by Matt Shaw
“There’s probably an easier way to get out,” he said.
“You could tell me the password to the computer, I get send an email to a friend and say I need help....”
“And what address would you give them so they can find you?”
I don’t say anything. I truly have no idea where I am.
He continued, “Working one brick at a time.... even if one brick gives - it won’t be enough for you to get out. Think about it.”
I look to the row of bricks I’ve been working on.
“You could tell me the password and the address?” I replied.
He smiled. “It’s not that easy.”
“If you don’t have anything of use to say, kindly shut the fuck up. I have work to do.”
I started scratching away at the cement, once more.
“The garage,” he said after a few minutes silence.
“What?”
I stopped scraping and turned to where I imagined him to be standing.
“The bricks are weaker in the garage. Where do you think the draught is coming from.”
Another brief moment of silence whilst I think about what he is saying.
“If I gave you a way out of the house, do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive me?”
“Yes,” I lie.
I know he is in my imagination. I wonder if he knows that what I said was a lie.
“The car. Release the handbrake. Push the car back a little bit, from the front and then push it, from the back, into the bricks....”
I think for a minute. Would that even work?
“The wall is weaker,” he reassures me.
Maybe that is the way out.
Maybe.
Maybe he left the car there as a way of getting through the bricks. None of the other sealed holes let in a breeze.... so maybe he did leave it weaker than the others.
“Worth a try,” he smiles.
I’m not sure why the sudden change in his heart and I don’t care. I stand up and he offers his arm for support. The slightest of pauses before I give in and take it.
He looks down at me, as I hold on tightly to him, “This is all I ever wanted... could you ever forgive me?”
How could I forgive someone who murdered my parents and kidnapped me?
* * * * *
The Hallway CCTV cameras watch Vanessa as she hobbles towards the kitchen - her arm outstretched to her side as though she was using something, or someone, as support.
She disappears into the kitchen.
7.
I lean into the front of the car and release the handbrake - trying hard not to breathe in through my nose.... although.... breathing in through my mouth just means I taste the rotting air instead.
I’m not sure which is worse.
I crawl back out of the car and limp to the back of the car, as Peter originally said.
“You might want to push it back a bit more first - give you more of a run up.”
Fuck you.
I press my hands against the back of the glass and close my eyes tight, so I don’t have to see my parents lying there...
Okay...
One....
Two....
Three...
PUSH!
I push, with all my might, and the car gently rolls into the wall, blocking my exit from the garage; a slight ‘bang’ as it connects.
Using the car for support, I move myself to the front of the car and survey the damage. Hardly anything. Not even a crease in the plastic bumper.
Fuck.
I move to the driver’s side of the car and put a hand on either side of the open window frame and push back as hard as I can. Slowly, the car gently rolls backwards. I push it back as far as the garage will allow, room-wise... leaving enough room for me to get behind it.
Same again, hobble to the back of the car. Hands on the window. Eyes closed so as not to see my mum and dad... Here we go, again...
One...
Two...
Three...
PUSH!
Again, with all my might, I push the car and it rolls forward into the wall. This time it gathers a little more speed before it crashes into the wall. A lot more noise than before.
I move to the front of the car and push it back a bit - definite damage to the bumper and the bricks look as though they’ve been moved a bit.
This is it.
This could work.
“I’ll miss you.”
I don’t understand why the sudden change in how I’m hearing Peter, in my head, but it doesn’t matter now. Not much longer to go and I’m out. This is it.
Same procedure. Push the car right back, from the driver’s side. Push the car into the wall, from the back window. Another loud bang. More damage to the wall. More damage to the car.
Still no exit.
Don’t stop.
“Keep going.”
I look to Peter, by the door which leads to the kitchen, and flash him a puzzled look. Why is he suddenly trying to help me? Just seeking forgiveness to escape Hell? Fuck him.
He nods towards the bricks as if to say keep going.
I’ll do it because I want to - not because he is urging me to continue. I’m not playing his games anymore.
I push the car back again, ready for another ram.
As I put my hands on the back window, Peter joins me...
“This is the one.... you’ll be out soon.... Ready?”
I nod.
“Ready.”
“One...”
“Two....”
We both shout, “THREE!”
The car rolls forward and crashes into the bricks, cracking a hole in them which allows natural light to spill into the room. I can’t help but squint my eyes in reaction to it...
I don’t know how long I’ve been in the house but it feels like forever.
“There you go,” says Peter, nodding towards the hole in the wall. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out between us. I had high hopes.”
I’m not sure why I’m hesitating to leave. Something holding me back. I turn to Peter who is back over by the kitchen door again.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked. “That’s what you wanted....”
I look back over to the natural light. Part of me is worried as to what I’ll find out there. At least in here, I’m already aware of the horrors.
“Go on! I hope, in time, you can forgive me. It was nice knowing you...”
I hobble towards the hole and peer through it into the outside world. An overcast day. Was I asking too much for it to be a beautiful sunny day? I guess so.
I crawl through - the cold air hitting my skin, sending a tingle down my spine. It would be sensible to go back into the house to get a coat but.... no.... just go. Find help.
On the outside - the house is as I expected. Derelict looking. Surrounded by trees and a whole lot of nothing. I could have been in there, screaming for months and months and no one would have ever heard me.... and the house.... the house looks so empty and unloved - even squatters would have had second thoughts about finding a way into the building for fear of it coming down upon them.
Why do I even care about the look of the fucking house?
Ignore it.
Follow the drive to the main road. Keep walking until I stumble across a house, phone or passing car.
Car....? To the side of the house is a car. Peter’s car, I guess...
The keys that hung from his neck, maybe the car key was amongst them? I turn back to the house...
I could go back in and get the keys from where I dropped them when I first discovered the front door was bricked up. Give them a try, maybe find the one for the car.
I pause. I can’t do it. I can’t go back into the house. What if I get trapped in there again?
Don’t be stupid.
You won’t get trapped back in there. You’ll be fine.
But - what if?
Leave the car. Just start walking.... find a broken branch in the woo
ds to use as a walking aid. It won’t be that long before you find someone.... it can’t be. England’s not that big...
Even if you are walking for a long time...
... it’s better than being in the house.
I turn my back on both the car and the house and start the painful hobble down the long driveway - keeping an eye out for any large branches I could use to help steady me and, more importantly, keep the pressure off my ankle.
A tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away. Soon - another tear follows and another... within seconds I’m overcome with the strangest feeling ever. I drop to my knees and let out a scream; the loudest scream I’ve ever let escape my mouth before. More tears and wailing... Part of me is overcome with joy for escaping the house as I felt sure I’d die in there... the other part of me... wishes. The other part of me wishes I had died in there...
With my mum and dad.
Or that they, too, had made it out.
I have no one.
I don’t know where to go.
I don’t know who to turn to.
They were all I had left and now they’re gone. I want nothing more than to join them and if that means kil....
No.
Stop it.
Don’t think like that.
They wouldn’t want you to think like that. They’d want you to live your life. Put all this behind you and start a family of your own...
How can I trust another man after this?
How can I trust anyone?
Don’t think about that.
Just get up.
Get up.
GET UP!
Find help. Get help. One step at a time.
You can do it.
Baby-steps.
Step one: get help.
Worry about the rest of the steps when I have found help.
I scramble to my feet and wipe away the tears.
You can do it.
You WILL do it...
8.
It feels as though I’ve been walking for hours. For all I know, I have been. No watch. No concept of time. My limbs screaming at me, more of a clue as to how long I’ve been walking for.
Thankfully I found a good-sized, sturdy branch soon after leaving the drive. It was just lying in the middle of the road - no doubt broken off a tree by a strong gust of wind.
I’m not sure how far I’ve walked. The country road twists and turns making it seem as though I’ve walked for miles and yet, in reality, it’s probably not very far at all - if it were laid out in a straight line.
In all this time I haven’t seen anyone - nothing. No cars. No walkers. No wildlife, even. I don’t even hear any birds. It’s as though they all know of the Evil that lived along this road and all set out to purposefully avoid it.
I wish I had avoided it.
My life might have been dull, working in the bank, but at least it was safe. Horrors, like this, didn’t exist in my little world.
I’d give anything to turn it back.
Don’t even think about it.
Just concentrate on getting back to civilisation... speaking of which...
I wonder whether I should venture through the woods or stick to the road?
Road.
Definitely.
All roads lead to Rome, right?
As it gets darker, I just hope they lead to Rome before all the daylight is gone. I don’t think I fancy hobbling my way through these windy roads in the pitch black of night. I don’t need things more eerie than they’ve already bee........
‘H O N K’
A car!
I spin round to see a small green car behind me. So lost in my own world, was I, that I didn’t hear it come up behind me. I turn to the driver and freeze - blocking his route. The car comes to a stand-still a few yards from my quaking body.
The driver, an elderly man, leans out of the car window, “Are you okay?”
I can’t answer. I just break down and, once again, drop to my knees.
The car door swings open and the old man hurries over to my side, “Are you okay?” he repeats. “What are you doing out here? Are you lost? Here, come on...”
I look up at him, through blurry eyes, “Can you help me please?”
He helps me up to my feet.
“Here, come with me...”
“Do you have a phone I could use, please?”
He opens the passenger side of the car and helps me in.
“I don’t have a phone but I don’t live far from here..... you can come back to mine and phone whoever you want,” he said.
“Can you take me into town?”
“I’m sorry, dear, but I need to get my wife’s medication back to her...” he gestures towards the back seat. A quick glance reveals a pharmaceutical bag on the seat. “I have a phone, though.... It’s getting dark, it could be hours before anyone else comes through this way.”
“Okay,” I nod. I’m tired and my ankle is killing me, despite the use of the branch, to keep it off the floor as much as possible.
The elderly man smiles and closes the car door before walking around the car to the driver’s side. As he walks round, I briefly contemplate sliding into the driver’s seat myself and just flooring it. Steal his car and drive home. He casts me a glance - a kind, elderly face.
I can’t take his car.
He climbs into the car and closes the door before turning to me, “Don’t forget your seat-belt.”
I smile at him, “Thank you.”
Slowly I pull the seat-belt on. As soon as it ‘clicks’ into position the old man suddenly changes and reaches across me - wrapping his hands around my throat he starts to throttle me tightly.
I try and scream but I can’t - nothing comes out other than a gurgle.
I close my eyes, in a blind panic.... when I open them again - the old man is in the driver’s seat, calmly driving the car. His hands firmly on the steering wheel.
What’s happening to me?
“What happened to you?” asked the old man.
“He took me,” I stuttered, not really sure what to say to him. All the bodies in the garage, what I did to Peter... what Peter did... the rape...
The old man casts me a sympathetic look and, thankfully, doesn’t push it, “You’re safe now,” he smiles.
I try and smile back but I feel sure it probably came across as more of a grimace than a smile.
“Less than five minutes we’ll be at my home - who did you want to call?”
I’m not sure.
I want to hear a friendly voice. For the briefest, cruelest of moments, I think about calling my mum and dad.
“The way you were hobbling, you’re probably best off calling an ambulance. Get that ankle looked at....”
“They’re dead,” I whisper.
“What?”
“They’re dead!”
“Who?”
“Everyone.... he killed them all....”
“Who? Who’s dead? Who killed them all?”
The police. I need to phone the police. The police and an ambulance.
“What’s your name?” asks the man.
“Vanessa.”
“Well, Vanessa, you’re safe now. We’ll get you back to my house, you can call an ambulance and the police.... I think that would be for the best. My name’s Fred.”
He flashes me a smile again. I still can’t smile back at him.
I wonder, will I ever smile again?
* * * * *
The rest of the car journey was spent in silence, between the two of us. I didn’t want to talk about what I’d been through and Fred looked uncomfortable with the whole situation - like he was wishing he had never stopped and had never put me in his car. Whatever I had been through, it was clear he wanted none of it.
