I placed my pint on the table next to me then stood up and followed him up the stairs. He barely made a noise as he climbed, as if he were a drifting ghost. At the top, on the landing, he turned left and moved past several closed doors, one hand in his pocket, fingers curling for a door key. I heard it jangle as it hit loose change. He pulled it out and stopped in front of room 6. I stopped too, leaning back slightly in the shadows of a large rubber plant. I watched as he slid the key in the lock and opened the door. He moved into the room and I swiftly stepped from behind the plant and followed him into the room before he could shut the door. He said nothing as I silently closed the door behind me. He just stared at the floor, eyes emotionless. I followed his gaze and saw what he was looking at. She lay on the carpet in front of the television, my dead wife - eyes staring with an eternal blankness at the ceiling. Her throat was open and red, a garish, wet wound that reminded me slightly of my sister’s stretch marks.
I stared at the man now and then we both grinned at the same time. He tilted his head to one side and I did the same. He wiped his mouth with his fingers and I did the same.
“Awesome.” I said, gazing at the body.
“No one knows or suspects anything,” he said, “no one will ever know it was us. We’ll just cut the body up, dump it down the laundry shute later and then load her in the boot of the car.”
“And then bury her in the woods,” I added.
He nodded and I nodded. I looked at him and smiled. I admired him so much. He always thought of everything. He knew how much I hated my family, in particular my wife. He always listened to me when I poured out my problems. He was like me in so many ways the quiet man. Unnoticed. Unheard. Underestimated. When we had first gotten to know each other four years ago, I had been amazed at how alike we were. He hadn’t wanted me to marry Maisy, had warned me it would be a disaster and he’d been right. We had fixed that though. We smiled together and glanced down at my wife’s body. Her nagging words rebounded in my sore head.
‘Ricky, you’re a jerk do you know that? A real jerk. We are here for Larry and you can’t enjoy yourself for an hour, just a fucking hour… and no, no, you can’t have sex, fuck’s sake, is that all you think about? Disgusting, and anyway, did I tell you that it bores me? Did I? You drilling me relentlessly like an old man on Viagra, I can’t stand it…’
The look that had slid onto her face as the quiet man had grabbed the knife had been priceless.
I prodded her still warm body with one foot. Her rolls of fat moved like cold custard. I laughed and wondered if Larry moved like that when he was dead.
“You did a good job,” I said, “she’s fucked for sure now.”
The quiet man nodded, “She sure is.”
I wiped my hands on my jeans again then glanced down at them. The blood was still in the lines of my palms. I touched it with one finger then looked at the quiet man. He was silently watching, silently waiting. He was always in the shadows looking over my shoulder, whispering in my ear, telling me what to do, how to do it, always in my head, day and night. The quiet man was me, and you know what they say. The quiet ones are always the worst.
Me and I picked up the saw and bent over the body.
Forgive And Be Forgiven
By Sarah
Molly stared into the eyes of Mary, and then shifted her gaze to the painted picture of Jesus bearing the burden of the cross upon his back whilst the priest’s voice echoed around the church. He was preaching about forgiveness and how to cleanse the soul free from sin.
Molly’s thin body trembled as she took in the priest’s words. She tugged the sleeve of her grey jumper up to reveal her pale flesh. There upon her arm was an angry purple mark embedded into her skin. She hadn’t forgiven, but wanted to ask forgiveness. She felt such a hypocrite sitting in church knowing she was bound to sin again. She angrily let the sleeve of her jumper fall back into place and as she looked back up, she found herself yet again staring into the eyes of Mary. She felt too evil to be sitting in such a holy place. She wanted to sneak out without disrupting the service, but instead found her legs sprinting towards the door. Her honey blonde hair fell in front of her eyes impairing her vision causing her to stumble as she dashed through the solid oak doors.
Sitting on the damp floor Molly leaned against the stone wall round the back of the church and lit a cigarette. Gazing up at the full moon she let tears fall freely, something she had not allowed herself to do for ages. The lit end of the cigarette eat away at the white paper. Molly looked hard at the orange glow for a moment and imagined herself sitting on that ash mound burning in hell.
***
Molly impatiently tapped in the code to Bishops Court where her university accommodation was situated. She flung open the door when she heard the buzz and made her way to the halls where her room was.
Taking in the surroundings of her dingy room, she drew the musty curtains, switched on her CD player and played track 4, Body In A Box, from her City and Colours album at a high volume and reached for her sketchpad, locating her paints she began attacking a blank page. She used one of her textbooks to lean the paper on as she lay on her front on the floor. Her stained paintbrush created a whirlpool in the water as she swished it round and stained it with a new colour; this time a bright scarlet. Molly did not know exactly what she was painting; her subconscious drove her paintbrush on in a mad frenzy. Soon scarlet and black flecks stained her grey jumper. She only stopped to grab some beer from the fridge.
Molly padded down the hallway in her thick socks, and made her way to the kitchen. Damn it! She thought. Jack who lived three doors down in her halls was in there and she did not feel like conversation right now. She entered the kitchen anyway and pulled open the fridge door forcefully grabbing as many buds as she could hold. Then head lowered she walked back out deliberately pretending she had not seen Jack.
“Hey Molly, are you alright?” His concerned voice followed her down the corridor. She felt guilty for ignoring him but tonight she needed to forget and was in no mood for company.
Dropping the bottles of Bud onto her bed she changed the CD track to Save Your Scissors, also by City and Colour, and using her teeth she wrenched open the bottle cap of one of the Buds and winced as the metal hit a nerve in her tooth, then she took a huge gulp and dipped her paintbrush into a muddy brown colour, it was then that she realised she was going to paint a rope and a noose. Her brush strokes were not careful and precise; instead they were vicious, heavy, quick strokes that had a mind of their own.
Molly cracked open her second bottle of Bud and lit a cigarette, not bothering to open the window. It hung limp from her lips and smoke fogged the painting. In between sobs, Molly tore the cigarette from her mouth and began burning holes into the page. Then her hand rested on her leg where underneath her jeans was a faded yet noticeable scar. Tears splashed onto her artwork, she only paused now and again to swig more beer.
A loud knock came from outside her door. Guessing it was Jack, Molly got up to cross the room to turn up the volume of her music higher. Her head span and she swayed knocking over a chair on her way to the CD player. The knocking became more urgent this time. “Go away!” She shrieked, and she chucked an empty glass bud bottle at the door. It shattered and it was as though she was seeing the shards of glass flying in slow motion. Molly sank onto her hands and knees and crawled towards a large piece of glass. Her trembling hand moved purposely towards her right arm where she dug it into her flesh, the effect of the alcohol dulling the pain. She allowed droplets of blood to drip onto her artwork. They fell like rubies and were absorbed by the paper. Not even using a paintbrush this time, Molly used her fingers to smear the blood across the page and at the top she wrote with her little finger - Is it murder if you watch somebody die and just walk away without helping?
Molly’s head began to droop as tiredness washed over her. Her piece lay finished on the floor. Her last bottle of Bud slipped from her fingers as her head came crashing down towards the carpet. The side of h
er face landed in the palette of paints. This caused Molly to jerk her head back up again. She crawled towards her bed and not bothering to change into her pyjamas or wash her red, black and brown stained face she slipped under the covers and took a last glance at her painting on the floor before sleep took her.
Something rustled nearby. Molly slowly opened her eyes and checked the time on her mobile phone. It was 3.30am. Groaning, she went to put her mobile back down when the light from it shone on her picture which was now on top of her bed covers and not on the floor. The painted noose, dried blood and the anger from the painting disturbed and frightened Molly, the only explanation for it being on her bed she thought, was she had either slept walked or put it there herself before going to sleep, though she was sure she left it on the floor, but maybe being drunk distorted her memory? Deciding to ignore it she swiped the picture back on the floor and inched back under the quilt. She heard a rustling sound again. Molly’s body trembled as she dared herself to take a quick glance around the room. What she saw struck her mute so no terrified scream parted from her lips. The vision of her dead sister Katy hung from her ceiling by a rope with a noose. The translucent figure had bulging eyes that seemed to be pleading with her.
***
It had all started five years ago. Molly was thirteen and Katy was fifteen.
“Mum always takes your side not mine, you skinny, manipulative blonde bitch!” Katy yelled as she grabbed Molly’s hair and slammed her head against the lounge door. Katy had mousy brown hair and was thicker framed than Molly, she hated the fact that everybody commented on how pretty Molly was and she just got ignored. Molly placed a shaking hand to her grazed forehead and ran to her room in the loft.
Katy lit up a cigarette in the back garden whilst she had the chance; her parents had left her and Molly in the house alone for fifteen minutes whilst they went to the bank. Katy heard footsteps and saw the look of shock on her little sister’s face who did not know she smoked. “Don’t dare tell mum and dad I smoke or else.”
Molly nodded and began to back away.
“Speak up you skinny little cow.” Katy jabbed the lit cigarette end into a bare piece of flesh on Molly’s arm.
“I won’t say anything!” Molly yelled in between shocked sobs.
***
Molly was now sixteen and being congratulated by her parents for managing to get twelve GCSE’s all B and A grades. They told her what a clever little daughter she was and they hoped she would go to college to do her A Levels. Katy’s heart sank as she heard this. She was eighteen with only 5 GCSE’s and had just managed to scrape a BTEC at college. Consumed with jealously she mouthed to Molly, “I’m going to get you smartass.”
Katy’s stomach felt knotted from nerves. It was the middle of the night and she was waiting until she knew her parents were asleep. Shortly after 1.00am she carried the just-boiled kettle up the stairs. She crept up another flight that lead to the loft, where Molly’s room was. Gently opening the door she heard the steady breathing of her younger sister. She looked beautiful even in her sleep with her honey coloured hair fanned out on the pillow. Before she could back out, Katy yanked up the quilt and poured about half a cup full of the scolding water onto Molly’s exposed right leg.
The screams of agony could be heard from out in the street as Katy slammed the front door shut and ran off into the night not knowing what to do now. Hopefully her sister would pretend she had had an accident with the kettle and she would get away with it. Despite the loathing Katy felt for her sister and she could not stop the guilt from telling her to go back to the house own up and apologise.
***
Molly limped into the house with her bandaged leg after just having got back from the hospital. She had told her parents, and the doctor, that she had brought up a kettle of boiling water to fill up her hot water bottle and had accidently spilt it down her leg. She had no idea where Katy had gotten to but she wanted to tell her how she wanted nothing more to do with her, how she would never forgive her, what a rubbish sister she had been, and if she ever tried to hurt her again she would tell their parents the truth about how her leg came to be burnt.
Molly heard a key turn in the front door, Katy walked in looking extremely pale, her jumper was unusually padded as though she were hiding something, she took one look at Molly’s thickly bandaged leg and bolted up the stairs without saying a word. Checking that her parents were still in the lounge and hadn’t noticed Katy’s entrance Molly made her way up the doors but much more slowly with a limp. She slowly eased open the door of her older sister’s bedroom and stifled a yell when she saw Katy standing on a chair with a rope around her neck, which she must have got from outside. The rope had been hastily tied to her sturdy curtain rail.
“Molly I’m sorry, please forgive me,” she choked out before kicking aside the chair.
“I will never forgive you,” Molly’s voice rung out harshly, as she watched her sister’s eye bulge out and her body jolt as she struggled for air.
Molly slowly walked out and made her way to her loft room without bothering to get help from her parents who may have been able to save Katy’s life.
***
Molly hid under the covers to hide from the ghostly form of her dead sister. She relived the horrific memories over and over again until morning light entered her room and she dared to get out of bed. Her stomach churned nastily and she threw up in her sink. Her throat was burning with thirst. Though Molly had a terrible hangover she thought it was time she entered the church again. Shoving on any old clothes and hastily scrubbing her paint stained face she forced herself to eat some breakfast before going out. The picture she had painted yesterday evening seemed to be leering at her. Without even thinking Molly tore it up into many pieces and crushed them into her waste paper bin.
It was a Monday so the church was completely empty when Molly arrived. The oak doors creaked as she opened them. She felt thankful that no one else had come in for quiet prayer time. Her footsteps echoed around the building as she made her way down the aisle and across a pew to get to where the candles were. Molly turned to face Mary, and then the image of Jesus on the cross, and said a silent prayer for Katy. She then lit the candle and spoke out loud, “Katy I accept the apology you gave me and I wish I had got help, I’m nothing more than a murderer and I hope if you can hear me you will forgive me, for I do forgive you.” Heavy teardrops tracked a path down Molly’s pale cheeks as she turned away from her lit candle and made her way back towards the church doors.
***
Molly turned off the tap and undressed before getting into the bath. From habit she stared in the mirror to view her ugly blotched scars, but found that there were none that she had miraculously been healed.
Banana Boxes
By Nathan Robinson
“Will you walk into my parlour?” Said the Spider to the Fly
Mary Howitt
With arms fully laden, Jeff Danes left the chilling winter winds behind to gush and swirl the first flurries of snow on the cold side of the front door, which he kicked closed, then stamped loose the snow from his shoes.
Inside their top floor flat, the last on a row of red bricked terraces, his wife, Tobi, had the heating full blast, the electric fire was on and yet she was dressed in hot pants and a teeny tiny vest. Three tea lights flickered along the mantlepiece. He’d told her a thousand times, if she was cold, put a jumper on, get a few layers on your skin. It was starting to snow outside so he thought that he’d leave it for now. He didn’t want to seem a miser so close to Christmas.
He stepped in front of the makeover show she was so engrossed in and with a stretch of a smile he dropped the five cardboard structures at his new bride’s feet.
“What the hell are they for?” He noted a callous tone in Tobi’s voice, but he ignored it, keen to get this over with.
“They’re banana boxes. I expect you to pack your crap, I’ve done mine, now it’s your turn.”
Tobi gracefully flexed her hands out, then he
r toes, admiring her glittered pink handiwork.
“But I’ve just this minute done my nails, it’ll take a while for them to dry, you’ll have to wait Jeffy.”
He hated Jeffy. It made him sound like a toilet cleaner. Anything but Jeffy. Jeffo, Jeffa, Jeffman to his malarkey friends, only Tobi, his beautiful blonde bride of three weeks called him Jeffy. But he didn’t have the heart to tell her, he felt that if he told her not to do something, she’d shatter like glass; she had that kind of personality. He had to take things slowly with her, think about his reasoning before he urged her towards doing something. Christ, it took six months before she slept with him. But she was beautiful, and she was worth the wait. Well that’s what he told himself.
“Listen sweetheart, we have to move out by tomorrow morning, the landlord says that the lease is up and we have to go. The new couple are moving in and we can’t share a bedroom with them now can we?”
“Don’t be condensation Jeffy!”
She pouted in that ever-moodily glamorous, not a hair out of place way of hers, she had one of them faces that when she tried a bad attitude he didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss her hard on the lips or slap her harshly across the face. He knew for a fact, having seen her G.S.C.E results, that she probably didn’t know what condensation meant, she had probably meant condescending.
“Fill these boxes with your make-up and all your other crap and then we can take them to my mothers.”
He stepped up his tone to harsher level, not too high though, if you push her too far too early she won’t do a dammed thing.
The Spinetinglers Anthology 2011 Page 11