Terrifying Love: A Halloween Anthology

by Serena Nova

  You leant forward and briefly touched your lips to mine. The softest of caresses, a fresh hint of strawberry and mint on your breath. A powerful beat within my heart as my blood rushed round my body at twice its normal pace. I felt stronger and taller under your gaze. I felt sure and centred, and the kitchen walls retreated from me, leaving me feeling as if I was in a great expanse of space.

  Yet I still held my breath. ”Be strong,” you said.

  And at that, you turned to leave, seeming to float over the debris of the back yard to the rarely used gate leading into the alley behind the house. I watched you leave but I couldn’t see which way you turned. You left, but your light remained with me, the hope and strength you had given me, remained with me. My heart was still beating wildly, my blood pulsing strongly through me, building in time with the ray of light in my heart, passing quicker and quicker as my breathing became more shallow, as I was gasping, shaking, ecstatic and filling with power, as my dark clouds parted and a rainbow appeared to bridge the sun-beams. A final gasp… I would not go back to the darkness.

  Chapter Three - The Interviewer

  ”I don’t want to go back to the darkness!“ Rebecca almost screams through her gasps. ”I won’t, I won’t go back to the darkness.” Strands of her dark hair have come loose as she tells me her story of emergence into the light, and they are sticking slightly to the sheen on her skin. She looks happily exhausted, like a freshly birthed new mother hearing the first cry of her baby. “I won’t go back, will I?”

  ”No,” I reply, kindly but firmly. I cannot risk losing her faith in me now. She has proved herself to be committed but those many hours of confinement awaiting an interview can be a dangerous period. Many change their minds when they have time alone, where access is denied to us to allow for self-determination and informed choice. I haven’t lost a soul yet, but I won’t become complacent. “You are very close now, you need to continue and tell me what has happened, and then you can be sure you will never have to go back.” I reinforce my words with an added push into her heart, watching her reaction as she feels my influence on her, as light, as a parting of the darkness, as hope. As love.

  ”So, what happened next Rebecca?”

  Chapter Four - Rebecca

  I went to bed as normal, I guess. I must have been exhausted, as I’m not sure I remember choosing to go to bed, or how I got there. But I know I didn’t sleep. As soon as I could be sure Keith was asleep, I slipped out, and turned to watch him. Keith always slept heavily. I couldn’t recall a time when he had come to bed free from drink, even in the first days of our time together, when I looked forward to our early nights. He used to have some tenderness to him then, even after a few beers. It was long gone now. Now, there was just a deadening, a falling, a passing as his head laid down on the pillow. He didn’t even snore. I watched him as he slept on, watching his stillness, watching his shallow breathing. He seemed more peaceful in his slumber, as if gravity no longer pulled him down.

  For a moment, I wished I could help him feel like that while awake. But I had a different mission, and as I contemplated it, my strength began to return to my limbs. I got dressed again, warm sweats from the floor pile of worn clothes. Though as I dressed, I felt sure I didn’t need them. I felt hot. I felt hot. My heart had been warmed, my blood was pumping strong and bright again, and the darkness inside me seemed truly banished. I felt light and yet strong. I almost skipped down the stairs, such was my eagerness to be started. I may not have been clear as to how I was going to reach you, but I knew I was about to begin moving towards you. Towards being reunited.

  I was expecting to find you there again, and if I’m truly honest, I was disappointed you weren’t to be by my side, yet I knew somehow you could not be. My disappointment did not have the chance to travel to my heart, which remained upbeat and bright. I followed your path from the door to the gate, guided by the light of the full moon, skirting around the piles of stone in the yard, noting that they had been in position so long there was moss growing on the ones nearest the shed. I understood that it was where the sun didn’t reach. In the moon shadows, it resembled black clouds. Like the black clouds in my heart. So maybe mould is a better descriptive, to explain what had been thriving in the damp and shady nooks of my heart.

  The gate stood slightly ajar, and I opened it fully to peer out into the alley. By now, I knew there would be nothing to suggest you had ever been present, though I still had to check. I checked it twice. Just to be sure.

  Reluctantly, I turned to survey the yard. Small, squat, verging on squalid. The shed barely big enough to be considered a walk-in one, the uneven beginnings of a patio and the randomly scattered piles of stones awaiting laying. The flower bed along the side of the wall, untended and unkempt. Unacknowledged. Unseen. Unloved. The bedding plants, seeded from last year, scattered over the bed in spring, were now masked by the bind weed and nettles growing between them. The plants needed only to be freed from the suffocating embrace of the weeds, they needed to be free, to feel the sunlight, to soak up power from the rays. To grow. To be strong. To be seen. To be loved.

  I was overwhelmed, overwhelmed with the urge to tear up the weeds, so much so, I began tearing at them with my bare hands. I tugged at the nettles, not feeling their stings, and I snapped off the bindweed tops, knowing I was leaving the roots behind but not caring enough to slow down. I discarded the broken stems behind me, scattering them in the light breeze across the desolate space that was supposed to be the new patio. With the weeds I brought up a bedding plant, entwined tightly together as they were. Soon after, I was pulling all the plants out too, scraping them from the ground with my bare hands. There would be a fresh start for some fresh growth.

  I paused, blowing heavy strands of my hair away from my face, pointless really, as they swiftly returned. I was breathing heavily, panting even, with the exertion, yet I was not yet satisfied. I continued to pulse. I was strong enough, and determined enough to continue. A fresh start. Opening the shed, I grabbed the spade from its position, leaning casually against the wall. It had barely been used, and the steel reflected the moonlight. Gripping it tightly with both hands, I heaved it out of the shed and into the flower bed. I placed it in the middle of the bed, stepping onto the rim to push it into the earth. I expected more resistance, but I was now filled with the light, so nothing resisted me. I turned the clod of earth over, exposing the white threads of bindweed roots, riddling the soil like worms, shining their own light against the darkness of the mud. I didn’t tease them out though, I continued to dig. I turned the ground over at first, but when that ceased to satisfy me, I began to pile the earth out of the flower bed, and onto the ground between the piles of stone. A sense of peace descended upon me, as I stayed strong, and continued to dig. And dig. And dig.

  As I dug deeper, I teased away at the edges of the mould remaining in my heart. At the events in my life that had drawn the darkness to me, bringing me to the edge of this pit. I dug as I pictured Keith, and sensed the links between his time with me, and my descent towards the darkness. Not of despair, but of apathy. Of indifference. A descent only halted, finally, by the emergence of this light in my heart, and by my digging.

  I dug as I remembered our first row, our first proper row. I no longer remember what started it, but I recalled his snarl, as his face showed his disgust for me. What had I done to deserve such antagonistic behaviour, for him to shout and spit at me in the street? I dug as I remembered trying to placate him, to explain myself to him while not understanding his anger, his frustration. I didn’t remember why he started shouting at me, but I never forgot that he did that. In front of my friends. What did he achieve? Did he know it would be the start of my friends pulling away? Would we have drifted apart anyway, even if he had been a perfect gentleman in their eyes? I’ll never know, but as I dug, I blamed him.

  I dug as I remembered giving up the park runs. I used to love to run on Sunday mornings, but I soon stopped after meeting Keith. We were always in bed together and he
didn’t want me to get up and leave him. Of course, he didn’t tell me not to go, he was charming and lovely in his tactics. In the early days we would make love, in the weeks that followed we breakfasted together. I missed so many runs I began to feel heavy and lumpish, and I made a resolution to return to the field. I went, but he was sulky. Sulky all day, and when I ached the following day, he told me that maybe I was wasn’t fit enough for a Sunday run. I was determined to show him that wasn’t the case, but the next Saturday we had a big night out, and I must have forgotten to set my alarm because, well, because I slept through. And the next Saturday night was a big one too, and when the alarm went off it was raining, and so I missed another one. He never told me no, but Keith ended my runs, ended my freedom to chase and be chased through the fields, feeling the burn and doing it anyway.

  I dug as I remembered the holiday, the first holiday Keith and I ever went on. I had these plans to hire a car, to see something of the place, to explore. I should have stuck to my guns and hired a car from the airport, but I went with Keith’s idea of renting at the resort, agreeing it would be cheaper, maybe we’d get an upgrade. And of course, on the first day, there was the resort to explore. And then the nightlife. And by the time we’d come round the following day, it was too late. As he said, no point in paying for a whole day when it was already half-way through. And then, a day passed without me thinking of the car, and the days kept passing. We spent our nights in the few bars in the town, our days sleeping off the night before. I wanted to go places, but Keith didn’t want to go anywhere. I dug as I remembered my frustration with him, my wish for more. For more variety, and for more liveliness, for more fun. For less predictability, less routine, less of the same.

  Yet there was still the mould around my heart. I could chip away at it, I could pulse the light to push it back, but I could not clean it away. And so, I got further into the hole I was digging, standing knee deep in the mud, and I struck once more with the edge of my spade. It no longer glimmered in the moonlight. Like me, it had sunk too deep. I dug more quickly than before, no longer thinking of individual times, but thinking of the time in between. The time I had lost.

  I dug as I thought of the years in between. Of all the pounds I’d gained, all the friends I’d lost. The slowing down of my life and Keith’s shadow across my sense of self. I dug as I questioned whether I knew who I was anymore. Would my schoolfriends still recognise me if we met tomorrow? Would they know me for me, was this how they thought I would end up? I dug as I questioned how I’d let Keith pull me down into this hole, how he had invited me into this dark and damp place and I’d agreed, going somewhere the sun no longer shone, where the sun had stopped shining into my heart.

  I dug as I remembered the baby. My baby. Our baby. Not three months conceived before lost. Lost in a hot bath with hot tears, large gin in hand. Not the right time. Not the right baby. Maybe it will never be right. I dug as I cried hot tears once more.

  Chapter Five - Rebecca

  And then it got darker. ”What are you doing?“ Looking up, I saw Keith standing over me. His face was obscured in the darkness of the shadows, so I could not see his expression. And so, he could not see my tear stained face. Was there a hint of anger in his voice? Or was it the scent of dismay at my nocturnal straying? I was stood in a hole, surrounded by the walls I had built. I had been inspired by the light, by your light. I was powered with light, but I was deep in darkness.

  I slowly clambered out of my hole, before facing Keith and leaning on the spade. I looked straight at him, and immediately I knew exactly what I was doing. I was digging a grave. ”What are you doing?“ he asked me again, turning away from me to survey the mess I had made of the yard. The earth, the dark mud splattered over the stone, all piled up in front of the shed door. He leant over slightly to look into the hole, into the grave, and…

  and I…

  I…

  I hit him.

  I hit him once, on the back of the head. With the spade. With the flat edge of the spade. It made a pinging noise rather than a thud. I’d have thought it would make a thudding sound. But it didn’t, it pinged. I would have been forgiven for thinking I hadn’t hit him hard. But I must have done. I must have hit him hard. Because he wasn’t moving.

  He just laid there. He was laid out on his front, half of him was in the hole. He was head-first. His head was in the hole, it had dropped down into the hole, so I couldn’t see his face. But he laid there, not moving. I leant against the spade and watched him. He wasn’t moving. But he was still breathing. Still breathing.

  I picked up his legs, rolling them into the hole. I lifted the spade. Once more would be sure to do it, then it was time to fill the hole back in. There was still time to get some sleep before morning. I was full of power, and determined to escape the darkness forever. I was not going back to the darkness of my life with him. I took a deep breath, felt the light crusade through me, filling me with power as I lifted the spade above my head.

  But then I was falling. I was falling into the hole, falling on top of Keith. He was moving, he had his hand around my ankle, and then I was falling. I tried to stand, to tell him that there was some mistake, he shouldn’t be moving. I was kneeling on some part of him, I’m sure I was on top of him, but I wasn’t getting up. I felt his hand around my throat. And he squeezed. And as he squeezed, the light dimmed.

  As he squeezed, I remembered getting ready for my first night out on the town with him and my friends. I was nervous that they wouldn’t like each other, and I’d convinced Keith that a few early drinks would help us all get along better. A few early vodkas at home before the bus into town, where we were meeting them in the bar. It was stilted at first, so I got a round of shots in. I barely remembered what happened after that. But as he squeezed, I remembered dancing on the dancefloor, spinning and spinning until I was sat heaving on the dancefloor, on my god, how could I forget being sick among everyone’s shoes that night.

  As he squeezed, I remembered I had only done two park runs before meeting Keith. I had gone along with a friend in the hope of finding some fit blokes to hang around with – and I’d met Keith at the second run. He claimed not to be a regular runner, but he looked fit enough to be one. We’d hit it off right away, chatting before the starting gun, and shadowing each other around the track. And so, when all was done and he invited me for lunch, it seemed we had earned a few pints along with lunch and all the trimmings. We stayed there all day, and I hadn’t wanted it to end. I’d never wanted any of our dates to end, and we’d always be drinking, wherever we were. As he squeezed, I recall that Keith hadn’t wanted to drink the night before a run, yet somehow I had always had my way. And because we drank, we didn’t run.

  As he squeezed, I recoiled with horror with the recollection of our first holiday. I had been excited to be flying, and insisted on arriving at the airport early. And so, we had a beer in the morning, after all, airports are in their own time zones. And wine on the plane. Then, of course, we couldn’t hire a car at the airport, we were too drunk to do so, they wouldn’t let us have one. We told ourselves we would hire a car in the resort instead, where it would be cheaper, maybe even we’d get an upgrade. But it had been our back up plan, one only needed because we couldn’t decide who needed to stay sober enough to drive.

  The shame reverberated through me, even as Keith squeezed my throat and we laid there in the dark, in the mud. The mould had been growing before Keith arrived in my life, he had helped it along. Maybe not deliberately, maybe more like fertilizer, he had enhanced my problems by helping them grow. But the mould spores had been mine to begin with.

  As he squeezed, I thought of all the years in between. Of the drinks I had consumed, so many, many drinks. Of the pounds I’d gained, the friends I’d lost. The slowing down of my life and the shadow across my sense of self, the fear, the dread, and the loosening that came with the first drink of the day. As he squeezed, I knew, I no longer was me. My schoolfriends would not recognise me, they would not be able to s
ee me. As Keith squeezed, I saw that it was not Keith who had pulled me down this hole. He hadn’t invited me into this dark and damp place, into which I’d reluctantly agreed to follow him, delving down into somewhere the sun no longer shone, where the sun had stopped shining into my heart. I had dug the hole. With every drink consumed in anger, from boredom, too early, too late, too many, I had dug the hole a little deeper. And as I was sinking so slowly, I couldn’t see that it was getting darker, that it was getting damper, and that the mould was taking over my heart.

  As he squeezed, I remembered, I hadn’t told him about the baby. Our baby. He would have been so happy, he’d always wanted us to have babies. But I hadn’t, I couldn’t face up to it, to giving up my life. As I had seen it then, it would have taken my freedom away from me, my sense of self. But now, as my throat tightened, the truth blazed through. I saw, I hadn’t wanted it to take my drinking away from me. So, I had drunk a lot of gin, in a hot bath. And convinced myself to be surprised when I lost the baby. It hadn’t been right. Hadn’t been the right time. The baby had a lucky escape from me, I would have been a dark shadow across its heart for its entire life. No one had cast a shadow over my life but me.

  And then it all went dark.

  And the darkness surrounded me, but it was not inside of me. I felt swaddled by the darkness, as if I were tightly wrapped in its warmth. It mattered not whether my eyes were open, there was nothing out there now but the darkness. And yet I was bathed in light.