Happy Ever After - Volume 1: A Novel of Horror and Suspense

by Matt Shaw

  “What are you doing?” I ask. I don’t like where this is going.

  “I’m sorry, I have to.”

  The cuffs lock my wrists above my head.

  Once again I’m his prisoner. This is it. “Please, go slow,” I beg trying not to sound like the scared little girl that I am. I look to my hand and notice that I’m still clutching onto the

  condoms. It doesn’t matter now. It’s too late as he pushes deep inside of me, letting out a long sigh as he does. I’m not wet enough and the first few thrusts sting.

  Afterwards

  I want to weep but I can’t. I just lay on the bed with my eyes closed pretending to be in a post-coital state of bliss. I’m in a post- coital state of horror as I feel his sperm trickle out of my vagina, dampening the mattress. I try and move from the wet patch but my wrists are still cuffed and I can’t move far enough over.

  I don’t know where he is. As soon as he came he pulled out and left the room. I expect he’s watching me though and that’s why I can’t show my true emotions. I need him to believe it was what I wanted but with my wrists still cuffed, I fear I put myself through that for nothing.

  I fidget uncomfortably as the hot PVC sticks to my sweaty flesh. It’s starting to itch now and I want to call for him so he can free me – perhaps even let me have a wash; wash away my shame.

  “Peter?” I call out, quietly at first for fear of disturbing him and getting him angry and then louder when I realise I’m being stupid and want him to come to me, “PETER?”

  Nothing.

  For a brief moment I kid myself that all he ever wanted, all along, was sex and that he’ left now. Gone on to find another girlfriend. My heart sinks as I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, the creaky floorboard giving them away as they continue to get closer to the bedroom door.

  “Yes?” The door opens, “What’s wrong?” Think fast. Keep him happy.

  “I missed you, I wondered where you went,” a good lie.

  “I thought you might have wanted a nap, or something. I was getting you a snack together for when you woke up. Did you want anything?”

  Be honest. “Could you let me out of the dress?” His face changes, “You don’t like it?” Keep him happy. “I love it, I’m just hot and sticky. I’m going to need to freshen up!” I smile at him.

  He cracks a smile, “Yes, of course, I’m sorry.”

  He walks over to me and undoes my wrists, allowing me to sit up, allowing me to get out of the wet patch – the sheet on the mattress sticking to my inner thigh.

  “Could you?” I refer to the zip on the back of my dress. He doesn’t hesitate to undo it for me. I sense relief as the cool air hits my skin, “Thank you.”

  “I’ll let you get freshened up and then show you around, if you want.”

  “You mean I’m free to wander around?”

  “Sure. There’s a couple of rooms that are out of bounds but I’ll show you around so you know where they are and then, help yourself.” He smiles again before leaning forward and kissing me on the forehead. The sort of kiss a father would give to his daughter before leaving for a day at the office; the sort of kiss that I miss from my father.

  It won’t be long now. I’m in control again.

  “Give me a shout when you are ready to look around, I’ll be downstairs,” and with that, he stands and leaves the room – leaves me with a new sense of both hope and freedom. Today’s the day. This is it.

  I stand up and slowly peel the dress off before kicking it into the corner of the room. I’m done with it. I won’t need it anymore.

  Stop. Gather your thoughts. He’s probably still watching you. He’ll probably continue to do so for a while – watch what you do with your newfound freedom. The important thing is not to be too hasty. It’ll be so easy to undo all the hard work I’m put in so far. Take your time. Relax. Make sure he’s relaxed. He does seem to be relaxed.

  I walk over to the wardrobe and pull a light, summery dress from the rack and throw it over myself. I know I’m just going to take it off again when I get into the bathroom to wash away the stench of his touch but I don’t want to walk around naked. I don’t want to put that thought back into his head.

  It’s weird walking to the bathroom. It feels wrong – like he’s about to jump out on me and curse me for trying to run. I look around nervously, am I really allowed to walk around without him? Is he watching me still?

  I call down the stairs to try and find out where he is, “Pete could you get me a cup of tea when you get a minute please?”

  “I’ll bring it right up.”

  He’s downstairs. He is giving me room to move around. Little by little, I relax a little more, “Thank you, I’ll be in the bathroom.” I close the door behind me, hoping that he has the decency to knock before coming in.

  The taps are on full and yet they can’t fill the bath quick enough. I can feel where he’s been and I feel violated. I feel disgusted. Fill, damn you bath, fill. I pour bubble bath in, more than what I need but not as much as what I want. Let it cleanse him from my soul. I can’t stop thinking about the unopened condom and I worry myself as to whether he’s clean or not.

  Worry about it later. Just get in the bath. Let it fill around you. Shut your eyes for a while. Visit a happy place. I climb into the bath and shut my eyes tight. Before I get a chance to take myself to the happy place there’s a knock at the door.

  “Did you want it in there?” comes his voice from beyond.

  “Yes, please.” After what I’ve been through it takes even more effort to sound convincing, to sound pleased to hear from him. Nevertheless the door swings open and he comes in, holding out a hot cup of tea in front of him - a hot cup of tea that I don’t even want.

  “Here,” he says as he puts it on the side barely paying attention to the fact that I’m naked in front of him – much to my relief.

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you want me to scrub your back?” he asks as if we were a normal couple.

  I want you to fuck off and die. Think it. Don’t say it. Force another smile. Come on, girl, you’re doing well. You’re nearly there.

  “No, but thank you. I’ll be out soon. I can’t wait to look around the house,” another lie from the champion of liars. To be more precise I can’t wait to find out where all the possible exits are.

  “There’s no rush. We have all the time in the world.”

  No, we haven’t.

  “I’ll leave you to it, if you need anything else just give me a shout, I’m never far away.”

  And that’s the problem.

  “Thank you,” I say with another well-practised smile. As he closes the door, “Enjoy your bath.”

  The Guided Tour

  A mental note to myself, apologise for the lack of condom. I got carried away. She looked so good in that dress it was hard not to. She hasn’t mentioned it; maybe she only wanted me to wear a condom for my own peace of mind. Perhaps she was just being polite by asking for protection and that she didn’t really want it. I know some girls don’t like the feel of the rubber. Maybe she’s one of those girls? Be on the safe side and apologise anyway, it won’t hurt.

  She’s drying herself off in the spare room, occasionally looking at the camera and smiling at me. I can’t believe how far we have come in such a short space. This is even better than I had imagined it. I thought it would be at least ten days before we got to have sex with each other. I have to keep pinching myself to see if I am dreaming or not.

  So this must be what ‘true love’ is. I feel privileged and sorry for my real mum for never finding it for herself.

  Vanessa’s nearly ready now, sliding into the same dress as this morning. I’ll wait for her to call me so she doesn’t see that I’ve been spying on her even though I can’t help it. I love watching her – even more so now that I know she likes me too.

  She waves to the CCTV camera, no doubt in an effort to signal she’s ready for me. I won’t acknowledge her. Wait for her to call me, another wave of her
dainty little hand and another gesture for me to ignore. She’ll call and I can go in pretending I was busy elsewhere in the house. I could always say that I was doing some last minute tidying before she sees the place. Just as an excuse. The house doesn’t need anymore tidying – even her parents, young Susie and the others smell nice and lemony at the moment.

  They had a whole can yesterday and should be good for at least another day. Maybe two. I won’t push it to ‘three’ though. Once the odours start they have a bad habit of creeping around the rest of the house before you can do anything about them.

  Three waves now. Does she not get the message? “PETER!” she calls.

  Hallelujah!

  “Coming.” I call back, not that she can hear me from within this room. I flick the monitor off and make sure I’ve locked the computer, just in case, before leaving the room to get to Vanessa.

  “Peter?”

  I meet her outside of the spare room just as she comes out to investigate my whereabouts, “Sorry about that, I thought you were going to come and find me when you were ready,” a lie. I would have been upset if she had left the room, in this instance, without waiting for me. I want to show her the house together – let her see what is off limits before leaving her to her own devices. The fact that she waited in the room for me though, that’s a good sign and another show of trust and respect.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “No need to apologise.” None whatsoever. If anyone should apologise it’s me for doubting you again. I must stop doing that. I’m obviously not taking notice of my mental note to myself to stop being so suspicious.

  “So, what now?” she ask with a keen look on her face.

  “I’ll show you around.” I take her arm and interlock it with mine as though we are about to walk down the aisle together, “So this is upstairs,” I point out the obvious.

  “I’ve seen upstairs,” she laughs.

  The first room we come to is the computer room with its door shut firmly and the lock keeping us at bay, as I demonstrate to her.

  “This is my private room. Under no circumstances can you come in here.” I sound stricter than I need to be but I can’t help myself. I don’t want her prying where she’s not welcome.

  “Understood,” I was worried a locked room would cause issues but she doesn’t seem to care and looks towards the next room, “and that room?”

  The main bedroom; she’s seen it already and I did promise that she could move in when things were good between us. Things are good between us.

  “Did you want to move in with me this afternoon?” I wish I could just order her to move in with me but I don’t want to force her into anything she’s not happy with. It has to be her choice – like the PVC dress.

  “Can I?” a genuine look of pleasure and excitement on her face and a red glow to her cheeks. Of course she can.

  “Sure, you can get you things together when I make tea tonight, if you’d like.” I wonder whether we can make love again tonight. I feel a twitch. Put the thought out of your head. It’s not appropriate now. Get back to the guided tour, “through there is obviously the bathroom. I’ll show you downstairs.”

  The guided tour is starting to look redundant now – in actual fact there aren’t many rooms that she hasn’t already seen but she doesn’t show her dissatisfaction – if anything, she seems to be taking more of an interest in her surroundings. Another positive step, I think to myself.

  Downstairs doesn’t take long either. I show her the dining room that she is used to eating in, the small cupboard under the stairs that holds the many board games I have stockpiled and the front room that only has a sofa and small table in it – the small table, again, being bolted to the floor.

  “Why is everything bolted down?” a fair question escapes her precious lips.

  “I don’t like things being moved around. OCD.”

  Blame an illness, she can’t argue with that. Things are bolted down so she can’t use them to hurt herself, me or attempt to get out. Not that she would now.

  “I just thought it would be nice to move things together, decide where we want things,” she continues.

  “No. I like the things where they are.”

  She moves the conversation on, “And the kitchen?” I walk her through to the kitchen but can’t show her much of it due to having to clamber over cartons and containers filled with different food groups – all stacked up high to the ceiling and forming a maze around the large room.

  “Fuck me!”

  If you insist, I think to myself.

  “Do you think we have enough food?” she asks, “How am I supposed to find things to choose for us to eat?”

  “Chances are, if you like it, I have it.” I reassure her.

  She walks down the corridor of containers and peeks around the corner. More containers – all stacked just as high as the first corridor. There’s a door at the far end of the room.

  “What’s through there?” she asks. Does she mean other than her dead mother and father?

  “It’s locked,” tell another lie, “It’s where I put the rubbish.”

  Not entirely a ‘lie’.

  “Fair enough.” She turns to me, “It’s a nice house, and I love what you’ve done with the place.”

  “Thank you.” I’m still shocked that she doesn’t mind the locked doors - shocked but relieved. She walks back to me and kisses me on the cheek.

  “I’m going to get my things and put them in our room,” she passes me and leaves the kitchen.

  “Our room. I like that.” Today has been a good day. “I’m going to have a wash then,” I called after her, after the afternoon we’ve had together, I think I need one now.

  “Okay,” her voice getting fainter as she retires to the spare room to start moving things out. I double check that the garage door is locked and leave the kitchen, closing the door behind me.

  First Chance

  I’ve carried on pretending for long enough now and moved most of the clothes into the main bedroom. Admittedly the main bedroom is far more luxurious than the shit-hole he’s been keeping me locked in but it’s still not where I want to spend the rest of my days as a prisoner or a girlfriend. I have to get out of here and now’s a good a time as any – the bath water is still running in the other room and I can hear him splashing around, washing himself.

  This is it. This is my chance. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Quiet as a mouse. I creep out of the bedroom and stick as close to the walls as possible as I begin creeping across the landing to the top of the stairs. If I stick close to the walls I’m less likely to make the floorboards....

  ‘Creak.’

  Damn it. Be careful. Don’t let him think you are out of the bedroom. If he thinks you are still moving things around in there, he’s more likely to stay in the bath. Less likely to call for you to join him to engage in more idle chit chat as you both continue to ‘get to know each other’.

  I’m at the top of the stairs now, next to the bathroom door. The bath water is still gushing from the taps. The bath must be nearly full now. Why are they still running? I stop and listen carefully for a minute. Along with the running water, I can hear my heart beating loudly. It feels as though it’s going to burst from my chest. I’m scared.

  I can’t be scared. Must stay strong. This is my chance. Don’t fuck it up. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Quiet as a mouse.

  I tackle the first step.

  ‘Creak.’

  Fuck. Stop. Listen. More running water. Strong heart beat. It’s okay.

  Tackle the second step. Keep going. What if he comes out? Don’t think about that now. Think of nothing but getting out of the house. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Quiet as a mouse.

  I move my other foot so it’s on the same step. There’s no ‘creak’ from the floorboards now.

  Good.

  But too slow.

  Speed things up.

  Get out of the house.

  I take the next step trying to make myself as light as a feather. The
re is the slightest of creaks. He wouldn’t have heard that. I’m safe. Go for the next step. Doing well.

  I look at each step I’m about to stand on, trying to judge where the best placing for my foot is – trying to figure out where the floorboard is at its strongest.

  I look ahead. There are ten more steps to go. Wait. Listen.

  The water has stopped running, a bad sign. The running water was helping to drown out the noise of the stairs and now there’s nothing. My heart skips a beat. Pull yourself together. You’re so close. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Quiet as a mouse.