Happy Ever After - Volume 1: A Novel of Horror and Suspense
Page 26
Anyway, whatever time of the day it is, I can’t give up as easily today. I can’t give in to my tiredness. I need to keep working on finding a way out.
I’ll start by getting up, ignoring the aches and pains I feel surging through my body, and then have a good look around the house - even the garage. Look for anything that may help me escape. Only then, once I’m completely satisfied there is no way out.... only then will I return to the scraping.
“Don’t forget to eat something. You need to keep your strength up.”
Fuck.
You.
I swing my feet out of the bed, the cold air killing any last remaining dregs of tiredness which cloud my judgement. Slowly put my feet onto the floor - a hint of pain firing up my leg, coursing through the rest of my body in an instant.
Each day I wake up - I hope my ankle will be feeling better.
Each day I’m filled with a little more disappointment. I wonder if the damage is permanent; a damaged nerve, perhaps? Ignore it. It’s hard but I must ignore it.
I hobble out of the spare-room onto the landing - my heart beating with a feeling of dread. Why? There’s nothing else in this house to fear; he’s dead and there’s no one else.
I just feel uneasy.
Probably a good thing. I don’t want this to start feeling like a home to me.
Stupid.
This will never feel like a home; always a prison.
A little stumble from the spare-room’s entrance, across the landing, and I’m holding onto the bannister; support for my ankle. I wish there were railings throughout the whole house - they’d help me keep my foot off the floor.
I wish.
I wish for freedom. I wish for freedom before railings...
I edge my way towards the top of the stairs. I know there’s no way out from up here. Only bricked up windows and a loft hatch that is out of reach - even if I was to get a chair upstairs I still wouldn’t be able to reach the loft hatch. Besides, there’s hardly going to be an emergency exit through the roof
- what?
The main bedroom door.
Open.
I could have sworn I closed that.
I stumble over to it and have a quick glimpse in. Nothing has changed. Nothing has moved. He’s still in there.
I could have sworn I closed this fucking door. Couldn’t have closed it properly. Must have swung open, during the night.
He’s dead.
Not getting any better.
Part of me wishes he would just suddenly sit up; he might have begged for me to call him an ambulance. Begged for me to get help.
Given me a way out of here.
I slam the door shut.
“Don’t leave me.”
Fuck you.
A small wave of satisfaction washes through my body as I picture him - burning in Hell.
“We’ll be together again. There’s a place for you here. Murderer.”
No. I won’t go to Hell for killing him. It wouldn’t be fair.
I did what I had to do.
“Murder is murder.”
Fuck you!
His laugh echoes through my mind. Block it out.
I turn back towards the stairs and tentatively make my way to the top. Okay, same as before - one hand on the wall... one hand on the bannister; keep my foot from having to touch the steps. Keep from feeling the pain again. Unless, maybe there comes a point where my body would get used to the pain and block it out on it’s own accord.
Worth a shot.
I carefully put my foot down on the first step - instant pain shoots up my body once again.
Fuck that.
Use the wall and bannister. Why make things harder for myself.
His laugh echoes through my mind again. I close my eyes tight - as though it helps eradicate him from my thoughts. The laughter stops. Eyes open.
“I’m still here.”
No you’re not...
* * * * *
Landing CCTV camera:
Vanessa limps her way down the stairs - out of sight from the camera. The main bedroom door slowly opens again.
Hallway CCTV camera:
Vanessa hobbles into view. A look of determination on her very focused face. Not once does her foot touch the floor until she reaches the very bottom and, even then, it touches down extremely delicately.
Even with the grainy CCTV footage, it’s clear that she winces from the pain - the briefest of looks before she throws herself forward towards the wall, only stopping from falling to the floor by allowing the wall to catch her. Less painful than putting her foot on the floor.
She moves down the wall slowly and stops by the dining room door. Another brief pause before she disappears from view into the room.
Dining Room CCTV camera:
It’s becoming obvious that all rooms are sealed - this room is no different. Vanessa doesn’t hang around and leaves again. The frustration of the situation clearly visible on her face.
The kitchen’s CCTV camera captures Vanessa standing in the centre of the room; staring at the door to the garage. The only part of the house that she hasn’t thoroughly investigated. The only part of the room she hasn’t visited twice - not since discovering her mum and dad.
She slowly edges towards the door, obviously reluctant to venture inside. Her hand reaching, nervously, out for the handle - she knows she needs to be sure there is no way out hidden within.
* * * * *
You can do it, girl. Just a quick look. Just be sure...
After unlocking the door, using the key in the hole, my hand touches the cold metal of the door’s handle and pulls down slowly - as though my subconscious is desperately seeking an excuse not to open the door. Too late. The door catch clicks, allowing the door to be pulled open.
I promised myself I’d never go back into the garage.
I promised.
No choice, though. Earlier, when I looked around in there - I could have missed something. Something obvious which could free me from this nightmare.
Just a quick look, I keep telling myself.
“There’s no point. There is no way out that way. You’re only making this harder on yourself. Why not come back to bed, with me. We can cuddle up, chat.... get to know each other properly. Start again. A fresh start....”
Fuck you.
I pull the door open and step inside, the door swings shut behind me.
5.
It’s cold in the garage.
The only part of the godforsaken building that is cold. If anything, the rest of the house is too hot. The heating cranked up much further than it needs to be and no air coming in from the sealed windows.
Part of me wonders whether I can suffocate in the main house.
If it weren’t for the foul stench filling my nostrils, I’d take in some deep breaths.
The foul stench...
Don’t think about it.
There is no smell.
Everything is normal.
“Your mum and dad aren’t as fresh as they used to be,” he laughs.
Fuck you.
I look to the side and notice cans of air freshener stacked up neatly.
Perfect.
I take hold of the first one my hand reaches and spray a healthy amount into the room as I hobble deep to the middle of the room - trying hard to ignore mum and dad’s car. It fills a good portion of the garage so it’s hard to completely ignore it...
I cough.
Perhaps not such a healthy amount of air freshener after all.
I don’t know why I’m even in here. A quick glance shows there’s nothing in here I can use and certainly no way out - everything bricked.... sealed up.
If only the car would run. I could just drive straight through the wall. Out of the wall and into the freedom which I long for.
The car...
I’ve only just realised I’m staring at it. Transfixed to the rear end.... the boot... the bodies... He took my freedom from me but, worse than that...
�
��Mum? Dad?”
I don’t know why I called out for them. They’re not going to answer back.
“They might,” said Peter. “I did.”
Fuck you. You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not real...
“And yet, here I am. And there they are.”
I’ve barely noticed I’m walking to the back of the car; no pain shooting from my ankle, first time since he... since he...
“I didn’t have a choice.”
I peer into the boot of the car, once more.
Mum.
Dad.
I love you.
I wish I could simply crawl into the boot with them. Crawl between the two of them and cuddle in close - lay there until an eternal sleep takes a hold of my tired body.
No.
Don’t give up.
Got to get out of the garage. Get out. Shut the door. Lock it. Throw away the key. There is nothing in here of use. Even the food in the fridges.... contaminated next to human flesh.
Rotting human flesh.
I can’t eat anything from this room. Ever. No matter how starving. I can’t do it.
I turn my back on the car and leave the garage as quickly as my weak ankle allows me to. Once in the kitchen, I close the door and lock it.
Throw the key away.
I stop.
How can I throw something away if there is nowhere to throw it? The key is trapped in here, like me. I somehow doubt the key’s imprisonment will bother it as much as my own...
At least now I know there is no way out other than to keep working on the bricks. Keep scraping away until...
“You’ll never get through them, it’s pointless even trying...”
Why me?
Why me?!
I hobble through the kitchen, down the hallway, up the stairs, across the landing.... through to his room...
“Why me?”
Peter’s not sitting up in bed. Peter’s not talking to me.
“Because I love you.”
“You don’t even know me. Why me?!”
“I love you.”
“You don’t even know me!”
“You work in the bank. You get there at 8:15am every day, although you don’t need to be there until fifteen minutes before your start time which is 9am. The bank closes at five and you’re always one of the last to leave, along with the store manager. The way the two of you say goodbye, I thought there was something going on between you both....”
“You didn’t know any of this. You only know this because I know it. You’re not real. You’re in my head.”
“I am real. We’re talking...”
I stop.
No.
He’s not real and neither is this conversation. Leave the room, Vanessa. Leave him be. I close my eyes and back out of the room.
“Wait,” he doesn’t call out.
I stop.
“Look at me.”
I open my eyes and stare at him. “What?” I ask.
He smiles, “What if I told you there was a way out of this house...”
“There isn’t. I’ve looked all over.”
There’s silence between the two of us; him on the bed and me by the bedroom door.
“Is there?” I ask.
“Is there what?” he responds, clearly taunting me.
“You know what....”
“Nope. Can’t say I do.” His teasing laugh echoes through the near-empty room.
“Is there a way out of this fucking house,” I hiss.
“I’m free....”
Silence.
He is free.
I gave him the one thing I craved. I gave him his freedom. Son of a bitch.
“If you want freedom that much,” he said.
6.
I sit on the top step of the stairs, looking down to the hard floor below - thinking about the conversation with Peter.
I do want freedom.
I could take it, for myself, now; throw myself down the stairs. If I’m lucky, I’ll snap my neck on impact. I pull myself to my feet - the floor looks even further away.
Land awkwardly and ‘snap’.
Done.
I stop.
Luck hasn’t really been on my side so far. There are no guarantees I’ll land in the right fashion to die. More likely, I’ll land awkwardly and break a limb.
Sit.
I sit down.
If there was a window, I could jump from it...
Stupid.
If there was a window I could climb from it...
One of the plastic knives.
I could use one of the plastic knives to split open a vein. Sure it didn’t work well earlier but I’m sure it would be better if I filed down the end of it - against the brick wall.
Sharp enough to cut and yet not filed down so much that it snaps as soon as I press down upon it...
Yet...
If I’m to file down the end of the knife, I may as well do it against the bricks covering the front door.
Maybe the bricks will give way and I won’t have to kill myself.
But what if the bricks give way after I’ve made the life-shortening cuts...?
I long to die, to be free, yet I’m too much of a coward to complete the act.
Peter came out of the bedroom and sat next to me.
“Surely it’s worth a try,” he nods down the stairs. “If it works, we could be together again. You and me in eternal happiness...”
“I don’t think so; you’re burning in Hell,” I replied.
“You’ll be joining me.”
“No, I won’t.”
“You keep forgetting you’re a murderer. You and I are destined to be together....”
I turn to look at him. He isn’t there.
He wasn’t there but he was right.
I am a murderer.
Justified.
“Still a murderer.”
Enough of a reason to want to live. Enough motivation to keep working on the bricks. I need to get out of here. Start my life again. Put all this behind me. Fix it. Do good to compensate for the bad.
“It doesn’t work like that...”
I flash him a look.
“You really do hate me, don’t you...”
I flash him another look. The look is my answer.
I stand up.
It’s worth a shot - getting out and living a good life.
Once again I start the painful hobble down the stairs - I don’t hang around, trying to ignore the pain as much as possible. I feel more determined than before to get out...
I’m not ready to roll over and die.
Not yet.
As I approach the bottom step, Peter steps across the hallway and holds out his hand to help me down the final few.
“Thank you,” I say - said by default; my brain on autopilot. Had I been thinking properly, I would have pushed his hand away. I kick myself for saying thank you to him.
“You really hate me that much?” he said - obviously seeing how annoyed I was at thanking him.
“More.”
“I’m sorry.”
He passes me a knife.
“Thank you.”
Fucking default setting.
“It’s a new knife, I figured there’s no point in starting with the knife you’ve already been using... it would probably snap as soon as you started using it.”
“Th.....” I stop myself and kneel on the floor, in front of the set of bricks I’ve already been working on.