The Butcher's Daughter

by Jane E James

  Unlike the others, who sit next to visitors who vaguely resemble themselves, and who do not attempt to disguise how bored they are, I am not expecting anyone. Who would visit me? Dr Moses told me that I have a good many friends and loved ones in Little Downey but so far, I have not seen any evidence of that.

  I cannot stop thinking about my dream, with the two men digging up a corpse in the graveyard. Could it have been real? A memory from before? Have I previously witnessed something like that, which traumatised me so much as a child that I have since blocked it out of my mind? With a start, I realise that there is a good reason why the tall ginger one in my dream felt familiar. He is the same lad I saw at the slaughterhouse. I am sure of it. Now that I come to think of it, he reminds me of an orderly who works here; who sometimes brings me my medication. They could be related for all I know. If so, that probably means he is from Little Downey too. Although I do not know what any of this means yet, I decide that it wouldn’t be wise to ask the orderly about this, in case he is a spy, sent by Dr Moses to find out what strange tricks my mind is playing on me.

  If only I could remember everything, not just bits, including the things they don’t want me to. My mind might be hazy from prescribed medication but the one thing I am certain of is that something sinister is going on in Little Downey; something to do with the cliff-top suicides. Whatever I hear to the contrary, I keep coming back to the same conclusion, however insane that sounds.

  Every time I close my eyes, I see flashbacks of gruesome scenes that back up my theory. Dismembered body parts, including a severed arm floating out to sea, a bloodied finger on a butcher’s block and a dog with a broken neck. And the sounds. Oh God, the sounds. The metallic scratching of blades coming together, of bones being broken. Blood dripping.

  Drip. Splat. Drip.

  My mind is not a pleasant place to be.

  Then I see him—

  He carries a bunch of flowers that look as if they have been plucked out of somebody’s front garden and wears trendy ripped jeans and a collarless shirt, breaking Thornhaugh’s stuffy dress code. I find myself staring at him, not because of this, but due to the fact he has different-coloured eyes. They are mesmerising.

  When he spots me tucked away in the corner and heads in my direction, I immediately panic. What can he want of me? His stride is too confident for my liking, and judging by the expression on his face, I rather think he expects something of me. He has the look of a man who feels he does not need any introduction, that he would be impossible to forget. I do not know what entitles him to this opinion, for he is a stranger here.

  Before I know it, he is standing in front of me, holding out the flowers and grinning. I stare blankly at him, confused and angry, yet find myself surprised by the latter emotion. He is nothing to me. Why should I feel angry?

  ‘Do I know you?’ I enquire rather formally.

  ‘Jed. Remember?’

  Some of the sparkle from his eyes is lost when I shake my head. One eye is blue, the other brown, I notice. Not wanting to give away how awkward I feel in his presence, I glance at the others, who gawp at us as if we were not of this world.

  ‘Are you from the village? Did my father send you?’ I keep my voice low, not wanting to be overheard.

  ‘Natalie! You don’t know me?’

  He sounds hurt but disguises it well by pretending to look around for a nurse to take the flowers from him, but as nobody approaches us, he places them down on the coffee table and pulls up one of the comfy armchairs. Once he is seated, I stare stupidly at the flesh oozing out of his ripped jeans. I don’t know where else to look. Eventually, I glance up and our eyes meet. Close up, his are even more hypnotic.

  ‘Are you my boyfriend?

  There I go again, with the plain speaking. Somebody once told me, I’ve forgotten who, that it isn’t an attractive habit for a woman to have, but that doesn’t stop me. I suppose there is no harm in hoping; after all he is a strikingly handsome man.

  Rather than laugh at my suggestion, he leans closer, his face just inches from mine, and smiles sadly. For one electrifying moment, I think he is about to take my hand in his, but he does not. I cannot help wondering what that would have felt like.

  ‘I was kind of hoping to be,’ he admits at last, making me feel hot and cold all at once.

  When that news has sunk in, I stir my tea again. He watches me so intently it makes me uneasy, not in an unpleasant way, anything but…

  ‘I fixed your bike. The one that got all chewed up. You remember?’

  ‘Vaguely,’ I lie, wondering where he is going with this.

  ‘I took it, stole it, from the house, the night they brought you here.’

  ‘You were there?’

  ‘I was around. This place gives me the creeps, Natalie.’ He shudders for impact. ‘They can call it a psychiatric hospital all they like but it feels more like a house of horror to me. Even I would go mad in a place like this.’

  ‘The bike was easy to fix but the same can’t be said of me. Is that what you are thinking?’

  He forces a smile, but his eyes remain cloudy with concern. ‘First the dog goes missing, then Merry…’ He pauses as if he has said too much.

  I watch him stretch out his long legs and wonder if he is playing with me, because not only have I never heard that name before, I cannot believe someone like him, who looks like a movie star, could be interested in someone like me. Deciding not to give too much away, in case he is teasing, I take a sip of my now-cold tea and feign disinterest.

  ‘Who?’ I ask casually, as if the identity of this person is of no importance to me.

  ‘My sister.’ He frowns as if he cannot believe what he is hearing. ‘The one with the baby,’ he adds dramatically, as if that should nail it.

  He’s right. Something in my memory stirs—a small pair of blue persistent eyes staring up at me; imprinting on me, as if they know me.

  ‘An unusual name,’ I say without thinking.

  ‘That’s right.’ Jed sits up straight in his chair. ‘Darkly,’ he says, filling in the gaps.

  The name is familiar, but I do not know why. Once again, I am filled with fear of the unknown. Sensing that something from my past is about to leap out at me, my fingers go unconsciously to the ugly necklace around my neck. I remember someone telling me that it was put there to protect me, but I can’t remember who. None of the staff has commented on it, which is strange, but that doesn’t stop them looking at it as if they would like to rip it off me. Because of this, I know it is a thing of interest, of power even.

  Suddenly, I see a flick of long black hair, wet and peppered with sand, green flashing eyes and perfect golden skin. A beautiful woman naked on the beach, laughing. A raised eyebrow and the words “We are not a family for secrets”. The memory lasts only for a second, but it is enough. Merry, who doesn’t know what it is like to be ashamed of her own body. Merry and some kind of exchange over the kitchen table. The bumblebee magnet for something else. What was it? Think Natalie. Think.

  ‘She has a lucky charm necklace, like mine.’ I gasp, finally making the connection.

  The House By The Sea

  Daniel

  Daniel struggles alone with the heavy trap door, while Jono hovers inside the doorway of the whitewashed building, as if too terrified to come inside. Daniel doesn’t blame him. For years, this house, that family, this building, and the creepy cliff edge have put the fear of God in him too. Even from here, the stench rising out of the underground cellar makes Daniel want to gag. He doesn’t know how Natalie’s mother can stand it, not that she has much choice. Doesn’t get the fascination with the dumb necklace either but even so he hasn’t let it out of his sight since they came across it in the cemetery. He’s convinced someone was spying on them, that they left it behind on purpose, to freak them out. Their plan certainly worked. If he’s right, the only way to make sure it doesn’t happen again is to go through with what he is about to do.

  Waving the necklace over the trap door, Dan
iel makes a clucking sound in the back of his throat. Anybody would think he was calling a pet dog, not…

  Jesus Christ. She is climbing out of the cellar. He can see glimpses of balding hair and a pair of black eyes that look as if they could turn you to dust. He feels himself shrivel up with fear as the “mad woman from the cellar” he’s heard so much about climbs further up the ladder. Soon she will be at the top. Soon she will be in the building with them.

  ‘Come and get it,’ Daniel calls playfully, trying to man-up to his fear. But even he backs away when she reaches the top rung of the ladder. He’s not sure if it’s the creaking of the ladder he can hear, or the sound of her bones cracking.

  ‘That’s it. Good girl. Come and get it.’ Daniel entices her with the necklace.

  As soon as the woman’s eyes land on it, he can tell straightaway that it means something to her. Her eyes never leave it.

  As her sickly elongated shadow creeps into the room, seeming to dwarf both him and Jono, Daniel takes a couple more steps back to avoid it passing over him. He’s superstitious about such things and with good reason. The death count in Little Downey is never discussed openly but every house in the village keeps a private tally. Some have died who didn’t deserve to, like his own sister, while others, like this mad bitch…

  He watches her take a few zombie-like steps towards him, but he has the sense to throw the necklace as far away from him as possible before she gets too close. Ignoring their presence, the mad woman moves at a speed he would never have guessed at. Falling to her knees, she pounces on the necklace and holds it close to her heart. Rocking on the spot, like the crazy people do in the movies, she hums some unknown tune to herself.

  Finally, Dan darts Jono the look he has been waiting for. “Let’s get out of here,” it says. Relieved beyond belief, Jono doesn’t argue.

  Thornhaugh

  Natalie

  ‘So, you are a family for secrets after all,’ I state, still recovering from shock after what Jed has told me. Part of me, a huge part actually, is furious with myself for being blind to what has been going on under my nose, but I am also overcome with a new emotion—a sense of belonging that I have never experienced before.

  ‘I have a sister,’ I say again, unable to digest such unexpected news. Yet strangely, I am elated. ‘A baby sister.’

  Jed has his head tilted to one side like a playful puppy and is smiling at me in an encouraging way. If his watery eyes are anything to go by, he is almost as happy as I am. I might not know him, as he seems to know me, but I do not doubt what he has told me is true. As ridiculous as it sounds, it even makes sense. Kind of.

  Then, as I realise the not-so-pleasant consequences of what this new addition to my family means, my smile fades away to be replaced with a deep frown.

  ‘But Merry and my father!’ I gasp, unable to keep the disgust from my voice.

  ‘It’s your father I wanted to talk to you about.’ Jed picks his words carefully.

  ‘What about him?’ I snap, angry with my father without knowing why.

  ‘I went up to the house looking for Merry. Knowing that you were…’ he pauses, ‘in here, I assumed she had gone to spend the night with Frank.’ He coughs uncomfortably and I wince at the thought, knowing how much my mother would have hated another woman spending the night in her house, her bed. Touching her things.

  My man. Mine.

  ‘But Frank said he hadn’t seen her.’

  ‘And?’ I prompt him.

  ‘He’s lying, Natalie. The baby was there. I heard her crying upstairs. Merry wouldn’t have left her there unless…’

  ‘Unless what?’ His words frighten me more than he can know.

  ‘She lost her necklace. I think she went back to look for it. She saw something in the cemetery that frightened her, but she refused to tell me what it was. Said she had to talk to Frank first. The only thing she was clear on was that without the necklace, we were all in grave danger.’

  The House By The Sea

  Vivian

  Vivian has been outside so long, watching and waiting, that the wildlife, silent at first, has resumed its night-time chorus. The flapping of wings, scuttling of vermin and rustling of rabbits in the overgrowth does not frighten her. Nothing can. Her eyes have acclimatised to the darkness and she can even pick out certain objects: the whitewashed building and the solid shape of Frank’s van in the open barn. The house remains invisible though, as if it has decided to keep its distance from her. It is Frank’s domain now.

  Shivering with cold, Vivian finds the end of her bloodstained dressing gown and ties it around her, no longer liking the feel of fresh air on her skin. The air has changed. The sky has become blacker. The moon is like a pool of bad blood dripping down on her head. Warily, she glances around. Her eyes darting this way and that; ever conscious of the fact that her freedom could be taken away from her at any moment. Because of this, she remains convinced that the rustling noises around her are closing in, circling her.

  But if they have come to find her, they will soon realise that they are too late. Gypsy scum are not to be tolerated round here. Everyone knows that. This time she will not be punished. As a wife and mother, not to mention a homeowner protecting her own patch of soil, she did what was expected of her. She had every right.

  Hands shaking, through rage rather than fear, she fingers the charm necklace around her ravaged neck as if it were an old friend. She does not believe in its power. The serrated edge of the bloodied knife in her other hand is another matter though. Ignoring the blood oozing from cuts on her own body that have been made with the same knife, Vivian sways on the swing that creaks when nobody is looking, her legs dangling in mid-air, like a schoolgirl’s.

  A rotting stench follows her everywhere. She has grown accustomed to it but not the darkness of her mind. Who am I? Where am I? Is this home? Her eyes blink. Not once but several times. She chuckles softly, a threatening sound that doesn’t travel far. Her movements are jerky and disjointed but always ready to pounce.

  Vivian has no idea that she is no longer beautiful. She hasn’t caught sight of her own reflection in years. But she doesn’t need a mirror to know that anyone seeing her eyes for the first time would instantly recognise that there is something familiar about them. Frank once told her that they looked as if they have been borrowed from a loved one and dropped thoughtlessly into the face of a monster. But what does he know? All men are fools. Thinking only with what is between their legs.

  ‘I’ve seen you touching my things. Wearing my things. Whore.’ The creature, who is Natalie and who isn’t Natalie, jabs the knife in the air and works herself into more of a state with every hate spewed word.

  ‘My things. My man.’

  The House By The Sea

  Frank

  Frank has no idea what woke him, but whatever it was, it also disturbed the baby. The cooing sound coming from the Moses basket prompts him to swing his tired legs out of bed. They ache more than they used to, blasted rheumatoid arthritis, but first he has to unravel them from the sheet wrapped tightly around his lower half. The blankets are all over the place, as if he had been having a fight with himself before falling asleep. His whole life is one big battle, he can’t help thinking. Can’t remember the last time he slept through the night. The baby makes up for this. She has got under his skin in a way he never expected. Not at his age. Yawning lazily, he stretches his arms above his head, and experiences a rare feeling of contentment when he sees the baby gurgling happily away to herself.

  She doesn’t look anything like him, thank God, but there is something about the eyes that are familiar. She has more of a look of Natalie about her than anyone else. Like Natalie, the baby is happiest on her own and often cries when he picks her up, so he doesn’t attempt it now. Nor does he wrap her in the blanket, knowing it won’t last two minutes before being thrown off again. He never says her name out loud if he can help it. He can’t imagine why anyone would choose such a name for a baby. Sounds too mystical and myster
ious for his liking. But his curiosity is piqued when her eyes swing back and forth from his face to the window, as if trying to tell him something.

  Rolling a shoulder to relieve his aches and pains, Frank moves towards the window. As a rule, he’s not one for superstitions or old wives’ tales, but the hairs on his arms are pricked. The room closes in around him, making him feel claustrophobic. He notices things he has never seen before, like the tall shadows marching like soldiers going to war over the walls and the flashes of silver seen through the sash window, as bats fly past. Their delicate wings flapping against their small bodies sound like the pages of a book being turned.

  “A feeling” is how some people would describe what he is experiencing. A feeling he doesn’t like because a chilling fear is creeping into his bones and making him sweat. The closer he gets to the window, the more convinced he is that something is wrong.

  Thornhaugh

  Natalie

  The murmur of muted voices dies away when Dr Moses walks into the residents’ lounge. His authority is felt immediately, resulting in bowed heads from patients who do not want to be singled out. They needn’t concern themselves, because Dr Moses only has eyes for me, but I notice that his eyes instantly darken when he spots Jed sitting next to me. In fact, his whole posture changes.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think Dr Moses recognised him from somewhere, but I know this to be impossible as Jed is a stranger here. When Dr Moses parades the room, stopping to talk to visitors, I think I must have been mistaken because nothing flusters Dr Moses. Even so, his eyes continue to dart back and forth to my mouth as if trying to lip-read what I am saying. I might as well be talking to myself at this point, because Jed is only interested in returning Dr Moses’ look with an equal amount of animosity.