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

by Matt Shaw

  Road signs are taken as Gospel.

  Traffic lights are obeyed.

  You even find yourself more patient with other drivers too.

  All to stay under the radar of any potential police officers.

  At least with Sam - he was crammed into a bag. If I had been pulled over and searched, they may not have looked in Sam’s bag. Susie, though.... Susie’s semi-naked in the boot bound and gagged. There’s no hiding that.

  No explaining it.

  No denying it.

  Certainly, no getting away with it.

  Tonight - I’m driving better than I’ve ever driven before and, at least, at this time of the morning there is usually little traffic on the road. Perhaps some people doing an early morning commute to work in the City... the odd taxi, here and there, but not many other souls.

  Thankfully.

  Another blessing - my house is out in the country and it’s never long before I’m driving off the beaten track. Less chance to be seen by other drivers and less chance to bump into any patrolling police cars.

  Sleeping tablets!

  I could have tried sleeping tablets to knock her out with.

  Crush loads of them up and slip them into whatever she is eating or drinking.

  No - stupid.

  The likelihood of getting the dosage right, or even the timings would be a nightmare. I definitely chose the easiest of ways to quieten her.

  I could always get some sleeping pills and try it out on myself, at some point, for when I have to knock her out again.

  When?

  I don’t actually plan to knock her out again. I’m not sure why I’m thinking that.

  I turn down another country lane.

  Nearly home.

  I turn my head, ever so slightly, to the side - aiming my good ear towards the back of the car. I can’t hear her yet. I guess she isn’t awake yet. If she were, I’m sure she’d be banging around back there.

  Hopefully she’ll remain unconscious whilst I get her in the house, into the spare-room. It’ll be easier than if she’s awake, squirming around the place. Knowing my luck, I’d drop her.

  That wouldn’t make the best first impression.

  I hang a left.

  Final stretch now.

  I wonder, when I get home should I take a chair into the spare bedroom too? Somewhere for me to sit and wait for her to wake up. She might be scared if she wakes up in the room, alone.

  I don’t want her to feel scared.

  That wouldn’t be fair.

  Yes, I’ll take a chair into the bedroom. Sit up and wait for her to wake up. Be there to reassure her that everything is going to be okay.

  In the long run.

  I turn off the main road and head up the short drive that leads to my house. When I first came into possession of this house, I wasn’t that keen on it. Now I’m used to the quietness of the country, I love it. Secluded. Aware from prying eyes.

  Perfect for what I need it for.

  Keep the outside interferences away. It’s just the two of us now.

  Normally I pull into the garage, to the side of the house but not this time. I drive up to the door and park up just outside of it. On the other side of the door lay the staircase, leading to her new bedroom.

  Parking here - it will be easier to drag her up the stairs.

  Certainly not as far to drag her, compared to if I had parked the car in the garage.

  I kill the engine.

  Silence.

  Peace.

  No banging from the boot.

  No mumbled shouting.

  I guess she’s still asleep. Good.

  A flash of panic.

  I wonder if she’s okay.

  Forget it.

  Just get her indoors.

  You can check on her when she’s in her room.

  Safe and sound in her new room.

  I climb from the car and close the door behind me before walking to the boot.

  A brief pause.

  What happens if she’s just pretending to be out for the count? A single punch to the face - knock her back out? Or fight her up the stairs to her room?

  I don’t know.

  I’ve never really had to think about this before. I never thought that this situation was something I would need to be thinking about, in truth. I hope she really is unconscious.

  Okay, no sense worrying about it.

  I’ll cross that bridge as and when....

  I clench my left hand into a fist. I don’t think I’d hit her but I don’t think it hurts to be ready to show her that I could hurt her, if she is waiting to try something funny. An empty threat.

  I think.

  I might hit her.

  With my right hand I push the button on the boot - popping it open.

  There she is.

  Unconscious.

  Thank God.

  I wonder, should I hit her just to be sure? You know, just to be on the safe side.

  I shake my head and the thought fades from the forefront of my mind. There’s no need for violence at this stage. I unclench my fist and lean into the car - one arm under her neck and the other slides under the back of her knees.

  As I lift her out of the boot, I’m still surprised at how much she weighs. I nearly tripped with her, when I brought her to the car in the first place. One day, these are the things we’ll be able to joke about.

  I didn’t forget, on the drive over, how good she smells though. I breathe in deeply. I’m not sure what perfume she wears, but I hope it’s one she never changes. I’ll never tire of the scent.

  Shit.

  I should have opened the front door first.

  Again, not something I really thought through properly. I’ll know for next time.

  Next time?

  Why does my subconscious keep telling me I’ll know better for next time. What is it not telling me, I wonder.

  I look around for a suitable place to drop Susie.

  Ooh.

  Better plan.

  I walk up to the front door and lean my back against it. Letting Susie’s legs drop to the floor, I move my arm away and take the weight of her body against my own. Now, with my spare arm, I feel clumsily around in my trouser pocket, where I slid the car (and house) keys.

  With the one arm still around her, I pull her closer, taking more of the weight of her own body against my own so I don’t drop her. Awkward but, with a little careful moving, I manage to manoeuver the key into the lock and not drop her.

  I’d say that was a win.

  A twist of the key and the door opens. For some reason it catches me by surprise and I nearly fall into the house - only just catching my balance in time, saving both Susie and I from landing on the floor of the hallway.

  Okay. This is it.

  I slide the keys back out of the lock and drop them back into my pocket.

  A job well done.

  I slide my arm back under her knees and lift her off the floor again - with a little struggle. Fuck me, she’s heavy. Don’t think about it. Just get her up the stairs and drop her onto the bed. Ignore the numb feeling spreading through my arms....

  I step into the house and kick the door shut behind me.

  A little wobble.

  Don’t drop her.

  I look to the stairs and to the top, where I need to get to. A stumble forward and I’m on my way. This is it.

  Go.

  Don’t stop.

  Don’t think about the weight.

  Don’t think about the numbness of my arms... Just go.

  Go for it.

  Do it in one.

  Much easier than stopping and starting.

  Half way to the top and I’m going okay. Not much further. I can feel the sweat dripping down my forehead. I hope she doesn’t wake up now. I must look terrible. Unfit.

  A poor excuse of a man.

  She wouldn’t find me very attractive right now. I think that’s fair to say.

  Top of the stairs now. I allow a smile to creep across
my face, replacing the look of sheer determination. A few more steps and I’m in her room.

  I wonder if I’ll be able to throw her onto the bed from the doorway. Save the final few steps? Stupid idea.

  In her room now.

  I quicken the pace and within seconds I’m at her bed.

  Knackered, I can’t help but drop her onto the mattress where she does a little bounce. Again, I can’t help but laugh a little, the way her body flops.

  She groans.

  Fuck.

  19.

  Her eyes are wide with fear.

  It’s funny, I thought she’d be a little relieved to see me.

  I’m not stupid, I understand she’s scared - given the circumstances but, even so, I honestly thought she’d be a little bit happy to see me.... see I’m someone who she knows instead of some psychotic stranger.

  She has nothing to fear from me.

  We have history.

  And now I have her here, we have a future too.

  “Ssh,” I try and reassure her, stroking my hand down her face. “It’s me, Peter.”

  I smile at her. The most reassuring smile I can muster up.

  Poor girl, she looks petrified.

  She tries to mumble something through the tape but, “I’m sorry - I don’t understand you....”

  She tries again and again I don’t understand what she’s saying.

  “Hang on,” I take hold of a corner of the tape and peel back, slowly - so as not to hurt her. She winces as the last of the take comes away from her lip. “Sorry.”

  Looking back - perhaps I should have tested the tape on my own skin first. Learn the best way to peel it away; the way which causes the least amount of pain. Ah well, too late now. It’s done.

  “I won’t tell anyone....” she whimpers.

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I won’t tell anyone.... I won’t tell anyone.... you can just let me go....”

  “Let you go? You’ve only just got here! Why would I let you go?”

  “Please. I want to go home now.”

  “You’ve just got here.”

  All the effort I’ve gone to. I can’t believe she just wants to go straight home without giving us a go. The more I talk to her, the more she’s coming across as ungrateful.

  “Please, I promise, I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I know you won’t.”

  No outside interferences. There’ll be no one to tell...

  “So you’ll let me go?” she whimpers again, through pathetic little sniffles. I have to say, as beautiful as she is - she’s starting to annoy me already. Not a good sign. I’m sure it’s just teething problems. Everything will come out right, in the end. I don’t say anything. I simply move the tape across her mouth again - a little bit of pressure at the end to make sure it sticks back down. She shakes her head, from side to side - as though that will make me change my mind about re-taping her mouth closed.

  I stand up.

  “You can’t go home. You are home. At least, for the time-being. You stay with me, for a while, let me show you I can be the man you love.... let me prove to you I’m perfect for you and, if after a couple of days, you’re not convinced - I’ll let you go.”

  She’s crying. The tears rolling down the side of her face, into her hair.

  “I promise,” I continue, “everything’s going to be okay.”

  A smile to reassure her.

  She doesn’t look especially reassured.

  “I’ll give you some time to have a think about it,” I say as I turn out of the room. Hopefully, if I leave her to her thoughts - she’ll calm down and get used to the situation; trust that I’m not here to hurt her, just here to love her.

  Ten minutes should do it.

  I stop in the doorway and turn back to her.

  “Did you want a cup of tea?”

  * * * * *

  I try and answer him with a mouthful of obscenities mixed with a few choice words of desperation to try and get him to let me go but the tape on my mouth is causing some issues in the communications.

  He simply says, “okay” and walks from the room. He closes the door behind him.

  Okay, try and stay calm.

  Easier said than done.

  Use this time alone to get a plan. Try and escape.

  I look down my body to see why I’m struggling, so much, to move. Hands are bound with the same style tape that forces my mouth shut. Wrists, too, are bound as are my ankles. With as much force as I can muster up I try and pull my wrists and ankles in opposite directions - hoping to tear the tape in the process - but it’s pointless. He must have used a whole roll of tape to ensure it wouldn’t be free to break away.

  The piece across my mouth is only one piece, though. The fact he has already peeled it away once must have taken some of the stickiness away from it. I move my bound hands up to my mouth and start scraping across the tape - hoping to catch a little corner, which might not be quite stuck down, in order to scrape the rest away from my mouth too. At the same time, I’m flexing my jaw muscles - trying to force my mouth open. Hoping that the tape will give way just enough to unable my mouth to open and close.

  I wish I could see what I was doing.

  I wish there was a mirror - or something I could use to see if I was making any progress. It’s tiring work and I’m feeling groggy from almost being suffocated. I can’t afford to use what little energy I have on just removing the tape.

  Stop.

  You’re right.

  Save your energy.

  At some point he’ll cut the tape away. He has to. He can’t keep me like this forever. At least, I hope he doesn’t because I can’t feel my hands or feet anymore and it’s uncomfortable.

  Save your energy for when he lets you free. Make a run for it then.

  Even if I could get the tape away and scream - other than him, I’m not sure who else is around to hear me. For all I know, we could be in the middle of nowhere.

  Yet...

  We could also be in a flat.

  A flat in the middle of town.

  People upstairs.

  People downstairs.

  Even people outside, walking around, getting on with their lives blissfully unaware of my predicament.

  Maybe I should carry on trying to take the tape off?

  Just in case.

  Just in case someone else is around.... Sure, he’ll hear me and come running in and soon silence me but - someone else might hear me too. Someone else may hear just enough of my screams to get some help - call the police, maybe?

  No.

  Silly.

  I can’t risk it

  I don’t know what he’d do. I don’t know how far he’d go.

  Just be patient.

  With no warning, the door opened and he came back in...

  “I’m sorry - do you take milk and sugar?”

  20.

  He’s taken the tape off me and led me to a dining room - after giving me an evening dress he must have taken from my home at the same time as when he took me. It looked as though he had helped himself to a whole bag of my clothes.

  There’s only a table and some cheap chairs in the dining room. No other decoration. A depressing room... although, from what I’ve seen - the rest of the house is styled very similar to this one.

  He’s sat opposite me.

  Talking.

  I hear nothing that he says.

  I haven’t heard him since he took the tape off - warning me not to try anything. Instead I’ve been looking for a way out. Besides, if I said anything I’d probably upset him and I don’t want to upset him; not all the time I don’t know how he’d react.

  I notice he’s just looking at me; a look of expectation on his face. Has he just asked me a question?

  “You haven’t been listening, have you?”

  No.

  I don’t know what to tell him.

  Don’t upset him.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him; trying to keep him happy.<
br />
  “Don’t be. It’s a lot to take in. We can chat tomorrow, if you’d prefer?”

  I shake my head.

  If I tell him I’d rather chat with him tomorrow.... he might tie me back up and put me into the bedroom again. I don’t want to spend the night. I want to go home. The longer we’re up - the more chance for an opportunity to get away.

  First opportunity and I’ll make my move.

  At first, when I saw him, I just thought he was a nice bloke but - not my perfect man.... Then, when he showed up around my house uninvited, I found him a little off but now.... Every time I see him he seems to have taken a further, darker turn, for the worse.

  I need to get out of here.

  We sit in silence for what seems an eternity.

  “Are you hungry? I hope so, I’ve got some food cooking...”

  I’m not hungry.

  “That’d be nice.”

  Keep him happy.

  Besides which, if he has food cooking - it means there is a good chance that, at some point, he’ll leave me on my own. That’s when I’ll do it. That’s when I’ll make my move.

  Get as far away as possible.

  “What is for dinner?” I ask - trying to show some interest. I don’t actually care. Even if I am here, when dinner is served, I won’t be able to eat it. Not with my stomach in this many knots.

  “A surprise,” he answered. “I’m sure you’ll love it.”

  He smiles and a cold chill races down my spine.

  * * * * *

  I couldn’t help but smile. The thought of what’s cooking and my clever little line.... of course she’ll love it. She used to love it, after all...

  Sam.

  I breathe in - filling my nostrils with the welcoming aroma of cooking meat.

  I have to say, he smells delicious.

  She’s looking a little worried. Try and put her at ease.

  “Is there anything you want to ask?”

  Silence.

  “Anything you want or need?” I continue, trying my best to be nice.

  “I want to go home.”

  I frown.

  “You are home,” I answer.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “This is your home now.”

  “I want my home...”

  “This is your home...”

  “I want my home - my home that you took me from.”

  I don’t answer her. She looks as though she’s getting hysterical.