Category: Horror Type: Fiction
Copyright: Oct 27, 2012
DI Kenneth Naylor is on the hunt for a child killer, but can't find a way of getting close to the strange murderer.
His daughter is being haunted by something outside her window, something both fascinating and terrifying.
These three people are at different corners of a devastating mystery that threatens to destroy them all.
A horror novel set in a small town west of Glasgow.
Excerpt
David Stevenson felt no uncanny dread that morning. Nor did he have a sense of dark prescience that anything strange was going to enter his life. He had no inkling of any kind of the approach of drastic change.
On any normal morning he had trouble enough dealing with the world, and anything going outside the normal, veering into the strange, or even uncanny, was sure to shut him down. Early mornings were a nightmare at the best of times for him, as it seemed that however much sleep he got the night before, he still felt like an insomniac. He would quite happily have turned around and trudged back up the stairs and dropped into bed and curled the covers around him, without taking off his shoes or his shirt or his tie.
As it was he wandered, listless and yawning, into the bright kitchen. The light from overhead seemed too bright as it reflected off the wall paper and even off the varnished wood surfaces of the floor, the table and the cupboards. He squinted in the harsh glare, knowing that it was nowhere near as bad as it seemed. And playing along with his own game of over-dramatised let’s pretend, he was ready to grumble in complaint, when soft singing and the sound of pouring water stopped him.
Melanie, her back to him, was standing behind the counter that partially cut off the back third of the kitchen from the rest of the large room. She was wearing a long, silky black dressing gown. Her body was shown in pleasant relief by the way she had cinched the red belt around her waist. It showed off the subtle flare of her hips as they swayed in time with the tune that she was singing as she poured out coffee.
Seeing her made him forget his early morning gripes and brought a small, sad smile to his face. It was strange to see her so happy like this, seeming so carefree. It felt like an age since she was so buoyant. He wished he still had the ability to make her feel so joyful with any regularity, but his ability to do so was stunted like so much else.
He walked over to her, knowing she could hear his shoes click on the hard floor. She kept on doing what she was doing without turning to him or even saying anything. A few months ago he would have found that endearing, that she had enough confidence to wait until he was near before acknowledging his presence. Now it made his stomach churn and threatened to bring him to tears because he had no confidence that he would always get that close to her, to wrap his arms around her and hold her. And kiss her.
This morning he would push himself to do it, forget everything else that was going on and go to her, bring himself into that intimate proximity when he could feel the warmth of her body and to touch her smooth, soft skin was nothing more than a thought away. He stopped about six inches away, feeling wretched, then reached up and stroked her long dark brown hair. She said nothing but he could feel her press into his touch. He knew she was enjoying even this slight contact.
She turned and smiled at him. It was warm and lit up her face as it always had, yet only made him feel more awful. He managed to hide his discomfiture and smile back at her, in the hope that she wouldn’t notice the hesitance, the fraction of a second pause in a gesture that should have been easy and natural. He searched her eyes for any such sign. All he saw was the glittering optimism and the hint of sadness.
He found himself kissing her, an awkward task, as she was a bit taller than he was he had to stretch both up and out to reach her cheek. As he did it he kept thinking that he was about to fall over, when once he would have thought about how her skin felt against his. As quickly as the gesture had begun it was over.
Melanie kept looking at him. Her smile had become a frown. He thought she was displeased with him and he put his hand on her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“Did you hear anything funny last night?” She said.
He had slept through the whole night, and her question made him nervous, “No, why? Did you hear somebody?”
“Nothing like that. I’m sure I could hear Franco wandering around, he didn’t sound very happy. He kept making funny wee noises.”
Franco was their cat, a grey tom that Melanie had insisted on getting three years ago. David didn’t mind having a pet, as it made the large house seem more lived-in somehow. It could be infuriating, though, as Melanie treated him like a child – sometimes too much – so that he acted more as a kitten than a full-grown cat. Recently David was more forgiving of this behaviour; it still could be a bit annoying as she cooed and fussed over the creature.
Most mornings Franco would be in the kitchen, rubbing against Melanie’s legs, trying to persuade her into giving him titbits of whatever they were having. It was a fifty-fifty gamble.
David looked around when he realised Franco hadn’t been doing that when he came in.
“Oh he’s around. I don’t know what he’s up to though,” said Melanie, with a hint of concern in her voice. “I’m not surprised you never heard anything the way you sleep.”
She said this last thing as she wandered to the dining table. David turned around, angry, ready with a defensive retort. The reply died on his lips when he saw Melanie looking over her shoulder with an impish smile on her face. He smiled back, glad of, and pleasantly surprised at, her levity.
A mug of coffee was sitting ready for him on the work surface close to the sink and he sipped it while he made a light breakfast.
He stared up at the dark sky. Clouds pressed low over the roofs of the other houses in the neighbourhood, an unwelcome reminder that it was first thing in the morning in the early part of winter. Looking out made him feel cold, even in the warm kitchen, as he saw treetops swayed by a strong breeze. Rain, he was sure, was not far off.
Once he had finished he went and sat down across from Melanie at the table, she was still smiling.
“What are you so happy about?” he asked with mock anger.
“Nothing in particular. Why? Am I bothering you?” she said.
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact. I think there should be a law against people being so bloody cheery in the morning.”
“A law, eh? If you broke it, would that involve jail time?”
“No. Offenders would get a smack in the arse.”
“Who says that’s a punishment?”
“Any normal person.”
“Are you saying I’m not normal?”
“I don’t know, but I do think it’s unnatural for anyone to be so chipper in the morning.”
“Chipper! What a wonderful word.”
“Any more comments like that and I might have to take the law into my own hands.”
“Promises, promises.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Ah, well it’s easy to be happy at such an ungodly hour in the morning when you don’t need to start work until twelve and you can go back to bed after your partner’s gone to work.”
“You’re a sick woman.”
“I wasn’t the one who suggested a smack in the arse as a punishment for being too happy in the mornings.”
“Aye, but it’d be nothing kinky. Just straight-forward punishment.”
“That’s a shame I was going to suggest using a handful of liquorice shoelaces.”
David almost sprayed his coffee all over the table at that. It took a monumental effort as it was to keep the mouthful from escaping.
He swallowed and said, “You are a pervert, Melanie Stevenson.”
“You love it.”
“I might be tempted to stay home and show you how much I love it.”
“I’d love to accept, but we do have a mortgage to pay off and you’re doing overtime this week, so you can’t afford to have days off.”
“So you’re forcing me to go to work?”
“Absolutely. I want you to have the money to keep me in the manner to which I’m accustomed.”
“I suppose. Holidays in Portugal aren’t going to pay for themselves are they?”
They had gone away in September for a week and loved it. The climate was perfect and the people they met were pleasant and easy-going. Even the hotel and the food were wonderful. He would like to go again next year.
At the mention of the holiday, though, Melanie’s expression changed. She was still smiling, but it had become wistful and painfully sad. She looked at him for an agonising moment and he knew what she was thinking and he felt terrible for mentioning the holiday, even though it had been a pleasant experience.
She burst into tears. Her face was contorted into a mask of agony. Her smile had become inverted. Her eyes vanished as tears clouded them.
David moved around the table and embraced her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and felt the sobs wrack her. Even though she was in such pain the contact between them was wonderful. He kissed the top of her head and whispered what he hoped were reassurances to her. When she gripped onto him, he felt the desperation in her grasp, as she clawed for support, for solace. It seemed that she was grasping for a solution that he was unable to give.
The change in her mood rocked him, stunned him. He felt it was his fault. Knew it was his fault for touching on the one thing that threatened to tear them apart – from each other and inside. He pulled her closer, feeling the warm tears soak through his white shirt.
At last she pulled herself away from him, then looked over his shoulder and frowned, “It’s quarter to seven,” she said through sniffs.
For a second he didn’t know what she was talking about, and then looked at his watch, “Shit! Look, I can stay with you, if you want.”
“No, no,” she said wiping her eyes and her nose with the back of her hand, “I’ll be fine. You get to work.”
David hesitated. Melanie pushed him and waved her arms to hurry him out the kitchen door. Before he went he leaned over and kissed her again, this time it lingered and Melanie had to push him away again.
“I love you,” he said as he left the room.
“Love you too.”
He didn’t feel right about leaving her like this, but she was right, he did have to get to work and fast, otherwise he would lose money. It made it no easier for him to leave her, though, knowing that he had caused her to be brought down so hard from the mood she had been in. He had been doing that a lot lately, and he seemed to be unable to stop.
He had to. He had to deal with the problem and get it cleared up or else it would overwhelm them both. Every time the subject was broached, however, by him or her, he would feel that he was being interrogated, probed. He felt that something was being violated and that made him clam up, withdraw from her and even become angry. It seemed to be an automatic thing. He would have to stop this strange reaction somehow; otherwise this marriage would fall apart right in front of them both.
He was so consumed by his thoughts, and the light in the hall was so low that he almost didn’t notice Franco sitting before the front door. The small animal was no more than a shadow there, just staring at the door.
David got his jacket from the coat rack and checked that he had his ID card for work and his car keys, all the while watching the cat, bemused.
Franco got up and started pacing. It wasn’t the usual easy lope that cats adopt, but an agitated pace, as though he were impatient or nervous. He used the whole space of the hall in front of the door, his quick steps never hurried, yet they were imbued with manic energy. His gaze was intent, David could see as his eyes adjusted to the light in the hall.
It was fascinating. The longer David watched, however, the more he became unnerved. Remembering what Melanie had said earlier about hearing the cat moving about during the night, making strange noises, David found the cat’s behaviour less comical and more frightening. Which was stupid, after all it was only a cat.
A couple of months ago the cat had taken a dislike to the washing machine. Melanie had told him and he had observed the behaviour for himself. She would fill the machine and as she shut the door, Franco would appear, back arched and fur bristling. When she turned the washing machine on the cat would let out a long hiss and lunge at the clear door. The thump he made suggested the impact was quite hard, although he would pick himself up and, shaking his head, pad off out of the room like nothing had happened. This behaviour had carried on for about two weeks, until, for whatever cat reason he had, he gave up.
This seemed different. This wasn’t some random and fleeting mania. There was a purpose to Franco’s behaviour. And David knew it was sinister.
Franco stopped pacing and sat in front of the door, the way he had been when David came from the kitchen. He was still staring intently at a point on, or beyond, the door.
He turned and faced David. It was so uncat-like that David took a step away from Franco. The cat’s eyes caught the light from the kitchen and gleamed green. David could almost believe that the cat was trying to communicate something to him. The directness of the stare seemed to have intelligence and import. David was hard-pressed to discount this as simple animalistic eccentricity. A dim part of his mind told him he should.
The cat broke off the eye contact and returned his gaze to the door, or whatever was behind it. He was building up to something. How David knew this he was unsure, perhaps something in the animal’s body language or something more innate.
Franco shifted his weight on his front paws, one to the other. He lifted one paw cautiously towards the door. Again this was another thing David had never seen a cat do and was so human as to give David a jolt of fear. A fear that the cat was emanating as he moved his paw towards the door. He was shivering, his fur bristling as his paw inched toward the door.
The paw touched the door, and as though given an electric shock, Franco gave a low roar and leapt back from the door. He curled up, ready to spring, but in which direction David could only guess at. Franco’s tail, twice the width it normally was, twitched nervously on the floor.
Franco remained there, motionless, until David could wait no longer. He looked at his watch and saw that he had stood there for almost five minutes. He stepped past the cat to open the door. As soon as he swung the door open Franco let out a yowl as though his tail had been trodden on, spun on the spot for a second, before bounding up the steps and disappearing on the upper floor of the house. David jumped and cried out in alarm in response.
David stared in the direction the cat had gone, frowning, and his heart hammering. He kept looking up the stairs even as he began to step out of the house.
He stopped short when, as he moved his foot to go down the step, he bumped something. He froze, unsure of what he had hit with his foot. He turned, looked down at what was sitting on the front step and gasped.
The fortunate inherit riches, prestige, positive notoriety. Those not so lucky bear legacies filled with poverty, infamy or, worse yet, the unhinged insanity and murderous urges of their ancestors.
In the end they'll all be dancin'--all them ones that didn't die.... Dance with me in the shadows amidst the lightning and the thunder, and all that nu-cu-lar debris. See the big bang from the other side, and then open that cellar door. Go down into
