The Making of Gabriel Davenport

by Beverley Lee

  For far too long, it had dwelt in the shop window of the antique shop, forgotten and still. But waiting. Waiting for that one person who would catch sight of it, that one person who would admire the seasoned wood and the pure, ageless craftsmanship. It didn’t choose that person; they made that choice on their own. The length of time it took was immaterial, for it had an endless span of minutes. Years. Centuries.

  The man had served his purpose. It knew that he would soon forget its existence. He meant to do something with it at some point, but he lacked the resolve and the belief. Now the woman, she was another story. Her instinct was strong. She had sensed the darkness. But she was curious. Afraid. Soon she would return, because she had to. All she had to do was lift the lid.

  It would dispose of her in a little while. Once night had fallen. All it wanted was the child.

  Chapter Three

  Beth awoke with a start. Her phone rang somewhere, its ringtone jarring in the stillness. Her sleep-addled head swam in confusion.

  She half ran to the kitchen and grabbed the phone. Stu’s face flashed across the screen as she swiped right.

  ‘Beth? Hey. I thought it was going to go to voicemail.’ Her husband’s voice faded in and out as he talked.

  ‘I must have fallen asleep in the chair after lunch. Are you on your way home?’ Hope wavered in her voice as she massaged the back of her stiff neck.

  ‘I’m sorry, Beth. I’m going to have to stay over down here. Have you not had the news on? The snow’s come down faster than anyone expected and there’s been a pile up on the motorway. Tailbacks are already at five miles.’ In the background, she could hear someone else vying for his attention. She imagined Stu gesturing that he wouldn’t be a minute.

  ‘I want you to come home.’ A lump wedged itself inside her throat.

  ‘You’ll be fine, Bethie. Just make sure everything is all locked up. Look, I’ve got to go. Kiss Gabriel for me. I’ll ring later, okay? Love you.’

  And with that, he was gone. She listened to the silence for a few seconds then slowly put the phone down on the table. Two fat tears rolled down her cheek and she brushed them away. Angry at them. Angry at life.

  Get a fucking grip, will you? The sensible part of her argued that nothing here could hurt her or Gabriel. She had food, she had drink. The worst thing that could happen would be the old back boiler giving up, but they’d had that serviced as soon as they had moved in and the engineer had given it a clean bill of health. ‘This will go on till Doomsday,’ he had laughed, wiping his hands on an oily rag. ‘Built to last, not like the modern stuff.’

  Beth glanced at her watch. It was 3 p.m., but already dark was falling, hastened by the steel grey clouds, snow heavy. She glanced out of the window. It was a complete blanket of white. The lavender pots by the edge of the lawn had disappeared, which meant it already had to be over a foot deep. How could snow fall so fast? Nothing moved on the road outside. At this time, it was usually steady with parents picking up from the primary school on Becket Lane. The kids must have been sent home early…whilst she slept?

  She filled the kettle and dropped a peppermint tea bag into a mug. Then, she made Gabriel his next bottles. It was time she got her brain into gear. She would play with Gabriel and give him his supper and a bath. Something comforting like cheese on toast for her supper, a nice, hot bath, a glass of red wine, and an early night. A decent night’s sleep would make everything better tomorrow. And then Stu would be home.

  It was actually cosy all wrapped up here in her little house with the warm glow of the wood-burning stove, she reasoned to herself. Better than having to try and negotiate public transport on a snow day. Carrying her tea, she tip-toed across to the Silver Cross pram they kept downstairs. Gabriel’s big blue eyes gazed up at her.

  ‘Hello, little boy. How come you didn’t yell for Mummy?’

  His lower lip quivered.

  She scooped him up with his blanket and rocked him as she carried him into the kitchen for his bottle. Halfway through, he suddenly stopped and started to cry. She couldn’t remember the last time he had done that. Usually, he drank the whole thing at once, clutching onto the bottle with a mixture of baby instinct and greedy determination.

  ‘Okay, okay, shush,’ she murmured, placing him over her shoulder with a practised ease. It took a good five minutes of pacing from the kitchen to the living room to settle him. She hoped he wasn’t going down with something, too. She should take his temperature.

  The thermometer was still in his changing bag from the holiday and, with Gabriel balanced on her knee, she managed to unzip the bag and search for it. There, in a side pocket. Her fingers closed on the digital stick.

  A door slammed upstairs and, in an instant, all of the lights went out.

  In the near dark, Beth clutched a grizzling Gabriel to her chest. The thermometer slid onto the wooden floor with a jolting clatter.

  Her heart hammered like a caged animal, but she tried hard to keep calm for Gabriel’s sake. Candles. Where did she keep the candles?

  The lights flickered twice and then, mercifully, stayed on. Just the effect of too much snow on country wires, that was all. But her heart continued to thud.

  The noise of the door slamming had shaken the whole house. She told herself it was only because everything was so quiet and still.

  She had two choices. Bundle Gabriel and herself up and try to walk to the nearest house, or be a proper adult and go upstairs to check. The former would require the strength of Thor as the nearest house had to be over half a mile away. They had picked their new home because they wanted peace and no neighbours. Right now, it seemed that idea was the worst they had ever had.

  Beth didn’t want to leave Gabriel downstairs (or take him upstairs) but she had little choice. Whispering and clutching him tight, she edged around the living room door and peered up at the stairs. The uninviting gloom beckoned from above. Swallowing hard, she flicked on the landing light. It shone miserably, a single eco-friendly bulb.

  She climbed the stairs slowly, holding in her breath at each step, holding her baby tight. She paused at the top, searching for anything unusual. Every single horror movie she had ever seen replayed in her head. This wasn’t a good time to have a vivid imagination.

  The doors to their bedroom, the bathroom, and the nursery were all closed. But the door to the spare room stood open. She knew she had shut it earlier.

  A shocked cry rose in her throat, a shrill, wavering sound that made Gabriel whimper.

  She had to go into that room. Or risk going crazy. She would take the box and throw it outside. She didn’t care if Stu ended up being mad with her. She only wanted it out of the house. It might not be rational, but ever since they had brought it home, strange things had been happening. She hated it with a passion she never knew she had.

  Gabriel began to howl. Not a simple sob or cry but a full-scale wail of distress. A wave of guilt flooded her gut.

  ‘Okay, darling. Mummy’s going to fix this.’ Brave words. But she didn’t feel brave at all as she flicked on the light to the room. Another eco bulb, this time a meagre twenty-five watt. She made a promise to herself that she would change them all the second that she could, saving the planet be damned.

  The room was as she had left it. What had she expected? She reached out to touch the curtain and jumped back as Gabriel squirmed in her arms. She had to put him down. Then, she could grab the box, run downstairs, and toss it outside to rot in the snow where it belonged.

  Gabriel would object strongly, but she couldn’t risk falling down the stairs with him in her arms. Pushing open the nursery door, she laid him in his cot and twisted the dial on his musical mobile. The animals went in two by two sprang to life. Ignoring her child’s rising, plaintive yell she ran into the spare room and grabbed the box from the windowsill. The feel of it in her hands made her skin crawl.

  She half ran, half stumbled down the stairs, terror clenched between her teeth until she reached the entrance hall. The outside door was bo
lted shut. Tucking the box under one arm, she slid the bolts open, one at the top and one at the bottom. The wind snatched the door from her hands and slammed it, hard, into her chest and the box tumbled to the floor, hitting the quarry tiles with a loud crack. The lid flew open.

  She shrank away, expecting something hideous inside, but it was empty. Nothing at all but a dirty, wooden shell. She wanted to laugh.

  The snow that had piled up against the door fell onto her feet but she hardly noticed the chill. With a shout of triumph, she launched the box into the night. It landed silently about ten feet away and disappeared into the snow. It seemed fitting that something had eaten it.

  Her knees gave way and she sank to the floor in relief. The snow soaked through her jeans but she didn’t care. Beth sat in the near dark with her back against the outside door and cried.

  Stillness surrounded her. That snow silence. Breathtakingly beautiful. But she wanted to be back in suburbia so much it hurt.

  After a few minutes, she eased herself up on numb, wet legs and pushed the door shut. She pulled off her soaking indoor boots and stood them next to the back boiler, bolted the door, and double locked it, aware that her hands were shaking.

  Inside, the temperature had fallen dramatically. It would take a little while for the house to warm up again after the arctic blast from the door.

  Then, she realized—Gabriel was quiet. Sprinting up the stairs, her heart began to race.

  Her baby lay happily in the dark, clutching something in his fat little fists and gnawing away, little slurping noises as his mouth worked.

  She reached blindly for the light—hadn’t she left it on?—it flickered, and came to life.

  Gabriel chewed happily on the end of the thermometer she’d dropped downstairs.

  She snatched it away from him, crying out. He stared at her in shock and his eyes filled up with tears. She lifted him from the cot, pulling him close, and rocking him back and forth as though the act of comforting him would ease her fear. She ached all over and her head throbbed. Quite possibly she was losing her mind.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there. All remained quiet, any sounds from outside muffled by the blanket of snow. In any other context, it would be beautiful. But all she felt was trapped. She forced herself to carry Gabriel out of the nursery. The door to the spare room stood open but any unsettling vibrations had disappeared. It was simply a room.

  Her legs trembled as she crept downstairs. This had to be the beginnings of flu, didn’t it? After she’d fed Gabriel, she would check the boiler. The living room still seemed cool. She rifled through the small emergency stock of baby food jars until she found one she knew he liked. Spaghetti Bolognese. Strangely, he preferred his food at room temperature. When she’d first noticed his preference, she had laughed and said ‘just like your Daddy!’ Stu always took so long to eat his dinner that it had to be cold by the time he finished.

  The thought of Stu brought a lump to her throat again. Feeding Gabriel from the jar, she grabbed her phone and swiped the screen to dial. No ringtone. She tried again. This time, a message flicked up: network busy. A sudden icicle of fear ran down her spine. She was truly cut off.

  She peeled a ripe banana and gave half to Gabriel. Most of it would end up smeared over the highchair tray and his face, but she couldn’t stop his independence even if she wanted to. She thought about the thermometer again. Was it possible she could have taken it upstairs and dropped it in his cot? It seemed a long shot, but she was open to all offers.

  Outside the kitchen window, the snow lay banked up on the windowsill. It looked like a Christmas card. Beth peered into the darkness. She could barely make out the hedge by the road; it was a solid mountain of white.

  Her eyes darted to where she had thrown the box. All traces of it had disappeared. So why did she still feel like it had taken her sanity with it?

  ***

  It had no name in human language. At one point, it had been a living thing, but now all that remained was a corrupted essence, one that could reason and scheme.

  It was triumphant in its release. Freedom, inside the house.

  It had no need now for its wooden prison. For far too many years—centuries—it had raged there, kept alive by the knowledge that its work was not yet done. Humans had tricked it into its prison, and a human would be its vessel to carry out the plan. The woman was slowly unravelling. It would not take too much more before she did something...reckless.

  But first, it had to feed off her fear. Taking root in the child demanded strength, and that was best served with a cold slice of terror.

  Let her gain a small sense of ease. It could wait till full dark.

  Chapter Four

  By the time Beth had cleared up Gabriel’s battle with the banana it was 6pm. Usually, the road hummed with commuter traffic, headlights slicing the dark, but tonight, nothing disturbed the air of snow calm. The world outside had gone to sleep.

  The temperature had sorted itself out, too, and she found herself humming a nursery rhyme as she ran Gabriel his bath. With the curtains drawn and the discovery of a frozen ready meal one step up from cheese on toast, her fears from earlier seemed the product of an overly active imagination. She rehearsed in her head what she would say to Stu if he asked where the box had gone. I dropped it and it fell to pieces. Or I sent it away to be restored. But it didn’t matter; she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

  Gabriel loved to play in the water and she ended up more than damp. Back to his old self, he splashed in the bubbles and squealed with joy every time she let his yellow duck bob to the surface. She sang the words to Ring-a-ring-a-roses to him and he giggled, not that she could sing but he didn’t seem to mind.

  The scent of lavender baby bath floated across the whole upstairs as she dressed Gabriel in his pyjamas. They were a set from Christmas—white flannel with silver snowflakes. She didn’t want him to be cold if the temperature fell again overnight. They had learned to keep the boiler running constantly on a low setting, otherwise it took forever to warm up again in the morning.

  Carrying him downstairs, clutching his favourite yellow lion, the house cocooned them in warmth and safety. She fed him his nighttime bottle, both of them snuggled under a mohair throw. The Sandman came before it was half finished. Gently, she pulled it from his mouth, smiling as his jaw worked in the instinctive sucking motion. He was still her baby boy.

  For a few seconds, she toyed with the idea of putting him down in his pram, but then she might disturb him when she had to carry him up to bed. She yawned. For all of her insistence that she wouldn’t sleep at all tonight, bed was a very lovely thought.

  She carried him to the nursery carefully and laid him in his cot, tucking his duvet around him. The little lions jumped through their hoops and gambolled around like lambs on his cover. It seemed silly but she always felt like they would protect him. When she went to search for Gabriel’s toy lion, she found that it was missing. He must have dropped it when he’d fallen asleep.

  Still humming, she went downstairs, half wondering what temperature to put the oven on for dinner. The throw lay over the chair arm, and the orange tuft of the lion’s tail peeked out from beneath it.

  Picking up the throw, she reached for the lion. Her blood turned to ice in her veins.

  Its head had been completely torn off.

  A strangled sob rose in her throat. She backed away, not believing what her eyes were telling her. Now, she was very much awake and all of her instincts were telling her to run.

  Chapter Five

  The lights quivered again.

  Beth turned to run, but only managed to stumble to the bottom of the staircase. She grabbed the handrail and hauled herself up, her mind set on only one thing: Gabriel. A shadow flickered across the landing, but it wasn’t until she was almost at the top that she saw what was causing it. The lonely ceiling light bulb was gently swinging to and fro. She caught the scream in her mouth before it could be heard.

  Gabriel’s
door was shut. She was sure she hadn’t left it that way.

  Her heart fell like a lift in freefall. She grabbed for the iron latch handle but every second played like a movie in slow-motion, moving frame by frame. The door stuck fast and she launched her full weight against it. When it finally gave way, she tumbled through, landing on the floor on her hands and knees.

  Gabriel lay fast asleep, one thumb tucked inside his mouth.

  The relief nearly brought her to her knees again. Scooping him up, she turned for the door. A floorboard creaked. Something ran the full length of the landing. This time, she screamed.

  The doorway was her only way out—attempting to climb out of the window would be suicide. She inched out onto the landing, afraid of what might be there but too afraid to stay put. Her eyes darted along the length, lingering in the shadowy corners, but nothing was amiss.

  With her heart trip-hammering in her chest, she crept downstairs with her back against the wall. Gabriel stirred in her arms. In the silence, her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She drew level with the living room door, trying to formulate a plan of escape, but fear had lined her mind with quicksand. All rational thought sank into the mire.

  The temperature plummeted as though someone had opened a freezer door. She wheeled round. The footsteps started again. This time, treading slowly down the creaking stairs. But there was nothing there.

  Stumbling across the living room, she grabbed the iron poker from the hearth set. She brandished it like a sword and turned, half paralysed by fear but ready to do anything she could to protect her son.

  An icy draught licked around her feet, and a strange scent assaulted her senses. A putrid, cloying sweetness laced with stale blood. Her gag reflex fired up and she backed away, her ankles catching on the stone hearth.

  ‘Get away from me!’ she screamed, waving the poker at a threat she couldn’t see, only smell—and somehow, that was worse.