by Marcus Brown
His mum was lying on the sofa, snoring loudly, still out cold from the bottle of vodka she’d knocked back the night before. Her friend Paulina sat in the armchair watching the TV.
“You ok, love?” Paulina asked.
“I need to get out of here. Will you keep your eye on her?” He pointed towards his mum, disgust etched across his face.
“Yeah, but she’ll wanna know where you are when she wakes.”
“Tell her I’ve just gone out,” he added, sardonically. “That’s if she can stay sober long enough to give a shit.”
Paulina didn’t argue and turned her attentions back to the television. She was engrossed in a crappy chat show. The producers of that same show had called the week before and asked the Lee family to take part, but his response had been less than polite.
He opened the front door and the flashes and clicks from the cameras swept over him.
“Jason, can we ask you a few questions?” one of the reporters yelled.
“Penny from News at Eleven. Any further developments about your brother? Is it true your father has taken him?”
Another reporter jumped in front of Jason, but he pushed him away.
“Piss off,” he yelled, before breaking into a sprint and taking off.
He was ready to explode. Worrying about his brother and watching his mum’s mental state deteriorate further as the days went by weighed him down.
A car slowed alongside him.
He wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more journalists and wanted to be left alone.
“Jason Lee,” a female voice shouted from inside the car.
“Fuck off, scumbag,” he roared back.
“I need to talk to you,” she pleaded.
“Speak to my agent,” he responded, sarcastically.
“You knew my friend, Sandra Miller.”
Hearing the name stopped him in his tracks. He turned and watched as the pretty woman struggled to get out of the car.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Hilary Baines, and Sandra was my best friend.”
“Has she been found?”
“Not exactly, but I need your help.”
“I can’t help you. If you didn’t already know, my brother is missing.”
“I know where your brother is.”
The words knocked the wind out of him–feeling of relief washing over him. “Where is he?”
“He’s at the house on Promised Land Lane.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Who are you really?”
“I told you. My name is Hilary Baines.”
“You’re one of those reporters, aren’t you? Trying to trick me into talking?”
“No, Jason. I swear I’m not. I’m telling the truth, see.” Hilary handed him her driving licence. “If you come with me right away, I’ll tell you everything I know.”
He could tell by her face, she was telling the truth, and if it meant he could find Adam, he’d go anywhere and do anything.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m going to take you back to my house, if that’s okay?”
“No funny business or I’m out of there. I only want you to tell me what you know.”
“Jason. I’ll tell you what I know, and we can decide what to do from there. I just want to talk, you have my word.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Juliet stomped through the house.
Whoever was hammering on her door was brave indeed.
She pulled open the door, the grimace set across her face.
“Miss Oswell, I trust?”
“And you would be?” She wasn’t in the mood to deal with this man.
“My name is Patrick Breen, and I live next door with my family.
“How nice for you,” she replied, unconvincingly. “Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but if you don’t mind, I’m a busy lady.” She tried to shut the door, but he stuck his foot inside, preventing her from closing it fully.
“Not so fast. This isn't exactly a social visit. I have things I wish to talk over with you.”
Juliet glared back at him. “Well move your foot and get on with it. Like I stated, I’m busy.”
“All this business with your house is disturbing the other residents on the lane and I’ve come to put an offer to you.”
“Do enlighten me,” she answered, yawning.
“Am I keeping you awake, Miss Oswell?” Patrick asked, seemingly furious at her attitude.
“No,” she snapped. “But you’re boring me, now say what you’ve come to say, then get off my property.”
Stammering to get his words out. “Well, I-I never.”
“Get on with it, Breen.”
“My neighbours and I would like to purchase the property and knock it down.”
“Really? Why would you ever think I’d agree to that?” She laughed in his face.
“We’re tired of the constant press invasion and ghost hunters traipsing past our properties all times of the day, and night. All these random disappearances, it’s very unsettling.”
Juliet pulled the door open fully and laughed. “I assume this is some sort of joke?”
“No, Madam, I can assure you I am deadly serious. Now, how much? I can have a cheque drawn up and delivered to you personally, by close of business today. And if moving out is a concern, we’ll allow you a few weeks before the bulldozers come in.”
“I wouldn’t sell this house to you, or any of the other idiots that live along this lane. Is that plain enough for you, Mr Breen?”
“We’ll make it worth your while.”
“No amount of money would make me consider selling this house. Now I suggest you get off my property before you disappear too.”
“Are you threatening me?” Patrick’s face reddened, and his eyes bulged.
“Just a friendly warning. Good day to you.” She slammed the door in his face.
Juliet charged up the stairs and screamed.
She would deal with Patrick Breen later.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Juliet was hard at work in the secret room, reading the family Grimoire.
The dead body on the table gave off a tantalizing aroma, making her feel hungry.
She reached for a jar on the top shelf next to her and sniffed at it, wondering what delights it held.
Opening it carefully, the pungent smell hit her nostrils.
She sank her fingers into the murky fluid then licked hungrily at them.
It wasn’t enough to satisfy her cravings, so she pushed her fingers back in. There was something in there she wanted, but she didn’t know what surprise awaited her. Gripping it between her fingers, she pulled it out and stared, captivated by the dismembered penis.
Juliet smiled, wishing she’d experienced the joy of cutting this from the victim herself. Samantha had been busy. She bit into the chewy piece of flesh, savoring the texture and flavor. Lifting the jar, she tipped the blood into her mouth and greedily gulped some of the contents.
She felt hot and began to sway. Her eyes rolled back. She could feel the tingling down below as she began to cream in her red silk panties. It was always the same when she consumed human flesh–pleasure took over entirely and manifested itself in an immediate orgasm.
She chewed what was left in her mouth and dropped what was left of the penis back into the bloody jar and returned it to the shelf, thinking she would preserve the rest for another day. The blood had splashed onto the floor, but she paid no mind to it and carried on reading through the Grimoire.
Juliet closed the book and brushed her finger over the front cover. Sections of Sandra’s skin had been cut away and stretched over the book. Flanks had been looted from her body and dried before Juliet had carefully stitched the parts in place.
She’d used the strongest of magics to bind Sandra’s spirit, before capturing her soul, stopping her from moving into the light. A spell using Sandra’s blood ha
d strengthened the magic. Shortly, she wouldn’t be capable of resisting Juliet’s commands.
Juliet could hear Adam moaning as he crept slowly up the steps. He walked like a marionette without strings, his head pitched to one side and his mouth grotesquely misshapen. She knew the scent of blood had called him, and he stumbled about sniffing the air until he dropped to his knees and found what he was searching for.
He wanted to taste the blood, but without a tongue, he couldn’t manage it.
Crouching down, she gently stroked his face. “I’ll help you my beautiful boy.” Standing up to retrieve the bloody jar from the ledge, she opened it and looked down at his gaping mouth.
Tipping the jar slightly, she was proud as he caught the blood in his mouth. He was hungry. The glugging noises pleased her as she knew the boy was hungry. Taking the jar away, he moaned, wanting more.
She had just the right person to satisfy his hunger.
“I need you to help me, Adam.” She poured more of the blood into his mouth, until the jar was almost empty. The half-eaten penis was visible in the jar and she considered letting him eat it, but it was too delicious, so she decided to save that for herself.
He groaned loudly. She knew he would do anything for her– he couldn’t resist.
“A friendly neighbour paid me a visit today, concerned about the stories being written about our family home. He believes the best way to stop these stories is for me to pack up and allow them to pull this beautiful house down. Now, we can’t have anyone thinking like that, can we?”
Adam groaned again.
“You know what to do.” She tickled underneath his chin and followed as he lumbered out of the way. “Be back before the sun rises,” she warned.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Come in and make yourself at home, Jason. I’ll get you a drink.”
Hilary walked into the kitchen. Jason followed close behind.
She opened the fridge and pulled a can of cola and offered it to him.
He accepted the drink and snapped it open. “What happened to your arm?”
“We can talk about that later, but first, I need to ask you. What do you know about the lane?”
“More than I want to know, if I was honest.”
“Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it and I feel bad asking, but I think you’re the only person that can help me now.”
“I want to know where my brother is. I haven’t come here to help you with anything. I just want my brother home safe, that’s all.”
“You asked what happened to my arm.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Adam did this to my arm.”
“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he protested. “He wouldn’t harm a fly.”
“Jason, you have to believe me. I don’t know what happened to him, but he did this to me.” She lifted her arm up. “He crawled out of that well and attacked me. Sandra couldn’t stop him.”
“Sandra’s been missing for months. It’s been all over the papers. I’m not stupid, you know.”
“I’m not suggesting you are, but you were there when your brother was killed. I’m sorry to bring it up, but I need to know what actually happened.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He stood up. “I’m off.” He headed toward the door, but Hilary stood in front of him.
“Adam’s dead, and so is Sandra.”
“I don’t believe you. If what you’re saying is true, why haven’t you called the police?”
“I did, and they went and looked again, but didn’t find anything. You know something isn’t right about that place. Why won’t you admit it?”
“Because I don’t want to say it out loud.”
“What don’t you want to say?” She looked at him and could see how broken he was.
“That I know Adam is dead.” He dropped to his knees and sobbed like a child. She knelt beside him, pulling him close. “Let it all out.” She tried to soothe him as best she could.
He pulled away from her, the anger spilling out of him. “It’s all my fault.”
“What is?” She was curious.
“My brothers are dead because of me. If I hadn’t acted like the big man and taken them to the lane, they’d be alive, and my mum wouldn’t be at home drinking and smoking herself to death.”
“You can’t blame yourself for any of it. You didn’t know.”
“I heard the rumours about that house and should have known better.”
“I went there too, remember. Sandra asked me to go with her and I did. I was terrified but still went. We all do stupid things, Jason.”
“All I want is for us all to be together again.” His voice cracked.
“I can’t give you what you want, but we can do the right thing. Adam and Sandra need our help. There’s nobody else.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Patrick and Amanda Breen had finished dinner and were ensconced in front of the TV, enjoying the latest instalment of The Apprentice.
Four hours after, he had ranted about his meeting with Juliet Oswell.
Now, after a few glasses of wine, he felt more relaxed.
“I really should get up and do those dishes,” Amanda said, although she made no effort to move.
“We’ll do them in the morning. I’ve nothing better to do now you forced me into early retirement.” Being with his wife night and day was beginning to annoy him.
“Forced you into it. Don’t make me laugh. You couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“Perhaps, but I imagined my retirement to consist of daily rounds of golf, not driving you to every garden centre within a twenty-mile radius.”
“I’ll drive myself if you’re going to moan about it.”
“What?” He sat up in the chair. “And cost me more money buying shite we don’t need. The way house prices are falling round here, we’ll end up penniless if I don’t keep my eye on your spending.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically.
Patrick knew he was being unreasonable, but he’d been on edge for days now. The constant torment by the media was taking its toll on all the residents of the lane.
He was still seething with that missing reporter. She’d promised him there would be no more harassment if he passed on the details of that website. If anything, the press intrusion was worse than ever, and to make matters worse, that damn woman from number six had the nerve to slam the door in his face.
“I’m going to do the dishes, then I’m heading to bed.” She kissed her grumpy husband on the forehead and walked into the kitchen.
Amanda strolled into the luxury fitted kitchen with the black granite work surfaces and frowned. It was her pride and joy, when it was clean and tidy.
She hated washing up, but the dishwasher was playing up and needed to be serviced.
The noise from the dog flap distracted her.
“Patrick, we need to get this dog flap soundproofed, or get rid of the damned dog.”
“It’d be cheaper to get rid of you,” Patrick replied.
She turned and glowered as the dog flap swayed backwards and forward, making an annoying clicking sound. The dog must have heard one of the cats in the garden and rushed out.
The dinner dishes were on the draining board. She rinsed any remaining food from them before filling the sink with piping hot water and adding detergent. She’d make herself a cup of coffee while they soaked and have a flick through her new diet book.
Amanda heard the dog flap again and craned her neck to get a better view. It was swinging back and forth, but there was no sign of Monty, the dog. He had free run of the garden and was in and out all day long.
Patrick poked his head around the door. “I’m going to have a quick shower, then I’ll come down and give you a hand in here.”
“Okay, love, take your time,” she said, not even raising her head from the page she was reading. “I was just gonna finish this chapter anyway.”
He muttered under his breath, but after thirty years of marriage, she
was used to him.
Still, the dishes wouldn’t wash themselves and reluctantly, she put the book down and walked over to the sink.
The water was too hot to put her hands in.
She picked up a cloth and set to wiping the table and work surfaces. All the unused utensils were returned to their rightful place, in the drawer adjacent to the Aga. She finished wiping down and the dog flap distracted her again.
“That dog needs to make up its mind if it’s in or out.”
Amanda continued to wipe the counter tops. Busy and itching to get back to her diet book, a moaning sound startled her. She jumped. “Is that you, Pat?”
The noise sounded like it was coming from the hallway.
Following the sound, she called out to her husband again, but he didn’t answer. She wasn’t surprised as she could hear him murdering the song, Sex Bomb, in the shower.
Shaking her head, she imagined him singing into the loofah sponge. Forgetting about the unusual noise, she walked back into the kitchen and carried on with cleaning the surfaces.
There it was again. That same noise. It sounded closer than it had before. Far too close.
“Hello, is anybody there?” she called out nervously. “Holly, is that you?” She hoped her daughter had snuck into the house and was playing her usual game of hide and seek. “It’s not funny now love.” Amanda walked to the closet under the stairs, nervously confident her daughter would jump out and laugh her head off. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. “I’ll strangle you if you’re hiding in there.” She pulled the closet door open, feeling stupid, staring into an empty space.
Positive it was Holly playing tricks, she headed back into the kitchen once again. The water in the sink had cooled somewhat, so she would do the dishes herself. If she waited for Patrick, they’d never get done. The dishes would dry overnight on the rack.
She heard the moaning again.
Now, she was getting annoyed. She’d swing for Holly when she eventually stopped messing around.
