Upon Waking

by Park, J. R.

  Upon Waking

  J. R. Park

  Other books by J. R. Park:

  TERROR BYTE

  PUNCH

  Further books by the Sinister Horror Company:

  BURNING HOUSE – Daniel Marc Chant

  CLASS THREE – Duncan P. Bradshaw

  MALDICION - Daniel Marc Chant

  Visit JRPark.co.uk and SinisterHorrorCompany.com for further information on these and other coming titles.

  Upon Waking

  First Published in 2015

  Copyright © 2015 J. R. Park

  The right of J. R. Park to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Photography by Thomas Dando.

  Additional cover art by Vincent Hunt.

  www.jesterdiablo.blogsport.co.uk

  Twitter: @jesterdiablo

  JRPark.co.uk

  Acknowledgements

  A big thank you to Jake Downing and Daniel Marc Chant whose imaginations proved to be equally as warped and helped steer the planning of this book.

  I’d also like to thank Stuart Park, Fiona Jack and Duncan P Bradshaw for reading through my earlier drafts, providing helpful feedback and reassuring me that the concept hadn’t become a confusing mess.

  A special mention goes to Jess and Mike Spurway who let myself and the talented Tom Dando trash their house on a quiet Sunday for a photo shoot.

  For Jake, Aimee, Tom, Ben, Dan, Andy and Rob.

  You had to live with me and listen as I explained this book to you.

  ‘Huh – hello?’

  The phone’s ring had cut through the thin air of a hot summer’s night, rousing Gary from the light sleep he had drifted into after what felt like hours staring at a ceiling stained blue from the darkness.

  His head throbbed with pain, a mixture of dehydration and worry, leaving him feeling sick and disorientated.

  He tried to swallow back the taste of bile as he spoke.

  ‘Hello?’

  A female voice responded.

  ‘Is this Gary Fields?’ her voice was distorted as it filtered through the chequered reception, sounding deep, gruff and uneasy.

  ‘Yes, this is Gary,’ he sat upright in bed, his head clearing as he listened to the woman on the other end of the line.

  ‘I’m getting close. He’s almost mine. I will have him soon.’

  There was a sound like wind blowing against the receiver for a moment and then the call fell silent.

  She had hung up.

  Gently, and with unnecessary care and concentration, Gary put the phone back on its cradle, as if any sudden movement might wake it.

  Her words echoed through his brain.

  He looked over to his wife and watched her sleep.

  He’d never felt so powerless and pathetic in all his life. There was nothing he could do.

  Placing his head carefully on his pillow he looked up at the ceiling. The stillness of the night screamed his silent anguish back at him and a tear rolled down his cheek.

  He felt the night surround him.

  It would be hours spent in this tormented meditation before Gary drifted back off to a sleep both faint and restless.

  The low murmur of the television had coaxed Adam into a soft, peaceful sleep. The voices that gently emanated from the speakers were at such a volume that words were indistinguishable, washed together into a comforting hum that peaked with the warmth of an audience’s laughter and applause.

  The sofa where he slept had many previous owners before it had found its way in his possession. The decades of use had brought such a softness to the worn padding that it enveloped his thin frame, at once both cuddling and supporting him in the upright, sitting position where he had lost consciousness.

  The lounge was small, only big enough to accommodate the television, the sofa, one armchair and a coffee table, leaving just enough room between each to allow a narrow walk way. Books and DVD cases made untidy piles on the windowsill and television set, whilst dirty plates and glasses covered the coffee table. On the table’s surface, beside the collection of grimy glasses, lay an ashtray the size of a dinner plate; its expansive girth filled to the brim with ashen remnants of joints and the butts of roll ups, smoked down to the edge of their cardboard roach. The smell of marijuana wafted through the air, masking the scent of decomposing food that lurked within the stack of unclean crockery.

  Adam was not even dreaming as he slept, but drifted in and out from a state of complete emptiness. His brain presented no feelings or thought but instead lay vacant. It was a moment of bliss, a moment of absolute peace.

  Like all moments of ecstasy, it would not last.

  ‘Adam!’

  His housemate Chris boomed from the doorway as he walked in, giving Adam a friendly punch on the arm.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Adam woke with a confused start, peering through the foggy layers of smoke to identify the source of his harassment.

  He should have guessed.

  Chris and Adam had lived together since they both started university. Three years on from their graduations and their lifestyles hadn’t changed much, except for the addition of a full time job that helped fund their slothful hedonism.

  ‘Careful dude,’ Chris sat down in the armchair, ‘don’t fall asleep with that spliff in your mouth. Last time you burnt a hole through your trousers. You were lucky it burnt out before it got to your cock.’

  ‘An error in judgment never to be repeated,’ Adam dragged on the joint he held between his lips, ‘it was such a waste of good pot. I have learnt from my mistakes and worked out if I fall asleep upright my lips will still grip, aided by the effects of gravity.’

  Adam secured the joint between his lips again and leant back as if he were in a sleeping position. He held his hands away to demonstrate that they were in no way helping the balance of the spliff and gave Chris a look of accomplishment.

  ‘A tiny dab of spit on the bottom lip is the secret component,’ Adam revealed with an air of self-satisfied smugness.

  ‘Forever the spliff ninja,’ Chris joked with a smile usually only seen between siblings and lovers. ‘What are you doing tonight?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ Adam answered passing the joint to his friend, ‘it’s been a tough day at work, tough week actually, so I’m going to stay in tonight. There’s a good horror film on later.’

  ‘Oh yeah, which one?’ Chris enquired, breathing in deeply on the roll up before exhaling a cloud of thick, white smoke from his lungs.

  ‘The Shining,’ came the answer, ‘a Kubrick classic. Did you know, there’s a lot more going on in that film than you’d think?’

  ‘Go on,’ Chris humoured his friend, unsure whether he was going to hear something genius or another one of Adam’s crack pot theories.

  Both were frequent occurrences in the company of Adam.

  ‘It’s overlooked by many but there is actually an underlying message about White America’s hatred and violence toward the Native American Indians. The theme runs throughout the film,’ came Adam’s response.

  ‘Really?’ Chris looked unimpressed.

  ‘For example, during the first half of the movie the wife and son, played by Shelley Duvall and Danny Lloyd, wear clothes that are mainly red, white and blue like the American flag, but on
ce Nicholson starts going bat shit crazy he’s the one wearing red, white and blue whilst the victim of his mad onslaught, Shelley Duvall, changes into more earthy colours.’

  ‘Uh huh,’ Chris handed the joint back to his housemate.

  Adam took a deep drag on the spliff, ‘It’s true. She even wears a teepee patterned jacket in one scene for Christ’s sake. It’s all there, for those that want to see.’

  ‘How much of this have you smoked?’ Chris asked with a wry smile.

  ‘Don’t take everything at face value,’ Adam warned. ‘To paraphrase the great Led Zeppelin: sometimes things have two meanings.’

  He stopped preaching for a moment and eyed Chris, realising that he was dressed very smartly, wearing a shirt and pair of shoes that very rarely saw the light of day. This wasn’t his usual attire to sit in front of the TV and get stoned.

  ‘Why are you so dressed up?’ Adam asked. ‘You’ve got that shirt on with the red stripes down the arms. That’s your, and I quote, slightly fresh, slight funky, special occasion shirt.’

  ‘You’ve got to love the red stripes, right? And it is a special occasion, a very special occasion. Tonight is the night my friend,’ Chris buzzed with excitement, ‘tonight’s the night. Finally after all those weeks of messages, tonight is date night.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Adam sounded pleased for his housemate. ‘Is this with the wonderful Fiona?’

  ‘You got it in one,’ Chris’s smile grew wider.

  ‘Well, you’re looking good my friend,’ Adam nodded with approval.

  ‘I know,’ came the confident response, ‘I spent the last two hours getting ready. I managed to get out of work early to do it, and now I’m so sharp I could slice up eyeballs. She will not stand a chance. Tonight young Fi is mine for the taking.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Adam enquired.

  ‘We’ve arranged to meet down by the Harbourside, just off from all the pubs, by the fountain,’ Chris answered, ‘that way we can decide on what to do. Either go for a drink or take a walk along the water. It’s romantic in the moonlight and quiet. Imagine it now, with a little sensitivity, a touch of confidence and the right words, that setting will be just the tipping point to make her fall into my arms.’

  ‘And into your bed,’ Adam scoffed.

  ‘Ha ha. Touché,’ Chris acknowledged the comment without a denial.

  ‘You’ve put a lot of work into this one.’

  ‘You’ve seen her pictures,’ Chris passed over his phone displaying an image of this romantic interest, partly as a reminder, and partly as a way to brag to his friend, ‘fit as fuck.’

  ‘So it’s all over with Rachel?’ Adam asked.

  Chris was a good looking, young man and never had a problem attracting girls; in fact it was hard at times for Adam to keep up with all the comings and goings of his friend’s sexual activities.

  ‘Nothing serious,’ Chris gave a cheeky grin, ‘no harm done.’

  ‘You can give these back to her then,’ from down the side of the sofa cushion Adam pulled out a pair of lacy, black pants, ‘I found these here the other day.’

  He threw them at his housemate, landing squarely on his face.

  Chris took them between his fingertips and held them up against the light.

  ‘Oh these aren’t Rachel’s, they’re Sally’s,’ he informed.

  ‘Sally?’ Adam gave a look of genuine confusion. This was not a name he had heard his friend mention before.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ was the dismissive reply. ‘Anyway I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.’

  Chris tossed the underwear onto the floor and left the room.

  Adam could hear him whistling and swinging his house keys round his finger as he made his way out of the house, excited to start his new quest.

  Chris got a lot of flak from their peers; they called him shallow and slutty. Adam didn’t see it like that; he figured the others were just jealous. Wouldn’t they do the same if they could? Chris was young and enjoying himself. The others smoked an eighth of weed every night and played computer games whilst his friend got out there and met people. Sex was his game of choice. Yes he could be arrogant, made even more infuriating because he had the looks and charm to back it up, but he also had a heart of gold. Not many people knew he volunteered for the Samaritans twice a week; it was something he kept private. Adam only knew because he lived with him. Every Tuesday and Saturday he would work a night shift, manning the phones and taking calls from those so distraught and isolated they had to turn to a stranger for desperate reassurance. He worked long hours into the next morning for free and although he looked a little tired the following day he never once talked about those harrowing experiences of trying to talk people down from suicide or absorbing the first-hand accounts of abusive cruelty.

  His kindness wasn’t just reserved to strangers, as housemates, Adam had been on the receiving end of his compassion. Two months ago Adam had overspent and when it came to pay the rent he found he was short by £100. He was lent the money without hesitation. There were no quibbles or demands of promises to pay it back, Chris just sent the money to his friend’s bank account and never mentioned it again.

  Chris was a rare breed of a man, he thought, and the world could do with a few more like him.

  Taking another drag on his joint Adam relaxed back into the indentation his body had created in the sofa. The soft, leather furnishing gently rolled around his skin as he sank further into its comfort. The house was silent except for the television whose ripples of background noise met his ears like the reassuring laughter of a close friend. Once again the worries of the week melted away as his thoughts evaporated leaving Adam in the grip of a calm and peaceful sleep.

  Her eyes flew open in a sudden panic.

  When did she fall asleep?

  How long had she slept for?

  Emily sat up and rubbed her eyes whilst she recounted her last movements.

  Darren had called round to pick up their daughter Jessica. It was his weekend to have her, and after Emily waved goodbye to her skipping three year old she remembered collapsing on the sofa, exhausted and thankful for the respite.

  She loved her daughter more than anyone and anything she had ever known, but being a single parent was hard work. She had no family left and it was only with the support of good friends that she was able to make it through each month. Those friends were a blessing when she had split with Darren. Their break up had been a violent whirlwind of disgust and irritation on both sides, a torment of emotions they had still yet to reconcile. They remained polite for Jessica, as both felt the importance of a good relationship for their daughter, even if it was a façade.

  But the most simplistic conversation between them seemed to teem with poignant, invisible barbs that left them both emotionally drained. The conversation at the doorstep earlier today was a brief five minute exchange about the weather. But it was so much more.

  It was a battle of tone, inflection and body language.

  A battle Emily had spent the last three days preparing for.

  This above everything else had left her feeling so wiped out, so drained.

  It was no surprise that she had fallen asleep the moment she’d sat down.

  The sitting room was bathed in that peculiar luminescence of twilight, as the summer’s day retreated to dusk. Through the window Emily could see the long shadows of the night creeping down the road. She glanced at her watch as she shook her head in an effort to gain some clarity; she’d been out for hours.

  A knock came at the front door.

  As her head cleared she realised this is what had woken her to begin with.

  Who was that?

  Emily wasn’t expecting anyone; in fact tonight was set to be a long bath and a glass of wine.

  Getting to her feet the single mother checked her appearance in the mirror above the fireplace. She brushed her long, blonde hair away from her face and smiled, amused at the patterns the cushion had pressed into her cheek. Despite rubbing
them with her hand, the indentations remained, stubbornly refusing to be smoothed away.

  Oh well, she thought with a bemused snigger.

  Emily opened the door to see a woman in her late twenties stood before her. The woman’s black hair was tied up in a bun, revealing a curved neckline, bronzed by the sun. Her blouse was crisp white underneath her grey suit jacket. The matching coloured trousers gripped her legs, sticking to the sweat being perspired under the layers in this sticky heat. The expensive looking garment finished neatly below her ankles, revealing a pair of heavy, black boots.

  Her smile was friendly as she greeted Emily, but her eyes betrayed the veneer of her grin exposing a tired weariness. They hinted at the look of someone that had been dogged by trouble for much of her life, Emily thought.

  ‘Hi I’m Kathryn’, the woman held her hand out.

  Emily gripped the offered palm and shook it. As she did so she cautiously repaid the introduction with a simple, ‘Emily.’

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you so late,’ Kathryn began, ‘I wondered if you could help me. The radiator in my car seems to have sprung a leak. I wondered if you could fill this bottle with water.’

  Kathryn held out an empty two litre drinks bottle. The dark blue varnish on her fingernails glinted against the fading light of the sunset.

  ‘Will that be enough?’ Emily enquired, unsure of whether this was some hidden rouse with an ulterior motive. This wasn’t the type of street to get a lot of through traffic, being tucked out the way on the edge of the city.

  ‘I only have another ten miles or so to go,’ Kathryn’s smile grew, ‘that should top it up enough to get me home. I’ll have to call the garage tomorrow.’