Rottenhouse

by Ian Dyer

  6

  The moon was peeking over the roof of the house that was once called The Brew House and was now called The Rotten House. It was 9pm and the forest had come alive and on the bridge Simons ears were ringing with the roaring river below him. He was on the other side of the bridge, the good side; he thought, and ahead of him the body of Lud was still slumped over like a drunkard.

  He heard a scream from the house, from the room that he couldn’t see.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Simon said and with the lighter he had stolen from big brother he lit the trail of diesel. Simon picked up the torch that he had dropped, clicked it on and walked away and the forest he had walked through didn’t seem so scary now and bushes were just that and not haggard witches and fallen trees were just hulks of dead wood and not grinning monsters waiting to eat helpless passers-by.

  7

  By the time he had reached the car park the sky behind him was an orange glow that was more like he was used to back home. Only this orange glow wasn’t caused by city street lights. There were occasional explosions as the buckets of diesel went up or a gas bottle finally gave in. There were squeals from the pigs too, pigs that he had locked up tight into their pens and then drenched them and the ground beneath them in diesel.

  Simon was glad that he couldn’t hear the last moans and cries of the girl he hadn’t freed and he wished her a quick death, but knew that she probably hadn’t got one.

  He unlocked the car, got in and started the engine. The headlights were bright and they lit up the forest ahead enough that birds took flight and a deer that had been standing there ran for cover. He reached into his pockets, took out the 5 shotgun shells that were digging into his thighs and grabbed his phone which he hoped wasn’t damaged.

  Pressing the button the screen came to life and he was pleased to see that there wasn’t a scratch on it. There was, however, another missed call, and clicking to see who it was he dropped the phone onto the soft carpet and had to reach down before looking again to make sure he had truly seen what he thought he had read.

  The missed call was from Lucy, and he cursed her for not leaving a voicemail. Then the phone vibrated with another call.

  He answered it and the robotic girl on the other end gave him the options he knew so well. He pressed 1 for new messages, and waited…

  The voice on the other end was Lucy’s. She sounded calm; not panicky, or like she had been crying. There were no other voices behind hers, no sounds to isolate where she was even though Simon had a pretty good idea where that was.

  ‘Si, I’m waiting for you. I don’t know what they want from me and I’m not sure why I’m here. I’ve got to tell you that I’m not going anywhere until I see your face again. You have to understand I’m not just anyone. I’m the one you are going to love someday and I’m gonna wait her for you. Don’t fight it, you’ll be fighting destiny. You must know that? You must know that you are going to love me someday? It’s been written and we are the ones writing it. We are getting close and I’m not going to leave until you say my name. Not till you say you love me. Look into my eyes when you find me and say you love me and say my name.

  ‘I love you.

  ‘And you will love me.

  ‘One day.’

  The Working Man’s Club

  1

  Simon drove the car back to Rottenhouse. He kept a window open so that cool air swept through the car. It was hot tonight, or maybe he was hot, burning with rage and fear and it seemed to take an age to reach Rottenhouse but eventually Simon pulled into the car park in the centre of the village and parked the car outside the club.

  There were no other cars in the car park. There was no one milling around. A mist was rising and rolling in from the stream and Simon got out of the car and all around him was silent.

  There were many lights on in the club. They invited Simon in. He had no weapons, only the torch and the lighter which wouldn’t count for shit when it kicked off. Simon wished he could lie down and sleep, perhaps over there on the cool steps leading to the club. Maybe the mist would cover him and he would vanish for a little while and time would freeze; keeping his Lucy safe, but again Simon started to believe that whoever had taken Lucy didn’t mean to harm her. She was taken for other reasons.

  At 9-45 on that hot summer evening Simon walked up the stairs and opened the big door of the club. The light stung his eyes and for a moment he was blinded and then the blindness faded and he could see again. The lobby was empty and quiet and behind him the door slammed and echoed like booming thunder.

  Simon opened the door to his right, where he had heard men playing snooker on his first night here and wasn’t surprised to find the room deserted. He then walked over to the door to the bar and the door screeched when it opened but it didn’t matter because the bar was devoid of life and not a drink was being drunk or a crisp being crunched.

  ‘The lights are on but nobody’s home.’ Simon said.

  Then there were footsteps behind him. Soft ones made by bare feet. There was something wet about them too. Simon turned to see who they belonged to and let the door to the bar close and then he stepped behind the small desk as if to protect himself.

  A girl appeared from the stairs leading down to the basement. She was naked and her long dark hair was wet and clung to her head, neck and shoulders like paint, and as she turned the corner Simon couldn’t see her face because the wet hair was covering it. She was tall and slender and had skin that had once been milky white but was now streaked with dirt and grime. Across her arms and legs were bright red blemishes that looked like marks from a whip and down her arms there were pot marks which looked red and sore, they looked like an addict’s autograph. Her nipples were erect and she was physically shaking. There was something familiar about this girl, but he didn’t know what.

  ‘Follow me.’ She said with a pretty little voice. A voice that didn’t belong here.

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘But you have to. They are waiting for you. Please.’

  ‘Who’s waiting for me?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ And the girl turned and headed back down the stairs where in his dreams all was dark and there were things down there that wanted to grab his feet and pull him down.

  His legs went stiff, trying to fight every step taken, Simon headed over to the stairwell. His hands were clenched tight and he was sweating heavily. He could hear the little wet footsteps as they went down the concrete stairs and peeking around the corner the girl had stopped, waiting for him on the first landing before the stairs turned to the right and headed down to the basement.

  ‘Come on.’ She said and when Simon started down the stairs she started walking again; her wet hair reflecting the light like oil. Her buttocks wobbled slightly and a small cut on her right thigh oozed a little blood.

  Reaching the landing Simon noticed that the paintings that had been on the walls were gone. There were lighter coloured patches of wallpaper where the paintings and frames had protected the wall and little lights shone down onto nothing. Below him the stairs led down but not into darkness like in his dream. What was down there was well lit and the girl was once again waiting at the bottom of the long stairway where a corridor led off out of Simons view. Her little footprints had left wet patches on the concrete and when he reached the bottom Simon found that he was standing in a small lobby, straight ahead was a long corridor and to his sides there were two rooms which had massive pad locks fixed to them. Everything was in a state of disrepair. Paint peeled off the walls, doors hung crookedly on busted frames and windows that peeked into dark rooms were either smashed or their glass had faded to an odd grey colour. The floor was tiled and was once the colour of clay but now it was dirty and smeared with filth and puddles of rank water. Water dripped from the ceiling and from pipes that ran along the walls. Electric cables were tacked in place and hung down like heavy spider webs. Down the corridor were six rooms; three on each side. All but one had their doors closed and they looked as if they hadn’t
been opened in a long time. The fluorescent lights which clung onto the ceiling with shoddy screws and plastic ties weren’t doing a good job in lighting the far end of the corridor. There was a bright light coming from an open door and shadows danced on the floor there.

  It was hot down here and he felt as damp and as dirty as the girl in front of him. He was close enough to her now that he could smell her. She smelt of the earth, a rich earthy stink like after a rain shower. There was sweetness there too, perhaps her natural scent that still lingered like a scar, and he knew that smell from the petrol station.

  ‘Who are you?’ He whispered but knew the answer.

  ‘Nobody.’ and then she headed off down the corridor and Simon felt both a twang of sympathy and a white hot rage at this young woman. And then her smell disappeared and his senses were filled with the real smell of this place and it didn’t smell good and reminded him of the sex room he had been in up at the Rotten House.

  He wished he had kept hold of the gun.

  2

  Her feet splashed in the puddles and bits of paint that had flaked off the walls stuck to her bare skin as she went down the corridor and when she reached the open door she turned and faced Simon and though she shuddered she stood still waiting for Simon like she had been ordered to do.

  Hesitantly he walked toward the door and kept his eyes on the naked girl. He knew her, he was sure of it, but that was a minor issue right now. His heart was racing fast and he could hear each pump clearly in his ears. When he reached the open door the girl took a step back and gestured with a little nod to her left for him to enter.

  The light in the room was harsh but not too bad. He could see everything clearly. Too clearly it seemed; colours jumped out at him, a bug on the wall had a leg missing and the table in the far corner had a book under one leg to keep it stable and stop the medicine jars and sharp tools from falling off. All this he saw but was forgotten as the real horror of the room was in its centre, tied to an old hospital gurney, and what was restrained there had eyes that were begging him for mercy but Simon didn’t know why.

  ‘Ah, good to see you, Simon. Glad you made it.’ The Chairman said, and the man himself stepped from the shadows to Simon’s side. He wore a fading black shirt with matching jeans. Around his waist was a rather ornate rope belt held in place by a fearsome looking buckle.

  ‘Where’s Lucy?’ Simon asked Chairman but kept his eyes firmly on the man he knew that was restrained on the gurney.

  Before he answered Chairman loosened the top button on his shirt and ran his hand through his greying hair. ‘She’s here and will be along shortly. We have other business to attend to first.’

  ‘What are you going to do with Lewis?’

  Chairman chuckled and placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder which sent shivers racing across his body. ‘I aint gonna do anything, Simon. You are. But not yet. Like I said, we have some other business to attend to first. Always work before pleasure and your work is nearly done.

  ‘Take a seat, son.’ Chairman pointed to an old wooden chair next to the table with the wonky leg but Simon refused the offer with a shake of his head and said in a voice that trembled. ‘I prefer to stand.’

  ‘Okay then, that’s your choice.’

  Chairman walked over to the gurney and lent against it so that Simon could no longer see Lewis lying there. He could still hear him though, and he moaned like the girl in the Rotten House had moaned and on both occasions Simon had been glad that they had had rags stuffed in their mouths because he didn’t want to hear what they were moaning about.

  ‘First, Simon, I must thank you for what yadid at the O’Hagan’s place.’

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then why are you thankful? I killed 6 of your people and burned their farm to the ground. Pigs too.’

  Chairman smiled, ‘What’s done is done, Simon. No one can change the past no matter how much we want too. You know the stories, Simon, what they got up too. At some point or other it were bound to happen, it just so happened to be you that were the one to do it. Heard you chopped off old Lud’s head?’

  Simon nodded but didn’t answer and the room was quiet if only for a second or two. He pictured the body of the old man; slumped to one side, blood pouring from the grotesque neck wound he had caused. From memory he looked as if he were reaching over for something, perhaps scrabbling for his head that had rolled away and plopped down into the rushing cold water below.

  ‘Hmm, guess he didn’t see that coming.’ Chairman said then continued. ‘Anyway, secondly and more importantly, is that Barbara is okay. Safe and well. No marks, bumps or bruises.’ He then added whilst winking, ‘Untouched.’ Which made Simon feel sick. Behind Chairman, Lewis moaned low and whimpered like a baby.

  ‘So what is it you want with her?’ Simon asked.

  ‘It’s not her we want.’

  Simon noticed the empty gurney in the corner of the room. How he hadn’t seen it when he walked here he didn’t know. Though it could have something to do with the man restrained in the other gurney.

  ‘I guess that only leaves me then.’

  Chairman nodded.

  Simon said, ‘What do you want me for?’ and his eyes looked over to the filthy gurney in the corner and Chairman’s eyes followed his and Chairman chuckled to himself, another joke Simon wasn’t a part of, and then his eyes were back on Simons.

  ‘Oh, nothing like that my dear boy.’

  ‘Then what for?’

  ‘You’ll see soon enough.’ And Chairman fiddled with the rope tied around his trousers.

  Simon tried to swallow and found it hard. ‘You’re not from around here, are you?’

  Chairman pushed out his bottom lip and flared his nostrils. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Well first off you don’t talk like them. You have no accent and you pronounce most of the words correctly and haven’t bastardized them so much that most of the time I haven’t a sodding clue what anyone else is talking about. And you don’t look like them.’

  ‘Look like them?’ Chairman repeated.

  ‘Come on. You must have noticed it. It’s not exactly a Paris catwalk up there. More like the arse end of Crufts.’

  Chairman shook his head and looked confused. He reached over, to a small table that was by Lewis’ restrained feet, took the pint glass from it and drank deep. When he had finished it, he offered some to Simon and his eyes were wide as if to say it’s okay, just water.

  Licking his lips, for he was parched, Simon took the glass and drained what was left and handed the glass back. Both men let out gassy belches though Simons had a little chunkiness to it that wasn’t pleasant, and the hot sour taste stayed with him longer than he would have liked.

  Lewis struggled a little and Chairman placed a hand on his bare, dirty foot and the restrained body flinched and then fell silent.

  Chairman looked at his watch. ‘Time flies,’ and with a grin and then looked past Simon, to the girl that Simon knew but didn’t know, who was still stood in the doorway behind them and said, ‘Billie? Would you fetch Lucy and Bob please?’

  3

  Simon flicked his head back. The girl had turned away but Simon was quick enough to see that she was the same girl that had been in his dreams, in his nightmares. It only took Chairman to say the name for it to finally click in Simons head. And then it all came flooding down on top of him. She had pale skin but it hadn’t always been pale. There were cuts on her back and down the backs of her legs. Deep cuts that had been stapled together, not stitched, so at first you couldn’t really see them. She had been bled like a stuck pig, probably in the garage by the man that was restrained on the gurney right now. And then Simon remembered the needle marks on her arms, the ones he thought made her look like a junky but weren’t from a heroine needle, they were from an intravenous needle; one that was needed to put back the blood that they had taken from her.

  ‘You fucking animals.’ Simon hissed, and he clenched his h
ands to fists and turned to face Chairman whose face was a sea of calm.

  ‘Perhaps, but evil is a tenacious and persistent stain that transcends death. Am I to be blamed for what I have become?’

  ‘She’s just a girl.’

  ‘Like the girl you killed today.’

  ‘Fuck youyou cunt. I put her out of her misery. But you lot act as if you are judge, jury and executioner all rolled up into one. Why, just why do you do it?’

  4

  ‘Because we can, Simon. Because we want what’s best for our town and we do all that we can to make sure it stays safe. Since the day I was welcomed into this village I have strived to that end. There has been trouble, nonces, killers, and pig fuckers, but they don’t last long. We weed emout, like black fly on a cabbage leaf. Since you’ve been here you have seen that. It might not have been to your liking but nonetheless you can see why we do it and once you have the why then the reasoning becomes self-evident.

  ‘Take the girl there; she came here with another girl, all tits and arse hanging out. They camped by the river, just by the lumberjacks place and were here for a few weeks, Billie there even found work in the garage on the edge of town. They held hands around village and cuddled whilst eating ice creams under the shade of the blessed willow trees. We knew what they were up to at night laying naked together under their woollen blankets and it aint right so we crept up on them one night, and though we didn’t catch them, we knew what they were up too and so made sure they couldn’t do it again.’