Twist and Scream - Volume 5 (Horror Short Stories)

by Jayne Bartholomew

  He smiled and turned to kiss her, as she raised her face he saw that her face was smeared with blood. Her smile was split to reveal two rodent teeth. She leaned forward to kiss him.

  A Life worth Living

  The clock ticked.

  Mabel stretched out and pulled the sheet over her head. The grandfather clock on the landing was a family heirloom that her husband had brought into the marriage and was really meant for a much larger home. Each tick was a statement, each chiming of the hour a proclamation and each and every sound it made scratched along her nerves like nothing she had ever experienced before.

  An absence of warmth next to her signalled that Jonathan had already left for work. She sighed and looked across at a smaller clock on her night stand to check what the time was. Eight o’clock; she had overslept, again.

  Was it her fault that she found the domestic life she had somehow become entrenched in unfulfilling? Her friends, the few she still kept in touch with anyway, were deeply envious of her lifestyle and appliances. Mabel gleaned little pleasure from their envy, she would have traded it all in for a one way ticket to anywhere but here.

  She sat up slowly and wondered if it was too early for a cigarette. In her mind she saw her mother looking disapprovingly at her only daughter being so slovenly. Eight in the morning and not even dressed yet? No breakfast on the table for your poor hard-working husband? Whatever is the world coming to?

  Mabel pulled on her dressing gown and fished around in the pocket for her lighter and cigarette case. With slightly shaking hands she quickly lit her first cigarette and greedily drew down the smoke. Her mother had never smoked, hardly drank and had subjected everyone around her to her depressingly cheerful demeanour. Sorry Mother, Mabel thought, it’s probably for the best that you’re not around to see this.

  She opened the bedroom curtains and tried to peer through the thick fog outside. If she concentrated she could just about make out the tree in the front garden but the rest of the world was smothered. A bit like me, she thought.

  Tea, that was what she needed, a good strong cup of tea. Mabel would have preferred something alcoholic but while her standards may have slipped she knew that losing herself so early in the day was a recipe for disaster.

  The clock ticked.

  There was never enough time really. As the downstairs curtains were opened a thick layer of dust could be seen on the bookcase and piano. Jonathan had stopped invited colleagues over for evening drinks some time ago when it was clear that her hosting skills didn’t cut the mustard. He never judged though, never argued or pleaded with her; just let her get on with whatever it was she wanted and played more golf. They went out for dinner a lot; Jonathan never said it was because she could burn water but it was true. Why bother with cooking and cleaning when they could just go to a restaurant? She was left alone at home for such a very long time in the day, it was only right that he made it up to her.

  She put the kettle on the hob and turned the gas on, swiftly reaching for a match to light and coax the flame into life.

  As she waited for the water to boil she found herself caressing the gas dial and wondering how it would feel to lie in front of the oven and slowly drift away. One of the neighbours had ‘accidently’ died of carbon monoxide poisoning last year and Mabel had been terribly jealous. It didn’t seem too painful to just close your eyes and pass out.

  The noise of the kettle nudged her out of her daydream and she found the tea caddy, cup and saucer in thoughtful silence. There was no point in her existence, she wasn’t yet middle aged – could she truly live the life she was living for another thirty to forty years? The thought made her shudder.

  She filled the tea pot and measured out the tea leaves. The milk man would have delivered a fresh pint but she couldn’t be bothered to open her door just yet, besides the neighbours would talk to see her so dishevelled. There was enough left in the new refrigerator she could use, one of the many items that her husband bought to please her.

  Her eyes were drawn to the gas oven.

  Mabel supposed that after her tea she should get dressed and get on with the day. Monday, that meant wash day, ready for Tuesday and ironing. By lunchtime the other housewives would spot her clothes line was empty if she didn’t press on soon.

  The clock ticked.

  But really, what was the point? You do the washing on Monday for it to get dirty again, dusting only made way for more dust and cooking was a redundant skill for those too poor to eat out. Meet your friends for lunch to talk about the drudgery of your morning and then spend the afternoon thinking about what your life could have been like if you’d made better or different choices earlier on in life.

  Mabel felt a pressure squeezing her head and for a moment a wave of light-headedness almost overcame her. She couldn’t stand it any longer.

  From the laundry pile in the corner she pulled out a selection of towels which she used to block the gap underneath the kitchen door. Two more towels went in front of the oven so that when she kneeled down to open the door her knees were cushioned. She turned the gas on and stuck her head in the oven.

  The clock chimed.

  Mabel stretched out and pulled the sheet over her head. From the lack of warmth next to her she could tell that Jonathan had already gone off to work. She risked looking at the clock on her night stand, eight in the morning. She had overslept.

  It felt like there was something she was supposed to remember.

  Reluctantly she went over to the bedroom window to open the curtains and was met by a thick wall of fog. Shame, she quite fancied getting out of the house today but there was no way she’d be able to see where she was going in that pea soup. Looking around the room in the half-light offered from the window she spotted a crumpled shirt thrown down next to the chest of drawers. She hadn’t seen Jonathan yesterday evening and hadn’t heard him come to bed. Mabel supposed he didn’t want to wake her.

  She picked it up to add it to the laundry pile in the kitchen. Monday was always washing day and she usually hated the monotony of it all, despite having a top of the range washing machine. She saw that the cuff was starting to fray from where he leaned against his desk all day and there was a sweat stain on the arm pit. Rarely did she give any consideration to what happened in Jonathan’s day when he left her but she wondered if he was happy in what he did.

  Downstairs she went through the motion of making tea and, as if for the first time, saw a thick layer of dust on the surfaces when the curtains went back. Mabel had grown up with a mother who was incredibly deft around the house and the home had often been full of visitors. A pang of homesickness flooded through her. She missed having company around.

  The clock ticked.

  In the kitchen the gas flame licked the sides of the kettle and she watched the hypnotic dance in silence. Jonathan was hardly ever home these days, if he wasn’t working late he was playing golf, but honestly, what incentive did she give him for spending time with her? Their local restaurant saw them more often than their dining room and would it kill her to prepare a nice meal at home once in a while?

  Mable filled the tea pot and measured out the tea leaves with a renewed sense of purpose. Maybe this life wasn’t the one she would have chosen given the choice but it was the one she had. Jonathan worked hard and she’d married him with open eyes, they were supposed to be a team; she needed to do her part.

  The milk man would have delivered a fresh pint of milk that morning and it wouldn’t do to let it spoil. Mable pulled the tie of her dressing gown tighter and went to the front door.

  The clock stopped.

  In the hallway the sudden silence stopped Mable in her tracks. She couldn’t remember when the big clock hadn’t been marking the procession of time but in the sudden silence she could feel a weight lift from her. A sense of optimism flooded through her body; things were going to be alright, she could be a better person. She would make changes to make things alright.

  Mable opened the door and stepped back in shock at the
sight of a stranger on her doorstep.

  “Good morning, Mrs Crowler.”

  The smartly dressed man had a chauffeur hat under one arm, the bottle of milk in the other hand and a gentle expression under a slightly untidy mop of greying hair. Mable pulled her dressing gown together at the throat to preserve her dignity and assessed the new arrival.

  The stranger held out the milk as if it were a peace offering.

  “I’m Charlie, I’ve come to give you a lift.” He smiled easily.

  Mable took the milk. “I think you have the wrong address, I didn’t call for a car and even if I had this is no weather to be driving in.”

  “This is definitely the right place and more importantly the right time. I need to take you to the next part of your journey and if you don’t mind I’ve got more than a few lifts today so I’d be grateful if we could make a swift start.”

  “What journey? This is ridiculous. Please leave, I have a lot of things to do today and I don’t have time for this foolishness.” She took a step backwards into the house to indicate their conversation had ended.

  “Trust me Mabel, the only thing you have to do today is come with me. The washing, dusting and preparing a meal for Jonathan is all another lifetime away now.”

  “What? How do you know my husband?”

  “A long time ago you made a hasty decision and you needed some time out to learn a better way of thinking. Have you had any thoughts about doing anything differently this morning?”

  Mabel thought back, “Yes, but how…?”

  “Then obviously it’s been decided that you’ve learned enough to move on. Well done. So, if you’d like to come with me I’ve got a car ready.” Charlie pointed to a black Mercedes.

  “What’s that?” She asked, curious despite herself.

  “One of the perks of my job; I’m on the road a lot so it made sense to have something I like driving.”

  “I’ve never seen a car like it before!”

  “Well, things have moved on since you made your mistake Mabel.”

  “What mistake?”

  “Folk don’t generally end up in purgatory for mislaying a pair of glasses. Did you kill yourself?”

  “Purgatory? Don’t be ridiculous; this is where I live.” But that nagging feeling of having to remember something kept coming back.

  Charlie ambled down the front path and Mabel watched the fog clear before him.

  “Nice house it is too, but now it’s time to move on. There’s nothing for you here.” He opened the back passenger door and stood aside for her to get in. She remained on the door step.

  “I’m going to close the door now,” said Mabel with the voice she used to discipline small children. “I hope you have a good day but please don’t call again.”

  Charlie strode up through the fog to stand in front of her again. “Mabel, I know this is going to take some getting used to but you’re dead. You’ve been dead for quite a few decades now and I’ve come to collect you to take you to the next place. Have a think about where you slept last night.”

  “I woke up in my own bed.” Mabel retorted indignantly.

  “But where did you go to sleep?”

  “I…” An image crept into Mabel’s mind; a flame dancing against the darkness and beneath the cheerful red flicker, the light blue of escape. She heard the gas hiss through pipes and whisper in her ear as it constricted around her throat. She remembered.

  Charlie watched as the woman’s memory flooded back and her cheeks flushed with shame. Gently he took one of her hands in his and patted it.

  “Life’s a journey Mabel, this is a bend in the road and around the corner is something else. I’m here to help you through the next few steps and then it’s up to you.”

  She twisted her hands together. “I’m scared.”

  Charlie paused. “I don’t make the rules but for what it’s worth from what I’ve seen there are no right or wrong choices. Sometimes the journey takes a bit longer; sometimes it’s a bit quicker. You’ve had a pause, that’s all, and now it’s been decided that you’re ready to head off again. That’s a decision not made lightly.”

  “Who makes that decision?”

  “Not my place to say, I’m afraid.” Charlie flashed a grin and Mabel, found herself smiling back at him.

  “So all I have to do is get in the car…?”

  “That’s the next step, yes.”

  “You’re the Ferryman?”

  Charlie opened the car door again and helped her in before closing the door and making himself comfortable in the drivers’ seat. He adjusted the mirror and caught a glimpse of her anxious face.

  “I’ve had a bunch of names over the years but I find that Charlie seems to fit the best with me.” He opened the glove compartment and fished out a small paper bag that he opened and offered Mabel. “Would you like a sweet? I think the jelly babies have gone but there’s still a decent mix in the bag.”

  As the Mercedes started up its powerful engine Mabel could see the fog ahead move away to reveal an open road and a night sky, blanketed with stars that sparkled like fire flies.

  The journey began.

  Lucky Break

  Pete could feel the familiar urge coming over him as he sat at his computer.

  In the lounge, behind his locked study door, he could hear his wife, Claire, playing with their children, blissfully unaware of what was flashing up before him on the laptop screen. Pete knew that the sensible thing to do would be to log off now and join his family for an evening of cartoons and hot chocolate. Unfortunately he wasn’t feeling particularly sensible.

  He was convinced that he was close to the tipping point between winning the big one and continuing to lose miserably and he was sure that if he stopped now he would lose his edge. On the screen a large roulette wheel began spinning and an automated dealer asked him if he wanted to play again. Pete had a few hundred left in his online account; with a single click he moved the whole lot on to red eighteen; he had a good feeling about that one.

  The ball spun around the wheel and rested on black twelve. The house wins; thank you for playing, Sir; would you like to play again?

  Shit. He knew, just knew, that this was his lucky night so he had to keep playing. The loss he’d made could be won back and no one would need to know exactly how big that loss had been. Pete fished a credit card out of his wallet and tapped in the number, authorising another thousand to be added to his account. This time he was going to win, he could feel it.

  His card was declined.

  He stared at the words before entering a lower amount. In the last few months he’d had enough cards declined to be familiar with the feeling of shame and embarrassment, but also of impatience. This was interrupting his flow, surely there was some mistake; he was convinced there was still a few thousand left on the card. He tapped in a smaller figure and slumped back when that too was rejected. A furtive call to the credit card company confirmed that he had reached his limit.

  OK, OK, he could deal with that; there were still three more cards that he thought might be useable. Pete massaged his forehead and absently wiped away the perspiration that his anxiety was causing. He entered the details of one card after the other; all were declined.

  This was a problem.

  Pete already had already used up all legitimate forms of internet lending, his wife’s jewellery had been exchanged for paste imitations months ago and he’d secretly taken out a second mortgage on the family house. He couldn’t believe the accounts were empty; in his mind he thought he’d been keeping a track of things. He thought he was in control.

  A shriek, followed by giggles, came from the lounge. The smart thing to do would be to go to his wife and confess he’d spent every last penny in their accounts. Perhaps if he was honest and admit that he didn’t know how they were going to feed the children since there was nothing left from his last pay check, maybe she would forgive him. There was a chance she would respect his honesty. Possibly.

  Pete buried his head in h
is hands, desperately trying to think. Who was he trying to kid? Of course she wouldn’t forgive or respect him. He was in far too deep for that.

  On the desk next to the laptop Pete’s phone chimed to signal a text message had arrived. It was an automated reminder that his payment at the high street money lender was due next week. He stared at the words as a sick feeling washed over him; he was out of options.

  He didn’t know much about illegal ways of generating an extra income but he was now open to suggestions. Pete’s morals had disappeared around the same time that he took his dead mother’s wedding ring to the pawn broker to place a bet on whether or not there would be snow at Christmas. He’d actually won that time but had placed his winnings on a horse that was so slow it was practically begging to be put out of its misery.

  Last week someone visiting the company had caught him checking his phone for the football results in an important meeting. Pete had tried to brush off the incident as simply following his favourite team; but the visitor, Craig, could tell he had money riding on it. He’d pulled Pete to one side as the others were leaving.

  “So, did you win?” Craig’s manner had been relaxed.

  “Not this time.” Or the last few, Pete had added silently to himself. “I think there’s a win with my name on it somewhere around the corner though.”

  “That’s the spirit! I made a packet on the horses last weekend, enough to take the family to St Lucia; you should’ve seen my wife’s face when I told her!”

  “Well done. Any tips?” Pete remembered trying, and failing, to hide the desperation he was feeling creep into his voice.

  “Back the winner.” Craig had watched Pete’s face carefully. “And never bet unless you’re one hundred per cent sure which horse that will be.”

  Pete had laughed politely but knew his shoulders had drooped. “Mate, if we could do that we’d all be living in mansions with Playboy bunnies, eating our lunches off golden plates.”

  “It’s all about who you know and what you’re willing to do to taste that big win. Look, here’s my card. If you ever fancy a chat about options, give me a ring.” Craig had checked his watch, a Rolex. “Got to go, best of luck with everything.”