I was kind of embarrassed so I went back upstairs to get on with my homework. On the way I stopped to look in the full-length mirror on the landing. My legs looked like a model’s: long and elegant, especially when I stood on tiptoe, as if I was wearing heels. I liked them.
Weirdly though, as I admired them, I started to feel as if someone else were admiring them too. It was kind of imperceptible, which sounds like a contradiction because that means so slight as to not be perceived, but gradually the feeling grew until it was very real, and rather scary. I rushed into my room and put trousers on.
That was then: this is now. Now I think I’d leave the trousers.
So, anyway, there’s a little part of me that thinks Dad might have been right, but mostly I reckon he was talking bollocks. Mum was helping me make the best of myself. Maybe she somehow knew she was going, so felt she had to start early on the whole life advice thing. Maybe she’d always had the Beholder herself, but felt him slipping away and towards me, as she got older.
That kind of makes sense, actually. Later on that Veet day, I heard her arguing with Dad about how he didn’t find her attractive anymore. It was sad to hear, because I think she was right. He kept telling her that looks weren’t important. But she called him out on that, saying he should be glad she hadn’t “let herself go” like other women her age.
Well, she certainly went. The Beholder was there when it happened.
It’s horrible remembering it but here goes. We were in town. Crossing the road, coming out of House of Fraser. Mum had taken us to have our make-up done at the M.A.C counter. It was what she called “our little treat”, and I suppose you could have called it that, but I think Mum wanted it more than I did – at first. The foundation they put on her face gave her more colour than it’d had for ages. She was glowing. But then the make-up lady said it was because of the fantastic new anti-ageing blemish concealer she’d just applied, and Mum’s glow dimmed a little.
We were crossing the road. I could feel eyes looking at me… The make-up lady had said that the best products enhance your features, they don’t change them, and that I didn’t need concealer like my mum so she was just going to do a few light touches to emphasize my beauty. Beauty. Meaning a quality that gives aesthetic pleasure. I was embarrassed but, looking in the mirror, I allowed myself to wonder if she could be right and – bam – instantly the Beholder was there. His scrutiny, penetrating and constant, touched me from somewhere amid the shoppers passing through Cosmetics on their way to Linens. But I couldn’t see him.
I digress. That means I’m leaving the subject temporarily. It’s an interesting word, from the Latin digredior meaning depart. Kind of apt. Departing childhood. Dearly departed.
Like I say, we were crossing the road. The Beholder was with us. He kept making me turn around, looking for him looking at me. I felt good I think, all kind of grown-up, but Mum had her head down ever since the make-up lady said those things. I wondered if Mum knew I was the only one looking at her: she certainly wasn’t looking around as much as I was, no scopaesthesia for her.
We were crossing the road. I’ve said that, I know. I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m just going to say it quickly.
We were crossing the road…
We were crossing the road as The Beholder’s gaze got suddenly so strong that I turned to my right, sure this time that I would see him but of course he moved and instead there was the dusty bonnet of a big blue van and I could see the driver who was bald look at me but very briefly and not in a Beholder type way so I knew it wasn’t him but in his panicked eyes I instinctively knew to get out of the way and I fell back but Mum didn’t fall with me and suddenly I was on the tarmac and the Beholder wasn’t looking at me because all eyes including his were on my Mum.
One last, full-on stare. Did she feel it before she –?
I think he saved me instead of her.
A counsellor came to see me after it happened. She still comes, but says she may not have to for much longer. Gill-with-a-G isn’t too attractive, and has dangly earrings that jingle when she nods her head earnestly. As a word, earnestly is pre-eleventh century, from the old English. It means with serious intention, which is funny because I don’t feel the same hotness in her stares as in the Beholder’s or Dad’s.
I have to rate how I feel about the same list of things every time she comes. It’s boring. The Beholder watches me as I reel off the numbers and she ticks the boxes. I try not to look around, because I don’t want to arouse her suspicion, but I make sure I sit up straight so she – he – sees me at my best.
I’ve never told her about The Beholder. Somehow he feels like a secret, and if I shared him, it would spoil my connection with Mum, you know? Because now I’m certain that Mum knew about his presence. I think Dad senses something too – sometimes he looks at me as he used to look at Mum, as if he knows she’s there, in me, but can’t reach her. Or maybe he thinks the Beholder is stealing me from him.
I asked Dad if he’d paint my room the other day. Like Mum said she would. Get rid of the pink that makes me look like I’m into all that princess, baby shit. I even looked up the meaning of colours to persuade him: I found that pink symbolizes immaturity. It also symbolizes unconditional love and nurturing, but I didn’t tell him that bit. It seemed he knew that already, because he looked kind of agonized and refused to do it.
So Gill the counsellor said why didn’t I do it myself. “A step towards being an adult,” she said. She reckoned that if I did it well and responsibly, Dad might see how over-protective he was being and I could move on. She’d feel she could leave us alone.
Alone means having no one else present. Shows how much she knows.
So here I am, stretching up to the far corners of my room, slapping the roller up and down while Dad’s grumbling downstairs. So far it’s looking good. I used to think I’d want it green but since looking into colour symbolism I’ve decided on red. Incarnadine, it’s called: a word derived from Latin, which developed into the Italian word incarnatino, meaning flesh. I like that.
I’m enjoying being slapdash. I like the paint splattering onto me – I reckon the drops highlight the smoothness of my thighs and the curves of my boobs, just visible within these loose dungarees. The Beholder watches with interest. I think he likes me being more open with my body than Mum was. And even though I can’t see him I sense his smile, as the glistening red emulsion drips down, down deep, into the places I know I’ll show him soon.
doG lived
by Troll Dahl
It was coming! Lili’s piercing scream echoed through the 10th floor apartment, rattling the blinds and shaking the ornaments; or was it just the underground train that barged unapologetically beneath the building’s foundations a million times a day, never letting up even during the night? Perhaps the booming thunderstorm outside her apartment windows which had been brewing all afternoon like some dark portent, finally unleashing itself on this grimy evening? It felt like she was doing it and by God she could have.
The pain was stabbing quicker than ever. Severing, ripping, beyond anything she had ever imagined. She couldn’t have made it to the hospital even if she’d had enough notice. She had only just had enough strength to get to the bedside phone and dial before the tearing agony had felled her. Her body couldn’t take this. How was this natural? No way.
What had the operator said? Forty minutes? Forty God damn fucking minutes? There are delays on the roads, she’d said. A storm drain had burst and the main highway had flooded within a couple of hours of this monstrous downpour. She could hear the cascading rain threatening to drown her now, somewhere in the background. A cacophonic orchestra played, composed of thunder, lashing rain and female screams of agony, punctuated by loud electric fizzles as the bedside light dimmed at every flash of lightning which streaked passed her window.
“Oh Fuck!” she yelled, as she exhaled what seemed like her entire life force from her body. Why was this happening to her? To this day she couldn’t fathom it. She didn’t
tell anyone. Not even her doctor when he’d informed her in his clinically cold tone.
“You’re pregnant Miss Ardat.” Doctor Ramos told the 24-year-old.
It didn’t register at first. She had to get him to repeat it. What the actual fuck? Lili had thought as she sat on the hard plastic chair in the doc’s office. She’d only gone in about her sleep deprivation. No way could she be pregnant. She hadn’t had a relationship in over a year. No male part had been near her in 14 long dry months. If only. She tried to remember; wracked her brains in case she’d conveniently forgotten some drunken fumble in the last six months. None came to mind because it never happened.
What was this, the immaculate conception? She asked him again, hoping against hope for a different answer. She’d settle for a “Gotcha” moment right now. But his serious face never broke into a smile as she’d wanted.
“Are you sure because my cycle is like clockwork and right now it’s normal?” she said almost under her breath like it was some dark secret.
“Unless you have two hearts, then the sounds I can hear are definitely a foetal heartbeat. The urine sample you submitted last week also confirms it. So congratulations. We’ll organise a scan for next week but you’re about six months along like I said.”
Congrat-U-Fucking-Lations? No! No, this was definitely not a congratulations moment.
His final words echoed in her head as she headed along the sterile corridor, passed the coughing, wheezing and infectious waiting room patrons: “You’ve passed the 24-week gestation period, Miss Ardat, so a termination is out of the question.”
All the way home she fought her brain. On the train she tunnelled into her memories, trying desperately to figure this out. It felt like her head had a locked file she had lost the password to. The answer was there but she just couldn’t access the information. How many nights out had she had in the last six months? Money had been tight recently so there’d not been many. There was last week with… No, too late. Think back, she thought to herself. When was Susie’s birthday party? That must have been around that time. Had some guy spiked her drink and taken her off to a room upstairs? You hear about that all the time and the girls never even know. Steve Owens had been staring at her all night. Just standing in the corner by himself and staring at her with those squinty eyes. Oh God, please, no. Don’t let it be him.
Lili burst into her cosy little apartment without stopping to close the door and ran straight to her laptop.
“Come on, come on.”
The old laptop took an age to boot up. She scrolled through the files to her diary and counted back the weeks to Susie’s party. “Eighteen weeks. Damn.” She whispered.
At least if it had corresponded with Susie’s party she’d have a suspect. She continued backwards through her diary until she reached the entry that sent a freezing tingle down her backbone. That night! That night was six months ago! What was she thinking? How could it have been that? It wasn’t even real. She thought about someone drugging her somehow. Was the dream just her during a drugged state? Maybe Steve had followed her home from the party. No, that wasn’t until later. She shook her head. A drink. That was the most reasonable thing to do right now.
Lili headed into the kitchen, found a half empty bottle of cheap vodka and poured herself a glass. She took a mouthful and swallowed. Her mother’s words echoed in her head at that moment. “Alcohol never solved anything Lili.” Fuck that! You never got yourself pregnant with a ghost baby mother. She threw back the whole glass and poured herself a top up.
Half an hour later the bottle was dry and Lili staggered into her bedroom. She slumped onto the bed and her comfortable duvet and slipped into that place between sleep and drunken unconsciousness.
She woke sometime later in the dark. It was night time, that much she could discern. Why had she drunk so much? She didn’t move, couldn’t really. Just go to sleep and perhaps it’ll all be over tomorrow. She knew there’d be a day of hangover Hell, but who cared right now?
A noise caught her attention and she lifted her head a little to look into the darkness. It was a noise she recognised from that night. A sound like someone or something dragging their feet over the carpet. Then the fear. It filled her body like nothing she had ever experienced before. That ice cold fear; paralysing. Her body didn’t move. She clasped her eyes shut. It was back. Was she dreaming again? This felt real… just like the last time. Her breathing came in short gasps as the foot scraping drew ever nearer. The cold. It was like being in a freezer. She pretended to be asleep. What else could she do? She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even open her mouth to scream.
Then the fire on her belly. Five fingers of intense heat burned into her. The hand of someone, something, was touching her right where the growing foetus was. It sensed she was pregnant. No, it knew she was.
She thought her heart would pop out of her mouth, it was beating so rapidly. Dare she look? She had to see. She had to see if it was the same as before. Like last time. She had told her friends about it when it happened and after googling it had discovered something called sleep paralysis, where you are dreaming but it feels like you are awake. That’s what she thought had happened. She hadn’t been able to sleep after that night. No amount of sleeping pills would send her off. That’s why she’d gone to the doctor. It had been the most terrifying experience of her life. It had been so real. So damn real. And now it was happening again.
She could still feel the heat of the hand on her belly as she squinted towards the figure. At first it was just a dim outline in the darkened room. She widened her eyes to see more clearly. Then the eyes looked at her. Those black eyes. Even in the dark she could make them out. They were black but they seemed to glow from the shadows. Staring right at her. She let out a scream…
Aaaaaaarrrrgggghhhh! It was coming. The thing inside her was tearing at her. This was no ordinary baby. It was too big. How could she get this out of her? She just wanted it out now. Where was that ambulance? She’d told the operator she’d left the door open; for the ambulance crew to just come in. Apartment 1013. She screamed again as a snap of thunder and a flash of lightning shook the room.
“Help me! Somebody help me!” Lili begged through her tears.
She could feel it pushing its way out; tearing her as it did so. Her back arched, almost lifting her off the bed. The bed sheets pulled taut in her clenched fists. It hurt her so much she was unable to make a sound any more. Her pain threshold had been reached long ago. Now she was just numb. Numb with pain and fear. Alone and at the mercy of this thing inside her. She could feel another bout of pain coming fast. She panted and braced herself for another round. Then she was pushing, deep and hard. All she could think was: Get it out of me! Get it out! And then relief as she felt it slide freely out.
Lili’s slender body relaxed. She released her grip on the crumpled duvet and sank back into its softness. Finally it was over.
A thud, and a cry like never before. A vile, whistling shriek. The baby, the thing, had fallen to the floor. Slowly Lili inched her way onto her elbows to see. Blood covered the sheets between her legs. The umbilical cord trailed over the edge to the floor.
Then she saw it. First a bob of a darkened head appeared just above the bottom of the bed. Then slowly more of the head. Dark, black, leathery skin. The same as the other one in her dream. Then a pair of black pupils blinked at her. The same eyes. All shiny and piercing. There was evil in those eyes.
Those staring eyes sent a chill through her entire body. Lili dared not move. Two clawed hands grasped the bed sheets and it hauled itself up with ease. This was no defenceless newborn baby. This was alert, intelligent, able to stand on its feet. Feet which bore talons like an eagle. Quick as the lightning flashing outside her window, the newborn sank its teeth into the soft flesh of her bare foot then sat back to wait.
Lili shrieked and kicked out at it but very quickly she found herself losing movement in her limbs. Her whole body became paralysed in seconds, just like that night. When she was helpl
ess, the creature padded forward and, clasping Lili tight in its talons, proceeded to rip at her flesh.
Lili could do nothing but let it happen. She couldn’t even scream. This pain was worse than giving birth to it. It literally tore strips of flesh from her body and devoured it, licking its lips with a long, thin, serpent-like tongue. Droplets of blood pattered onto the duvet as it feasted on her creamy flesh.
Very quickly it had removed all the skin from her body. Her torso glistened red with blood. Then a noise in the hallway and hurried feet. The creature turned to listen a moment before dashing for the window and opening it wide. A pair of leathery wings stretched out and beat and as the door burst open it was gone, disappearing into the rainstorm.
The two male ambulance crew froze at the foot of the bed, unable to understand what they were seeing.
Lili gathered her final strength on this Earth and uttered, “Don’t save me.”
True Fear
by G P Eynon
You don’t comprehend true fear until you have your own children.
That was the most profound quote I had ever heard… Until my children went missing.
You don’t comprehend true fear until your children go missing.
Now that’s a lot more profound.
Our two young daughters disappeared at some point during the night. A night when they were desperate to come and sleep with us like they did so many times before, but on this occasion I made them go to their own beds. I don’t recall why.
They weren’t there in the morning.
I thought they’d gone downstairs for breakfast, but they weren’t there either. Or in the garden. Or playing in the cellar. It wasn’t until my wife, Mary, and I had searched the house three times over that we knew they really were gone. The police got involved, of course, but to no avail. The case was declared unsolved and we never saw our little girls again. That was five years ago.
Every single day of those long five years we searched for them in one way or the another: online, outside, en-masse, in vain. And every single day, another small piece of us disappeared with them. We somehow managed to maintain our marriage, even though being apart was always a relief. We somehow managed to remain living in that house, even though being away felt like a release. Nevertheless, an urge to be at home nagged like a persistent compulsion. Our misery held us to that place; we had to stay in case the girls returned. What if they came back and we weren’t there? What if they left again? What if some clue to their whereabouts was delivered through the door? We couldn’t stand to be in this house. And yet we remained.
Twisted 50 Volume 1 Page 5
