by Matt Shaw
If anything, I think that made it easier.
The car turned up another driveway - similar to that of Peter’s in that it was lined with trees. The house, itself, was also the same style-wise.... just more lived in than Peter’s.
More inviting.
“Well,” he said as he turned the car’s engine off, “home sweet home...”
He turned to me and smiled. Still no proper smile from me.
“You going to be alright getting out of the car, or did you need a hand?”
I think for a minute, “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, let’s get you to the phone then...”
Default setting.
“Thank you.”
9.
The hallway was dimly lit - nasty decorating job which was, no doubt, first done in the seventies and never updated from then. If anything, it reminds me a little of the interior of Peter’s house.
Not as many ghosts here, though.
I turn around as Fred steps in. Closing the door behind him, he uses the keys which are in his hand to lock the door. He turns to me and smiles and a sense of unease creeps over me.
“Why did you lock it?” I asked.
“Habit, I guess.” He doesn’t allow further conversation and instead, points towards a room to the left of me, “The telephone is right through there, if you’d like to make your calls.... can I get you a drink in the meantime?”
“No, thank you.”
I won’t drink anything offered by a stranger now. I turn away from the old man and head into what appears to be the lounge.
Nothing unusual in here.
Small table in the corner of the room, with a mountain of paperwork stacked on top of it. A settee across the back wall and a small, old television on the wall opposite. So old, I can’t even see a remote control for it. I wonder, does it even do colour?.
A coffee table stands between the settee and television with various crossword puzzles spread across it. One of the books is opened, but upside down so the page doesn’t get lost. Obviously, that’s the one he is working on.
Everything seems normal.
“Just there,” he said from behind me, making me jump.
I turn around and he is pointing to another small table, situated at the far end of the sofa. A lamp on the table, next to an old telephone.
Default setting.
“Thank you.”
He smiles at me, “You’re welcome.”
As I approach the table, he holds up the bag of medicine, “I’m just popping the tablets up to my wife - she’s bedridden.”
I nod. Not a lot I can say to that.
He gives me a further smile and backs out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. I wonder if that is habit too. Maybe, just giving me the privacy to make my calls?
I make my way to the sofa and sit on the far corner of it, twisting my body to take hold of the telephone. I can’t think of how to even begin this conversation.
Who to call?
Just dial ‘999’ and explain everything?
Let them send whoever they have in the area - police, ambulance... maybe even fire brigade to get into the house of horrors?
House of horrors?
Even in my confused state my mind is spewing out cliches.
Maybe I should get my ankle seen to first? It’s hurting and I don’t want people forgetting I’m injured because they’re frantically investigating the house - all wanting to be the one whom discovers the horrors within so they can be the first to report to the news crews who will, no doubt, flock to the scene as soon as word gets out...
I’m never going to be able to forget this.
People won’t let me.
Maybe just call an ambulance, get my ankle fixed, ignore the rest.
I don’t want to be caught in the media circus.
I could say I hurt my ankle when I was out walking in the woods.
No.
They’d find the house.
Someone would find the house.
And then they’d know I had been in there. The fact I don’t report it - people will become suspicious of me...
Besides, I want to bring my mum and dad home.
Just call ‘999’ and explain everything.
Let them send everyone.
Get it over with quickly.
I pick the telephone up and hold the handset to my ear.
Nothing.
No dial tone.
Dead.
Wait.
No.
There’s something.
What is that?
I press the handset closer to my ear and strain to hear. What is that?
Laughter?
“Hello?”
...
“Hello?” I repeat.
“He’s in on it,” comes a voice from the other end of the line.
“What?”
...
“Who is this?” I ask.
“It’s me.”
Peter.
“He’s in on it...” Peter repeats.
“FUCK YOU!”
I slam the phone down.
“Well that doesn’t sound as though it was the most promising of calls!” said Fred.
I spin to the doorway, where he is stood. The bag of medicine in his hand and a glass of water in the other.
“The phone line is dead. Everything is dead.”
“I’m sure it’s just a glitch. They’re always going up and down around this area. I’ve complained to the network provider but they always tell me there isn’t a problem and they’ll send someone out to investigate. By the time the engineers come, though, phone lines are working again.”
He walks over to me and puts the glass of water on the table, in front of me, along with the bag of medicine.
“I know you said you weren’t thirsty but I got you a drink anyway, I think you should drink it.”
I look at the glass.
I look at the medicine.
“He’s in on it.” Peter steps out of the shadows in the far corner of the room.
I try not to look at him - I don’t want the old man knowing I can see him. More to the point, I don’t want the old man knowing I am onto him. Old or not, I don’t want to anger him and ruin any chances I have of making my escape.
“Think about it,” Peter continues, “he doesn’t want to take you to the hospital, more concerned about getting his wife’s medicine to her.... he locks you in the home and puts the keys in his pocket... You really think that’s just water in the glass?”
I turn to the old man.
“Drink up,” he says, “all that walking, you’re probably dehydrated...”
“Where’s your wife?” I ask.
“Upstairs, she’s sleeping. I don’t like to disturb her when she sleeps.”
“I thought she needed her medicine.”
“She does but - no sense waking her for it. It takes her a long time to fall asleep these days and rest is just as important as medicine.”
“Run, Vanessa, Run. He’s dangerous. Don’t listen to him. He’s worse than I was. I loved you. He doesn’t. He just loved watching us...” Peter whispered, from behind me where he now stood.
“What?” I asked.
The old man thought I was talking to him, “Rest is just as important as medicine, I said.”
“He’d sit upstairs in his house, he’d watch us, Vanessa. When he first discovered what I was doing, I thought he was going to call the police but he just smiled - a smile I had never seen before in anyone other than myself.... he offered money. Money each month if he could watch the streaming of the CCTV. He’s seen everything...”
The old man is just looking at me. He takes hold of the glass and offers it to me.
“You drink it,” I say.
“I got it for you,” he replied.
“The bag of medicine. More tablets and needles, no doubt. He was out driving to come to the house to finish you. He’s seen what you’ve done to me, he’s seen you’ve escaped. You tell
the authorities about what happened in the house - they’ll soon discover he was part of it too...”
“I’m really not thirsty at the moment,” I said as I took the glass from the old man and rested it back on the table. He just frowned at me.
“He shut the door to the lounge so he could disconnect the phones without being seen... I love you Vanessa and didn’t want to hurt you. He has to hurt you. He can’t risk you getting away and telling people. He won’t allow it. You need to be dead, to him.”
I look back to Fred, “If your wife is asleep, maybe we could use the time to run me to the hospital?”
“I would but I can’t just yet. I need her to take her tablets as soon as she wakes up. You’re more than welcome to stay the night although, I doubt you’ll need to.... the phones really will be back online soon, I’m sure. Give it another try.”
He nods towards the phone behind me but I don’t want to turn my back on him. The longer I sit here, the longer I feel the ‘normal’ on display in this house is nothing more than a smoke screen to a true monster.
“Run, Vanessa, Run....”
“Maybe I should just leave now? I don’t want to be in your way and if I keep walking....”
“I’m not letting you leave this house....” the old man interrupted.
“What?”
“I’m not letting you leave this house now. It’s almost dark outside and to walk through those lanes, in the pitch black, would be suicide....”
I’d welcome suicide now. At least it would be my choice.
Fred continued, “In the morning I can run you into the town - where ever you want to go - but in the meantime you can stay here as my guest.... keep trying the phone on the off chance it comes back on before I have a chance to run you in. That’s your best option....”
I don’t say anything.
I forgot how stubborn old men can be. I’ll wait for him to leave me, and then I’ll find a way out. A quick glance to the far wall shows that, at least, I’m not bricked into this house.
“Did you want to talk about what’s happened? You said he killed them all.... who?”
Peter leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “He already knows. He knows everything. Look at his face. He’s getting pleasure from this. He wants to re-live everything through your own experiences...”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
“Okay, well, if you change your mind... I’m here.”
Another smile.
The kid’s song ‘Never smile at a crocodile’ sings it’s way through my tired mind.
10.
The old man is sat on the far end of the sofa. Not going upstairs so as not to disturb his sleeping wife. More likely so as not to leave me alone long enough to let me out of the house.
I’m onto him.
Peter showed me.
Peter.
In his own way, he did love me.
Have I made a mistake?
I glance at him and he pretends to pay me no attention; sitting there, doing his crossword - he seems to be in his own little world. But I know he’s not. His mind is here, alright. Still, no doubt, wishing for me to drink the obviously tainted water.
Fuck him.
How could anyone be part of what happened in that house?
“Like father like son....” whispered Peter.
“What?”
“What?” said the old man, looking up from the crossword book.
I don’t say anything. I just flash him a fake smile and reach for the telephone - lifting the receiver... still dead.
“Still dead?” he asked.
Still dead but, then, he’d know that. Was he really Peter’s father? Was that Peter’s mother, sleeping upstairs?
“Not sleeping,” hinted Peter.
Dead?
“He won’t ever go to the town. He stays here.... with her.... never leaving her side... They’re going to live in this house until the day they die... no outside interferences to get in the way of their beautiful relationship...”
But she’s dead?
“They’ve been in this house for their whole life. She’d never leave. They needed anything, he’d go out and get it. Their relationship was one of the strongest I’ve ever seen... That’s what I wanted...”
I start to cry as fear floods through my body once more.
The old man looks up, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie, “just tired.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a spare room but, I’ll get you a blanket. You rest up and tomorrow everything will be better. Everything will work out. If the phone’s not working, I’ll take you where you need to go....”
“Okay,” I say - hoping it will mean he’ll leave me be. At least, leave me long enough to make a run for it.
“I’ll get you a blanket,” he stands up and leaves the room, again, closing the door behind him.
No sooner has the door clicked behind him, I reach across and take hold of the medicine bag to see what’s inside...
Nothing.
Empty.
I have just enough time to put the bag down before the old man comes back in, clutching a ghastly knitted blanket which looks as though it’s decades old.
“I’m sorry it’s not a lot but it’s better than nothing,” he said as he handed it over. “We don’t normally have house guests.”
Prisoner.
“It’s fine, thank you.”
Default setting.
“I’ll be in the other room, if you need anything.... just call me.”
He glances down to the coffee table, “Did you want a fresh drink?”
“No. Thank you.”
He nods and backs out of the room, “I hope you manage to get some rest.”
And the door closes behind him.
Wait.
Not yet.
I listen out for movement on the other side of the door. There’s nothing.
I stand up, quietly so as not to alert any suspicion, and make my way to the window on the far wall...
Open it quietly. As quietly as I can. Climb out and get away from here. Walk into town. Don’t accept lifts from anyone...
Locked?!
Of course it is.
“Window locked, front door locked.... try the back....” Peter whispered.
I stumble across to the lounge door.
Please....
Don’t be locked.
Don’t be locked.
Wait.
What if he’s out there?
“He’ll kill you. He was always colder than me... He just did a much better job of hiding it than I did...”
I press my ear up against the door and strain to hear anything.... the slightest of movements. There’s nothing. No sounds. No creaking floorboards. It’s as though the house is empty.
I wish it were.
Please don’t be locked, I think to myself, as I twist the handle of the door.
Result.
Not locked.
The door creaks as I pull it open.
Ssh.
Damn you.
I pause.
No movement. Can’t hear anything...
I pull the door open a bit more - just enough to be able to get through. I don’t open it the whole way - just in case he hears the creaking if I carry on.
Wait.
No movement. Can’t hear anything...
I creep through and stop in the hallway and listen out for him. Still nothing.
Good.
Promising.
There’s a room opposite the one I’m in - the door is also shut. Look right and there’s the front door. Look left and another door - slightly open. I can see a kitchen work-top on the other side of it.
