Mary sat at the side of the bed and gently stroked his hair and hushed him. Jason froze for a moment as he heard the soft voice of his mother, then a smile broke on his face as he fell into a more restful sleep.
Mary went back to the bathroom and eventually back to bed.
She pondered the boy’s cries. How could he have heard of Emily? Wasn’t the girl they had met on their first day at the cottage called Emily? The gypsy girl?
She tossed and turned all night as she tried to find some peace in her mind to fall asleep to.
The sun had risen on a clear and beautiful day and Mary busied herself preparing a proper farmhouse breakfast for them all. Peter and Jason were sat patiently waiting for Mary to finish the fried eggs. As they sat, Peter began slicing the large loaf of bread and spreading butter on it. He placed a large slice on every plate and placed the knife down on the cutting board. Jason took his bread and began to nibble on it.
Mary came to the table and began serving up the bacon, sausage and mushrooms onto the plates before returning to the stove for the eggs.
As she was sliding an egg onto Jason’s plate, he reached for the large bread knife and sliced it carefully across her arm. The knife was sharp and effective. In an instant, blood was pouring from the back of Mary’s arm.
Peter, reached across and snatched the knife from Jason. Mary had frozen where she stood; unable to comprehend what had just happened and simply staring at the bleeding gash in her arm. Blood was dripping down onto the table and plates.
Jason smiled.
Peter leapt up from his seat and grabbed Mary and led her to the sink.
“What in hell is wrong with you, boy? You have totally lost it, my friend. Get your backside upstairs. NOW!”
He clamped a tea towel over Mary’s arm and struggled to get the drawer open for the first aid kit Mary had used the night before.
Mary was no help. She was almost in a trance as she watched Peter fussing around the kitchen trying to dress her wound.
“Why Peter? Why?” She asked softly. “I’m his Mum. Why would he even think of that?”
“He’s lost his marbles, baby. Let me get this bandage on it and get you sat down. It’s my fault for leaving the bread knife there.”
Jason had been sat smiling throughout, as Peter had bandaged the wound, and it was after Peter scowled at him that he jumped down from the table and ran upstairs. Peter followed him with a glare as he went through the kitchen door.
“I’ll be seeing you soon enough, young man,” Peter muttered as he watched him depart.
He settled Mary at the table and gently peeled back the dressing to look at the cut. The bleeding had soon all but stopped but the ragged knife had caused a chunky and livid cut.
“Well, I’m going to put some plastic stitches on this, Mary. It’s nasty but I don’t think you need the hospital unless you want to,” Peter said.
Mary glanced down at the wound. She was still in shock and whispered “No. No need for hospital Peter. It will heal. Please go up and see to Jason. Make sure he is alright. I don’t think he knows what he has done.”
Peter cleaned the cut again and placed some plastic stitches over the wound before covering it with a clean dressing. Then he went upstairs to Jason’s room.
Jason was sitting on the edge of the bed when Peter walked in and looked almost shocked to see his father standing there.
“What the hell did you do, Jason? What sort of thing is that to do to your mother?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know Dad. I don’t know,” Jason whispered.
“You do know your Mum is hurting very badly now, right? I never want to see you near a knife again, you hear me? Ever!” Peter snapped.
“No, I don’t know Dad. It was just there on the table and then it was cutting her. I don’t know,” Jason said.
“You will stay in your room. Breakfast is over. For you anyway. I don’t want to hear a sound out of you today. You understand?” Peter said turning for the door.
“Yes, Daddy. Not a sound,” Jason replied.
Peter walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. He stood as he tried to refocus his mind on what had happened and what the hell was happening to his son. From the other side of the door, he could hear Jason talking quietly. Then he began to sing. Peter didn’t know the song and leaned his head to the door. The song sounded like a children’s nursery rhyme, but not one he had ever heard himself. Jason gently repeated the song and would start giggling between verses. Peter felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he slowly moved from the door and downstairs.
Mary was still sat at the table where he had left her. She held her hand over the bandage and was staring off into space.
“You okay, sweetheart? Are you sure we shouldn’t take you to the hospital?” Peter asked.
“No need for the hospital, dear, thank you. How is Jason?” Mary replied.
“He’s in his room. Maybe it’s him we need to be taking to hospital. After last night with Julia and this morning, I think the kid has lost his mind,” Peter said.
Mary lowered her head into her good hand. “Maybe that old woman was right, Peter. Maybe we are in danger here. Maybe we should take Jason away.”
“This has nothing to do with spooks or anything else. Just a kid gone stupid is all. But I won’t take any more of it from him. Any more of that stuff and I’ll take him to the loony bin myself,” Peter snapped.
Peter knew, of course, that Mary was never going to let him take Jason anywhere. Angry as he was, he knew that whatever needed doing, would be done by them and done there.
Peter finished his breakfast slowly. Pushing the food around his plate rather than eating much of it. He got himself out of the chair and headed to the sitting room. There, he picked up a large box of paint cans and carried them through to the kitchen.
“You’re not planning on painting are you?” Mary asked. “I don’t think any of us are in the mood for that after this morning.”
“No, not at all. I’m taking them down to the cellar, for now, to get them out of the way,” Peter replied.
He opened the door to the cellar and awkwardly pushed the box of paints through the door. Mary turned on her chair to watch him descend the old stone steps.
“Need a hand, dear?” Mary asked.
“No, I’m good. You just sit and relax that arm. I’ll be up in a minute,” Peter replied.
He fumbled for the light switch and proceeded to the far end of the cellar to drop off the box. He turned to walk back out and cracked his shin on something. Looking into the gloom, he saw the old Victorian pram. He had hit the rusted metal handle of the child’s pram, set perfectly for him to walk into. He grunted and grabbed a hold of it, dragging it to the bottom of the steps.
“Mary, I thought we’d already dragged this stinking pram into the yard? Why on earth did you bring it back down here?” Peter shouted up the steps.
Mary made her way to the top of the steps and looked in horror at Peter stood with the pram at the bottom.
“Peter. I didn’t. I brought it back outside yesterday. I thought you had brought it back down. This is impossible. I put it in the back yard, near the swing,” Mary replied.
Peter made his way up the steps dragging the pram unceremoniously behind him.
“Okay, well that’s just a bit bloody weird, isn’t it? Let me get the stinking thing back outside,” Peter said.
He bundled the pram out of the back door and back into the garden.
“Let’s see if it gets the message this time,” Peter said.
“There is something wrong, Peter. Something seriously out of place with this house,” Mary said.
“Nonsense. After all that’s gone off, I have a feeling Jason took it back down. Don’t know how and I don’t know why, but if I didn’t move it and you didn’t move it, that leaves Jason. And the way he’s been acting, I don’t doubt it,” Peter said.
Mary shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know what’s com
e over the boy but I don’t think he would have moved the pram. I’m in the kitchen most of the day, I think I would have noticed if he had.”
Peter followed Mary back into the kitchen and the pair of them sat drinking the cold coffee that they had left there.
“So. What are we going to do about Jason?” Peter asked. “We can’t leave him in his room until he’s old enough to throw out.”
“I’ll go up and talk to him later, Peter. For now, let him stew up there. He’ll be bored and hungry by lunch time. Maybe he’ll be a bit more tolerable then,” Mary replied.
“If you say so. My dad would have been taking his belt off and beating me with it already,” Peter grimaced.
“Not sure violence is going to get us anywhere. We’ve never needed to hit him before and I certainly don’t intend to start now,” Mary said, resting a hand on Peter’s.
“He certainly didn’t sound too upset when I left him in his room. Was sat singing to himself. Whatever that means.”
Mary winced as she held her hand over the wound on her arm and looked at Peter with tears in her eyes.
“I’m going to walk down to the chemist and get something proper to clean and dress this. Can you listen out for Jason please?” Her voice shook as she looked up at the ceiling to the floor above, where her son sat on his own.
“Wouldn’t you rather I drove you down there, honey?” Peter didn’t want to leave Jason on his own but he didn’t want Mary off by herself either.
“No. I think the walk will clear my head just now. I feel a monster migraine coming on. I’ll take my time; you just listen out for Slasher up there,” Mary replied.
She stood up from the table and made her way out of the door. Peter sipped at his cold coffee, looking confused and worried at how the day had begun. Upstairs was silent. He assumed Jason had found something to amuse himself with and shook his head.
Chapter Seven
Mary made her way slowly down the lane to the village. The sky was cloudy but even with the gentle breeze blowing across the dales it still felt warm. She turned to look back at the cottage. She caught a glimpse of a shadow darting across the front of the house and down the side. From where she was stood it looked like the girl they had met when they had first arrived. Mary shook herself. She suddenly felt a cold chill run through her as she tried to catch sight of whomever it was. Nothing. Perhaps she had just been fooled by the passing clouds over her head she thought.
After staring for a moment longer, she turned and headed down the lane. If anyone was going to the house, Peter would deal with it.
She continued her stroll into the village and along the small shop fronts. The chemist was one of the few shops in the village. Mary opened the door and entered. Unlike most of the properties around here, the chemist was fresh, well-lit and newly refurbished.
“Hello dear, what can I do for you?” The tall middle-aged woman behind the counter asked.
“I’ve had a bit of an accident and need a proper dressing,” Mary replied.
“Could I have a look at it, dear? If you don’t mind?” The woman held her hand out expectantly.
When Mary hesitated the chemist came around the counter and guided Mary to a plastic chair at the side of the shop. Mary lowered herself down into the seat and raised her arm for the woman to inspect.
“And how on earth did you manage that?!” The woman exclaimed as she took a good look at the gash on Mary’s arm.
“My son actually. He had an accident with the bread knife at breakfast. Caught my arm with it,” Mary replied stonily.
“And how old is your son that he thinks your arm looks like a loaf of bread?” The woman asked, shocked.
“He’s five,” Mary replied. “No, he shouldn’t have been touching it but boys will be boys I suppose.”
“Yes, I suppose they will,” the woman said over her shoulder as she gathered up dressings and cleaning fluid. “Perhaps this might be better looked at by the doctor, dear. I’ll clean it up and dress it, but it is a bit deep I think.”
“Thanks, but no I don’t need the doctor. I heal up quickly. Always have. It looks nasty but it will be fine,” Mary said with assurance.
“Well, it’s your arm dear. All I can do is advise you as best I can, but we’ll get it cleaned up. I take it you’re new around here. Didn’t I see you in the pub the other night for the quiz?” The woman asked absently as she worked.
“Yes, we are quite new. Moved into the cottage at the top of the lane. And yes, my husband and I did go to the quiz the other night,” Mary replied, her gaze leaving her arm and travelling over the shop shelves.
“Ah, thought I recognised you. Well done by the way. I believe you won it. Well, I have to say, that cottage you’ve moved into has a bit of history to it. No surprise your son got careless with a knife then. Children do seem to act out when they are up there. Not had anyone living there for as long as I remember, but any kids staying for a visit would act up something terrible. Very strange,” the woman all but tutted.
“Yes, I think we heard all the old horror stories in the pub, but we don’t really believe in that sort of nonsense, sorry,” Mary smiled gently in apology.
“No, don’t blame you dear. But nonetheless, a lot of weird goes on in old places. But I’m with you. If science can’t explain it, we don’t need to make stories up to fill the gaps right?” The woman said, applying the dressing professionally to Mary’s arm after cleaning up the wound again.
Mary left the chemist with her newly dressed arm and slowly walked back through the village to the lane leading to the cottage. Though she couldn’t see them, she felt eyes staring at her from every window she passed. She increased her step to hurry home.
Arriving back at the house she felt cold, sore and exhausted. She let herself into the kitchen where Peter was waiting anxiously for her. He quickly placed a cup of tea in front of her at the kitchen table.
“Well? How are you feeling now, baby? I was getting worried,” Peter asked.
“I’m fine, honey, just tired. The chemist redressed it all and we chatted for a while. Jason isn’t the first kid to go off the rails up here, apparently,” Mary replied.
“Off the rails? How do you mean?” Peter asked.
“The woman in the chemist was telling me how kids that have stayed here seem to become, well, like Jason was this morning I suppose,” Mary said.
“I hope she wasn’t filling your head with more of that ghost rubbish, Mary. That stuff just isn’t going to help at all,” Peter said, with a scowling face as he poured himself another cup of tea.
“No, no, nothing like that. She is more the scientific approach type. Though she did accept there were a lot of strange stories. But she’s a chemist, right? So she thought it was all mumbo jumbo too,” Mary said, smiling back at Peter.
“Good for her. Now, what are we going to do about Jason? Can’t leave him up there for the rest of his childhood can we?” Peter smirked.
“I’ll go and talk to him after this tea,” Mary replied.
Leaving Peter sat at the kitchen table, Mary made her way upstairs to talk to Jason. She paused at the door before entering and felt a cold chill run up her spine. She shuddered at the idea she could harbour anything but love for her son. Somewhere in the back of her mind, though, she had felt an anger and hate for him she could never imagine. She shook it off as she entered the room.
Jason was sat on the bed. He had been gazing out of the window and turned to face Mary as she entered. Rather than looking sheepish or contrite, he looked up at her and smiled.
“I suppose you’re hungry, Jason?” Mary said.
“No, I’m fine thank you,” Jason replied.
“That was a very dangerous and nasty thing you did, Jason. You made a very deep cut on my arm. I may have had to go to the doctor. Fortunately, we got it cleaned up at the chemist. You must never touch knives again. Do you understand?”
“Yes mother, I understand,” Jason replied.
“So why did you do it, darlin
g? Why would you want to hurt your mum like that?” Mary asked.
As Jason looked up at her, his face became dark and his eyes glowed.
“You are right. It shouldn’t have been you. It should have been him. Got to get rid of him first, then you. You understand, don’t you? I’m sure you do.”
Mary stepped back from the bed and the bedroom door slammed shut behind her. Jason’s gaze was fixed straight on her.
“You do understand, don’t you mother? You understand he has to die?” Jason sneered.
“What?! What the hell are you talking about Jason? Why on earth would you want to kill your Daddy? He loves you more than anything in the world. Why, Jason?” Mary stammered, as she looked into the face of her now hideous son.
“He dies!” Jason said, rasping the words out as he fell back on the bed, his eyes rolling. He gasped and gagged before falling silent. His eyes closed.
Mary rushed towards the boy and gently shook him where he lay.
“Jason? Jason? Talk to me, baby. Please!” Mary murmured.
Jason’s eyes slowly blinked open and he looked at his mother.
“Mum? I don’t feel so good. I feel dizzy and sick,” Jason said.
“Let’s get you into bed properly, baby. I think you have a temperature. I’ll call a doctor,” Mary replied.
Mary tucked Jason into the bed and rushed downstairs.
“Peter, I think we need a doctor for Jason. He’s been talking nonsense and his face... His eyes went all crazy and he was saying such awful things, Peter. Awful things. He really is very sick the poor thing. We need to get a doctor quickly,” Mary finished.
Without responding, Peter pulled out his phone and called the surgery. Visits these days were rare, but after a brief conversation, he’d convinced the doctor to come up and visit Jason. Once he had hung up the phone, Peter turned to Mary.
“So what sort of nasty things, Mary? You said he was saying things,” he asked.
“About killing you, Peter. He was crazy. His eyes were blood red. It didn’t even sound anything like Jason. Just a growling monster saying he wanted to kill you. I’m scared Peter. I think our boy is very sick.”
Thriller: Emily Page 5
