Rottenhouse

by Ian Dyer

  Not wanting too but unable to stop them from doing so he opened his eyes and what he saw horrified him so much that his body, the body that was on the waking side of this dream, heaved and flexed violently enough to stir Bob Rowling from his own sleep.

  Above him was a woman. He knew this because her legs were either side of his head and she was crouched down over him close enough so that he could smell her womanhood. And from that womanhood, that cut and torn piece of tender flesh, there poured forth a dark red gore. That gore from her cuts both outside and inside of her vagina and which rained down onto his face and into his still open mouth made him gag, it tasted of old batteries, petrol fumes and something eggy too. He shut his open mouth and inhaled a scream so deep that it caused his body on the other side to choke.

  He then saw that the woman was strapped into that position; squatting over him like she were pissing in a forest, by a series of cords and pulleys and those cords and pulleys were sown into her skin so roughly that it made him want to cry. Adorning most of her beaten body a name was etched into her skin and blood seeped from each of the cuts. That name was Billie and she wasn’t dead as she hung there as from deep within her Simon could hear the soft moan he had heard when he was at the petrol station.

  Simon rolled over to the side, or he was rolled over to the side, he couldn’t tell. Across from him was Mr Rowling. He was naked. His flabby bare arse wobbled as did his beer belly.

  They wobbled because he was once again thrusting. But it wasn’t thin air his erect penis was penetrating, for in his hand Bob held the Bream Simon had caught in the pretty lake and on Bobs face was a smile as wide as the crescent moon hanging in the night sky. But as he went on that smile turned into a grimace, a grimace Simon didn’t want to look at.

  With each push forward the fish squelched.

  With each push forward Bob moaned with pleasure unbound.

  With each push forward Billie moaned with pain.

  With each moan of pleasure and of pain Simon heard he retched and screamed and cried and wanted it to be over though he knew it would never be over until he did something about it.

  ‘They leak. They bleed. They don’t stop once they started.’ Lucy said. And she was there now. Next to her Dad. And she was holding the fish for him and she was smiling. The fish however, from the continual pummelling, was deteriorating, its pink meat was all battered to bits and chunks of it fell to the floor and melted into the concrete greyness.

  Simon closed his eyes. But they didn’t close. He tried to move but he couldn’t move.

  ‘Wake up.’ Someone said.

  ‘I can’t.’ Simon replied through gritted teeth.

  ‘Wake up.’ Someone said.

  ‘I’m trying.’ Simon whimpered as he felt a hand upon his bare bum cheek and something hot and fleshy touched his vulnerable anus.

  ‘Wake up.’ Someone said. And that someone was Bob. Bob from the other side.

  And finally Simon left that place.

  12

  ‘Come on, Simon…wakey, wakey.’ A distant voice from behind Simons tightly closed eyes said. He wasn’t dreaming anymore, he was back in the real world and not in that grey dead zone.

  He knew it was Bob’s voice that was trying to wake him, there was no mistaking his dulcet tones, but Simon was struggling to open his eyes. He could feel the sun beating down on him; it made his skin prickle and Simon could see the bright yellow disk as a fuzzy blur on the dark side of his eye lids which made him more want to keep them shut. Simon was afraid of what he might see when he opened them. Clothed pigs? Signs made out of bits of human? Faceless men? Bob having his way with a fish? Billie? He didn’t want to see any of that ever again. His body still felt numb, like it had done in the dream, only now he was clothed and his bare arse wasn’t about to be penetrated by that fleshy stick thing. It had all been a dream. A horrid dream, but just another freaky series of images that he could pile up and call them the Rottenhouse Dreams like it was some ghastly exhibition of his finest work.

  ‘Times awasting, son. Grab yer gear and let’s get back to it.’

  Simon grunted, licked his lips and finally opened his eyes. He was blinded for a moment, the suns bright white light causing his eyes to water and sting. Rubbing at them and coughing up a wad of phlegm he asked, ‘How long was I out?’

  ‘Bout 15 minutes. Dropped off meself too, but yer snoring and fussing woke me up. Good thing too.’ And then peering deeper at Simon he whispered, ‘you alright, lad? Look a bit peaky.’

  Finally the haze went and Simon could see Bob standing a few feet away; his waders partly covered in water.

  ‘Just a dream. That’s all. Been having some doozies since I’ve been here.’ Simon glanced down to his body, saw that he was still dressed in the plastic waders and then felt his face in case it was still wet with the gore that had been dripping from Billie’s hole. He was dry, a little sweaty, but not wet with blood.

  ‘There was something real about that one, though.’ Simon said absentmindedly.

  Bob had just turned to walk into the lake when he stopped and looked at Simon. Was there concern in his eyes? It was hard to tell. The sun was getting lower and Bob was standing right in front of it bathing him in a shadow ringed with pearls of pure white light. Simon had to squint to see him and when it became too much for his fresh waking eyes he looked away, over to where his rod was standing by the makeshift table made from old wooden pallets.

  ‘What yamean, real, Simon?’

  ‘I don’t know. There was something about what I saw…… it’s like having Déjà vu but in reverse if that makes any sense. Probably doesn’t.’

  Bob shook his head and Simon thought about what he had seen. A name. He had seen a name, and it was on the tip of his tongue. Simon knew he had never heard that name before so why was it written on that brutal looking sign?

  Bob headed off to his spot in the lake. Though when Simon spoke up he stopped once again but this time he didn’t turn, just stood there, the water rippling from his green waders.

  ‘O’Hagan… does that name mean anything to you? O’Hagan?’

  Bobs silence was enough of an answer and Simon got to his feet; stretching his back out as he did.

  ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Simon took a step forward. A tentative step and the soft ground beneath his feet squelched like a damp fart. ‘It’s them isn’t it? That family that live up in the Rotten House. They’re the O’Hagan’s. They were in my dream. Three brothers. Big guys all of em too. I saw the house as well and it’s all beat to shit. But there’s more than three of them up there. I didn’t see the girl, nor the mother or father. But I know they are there. You told me about them but you didn’t mention names or how many or what they looked like. It was all a dream, but I’m right though, aint I, Bob?’

  Simon didn’t need Bob’s acceptance of his assumptions, he knew he was right. Like he knew he was right when he first saw Lucy, his Princess in a red dress, and knew she was the one that he was one day going to marry. He wasn’t a confident man, lived his life through a lucky turn of events and mostly through the will of another – his Princess in a red dress, but he was confident now. It must have been what he had been through in the last couple of days that made him so and Simon could feel that Rottenhouse, that Bob, that Lucy who was sometimes Barbara, that the Working Man’s Club, that the beatings, that the murders and the nightmares, were making him a stronger man. A better man.

  Bob simply nodded and although Simon could only see the back of his head he could tell by the way in which he slouched, how his head was tilted slightly forward and his hands were loose by his side that Bob knew what Simon was getting at. Knew he was having dreams and seeing things and was starting to understand this place and unearth its secrets. He knew that Simon was now at a cross roads in his life. A cross roads that either kept him on this path, toward a future that consisted of Bob and Lucy and a happy family or one that was without Bob, possibly then without Lucy, and one that was empty and full of long nights holdin
g a bottle of bourbon in one hand and soggy semen stained tissue in the other.

  Simon took back the step he had made and unknowingly crushed a worm under his boot. If he believed in the Butterfly Effect then he could have linked that crushed worm to what followed in the next 24 hours. But he didn’t believe in the Butterfly Effect. He only believed in three things really and the last two were new ones. The first thing he believed in was that he loved Lucy and would do anything for her - anything. The second was that he wanted, with all his heart, for Lucy and her father to be a family again and to mend whatever was broken between them. The third, and this was the new one, was that this place was affecting him. Turning him somehow. He didn’t not like it, nor did he welcome it with open arms. He went with the flow, remember? Always went with the flow. And right now that flow was taking him down an uncharted river where monsters sometimes lived beneath the waves. He found that he could put up with the beatings and the killings and the missing girl that he didn’t know was missing but had an inkling that she was tied up somewhere bleeding from places he didn’t want to think about. The nightmares weren’t all that bad and they would go once he was away from this place. Even Bob, good old Bob Rowling was becoming tolerable, a friend even for what it’s worth. A strange friend. One you both wanted to be around and then didn’t want to be around at the same time. Bob was a good man. Blinkered, yes, but men with high morals who have lived a very straight laced and hard life generally were blinkered. Especially if those beliefs were never questioned or corrected by those around you and with the hierarchy of this place such as it was it seemed to Simon as though that never happened. You were punished for it if you question what was told to you so best keep your mouth shut.

  Over the last couple of days Simon could have turned around and gone home. He remembered he had thought just that last night, but here he was; still here and he would stay here until Lucy and her father had mended their relationship and then they would go home, to their little piece of heaven and plan out their wedding and send out invitations, one of which would be sent to Mr Bob Rowling and he would attend the wedding, escorting his daughter down the aisle proud to be her father and proud of the man she had chosen to be her husband, and then they would go on their honeymoon, to some hot country and live the rest of their lives together.

  Simon nodded in agreement with himself. Watched as old man Rowling cast off into the crystal clear waters and stood there like an ancient gunslinger waiting for the next gunfight. Simons head itched, so he scratched at it, his hands feeling wet and greasy. Grabbing his rod which was baited and ready to go, he waded out into the lake joining Mr Rowling and this he believed was his way of saying that he was here, here to stay, no matter what, and that he would be a friend and wouldn’t fuss and moan about what goes on here. He would go with the flow because that was the sort of man he was.

  The sun moved across the endless blue sky but was not obscured by anymore clouds. There were no more gunshots, no more screams or barks or squeals from pigs or dogs or people. Even the trees were silent, holding their breath just so that the two men could fish in serenity. Only birdsong and crickets playing their mad banjos floated on the soft warm breeze. And so they fished until the bait was gone and their catch net was full.

  13

  As the sun started to drift behind the valley wall the two men packed up their fishing gear and headed along the path. Simon carried the two rods and the two fishing boxes whilst Bob took care of the catch net and the fish that it held. The path wasn’t as pretty as it had been now that the sun was on its way down. Its colour, which had been lush and vibrant, was washing away to the colour of whale bone. The big trees, which on the way in had been welcoming, now loomed over Simon and Bob as they trundled along. Simon felt the urge to walk with his head hunched over, his eyes rolled to the top of their sockets scanning the path ahead in a watery haze.

  With their backs to the low sun their shadows stretched out in front of them like mad spirits. It didn’t take long for them to pass the wooden signpost; Simon made a great effort to not look down there for fear of what he might see. Near the car park Simon’s shoulders, back, legs and arms throbbed with a burning pain. He’d never been to the gym but believed what he was feeling now must what it be like to feel after a good session on the free weights.

  He was just about to try and read what time it is on his wrist watch when a strange smell drifted past him, a mixture of sweat, oil and wet dog. He sniffed it a couple of times and out front he could see Bob doing the same; looking left and right as he did.

  ‘Odd stink,’ Simon said, the words catching in his throat as the smell intensified, ‘What the hell is it.’

  ‘Nowt good.’ Bob said.

  And he was right.

  They left the forest and walked into the darkening car park, the smell growing and growing until it was all Simon could smell. It was sticking to him like a wet mist.

  Stood by the car were three men. They all turned as one when the sound of the pebbles crunching under Simon and Bob’s footfalls reached their ears.

  They were the same men from Simons dream and they towered over the car.

  14

  They wore the same dungarees and the same shirts and the same caps and had same big hands and the same big feet covered in even bigger boots. Simon could see their faces and when he did he kind of wished that they were still covered in the black smoke that had smothered them in his dream, for not only were they brothers, identical brothers, they each looked as mean as a hungry dog and scarred much like they had been fighting like one too.

  Bob stopped and as Simon reached his side so he put his hand on Simon shoulder; the water in the catch net leaked over the edge and ran down Bob’s waders.

  ‘Stay here, son. Put stuff on floor and mind yer manners. Don’t say a word unless I say it’s okay. Okay?’

  But before Simon could answer, Bob had walked off leaving the catch net wobbling precariously on the ground. He did as he was told, placing the rods and the fishing boxes onto the ground. He even took a few steps back and found himself under the shadow of the trees. And there he stood, hands by his side, straight back but with eyes that darted from left to right and up and down trying to gather in as much light as possible.

  The three big brothers shared a glance and then moved so that they were stood in front of the car, blocking the passenger side. Simon couldn’t be sure but the brother in the middle, the one who wore the blue shirt and wore a Gulf Oil baseball cap looked as if he were in charge. Simon didn’t know how he knew this, maybe it was how he stood straighter than the other two or that he was ever so slightly taller, wider, stronger, like he had had the lion’s share of the meat that had been on offer.

  The car park was bathed in orange fire and deep black shadows were scratched upon its surface from the great trees that surrounded it. Simon was stood under the trees at the far edge waiting for Bob to say something to the three men that were seemingly holding his car ransom. But he didn’t. Not until he was right next to them did he begin to talk but at this distance Simon couldn’t hear what they were saying. Bob looked like a child next to them, but he didn’t seem to notice how small he was, how easily those three men could crush him like a bug. Instead he stood there no differently to how he stood next to Simon, he wasn’t intimidated by them, even when all their eyes were upon him he remained still.

  Twice the big men looked at Simon and his heart thrashed wildly. The third time it was just the bigger brother that looked his way. There was nothing in the stare, Simon couldn’t really see the big brothers eyes, but knew that behind that blank stare was a mad man, a killer, a hunter, a destroyer of dreams and a bringer of misery. When he looked back to Bob, Simon was sure that there was a wry grin on his big face.

  A few more words were uttered between Bob and the big brother and then the big brother looked at brother 1 and brother 2, they seemed to share another glance, perhaps some kind of telepathy that twins tell tales of, and then they headed off away from the car and int
o the forest.

  Bob wiped his forehead, seemed to gather himself and then pulled a set of keys from out of his pocket. Without looking back he waved at Simon to come like a good dog. Simon picked up the catch net first, the 7 fish they had caught lifeless in the water.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Simon asked when he reached the back of the car and placed the fish into the cool box that Bob had gotten ready.

  Bob looked over the car and toward where the three brothers had exited the car park.

  ‘Aye lad,’ he said with a sigh, ‘Nowt to really worry about.’

  ‘Then what was it about? They were the O’Hagan’s, right?’

  ‘Yup. Go fetch restagear whilst I start up car wouldya.’

  Simon went back, gathered the rods and the tackle boxes, placed them into the boot of the car. He then quickly took off his waders, glancing at the trees in the distance just in case he was being spied upon, put them in the boot next to Bobs and closed the boot lid taking care not to slam it. Simon wafted away the oily petrol fumes that drifted from the exhaust like storm clouds and got into the back seat grateful to be out of the hot waders and for his balls to be free.

  There was a tension in the car as they journeyed back to Bob’s house. The air felt hot with it. They didn’t talk and from the back seat Simon couldn’t make out what was going on with Bob. Occasionally the old man would look in his rear view mirror but his eyes gave nothing away.

  Unable to let it go and just before reaching the turning that led to the house, Simon asked, ‘So, you going to tell me what that was about or are you just going to leave me guessing?’

  Not taking his eyes off the road Bob said, ‘Just curious is all, Simon. Nowt to worry about. They tend to think that the lake is theirs, seeing as it is so close to their house and all. But they know I have the ear of the Chairman and so they don’t tend to ask for a fee for using it.’