The Girl From Under The Water

by Jake Uniacke

  “Holy crap!” Mick screamed.

  “Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry,” Yvonne said, flustered. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “You almost gave me a heart attack!” Mick held onto his chest, his face red with embarrassment.

  “I’m so sorry. I was just coming up to use the loo, I didn’t think you would be up.”

  “I’ve just come from there. I heard this strange singing, and the floorboards were creaking.”

  Yvonne furrowed her eyebrow. “Really? The microphones and cameras didn’t pick anything up.”

  “That’s because they aren’t in the bathroom!” Mick snapped.

  Yvonne jumped back.

  “Sorry, sorry,” said Mick. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just...I’m just scared to live in my own home.”

  “It’s okay,” Yvonne replied. “I understand.”

  Mick smiled, and Yvonne pushed past him.

  “Sorry,” she giggled. “I’m bursting for a wee!”

  Mick laughed and turned back towards his bedroom.

  Crash!

  He turned, slowly. He knew for a fact Yvonne hadn’t made that crash. The sound came from downstairs. His heart raced, and he sweated profusely again. He wrapped his hand around the bannister and one step at a time; he went downstairs, following the direction of the noises. The third-to-last step creaked, and he froze on the spot. The crashing stopped. Had he just attracted attention to himself? He slowly backed up the stairs, before hearing the crashing again. He didn’t dare go back downstairs—not just yet anyway.

  “Are you okay in there?” Mick said outside the bathroom, realising Yvonne had been a while.

  There was no response. He knocked on the door. “Yvonne?”

  Mick began to fear for her. If she was okay, surely, she would have responded. Mick knocked on the door again and kept calling her name. But still, no response.

  “Yvonne, I’m coming in,” he said.

  Mick turned the handle and pushed the door. But it wouldn’t open. It was still locked from the inside. “Yvonne?”

  The lack of response made Mick panic. He needed to get into the bathroom to see if she was okay. He had a feeling she was in danger. He stepped back, took a few deep breaths, and ran towards the door, bursting into the bathroom. The door smashed against the wall, and Mick almost fainted at the sight he saw.

  Yvonne was slumped on the toilet seat, blood flowing from her eyes and mouth. Her eyeballs were pointed upwards, and her mouth was wide open like she was catching flies. He grabbed a towel and covered her with it, so he didn’t need to look at her body. It didn’t take a scientist to figure out who had done this. Mick had a sudden rush of adrenaline and he balled his hands into white-knuckled fists. Emma was going to pay for all she had done.

  He ran down the stairs, not caring about any of the noise he was making. Bursting into the dining room, Mick vomited as he was smacked in the face with the stench of a corpse. He looked to his left, where he saw Gary’s bloodied, lifeless body on the floor. Mick ran out of the room and headed for the kitchen where he vomited in the sink and poured himself a glass of water, desperate to ease his nausea.

  “Emma!” roared Mick. “Emma, you evil bitch!”

  The back door swung open, the cold breeze rushing around the room. It slammed shut with a startling bang. Mick flinched, dropping the glass of water. He jumped back as it hit the floor, glass shattering everywhere.

  You called.

  Mick swung round, startled by Emma’s spitting voice. He gathered his breath, making sure he had the mental capacity to fight with her. The sight of her turned his stomach. Her long, dark hair stuck to her shoulders and her breath stank. Mick covered his nostrils with a finger, so the disgusting smell didn’t linger and waft into his nose.

  “You’re evil,” said Mick.

  Well, that’s not very nice.

  “It’s the truth. You’re evil, and you need to pay for everything you’ve done!”

  What have I done?

  Emma lingered in the doorway, glaring at her father. Her dark eyes pierced Mick’s gaze as he stood in the centre of the kitchen, holding onto the kitchen counter in order to keep his balance.

  “You know what you’ve done. You’re sick.” Mick’s entire body was shaking, anger fuelling within him.

  Well, if you had believed your wife, then maybe she wouldn’t have been admitted to the nuthouse. And maybe she would still be alive.

  Emma took a step closer to her father. Mick felt around on the kitchen counter as he backed away from Emma, and he grabbed a knife. He held it out in front of him, threatening Emma.

  That won’t work. I’ve been here before.

  “What do you mean?” Mick asked.

  I’m untouchable. I told Mum that. She threatened me with a medical scalpel. I told her to kill herself. And she did.

  Emma giggled as she watched her father stand with the knife in his hand.

  “I knew you killed her,” said Mick. “I KNEW IT!”

  She killed herself. I just encouraged her.

  “It’s the same thing!”

  Emma cackled. Mick lunged towards her with the knife, but Emma’s reflexes were too quick for him to fight with. She snatched the knife from his hands and placed Mick into a headlock, before launching the knife through his neck, penetrating deep into his flesh. Mick gagged as Emma pulled the knife from his neck. He fell to the floor with a thump, holding onto his neck.

  Without a second thought, Emma took the knife once again and slashed his torso with it, drawing a line straight down the middle. She watched as her father died instantly, not caring about the pain she was about to cause her entire family.

  Chapter 18

  The next morning, there was a gentle knock on the front door. The doorbell rang, the letterbox rattled, the knocker banged against the door. But of course, there was no answer.

  “Mister Winter?” a voice called through the letterbox. “My name is PC Gardener, and I’m with my colleague Detective Inspector Gibson. Can you answer the door, please?”

  The officers grew frustrated with the lack of response from Mick, so they made their way to the back of the house and tried the back door instead. They knocked on the door a few times before checking if the door was unlocked. PC Gardener pulled the handle down and the door pushed open.

  “Mister Winter?” called PC Gardener.

  He entered the house, followed by DI Gibson, but they soon froze on the spot when they saw Mick’s body lying on the floor. A pool of blood was surrounding Mick, his skin white as snow. PC Gardener grabbed his radio and called in for medical assistance.

  “Trevor,” PC Gardener turned to DI Gibson. “We need to search the house. There could be a killer here.”

  “I’ll call in for back-up,” said DI Gibson. “If there is a killer here, we may need assistance from the armed response team. They could be armed with a weapon.”

  DI Gibson called for back-up through his radio and then the two officers left the kitchen. The first room they checked was the dining room. As PC Gardener opened the door, he almost collapsed from the sickening smell that insulted his nostrils. DI Gibson gagged, holding back his vomit. He looked to his left and saw Gary, dead on the floor.

  “Do you think he could have killed Mister Winter?” asked DI Gibson. “And then killed himself?”

  “Does this look like a suicide to you?” PC Gardener said. “No, something else is going on here.”

  They left the room before they became anymore sickened by the smell and then made their way to the living room. It was empty. The floorboards above them creaked.

  “Someone is upstairs,” whispered DI Gibson. “Quiet from now on. Let’s go up.”

  “Are you insane?” spat PC Gardener. “We cannot put our lives at risk. We should stay here and wait for the armed response team to show up.”

  “Well, I’m going up. You can either join me or stay here. But either way, I’m investigating. Since that is my job.”

  PC Gardener didn’
t have time to respond as DI Gibson rushed to the stairs.

  “Hello?” called DI Gibson. “This is the police. If you have a weapon, I suggest you put it down, now!”

  The stairs creaked as DI Gibson stepped onto each one. PC Gardener followed closely behind, having changed his mind about going upstairs. He should at least be there to protect his colleague if anything happened. The officers kept calling out, making their presence known so the intruder could save themselves from getting into any more trouble. They stroked their hands along the patterned wallpaper as they reached the top of the staircase.

  “My name is PC Gardener. I instruct you to put any weapons you have on the floor.”

  DI Gibson opened the door leading to Emma’s old bedroom. He looked around, although he didn’t see the point in doing that since the room was so small. He quickly checked the closet to see if anyone was hiding in there. But the entire room was empty. Although he didn’t know whose room it was, it somehow gave him chills down his spine.

  PC Gardener peered into Mick and Georgia’s bedroom. He looked under the bed and in the closet. But still, there was nothing. DI Gibson joined him and they both went into Alex’s room. Nobody was hiding in there, either. The officers pursed their lips, overwhelmed with confusion. They were both one hundred percent sure they heard someone upstairs.

  “Bathroom,” whispered PC Gardener.

  DI Gibson nodded. “I’ll go first.”

  They slowly made their way to the bathroom but stopped instantly. They glared at the door, noticing the tubular latch had been broken.

  “The door has been broken down,” said DI Gibson. “And there is a strange smell coming from it, too.”

  “Maybe whoever was last in here had a big curry last night,” laughed PC Gardener.

  “Do you find this whole situation funny?”

  “No, not at all.” PC Gardener bowed his head, trying to hide his laughter at his own joke.

  They went into the bathroom and screamed when they spotted Yvonne’s dead body sitting on the toilet.

  “Who would do such a thing?” said PC Gardener. “This is horrifying!”

  DI Gibson nodded, and they both left the bathroom. They headed back downstairs and noticed the blue flashing lights outside the house. PC Gardener opened the front door just as two paramedics jumped from the ambulance and ran into the house. Moments later, the wails of sirens blared through the street as the armed response team came to an abrupt stop in their cars and vans, and dozens of officers leapt from the vehicles, holding their guns, racing around the property. Some went inside, some stayed out the front, and some went around the back. Neighbours appeared from their houses up and down the street, taking an interest as to what was going on. They all watched, shocked at the sight of the armed response team.

  A few minutes later, Dorothy arrived with Alex. She didn’t bother taking the keys out of the ignition. Instead, she bolted from the car and ran to the front of the house.

  “Stay back, madam!” roared one of the armed officers.

  “This is my son’s house!” cried Dorothy.

  “I said stay back!”

  Dorothy jumped back and scratched her arms anxiously. As more sirens wailed down the street, tears of worry streamed from Dorothy’s eyes. And as soon as she saw the forensics team show up, she knew exactly what was going on.

  “NO!” she screamed.

  She tried to get past the officers, but they pushed her back, demanding she didn’t take a step further. More police officers showed up and taped the house off, officially declaring it as a crime scene. Dorothy couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Alex shot out of the car.

  “Dad!” she cried. “Daddy!”

  Dorothy swung around and held her arms out to stop Alex from running any further. “No sweetie, you have to stay back. Go back to the car and stay with Connie.”

  “But I want my dad!”

  “Go and sit in the car, Alex!”

  Dorothy’s voice cracked as she spoke to her granddaughter. She hated having to discuss death with children. It was the worst thing anyone had to do. But the thing Dorothy hated the most was that Alex and Connie had first lost their sister, and now their father. Although it wasn’t official, Dorothy knew her son was dead.

  “Go and sit in the car,” said Dorothy. “Please Alex. Do as you’re told.”

  Alex trudged back to the car, sniffing and wiping her eyes as she broke down. She didn’t quite understand what was happening. But she did know it was bad. Very bad.

  Dorothy saw red. She was like a bull, ready to charge towards her prey. She barged past the officers, ducked under the tape and entered the house, squashing the flowers on the grass as she raced up the garden path.

  “Madam, I said stay away!” roared one of the officers.

  The armed officers in the house pointed their guns at Dorothy. “Arms in the air!”

  Dorothy shot her arms in the air immediately. “Please. He’s my son. I just want to know what’s happening.”

  The officers didn’t lower their guns straight away, but they could see how scared and upset Dorothy was. An elderly woman couldn’t be that harmful. They lowered their guns, but one officer followed Dorothy, making sure she wasn’t a danger to anyone.

  She let out a horrified, heart-breaking scream as she saw her son’s body on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. Forensic officers were snapping photos of him and his injuries.

  “MICK!” cried Dorothy. “NO!”

  She fell to the floor, screaming. This was not right. Not in her mind. Her grandchildren couldn’t lose their father. DI Gibson came over and helped Dorothy to her feet, escorting her from the house. She headed back to her car, but she never got in. Instead, she just watched everything unfold at the house.

  “Grandma, what’s happened?” asked Alex.

  “Not now, Alex,” said Dorothy.

  “Please, Grandma!”

  “I SAID NOT NOW!”

  Connie burst into tears, startled by Dorothy’s sudden screams.

  “Sorry,” cried Dorothy. “I’m so sorry.”

  She got into the car and closed her door. For a moment, she said nothing. She had to get the wording right.

  “Grandma…,” said Alex.

  “I’m so sorry, Alex,” said Dorothy. “I hate to have to tell you this.”

  Alex started to cry, worried something serious had happened. “What’s happened?”

  “Your father has passed away.”

  “NO!”

  Dorothy took Alex and hugged her tightly. “I’m so, so sorry Alex. You’re only young, you shouldn’t have to lose your father at this age.”

  Alex cried into her grandmother’s shoulder. “How did it happen?”

  Dorothy shook her head. “I cannot tell you that. You’re too young to know the details.”

  “Please, Grandma. Please, just tell me.”

  Dorothy took a deep breath and took hold of Alex’s hands. “It looks like someone has killed him.”

  Alex didn’t know what to say. She felt like it was just her luck. Murder was a running theme in her family. Then it suddenly struck her.

  “It could have been Emma,” Alex said. “Emma could have killed him!”

  “Don’t be so ridiculous,” said Dorothy.

  “I’m being honest. Everything I told you last night was the truth. I think it was Emma.”

  Dorothy laughed nervously, shaking off Alex’s claims. But deep down, she was starting to believe her. She was starting to believe that all along, Alex was telling the truth.

  Did Emma kill my son?

  “We need to tell Mummy,” said Alex. “She needs to know about Dad.”

  “Yes, of course,” replied Dorothy. “Just give me a moment. I need to get my head around all of this.”

  The car fell silent for a few moments. Dorothy took deep breaths, while Alex watched all the commotion out the window. The officers finally lowered their guns, and they headed back to their vans and cars. And moments later, the forensics t
eam carried Mick’s body out on a trolley, covered with a body bag, and placed him into the back of a private ambulance. Tears ran down Alex’s face as she knew this was the last thing she would remember about her father. This was probably also the last time she would see the house, as a thorough investigation was sure to take place.

  “Right, let’s go,” said Dorothy. She put the car into gear and drove off.

  Alex watched everything fade further into the distance through the wing mirror as Dorothy drove further down the road. It wasn’t fair. She was too young to lose her father. Connie was even younger. Dorothy slowed the car and came to a gentle stop. They had arrived at Oaktree Hospital. Alex jumped out the car, and Dorothy opened the back door to unbuckle Connie’s car seat. And then, full of emotions, Dorothy and Alex walked into the hospital, Dorothy carrying Connie’s carrier in her left hand. They stopped in the centre of the reception. Dorothy watched everything unfold around her—people chatting, patients leaving, babies crying, doctors rushing to and fro. Alex held her grandmother’s hand and looked up at her, a nervous smile on her face.

  “It looks like we need to go upstairs,” said Dorothy. “Come on, let’s go.”

  They followed the sign for the psychiatric unit and made their way up the staircase. Each sign seemed to make the psychiatric unit appear further away than it actually was. Alex took Connie and sat on a chair in the waiting area while Dorothy went to the receptionist. The waiting area was fairly quiet except for a couple of people.

  “Hello,” said Dorothy. “I’m here to visit Georgia Winter. I’m her mother-in-law, and those two girls are her daughters.”

  The receptionist looked baffled. “Excuse me?”

  “There’s no need to be like that, missy! I said I’m here to visit my daughter-in-law, Georgia Winter.”

  “Madam, are you okay? Are you confused?”

  Dorothy was taken aback, offended by the receptionist’s comments. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Mrs. Winter died yesterday morning,” the receptionist said. “I assumed you would have been told.”

  “What? No one told me anything.”

  Dorothy turned around and saw Alex stood behind her, trying to hold back tears. But she couldn’t do it. Her entire body fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes, and she screamed. Dorothy crouched down and tried to lift Alex up, but Alex’s weight wouldn’t allow her.