Rita hadn’t coped a single day since that night. Deep down, she knew she was the reason he had had an affair, but knowing it inside and saying out loud were two very different things. Her whole attitude towards life had caused her husband to sleep with his best friend’s wife. She hadn’t only ruined her own family, she’d caused the demise of Andy’s too.
‘So, what happened?’ He asked, placing his hand on her shoulder.
Rita didn’t reply, the guilt running deep in her veins.
‘Who does this to their kids, Andy?’
‘Rita, if you’re struggling, you could always go to your doctor and ask for help.’ Andy suggested.
‘No, no professionals. It’s bad enough people think I’m a shit mother. That would be the icing on the cake, if a doctor actually confirmed it.’
‘Rita, your doctor will help you to stay off the drink. Once you’re off that shit, things at home will get better.’
Rita shook her head furiously. No way. She could beat this by herself. She had too.
‘No, I’ll be fine. I’m sorry about earlier. It’s just, Old Willie…’
‘Och, don’t listen to him, he’s bound to have an opinion being Stewart’s uncle. Doesn’t mean he has the right to pass comment though. I’d have shut him up myself if I didn’t need that job.’
‘Aye, but he’s right. He confirmed everything I already hate about myself. I don’t deserve the boys. They should have better.’
‘And they will, when you sort yourself out.’
‘No, it’s too late for me. I’m too far gone. Too much has happened for me to come back from.’
Rita sipped at the steaming hot coffee and cursed herself for wishing it was something stronger. After everything that had happened in the few months, how could she possibly go back to the way she used to be? Her life was spiralling and she was close to the bottom.
‘Rita, please. Don’t do this to yourself anymore. Don’t do it to the boys.’ Andy pleaded.
‘It’s already done. Just go, Andy. You have better things to be getting on with than sitting here with me.’
Andy rubbed his knees before standing up. She heard him sigh but didn’t look up.
‘You know what, Rita? You’re nothing but a coward. You can’t face your problems and if you don’t want to accept the help I am offering, then you are exactly what everyone thinks you are. You’re a mess.’
His words stung in her ears but she remained still as he left, slamming the door behind him. She placed the mug on the coffee table in front of her and glanced up at the fireplace. Stewart and the kids were staring out at her from the frame. Tommy had refused to let her put the photograph away when his dad had left.
‘This is all your fault, you bastard.’ She whispered.
Chapter Five
PRESENT DAY
Staring up at the ceiling, Jodie’s mind refused to switch off. Instead, she conjured up all sorts of irrational thoughts on what was wrong with Lewis. Deep down, she knew he was just like her and Patrick. He was a little boy who had been, in Patrick’s opinion, gifted with the ability to communicate with people who had passed over to the other side. Lewis was too young to understand it. He was too young to realise that not every child around him shared his ability. He was too young to really understand any of it.
Patrick snored gently beside her, as if he didn’t share her worries. If she was honest with herself, she knew that she was one of those mum’s who panicked if her child so much as sneezed more than once in a day. But she couldn’t help herself. Not with everything their family had endured over the last few years.
The darkness of the night enveloped Jodie as she fretted about Lewis and the drawing she and Patrick had discovered earlier. Having decided they would address the drawing with Lewis the next day, Jodie couldn’t stop thinking about what his reasoning would be for creating something so awful.
Maybe they had exposed him to too much as parents. Perhaps constantly bringing the dead into their lives had become embedded in Lewis’s mind. Death would land on Lewis’s lap whether he shared their gift or not. Having parents who devoted their lives to the spiritualist church would account for that. He had no control over it and that was becoming more and more apparent as Jodie remembered her son’s imaginary friend. Jodie stifled a sob. Her poor boy.
Turning over on her side, Jodie faced the bedroom door. Under the crack in the door, she noticed a flickering of light pass by. Gently, she lifted the quilt from her body and sat up, keeping her eyes on the door. Another flicker of light passed by in the other direction, quicker this time. Jodie swung her legs over the side of the bed and placed her feet on the floor. She felt a gentle vibration under her toes. Turning back to check if she had stirred Patrick and realising he was still asleep, she tiptoed towards the door. The vibrations on the floor grew stronger. Placing her hand on the door handle, the metal felt unusually cold under her grip. Opening the door, she stood back, as if expecting for someone to be standing in front of her. The hallway was empty, aside for the lamp on the little table in the corner at the top of the stairs. The light flickered gently. Jodie checked the socket on the wall behind it. It was switched off.
Jodie headed for Lewis’s bedroom. Something deep in her stomach urged her to move quicker. A flicker of light crept out from under Lewis’s bedroom door. Her heart lurched. Something or someone was in there with him. The hall grew darker and her skin prickled as the temperature dropped.
This was a feeling she had never experienced before. Normally, she would hear voices, as if far in the background. But never this, never a dramatic drop in temperature.
Reaching the door, Jodie reached for the handle. This handle was even colder than the last. Jodie began to shiver and her teeth chattered. Just as she was about to open the door, she stopped. A sound was coming from behind the door. A whimpering which turned to a quite sob. Jodie’s heart thudded in her chest but the blood pumping inside her failed to warm her. Jodie was frozen in fear but she had to move. Her son was inside that room, she had to protect him.
Pushing down on the handle, the door released and swung open, as if in slow motion. Lewis lay in bed, fast asleep but shivering with the cold. Jodie felt relief at the sight of her son. But the feeling quickly dispersed as the door swung open further.
A young boy cowered in the corner, tears streaming down his blue cheeks. But it was not the boy who sent horror coursing through Jodie’s veins. A woman, with hair straggling in front of her face, lay slumped beside the boy. Her hand gripped an empty bottle of whisky and a pool of vomit lay on her lap. Her face was swollen and blue in colour.
Jodie was rooted to the spot, desperate for the vision to leave her. Fighting the urge to scream, she took a deep breath and drew her eyes away from the images in the corner.
‘Mummy, what’s wrong?’ Lewis was awake. Jodie felt herself tense.
‘Do you want to come and sleep in mummy’s bed?’ She offered out her hand. Lewis rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and the focused on Jodie. A look of confusion washed over his face.
‘Why?’
Jodie glanced over at the corner, wondering how she would explain the spirits. The boy still wept, seemingly unaware of her presence. The woman still lay slumped on the floor but her eyes were on the boy.
Lewis climbed out of bed began walking towards Jodie. He stopped, turning to face the boy and the woman in his bedroom.
‘Lewis, come on,’ Jodie’s words came quickly. ‘Let’s go and snuggle in with daddy.’
‘His dad’s dead,’ the woman slurred.
Jodie pretended she hadn’t heard her. The room grew colder. Lewis held his hand out to the boy.
‘Come on, Tommy. Let’s go.’
The boy shook his head, clearly afraid of the woman.
‘It’s OK, my mummy is kind.’
The woman shot a look at Lewis, almost snarling as she turned her head.
‘What are you on about, boy? I’m your mother.’ She swung the bottle towards Lewis but did not le
t go of it.
Jodie reached out and grabbed Lewis’s hand, pulling him towards her.
‘Get your hands off!’ The woman hissed, attempting to get to her feet. Jodie lifted Lewis and pulled the door closed as quickly as she could. Lewis had started to cry, asking for Tommy to come with them. Jodie ran down the hall towards the bedroom she shared with Patrick. Lewis’s cries grew louder, all the time calling after Tommy.
Patrick appeared in the hallway, his eyes heavy with sleep.
‘What is going on?’ He asked as Jodie pushed past him and into the bedroom.
‘There’s something going on in Lewis’s room. A woman and a young boy. They were blue with the cold. She had a bottle.’
‘I want Tommy,’ Lewis cried.
Patrick was out of Jodie’s sight, rushing down the hall. She could still hear the boy weeping and the woman sobbing.
Jodie tried to comfort Lewis as she listened for signs of Patrick discovering what she had just witnessed.
He reappeared in the room, standing at the foot of the bed.
‘Well, did you see them?’ Jodie asked.
Patrick shook his head with a muddled expression. Lewis began screaming for Tommy.
‘It’s OK, Lewis. It was just a dream.’ Jodie hushed him.
‘Stop calling me Lewis.’ He wailed.
Jodie frowned, making eye contact with Patrick.
‘But that’s your name, sweetheart.’ Patrick answered. Lewis shook his head.
‘My name is Louisa. Louisa Michaels.’
A heart wrenching scream travelled down the hall. Jodie held her son close to her chest.
***
Lewis played quietly with his toys in the sitting room the next morning. Jodie nursed a cup of tea and Patrick busied himself in the kitchen making breakfast. Having decided they wouldn’t send Lewis to nursery that morning due to being up most of the night trying to console Lewis, they took the morning slowly.
‘He’s quieter than normal.’ Jodie said, her tone flat.
‘Wouldn’t you be after what happened last night?’ Patrick remarked. ‘You were pretty hysterical last night.’
Jodie frowned before shaking her head.
‘Sorry, that came out wrong. I meant your reaction may have made things worse.’
‘That doesn’t sound any better, Patrick.’
Patrick couldn’t get his words in order. Things had been awful throughout the night. Lewis had settled down a few hours after the incident, however he and Jodie hadn’t slept a wink. Lewis had continued to ask for Tommy, over and over. He had repeatedly asked for his brother to come through and sleep in beside them all.
‘Our boy isn’t well, Patrick.’ Jodie said. Patrick shook his head.
‘I don’t agree. I think there it runs deeper than what he is showing us.’
Patrick thought about the drawing. They hadn’t discussed it with Lewis yet. It was a sensitive subject to mention and after what Jodie had described she had seen in the bedroom, he believed now wasn’t the right time.
‘What are we going to do about this, Patrick? We can’t just sit back and hope this goes away. Death just seems to follow us no matter where we go or what we do.’
‘Tell me what you saw last night.’
‘I told you what I saw.’
‘I know, but if you tell me again, I might be able to piece some of it together and find out what is going on.’
Jodie sighed.
‘I saw a light pass by our bedroom door so I got up to see what it was. When I reached Lewis’s bedroom door, I could hear crying. I opened the door and there was a little boy in the corner. He looked terrified. The woman beside him was slumped against the wall. There was a glass bottle in her hand. Lewis woke up and when I asked him to come with me, he reached out to the boy and asked him to come with us.’ Jodie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘The woman was horrible to Lewis, her voice hissing at him as I reached over to lift him.’
Patrick rubbed the back of his head. There was most definitely a reason Lewis was involved in this.
‘You know the rest. Why would Lewis tell us his name is Louisa Michaels?’ Jodie asked, her tears spilling over.
Patrick shook his head. He had to find out what was going on with his son.
Chapter Six
(1992)
Tommy stood at the top of the hill, watching his mother as she was dragged kicking and screaming from the pub. Andy let go of her and she staggered, almost losing her balance. Why couldn’t his mother be like everybody else’s? Why did she have to be such an embarrassment to him and his sister? It was bad enough their dad was dead and the events leading up to his death had just made things worse. It was something he and Louisa should never have been exposed to.
His eyes burned with anger and hurt as he listened to her scream at passers-by in the street. No matter what she did, there was always someone else to blame. As Tommy was becoming older and had been more like a parent to Louisa than Rita. The situation he faced couldn’t have been clearer, Rita was a drunk and the only thing she cared about was where her next bottle was coming from. It was clear she had no real clue about where her children were and even if she realised that Tommy hadn’t been going to school, he was certain she wouldn’t really care.
His mind wandered off as he watched his mother disgrace herself in the street, as she always did when she was drunk or needed a drink. Louisa, his young sister, who didn’t comprehend the severity of their situation. He still had unconditional love for their mother. Louisa barely remembered their father, which Tommy regarded as a good thing. The relationship between his parents had been strained, to say the least.
‘Shouldn’t you be at school, young man?’ His thoughts were interrupted by a voice. Looking up, he saw his next door neighbour.
‘I’m not at school today. Sick.’ He answered quickly.
‘Really?’ The man asked.
‘No, not really.’ Tommy sighed, glaring down at his mother as she stumbled her way along the street being held up by Andy.
‘You should get to school before you get yourself into trouble. You’ll be missing out on important lessons, I should think.’ His tone was friendly. Tommy nodded.
The man moved away from Tommy and as he looked down the street at the pub, his mother was no longer in his sights.
I can’t let her do this to us anymore. I have to protect Louisa.
Tommy turned headed towards the pub and stood outside, waiting for his great uncle to appear. No one crossed the door for a long time. It was as if whoever went inside never came back out again. And he wondered what was so appealing to sit inside a dark and dingy room and nurse a pint of beer.
The door crashed against the wall behind it as Tommy’s great uncle Willie came stumbling out. He lit a cigarette and as he sucked the poison into his body, he eyed Tommy standing by the door.
‘What you doing here boy?’ He said as he exhaled, a cloud of smoke swirling into the air.
Tommy shrugged his shoulders.
‘Well, you aren’t hanging around here for the fun of it, are you?’
‘Is that why she does it, because it’s fun?’
Old Willie sighed, his eyes meeting Tommy.
‘Son, who knows why we do it. Thing is, I don’t have any responsibilities or anyone to answer to. So I can sit in there all day every day until my liver packs in. Rita, well…’
A lump grew in Tommy’s throat but he swallowed it back, refusing to cry over the mother who would never cry over him, or his sister.
‘I can look after Louisa.’
‘Aye, but you shouldn’t have too.’ Old Willie puffed on his cigarette.
He knew his great uncle was right. And Tommy knew that Willie hated Rita, especially after everything that happened when his dad left.
‘She’s sad.’ Tommy found himself defending his mother.
‘I don’t doubt it. But that’s not your fault, or Louisa’s, is it?’
Tommy wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. No, it wasn’t their
fault. It was his mother and father’s fault for being such irresponsible parents. For caring too much about themselves and not about their children. He shook his head.
‘What do I do?’ Tommy looked up at Willie, whose expression was stern.
‘Tommy, I am the wrong person to ask.’
Old Willie had been a lover of the drink ever since Tommy could remember. Not even a helpless child would change that.
‘It’s like she’s died, she’s not the same mum she used to be.’ Tommy said.
Willie sucked air in through his teeth before stubbing his cigarette out on the wall.
‘Aye.’
Chapter Seven
(1992)
Rita Michaels returned to the pub a few days later, hoping that Andy would at some stage leave the bar unmanned and she would be able to grab herself some whisky. She needed to stock up and keep herself going.
The regulars hadn’t arrived yet and Rita was glad of it. She couldn’t face another ear bashing from Old Willie. He had no right, he was no better than she was spending all his time in the pub.
Sitting at the table by the toilets, Rita nursery a glass of vodka.
‘If you are going to insist then I will only serve you one. That is my final offer.’ Andy said.
Rita nodded in agreement, hoping that her wish for him to have to leave the bar would come true.
Rita mulled over the sorry mess her life had become. Just three years ago, things were fine. In fact, things were good. Her husband was hard working, bringing in a fantastic wage. Her two beautiful children were happy and healthy and she had a house all her friends envied.
What had happened? Why had things gone so wrong?
She tilted her head back, pouring the clear liquid down her throat and feeling it warm her. She hadn’t thought about what she would do once the glass was empty. Andy had already said he wouldn’t serve her anything else. And Old Willie and his friends would be here soon. Rita could just about face them with a drink in her, but sober? That wasn’t something she wanted to consider.
THE BOY WHO WASN'T THERE_a supernatural short story Page 3