My Sister And I: A dark, violent, gripping and twisted tale of horrifying terror in the Scottish Highlands.

by Sean-Paul Thomas

  The comment irritated Sersha to the core. Well, more the old man’s tone than anything else. That he could be so cheerful and coy and make jokes at the expense of her misfortune. What kind of a sadistic creep bag was the man?

  'No, I'd rather you take a big fekin' run and jump off a big fekin' cliff and land right on a big bastard, spiky, jagged rock that impales ya right through your fekin' ersehole, ya big durty ersehole... but doesn't kill ya, though, no. Just completely paralyses the fek out of ya for the rest of your miserable, pathetic, bleedin' life, ya old perverted scumbag.'

  The old man chuckled out loudly again. 'Jeysus Christ, you've got some mouth and imagination on ya there, lass.' He stood and straightened his crumpled suit jacket.

  'Where are you going anyhow, Mr. Kidnapper? When will you be back?' Sersha asked, fearing that the old man might never come back and she'd be left all alone inside that van until she starved to death and faded away into a pile of dust and bones. Or what if he had a heart attack out on the road before he could return? Then the joke would well and truly be on her.

  'I told you lass, about an hour or so. And you're actually not far off from the truth there when you mention cliffs and jagged rocks and whatnot. But I need to leave now, before sunrise, ya know. I'll be back soon, though. I won't forget about ya, lass. I promise.'

  'Great.' Sersha sighed in defeat. 'I'll have the bleedin' dinner ready for you getting back then, shall I?’

  The old man chuckled again. The girl was funny. She had a really good Irish sense of humor, even in the worst of times. Sersha looked mad as hell, though.

  'What's so funny? You think this is bleedin' funny?' Sersha roared.

  The old man gently shook his head, still chuckling profusely.

  'No Sersha. I don't think this is bleedin' funny. But I think you're extremely funny. You really stitch me up with some of your crack there.'

  'Well I'm glad to be of a service to ya, old fella. Maybe, I'll even put in for a wee spot at the next comedy fringe in town.'

  'Aren't ya even just a tiny wee bit scared of me now?' asked the old man, surprised at the girl's carefree, cynical and sarcastic attitude.

  'Look at me. I'm fekin' petrified,' Sersha said, and she was, but her hard, stern, Irish-backbone personality was just as strong as the fear raging through her veins. 'I don't want to lose me virginity to some smelly, stinking-arse, old homeless pikey bastard, out here in the middle of nowhere and in the back of his dirty, fekin', shagging-wagon old van. All because no girl out and about in her right soba state of mind would ever look twice at ya, so he needs to take out his sexual anger and pent-up frustrations on innocent wee girls, just like me... And I am just an innocent wee girl, by the way, I'll have you know, regardless of what me overgrown bosoms say about me down below there now.'

  The old man smiled and gave Sersha a reassuring pat on her shoulder. 'Well, you don't have to be scared of me, Princess, that's for sure. I'm not going to rape you or touch you or anything that might cause you harm or offence now. That, I can guarantee.'

  'Is kidnapping me against me will not offensive to the likes of you where you're from, then, old man?' Sersha retorted.

  'Actually, in some parts of me land, no, no it's not. It's a perfectly legal act.'

  The old man took a deep breath, wearily sighed and placed his hands upon his hips. He had business to take care of and he had to take care of it before first light. He was wasting time here. They had all the time in the world to natter and argue and get to know each other, just as soon as his business had been finalized.

  'Look, Sersha! I really need to go. Do you need a bathroom break before I leave? Or a wee drink of water even? I've got plenty of water there in the back of this here van, as you can see.'

  Sersha turned away from the old man in a sulky teenage mood. If her sulks worked on gullible foster parents from time to time, surely to god they could work on strange old perverts too, who, apparently, hadn't kidnapped her for anything normal kidnappers would have kidnapped a young girl for.

  'No, thank you,' Sersha continued in her strop. 'I don't need anything from the likes of you.'

  'Are you sure now? I might be gone for a good few hours at most,' insisted the old man.

  Sersha remained silent and continued to look anywhere but the old man.

  'Speak now or forever hold your piss, me lass,' said the old man, chuckling again at his wordplay joke.

  'You're disgusting. Just put the tape back on me mouth and fek off, ya dirty old swine.'

  'Sorry, lass. It was just a wee joke, was all. I meant no harm.'

  Sersha remained deathly quiet. If looks could kill, the old man would be hung, drawn and quartered in the young girl's steely gaze.

  'Fair enough,' replied the old man, shrugging his shoulders, suggesting that he'd tried his best to be as reasonable as he possibly could under the circumstances. He put the tape back around Sersha's gob. She didn't resist. Next, he helped her roll into the back of the van as she stared helplessly back at him. The old man gave her a faint, reassuring smile. Sersha just shook her head in utter antipathy.

  'I'll be back as soon as I can, all right lass. Then I'll make us a nice wee hearty breakfast and a cuppa tea before we hit the road. How does that sound?' the old man cheerfully asked.

  From underneath her taped mouth Sersha mumbled what sounded like a string of foul mouth obscenities as the old man just grinned and shut the van door on her before locking it tightly shut.

  ***

  The old man drove out onto the top of a secluded clifftop, just as the sun began poking its soft, golden round head up from its Atlantic Ocean, horizon bed. Next stop, America, the old man thought as he gazed at the never-ending stretch of gorgeous ocean.

  There were no roads here, but he managed to park close up to the edge of the cliff. He stared out at the beautiful, gloomy, grey sea for another short moment. There was even a slight finality about his gaze, like it might be his last time ever watching the sunrise.

  Eventually, he climbed out of the car. He opened the boot and glanced inside. The tied and gagged young man with the crater face stared angrily up at him. His eyes were red, swollen and wide, full of rage and anger. His face was black and blue and swollen immensely, too.

  The old man didn't have to, but he ripped the tape away from the young man's rough-shaven mouth. He would give the cold heartless bastard one last chance to speak and say his final words, which was more than the young bastard had been willing to give the old man and his dog.

  The young man roared like a caged lion as the thick masking tape ripped away most of the facial hair around his mouth and cheeks.

  'You thought of anything decent to say to me now, young fella?' the old man stated rather coldly.

  The young man glared up at the old man with a sinister grin. He knew it was over for him, but he had no weak or pleading thoughts of forgiveness in his final moments.

  'Aye!' the young man spat. 'How's your fekin dog?'

  The old man frowned for a moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard such cold and heartless last words. He then began fiercely punching the young man in the nose and mouth, over and over again. When blood covered the young man's face like erupting lava, the old man stopped just as quickly as he'd started.

  'He was a good wee dog, that. Had him for a fair wee while too, in all. Fifteen odd years and counting. Ever since he was just a tiny wee pup. Fair enough his wee back legs were almost going and his bark wasn't as enthusiastic as it used to be, but he didn't deserve to go out like that, ya know, ya cold-hearted, callous swine, ya. Not one bit, ya hear me?'

  The young man winced in pain. He coughed so hard that he gurgled and spat up more blood and snot, much more than what appeared to be flowing inside his veins. He glanced back up to face the old man, looking him dead in the eyes.

  'You can't hide from us any longer, old man. We found you. I found you. And we'll find the lassie soon enough, too.'

  The old man slammed the car boot, sealing the young man inside
his tomb and final resting place. He'd heard enough of his pish now. The old man leaned back into the front of the car and took off the handbrake. Slowly and steadily, he pushed and rolled the car over the rest of the cliff edge, tipping it gently into the sea and the jagged rocks below.

  The old man wiped his hands on his trouser legs. It was as simple as that.

  Once the car had disappeared underneath the rough, early-morning waves, he started walking back the way he'd came...

  Ugly Beautiful

  A Scottish gangster with a tormented past, goes on the run after an earth-shattering tragedy that rips his world apart. Running for his life he disappears into the heart of the gorgeous Scottish Highlands to lay low in a secluded cottage before plotting his next move.

  But when he discovers the body of a young amnesiac woman lying unconscious near his hideaway retreat, things take a chilling turn for the worst, especially when he tries to coax the mysterious girl into unravelling her own forgotten past, unaware of the sickening acts of terror which are about to be unleashed.

  Sample

  The next morning Jason was up at the tip of sunrise to head back out for his first morning run in what seemed like too many years to remember. He felt like a new man with a fresh soul—a clean slate, with the whole, wide world laid bare at his feet.

  Jason jogged along the narrow dirt track, away from the cottage and back towards the main road which had brought him to this secluded retreat. Half a mile down, Jason decided to stop in search for a harder trail to test himself on. He glanced up at the large hill, with the single oak tree on top, situated on the other side of the cottage.

  Jason ran up the steep hill. He was jogging intensely with all his strength and might, straight for the small tree on top. He ran faster, pushing himself harder than his almost-diminished stamina would allow. He felt like he was back in the army again.

  Brutally exhausted, he reached the very top of the hill, somehow managing to find a deeply hidden resource of adrenaline to keep running, then sprinting, straight for the shabby little oak. Very soon he was running past it before finally coming to a gasping halt right on the scenic hill’s edge.

  Jason took a few moments to catch his breath. He thought about how unfit he'd become these past few years. With barely a mile into his run, he was just about ready to collapse into a crumpled bundle of cramp and exhaustion right upon the soft, green grass.

  Then something caught his eye at the bottom of the hill. It took a few seconds for Jason to steady his focus. But unbelievably enough, and as real as the agonising, stinging stitches that ripped apart his insides, he saw the body of a slim and raven-haired woman, lying stretched out at the bottom of the hill. The woman was either unconscious or dead, as far as he could tell, but it was too hard to say which from such a great distance away.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jason gasped in a state of shock at encountering such a sight out there in the middle of nowhere. Obviously, it wasn't the first time in his life he'd witnessed a dead body. But it was still greatly alarming to see one amidst his highland retreat.

  For a second, he thought he might be imagining it all. With all his recent trauma, he guessed it would make a hell of a lot more sense than actually finding a real lifeless body. Or was he just seeing the ghostly image of his dead wife, perhaps? Could his mind be playing some kind of sick and twisted trick upon his weary eyes?

  But then seeing the simple outfit—composed of jeans and a black t-shirt—that the woman was wearing, he could never imagine his ex-stripper wife wearing such a plain pair of garments in her life. Never in a month of Sundays. He'd only ever witnessed her in sexy, slick dresses that rarely, if ever, fell below her knees—even while pregnant. And besides, this girl appeared more petite in figure on closer inspection compared to his now-dead wife.

  Jason climbed down the side of the hill. He anxiously approached the young brunette lying at the bottom and crouched carefully beside her. Gently, he touched her face with his fingertips. She was definitely real and not his dead wife. She looked young and naturally pretty in the face. He checked the woman's breathing, then her pulse, for some movement or any sign of life. There was the faintest of heart beats and no more.

  “Hello. Can you hear me? Hello?” Jason asked somewhat worried.

  Jason put his ear up against her mouth before moving to her chest. Unexpectedly, the young woman then tilted her head left then right in a drowsy, half-conscious effort. She murmured something which Jason could not fully understand. Although, he just felt more relieved than anything that the young woman was still alive, if only barely.

  “Hey there. What's your name? Can you tell me your name?” Jason enquired further.

  The woman groaned in a bleary daze as she desperately tried—but failed—to raise one of her hands towards her thumping head.

  “Are you in any kind of pain? Does it hurt anywhere at all on your body?” Jason asked.

  “My head... My head hurts so much,” the woman faintly replied.

  “Look. I'm gonna try and pick you up and carry you back to my cottage. Is that okay?”

  The woman groaned while drifting in and out of consciousness.

  “I'll take that for an aye then,” Jason swiftly added once he decided that she wasn't about to reply.

  With tenderness, he lifted the woman off the ground with his strong arms and carried her all the way back to his cottage.

  ***

  The young woman opened her eyes and stared out at the unfamiliar bedroom that surrounded her and from a bed she did not recognise. It was late in the evening. With the curtains half drawn inside the dated bedroom, she sensed that the sun had already set by the dim, early evening glow that snuck in through the tiny gap in the curtains. She glanced around at the gradually darkening and quiet bedroom. Slowly but surely, she took in the grim, old-fashioned, brown and white, eighties-styled wallpaper until she came across the sleeping figure of Jason. He was snoozing away while sitting upright in a chair just beside her. The sight of the strange, sleeping man startled her immensely and she nervously sat up right.

  Jason stirred then finally awoke from his slumber, disturbed by the woman's hasty and jittery movements. On seeing Jason awaken, the woman quickly huddled herself deep into the far shadowy corner of the double bed. She looked frightened as hell and a little overwhelmed. Jason did little to help ease the woman's mind when he let out the noisiest, deafening yawn which sounded like a giant grizzly bear coming out of hibernation. He stretched the arms and legs of his awkwardly seated body, then spoke to the frightened woman like she was just an old friend. A trick he'd learned as a kid from his big, social uncle for when trying to meet new people in strange places.

  Just pretend they are an old school friend that you haven't seen for a while, his uncle had joyfully preached to him while out on one of their many fishing trips together.

  “Hey! How are you? How are you feeling?” Jason spoke while continuing to yawn. This time sounding more like a limp walrus. The woman remained silent. A cautious fear and a deep curiosity burned fiercely in her eyes. Jason was about to repeat his question, this time without the dramatic, yawning sound effects, when he was unexpectedly interrupted instead.

  “Who are you?” the woman faintly asked.

  “Oh, hey. My name is Jason.”

  She glanced around the room again. She took in all of the various weird and wonderful shapes and shadows on the grim brown wallpaper. She was like a curious little child taking in her new surroundings for the very first time. After a short moment she focused on Jason again.

  “What am I doing here, Jason?” the woman asked.

  “I found you. At the bottom of a hill not too far from here. You were slipping in and out of consciousness, so I carried you all the way back here. It's my cottage.”

  “You carried me?” The woman was strangely surprised.

  “You weren't that heavy,” assured Jason with a warm smile. The woman remained emotionless. The two stared and studied each other in complete and utter silence
, both taking in each other’s body language and soundless mannerisms. Jason seemed so calm and relaxed to the strange woman, if not a little too relaxed which made her feel even more uneasy, even though she were gradually calming and adjusting to her new environment. Sensibly though, she would keep her caution and wits about her.

  “So, how are you feeling?” said Jason, breaking the long, awkward silence between them.

  “My head hurts,” the woman replied rubbing her forehead like she was only realising the throbbing there for the first time.

  “You know...I have a car outside…” Jason spoke, slightly hesitant. He was thinking now that he could maybe drive the woman somewhere more populated and with a hospital, hoping to drop her off there without being noticed by anyone. Of course, he wouldn't be able to stay with her for very long and for the obvious reason of his most recent criminal activity. “I could—in theory—drive you to a hospital if you like. It would be a long drive but...”

  “No. No hospitals!” cried the woman, interrupting Jason mid-sentence. “Please. No hospitals,” she pleaded again. She freaked at the mere mention of the word ‘hospital’ which made Jason even more curious, yet cautious. It put his relaxed 'green light' frame of my mind against an amber knife's edge.

  “Okay. No hospitals. Jesus.” Jason assured. He sat upright in his chair and leaned towards her. “At least let me take you home. Do you live around here? Surely there must be someone missing you right about now?”

  The woman calmed down just a little. She tried thinking hard, yet nothing but blank memories and hazy thoughts of nothing and no one in particular cycled through her mind. Nothing and no one. But for some reason, when she thought about leaving this place or going to a hospital, every fibre in her body repelled against the idea. Even her stomach twisted and cramped up at the mere thought of it. She had a faded idea that a hospital could no doubt help her in the short term. But it was the long term she was more concerned with. And until she started getting her memories back again, the fewer people around her the more comfortable she felt.