by Ingrid Fry
Boo barked hysterically in response.
The cat rose to its feet, arched its back and expanded to three times its size. It launched itself at Boo like a scud missile, and smashed into the shatterproof glass door. The glass cracked under the impact of its skull. The cat retreated a few steps and then threw itself against the glass again, and again. Blood and fur stained the glass and it began to give way under the frenzied assault.
‘Come on, Boo, out! We need to evacuate the office.’ Boo didn’t want to go; she wanted to face off with the cat, but she wouldn’t have a face left, if that thing got to her. I dragged Boo from the room and shut the door. If the cat got in, it couldn’t break through a wooden door, surely?
A cacophony of screeching, hissing and shrieking came from outside. We dashed around to another window to see a maelstrom of black and white birds flying around the cat. Feathers and fur flew as a flock of magpies attacked the cat, dive bombing it, pecking it relentlessly, until the cat gave in and raced away, thumping up and over the fence.
The deck was littered with feathers, fur and blood.
The cat was so vicious, it had to be feral. The cracked glass of the shatterproof door filled me with horror. If it came back, Boo wouldn’t stand a chance.
[4]
Chapter 5: Too Clean
‘All go to one place. All are from the dust, and to dust all return.’ — Ecclesiastes 3:20
Jason’s face appeared in front of me as I lifted my head from the laptop. He bit his lip and looked at me from under his eyebrows.
‘What?’
‘It’s been two weeks and we still don’t know what happened. I can’t shake the uneasy feeling.’
‘Me too. It’s always at the back of my mind. But what can we do?’
Jason did a double take as he noticed the glass door. ‘Jesus, what the hell happened?’
‘Cat.’
‘Cat?’
I filled him in about the black cat incident.
‘There’s a huge black cat at the end of the street—maybe it’s that one,’ he said. ‘But I fail to see how any cat could smash shatterproof glass.’
‘Well, it did, and it was terrifying.’
‘I’ll organise to have the glass fixed, and in the meantime we need to keep an eye on Boo in case the bloody thing comes back. By the way, Maggie, are you turning into a clean freak?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The house is immaculate. How often do you vacuum?’
‘I haven’t—been too busy. I was going to ask you the same thing.’
‘Same deal, too busy. So, who the hell has been breaking in and cleaning our house?’ He ran his hand over various surfaces and held it in front of my face. ‘See? Not a speck of dust anywhere.’
I shivered as a sense of dread overcame me. Why on earth I felt that way about a dust free house, I had no idea. However, having a sense of dread was not unusual for me. In fact, it was probably a pretty normal state, given my sensitive psychic disposition. But due to a lack of dust?
‘We should call the police,’ Jason said.
‘And report what? An exceptionally clean house?’
We laughed.
‘I’ve an idea,’ I said. ‘Come with me to the bedroom.’
He checked his watch. ‘Really? Now? It’s three o’clock in the afternoon. You’re insatiable.’
‘Not that, silly.’ I took him by the hand and led him out of my office, along the hall and to the bedroom.
He gripped me around the waist. ‘We could you know.’
‘No, we have other pressing matters. We need to get a blanket from the bed box and give it a good shake.’
He gave me a quizzical look. ‘Hokay, then.’ Jason handed me an old wool blanket. ‘Here, shake this out.’ He paused. ‘Why are we doing this?’
‘To make dust. We don't have any, and I think we need some.’
He stared at me like I’d gone mad.
‘You grab one end, and I'll grab the other,’ I said. ‘We’ll shake it over there where the sun’s coming in through the window.’
We shook the blanket vigorously. Then we shook it some more. Not one single solitary particle floated in the air. No lint, hair, fluff, or dust.
‘Impossible,’ Jason said.
‘Hmmm, we have no dust. What do we do?’
He folded the blanket and threw in on the couch. ‘I still think we should go to the police. No, wait. We’ll notify one of the universities.’
‘To do and say what?’
‘We have a dustless house and they need to come and investigate. You know, set up scientific experiments, cameras and stuff.’
‘You get right on to that then.’
‘I will.’
‘Look, why don't we just enjoy the clean house for the time being,’ I said. ‘We can conduct and film our own experiments—then people won’t think we’re whacko.’ I could sense Jason’s mind ticking over.
‘We’ll go with your plan then,’ he said, ‘and I’ll make us coffee to celebrate our self-cleaning house.’
By the time Jason plonked a coffee in front of me, my sense of dread had vanished and I was chuffed with the idea of a self-cleaning house.
Floorboards shone, glass tops sparkled, ornaments held not a smidgeon of dust, no hair in the bath, spotless cupboards, immaculate bookshelves. I marvelled at our pristine environment. This wasn’t something to be worried about. I was being silly. Having no dust was a good thing, wasn’t it?
[5]
Chapter 6: House of Shadows
The morning light shone on Jason’s naked torso highlighting his muscular physique. He stood next to our bed and stared down at me.
‘The house is looking cleaner than ever. Way too clean, I reckon. It’s almost sterile,’ he said, zipping up his jeans.
He looked so handsome that I wanted to rip his pants off and drag him back to bed. I arose, wrapped my arms around him, and ran my hands over his body. ‘The camera didn’t reveal anything untoward other than some weird static,’ I said, closing my eyes as Jason kissed my neck. ‘What bothers me more than the lack of dust is the shadows in the house. They’re black. Shadows are generally grey, dark grey, all sorts of shades of grey. Seldom pure black. It’s creeping me out—’
Jason kissed away my words. He was good at doing that, and I liked it.
‘You need to pull up the blinds, Mags,’ he said, laughing. ‘As much as I’d like to stay, I’ve got to go. I’ll take Boo out before my first plumbing job, if you like.’ He grabbed my bum and hoisted me up for another kiss.
‘No worries. See you later chip potato,’ I said, trying to remember what it was I was concerned about.
Once he’d left and I entered the lounge, I remembered. The shadows. There was an inky black one blanketed around the hall cabinet.
The venetian blind rattled as I tilted the slats to let in more light. No difference. Yanking the string, I pulled the blind right up to the top. The shadow stayed put. It moved, very slightly—in and out, in and out, like breathing. I rubbed my eyes.
Racing from window to window I opened all the blinds, glad Jason wasn’t around to lecture me about pulling them up too fast and ruining the cords. My efforts proved fruitless. Black, ominous shadows clutched limpet like to walls and furniture. Perhaps it was the angle of the sun.
The floorboards hurt my knees as I knelt on all fours staring at the shadow under the cabinet. A patch of yellow flared in the gloom—Boo’s tennis ball! That was where it was. She’d be happy to have it back.
The gap under the cabinet was barely arm width in height, so extracting her lost treasure would be awkward. Lying flat on my face alongside the cabinet, I twisted my shoulder forward, and inserted my arm into a world of excruciating pain.
What the hell?
Pain shot down from the tips of my fingers to my shoulder joint.
I pulled back. The pain intensified to fifty out of ten. My brain initiated immediate shut down.
It was a dream … a nightmare … A psych
otic butcher was feeding my arm into a mincer and the humerus crunched like a branch in a chipper chopper. Knives slashed. Needles stabbed.
A high-pitched screaming wrenched me from the dream. My ear drums vibrated with the cacophony, adding to the pain.
It was me.
My shrieking continued, wavering in intensity, tone and pitch. I wished I’d shut up.
‘HELP!’ One word. One word only.
The only word I could summon. The pain owned me, controlled every action, and erased every thought.
Bands of steel tightened their grip on my chest and my heart strained against the pressure. Heart muscles prepared to explode.
Unbearable agony. A new, distinctive torture—branding irons, red hot, molten, sinking into my bones.
The stench of roasting flesh. Vision fading.
Oblivion …
A ceiling light. Eye to eye with it.
That was my body down there.
Pain gone. Freedom. Death?
I must have been.
Dead.
A lamp glowed softly, illuminating the wood of the cabinet my body was spread-eagled next to. Wine bottles on the wrought iron rack glinted rich reds and soft pinks. My wingback chair sat next to a rug on the oak floorboards. A mirror reflected a reading lamp, candles flickered in the stone hearth. Lush plants in fine china pots, walls adorned with books and art. A photo of Mum, Dad, Jason, Boo and me.
How strange it was to see my body on the floor below me.
Slam! Back into my body.
The taste of iron. The stink of old pennies. Blood. My blood.
No! No more. Flip out of the physical shell. Come on. You could do it, Maggie. Flip out.
A red mist filled the air, rendering the room a blur of ghostly shapes. Blood vapourising. How much had I left? Dizzy, weak. Not much.
Red volcanic eyes stared out from the blackness as my face drew closer to the gap. The eyes fixed onto mine and crinkled with laughter.
I knew you. From somewhere. How did I know you?
Pain burned in my bicep.
I couldn’t have much arm left. I had to break free. Rip the rest of my arm off if I must. It was my last chance. I could do this. I could do this. I could do this.
My shoulder joint made a sound like a pistol shot as I jerked away as hard as I could. The thing pulled back, harder. The edge of the cabinet sliced into my body as it increased the pressure. It wanted more of me.
You couldn’t have more, motherfucker. I would fight you till my last breath.
Using my legs, I pushed away from the cabinet.
Smash! It snapped me back.
Oomph! The breath left my lungs as I kissed wood.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The thing ratcheted up the speed. The cabinet rocked. Dad’s crystal wine glasses tinkled, then smashed. What if it tipped over? I’d be screwed.
The pace was frenetic. It pounded out a rhythm and I was the drum.
I’m going to get you! Bang!
Get you! Crash!
Get. Crash. You. Smash!
Twenty rounds with a cabinet, and the crowd roared. Was that me?
The side of my cheek stretched out towards the gap. A sound like Velcro ripping as the skin and muscle on my face pulled away.
Sharp as chlorine, a whiff of clean air tingled in my nose. Ozone? A thunderstorm? My nostril dissolved. A sense of it being there, and then, not being there—cool air on raw tissue.
Blackness descended, and I welcomed it with open arms.
Dear Nellie-No-Nose sat on a chair outside the lifts of the aged care centre. Cancer had eaten her nose, and in its place was a plastic one.
Poor Nellie couldn’t get her plastic nose to sit right. It was either too high, too low, or way off to one side. Sometimes, she’d forget to put her nose on at all. Today was one of those days.
Nellie smiled at me, and the gaping red hole in the middle of her face expanded, so I could see right into her sinuses.
Would I be able to get my plastic nose to sit right?
‘Jason … Jason … Jason.’
The ceaseless murmuration of his name whispered mantra like on my breath as senses returned. A heavy weight crushed my chest, making each inhalation a challenge. My eyelids were glued shut by congealed blood. I forced them apart and blinked. The weight was Jason. His head lay heavily between my breasts, his face a mask of death. The stench of vomit filled my nostrils.
The pain ebbed and flowed, consciousness came and went. Blood congealed around me and a fresh trickle flowed into it from somewhere. Hope drained away with the blood from my body.
That was it. Life was over. Eaten by a hallway cabinet. They’d find our remains, and no one would be able to work out what happened. Maybe the thing under the cabinet would get them too.
The dog door squeaked and clattered. Boo flew into the room holding a muddy ball in her mouth. It matched the rest of her; she was coated in mud from the pond outside. She wanted to play.
Damn all the mud she’d brought into the house. I’m dying, Boo. Delirious. Go away. Can’t play. Never. Ever.
Boo flicked the ball with her nose and it rolled across the floor leaving behind a trail of mud. Everything was in slow motion. Mud particles blew off the ball in a halo of dust.
Dust! I hadn’t seen dust for ages.
The ball rolled into my hand and transformed into an incandescent crystal sphere. It was icy hot against my skin. Déjà vu.
Jason groaned, raised himself to his knees, and swayed unsteadily above me. Oh, thank God. He was alive.
We must’ve appeared equally horrified as we surveyed the carnage of each other. Involuntary sobs escaped my lips as I took in the damage to his body.
Jason’s right arm was missing. His chest cavity was open, exposing layers of skin, bone and muscle, along with a moosh of bloody innards. Bits and pieces of flesh decorated the remains of his jumper. A fine mist of blood had painted his face red, and the whites of his eyes stood out eerily in the half light.
Judging by his expression, I must’ve looked worse.
‘Ich you vomit again, pleesh get bucket,’ I whispered, finding speech difficult with half my face missing. The cold air hurt my teeth. Sensodyne toothpaste would be number one on my shopping list.
‘Where’s the bucket?’ he croaked.
‘Itch on top of the laundry cupboard’.
My body was a bloody, ruined mess, but the blood flow from my wounds had ceased, and the pain had gone. Given our inane conversation about the laundry bucket, Jason must’ve felt better too.
‘This is weird,’ he said.
‘Sure is,’ a voice agreed.
Jason and I started. There was no one else around. Only Boo.
‘Don’t worry!’ a voice in our heads said. ‘Quick, hold Jason’s hand. The crystal’s reaching critical mass.’
I normally questioned everything. So did Jason. This time, we didn’t.
We automatically put our right shoulders forward before realising we had no arms, and definitely, no hands to hold.
Take two.
We reached out with our left arms.
The crystal blazed in my hand, and it was so damn bright I wished for sunglasses. Light flamed out, irradiating the house so not a single shadow survived. Not a one.
‘I’ll have to drop the ball if we’re going to hold hands,’ I muttered. I opened my hand, but the ball stayed put. The thing was superglued to my flesh.
‘Bloody hell!’ I’d been half consumed by a hall cabinet, and now I had a glowing snow cone melded to my only good hand.
‘Take her hand!’ the voice commanded.
Holding my hand, and the crystal, Jason looked into my eyes. He had such beautiful eyes, and I was immensely grateful he still had two of them. For a moment—if I ignored the missing body parts—I was in a Mills & Boon novel, lost in the depths of those gorgeous blue eyes.
I still had two eyes, but they were set in a half-chewed face. I was envious of Nellie-No-Nose. Who’d have ever thought?
>
Sadly, this wouldn’t be a Mills & Boon moment for Jason. More like an extract from a Stephen King novel.
‘I love you,’ he whispered, as we disintegrated into an inferno of incandescent light.
[6]
Chapter 7: Resurrection
‘Your dead shall live; their bodies shall rise. You who dwell in the dust, awake and sing for joy! For your dew is a dew of light, and the earth will give birth to the dead.’ — Isaiah 26:19
I floated in a world of light, soft, yet so powerful. I breathed light. I was light.
A golden radiance permeated everything within and without. It was— bliss.
My broken body was a shadow, a faint watercolour outline over which lay a structure of pulsing light. I stretched out my missing arm—it was a see through grid of radiant energy. Atoms and molecules shimmered in a breathtaking aurora borealis, weaving structure from a loom of light.
Who was I?
I couldn’t think.
Thought was—so far away—the sound of a raindrop on the far side of the universe.
I was gone.
I was—Everything. Everywhere. Everyone.
* * * * *
Awakening, I found myself sitting on the lawn in the back garden, unsure of how long I’d been there. Ants crawled over my legs and a dragonfly rested on my knee, its wings phosphorescent rainbows in the sun. I hated ants. Well, I used to. Now, they felt part of me. Everything was a part of me.
The world was bathed in a golden radiance. I couldn’t fathom right or wrong. Everything simply was. All I felt was Love.
Unlimited. Unconditional. Glorious.
I had everything. I had nothing.
I was everyone. I was no one.
I was everything. I was nothing.
I sat there in wonder.
Jason was in the garden too, sitting on an old wooden bench. He watched Boo, who was on her back in the grass, legs spread-eagled, long ears flopping back as she gazed at the clouds.