I set off again, slowly dragging my useless frame along. Escape was on the horizon. The world was silent, apart from the noise of my body scraping along the small stones of the driveway. There were no birds. I was truly alone.
Then from behind me came a low chuckle. I froze in terror. I recognized that laugh. It was the monster. I proceeded to pick up the pace and tried to put more distance between us. But then I heard the crunch of footsteps approaching from the house. He was gaining ground and there was no escape.
I saw the man I had hoped I would never see again. He fixed me with his cold stare and took the last few steps to reach me. The monster stopped just inches from my head. His large Timberland boots were grubby and the laces were fraying. I looked up at him. His expression had changed. He was no longer the shy, retiring creature I had last seen in the cellar. Before me stood the familiar animal I was well acquainted with. He stood silently over me for some time. I didn’t try to speak or move. I thought that if I stayed still he couldn’t see me.
Eventually he bent down and said in a husky voice, ‘Where da ya fink you is going?’
He wrapped one of his large hands around my throat and pulled me up. With no effort he flung me over his right shoulder and began stomping back towards the house. I moaned and tried to speak.
‘B-ut you-r Da-da’ I managed to hoarsely whisper, stopping the monster in his tracks. He shrugged me off and onto the ground with a thud. I felt my ribs crack and screamed like a child.
‘What ya sayin about Dada?’ He bent down low and shoved his face into mine.
I was breathless and winded from my harsh landing. It took a moment or two before I could respond.
‘Y-ou . . . said . . . he . . . sa-i . . . d . . . l-et. . . . m-e . . . go. . .’
The monster sat down on the ground next to me and shook his head in a matter of fact fashion.
‘Changed ‘is mind he did. Says ya is a wrong’un and I need to see dat da rubbish gets put out.’ Then he dusted off his hands and stood up. ‘It’s time na’.’ He grabbed me by my right wrist and began to drag me along behind him. I tried to put up a fight, but I was too weak. I was no match for the strength of the man who was going to kill me. My screams were half croaks coming out of my mouth. Unfazed by my attempts, they were of no significance to him.
Effortlessly, he pulled me back into the house and into the kitchen. He released his grip and I collapsed in a heap on the cool tile floor. The kitchen was vast with a large cream Aga, and a pine kitchen table and chairs. It was a homely country kitchen that might have belonged to a normal family. The monster flicked on the small kettle and then pulled up a chair. Without any warning, he picked me up and sat me on it. My head slumped forward with the pain that travelled through every inch of my trembling body.
Next he bent down beneath the ceramic sink and opened the cupboard. I listened as he rummaged about. The kettle whistled and I watched as a cloud of steam poured out of the spout. I had a vision of myself leaping up out of the chair, reaching for the boiling kettle, and pouring it over his fat head. The thought made me grin inside. As I wondered if his inventive nastiness was rubbing off on me, he turned around triumphantly, brandishing a length of coarse rope. He jumped to his feet, slid across the floor towards me, and began tying me tightly to the chair. The rope burned my skin and dug into my injuries sending fresh waves of agony through me.
Once he had checked and double-checked the knots in the rope he went over to the kettle and made himself a mug of tea. He behaved as if having a dying woman bound to a chair in his kitchen was perfectly normal. I was as astounded as I was horrified.
He sat down at a chair on the opposite side of the table and gulped his tea. I could smell the sweetness from the hot milk in the air, and my mouth began to water. He noticed the desire in my eyes and shrugged as with one large mouthful he drained the cup. At the same time I noticed the distinctive smell of a pie cooking. The scent of crusty pastry and gravy filled my nostrils and set my head spinning. The smell was too much for my mind. It took me back to happier times, lunches spent in cosy pubs and my mum’s cooking. The food represented comfort. It was something I longed for.
I let my head hang down and felt saliva swish around in my mouth for the first time in days. I had become so used to my lips being dry that the moistness felt alien. I heard the chair legs squeak against the floorboards and sat bolt upright. The monster opened a cupboard and removed a packet of bourbon biscuits. Tea and biscuits, I thought to myself, how quaint. He removed one of the biscuits and wafted it under his nose, teasing me. I turned away. It was too much to handle. The small things seemed to bother me the most.
He grinned at me, revealing his uneven teeth and then took a large deliberate bite out of the bourbon. He swallowed it without chewing, and I watched as the large lump of biscuit travelled down his throat. A few small crumbs clung to the whiskers around his chin. I was reminded of a scene from the Roald Dahl book The Twits, in which Mr Twit’s revolting beard collects various morsels of food. It was such a vivid image from my childhood. I was grateful that my mind found a way to belittle the monster.
‘Better get on wiv it, den.’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and the crumbs tumbled to the floor.
In one swift movement, he picked up the chair that I was tied to and carried me out of the kitchen. He set me down in the hallway while he retrieved a large heavy chain from a cupboard underneath the stairs. He pulled the long thick metal links up over his shoulder. Then he picked me up and left through the front door.
It was almost dark now. The sky was a purplish blue and soft charcoal clouds gathered together. He took me over to the jeep and put me in the open back along with the massive chain that clunked onto the floor. The monster slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The jeep spluttered into life and began to accelerate away from the farmhouse. About forty metres from the house was a field with a large gate. My monster left me in the car with the engine running, while he got out and pushed the gate open. Moment later we were bumping over the grassy field heading into the darkness. I considered screaming but my throat was too sore.
The wooden chair creaked and bounced in the back and I thought it would topple over. The scent of hay was mixed with that of mud and manure. The jeep smelled like stale farm air. The 4x4 rattled along for a few moments with only the headlights guiding the way. I strained my neck and peered through the mist trying to make out where we were going. Soon the jeep came to a halt near to a copse of trees. The monster turned off the engine but left the lights on, shining in the direction of the trees.
Grunting, he slid out of the jeep and slammed the door shut behind him. The whole jeep vibrated. I was reminded of his brute strength. He walked over to one of the trees and stood with his hands on his hips looking at it for a long time. I listened out for a sign of help but heard nothing. I was trapped by the deadly silence. Panic set in, and I tried to wriggle my right hand out of the ropes. The harder I fought to free myself, the more the fibres rubbed and cut into my skin. I had been concentrating so hard on trying to escape that I hadn’t noticed the monster return. Then I saw his face watching me. Shaking his head he opened the door and began to tut.
‘Now what ya finkin of doin’?’ He sounded disappointed. ‘Can’t ya see ya ain’t goin’ nowhere.’ He reached in and pulled me towards him as I began to sob.
‘No use crying, bitch,’ he said as he lifted my chair out of the jeep and stomped over towards the trees. I could see little ahead of me but blackness. Then something glistened on the ground under the headlights. I smelled the ocean and realized we were by the shore. He set me down close to the edge and left me there while he returned to the car.
It took a minute for my eyes to adjust. Eventually I could make out the small waves. We were close to a shabby looking jetty. I peered around and noticed two mounds beneath a large willow tree behind us. I squinted to get a better look. Once I focussed, I saw two graves. My heart sank. Was this where my body was going to lie? The lu
mp in my throat felt like concrete.
The monster returned cheerfully with the chain and a number of bamboo garden torches. He stuck four of the torches into the ground, set about a metre apart and lit the wicks. The flames looked magical against the blackness of the night. He stood back and admired the scene. I held my breath, wondering what to expect from him next. Then he removed a quarter bottle of whiskey from his inside jacket pocket and sipped it in silence.
Now that I could see better, I turned my attention back to the graves under the tree. The light from the flames had revealed that each one had its own marker. The mound on the right appeared to be much older and had long grass growing up out of it. I read the headstone. One word was coarsely carved. The word was ‘Mummy.’ My eyes darted to the more recent looking second stone which read ‘Dada.’
My mouth hung open as I tried to make sense of it all. Then, like a lead balloon, all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The monster was watching me work it out and interjected.
‘Is all for ‘im. He tells me which gal to get. Dada knows best and now ya gunna get it just like he wants ya ta.’
He dragged me, still bound to the chair, onto the rickety deck of the jetty. In the ripples of the water, I saw the moon reflected. She was low, large, and not quite full. I marvelled at her. At least I get to see you one last time, I thought to myself. I continued to gaze at the pearly orb as the monster cut the ropes that kept me strapped to the chair. I fell to the floor.
The monster unwound the dense chain, before fiddling with a rusty padlock. It clicked open and the echo travelled over the sea. With the noise bouncing off the water came the knowledge that this would be my final prison. He tugged at the chain to make sure it was secure before removing the bottle of liquor from his coat and taking another slug.
He moved me to the edge of the jetty. I was only inches away from the water and I felt the coldness dancing up around my legs. I held my breath. I knew what was coming. The monster nodded over in the direction of the graves and said, ‘Time to meet Dada.’
As he turned his back to fetch the chain that would help sink me, I closed my eyes, let my head go floppy, and rolled myself into the icy wetness.
I wasn’t prepared for the bitter cold. The freezing stab from the water made me open my eyes and start to panic. I began to struggle and took in deep breaths of black, salty water. I felt myself sinking and the further down I fell, the colder it got. After a few metres I felt my body make contact with the silt on the bottom. I could see nothing in front of me and my lungs began to hurt. Then I saw the wobbly moon through the water above me. A sudden feeling of calm washed over me, and I sat perfectly still, allowing fate to take the lead. The moon smiled down at me and promised I would be alright. Sitting there beneath the spotlight, I believed her.
My life didn’t flash before my eyes. I felt darkness embrace me as the last bubbles of air drifted up and escaped my body. The last thing I thought of was Jude. In a dream he would have dived in and breathed life back into me. But this wasn’t a dream. With hapless ease I finally stopped living. The second before I left my body I felt like a bird singing after a storm, and then in the blink of an eye I was no more.
* * *
I wish it had been different. I wish I’d had more foresight. I wish, I wish so many things. It is hard to know where to begin. I wish most of all that death was how I had imagined it to be; empty, numb and painless but it was not that kind. Death exists like a shell. It is the shadow of the living. I remain here as I am. I am not the person I was before my murder. I am no longer a person at all. All I am is the feeling that I was at the moment of my death, the outline of a woman. The broken bits of my soul flit between the realms of reality and non-existence. I am not a ghost but I share the world with them. The haunted are with me, and I watch as the restless walk the earth.
* * *
I would like to be able to offer you a neat ending. It would suit us better if I told you that the world is a kind and gentle place and that dreams come true. I don’t doubt that may be the case for some people. Neither should you. But I can only tell you my story and that is how it went. I am sorry if you are disappointed. You would like to know what happened to the monster. I wish I could tell you that he was caught, or that karma stepped in and played her hand. The truth is I don’t know and never will. I have only the memory of my grievance.
Maybe he will pay for what he did and maybe he will be caught. Maybe not. I don’t know if the people I love will ever be able to bury me. Perhaps my body will never be found, perhaps it already has been. I only know how it feels to be swallowed by the black satin night, and how heavy eyelids can feel, like final veils of concrete. I am the feeling of calm acceptance in the air. Death made me a bride. I am nothing more than what I was at the moment of my death.
The ghost of myself lingers now, haunting me. It whispers on the salty breeze and taunts me with the promise that my death has only just begun.
THE END
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