Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

  He shot forward and heaved up the meagre contents of his near-empty stomach, coating the discarded chips on the floor in a hot broth of undigested coffee and biscuits he’d eaten earlier. Three minutes later, he wiped his mouth and started the long, lonely journey up the path to his house. It no longer felt like home.

  2

  Andrew sank down onto the bench in his porch and took some deep breaths–each one was painful. He kicked off his trainers and just sat there a while. He’d already hung up his coat and was ready to go inside, but for some reason he just couldn’t. Once he sat down, it was impossible to get back up. Something held him in place, as though his very presence inside the house would infect his family with something terrible.

  Maybe he was just too ashamed to face them?

  But I can’t stay here all night.

  No one had come out during the attack, and that could only mean Pen and Bex hadn’t witnessed what’d happened. It was a major relief, but still didn’t change the fact that Andrew had just been assaulted.

  What the hell should he do? Call the police?

  His mind was a muddle. He couldn’t think straight. In a lot of ways, he’d not yet fully accepted reality to the point of resolution. The answers were still murky and unclear. For now, he decided to will himself back to his feet and go back inside the house. He wouldn’t find any answers alone inside the porch.

  He stepped into the hallway where Pen was coming down the stairs. She wore her fluffy, pink dressing gown and was rubbing at her hair with a towel. Obviously she’d decided to fit in a quick shower while he’d gone to get the chips.

  Damn it! The chips… What would he say?

  “Hi, hun,” Pen said, smiling. “You okay?”

  Andrew nodded. “Fine.”

  “Where’s the food?”

  “It’s… well it’s…”

  Penelope stepped up to him and placed a hand against his cheek. “Andrew, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he answered quickly. “Bloody chip shop had a problem with their fryers and had to close early. Wasted journey.”

  “That’s okay,” she said soothingly, probably knowing something was up with him. “We’ll just order Chinese.”

  “Sounds good.” Andrew felt like breaking down in her arms and sobbing, but he didn’t.

  “Honey, has something happened?”

  Andrew shook his head and pushed her away. “I’ve just got a stomach-ache coming on. Think I’ll have a bath and go to bed. You and Bex eat without me, okay?”

  Pen frowned at him. “You said you’d watch a film with her.”

  Andrew started up the stairs. “Sorry for getting ill. I’ll try not to be so fucking inconsiderate next time.”

  There was no reply behind him, and Andrew knew it was because his wife was shocked. Swearing was not his style at all.

  He closed his eyes and chided himself. I shouldn’t take things out on her. She’s just concerned about me.

  Hell, I’m concerned about me.

  He reached the top of the stairs and turned left towards the bathroom, where he opened the door and stepped inside, pulling the plastic dolphin on the light-cord. The bulb flickered on and hurt his eyes with its harsh glare reflecting off the white wall-tiles. Somehow the pain in his retinas seemed to reactivate the pain in his abdomen, and he doubled over. He dropped down to his knees and leant over the bathtub, reaching across and turning on both taps at once. He listened to the soothing gush of fresh water for a few seconds, then slipped the plug into the drain and let the tub fill up.

  When it was halfway full, Andrew stood up and peeled off his shirt. He caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror fixed to the back of the bathroom door and hissed. A deep, grey blemish of a developing bruise bloomed beneath the ribs on his right side. Gently, he ran a finger over the injury and pressed down slightly. The action was immediately met with a sharp, stabbing pain that radiated through his entire torso. His stomach fluttered with approaching nausea and forced him to lean over the sink and take deep breaths. It took several minutes before his insides calmed down again.

  Hands shaking, he unfastened his jeans and let them fall around his ankles, his underwear too. Then he stepped out of the clothes and pulled off his socks using his toes, unable to bend down and pull them off by hand. Once he was completely naked, he stepped over into the bath and gingerly lowered himself down. The warm water sent fresh stabs of pain through his ribs, but after a few seconds the agony subsided and was even alleviated slightly as the therapeutic heat massaged his body. He slid back and placed his head down on the spongy bath pillow that Pen had bought needlessly on one of her extravagant shopping trips. He was grateful for it now, though, and the softness against the back of his skull made him feel sleepy.

  He would have to make up with Pen before he went to bed–apologise to her. Never going to bed on an argument was a wisdom he’d always abided by. Whether or not he shared the reasons why he had snapped in the first place was something he had not yet decided.

  Didn’t want to worry her.

  But didn’t want to keep things from her either.

  Andrew used the toes on his left foot to turn off the hot water tap followed by the cold. He slid lower into the water, letting his chin touch the surface. If he could have, he would have gone completely under, accepting the warm, inviting embrace of the water like a protective womb, but he settled for dunking his head under briefly and soaking his hair. Wet, brown strands plastered his forehead when he came back up, and he wiped them away with his hand. Relaxation approached at last, the tension flowing away into the bath water. Soon Andrew would be able to think things through rationally–to decide whether or not he would call the police, tell his wife, or just keep the whole thing to himself. With a calmer mind, he could at least console himself that things would work out one-way or another. He was a middle-classed citizen of the UK, not some impoverished Russian on the mean streets of Moscow. There was order and civility in England. Wretched little monsters like Frankie were punished for their crimes.

  A knock at the bathroom’s door.

  “Andrew?” It was Pen.

  Andrew sighed, wishing that the water would swallow him whole. He still wasn’t ready to speak to his wife. But what choice did he have?

  “Andrew, I ordered you some food as well. Just in case you change your mind. I’m worried about you. Is your stomach-ache really bad?”

  “Yeah,” Andrew replied. “But I’ll try to eat something anyway. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

  There was a brief pause, but then an answer. “That’s okay. We all get grouchy when we’re not very well.”

  Andrew suddenly felt teary. His wife’s compassion was such a contrast to the animosity of earlier events that it sent his brain into an emotional tailspin, but he fought back the tears and made himself smile. “I love you, Pen.”

  “I love you too, hun. I’ll see you downstairs, okay? That film is about to start and Rebecca wants you to watch it with her.”

  “Okay. Be right down.”

  Andrew leant forward in the bath and winced against the stiffness and pain that bloomed in his ribs. He yanked the chain attached to the plug and listened to the gurgle as the drain began its suction. Then he lay back down and waited for the water to drain away around him, enjoying the sensual tickle of the water level dropping against his skin. When the tub was finally empty, he remained there for several more minutes, not wanting to move or face the chill of the air outside his ceramic cocoon.

  When he did finally find the willpower to get out of the bath, Andrew quickly grabbed a towel from the warming rail and wrapped it tight around himself. There was a hidden breeze in the room that nipped at his shoulder blades in places the towel did not cover. He fought back a shiver and began to dry himself, taking care not to be too rough around his sore ribs. Not wanting to add needlessly to the washing pile, he gathered his clothes off the bathroom floor and decided to put them back on again. The jeans were comfortable and would be fine for sitt
ing and watching a film. Perhaps he would get into pyjamas later, after dinner.

  The plush carpet of the landing outside the bathroom felt good beneath his feet as he padded back towards the stairs and started down them. As he neared the bottom, he could hear the loud blaring of the television from the living room. For some reason, his daughter was unable to enjoy anything that didn’t carry the risk of hearing damage.

  Andrew reached the downstairs hallway and was just about to enter the living room…

  A knock at the door.

  The Chinese is here. Andrew changed direction and headed for the porch instead. He stepped inside and tried to make out the figure behind the glass door, but it was too dark outside, so he opened the door.

  There was no one there.

  Andrew stared out into the darkness, straining his eyes for shapes in the shadows. All of the light was behind him, making the darkness in front of him deep and unending. He leant forward and focused his eye, but still he could see no one. He started to think for a moment that he’d just imagined the knock at the door.

  “Alright, mate?”

  Andrew jumped back as a figure appeared from behind the sidewall of the porch on the left and entered the bleeding patch of light from the hallway.

  It was Frankie.

  Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Chill out,” Frankie replied, face twitching and scarred mouth grinning. “No need to shit your pants. I came to apologise, innit.”

  Andrew’s eyes narrowed further. “What?”

  Frankie moved forward and placed a foot onto the step of the front door. Andrew moved forward to meet him.

  “I said, I’ve come to apologise,” Frankie lifted the brow of his red beanie hat in a way that was almost gentlemanly, “about tonight’s earlier… misunderstanding.”

  Andrew laughed. “You mean when you assaulted me for no good reason?”

  Frankie laughed back. “Yeah, I guess you could put it like that. No reason we can’t be friends though. You and me, we can be bros.”

  “We’ll never be friends,” said Andrew, “and I already have a brother, so get the hell off my property and clear off.”

  Frankie’s smile left his face and his twitch seemed to get worse for a moment. “Careful, mate. I don’t appreciate being told what to do, you get me?”

  Andrew shook his head. “Look, what do you want? I’ve done nothing to you.”

  “I know,” Frankie agreed. “Which is why I’m going to allow you to make peace.”

  “Make peace? I didn’t do anything to breach the peace.”

  Frankie sighed. “You going to fuckin’ listen to me, mate, or am I going to have to drop you again?”

  “How dare you threaten me in my own home.”

  “Fuck your home. This whole neighbourhood is mine. You want to be left alone; you do what I tell you. Give me your trainers.”

  Andrew was taken aback. “Sorry?”

  “Give me them sweet-ass Nikes and you’ll be left alone.”

  “Go away, you monster.”

  Frankie grabbed Andrew around the throat and sneered. Andrew struggled back and managed to escape the grip, but his heart was now racing.

  “Do you want to die?” Frankie asked coldly.

  Andrew shook his head in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

  “I’ll cut you up and snort your remains if I feel like it. Question is: are you going to behave and do as you’re told, or do I have to show you your own blood?”

  Andrew went to reply but was interrupted.

  “Who’s at the door, Andrew?” It was Pen shouting from the living room.

  Frankie smirked, tried to move inside the porch.

  “N-No one,” said Andrew, forcing Frankie back. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  “I thought maybe it was the Chinese.”

  “No, I’ll… I’ll let you know when it’s here.”

  Frankie was still smirking. “Going to have a nice dinner with the missus? You go off the idea of chips then?” He pushed forward again, half-inside the doorway now. “Maybe I should join you? Say, don’t you have a fine ass daughter I’ve seen around here?”

  Andrew pushed the youth back out of the door. “You leave my family the fuck alone.”

  Frankie said nothing, just continued smirking, and not leaving.

  “What do you want?”

  “I already told you.”

  Andrew swallowed a lump in his throat, tried to maintain eye contact with Frankie, but failed. He sighed, picked up the Nike trainers from the shoe rack, and threw them out of the door. “Here! Now leave me alone, you vulture.”

  Frankie sniggered. “You think I’m going to pick ‘em up off the floor? Go get ‘em and hand ‘em to me properly.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Frankie glared.

  Andrew threw his hands up in the air. “Fine! It would be my goddamn pleasure.” He stepped outside and gathered up the shoes from the pavement. Then he returned to Frankie and thrust the trainers into the teenager’s arms. “Now leave me alone.”

  “Deal’s a deal, mate. Have a nice life.” He walked away just as another figure came up the path, holding up a brown paper bag.

  “Chinese delivery, sir?”

  Andrew took the bag from the deliveryman and tried to smile, but found it impossible, so he just paid for the food and gave a good tip. The last thing he felt right now was hungry. In fact, he felt downright sick.

  3

  Getting to sleep was a long and lonely struggle. Pen had started her gentle snoring as soon as her head hit the pillow, but Andrew lay next to her for what seemed like hours, staring up at the ceiling, his head swirling with unwanted thoughts.

  The movie Bex had made him watch was disturbing, full of monsters and giant insects feasting off the flesh of the living. The ending had been bleak and depressing, but Bex seemed to enjoy it, grinning between mouthfuls of noodles and chicken.

  The film wasn’t what was keeping Andrew awake though. Frankie haunted his mind like a relentless boogieman. Every time sleep came, the boy’s scarred and twitching face would jar Andrew back awake. It was now 4:00AM.

  Three hours till work.

  Andrew’s job as an Ad Exec wasn’t physically taxing, but it did require a great deal of concentration and focus. The project he was working on at the moment for a Soda company was especially important–the rebranding of a nationally recognised product. The stress of last night’s events was a concern he could do without right now.

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. If there was any chance of him getting an iota of sleep, he would need to clear his mind. He needed to forget that he’d let an adolescent bully him and take his trainers. It was done, and he should forget it, but the humiliation weighed down on him so heavily that it felt as if his skull may split open on the pillow and spill out his cowardice.

  4:40AM.

  The minutes flew by and Andrew’s mind flittered between numb consciousness and troubled sleep. His waking thoughts were so vivid that they merged with his dreams to the point that he had no idea whether he was asleep or awake.

  5:01AM

  Noise.

  From downstairs.

  Andrew’s eyes snapped open. He was pretty sure the noises had been real, that he had been awake to hear them and not imagining things in his sleep. It had sounded like a door opening.

  5:13AM.

  Another sound.

  Somehow Andrew had snoozed another ten minutes, the beckoning embrace of sleep managing to override his grasp on reality, but now he was awake fully.

  Footsteps.

  Someone was inside the house.

  There was another sound, closer, but he quickly realised that it was Pen snoring. The noises downstairs, however, were less explainable.

  Someone was inside the house. Or was it Bex?

  Andrew summoned the courage to get out of bed. Chinese food worked its way up his gullet. His legs wobbled as he set them down on the soft carpet. The
sounds downstairs had stopped now, but he was sure that there had been a break in. Bex would not be wandering around at this time in the morning. His mouth filled with saliva and he had to swallow several times as he exited the bedroom into the unlit landing. Bex’s door was open as usual, and he looked inside. His daughter was asleep, snoring softly in the identical way that her mother did, tucked up beneath her plush duvet. It wasn’t her making the noises.

  Andrew reached the end of the hallway and looked down the stairs, cocking his head to listen for more sounds. He could detect nothing and a slither of hope suggested he’d imagined it all; that the scary movie–and his altercation with Frankie–had spooked his anxious mind.

  He pressed the switch at the bottom of the stairs and blinked as the light filled his adjusting eyes. The downstairs hallway was clear, untouched. The photos on the wall were still in place and his grandmother’s bureau was undisturbed. So far so good.

  He moved over to the living room door and paused outside of it. This was the room with the television, Blu Ray player, and other things worth stealing. If anything was missing, it would likely be from this room.

  And if anybody was still inside, they were most likely inside in this room.

  Andrew took a deep breath and pushed open the door, clutching the handle tightly as he turned it. A smell hit him as he entered the darkness–a bitter, salty odour, along with something else that was more acrid.

  Vinegar?

  Andrew reached along the wall and found the light switch, familiar enough with his own home to find it in the dark. His finger lingered over the switch for a moment as his stomach performed somersaults. As much as he needed to see the state of his living room, he also wanted to delay things for as long as possible. Once the lights were on, he would be forced to deal with the situation. Right now, he was safe in the dark and oblivious.