Pinprick

by Matthew Cash

  When Shane came downstairs the house was empty apart from Jack, who sat half asleep watching some action film. Catherine and the girls were out organising the food for the wake the next day. Reluctantly, Shane approached Jack.

  “Erm Jack?”

  Jack made a Neanderthal grunt.

  “I’ve got a box of stuff up in the attic,” what if they had thrown it? “I had a box of things up in the attic. Would it be okay for me to pop up there and get it?”

  “What kind of things?” Jack eyed him suspiciously.

  “Just papers and books and stuff. Junk really.” Shane felt like a child having to explain his every move to this moron.

  Jack grunted again and resumed watching some muscled bald guy pound the living shit out of a baddie.

  “Don’t go messing about with any of our shit.”

  Shane put his thumbs up and ran back upstairs.

  He was impressed at how much work Jack and Catherine had done on the attic since he had lived there.

  Probably thought they were investing in their inheritance, Shane thought as he pulled the light cord. Back in his day they had to use Dad’s step ladder, which meant carefully balancing whatever it was you planned on putting up there on top of the ladder whilst you climbed up. Everything wobbled dangerously, made even worse as the hatch to the attic was at the top of the stairs. Now they had installed a proper attic door with one of those fancy sliding down ladders that nearly cleaved your face off as it shot down. The floor had been strengthened, whereas before they had to use the wooden beams as stepping stones.

  There were a lot of boxes; Shane felt a twinge of guilt and sorrow at seeing his Mum’s handwriting on one of them. The box he was looking for shouldn’t be hard to find. And it didn’t take him long to retrieve it. The Star Wars Millennium Falcon box sat as if in a spotlight beneath the naked bulb. The way it was separate from the rest made Shane think it had recently been moved. Seeing the yellowed label with his writing on brought back a wave of nostalgia, and the memory of packing things into it. He regretted giving the toy inside to the village fete.

  When he lifted the flaps he knew immediately that things had been removed. He remembered that he filled this box and now it was only half full. Those bastards! He swore under his breath. A stack of exercise books containing his diaries and his own pathetic excuse for a sci-fi novel had been taken out.

  He had visions of Jack finding this hidden treasure trove and selling them for a few hundred quid to some shit-ridden tabloid. They would pay handsomely for a find like that. Diary entries from around the time of his friends’ disappearance and his accident. What if they contained an in depth confessional of the brutal slaughter of four young men? Shane sat down the wooden floor and rifled idly through the box and was pleased to see nothing else had been removed. Surely if the press had have got their hands on this stuff he would’ve known about it already? He took out the graphic novel he had originally come up here to find and closed the lid.

  He tucked London Leaves under his arm and pushed the box to one side, making a mental reminder to come back up and collect it before he left.

  “Hello?” a voice called from the hatchway in the attic floor, startling him slightly, it was Jennifer.

  Shane stood up and walked to the top of the ladder. Jennifer smiled up from the bottom as Shane waved down. As he started to climb down he forgot about the graphic novel tucked beneath his arm and yelped as he felt it slip and fall. It wasn’t that the book was particularly weighty, he just didn’t want Jennifer getting hit by it. The book lay open spine side down. A swirling purple black and navy whirlpool in Space and Time twisted and turned from the pages facing him like an optical illusion, a twinkling light at its centre. A wave of vertigo made Shane clench the ladder to steady himself. For what seemed like hours Shane was transfixed by the image.

  “Woah, trippy!” Jennifer said picking the book up and breaking whatever spell it had over him.

  Shane let the feeling wash away and continued the descent of the ladder.

  “So what’s this? You’re the last person who I expected to catch sneaking out of the attic with a comic.” Jennifer taunted with a crooked smile. The outfit she wore was straight out of Catherine’s wardrobe. Tartan mini skirt and oversized red and black striped jumper.

  “You sure you aren’t Past-Catherine-Colbert come to the future to make me feel like a gangly teenage boy again?” Shane said swiping the book back off her with mock aggression.

  “What does ‘gangly’ mean?” Jennifer asked crossing her arms across her chest.

  “Long, lanky, spindly, tall and thin.” Shane said feeling like a school teacher as he moved towards his room. He heard Jennifer follow him. She sat down on the mattress.

  “Umm,” she bit her bottom lip nervously. “You’re probably wondering where your stuff has gone?”

  “Yeah,” An inward sigh of relief blew through Shane as he presumed he was about to be told where his diaries had gone to. “As far as I can remember when I packed that box up it was almost full. So you know what happened to the things that are missing?”

  Jennifer looked as guilty as sin under his gaze.

  “I’m sorry. I was just bored one day, hiding from Angela. She still likes to play hide and seek like a kid and I like to get some time on my own.” She scrutinized her black chipped nail varnish on one hand.

  “And?”

  “And I took some of your books to my room. I only meant to take the story ones, I didn’t realize the others were diaries. I’m so sorry.” Jennifer began to look frightened, the colour draining from her face.

  Shane didn’t know how to feel, there were some strange things written in those diaries, intimate things that no one had seen. Sure he had shown all the nut doctors a condensed version of the diaries which they had kept for their records. He hadn’t wanted to tell them every little thought or flashback in case they thought he was mad. But these diaries contained his innermost feelings about his lost friends, especially Johnny. They were deeply raw, from the heart, encounters with his friends. He had documented every day of his life with them up until the fateful night. He was sure he didn’t want anyone to read them.

  Should’ve destroyed the lot of them, Shane scolded himself.

  The tension in the air was palpable as Shane realised he was expected to react in some way. Ah, what’s done is done.

  “And where are they now?” Shane said calmly.

  Jennifer’s face fell. “The diaries are in my room, but…”

  Shane nodded for her to finish.

  “I sort of leant the story to a friend.”

  “A friend?”

  Jennifer blushed slightly.

  “Yeah, a boy at school.”

  “And does this boy at school have a particular interest in badly written science fiction?” Shane said with a smirk.

  Jennifer laughed, relieved at the thought that her uncle didn’t appear angry at her.

  “No, no, no, he’s a big reader, proper into horror and weird stuff. And,” her cheeks reddened further, “we think it’s awesome!”

  Shane couldn’t help but smile at that. He remembered little about the story other than it was about astronauts that find what they believe is heaven. It was sweet that his niece and her boyfriend liked it.

  “So is this a boyfriend as in a friend who happens to be male, or a boyfriend as in I’d better bring him home to meet mum and dad?”

  She thought for a few seconds.

  “Well I’m kind of hoping for both.”

  Shane smiled, “Good answer.”

  They sat in silence for a few seconds, the conversation dried up.

  Jennifer broke it by standing and moving towards the door.

  “I’ll go and get your books.”

  “Relax,” Shane said walking to the door with her, “As long as I have them before I go its okay.”

  “What’s all this?” Jack’s voice made them jump as he appeared out of nowhere. Shane sighed with the annoyance of another possible ru
n in with his brother-in-law.

  “It’s nothing Jack; we were just catching up, talking about school and stuff.”

  “Yeah Dad, chill out,” Jennifer said. She slipped past Jack and into the bathroom. Jack watched as the door closed and turned back to Shane.

  “Don’t bother playing the loving uncle now. After the funeral you aren’t welcome here anymore. We don’t want anything more to do with you.”

  The words stung. He didn’t care about Jack’s feelings towards him; they had never made a secret about their mutual dislike for one another, but the thought that his sister may feel that way upset him. Yeah he was a shit uncle and an even worse son and brother but it’s not like he had ever felt welcome, here or otherwise in the village.

  “I’m afraid I’ll not agree to that unless I hear it from Catherine herself, Jack.”

  Jack scowled.

  “She’ll tell you when the time’s right!” He stormed off down the stairs like he owned the place.

  Shane wasn’t surprised how immaculate the graphic novel was, twenty years in the dark had preserved it well. The only thing that shocked him was the price by the barcode. Things had changed so much in the last two decades. A reissue of this would probably be ten times the amount of the original. He searched for the double page in the centre where the detailed picture of the vortex was. He flicked through the pages until he found the picture of the vortex in the centre. It was truly magnificent artwork and was so realistic he could literally feel himself being absorbed by it; the way the night sky gradually diluted and bled into the black and purple inverted funnel in the sky. It was like God had reached down from the heavens and smeared the night sky like it was wet paint.

  The optical illusion made him feel like he was being sucked up to the sky, towards that blinding light at its centre. He wondered how the artist had painted it. Shane squeezed his eyes shut tight and could see an afterglow of the light. It was so real. How was that possible? He brought the book closer to his face, so he would be able to see nothing but the picture and he opened his eyes. It happened the second he opened his eyes, the falling sensation, the wind on his face and rustling his clothes as he fell towards the light. Then there was nothing but blinding white oblivion and that ever persistent whistle in his head.

  Chapter Ten

  He floated over trees; their bare branches white from a snowfall. A figure stood on the white circle amidst the trees. The Decoy Pond at winter. The skeletal hand tree protruding from the ice didn’t look right and as Shane floated in a downward spiral towards the figures, he realised what was wrong. It was because it wasn’t a tree in the shape of a hand, but an actual, giant skeletal hand. The boy in front of him was familiar but he hadn’t seen him look like this for at least twenty five years.

  His tinnitus drowned out Johnny’s voice but by his wild gesticulations and facial expressions he could tell he was angry. Johnny had tears in his eyes, his face flushed; spittle formed at the corners of his mouth, some of it flew in Shane’s direction as he shouted silently in his face.

  What on Earth had he said or done to make his best friend so livid? Shane had no control over his body as his hands shot out and shoved Johnny with all their strength. Johnny staggered backwards at an alarming speed and his head connected with one of the giant skeletal fingers. The crunch of Johnny’s skull cracking was so nauseating it cut through his tinnitus whistle. He fell heavily to his rump and Shane watched as the ice opened like a giant black hole and swallowed his friend whole.

  Shane stared into the black hole and then decided to follow his friend into the void.

  …It was night time again, he was in the trees. A familiar figure stood in a ray of moonlight with its back to him. The light was like a layer of dust over the shoulders of his leather jacket. Shane knew it was made from brown leather. It was the only jacket Malcolm ever wore.

  Shane observed from afar as a figure crept through the tree and approached Malcolm from behind. In his hands, the stranger clutched a large spade. The moonlight glinted off its edge like a blade as the man raised it over his head. Shane shouted out, but it was too late. The spade swung down like a blade and struck side on. It chopped into Malcolm’s skull at the bottom of his hairline. He slumped forward into the open grave at his feet. Shane was no longer on the outside looking in. Now he was standing over his murdered friend and had to climb down beside him to retrieve the spade. It was stuck fast. He had to put his weight on one foot and stand on Malcolm’s back to get it out. When the blade finally gave way he almost fell backwards. Something wet and lumpy came out with it and glistened gruesomely on the spade. He wiped it clean on Malcolm’s leather jacket.

  He focused on the way the soil fell as he shovelled it onto the dead boy, transfixed as it changed from black to vivid white like the powdered snow. He was whisked off to another place…

  At first he assumed the white powder was cocaine or something, but when he looked closer, he could see four more tablets waiting to be crushed with the knife. When his job of pounding the pills into powder was complete he gently tipped it into a can of extra strong beer.

  …His mind’s eye blinked its ethereal lid and the scene changed, he was in a bedroom, Freddy’s bedroom. The ugly, goblin-like Freddy was comatose on the unmade bed, the remnants of a can of super strength beer pooled on the sheets. A pillow was placed over his face and Shane experienced each excruciating moment it took for Freddy to suffocate. He was unable to fight himself, to stop his actions. There was nothing about it. Eventually, the deed was done and he floated up out of himself, up towards the light bulb on the ceiling. He looked down on himself as he sat on Freddy’s bed.

  A slight shift in perception and the bedroom changed. It was now a bright sunny afternoon whose rays illuminated a different room. Posters of David Bowie and Star Trek covered the walls. A young couple writhed naked on the bed, a tangle of limbs amongst strewn clothes. As Shane descended he realised that he was the male but had no idea where he was or who he was cavorting with.

  He kissed his way up the girl’s flat pale stomach and flicked his tongue over her pink nipples. He felt the tip of his erection push against the soft hair between her legs and gradually pushed himself into the wet cleft that lay hidden below. He raised his face to kiss the girl, to watch the lustful pleasure on her face as he penetrated her for the first time. In that moment Shane realised, with surprise, that it was Daria; he hadn’t seen her without her glasses or clothes before. Shane was amazed at how real the vision felt as he thrust himself into Daria with a speed and determination that he didn’t think he could accomplish in reality. He left his body again, as it bucked and brayed with orgasm, and floated back up, ceiling bound. As the vision faded and changed he saw a now pregnant Daria weeping over a photograph of her and Johnny.

  …And then he was George from Of Mice and Men and Karl was Lennie. A blonde woman was laying in the straw, her neck all twisted and broken. Karl rubbed his thumb back and forth along a lock of silken hair he held in his hand as he wept uncontrollably. He told him all about the rabbits and then blew his brains out all over the straw.

  The bang of gun wasn’t in synch with the vision, Karl was already lying face down on the floor of the barn when the noise sent Shane hurtling out of this insane nightmare.

  There was intense pain in his left shoulder and a skull-crushing pressure against his scalp. His eyes felt swollen as he forced them open, his tongue thick and bloated. It tasted metallic…

  He woke in an odd position, half-fallen off the bed and somehow balanced on his head and shoulder. He slid his legs off the bed onto the floor and sat up slowly. His head felt three times its normal size. When he scratched at a dry patch he found on his face, flakes of blood were caught under his finger nails. A lump the size of a meatball throbbed above his left eye where he had smacked it on the bedside table.

  Shane sat on the floor and waited until he stopped feeling giddy. What did the dream mean? Were they flashbacks? Did he actually murder his friends and cause one to commit su
icide or was his mind playing tricks on him? He tried to process the kaleidoscope of jumbled thoughts that fluttered inside his head like a cage of wild birds. The exact details of the visions were slipping away fast but he managed to grab at enough snippets to form an idea of what they meant. He had killed his friends. He had, in some way, shape or form, murdered or took part in the events that led to the deaths of at least five people.

  His stomach knotted with panic as it dawned on him that he might be a murderer.

  Someone knocked on the door as he got to his feet. He wiped at his face and checked his reflection in the wardrobe mirror.

  “Come in.”

  Jennifer came in clad in Muppet pyjamas and dressing gown, hair scraped back and tied in a knot on top of her head.

  “Are you okay? I heard you moaning.”

  Shane looked surprised, “Was I? I’m sorry; I think I had a bad dream.”

  Jennifer sighed sympathetically, making him feel like a child.

  “Can I get you anything? A drink, something to eat?”

  Shane shook his head. He was becoming more and more concerned about how close Jennifer seemed to be getting to him. Was this some kind of weird teenage infatuation borne out of tedium and a thirst for escape? Whatever it was it was starting to make him feel uncomfortable.

  Jennifer absent-mindedly picked the Mark Somerfield up as if she needed to do something with her hands.

  “Do you think people can have a psychic connection Uncle Shane?”

  What the fuck? Where did that come from?

  “I don’t believe in that kind of thing as a rule but I guess there are stranger things to discover. Why do you ask?”

  Jennifer flicked through the graphic novel and raised her eyes.

  “Because I had a bad dream too.”

  “These things are to be expected what with it being your grandmother’s funeral in the morning,” Shane insisted. Jennifer didn’t answer; she just stood up in front of him and opened her dressing gown. She slowly started to roll her vest top up exposing her flat white stomach.