by Ho, Jo
Hopping over the foot tall chain-link fence surrounding the landscaped gardens, Lisa ignored the “NO WALKING ON GRASS” sign, taking malicious joy in digging her heels into the dirt. This was typical of Lisa, the spoilt rich girl with an aversion to authority. Fishing out her iPhone, she hit “1” on the speed-dial. Moments later, her sleepy boyfriend answered. “Hey babe, you all done?”
“Yes, thank God, though why my folk’s think I’ll ever need science is beyond me.” Lisa complained.
Gary laughed. “They’re hoping you’ll fill that brain with something other than designer labels.”
Lisa snorted. “Fat chance, even with Nerdbrain’s tutoring.” The science book slipped in her grasp, but she caught it before it could fall. “Jesus, this thing weighs a ton. She couldn’t have loaned me the Cliffnotes version?” Clutching the book across her chest, Lisa came off the grass as she continued making her way to the nearly empty car park. Her heels clicked on the pavement, the sound echoing all around.
“Should get to yours in say ten minutes, traffic allowing.” She lowered her voice into a sexy purr. “Just enough time for you to slip into something nice.” Hearing a strangled noise from Gary, Lisa grinned and disconnected the call. Boys were such simple creatures.
She slid her keys from her pocket and headed towards the only parked car in the lot: a ruby-red Mercedes, a birthday gift from her parents. She wasn’t supposed to get it until after she had passed her exams, but parents, it turned out, were equally as easy as boys. All it had taken was some well-timed pouts and tears, and boom! Lisa was a sports car better off.
A few feet from the car, Lisa heard a footstep behind her. She stopped, spinning around. A gang of local kids had taken to water bombing passers-by lately, and Lisa was not going to be amused if they messed up her hair any further. However, after scanning the lot quickly, she could see no one. Still, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rising, one by one, and couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that someone was watching her. Not a girl who’s easily spooked however, Lisa called out.
“Who’s there?”
There was no answer. No other sound. Just the tap-tapping of her heels, picking up the pace. Arriving at the car, she fumbled for the keys in her pocket, but in her haste, her bag slipped from her shoulder and dropped to the ground. Make up, umbrella, and coins jingled onto the pavement, the sound as loud as gunfire in the suffocatingly silent night.
Tossing a nervous look over her shoulder, Lisa quickly gathered her things and opened the car door. Diving inside, she hit the central lock and gunned the engine. As the vehicle roared to life, Lisa let out her held breath. But then her foot hovered hesitantly over the gas pedal.
Outside on the ground, lay the borrowed science book.
“Are you kidding me?” The words spat from her mouth. Tossing the book a disgusted look, she pressed her foot on the gas, while her left hand curved over the hand brake, ready to leave the damn thing there. It wasn’t like she couldn’t afford to replace it.
But somewhere, in the back of her mind, Lisa was struck by her guilty conscience. It belonged to Nerdbrain and contained a bunch of notes inside that may or may not have been irreplaceable. Lisa cast another furtive look around the car park — still empty. Feeling foolish, and leaving the engine running, she unlocked the door, hopped out, and was bending over to reach the book when--
Ssssssnap.
A twig snapped behind her.
With a mounting sense of terror Lisa turned… and SCREAMED as something dark launched itself at her. The book slipped out of her hands as Lisa thrashed wildly, trying desperately to escape the fingers that were now clasped tightly around her neck.
For a brief moment, when the pressure loosened, she thought she might be succeeding. But then she felt the cold bite of metal in her throat, and her screams turned into wet gurgles as her blood sprayed onto the chemistry book, staining it pink.
TYLER
WHAT HAD THEY DONE?
The adrenaline coursed through her body. Her heart thumped so loudly, Tyler thought the entire estate would hear. She raced up the stone stairwell, past the section she fondly dubbed “pee corner,” until she arrived at the familiar red door to her flat. Usually, the very sight of it would comfort her, but tonight everything had changed.
Life would never be the same again.
Letting herself in with shaking hands, Tyler slammed the door behind her, bolting it swiftly and drawing the chain across, securing herself inside. Only then did she let out the breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding.
She’d made it back in one piece.
Her eyes took in the place she called home. There was a living room that opened into the narrow, galley style kitchen. Nothing fancy; the carpet was faded but clean. Her chintzy sofa — found at the local dump — was usable, bar the one exposed spring that she had covered over with a wad of gaffer tape. A lone bookcase was stacked with college materials, but other than a basic TV/DVD combo she’d bought at Argos, the room was bare. Cheap, and not so cheerful.
She moved into the kitchen, lowered her head into the sink, and drank straight from the tap. The cold water soothed on its way down her parched throat. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten that day, but the thought of food only brought waves of nausea to the fore. Tyler stared at the black and white vinyl diamonds covering the floor, willing herself to calm. It was an old trick of hers. When something bad was happening, something she would otherwise not be able to deal with, she found that if she focused on small details her heart would slow to something approaching normal.
Her eyes zeroed in on the liquid soap dispenser.
Hurriedly, she turned off the tap, gathered the dispenser, and threw it into the bin. Yanking open the kitchen units, Tyler grabbed vinegar, ketchup, and mustard from one and washing up detergent from another — they went into the bin too. Dragging the now heavy sack with her, Tyler moved into the bathroom.
Catching a glimpse of her reflection, Tyler started. Her green eyes seemed overly large tonight, as if she had witnessed horrors no person should ever see, which really wasn’t far from the truth. Her wavy black-brown hair, usually caught in a spotless ponytail, was a tangled mess. Briefly, the thought came that she would have to fix herself up before she went to work. What had they said? Act normal. Stick with routine.
Removing the bin’s flip lid, she dumped in shampoo, conditioner, and body washes. Her hand hoovered over the tooth paste before that was thrown too. Better safe than sorry. Lastly, she entered her bedroom and proceeded to empty it of any liquid or chemical substances.
As she finished up, a loud chime caused her to jump out of her skin. It’s only the phone, Tyler told herself. Get a grip. Fishing her phone out of her pocket, Tyler glanced at the message on the homescreen.
“Thank you so much for tonight! My bag’s amazing!!! This was the best birthday eva!!! Love you, Bug xoxoxoxo.” It was from her younger sister, who had turned ten tonight. For a brief moment, Tyler could feel a smile coming on. Ally a.k.a Bug, as she liked to be called, wasn’t like other little girls. Bug was into, well, bugs and insects. She hated pink and thought Pokemon was for losers. For bedtime stories, she looked to Eastern Europe for inspiration, preferring their dark tales of evil witches — like Baba Yaga, who ate children and lived in a house that stood on chicken legs — to more traditional fare. Then again, maybe that was because she knew magic and wishes and happily ever after didn’t exist for people like them. People like them had dead parents and were forced to live apart due to a technicality.
And just like that, Tyler came crashing back down to earth.
Bug. Jesus. What would this mean for her?
Moments later, dressed in the Waitrose uniform that she had hastily pulled on, Tyler crossed the estate to the rubbish tip and dumped the whole bag of products inside. Wiping sweaty palms against her skirt, she walked quickly down the road. Approaching the bus stop, Tyler was relieved to see a number 47 bus pulling up. Climbing inside, she swiped her Oyst
er card, found a seat at the back of the bus, and hunkered down, staring out at the black, black night.
Maybe now she would be safe?
But Tyler didn’t believe that at all.
CASSIE
CASSIE stole into the hallway of her Victorian house, gripping her keys so tightly the metal was cutting into her palm. She froze at the bottom of the stairs, eyes fixed down the immaculate hall. New England is how her mum described the style of their home and she should know: She’d spent a small fortune doing it up.
The sound of Grand Designs floated over from the TV room. It was a favourite of her architect dad’s. Good Cassie thought. Hopefully it would keep them occupied so they wouldn’t hear her. An awful liar at the best of times, Cassie couldn’t afford to be caught in a game of twenty questions tonight.
Taking one step at a time, she crept up the polished wooden stairs, and stole into her room. She waited before closing the door, knowing it would give that tell-tale squeak, waited until the commercial break came on, and with it, its louder-than-normal volume. Finally, alone in the safety of her room, Cassie pulled off her cardigan to reveal the vivid finger-shaped welts on her arms.
She flinched as she examined them. They hurt like hell. Cassie pulled open her bedside drawer, wincing at the noise even though she knew her parents couldn’t hear it, not unless they had superpowers. Inside, there was an enormous array of creams and meds, everything from aspirin and the latest diet pill fads to a cream that promised to eat away old skin, leaving only baby soft skin behind — which was a lie, as Cassie had found out, belatedly, after she had slathered an entire tube on her face. The cream had burnt away her skin, leaving her with raw, inflamed flesh that had killed and which was only resolved after several eyewateringly expensive trips to a private dermatologist on Harley Street. It was months before they stopped calling her “Fugly” at school.
Cassie rifled around, looking for something that might help take the sting of her injuries, but there was nothing suitable. Finally, at a loss, Cassie grabbed a bottle of painkillers and downed the last three, dry, like they were nothing more than TicTacs. Guess they’ll have to do until I could get my hands on something stronger.
How the hell had he done this to her? How the hell was anything that happened tonight even possible?
Cassie threw the mound of designer cushions from the bed (another New England theme) onto the floor and lowered herself back gingerly. She wanted nothing more than to curl up with her parents on the sofa, but the time for that was over.
What happened tonight had changed everything.
EVE
EVE froze in the living room of her home.
Having just arrived back to a pitch-black house, Eve was reaching for the light switch when she heard the sound of breaking glass. No one was supposed to be home, so that meant only one thing. Someone was trying to break in. She turned in the direction of the sound.
It was coming from the kitchen.
Still tense as all hell from the night she’d already had, the last thing Eve needed was to face another problem, but she hadn’t grown up in Lewisham — one of the roughest areas in South East London — for nothing. If trouble came calling, she would handle it… and smash its face in, if need be.
It was a clear night, and the moon shone brightly enough that, moving past the framed photographs on the fireplace, Eve could see her parents faces smiling out at her from their home in Jamaica. She ignored them now, snatching a heavy stone bookend from the mantlepiece, moving warily into the kitchen, every sense in her body honed for action.
The back door had been tampered with. The glass smashed, just above the door handle, shards of it littering the floor beneath. As she took this in, a shadow fell across the door.
It was a man. Standing outside.
As a hand snaked through the hole and unlocked the door, Eve lifted the bookend high above her head. When the figure stepped through the door, she started bringing the bookend down, determined to do as much damage to his skull as possible, when the face of the person came into the light. A face with brown coconut skin and green eyes so like her own. Swerving wildly, Eve missed his head at the last possible moment, smashing the bookend into the wall instead, where it bounced off, leaving a large hole.
“Are you trying to kill me?!” The voice of Si (Simon) her older brother yelled.
Eve dropped the bookend, heart thumping wildly at her near miss.
“You were trying to break in! What’re you doing home? You’re supposed to be at work!” She yelled, shaken by having almost killed him.
Si hit the lightswitch, flooding the kitchen with light. “I locked myself out and left the keys to the bar in my room. It’s my turn to open and you know Buster doesn’t need any more reasons to fire my ass.”
“So you casually break into our home to get the keys? You don’t think that’s too extreme?” Eve questioned, eyes flashing.
“I called you a million times, but you didn’t answer, so don’t be getting up in my face about this,” Si snapped back heatedly, growing angrier by the second.
Abruptly, Eve’s anger disappeared, replaced by a more guilty expression. Si took in her appearance. It was a few seconds before he realized why.
“That’s my jacket! How many times have I said you can’t wear that?” He lunged forward, trying to pull it off of her. “You don’t take care of anything, and my stuff always comes back looking like…” He trailed off suddenly shocked, as he saw the back of his prized leather bomber jacket, which was now torn to shreds with what looked like claw marks.
“What the actual F is this?” He demanded.
Desperate to get out of there, Eve fixed her eyes on the floor as she squirmed out of his reach. “A dog. He attacked me on my way home. Must’ve been rabid. Just unlucky, I guess.”
Si looked at her, clearly not believing a word of her excuse but not able to deal with her drama now. Grabbing his work keys, Si shot one last concerned look at her.
“Just… be careful, OK?”
Filled with the shame his worried tone caused, Eve nodded and headed up to her room. When she heard the back door slam shut, Eve shrugged out of the jacket and threw it into the metal bin. Taking a bottle of vodka from her vanity table, Eve poured the contents into the bin. Then, striking up a match, she tossed it inside, watching as the jacket burst into flames.
MARLEY
Bursting into her room, Marley shut the door behind her, wishing that would be enough to keep the monsters out. Hurrying to the en-suite bathroom, navigating past the piles of half unpacked removal boxes that littered the place, Marley didn’t notice the ugly floral wallpaper her predecessor had left for once. No, tonight there were other, more terrifying things to contend with.
Reaching out a hand to turn on the light, Marley suddenly froze, seeing the dried blood that covered them. A wave of disgust and fear flooded through her. She took in her wild reflection, but didn’t recognise her own features. Not the long straight black hair or exotic eyes that were given to her by her Chinese mum, or the dimples and Roman nose handed down by her English dad. She looked pale. Scared.
Guilty.
Cranking the tap on full, Marley plunged her hands under the water, when there came a knock on the door, quickly followed by the appearance of her father, Dean. People were always surprised to learn that her father was white. Marley didn’t know why - there were mixed race couples everywhere in London though her parents weren’t together any more. Marley hadn’t seen her mum in ten years now. Startled by Dean’s unannounced appearance, Marley spun around to face him, shoving her hands into her pockets.
“I thought we had an agreement,” he said, with that unmistakable tone of disappointment Marley was growing used to hearing of late.
“Something came up. I honestly didn’t mean to stay out so late,” Marley replied, hoping her dad would believe her. It was the truth after all. He sighed, long and deep, eyes furrowed into a perplexed expression.
“We just got here. It’s your first day o
f college, and we had a date to unpack this mess, but instead you chose to go out. You could at least have called, Marley. It’s why I leant you my phone.” His voice lowered, a sure sign of his frustration. Marley felt her heart ache. He was trying so hard to make it work, even going as far as to move across the country, but now he would have to deal with this on top of everything else… unless she was able to hide it from him.
“I know. I was just happy to make some new friends, and when they asked me out… time got away from me. I promise it won’t happen again,” she said. He looked at her, wanting to believe her words. Marley jumped on his doubt. “Tomorrow. We’ll post-pone our unpacking date until then, OK? I’ll even treat you to pizza.” She grinned cheekily, hoping he would take the bait.
“Well that’s hardly playing fair is it? Pizza…” Dean shook his head, knowing his daughter had already won. Moving to the door, he hesitated before leaving. “I know this year has been tough, so… what I mean to say is, I’m glad you’re making friends.” He left, crossing the hall into his own room. Marley watched silently as her dad continued to unpack his own removal boxes, reaching into one, where he retrieved a large cross that he hung on the wall.
Closing her door, the smile fell from Marley’s face. Hurrying back into the bathroom, Marley scrubbed her hands anxiously, transfixed with horror at the sight of the blood mixing with the water, swirling down the sink.
Blood that didn’t belong to her.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
A few of you know me, but most of you don’t. I’m a screenwriter from London who’s been working in the film and television industry now, for oh, a while. I absolutely love it and wouldn’t change it for the world, but there are limitations to what stories I can realistically tell.
Some of these have to do with budget constraints (“we can keep the apocalypse, absolutely, but instead of New York City, how about we contain it to say, a Wholefoods parking lot?”) other problems could be due to casting choices (“can we really find a six year old actor good enough to convey these complicated emotions?”), or visual effects issues (“really Jo? Monsters again? And under the sea? How much money do you think we have?”). I also like to represent minorities, particularly female leads, because you know, I am one, so I create a lot of minority characters if it works for the story, but you wouldn’t believe how often I get told off about that! But by far, the most frustrating block I come across is the constant concern over making original material for the screen. You see, Hollywood likes a sure thing, but since no one can predict what that’ll be, they’ll take “existing” over “sure”. Translated, that means existing books or movies franchises that have proven audiences.
