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

by Matt Shaw

  I turn the key in my car’s ignition, killing the engine in the process. No sense leaving the engine running whilst I wait, hopefully around the corner from her house. It’s a warm evening so I don’t need the heating to be running.

  I’m anxious about tonight. Part of me wonders whether I should have brought something else to eat, instead of the usual microwave meal that I opt for. After all, she’s seen me buying the meals, she’s seen how much they cost - both varieties. I hope she doesn’t think I’m cheap.

  No.

  I’m sure she won’t.

  To be extra sure, I left our meals in the boxes this time - so she can see that she gets the good stuff. She gets The Captain. Hopefully that will impress her. Hopefully.

  I cast my eye to the clock on the car’s dashboard and give it a tap. Is it still working? The minute hand moves slightly. It’s working.

  Stop being impatient.

  Mind you, I like this girl. I could always go in early.

  No.

  Don’t appear too keen. Otherwise it gives them the power and it’s important to establish you’re the one in the power seat right from the get-go. I need to take charge and show her I’m the man. I’m the one wearing the trousers in this relationship.

  Relationship.

  Settle yourself.

  It’s the first date.

  I’m sure she could be the one but no sense getting ahead of myself otherwise there’s more potential to go in, like a bull in a china shop, and ruin it.

  Over-confidence.

  Cocky.

  Unattractive.

  Am I already these qualities? Will she not like me? Am I wasting my time? Perhaps, I fear, getting ahead of myself with thoughts of love and a future together with this girl.

  Stop it.

  She’ll like you.

  She’ll like me.

  Maybe I should go to the petrol station, down the road, and pick up some flowers. A token of my feelings towards her? Is that romantic? Do women still like that?

  No.

  It’s a first date.

  Flowers on a first date is too soon. Too try hard. Flowers should be on a second or third date, at least. Besides, on a first date, you never know if you’re wasting your time as you haven’t met properly yet. A first date could be a massive waste of your time.

  Buying flowers - well - that just means you’ve wasted your time and money if things don’t go well.

  But I want them to go well.

  It doesn’t have to be an expensive bunch of flowers. It could just be a small, token gesture bunch of flowers. Something little but sweet. Why am I being like this? I’m normally more calm and collected when I meet women. I normally feel more in control of my racing thoughts and worries.

  Why is this girl different?

  Is it the girl? Maybe I’m just tired of being alone now. Maybe I’m pinning all my hopes on this one girl so I can finally move on from my past.

  No.

  I’m not pinning anything on her. There’s something about her.

  There’s something about her that I desperately want.

  My racing mind distracted me, momentarily, from the time and when I next look there is only thirteen minutes left before I need to make my grand entrance. I can’t wait any longer. I need to see her. Without really thinking I fire the engine back to life by twisting the key in the ignition, where I left it previously, and my right foot presses down on the accelerator. If I drive slowly, I think, I can waste another couple of minutes before I get to her actual house - it should be on the right somewhere, with the odd numbers... number 11. Of course, as I continue to look, it would help if there were numbers on any of the houses.

  I drive even slower as I continue to peer at the houses that I pass, trying to find a number on any of the doors or gates. You’d think at least one of the houses would offer a hint as to who lived the- ah ha, number 9. Her’s must be the next house...

  I pull up to the kerb and kill the engine once more.

  Still not quite time yet but I don’t care, as I open the car door and climb out - only leaning back in to grab the bag of shopping from the passenger side. With the food in hand, I stand up again and close the car door a little harder than actually necessary - give her some warning that I’m about to knock on her door, just in case she isn’t ready yet.

  I approached the door with more confidence than I usually approach them with. I was still nervous about meeting her but, even so, at the same time I felt more positive than I had felt in a long time.

  Me and Susie - this is fate.

  * * * * *

  I didn’t even hear a car pull up, just the slamming of a door.

  I peered out of the lounge window to see if it was him but couldn’t make out who it was. If it is him - he’s early. Not that it matters, I was only pacing anyway and dinner’s nearly ready.

  My heart’s beating heavy now as I squint to try and make out the stranger’s face in the darkness. Why couldn’t they park under a street lamp.

  Oh crap.

  It’s him.

  He’s heading up the path towards my front door!

  I ducked out of sight from the window so it wasn’t obvious that I was just stood there waiting for him. My heart skips a beat as there’s a knock at the front door.

  Oh God.

  A second knock echoes down the hallway before I ‘snap out of it’ and venture towards the door with unsteady legs. This is stupid. It’s been a while since I’ve dated but, even so, I shouldn’t be this nervous.

  A tentative hand reaches out and twists the handle of the door open.

  “Hi,” I said, trying not to sound nervous, as I pulled the door open - revealing Peter stood there; a carrier bag dangling from his hand.

  “Sorry, I’m early,” he said.

  “Not a problem, come in.”

  He stepped in before I had even finished the sentence and instantly sniffed the air. He looked at me with a curious expression on his face.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry - I have a confession to make,” I smiled at him as he took his jacket off and hung it on the bannister. He looked nice. A nice, crisp white shirt with black trousers. I didn’t feel overdressed.

  “I just thought, with it being my house, it made more sense for me to cook for you. It’s still a roast.” I hoped telling him it was still a roast would take the sting off a little, in case he really had his heart set on cooking. I couldn’t read his expression.

  “Er, well if that’s what you wanted to do... that’s fine with me. These will keep.” He put his carrier bag onto the floor, leaning them against the wall. I took the change to have a quick peak in - microwave meals. “Well, it’s definitely smelling nice.” A smile crept on his face.

  “I think it’s just about ready.”

  I turned and walked towards the kitchen, to start preparing dinner, sure that he’d follow with no invitation.

  “Can I get you a drink?” I asked.

  * * * * *

  “Sure,” I said as I followed her into the kitchen.

  I couldn’t believe she had cooked for me. No other woman, I had met for a date, before had offered to cook for me - let alone just go ahead and do it regardless of what my answer may have been. I knew this girl was going to be special.

  “What can I get you?” she asked as she opened a cupboard filled with various bottles of drink. “I’ve got wine - you could have a couple if you’re driving, or I’ve got soft drinks; Coke, orange, lemonade...?”

  “Water will be fine, please.”

  She turned and looked at me. I’m not sure what the look meant so I simply smiled at her. She nodded and took a glass from the cupboard, by her knees, before filling it with water from the tap.

  I’m a little disappointed she doesn’t have bottled water in the fridge.

  We can change that.

  When we live together.

  “Here,” she said as she passed me the glass, spilling a little as it exchanged between our hands
, “whoops - sorry.”

  “No harm. Thank you.”

  I took a sip from the glass and tried to hide my distaste. Definitely not nice bottled water kept in a fridge. Maybe we’ll even change it by the time we get to our second date.

  “You don’t mind if I have some wine, do you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She was already sipping from a glass that was already to the side of the stove. I don’t mind. She seems happy enough so that’s fine by me. “Did you want to go through to the living room whilst I dish up?”

  “Is there nothing I can do for you? Help you serve up?” I offered. I didn’t particularly want to wait in the other room by myself. Would prefer to help out - have a laugh, maybe, whilst in the process.

  “No, I’m fine - but thank you.”

  Oh.

  “Okay,” I said. “Through here?” I pointed towards a door and she nodded.

  “Make yourself at home,” she said.

  I nodded a ‘thank you’ and walked through to the living room. A small room, modestly decorated with the minimum of furniture.

  Good.

  Not too much stuff to move into mine when we get to that stage.

  A buzz from the corner of the room distracts me and I peek over to see what it was - her mobile phone. A text message. I wonder who it is. Hopefully she’ll turn it off when she comes through; leaving it on was probably a mistake on her part. Probably. I’ll let it slide this time. Mind you, she may have left it on in case I had some problems finding her - not that I would have; not with my Sat Nav system in the car.

  In the corner of the room is a small dining room table. It looks a little out of place with the rest of her furniture but it’s nice enough. I smile. She’s even got to the bother of setting up candles.

  They’re not lit.

  Probably just not got around to it yet.

  It will look nice when they are lit, though.

  The door to the kitchen swings open and Susie walks in - both hands clutching our plates of dinner. She puts my plate down first and then her own, “Here we go....”

  “It looks great,” I said.

  It did look great. She obviously went to a lot of trouble; chicken, various vegetables, yorkshire puddings, some nice looking potatoes...

  “Well hopefully it will taste as good as it looks.” She sat down as I took a seat opposite her. “Just leave what you don’t like.”

  She picked up her knife and fork, which were situated either side of her table mat. My heart sank a little. The candles remained unlit. Maybe they were always there - just a romantic table decoration.

  When I sort us dinner, I’ll make sure they’re lit.

  Another buzz sounds off from the corner of the room startling us both.

  Her mobile phone again.

  “It went off earlier too,” I said trying to be helpful and ‘cool’ about it still being switched on, even though I had already turned my own phone off.

  She stood up and walked over to where her mobile phone was, “It’s probably just my friend making sure that I’m okay.”

  Understandable. She didn’t know me from Adam. It would make sense that someone she knew was local enough to check up on her - just in case I’m not who she thought I was. I watched as Susie looked at her text message and frowned.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  She closed the text box down and dropped her phone onto the sofa, “No. It was just my friend checking in.”

  A lie.

  I could always spot a lie. I’m not sure if my ability to do so was a gift or a curse. Sometimes I agree with the old saying, ‘ignorance is bliss’.

  She came back over and sat opposite me.

  “How is it?” she asked, nodding towards my dinner.

  I scooped another piece of potato onto my fork, “It’s good, thank you.”

  Not a lie.

  The food was nice.

  6

  I can’t help but lay in my comfortable bed thinking about this evening. I enjoyed myself. I loved her company and felt a real connection between us but I just can’t help but feel annoyed by the constant interruptions from her mobile phone. I feel as though she isn’t telling me something; hiding a dirty little secret she believes may offend or upset me, perhaps.

  I’m not stupid.

  It wasn’t her friend.

  Well, it wasn’t her friend checking up on her.

  I could tell by her body language and the fact she never replied. If her friend really was checking up on her - surely she would have sent a ‘everything is okay’ text instead of ignoring the messages. Had I been sat at home, texting my friend to see if she was okay, and she didn’t reply - I wouldn’t have waited for more texts to be ignored; I would have got my coat and headed straight over to check she was okay.

  So who was it.

  I think she enjoyed my company. She was hard to read. One minute she was laughing at my jokes and then she’d look annoyed at her phone and her whole body language would change. It felt like a constant battle to keep her mind focused on me; focused on what I was saying and not what she was reading on her phone.

  That damned mobile phone.

  It was probably nothing for me to worry about but her quietness and lack of explanation made me feel as though I should be concerned. For all I know, it could have been something that the pair of us could have laughed about. But, no, now I just feel paranoid that I’m losing her before I’ve even won her.

  I need to know what was on the phone.

  I should have snuck a look when it first went off.

  Why didn’t I?

  I could have nipped in the bud there and then and stopped all of this worrying.

  This potentially unnecessary worrying.

  At the end of the evening, when I left, I asked her if I could see her again and she didn’t say ‘no’ - just that she was busy this week but would like to go out again. I would have preferred us to have set a date but, I guess, I can’t have everything my way. At least I could have been laying here thinking of whatever day I get to see her again. Instead, everything is up in the air as to what’s going on between us.

  Yes she said she wants to see me again but when?

  Did she purposefully not tell me a day - hoping that I’d lose interest and move onto someone else? Well, I won’t. I want her. I need her.

  Maybe I should just text her that I’m thinking of her and looking forward to our next date - offer to take her out. Me offering to cook at her house - did she think that was cheap? Was that a bad move on my part for someone that I care more about than other women I’ve met up with.

  Who was texting her all night?

  * * * * *

  I don’t know how Sam found out that I had a date.

  I can only hazard a guess that Jackie must have told him. I did text her asking if she had said anything to him but she hasn’t replied yet. No surprise, she isn’t the most reliable for replying to text messages - not unless there is something for her to gain from it.

  Even so - why did he text? It’s been ages since I’ve heard from him and now, just because he thinks there is someone else on the scene, he has decided I’m the right girl for him. He’s finally realised how badly he has been treating me because he believes he could be on the verge of losing me?

  Ten text messages - each one begging for forgiveness and confessing his undying love for me. Each one sounding more and more desperate not to lose me. Each one trying to win me back. I know I should delete them but I can’t help but to re-read them as I lay in my bed.

  This evening wasn’t bad but I know, already, that I don’t have a real connection with Peter. He’s nice enough but not someone I could settle down with in the future. A bit of fun, maybe.

  I’m not sure.

  I think he has a very serious side to him. There’s something there. I don’t think I’m ready for serious. Life is too short, I just want to have fun.

  It was hard to picture us together.

  Was that because of Sam’s messages, though? Wou
ld my thoughts of Peter been different had it not be for the text messages?

  I know I should just delete them; delete the messages. I should tell Sam to get stuffed - he’s had more than one chance and, each time, he’s ruined it. I can’t though.

  Why can’t I just tell him, once and for all? Get him out of my life finally. I know I should. Everyone has told me. They all say he’s no good. Deep down, I know they’re right too.

  So why can’t I just tell him.

  What is it about him?

  Should I even reply to the text messages?

  The texts. Does he mean it this time? Has he changed? He said it was a shame to waste all the years we shared together and he’s right - it is a shame.

  My family won’t approve, if I decided to give him another go. They hate him. They watched how he treated me last time. They saw how hurt I was by his coldness. Even when I was ill, in hospital, he failed to show me any kind of warmth.

  Why am I even thinking about seeing him again?

  Surely I should have learnt by now.

  Maybe seeing him one last time will help me move on. Perhaps, face to face, I’ll remember all the bad times and run from the room - wishing that he were dead. Maybe.

  I pick my phone off the bedside cabinet and select Sam’s name from the message window. A quick scan of the previous messages and I’m still unsure of what to write in reply to them.

  Don’t rush into it.

  Put the phone down.

  Let him sweat a little.

  Let him think you’re having a nice date with someone new and exciting.

  Don’t show him any signs that you care.

  My fingers don’t listen to my brain’s advice as they type - ‘miss you 2 xxx’ in response to the last text he sent about not giving up on him and how much he is missing me.

  Send?

  Click.

  Sent.

  Idiot.

  I turn my phone off - almost too scared for the reply that, in all likelihood, will follow. It will give me something to wake up to. Try and sleep now before I get myself further into a situation I struggle to control or get out of.

  Sleep?

  My brain is racing. It feels as though I’m having a million thoughts a second. There isn’t much chance of sleep tonight, I fear. I close my eyes anyway. Hopefully I’ll be able to drift off.