Getting comfortable on his sofa or getting up to come and see me?

  Please be getting comfortable.

  I’m not ready to see him again just yet.

  I still need a bit of space.

  Please.

  “Did I hear you correctly?” he said - his voice coming from the hallway.

  Fuck.

  Don’t turn around. He might still go away.

  I can hear him getting closer.

  Fuck.

  “You’re washing up? It’s times like this I wish I had a camera!”

  He’s in the kitchen now.

  Fuck.

  I turned to him and instantly his eyes were drawn to the knife in my hand - and then the bloodied finger on my other hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You’re bleeding, let me see.”

  Look at him, pretending to care. If he cared, I wouldn’t be here.

  I wouldn’t be in this shit-hole of a house.

  I’d be at home.

  Doing what regular girls of my age do.

  Not this.

  He doesn’t care.

  Has he ever cared?

  Well, I don’t care.

  I hate him.

  Hate.

  He walked over to me and went to take the knife away.

  “Fuck you,” I hissed as I plunged the knife straight into his stomach. A look of shock in his eyes and his mouth fell open. A strange gasp from his mouth.

  He stepped backwards, unsticking himself from the blade.

  Mistake.

  Should never take the knife out of a cut. Should always leave it in whilst you seek medical attention. Everyone knows that. Taking the knife out means the blood is able to flow more freely.

  Good.

  “Fuck you,” I hissed again as I stepped forward and plunged the knife back into him; his chest this time.

  Again, he stepped back with another funny little gasp from his cuntish mouth.

  With the third pinning, he didn’t step back and, therefore, didn’t unstick himself from the blade. He simply dropped to his knees. A look of surprise and pain on his face. A hint of anguish?

  I dropped to my knees too.

  What had I done?

  What had I become?
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  No, don’t blame yourself. This is his doing. He did this.

  He deserved this.

  I mirrored his body language by collapsing onto my side as well.

  His life seeping away from him - just as I felt my own life seep away from me.

  There’s no turning back now.

  There’s no getting better. There’s no getting over this.

  How can I get over this?

  So numb that I can’t even cry.

  I just lay there, in the kitchen, as his life pools across the floor towards me.

  He did this.

  He deserved this.

  Keep telling myself.

  7.

  “You’ve cut yourself,” said Bryan - as he rushed over to Jessica who stood in the doorway of the lounge, blood coming from her hand.

  “What did you do?” I asked, getting up from my sofa to help out. After all, I knew Bryan wasn’t the best around blood. Whenever he saw it, he always went a funny colour - something which always made me laugh. Him, being the man of the house... sickened by a little blood.

  Good job he wasn’t a woman. I don’t think he could cope with the monthly.

  “I was trying to tidy the kitchen,” said Jessica.

  “You know you aren’t supposed to be in the kitchen by yourself,” whispered Bryan. There was no sense shouting, Jess was already visibly shaken.

  Jessica was always keen to help out in the kitchen and sometimes, I let her sit on the side to help mash or stir - nothing anything more than that, though. Although, I can’t wait for her to be at the age where she can make me a cup of tea or even a whole dinner - so I can put my feet up for a bit.

  Working at the hospital, cleaning the house, helping her with her homework, keeping an eye on her and keeping her entertained.... it’s tiring. It will be nice when I can sit back from time to time and let her help me out.

  Obviously, as Bryan took her to get a plaster, we aren’t at that stage yet.

  A nice thought, though.

  * * * * *

  I stood in the hallway - the kitchen at the other end of the hall.

  Bodies on the floor of the kitchen.

  Blood.

  So much blood.

  I dropped the bag, filled with Jessica’s clothes, and rushed through to see what had happened.

  “Bryan? Jess?”

  No one answering me.

  It’s quickly obvious who the blood is coming from, when I spot the knife sticking out of Bryan’s chest. I bent down and felt his neck, feeling for a pulse but there’s nothing. Nothing.

  He’s gone.

  “Jessica?”

  I rushed over to her and knelt by her head.

  Check the pulse.

  Beating.

  Strong.

  Alive.

  Thank God.

  She’s just unconscious.

  “Jessica?”

  I lifted her head from the floor and rested it in my lap. That has to be more comfortable for her.

  The congealed blood on the kitchen floor - I wonder how long she has been lying here. I wonder - what happened? Apart from the obvious.

  Everything seemed normal.

  Well, as normal as it could be given the circumstances.

  Although I wasn’t happy about it, when Bryan explained his plan - everything seemed so clear in his scheme. Everything seemed to easy. Straight forward. How’s it all gone so wrong?

  “Mummy?”

  She’s stirring.

  “Ssh,” I stroke her hair as best I can in it’s current state; congealed blood sticking it together in lumps. Gross.

  She’s muttering.

  In shock.

  Apologising for what she’s done.

  “It’s okay,” I told her, stroking her matted hair.

  “I killed him....”

  “Come on,” I whispered, “up you get...”

  I pulled her to her feet, supporting her the whole way.

  “Are we going home?”

  “We’re going to get you cleaned up,” I said.

  I led her back down the hallway, towards the stairs - opposite the front door.

  “I want to go home,” she said.

  “I’ve got clean clothes with me.... let’s get you cleaned up and into fresh clothes. It’ll help to make you feel better.”

  Like clean clothes and a hot bath can make her feel better for murdering someone. Hopefully she won’t put a fight up - she looks as though the fight has left her anyway.

  “Did I kill him?” she asked.

  Shock.

  “Don’t think about it,” I told her as we got to the top of the stairs.

  “I’m sorry....”

  A few more steps and we were in the bathroom. A quick flick of the wrist to turn the taps on - a suitable mixture of hot and cold water, filling the white tub for her. Added bubbles for some much needed comfort.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Take your clothes off...”

  She duly took her shirt off and slipped her underwear off, dropping them to the floor. Everything saturated in blood.

  His blood.

  Did he get what he deserved?

  Do I deserve the same?

  Will she turn on me like she turned on him?

  I threw the clothes out of the bathroom so she didn’t have to stare at them. So she didn’t have to see the blood anymore.

  “Come on,” I helped her into the bathroom and she sat down - allowing the water to slowly cover her traumatised body, as the tub continued to flood.

  He seemed to think everything was going okay with her.

  Is she really as traumatised as she is making out or is she going to turn on me too? Stick a knife in me like she did with him?

  I can’t trust her.

  Can I?

  She’s my daughter, after all.

  Although technically...

  Well, she thinks she is my daughter.

  But then, she thought Bryan was her dad and she still killed him.

  That’s different, though.

  Isn’t it?

  She believes this was his idea.

  She believes it was him who was trapping her.

  She knew I wasn’t happy.

  Does she forgive me?

  “Can we go home now?” she asked.

  Home.

  How can we go home?

  People will be asking where Bryan is.

  What do I tell them?

  And his body?

  What about his body?

  I can’t leave it there.

  Can I?

  “Mum?”

  I ignored her as I started to wash her back with a flannel. My mind isn’t really here - struggling to get my head around what’s happened, instead. Struggling to find a way out of it.

  Even when Bryan was okay and no one was hurt - I couldn’t see a way out of this. I really couldn’t and I had been trying hard. At least, not a way out of it where everyone is happy and everything is back to normal.

  Now it’s definite.

  There is no Happy Ever After.

  Not for us.

  Not for any of us.

  The baby.

  Everything could be okay for them. A new life. A new life in this shitty world.

  There’s no Happy Ever After for us but... for the baby.