Perpetual Darkness: A collection of four gory horror novellas

by Jacob Rayne

  Feeling slightly downhearted, she set off back home.

  As she sat at the table and tried to figure out her next move, a message came through on the phone.

  ‘Hear u’ve bin trying 2 track me down. Bad idea. U just raised the stakes. I want the old faggot nxt door dead by midnite. Remember, no cops.’

  Debbie stared at the message in disbelief.

  Could they really want her to kill Frank?

  Could she go through with it after everything he had done for her?

  He’d gone out of his way to help her.

  He’d killed to protect her, for crying out loud.

  She couldn’t kill him, could she?

  She spent the next hour staring at the message in disbelief, going over all the possibilities, but failed to come up with a plan.

  It seemed they knew her every move and now they were forcing her into murdering a sweet old man who had done everything in his power to help her.

  She sobbed at the thought of killing Frank and the realisation that it was looking like her only option.

  Still doesn’t guarantee Becki’s safety though, does it?

  I could kill him and they still might hurt her, just like they did after I gave them the money.

  ‘I’m not going to kill for you,’ she texted back.

  ‘U will, or we’ll hurt ur daughter. I want u 2 film urself killing the old fucker nxt door and I want his heart as proof. Otherwise ur daughter will b coming home in a coffin.’

  That sealed it for her. There was no way she was going to let Becki be hurt.

  Even if there was more to do after this, she wanted to know she’d done everything she could to prevent her daughter’s death.

  Unfortunately that meant Frank had to die.

  Eight

  Debbie sat with a cold cup of coffee, trying desperately to figure out how she could summon the strength to kill her neighbour.

  The image of Becki’s blood- and drool-smeared tooth popped into her head and chased the doubts away.

  She knew she would do whatever was necessary to get her daughter back.

  After hours of trying, she still couldn’t come up with a plan.

  Each second that ticked by was like a nail in her daughter’s coffin.

  The sun was already falling from the sky and she was no closer to having the answer to her problem.

  Opportunity knocked when she heard Frank and Maggie’s back door come open and a dragging sound on the path between the houses.

  She knew that it was bin day tomorrow and peeked through the blinds to see Frank dragging his bin down to the end of the drive.

  He was also taking hers, which broke her heart just a little more.

  While he was busy, she rushed out of her back door and snuck into his house.

  She knew Maggie was out at bingo and wouldn’t be back till half nine. Hopefully that would be plenty of time to perform the grim task that lay ahead of her.

  She heard Frank coming back up the path and rushed into the living room, intending to get upstairs and wait for him there.

  The back door clicked shut behind him and she closed the passage door a little to hide herself. Her heart was doing its utmost to bray a hole in her ribs.

  She uttered a curse under her breath as Frank’s footsteps came towards the passageway. A coat rack adorned the wall to her right and she realised that he was going to be hanging his coat up.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she backed up the stairs, praying that they didn’t creak as much as the ones in her house.

  The stairs remained silent, so she took a few steps up and crouched down behind the rail.

  It wasn’t the best hiding place, he’d probably see her if he put on the light, but she resolved to launch herself at him if he did spot her.

  The knife she took with her everywhere now shook in her right hand.

  The door opened, shedding a triangle of light from the living room into the corridor.

  Frank came in, seemingly unaware of her presence.

  His hand faltered by the light switch, then he seemed to think better of it and moved to put his coat on the rack.

  With his coat secured on the hook, he turned and glanced right at her hiding place. A wave of unease crashed over her.

  She found herself hoping he would come now, just so she could get it out of the way, but he didn’t. She cursed under her breath, knowing that the longer she waited the more likely she would be to back out.

  He went into the sitting room, closing the door behind him with a firm push.

  She decided that she’d go upstairs, make some noise to draw him up and then do it.

  Any longer and she felt certain her nerve would break, despite what was at stake.

  She reached Frank and Maggie’s bedroom and started stomping around. The living room door clicked open and she heard Frank making his way up the stairs.

  She stifled a scream when she saw that he had the shotgun held out in front of him.

  Time seemed to slow down when she saw the shotgun.

  It made what was already a horrendous situation all the worse.

  Now it was not just a gruesome crime she had to commit, there was the possibility she could die or be seriously hurt too.

  I should’ve waited until he came upstairs of his own accord, she thought despairingly. Then he’d have been unarmed and easy picking.

  ‘I’ve got a twelve gauge here,’ Frank said. ‘So show yourself now before I have to blast a hole in ya like I did your friend.’

  The words came through a haze, distorted by the effects of adrenaline on her brain.

  She knew she couldn’t come out, as being held at gunpoint would fuck up her chances of offing Frank.

  Similarly the look on his face when he found out it was her would break her heart.

  She wanted him to suffer as little as possible.

  A small, sly part of her mind which had never really spoken to her until the day she’d seen the woman killed in the park suggested something to her.

  Why not pretend they want more money and you came to rob him? That’ll lower his guard long enough for you to attack him.

  In the few seconds she had, she decided this would be the best way forward.

  ‘Y’hear me?’ Frank said. ‘Come out with your hands up or I’ll redecorate the wall with your peanut-sized brain.’

  ‘It’s me, Frank,’ she called out, her voice faltering.

  ‘Debbie? What the hell are you doing in here?’

  She abruptly realised that she still had the knife in her hand. Whether he forgave her for trespassing or not – she figured he probably would as he understood her predicament – he was holding a shotgun and she was armed and uninvited.

  She hurriedly tucked the knife into her waistband, calling out, ‘They wanted more money, Frank. I’m so sorry, but after what happened last time…’

  He came in the door, the shotgun lowered by his side.

  ‘Please, just let me help,’ he said, and this broke her heart anew.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed, only half-acting. The events had really hit home hard. She’d be lucky not to have nightmares for the rest of her life at this rate.

  He put the shotgun down on the bed so it was facing away from them and hugged her in tight.

  ‘I’m not happy that you’re in here uninvited,’ he said in a headmasterly tone. ‘But I do understand why you did it after seeing that picture they sent you.’

  Sobbing, she nodded. A tear plopped onto his shoulder. It amazed her how this was turning out.

  ‘How much this time?’ he asked.

  ‘Huh?’ her mind was intent on finding a way to finish him and she had forgotten her story momentarily.

  ‘How much do those arseholes want this time?’

  ‘Oh, another three thousand.’

  ‘Jesus fucking Christ. I’ll see if I’ve got that.’

  Failing to read the look on her face, he knelt down by the drawers and pulled them open. His left hand scrab
bled round in the drawer for the envelope.

  Do it now, while he’s down there, her mind screamed at her.

  She tried to take a step towards him, but it was like wading through treacle.

  He pulled out the envelope and, remaining crouched, started to count out the money and put it on the bed.

  She knew this was the best time to attack him, but her legs were still refusing to move.

  She pulled the knife slowly, fearing the consequences.

  She hated to do this to Frank, but knew she had no choice, not with Becki’s life at stake.

  Without pausing to think about it, she brought the knife down hard, sinking it deep into his back with a feeling that was as sickening as it was terrifying.

  Frank let out a cry of pain and slumped back, bashing his head on the side of the drawers.

  She watched him fall to the floor, blood already soaking through his plaid shirt.

  She hoped that was the end of it, but then he sat up and swung a hard punch that hit her in the crotch. She cried out in shock and distress.

  ‘Why?’ he implored her as he staggered to his feet.

  Debbie drew herself up to full height, wincing at the burning pain in her crotch. Her eyes widened when she saw he was going for the gun on the bed.

  Shit! Do something, her mind screamed.

  She flailed the knife at him again, carving a deep wound in the right side of his neck. Blood immediately began running out and soaking the collar of his shirt.

  He lashed out behind him, slamming an elbow into her mouth with sickening force. One of her front teeth popped out in a geyser of warm blood.

  The strong taste made her retch, spilling blood onto the carpet at her feet.

  Frank had the gun now and he was turning to face her. If he turns it’s curtains for me, she thought.

  She dived at him, catching him side on and landing on top of him on the bed.

  He cried out as he realised he wasn’t going to be able to raise the gun.

  She sunk the knife into his chest, again and again, feeling the blood warm and slick on her hands.

  She felt more sick than she ever had in her life.

  Still Frank struggled, managing to get a hand on her wrist and bend it back with a force that tore the breath from her. She had no choice but to drop the knife.

  He rolled on top of her and slammed a punch into her nose. Blood choked her as it ran down the back of her throat.

  The knife lay beside her on the bed, but her fingers struggled to find it.

  He started to slam punch after punch into her face, making the world spin as her brain shook in her skull.

  She dimly realised she didn’t have the knife and probably wouldn’t be able to reach it in time, but the shotgun was near her left hand.

  She picked it up and swung it as hard as she could.

  The walnut stock met Frank’s temple with a crack that she felt sure would have been heard by half of the street.

  He stopped suddenly and fell forwards onto her.

  Feeling emotionally and physically drained, she scrabbled out from under him. He lay, groaning, on the bed, unable to move for a moment.

  She knew she had to finish him while he was dazed.

  Taking the knife from next to him, she hesitated for just the merest hint of a second.

  Then she punched the blade in behind his right ear, sinking it into the gap between his jaw and neck.

  Blood began to flow immediately and Frank gagged and bucked beneath her.

  She felt utterly awful, barely able to even imagine the pain he was feeling.

  Not to mention the betrayal.

  She stabbed him another few times, eager to end his suffering, but he still seemed to take an eternity to die. There was blood everywhere, much more than she’d ever thought a body would contain.

  Finally he stopped twitching and letting out the low pained groan that she felt certain she’d hear in her nightmares and in those moments when she felt most alone in the world.

  It was done.

  For better or for worse, it was done.

  Nine

  She looked down at the blood which dripped from her trembling hands and onto the floor at her feet.

  Her stomach heaving, she ran towards the bathroom but didn’t make it in time and covered the hallway carpet with the contents of her stomach.

  Tears filled her eyes, initially a reflex of the puking, but then followed by sobs of utter despair as reality hit her like a nail-studded baseball bat.

  She’d murdered a sweet old man.

  Murdered.

  The word seemed too small for the appalling, draining act she’d just committed.

  She took one last glance at the body on the bed, closed his staring eyes.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Frank,’ she sobbed, stroking his hair, leaving a bloody smear on the crown of his head.

  She took the shotgun and the knife that had been her constant companion over the last few weeks and left, her tears and Frank’s blood leaving a trail behind her.

  Eager to get the slimy feeling of blood off her body, she showered as soon as she got home and binned the clothes she’d worn, knowing she could never wear them again.

  She vomited a second time, her stomach acid stinging the hole where her tooth had once been, then laid on the settee, sobbing, for a good while before replying to the text and saying that she had killed Frank.

  ‘Where’s the video?’ the first text said.

  ‘Where’s the old faggot’s heart?’ came a second text immediately afterwards.

  She groaned as she remembered she was supposed to record the kill.

  ‘I forgot to take a video,’ she replied. ‘Do you still want the heart?’ The words made her feel queasy all over again.

  ‘No,’ came the reply. Then another text a second later. ‘U fucked up, so I want a video of his saggy titted bitch dying instead.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ Debbie screamed, grasping her hands to her hair and pulling hard. There was no way she could stomach killing another innocent.

  ‘In case ur feeling like u can’t do it…’ said the next text, then there was a photo of Becki, a strip of silver duct tape across her mouth.

  Tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes, which were bulging out as if to greet the camera lens.

  A sharp hunting knife was touched to her left cheek, drawing a single bead of blood that was in stark contrast to the pallor of her face.

  ‘You bastards, I’ll fucking kill you,’ she screamed at the top of her lungs, sounding feral and utterly insane. ‘I’ll fucking kill you.’ She broke down, racked with sobs once more.

  She dressed in dark clothes, taking a stocking to hide her face as she couldn’t cope with Maggie giving her the betrayed look that Frank had had in his eyes.

  She waited for Maggie by the front door, the phone in her hand so she remembered to take the video this time.

  Tears still streamed from her eyes, and her entire body shook like a shitting dog, but she was prepared to go through this a thousand times to ensure Becki’s safe return.

  Maggie came home at nine forty five.

  Debbie sprang to life as she heard the key in the lock.

  The last hour or so she had spent in a daze, and couldn’t recall a single thought she had had within that time.

  She vowed to kill Maggie quickly, and definitely before she had time to see the horrendous fate which had befallen her beloved husband.

  As the door opened, Debbie clicked the record button on the phone and set it down on the stairs.

  When the door slammed shut, she pulled down the stocking and lunged at Maggie.

  The old woman’s back hit the door and Debbie smelt stale coffee and dark chocolate as her breath exploded out. The pained and frightened look on Maggie’s face made Debbie feel like an utter bitch.

  Before she had time to scream or panic further, Debbie sunk her thumbs into Maggie’s throat.

  Maggie wheezed as her air supply was abruptly cut off. Her eyes b
ulged, her hands clawing weakly at Debbie’s forearms. Already her face was starting to go a deep shade of beetroot. A strand of drool fell from the corner of her mouth.

  Debbie was able to drag her closer to the camera to make sure none of this was being missed by the video.

  Maggie made horrid gurgling sounds as she fought for air.

  Her eyes seemed to pop right out of her skull.

  Her feet beat a tattoo on the hall floor as her entire body twitched like an epileptic puppet.

  Then she went limp in Debbie’s arms.

  Debbie held her thumbs in Maggie’s trachea for a second then let go. Her handprints were still showing on the old woman’s throat. She couldn’t stand to look at the body, unable to believe she had been forced to kill her as well.

  She approached the camera, lifted her mask and said, ‘I hope you’re fucking happy with yourselves.’

  Then she cut off the video and sent it to her tormentors.

  ‘Well done,’ came the reply. ‘That was the shit.’

  That was it. No mention of Becki’s safe return.

  Debbie was on tenterhooks waiting for the reply but it didn’t come. She texted back, ‘I’ve done what you wanted, now give me my daughter.’

  The reply text seemed to take an age to come through. She began to suspect something had gone wrong, so she found some more ammo for the shotgun, took this, the gun and her knife and put them in her car.

  She had a feeling the gang had pulled a fast one and this was confirmed when she saw blue flashing lights making their way towards her home.

  Luckily she was out of the street by then.

  She paused a second to watch out of the window, and they went straight to Frank and Maggie’s house. The cheeky bastards had had the nerve to call the cops on her after everything that had happened.

  Feeling utterly alone in the world, Debbie drove away, trying to think of how to find her daughter.

  As she turned out of the street next to hers, she saw a black car overtaking on the wrong side of the road, headed straight for her. She jammed on the anchors and gave a blast of the horn then started grinning as she saw that the driver’s side door was red.