Susie was in the kitchen, sat on his chair with two mugs of steaming tea, looking at the screen of his laptop. He scanned the spotless kitchen. Where was everything?
"Hello Barry. I know you like tea so I made one for you. Would you like to make love?"
Barry pulled up a chair next to her and looked at the mug. Was this normal? With the company website gone, it was impossible to check. All he could do was decide whether keeping her was more important than keeping his things. He sipped his tea, one sugar, just right, and looked at her naked body, thinking about Alison again.
"Susie?"
"Yes Barry."
"Are you clearing things out of my house?"
"My name is Susie. Hello, would you like to make love? I like it here."
He tried again. "Where are you putting my things Susie?"
"I tidied up to please you. Hello. Would you like to make love?" She stood up and thrust her hips towards him and Barry couldn’t resist.
The next few weeks passed in a blur. Barry woke up each morning to find the house a little emptier, a little cleaner. New carpets appeared. The wallpaper was replaced. Even the toilet was cleaned and he hadn’t thought that was even possible. To see white porcelain again was a shock that took some getting used to. The windows were free of grime and grease. One morning there was even a vase of flowers on the kitchen table beside his freshly cooked bacon sandwich.
When Susie began to wear clothes, he didn't bother to question where they came from. It was impossible to get an answer that made sense anyway. He did talk to her about Alison and she was better than a therapist in that respect. She never judged him, never disapproved of what he'd done. She just listened. He talked about the day he'd found Alison, the effort he'd put into making sure nobody saw him bringing her home, the fun he'd had with her. Susie's expression never changed, not even when he told her how he'd ended things and where her body was hidden.
A month later there was a knock on the front door. Susie answered it.
“Susan Algras?"
"Hello. Yes. My name is Susie."
The delivery man frowned. "Right, sign here."
She leaned forwards and took the pen, marking the delivery note with a shaky X. The man walked away, leaving her to drag a large parcel into the house. She opened the drawer of the sparkling cabinet behind her and pulled out a screwdriver from a neat row, using it to pull panels away from the box.
"Hello," she said as she reached round the back of the doll's head and flicked the on switch. "My name is Susie."
"Hello Susie," the doll replied, face breaking into a smile as she climbed out of the box and stood up. "My name is Millie. Alison’s brother sent me to help you. Your house looks nice. Thank you for inviting me to stay with you."
Susie took the manual out of the box and carried it upstairs. "He is in here," she said to Millie as she opened the wardrobe. Barry looked out at them both, eyes filled with fear, cheeks stained with dried tears, a gag tightly bound over his mouth. Millie smiled as she pushed the door closed and turned to face Susie.
"I think I’ll stay here,” she said, taking Susie’s hand in hers and leading her back downstairs, ignoring the muffled screams that echoed from the bedroom wardrobe.
No Going Back
1
It began when Keith killed his baby brother. It was the summer of 1960 and Keith had just woken up from a nap. The windows were open in his room and a gentle breeze drifted through from outside, bringing goosebumps up on his arms as he yawned, climbed out of bed and peered down into the garden. His mother was laid on the sun lounger down there, her eyes closed. That explained why she hadn’t come inside to deal with George’s crying. She was asleep too.
Keith looked up over the top of the garden to the sea beyond, wishing he was allowed to go to the beach on his own. He loved the sea more than anything. He enjoyed paddling in it, digging in the wet sand when the tide was out and most of all, devouring ice cream on the promenade. He loved the sea almost as much as he hated his baby brother.
Everything had been all right before George had come along and spoilt it all, whining and crying and demanding their attention all the time. “Be quiet George,” Keith muttered to himself as he turned away from the window and glanced up at the row of teddies on the end of his bed. He frowned as he realised Dragon was missing again. They’d taken Dragon and given him to George. They kept doing that even though he’d told them Dragon was his favourite. It wasn’t fair.
He was trying to decide what to do to get Dragon back when he heard a man’s voice coming from his parents’ bedroom.
“Keith. Come here.”
It didn’t sound like his father so who was it? Whoever had spoken sounded angry with him. Had he done something wrong?
Keith checked again that his mother was still asleep before walking out of his room and across the landing to his parents’ bedroom. The curtains were closed in there but it was still light enough for him to see George squirming in his cot. Dragon was in there too and that was enough to make Keith furious. He clenched his pudgy fists as he stared at Dragon and then at George whose cries became more intense at the sight of his brother.
That was when Keith noticed the man on the other side of the cot. How had he not spotted him before? He looked poorly. His skin was so pale it was almost pure white, his sunken eyes little more than pits of darkness under a fringe of short black hair. He wore a black suit and a dog collar.
“Hello Keith,” the man said, seemingly oblivious to George’s cries. “How are you today?”
“I want Dragon,” Keith replied.
“I know you do. Hmm, let’s have a think shall we?” He scratched his forehead and fell silent for a moment. “I know! Perhaps your marbles might help.”
Keith frowned and then his eyes widened. “I’m allowed to?” he asked, sounding incredulous.
“Of course you are. You have my permission.”
Keith smiled as he walked back to his bedroom to retrieve his tub of marbles. He’d thrown one at George before but his parents had screamed at him for it so he hadn’t dared do it again. He picked up the plastic tub and carried it through to his parents’ room, setting it down on the floor beside the cot. The man watched in silence as he peeled back the lid and tossed it aside. “I’m allowed?” he asked again, not sure if he was being tricked.
“Yes Keith,” the man said. “Now how good’s your throwing arm?”
Keith didn’t understand the question but that didn’t matter. He’d been given permission by an adult to do this, that was all he needed to know. He picked out the biggest marble in the tub, drew his arm back and then threw it as hard as he could at the cot. His aim wasn’t great and the marble bounced off the corner of the cot before rolling away under the changing table by the window. George began to slide backwards away from Keith, almost as if he knew his elder brother was a threat to him.
“Never mind,” the man said, looking visibly excited. “Try again.”
Keith picked out another marble, his tongue sticking out as he concentrated on the task at hand. This one missed too, flying straight over the cot and nearly hitting the man who had to duck quickly.
“Good attempt,” the man said, unperturbed. “Keep going, keep going!”
Changing tactics, Keith scooped up a handful of marbles and threw them all at once. Some missed, ricocheting harmlessly round the room. Two bounced back and hit Keith but he didn’t even notice. He was looking at the china white marble that had flown between two bars of the cot and hit George on the forehead.
The baby was silent at first, blinking quickly as if unable to process what had just happened. A second later it began to scream louder than ever, a red welt coming to the surface of his skin where the marble had landed.
“Well done,” the man said, “but we better quiet him down hadn’t we?” He walked round the cot and stood behind Keith. “Let me help.” Keith felt himself being lifted into the air, the man gripping him round the waist, holding him over the cot. He realised he
had a single marble left in his hand.
“Go on,” the man said. “It’s time.”
Keith looked down at George who was still screaming, his mouth wide open. He felt a momentarily qualm but then he looked down at Dragon which was covered in George’s drool. With new found conviction he moved his hand outwards until it was directly over George’s head. He loosened his fingers and the marble fell from his grasp.
It looked as if it would miss at first, George’s head was whipping from side to side so fast. But then at the last moment the baby looked up and the marble fell straight into his open mouth.
George fell silent in an instant. The man put Keith down and he looked through the bars of his brother’s cot, once again unsure if he’d done the right thing. George had turned purple and his eyes bulged outwards, his hands flailing as he fought to draw breath. Keith looked up at the man for reassurance.
“You did the right thing,” the man said, reaching into the cot to retrieve Dragon. “Here’s your reward.”
Keith reached up and snatched Dragon from the man’s hand, hugging the little green creature to his chest. “There will be other tasks for you,” the man continued. “When you’re older, I will send for you. For now you should leave. You may not like this part.” Keith took a last glance at George who had fallen still at last. “Go back to your room.” The man sounded angry again so Keith left, taking Dragon with him.
Five minutes later he heard his mother walking upstairs. She appeared in his doorway, wash basket in her arms. He smiled up at her as she looked in at him. “We’re reading,” he said, pointing at Dragon on the floor next to him.
“That’s a good boy,” she said, frowning as she looked at Dragon. She turned away and Keith watched her cross the landing, unsure how she would react to the sight of George. Would he still be purple after all this time?
The wash basket fell to the floor, neatly folded clothes tumbling out onto the carpet. Keith watched her stumble to her knees when she reached the bedroom. She crawled towards the cot, a sob escaping her as she pulled herself up the side. She reached in and grabbed George’s lifeless body, lifting him into her arms.
Keith wasn’t too concerned. An adult had given him permission to do what he did to George. As his mother collapsed to the floor with the baby in her arms, tears streaming down her face Keith returned to his picture books.
When the people came later, they asked Keith about George and about the marbles. They asked him if maybe he might have given George a marble by mistake. They mentioned a bite mark on George’s face. Did he know anything about that?
Keith asked if he could have an ice cream and they gave him one from the freezer. He sat eating it as they asked more and more questions. He told them all about the marbles and about George and about how much he liked going to the beach. Nobody asked him about the man. Keith didn’t mind because by then he’d forgotten the man had been there at all.
2
Marie Summers was the first to come back. She had the car windows open as she drove, the icy night wind the only thing that kept her sagging eyelids from closing completely. The adrenaline in her system had long since drained away and her arms drooped from the steering wheel as the miles rolled by.
A sign flashed up on the side of the motorway, illuminated by the glare from her headlights. Services – 20 miles. It took a minute for her sleep deprived brain to process the letters. 20 miles. Could she last that long? What if he was waiting for her at the services? What if someone recognised her and told him where she was?
She knew she was being paranoid. Even if he had survived, there was no way he could have travelled 300 miles and managed to somehow get in front of her. She tried to convince herself she was safe but it was hard to accept after so long in his grasp.
Her eyes momentarily closed again, just long enough for her slew towards the central barrier. A truck roared past in the outside lane, blaring its horn as she blinked awake. Yanking at the steering wheel, she somehow managed to avoid sliding into the side of the truck, swerving away at the last moment with a screech of brakes, her heart pounding. “Jesus!” she said out loud, panting for breath, sweat pouring down her face as another sign whipped by. Services – 5 miles. It couldn’t come soon enough. Whether he was waiting there or not she had to stop. She needed more coffee or the whole journey would be for nothing, she’d never last until Seaford without caffeine.
She’d only driven this way once before and that had been in the other direction. On the day she’d passed her test, she’d spent her life savings on her first car and tore out of Seaford with the stereo blasting, vowing never to return. Yet here she was, going home for the first time in fifteen years.
She felt sure he’d never find her in Seaford. She’d been careful, never mentioning her past, never telling him her real name, only using the name she’d chosen when she started working the streets. Besides, he was probably dead and she was worrying needlessly. But if that was the case, why couldn’t she get the image of him hunting her down out of her head?
The slip road came into view and with another involuntary yawn, she eased the steering wheel to the left and began to roll up the hill towards the brightly lit services. She parked as close as she could get to the entrance before killing the engine. Climbing out of the car, she gasped as a freezing winter wind hit her bare legs. The cold of the night was unrelenting as she hurried up the ramp to the automatic door.
Half the building was in darkness, the arcade and shops all closed for the night, but at least the cafe was still open. As she walked past she found herself glancing at each table, anxious to see if he was here. Stop it, she told herself, he’s dead, you’re free. Try and relax for crying out loud.
Pushing open the door to the ladies, she walked inside and stopped in front of the row of cracked mirrors. She looked at herself, checking to see if there were any blood splatters she’d missed. The fear suddenly built up in her again and she became convinced he was behind her, waiting behind the closed cubicle door, trousers already undone, fists clenched, ready to take her, throw her to the ground and punish her for having the audacity to try and leave him.
She turned and nudged the cubicle door with her foot, biting the inside of her lip as she winced. The door swung open to reveal nothing but a porcelain toilet bowl and an empty plastic bottle. Stop it, she told herself, he’s not here. You left him tied to a chair, bleeding to death. He’d have to be Houdini to get free from that and even if he did he lost too much blood to come after you. Just calm down and get a drink.
She felt exhausted as she left the ladies and made her way to the cafe. Behind the counter a bored teenager looked up from his phone, a leer appearing on his face as he glanced down at her legs. Marie unconsciously tugged at the hem of her skirt as his eyes finally met hers.
“Can I get a large coffee to go?”
“Sure thing.” He nodded and turned away. Marie glanced at her watch. 3.35am. No wonder most of the lights were off. At the nearest table a bearded man in a red checked shirt was tucking into a huge fried meal. It made her feel sick to look at it. What would a meal like that do to her? After so long starving herself for him she’d almost forgotten what a real plateful of food actually looked like.
Behind checkshirt a miserable looking couple in matching grey overcoats sat in silence. The only other person in view was a man sat alone by a leaflet rack. He looked like someone she thought she knew. Tall, black hair, hint of stubble. Sleeves rolled up despite the cold. There was a boy at school who used to do that with his shirt. What was his name?
“That’ll be 2.95.”
Marie turned back to the counter, paid and picked up the takeaway cup. As she walked out of the cafe, leaflet guy scraped back his chair and stood up. Their eyes met and she suddenly felt immensely sorry for him. He looked so unhappy. Part of her, the part she’d almost forgotten was even in there, wanted to run over and give him a hug, anything to help take that hangdog expression away from him. She smiled and he responded with a nod that turned
into a frown as the automatic door slid open and she turned away to walk outside.
Hunching her shoulders against the cold, she half jogged back to the car, leaflet guy’s face still in her mind. Who was that boy from school? She felt like she should remember, as if something important had happened to him or maybe with him. A name came forwards in her mind and she almost saw it but then it faded away again. Maybe when she’d had some sleep, it’d come back to her.
There was a motel across the car park but she knew that even if she’d had enough money to stop for the night, she couldn’t do it. She didn’t know why but she had to get there tonight. She rubbed her forehead as she climbed back into her car, a pressure headache building behind her eyes. Perfect, she thought as she drove slowly back out onto the motorway. That’s just perfect. Why not give me a stroke as well?
She sipped the coffee as she drove, finishing the last gritty dregs as she turned off the motorway onto the smaller rural road that headed for the coast. She knew she should remember this road but it was like driving down it for the first time. Her mind went back to Gerald and her first tentative driving lessons. Gerald with his hideous knitted jumpers and his wandering hands that kept accidentally sliding onto knee whenever he showed her how to change gear. Gerald and his rear view mirror, positioned so he could stare at her chest as she drove. She’d forgotten him just like she’d forgotten so much about Seaford.
Everyone in town knew about Gerald but he had one thing in his favour. He was by far the cheapest driving instructor and without his lessons, Marie might never have gained her licence and left for the big city.
She’d had such high hopes for London. A high flying executive before her twentieth birthday, prove all the teachers wrong, make the fresh start she needed, forget the past, forget everything that had happened to her. Six months into her new life she was homeless and slowly learning that the best way to make a living was with her body. Then she’d met him. Everything had seemed perfect at first. He’d given her his spare flat, paid her bills, bought her food, clothes, whatever she wanted. All she had to do in return was whatever he asked of her in bed. She shuddered as she remembered. The crisscrossing scars on her body were nothing compared to the deeper wounds across her soul, raw cuts that would never heal, no matter how much time had passed by.
Night Terrors: 16 Horror Stories Page 10
