Shattered

by C. S. Kane

  The house had been carved into three flats. The door to my right had a small metal letter “A” mounted on it. I assumed the ground floor—“A”—was a one-bedroom studio. Meaning “B” was a two-bedroom, and ours—“C,” as I knew from the brief viewing—was a small one-bedroom in the very rafters of the old house. A standard layout—the landlords in this area of Ballast did their best to pack as many people into as little space as possible for as much money as they could get.

  I climbed up one flight of stairs and stood in between two doors. Ours was on the left. I slipped the key into the lock and this time the door sprang open immediately. As soon as I stepped inside, I shivered. The room was frigid. I closed the door behind me as I looked up at another flight of steep, winding stairs accented by a rickety handrail. I clutched onto it as I made my way to a small landing. A tiny window cast pale sunlight into the stairwell, illuminating a box draped in canvas fabric I hadn’t noticed at the viewing. I reached out and grabbed a corner of the rough fabric. With a quick movement for fear of spiders and woodlice, I whipped it back. What I saw perplexed me—a box full of shoes: men’s slip-on loafers, women’s sneakers, and a tiny pair of white patent T-bar shoes. What the hell? The people that lived here before must have left in such a hurry they hadn’t bothered to take them. I left them untouched and pulled the canvas back over the box.

  Slipping through the door at the top of the landing, I squinted in the darkness of the gloomy hall. There were no windows in this space and an artificial night came upon me. I felt around for the switch, flicked it, and a dim light with a dusty, bare fixture sprang to life. There were four doors around me. To the left a door to the kitchen, straight ahead was the bathroom, next to that on the right was the door to the bedroom and directly to my right was the door to the living room. I made a mental note to leave every door open to allow some sort of natural light into the hall.

  I entered the living room and surveyed the dingy sofa and drab décor.

  This place needs a little life.

  I decided to head into the city to buy some soft furnishings to make the place more comfortable, or at least a bit warmer. But part of me wanted to run away and never return.

  6

  I walked along Main Street, bracing myself against the autumn winds, and smiled at the grinning pumpkin faces that stared back at me through shop-front windows. Halloween was always my favorite time of year and it was fast approaching.

  I passed through the automatic doors of a department store and ambled among the bargain rails in the ground-floor clothing department, picking up tops and setting them down again, reminding myself of our limited budget.

  I managed to find a few faux fur pillows, a thick royal blue throw, and a small canvas featuring a close-up shot of a cotton plant against a blue background. I took my items to the cashier, paid, and hurriedly left the shop, heading for home. Liam wouldn’t be finished with work for another few hours so I decided to walk.

  I trudged slowly along the main road to get back to Claremont Street. As I entered the area dubbed “The Avenue” by King’s students, I stopped and set down my load. After taking a few moments to ease my aching arms, I lifted the deceptively heavy canvas and cushions and continued on.

  “Wee girl, wee girl,” a voice called out at me from the shadows.

  I looked down and saw a woman sitting against an old electric box. Her head was wrapped in a floral scarf and her dark hazel eyes stared up at me longingly. She stretched out her hands, palms up.

  “Wee girl,” she repeated, exposing her teeth. Her gold-capped incisors glinted in the lamplight.

  I shook my head and walked past her quickly. I’d never seen so many homeless people in one place before. In fact, in our hometown, I’d never seen any.

  A clump of buildings lay at the crest of the hill of The Avenue—the entrance to the train station, an off-license, and a newsagent’s shop occupied them. My stomach panged and I remembered I had not eaten anything all day. The thought of beef-flavored crisps sent my stomach into a growling fit. I decided to head into the shop and buy something to snack on. As I reached the door, I noticed a small advertisement in the corner of the glass.

  HELP WANTED

  SHOP ASSISTANT

  EXPERIENCE ESSENTIAL

  I pushed hurriedly through the door.

  “Excuse me,” I said to the shaggy-haired assistant who was leaning lazily on the till.

  “What’s up?” he said, smiling.

  “The ad in the window for the job…is there an application form?”

  “No, you gotta go up and see the boss.” He motioned to a door at the back of the shop.

  “Okay then.” I shuffled awkwardly through the narrow condiments aisle, trying not to knock over any jars.

  I went through the door and emerged in a dark storeroom. Huge towers of convenience goods loomed above me. I dumped my bags and walked deeper into the room. I could hear the whirring of the fan in the large freezer to my right. To my left a steep set of metal framework stairs ascended to what I assumed was the boss’s office. A crack of light escaped from the door at the top and I could make out the muffled gunshot sounds of some TV program.

  I reached the top of the stairs and rapped lightly on the door.

  “Come in,” a voice boomed.

  I walked inside and found a rotund, balding man sitting in a swivel chair. I extended my hand through the thick plumes of smoke coming from the cigarette he was puffing on and said, “Good evening, I’m Stacey Sheldon. I’m looking for a job and saw your advertisement.”

  “Did you now?” He spun around in his chair and faced me.

  “Yes I did, and I think I have the experience. I’ve worked as a bookseller, till clerk, and receptionist in the past. All part-time of course. I’m a student.”

  “Name’s Harry. When can you start?” he asked, looking me up and down.

  “Monday.”

  “Fine. Be here at three in the afternoon. You will work until eleven and that will be your trial. No pay the first day but after that, three pounds an hour.”

  I ran back down into the storeroom and grabbed my stuff. Returning to the shop floor, I grabbed a packet of crisps and a Coke and headed to the till.

  “Hi, me again. My name’s Stacey. I’m starting here on Monday.”

  “I’m Marty,” the bespectacled floppy-haired guy said.

  “That was the quickest interview I’ve ever had.”

  “Do you have to do the first day’s work with no pay?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “Cheap bastard,” Marty muttered. “Most people do the first day and don’t come back.”

  “Well, I don’t have many options at the moment. I have rent to pay, so you’re stuck with me.”

  “Some company would be a good thing in this hellhole.”

  “See you Monday then,” I said as I pushed out the door.

  7

  The house was in complete darkness. I shoved the door open and flicked the light switch. Nothing.

  “Goddamn it,” I spat.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and used it to illuminate my way up the stairs. When I reached the door to our flat, I found myself praying it was simply the hall lightbulb that had blown and not the circuit breaker to the entire house. I stuck my hand in through the door and groped for the light switch. Click. The light came on and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I lifted my bags and squeezed through the door. As I turned to move up the stairs, I stumbled backward awkwardly. My coat was caught on some kind of hook. I released it and ran up the stairs so I could dump my bags.

  Upon returning to inspect the hook more closely, I felt a keen sense of confusion sweep over me. There was an identical hook on the other side of the door frame. What is this all about? I turned around, expecting some answer to jump out at me. I gasped as I realized that leaning against the wall in the corner was a thick metal bar. How did we not notice this before? I wondered. I lifted it and slowly slid it through the first hook and p
ushed it into the second. I stood back and looked.

  “What were these people trying to keep out?” I muttered.

  Suddenly, uncontrollably, I felt my eyes welling up. Before I knew it, tears cascaded from my eyes. I crouched on the first stair and grabbed onto the banister as breathtaking sobs shook my body to its core. I had no idea why I’d had such an emotional reaction to seeing the barricade, but I remained on the stairs, shaking for a long while, before I got up, removed the bar and went back upstairs. The image of the blockaded door unsettled me so much that I never took my eyes from it. I walked backward up each step until it was out of view, then turned and ran up the final set of stairs. Slamming the living room door behind me, I swore to remain there until Liam got home.

  I busied myself by trying to arrange the new cushions and draping the blue throw in different positions on the sofa. I finally decided on throwing them haphazardly and wherever they landed was where they would stay.

  Next I removed the wrapping from the new artwork and realized there was a thick nail already set in the center of the biggest wall. I carefully climbed on the sofa and balanced it gently. As I stood back and looked, I still felt like the room was very cold—in both décor and actual temperature. Jake had told us there was gas-fired central heating, but I hesitated as I reached out to turn the door handle. I didn’t want to leave the little room. This is just plain silly, I told myself. Grow up and stop being such a baby. I padded into the kitchen and tried to light up the boiler. It clicked a few times and the sound of gas hissed out of the pipes, but it wouldn’t ignite.

  “He’s going to go crazy,” I said to myself, thinking about Liam.

  Bang! A door slammed somewhere in the house. I jumped violently, and then stood absolutely still with my hand still on the gas knob. I turned my head toward the kitchen door and tried to control my breathing. I heard the key in the lock and Liam’s always heavy footsteps on the stairs. I breathed a sigh of relief and went back into the living room, chiding myself for being such a wimp.

  Liam stuck his head through the living room door just as I was lighting a few candles.

  “I like what you’ve done in here,” he said with a smile as he produced a small bunch of yellow Bonny Jeans.

  “Aw…they’re lovely.” I inhaled their light fragrance. “Good news and bad news, honey,” I continued as I looked up at him.

  “What’s up?”

  “Well for a start, the heat isn’t working, and as it’s the weekend, I’ll not be able to let them know until Monday.”

  “Great. The temperature is supposed to drop even further this weekend.”

  “The good news is, I got a job…or a trial for a job at least.”

  “That’s great!” he said, plopping himself down on the sofa. “Where?”

  “The shop in The Avenue. The boss seems like a real idiot but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “When do you start?”

  “Monday afternoon, same day you start your new job.”

  “Things are looking up for us.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “What are you thinking?” Liam asked as he took my freezing hand.

  “I was thinking I really don’t want to stay here tonight. You know, with the heat not working.”

  Liam draped his arm around me. “Let’s stay at my mum’s until Sunday night. We’ll get a Sunday roast and I can get a hot shower just before leaving so I’m at least halfway ready for Monday morning.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  “Let’s go jump on a train.”

  “Okay, but can you lock the door?” I asked.

  “Sure, you go on and get a head start, slowpoke.”

  “No,” I said softly. “I’ll wait in the hall.”

  8

  The weekend came and went quickly. Before I knew it, we had emerged from the station at The Avenue with heavy bags slung over our shoulders and made our way back to Claremont Street. The house was as we had left it. A deadly silence hung in the tall building and frost had encrusted itself in the corners of the windows.

  “It was nice of your dad to leave down the essentials this morning on the way back from church,” I said, making my way into the kitchen with Chinese takeaway in hand.

  Liam flicked on the television. “Yeah, I don’t think he liked the place though. He didn’t say much when he got back.”

  “No, I think you’re right.” I dished up the spare ribs and fried rice. “I don’t think he did think much of it, but then he’s not the only one.”

  We sat in silence and ate quickly. We could see each other’s breath exude in great billows from our mouths. I felt like crying with every gulp. As soon as dinner was finished, I gathered up all the empty cartons for the bin only to discover it was full.

  “I’m going to have to throw this all outside,” I shouted to Liam.

  “I’ll make a hot water bottle,” he replied. “We’ll just get into bed and watch TV. It’s too bloody cold to do anything else.”

  * * *

  I stood facing a door, and could see a crack of light emanating beneath it. I couldn’t turn my head left or right. I could only look toward the door, and I knew it needed to be opened. I reached out and clasped the round brass handle. It felt cool. I held my breath and twisted it. With a thrust, I heaved the door open. Bright white light shone from within. I had to raise my hand to my face to shield my eyes from the radiance. As I cast them down, I could see wide-slat bare floorboards. I stepped lightly into the room and followed the lines.

  As my eyes adjusted to the light, I noticed a crouched figure facing away from me at the far end of the room, and a potent smell of rot wafted to my nostrils. The figure was that of a child—a girl. Her shoulders were shaking and dark, long, lank hair trailed down her back. She wore a gray, stained, tattered tea dress and mumbled softly as she swayed back and forth.

  “Fly away, Peter. Fly away, Paul. Come back, Peter. Come back, Paul,” she repeated over and over again, seemingly unaware of my presence.

  As I approached, she turned her head toward me. I shuddered. Her pallor was ashen gray and beneath her eyes resided dark circles as black as coal. She was smiling, yet her crooked grin horrified me, all blackened gums and broken, jagged teeth.

  She turned back to what she was doing. There was a splintered hole in the floorboards and she was playing with whatever was inside. I looked down into it and spotted an old-fashioned syringe, a rusty scalpel, and a book of matches. I looked back at the little girl and knew instantly what I had to do.

  I reached down and lifted her into my arms. She nuzzled into my neck and I felt all my muscles tighten with fear. I stepped steadily out of the room, reached one arm behind me, and slammed the door shut.

  9

  The next morning I boiled a kettle and filled a deep bowl with warm water. Shivering, I ran and fetched a flannel for Liam to get washed with. I handed it to him with a glum look and went back into the cramped kitchen to make a black coffee.

  “Oh, this is so good,” he shouted from the bedroom.

  “What is?” I yelled.

  “The heat from this water.”

  “It’s a sad state of affairs when you get that much pleasure from a face cloth.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Do you have time for coffee?”

  “Nope,” Liam answered as he came into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I only have time to give a kiss and be on my way.” He planted his lips on my cheek.

  I turned to face him and admired his navy uniform with its powder blue shirt. “You look handsome.”

  “Thank you! I’ll see you later.”

  “Bye.”

  I heard the door slam, and turned to face my morning project, thoughts of last night’s dream slowly fading away. The bulky, useless gas boiler took up a ton of space, while an equally redundant gas hob was caked in grease and moldy pieces of food. I donned my bright yellow rubber gloves and began to scrub furiously. Two hours of cleaning and three bottle
s of bleach later, the counters were reasonably disinfected and the white hob was glistening. I had been so blinkered to the horizontal surfaces that it was only when I stood back to survey my work that I saw an old wooden chopping board propped up against the wall behind the cooker. I grabbed onto it, ready to chuck it in the bin, when I realized the wall behind it was badly damaged. I looked carefully at the chipped tiles. Slowly I reached out and lightly touched it. To my despair, the broken ceramic crumbled and sharp slivers of plaster cascaded over the hob.

  “Great, one more thing to clean up,” I sputtered angrily.

  I whipped my mobile from my pocket and dialed Jake Clarke’s number, but only got his voice mail.

  “Jake, this is Stacey Sheldon. Having a few problems here in Claremont Street. Main thing is the heating is not working. Could you get back to me ASAP. Bye.”

  I sighed. Six hours until my first day of work at the shop. I didn’t know where to start. The horrific brown wallpaper with fluorescent orange flowers was turning my stomach. I flicked the kettle, grabbed the washing-up liquid, and squirted it over the wall. Within a few moments, I had my hair tied back and was scraping furiously. The wall underneath was corroded, but I could make out a defined succession of chipped lines etched into its center. I stopped stripping and analyzed the marks.

  The jagged edges of the indents looked desperate in some way, deliberate, but they didn’t make any sense to me. I grabbed the loose bits of paper off the floor and threw them in the trash.

  What to do? I thought anxiously. I couldn’t look at the scratches every time I came in for a cup of tea. I had an idea, and ran into the living room to begin riffling through the still-unpacked boxes. When I had located what I was looking for, I ran back into the kitchen and hastily stuck up my large Audrey Hepburn poster.