Shattered

by C. S. Kane

  I met the eyes of the figure in the apartment as it lifted off the balaclava to reveal a face I knew too well—my own reflection, a hideous smile on its face.

  26

  I wrapped Nora’s door briskly around ten in the morning. After I had awoken from the awful nightmare the night before, I had quickly left the flat. The student union café had provided me with somewhere to go until the time I thought Nora would be up and about. I was buzzing from the numerous coffees I had drank, and the caffeine helped alleviate the pain in my head, which had not abated.

  “You look like hell,” Nora exclaimed as she opened the front door.

  “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I said.

  She led me in through the drawing room to the kitchenette. “I’ll make a spot of sugary tea and you can have a piece of shortbread to get your blood sugar up. Let’s sit in the pantry.”

  I looked around with surprise as I took a seat. This part of the house was completely different. Photographs and old postcards were tacked to every inch of the wall with brass pins. A collection of teapots sat upon high shelves that ran the length and breadth of the room. Every colorfully nostalgic item had been carefully placed.

  “No music today then?” I asked.

  Nora turned slowly with teapot in hand.

  “No, dear. To be perfectly honest, you gave me quite a fright yesterday singing that song. It has been such a long time since I’ve heard it. Go on, eat.”

  I helped myself to a biscuit.

  “I assume you’ve come to hear the rest of my tale,” Nora said, shaking her head.

  “I need to know what happened.”

  “I’m sorry I even started it.”

  “Yes well, I’m intrigued as to why you were standoffish in the first place, Nora. Why wouldn’t you speak to me before? Why all the secrecy?”

  “I didn’t know you and I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but this street has become the worst in Ballast.”

  “Yes, I’d heard.”

  “But I suppose when I saw you on the step looking like the saddest, most miserable creature that ever lived, I had to let you in. I know a lonely girl when I see one.” Nora frowned, then said, “All right, dear. I warn you, it is not a pleasant tale. Now, where did I leave off?”

  “Dr. McCabe had just arrived,” I said.

  “Yes…him. He had come over here from England to work in the brain hospital on the street. His family had been influential in the university. Anyway, my mother was told by a nurse that he had brought all these new techniques over. He was cutting into people, made them…oh what do you call them…? Yes, zombies, he made them zombies by punching holes in their heads. In those times, you see, people with stutters, tics, or epilepsy well, in those days folk thought they had demons in them. Dr. McCabe thought he was on a mission to save them.

  “Shortly after he arrived, Mrs. Fletcher came over to see my mother. She asked that I stop calling over to the house. My mother reluctantly agreed, confused. I only saw Lottie when she was allowed to come over and that very soon became never.

  “My mother missed her friend. Every time she called over, Dr. McCabe would answer the door and fob her off. He said Mrs. Fletcher was ill and he was treating her. I vividly remember sitting on the wall across the street and looking up at Lottie at the top window. She grew paler and thinner. I remember crying for her.

  “Anyway, it turned out the doctor was medicating Mrs. Fletcher using full syringes of some new sedation drug. He became possessive. He got it into his head the family belonged to him, all of them. He locked them up, drugged them, slowly poisoning them.

  “When Mrs. Fletcher realized what was happening to her and the children, she decided to leave. One evening, Dr. McCabe forced her to take the medication and left for the hospital to work soon after. Mrs. Fletcher went to the sink in the kitchen and threw up the drugs. The coroner later told my mother her teeth had all been corroded from repeated, prolonged vomiting.

  “Not long after that, Mrs. Fletcher decided to escape. She shattered the kitchen window in an attempt to get away from him, but the doctor caught her before she could make it out with the kids.”

  I shivered, recalling the crack in the glass from my nightmare, the blood that ran from my own arm in that godforsaken kitchenette.

  “Dr. McCabe had snapped. He forced the entire family into the front bedroom, took the largest scalpel he had from his black leather medical bag, and he…he…stabbed the children. The boys and Lottie. He was punishing Mrs. Fletcher for what he considered a betrayal.”

  Nora stopped for a moment, clearing her throat and wiping her eyes.

  “Once he had finished the frenzy with the children, he turned to Mrs. Fletcher. He stabbed her in the neck and watched her dying on the floor, but it wasn’t enough to sate his sadistic hunger. She wasn’t quite dead when he…when he cut her heart from her chest and…pinned it—”

  “To the wall.” I felt like I was going to throw up.

  “Then he went downstairs, threw a rope up in the drawing room, and hanged himself. He had left the curtains open for a final theatrical spectacle and a passerby saw him swinging, then raised the alarm. The first we heard of it was when a policeman rapped on our door but we hadn’t heard anything of the killings as it had all happened up in the very top of the house.”

  “Where we live.”

  “He didn’t count on our Lottie though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lottie was still alive. We were standing out on the front step when they took her out on the gurney. She was screaming, ‘NO MORE, NO MORE.’ It was so awful. They had her strapped down. Her head whipped from side to side and the white blanket wrapped around her was soaked in blood. After that night, she never spoke again.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “They took her to Harkmore Asylum. My mother and I went every week. I remember sitting on the awful plastic seats, staring at the murky green tiles just off the ward. The whole place smelled like bleach and disinfectant. I tried to look once through the latticed door window to see my friend. I stood on my tiptoes and when I peered in, I saw a body on a bed. Lottie’s face was turned away from the door. She was so still, like someone lying in rest. Dr. McCabe’s attack had left her paralyzed. My mother made sure she was looked after financially. She made sure she was clothed and even got a wheelchair supplied for her.”

  “How long did she last?”

  “No one knows. My mother and I went down as usual one day to find the hospital matron could not explain where she was. Apparently, due to a storm the night before, they had a power outage. When they did the rounds to check on the patients later that night, Lottie was gone. My mother reported it to the police, but they did nothing.”

  “Hang on, Nora. I checked this street out. I didn’t see anything about the murders or Lottie in any of the old newspapers.”

  “You wouldn’t, dear. It was all swept under the carpet, all hush, hush. He was a doctor and a McCabe at that. His family were patrons of the university, founding members of the hospital. They had all the money and all the power to cover up the crimes and they did.”

  “I’m sorry, Nora. I truly am.”

  Nora bowed her head gently and when she gazed back up at me, she looked exhausted, older.

  “Thank you for telling me, Nora, but I should leave now. You need to get some rest.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Look after yourself. You don’t look well, dear,” Nora said as she walked me to the door.

  “Nora,” I said.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Who lives below us, do you know?”

  She looked perplexed when she said, “No one, dear. You and your fiancé are the only people to live in that building for years.”

  I shivered violently.

  “What is your favorite song?” I said, wanting to leave on a lighter note.

  “That’s a hard one,” she said. “I’ve got it t
hough.”

  “Sing it for me, please, Nora,” I said as I stepped outside.

  “I don’t know, dear. I’m not much of a singer.”

  “Please?”

  Sure enough, she struck up the old wartime song “We’ll Meet Again.” In her crackling, howling voice, she sailed through the lyrics about sunny days, smiling through and the promise of blue skies. I could still hear her through the walls as I ran up the stairs to the flat. She was belting it out. I smiled, for the first time in a long time, as I quickly packed a bag. I grabbed Liam’s United top, some clothes, the Harry Potter cup my baby sister gave me for a moving-out present, and our photos. I hummed merrily as I left because I had formulated a plan.

  27

  I pushed into the shop to see Marty standing behind the till.

  “How are you?” he said, looking up from his guitar magazine.

  “I’m okay. Just going to leave my coat in,” I said breezily.

  “What’s in the bag?” he asked.

  “I just came from the launderette,” I lied and pushed on through into the dark storeroom. I walked through it to the very back, close to the freezers.

  I moved quickly, unzipping my bag and shoving the contents in the space between the large chill fridge and the wall. A stack of crisp boxes served well to disguise the gap and looked natural enough. Once that was done, I kneeled down and sighed. I threw the bag over my shoulder and ran up the stairs to Harry’s office.

  The office was unlocked as usual and the lazy bastard had left a table lamp on. But more important, he hadn’t even bothered to lock the metal cage where the gas refills and bottles of lighter fluid were kept. I hastened over and filled my now-empty bag with two heavy chemical accelerant canisters, rushed a good-bye to Marty and headed home before he could say anything.

  28

  I heaved the bag into the pitch-black main hall. I tried the lights but they did not come on. Black shadows crept ominously up the stairs and all was still and silent. This was the first time I had been in the house since Nora had told me the full story of the horror that had occurred here. My mind flicked over the images her story had evoked. Children, blood, weeping, flesh, and a gory telltale heart fastened to the wall. I had to climb the stairs; I had to go where it had all started for them, for me. I opened the door of our flat and wedged it open with the metal bar the previous residents had used in a bid to keep things out—I knew I needed a quick and clear exit.

  I opened the bag and took out the two canisters, then carefully scaled the stairs and pushed into the flat, where an acrid smell assaulted me almost immediately. I knelt down and started to unscrew the tops of the cans, focused on the job at hand. It was simple enough to throw the lighter fluid around the place. I paid particular attention to the bedroom and kitchen, making a trail back to the door as best I could, and then I threw the cans back into the flat.

  With shaking hands, I reached into my pocket and took out a box of matches. Trembling, I gathered a number together and struck them, holding the flame up in front of my face, watching it dance up and down—I laughed aloud in its feeble light. But then a face emerged from the surrounding darkness—the face of a woman suspended in time who knew the true meaning of pain; she wore the expression of a mother that had lost her children. She nodded sternly and silently.

  Suddenly, a pain hit the back of my skull as though someone had struck me with a claw hammer. I dropped the matches and cradled my head as I fell to the floor screaming in agony. The flames took hold on the floor and spread quickly. The pain spread to the left side of my head and my vision blurred. I knew despite the debilitating pain I needed to get out. I crawled backward and tried to get to my feet. But I lost my footing and tumbled down the stairs. The metal bar propping the door open jammed into my ribs as I landed, and I cried out in pain. My stomach flipped and as I lay on the floor, I vomited violently.

  As I strained to pull myself up again, I noticed the door to the second-floor flat was open. Oh my God, someone might be in there. I had not taken that into consideration in my grand plan and as the fire raged upstairs, I knew it would only be a few moments before it engulfed the entire building.

  “Fire!” I screamed as I pushed into the flat.

  The room was in near darkness. To my left was an alcove; to my right light was coming through the bay windows and streaming onto the wide slat floorboards. The place was completely bare except for a lone chair facing the window. And someone was sitting in it.

  “There’s a fire! We have to go!” I screamed, clutching the left side of my head. My teeth were beginning to throb with thunderous pain now and I couldn’t shake the feeling of nausea.

  I reached the chair and placed a hand on the occupant’s shoulder. “No more.”

  My blood ran cold.

  “NO MORE!” screamed the old lady, who turned her head to face me.

  I pulled my hand away from her in in horror. The woman had a number of punch-hole scars on the side of her face and her white hair was patchy and straggling. Many of her teeth had fallen out and her gums were black. She pushed her frighteningly thin frame off the chair with her arms and immediately fell on the floor.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered.

  She started dragging herself toward me, screaming the same thing over and over again while the fire consumed the building around us.

  “No more! No more!”

  I backed up through the alcove into the darkness, but the old woman continued crawling toward me, bony legs trailing behind her as if paralyzed. My eyes widened in horror as I glanced over her gray, tattered tea dress. I’ve seen that dress before.

  “Lottie,” I gasped as I recoiled.

  Suddenly, my entire body jerked and I fell through a splintered hole in the floorboards, hurtling toward the ground floor.

  The landing sent a sharp shock through me and my lungs were burning. I gazed up through the hole I had fallen through and caught a glimpse of the crazed old woman, who continued her piercing shrieks. I watched as flames started to creep down from my flat to the ceiling of the flat I now found myself in.

  Something caught Lottie’s eye and she screamed, “NO MORE!” at the top of her lungs, and then disappeared from the hole.

  From my place on the floor, I noticed what I believed to be a bare lightbulb cord swinging above me. Following the length of rope to the bottom, I realized it wasn’t a light source at all—it was a noose.

  “Get up!” I yelled to myself.

  I moved to the nearest wall and rested my back up against it. The flames began to engulf the first-floor flat and I crept along the wall, trying to find an escape route. Suddenly, I noticed another figure watching me—a tall, dark figure wearing a top hat lurked menacingly in the corner and I cowered as it shuffled toward me.

  I screamed.

  The ominous specter had no intention of backing off. In my heart, I knew it wanted to kill me. And I was trapped. I reached for the little necklace Hope had given me, but it must have fallen off somehow. I thought about Liam, my Liam. I thought about my family and university and all the events that had led me here. To my amazement, a pair of little boys rose from the shadows. They linked hands and turned to me.

  “RUN!” they screamed in unison.

  With a final burst of adrenaline, I broke into a run across the room, and I could feel the dark figure chasing me. A loud crack echoed around the room and a structural support beam enveloped in red and blue flames crashed to the floor in a flurry of sparks and ash, collapsing right behind me, creating a makeshift barrier between me and my would-be executioner. The sound of children shrieking filled the room and as I turned my head to look, I saw them explode into thousands of little particles as the dark doctor burst through their linked hands.

  I was suspended in time, trapped by fire and the unknown figure. The flames licked my skin and the dark mass hurtled toward me. I closed my eyes and lowered my head, defeated. But then I felt a tight, painful sensation around my chest and my feet lifted off the ground, arms flailing i
n front of me. I felt glass break across my back and the shards danced past me. The cool night air hit me and then there was only blackness.

  29

  “Stacey…Stacey…please open your eyes.”

  I knew that voice. I fluttered my eyelids and finally managed to blink my eyes open.

  “Oh my God, Stacey, you’re back,” Liam said as he grabbed my hand.

  My throat was dry and sore. I tasted sulphur. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital, love. You gave us a fright.” He stroked my forehead.

  A middle-aged woman with punky, short, white spiked hair came scuttling through the door. “Back in the land of the living,” she said as she flashed a light in my eyes.

  “Huh?”

  “Well, I think you’ve had enough time lying down. You’ve been out of it for four days. I’ll prop you up to a sitting position and I want you to drink the jug of water I’m going to get you,” she said matter-of-factly before walking away.

  I examined the IV in my arm and the ID band on my wrist. “Four days?”

  Liam took a deep, contemplating breath before he spoke. “Sweetheart, you had a brain hemorrhage.”

  “What? How?” I said in shock.

  “The docs don’t know yet, but it all happened as a fire engulfed our flat.”

  I looked away. I was sure he would say the police were coming for me.

  “The fire officer said they can’t be sure, but those old buildings on Claremont Street have dodgy wiring and suspect electrical outlets.”

  “What do you mean they can’t be sure?”

  “The whole building burned to the ground. There’s nothing left. It’s a miracle you made it out alive.”