Twist and Scream - Volume 5 (Horror Short Stories)

by Jayne Bartholomew

  And now, sitting in his office staring at an uncertain future, Pete took out the card from his wallet and examined it for the hundredth time; just a name and a number; no company details or logo.

  Of course he knew that races were fixed on a regular basis and it was only those at the tip of the iceberg that were actually caught. He imagined it paid well and then, since you knew who was going to win you’d have the added bonus of another load of money coming to you once you bet on them.

  He was interrupted by a knock at the door and quickly turned the screen off.

  “Hello?” His wife sounded tired.

  Pete jumped up to unlock the door. “Hi sweetheart, everything OK?”

  “I’ve just put the kids to bed. Can we talk?” She was holding a tissue in her hand that was twisted into a ball.

  “Sure, I’ve just finished up for the night anyway. Come on in.”

  Claire walked through the door and sat in the little armchair by the window; she tucked one of her legs underneath her and with both hands started fiddling with the tissue.

  “I haven’t been in here for ages.” She looked around the room. “Wasn’t there a painting over the desk?”

  “Hmm, I didn’t like it much so I put it in the attic.” He lied; the painting had been auctioned off two months ago.

  “Oh. Look, I know you’ve got a lot on at work but I hardly ever see you and...” Claire broke off and stared at her hands, unable to make eye contact, “I don’t think… I mean… I feel that…” She broke off as tears began to fall.

  “Sweetheart, what’s going on?” Pete had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d been neglecting his wife and family; he knew that, he’d just hoped that they hadn’t noticed.

  “It’s not the same between us any more is it?” She looked at him. “I think we’ve drifted apart.”

  Pete kneeled down beside her chair and held her hands. “I’ve just been too busy at work, that’s all. Lots of couples have dips. Tell you what, let’s leave the kids with your parents and go away somewhere.”

  “Really?” She looked unconvinced.

  “Really. We’ll go on holiday together, just the two of us and spent some proper time together. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much recently but I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  “Would you be able to take the time off?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll email by boss tonight and tell him I want two weeks off next month, then this weekend we’ll start planning where to go.” Pete was so buoyed up by the idea that he failed to notice his wife’s lack of enthusiasm. “I’ll do it right now.”

  He kissed her lightly on the forehead and went back to the computer as she walked out. Instead of emailing though he took out his phone and sent a text to Craig asking to meet him.

  Then life seemed to get even more complicated.

  Craig had suggested meeting at an out of the way café and brought a friend with him; a man who smiled without any humour and was built like a Russian bodybuilder. If the café owner thought it was strange to see three suited businessmen amongst the usual lorry drivers he was smart enough not to comment. The group made polite conversation for the first ten minutes and then once they’d ascertained Pete was genuine, they got down to business.

  Pete listened as Craig explained that a big race was taking place at the weekend and his friends, who would remain anonymous had decided that the favourite, Pink Orchid, needed to be removed from the race.

  The plan was simple. All he had to do was go to the race course and head towards the stables. There would be a distraction, he would know it when it happened, which would give him time to get closer and divert attention away from him. Craig was vague about how Pete would stop Pink Orchid running but he was very clear when he talked about how much his wife and family would stand to benefit from his actions. Once he’d held up his part of the bargain someone would make contact with him to finalise the matters stated on the contract.

  As soon as Pete heard how much money was involved he stopped listening to what Craig was saying. Forget his family, with that much collateral he would go to Las Vegas for the week and be a high roller. The more he thought about it the more he was convinced that he had only been on a losing street because someone like him was meant to sit at a roulette table with a cognac rather than hunched over a laptop with beer.

  How hard could it be to disqualify a horse anyway? He could enter Pink Orchid’s stable before the race and inject him with epinephrine, or adrenaline. The horses would be tested after the race, the drug would show up and the disqualification was a formality. Confidence was key; no one ever stopped a man in a suit who looked wealthy and powerful, just in case they were a potential backer. If he should be questioned and, worst case scenario, searched, he would say that he had a severe nut allergy and needed the adrenaline for personal reasons.

  “So, is this something you think you could do then?” Craig leaned forward and pulled out a document from an inside pocket.

  “Sure, no problem. Hey, I’d sell my soul for the kind of money you’re talking about here.” Pete gave a slightly high pitched laugh before taking a breath. “Look, I’m doing this for my family, we’ve had a tough year and I’d do anything to make them happy.”

  Craig smiled at Pete. “Well I do like making people happy.” The Russian sniggered but a sharp look from Craig stopped him instantly. “I figured you might say something like that so I’ve pulled together a little contract, just to formalise things you understand. If you’re going to sell your soul you may as well know what you’re getting into, right?” He laughed easily.

  Pete laughed with him and took the pen the Russian held out. Without reading the contract he flicked to the last page, signed his name and pushed the paperwork back to Craig.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to read the small print?”

  “No, I’d do anything for my family,” repeated Pete, “with the money I’ll get for this job everything will be OK for them.” More importantly, he added silently, everything will be OK for me; I’ll never have to confess to what I’ve done.

  Claire wasn’t at home when he arrived back from the café meeting so he snuck into his office and automatically locked the door. Craig had given him a few thousand as a retainer in good faith which Pete had put straight into the bank; but now it was burning a hole in his pocket. The computer called to him…

  As dawn broke, Pete reluctantly pulled away from the screen and started to prepare for the day. During the night he had lost and won money many times over but had actually ended with more than he started with. That had to be a good omen. Since he’d run out of time to place any more bets he decided, uncharacteristically, to use his winnings to clear several of his higher interest loans.

  Feeling that his luck had finally turned, Pete opened a cupboard and pulled out the spare suit and wash bag he kept to use when he wanted to avoid waking his wife. He wanted to avoid any questions she might ask and the fewer people that knew where he was going today, the better.

  Even though he left early the roads leading to the race track were filling up quickly. It would have been a mistake to arrive too early but as the traffic congestion built up he wondered what would happen if he missed his opportunity. He shrugged the thought off; with the people he was now involved with it would be a painful and short-lived mistake to make.

  As the motorway made way for houses and businesses if was easy to find the track. Women of all ages, wearing stylish outfits complete with hats, weaved along the pavement like a colourful serpent. The male companions strutted by their side in casual suits, laughing in anticipation of what the day would bring.

  Pete pulled into the car park and found a space next to a fleet of limos; he nodded to one of the drivers who was relaxing with a newspaper. Keep calm, he told himself, act like you know what you’re doing and no one will ever question you.

  His nerves were on a knife edge. One part of his brain was working out how far he could go with his wife and kids if he left now and ran
away; how long would it be before Craig’s people caught up with him? The other, darker part of him, the shameful side that kept him returning to the gambling tables over and over again, was flying high on endorphins. This was surely his biggest gamble to date – and he hadn’t lost yet.

  Thirty minutes before the race, on schedule, a passionate argument broke out between a man and a woman who had been sitting close to the stables. The woman threw her drink at him and waved her arms around, the man admitted to sleeping around; it was street theatre at its finest and everyone was watching.

  “Hello Pete.”

  “What?” He turned to find a petite brunette in a fitted black dress with a black top hat and matching veil looking up him.

  “I’m Claudia, I’ve come to remind you of your contract.” She flashed him a smile, briefly exposing a perfect row of neat, white teeth.

  “Hi Claudia, this isn’t the best time right now, could we talk in about ten minutes? I haven’t done what I was asked to yet.” Pete spoke calmly but he could feel perspiration breaking out on his forehead. “Not that there’s a problem.” He added quickly.

  “The boss told me that yours was a short contract and sent me to collect what you promised.” Claudia leaned up and straightened Pete’s collar. “Are you ready?”

  “I promised to stop a horse winning the next race but I haven’t had a chance to do anything yet!”

  “Technically you promised that the horse wouldn’t run in the next race, it was all in the small print on the contract you signed. You did read the small print, didn’t you Pete?” She pulled out the document he’d been given in the café and waved it at him. “One soul in return for financial security for your family. A really sweet deal if you ask me, not many people are as unselfish as this.”

  Pete could hear the argument in the background reaching a crescendo. “I’m sorry but you’re not making any sense and I don’t mean to be rude but you’re in the way right now so if you don’t mind I’ve got things to do. Craig can have my soul, my liver, my first born and anything else he wants but unless I get into the horse enclosure in the next few minutes there’s going to be serious problems.”

  He pushed her gently, but firmly out of the way, summoned up his courage and stepped out to cross a narrow service road, towards the yard.

  “Pete!”

  He turned towards Claudia to signal for her to keep quiet as he was crossing the road and totally failed to see the speeding delivery van coming towards him.

  The van didn’t hit him hard, but just hard enough to throw him backwards towards the curb. Pete’s head smashed onto the pavement, bone shards pushed up into his brain and he died on impact.

  “Thank you.” Said Claudia and tucked the contract back into her purse. She pulled out her to do list and crossed his name off.

  One soul in return for financial security for a family.

  As people gradually began to congregate around the dead body Claudia disappeared into the crowd, satisfied at a job well done. Just before she left the tannoy system announced that the next race would be cancelled.

  Until Pete’s body was removed the path from the yard to the track was blocked; the horses weren’t going anywhere.

  Pete’s wife received a six figure settlement from the race track owners on the condition that she settled out of court and didn’t go to the papers. There was also a life insurance policy that she had forgotten about and a generous amount from her husband’s company. After paying off his debts she still had enough to live off comfortably for the rest of her life; she had planned on divorcing him anyway but this way was much better.

  She told her friends that it was like winning the lottery.

  Hair Extensions

  The hairdressing salon was tucked away on a side street in a sleepy village, opposite a florist and nestled between a clothing boutique and a new age shop specialising in crystals. The moment Dee had seen the picture in the estate agent’s window she had fallen in love with the picturesque little building.

  While some little girls dream of owning a pony, the only thing she had every truly wanted to do with her life was cut hair. Her friends may have played with their dolls but Dee used them only for styling purposes and her mother knew that scissors had to be locked away before sleepovers unless she wanted a queue of angry parents at her door in the morning.

  It was the texture of the hair that entranced Dee. The way the silky threads would cascade through her fingers gave her tingles that she had long ago given up receiving from the opposite sex. When she was with a client she could lose track of the outside world and the busy bustle of everyday life faded into a warm background of highlights, perms and blow dries. In her lunch breaks she would go next door to the new age shop and browse their bookshelves that promised spells and potion making.

  Starting up the salon took all of her savings but she had a good reputation and in less than three months the reservations book was filled. Her clients travelled a long way for her attention and without fail would leave a generous tip and a promise to return.

  As the income grew so too did her team of assistants. The receptionist was a necessity, a designated hair washer saved her time to concentrate on the cutting itself and a cleaner to sweep the floors and offer drinks completed the full time staff. Dee had briefly contemplated hiring another stylist but in the end she couldn’t bring herself to share the playground she’d created.

  Dee could have lived out the rest of her days in the salon perfectly happily and without drama if it hadn’t been for an unexpected health issue.

  It was a persistent, albeit mild, headache that persuaded her to go for a check-up with her doctor. He misdiagnosed stress and sent her away with prescription for pain killers. The pills worked for a couple of weeks but heavy nosebleeds forced her back to his clinic and she was referred to a specialist.

  At the hospital her consultant prodded, poked and took blood samples. He didn’t say anything specific but Dee found his thoughtful silences excruciating. When it was time to collect the results she was told that she could bring a friend with her if she wanted to and she knew it wasn’t good news.

  She’d managed to hold it together when the consultant had sat next to her and gently informed her that she had a rare genetic disorder that wasn’t life threatening but would lead to total blindness. He said he was sorry. She thanked him for his time.

  Internally her mind was in turmoil. If she was unable to cut or shape even her own hair and be at the mercy of the kindness, or otherwise, of strangers then as far as Dee was concerned all she had to look forward to was a living death.

  She didn’t know how long she would be able to keep going for but Dee was determined that she would carry on as normal for as long as she possibly could. She would savour each head of hair, each braid, curl and lank tress as though it was her last.

  Coming back to the salon after receiving the news a gust of wind blew down the street and her hat was thrown into the breeze. Dee stood, unable to chase after it and watched it roll away. An idea started to form. It was the hair, not the customer that lured her into the salon day after day. She felt neither loyalty to the women that had been visiting her for years or interest in their daily life that tradition dictated she must listen to. She turned the idea around in her mind to see if there were any flaws before visiting the crystal shop and making a few furtive purchases.

  Her customers listened to Dee when she recommended a new style and the majority would go along with the most outrageous suggestions without question. She was never wrong so why would they argue? Over the coming months Dee suggested crops, crew cuts and bobs. No one left her salon with anything longer than shoulder length hair and eventually so many women in town were sporting shorter looks that they became fashionable.

  She changed the name of the salon from ‘Dee’s Hair’ to ‘The Dolls’ House’.

  The cleaner was tasked with sweeping away the hair cuttings into sealable plastic bags which Dee would collect at the end of each day and take home with h
er. The cleaner, who was grateful to have found work so close to where she lived, didn’t ask questions.

  In the evenings, as the light faded outside and the weather turned colder, Dee would take a bag of cuttings and gently brush out any tangles, enjoying once again the thrill of touching the hair. One wall of her living room was stacked with boxes of plastic dolls. When the hair was ready she would go to her bookcase, draw out the book she’d purchased from the crystal shop and carefully turn to page fifty nine. It was a page she could recite from memory now but seeing the page brought her some comfort.

  Dee would light a black candle, take a doll and gently glue strands of hair onto its head. Once the homemade wig was complete she styled the doll’s new hair before taking a small knife to her index finger and letting a drop of her blood fall on each eye.

  The doll’s eyes snapped open.

  Six months after her diagnosis ‘The Dolls’ House’ was refurbished with a grand re-opening. All Dee’s regular customers turned up for the free champagne and the local paper even sent over a photographer. The mood was jubilant, if slightly bemused.

  Shelves lined every wall of the salon and dolls in cheerful outfits with fabulous hair styles looked down on the room. Everyone said that it was quirky how Dee had managed to get the dolls’ eyes to follow her. Some asked her if the rock star sunglasses she had started to wear all the time was part of a new image and Dee would pretend to give it some thought before bursting out laughing. The sunglasses were dark and it was impossible for anyone to tell if her eyes twinkled with some secret joke. Given her talent she was forgiven her eccentricity although as the guests left they privately agreed that you could have too much of a good thing.

  When the last customer left the shop Dee closed the front door and slipped off her shoes with a little sigh of satisfaction. The dolls watched in silence as she picked up her glass of champagne and sat down on one of the styling chairs. What a success!