Rita cast her mind back to the days where alcohol wasn’t a necessity, when her children were her everything and she was the apple of her husband’s eye. Three years on, her eldest boy hated her, her youngest was scared of her, her husband was dead and the entire community thought of her as a drunken waste of time.
In all fairness, Rita agreed with them but she would never admit it. The alcohol numbed the pain of what had happened in her life. So who could blame her for drinking so much?
She looked up at the bar. Andy was still busying himself washing glasses and whatever else he did behind there. Her lips tingled, indicating she was in need of another drink. Standing up, she searched the tables for glasses with leftovers at the bottom. No such luck at eleven thirty on a Wednesday morning.
‘Any chance, Andy?’ Rita called up to the bar.
‘Nope,’ he called back. ‘I told you when you came in.’
‘Aye, alright.’ Rita held her hands up.
‘You’re as well getting home for the kids coming home at lunch time. They’ll need food in their bellies if they’re expected to learn anything.’ Andy said as he dried a glass on a darkened tea towel.
Rita felt her blood begin to boil. Who the hell did he think he was to start telling her what she should do for her boys?
‘Are you being serious? I know what my kids need, I don’t need you or any other fucking person to tell me.’ Andy put the glass down and shook his head.
‘Rita, do yourself a favour and go home. This kind of attitude isn’t helping matters.’
‘Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Andy.’
‘I’m not telling you what to do. I only want what is best for you.’
Rita began to laugh. It sounded like a cackle.
‘What’s best for me is a drink to steady the shakes. I’m not fucking leaving here without one.’
‘Then you’ll have a long wait. Because I am not serving you anything.’ Andy turned his back on Rita. The fury began to build inside her.
Desperation was beginning to get the better of her. Eyeing the chair by her side, Rita picked it up and threw it across the bar, hitting Andy on his back.
He fell to the floor and as he lay with a wooden chair on top of him, Rita hauled herself up and over the bar, grabbed as many bottles from the dispensers on the walls as she could carry and ran from the pub.
She ran all the way home, the adrenalin pumping through her veins carrying her faster. If she could just get inside and lock the door, she could have one bottle before the police would likely arrive and cart her off.
Slamming the door closed behind her, she slid the security chain into place and headed for the kitchen. Putting the other bottles at the back of the shelf under the sink, she stood up and opened the bottle of vodka. It smelled awful but she needed it.
Guzzling at it as if it was water, she winced as it burned her throat. She tried to push away the vision of Andy lying under the chair behind the bar. Rita hadn’t wanted to hurt him but he wasn’t giving her what she wanted, what she needed.
He had only been trying to help her, she knew that. But help wasn’t what she needed. Alcohol was what she needed. Every last drop of it.
Rita pulled out a chair from the small kitchen table and sat down. Things were such a mess. Stewart had left her in a sorry state of affairs. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t let her down the way he had, none of this wouldn’t be happening, the kids wouldn’t be suffering and she wouldn’t be fighting her demons, morning, noon and night.
Guzzling down more burning liquid, Rita tensed as the door was almost knocked from its hinges. And then a voice, an angry voice.
‘Rita, open this fucking door!’
It was Andy. At least it wasn’t the police. She remained at the table, drinking back as much as she could to drown out the calls from the door and the reminder of her sorry life.
‘Rita, if you don’t open this door I’ll kick it in.’
She ignored him, fully expecting him to keep his word. Why wouldn’t he kick the door in? She had just battered him across the back with a chair, of course he was furious with her.
The banging stopped and silence rung in her ears. Rita hesitated for a moment, before lifting the bottle to her lips once more. Just as the liquid filled her mouth, the door leading to the garden opened, and Andy was standing in front of her.
‘What?’ Rita slurred.
Andy marched towards her and snatched the bottle from her hands and headed for the sink. Rita was on her feet and fighting to get the bottle from his hand but he was too strong for her, able to hold her back with one arm.
‘Andy, please, no.’
‘You need help, look at you.’ He said as the last of the vodka tricked down the drain.
Rita slumped back into the chair and held her head in her hands, the vodka beginning to take effect.
‘You don’t know what it’s like.’ Rita slurred.
‘No, I don’t. But do you know what it’s like to have a chair smashed over your back?’ He was on the chair beside her now, his voice close to her ear.
Swaying as she sat up, she gripped his hand a little.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.’
‘Oh, the chair just slipped from your hands, did it?’
Rita would have laughed if things weren’t so bad. She stared out at the wall in front of her and forced the lump in her throat back down. ‘How did things get so bad, Andy?’
‘Things could be a lot worse,’ he replied.
‘How could they be worse?’ Rita hiccupped. ‘I’ve lost everything, the kids don’t want to be around me. Let’s face it, if I wasn’t a raging alcoholic, Stewart wouldn’t have done what he did.’
‘So what’s his excuse for me then?’ Andy replied.
Rita shrugged.
‘Look, Rita, I think you should get some help. The drink has got a grip of you and if you’re not careful, Stewart could have the kids taken off you.’ Andy’s said with a solemn tone.
He was right, Stewart could see the state of her, or the kids could tell him what she has been doing and she would lose them too.
‘May as well have another drink then, eh? If I’m going to lose everything, I want to be oblivious when it happens.’
***
Standing in the door way to the kitchen, Tommy Michaels stared at his mother with a blank expression. This kind of thing was becoming the norm these days. Ever since his dad had left to be live with Maggie, their mother had pretty much left him and his sister Louisa, to their own devices. Of course, Tommy had decided that he would not allow him and his sister to suffer because their mother liked a drink. But as time had gone on, Tommy was beginning to realise that in fact, she needed a drink in order to get through the day.
‘Mum?’ Tommy said in a hushed tone. He awaited a response, but after a moment he realised he wasn’t going to get one.
‘Mum?’ A little louder this time. Startled, Rita Michaels opened her eyes.
‘What is it?’ She slurred as she stared up at him through bloodshot eyes. The smell of alcohol floated through the air and assaulted Tommy’s senses.
‘I need money to get milk for Louisa’s breakfast.’ He leaned against the frame of the door.
‘Aye, it’s in my purse.’ Rita stood up, holding onto the worktop to steady herself. ‘Hang on.’ She reached into her bag which was sitting next to the fridge and pulled out her purse. Fighting to open it with clumsy fingers, it fell from her grip, sending an array of loose coins crashing to the floor.
‘Shit,’ Rita muttered, bending down to pick them up.
Tommy watched as his mother failed to retrieve the money and instead, fell head first onto floor. Rita lay by Tommy’s feet, laughing uncontrollably. He bent down and picked up enough coins to get the essentials to feed him and his sister, but not before his mother grabbed at his hands.
‘Help your mother up, Tommy.’
Mustering all the strength he could, Tommy pulled Rita to her feet.
‘What’s th
at look for?’ Rita asked. He must’ve had a look of disgust on his face, because that’s how he felt inside.
‘Nothing.’
‘Nah, if you’ve something to say, then say it.’ Rita challenged.
Tommy bit his bottom lip and turned to walk away but was faced with Louisa who was standing in the hallway, staring at her mother. He’d managed to protect Louisa from seeing their mother like this, but it was only a matter of time before he slipped up.
‘Why is mummy all wobbly?’ Louisa giggled. Rita giggled in response and Tommy gritted his teeth.
‘Come on, Louisa, it’s time for school.’ Tommy placed his hands on Louisa’s shoulders. ‘Go and get your school bag and remember to put your homework in this time.’
‘Okay.’ Louisa went to her bedroom and Tommy turned back to face his mother.
‘You’re a good boy, Tommy, looking after your sister.’ Rita slurred, putting a cigarette to her lips.
‘Someone has too.’ Tommy replied, before turning on his heel and leaving the words hanging over her.
He wasn’t surprised that she didn’t react to his comment. She didn’t react to anything unless there was a bottle of vodka involved.
Helping Louisa into her jacket, he guided her out the front door and down the street. He’d buy them breakfast on the way to school.
Today would be the day that Tommy would tell his dad what was happening to him and his sister. He’d attempted to a few times, but guilt took over and he wasn’t able to say the words out loud.
Their dad would come and take them to stay at his and Maggie’s house every weekend. On a Friday evening, Tommy would feel his stomach settle, the nerves would disappear because he knew that he was going to spend time with sober adults who knew how to look after him and Louisa. But on a Sunday afternoon, the nerves would slowly creep back and his stomach would flip and roll at the thought of spending five days with his drunk or hungover mother. Louisa was quite unaware of what their mother had become, she was too young to process any of it. But Tommy was old enough to understand.
Tommy loved his mother, but he knew that what she was doing wasn’t right. He didn’t care what happened to him. All he wanted was for Louisa to go to bed with a full stomach, he didn’t care about himself.
‘Are we going to Daddy and Maggie’s house on Friday after school?’ Louisa asked.
‘Yes,’ Tommy replied.
‘I like it at Daddy’s house. He’s awake more than Mummy is, and Maggie plays with me with my dolls.’
It was only a matter of time before Louisa started to notice things, it was just happening sooner than Tommy anticipated.
Chapter Eight
(Present Day)
Jodie sat at the dining table and studied the picture Lewis had drawn. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to get upset about it, but how could she not? What Lewis was being subjected to was out with her control and it was killing her.
‘He seems okay today,’ Patrick said.
Jodie looked up at him from behind the piece of paper and attempted a smile. ‘But what’s going on inside his head to make him think up something like this? He’s not even at school yet, Patrick and this is so detailed you’d think he’d drawn it from memory.’
‘Maybe he has,’ Patrick suggested. Jodie’s stomach flipped at the prospect. ‘Last night, he referred to himself as Louisa. Maybe his mind is still open enough that some lost soul is using him to tell us what happened to them?’
Jodie shook her head, not in disagreement but in angst that her child was presenting the same abilities as his parents. Jodie didn’t want that for Lewis.
‘If that is the case, what can we do to stop it?’ Jodie asked.
‘You know there is nothing we can do. We can only let things happen naturally. But we can help.’
‘I can’t put Lewis through that. It’ll frighten him, he’s too little.’ Jodie put the drawing down on the table and rung her hands together.
‘He doesn’t have to do anything, not really. I can just talk to him, see what he can tell me about the drawing. Maybe the soul just needs an outlet, a way to cross over?’
Maybe Patrick was right, but Jodie felt her heart ache for Lewis. Remembering her own experiences as a child with psychic abilities, she knew that if these episodes continued on the same path for Lewis, they would only get worse.
‘Okay, but you need to promise me that you’ll stop if things get bad.’
Patrick nodded. ‘I won’t let anything bad happen to our son, Jodie. I promise.’ He kissed her on the head and disappeared into the lounge. She fought to hold back the tears, but they spilled over.
***
Sitting on the floor by her side, Patrick thumbed through a novel that she could tell he wasn’t reading, not properly. They’d agreed to camp outside Lewis’s bedroom after he had fallen asleep, so that if anything happened during the night, they would both be there to deal with whatever spirits were manifesting themselves in the body of their son.
‘Good book?’ Jodie whispered.
Patrick placed the book down on the floor and shook his head. ‘Not really in the frame of mind for reading. I’m seeing the words but they’re not going in.’
Both were silent for a moment.
‘Do you think he’s aware that what he is experiencing isn’t real?’ Jodie asked.
‘What he’s seeing is real, it’s just from another time.’ Patrick replied. ‘I don’t think he understands what is happening to him. I think he believes everything is as it should be.’
Jodie hated that Lewis had inherited the ability to talk to the dead, but it seemed her son’s ability went further than that.
‘Please try not to worry. He’s a strong kid.’ Patrick gripped her hand and she felt herself relax a little.
Resting her head on the bedroom door, Jodie closed her eyes. ‘Listen out for him, in case I fall asleep.’
‘Why don’t you go to bed? I can take care of things from here.’ Patrick suggested.
Jodie shook her head. ‘I’d never sleep again if I could help it, not until Lewis is through the other side of this.’
Startled by the sound of distant crying, Jodie’s heart froze and for a moment she felt like she couldn’t move. ‘Do you hear it?’
Patrick nodded as they stood up.
The sudden chill in the air made her blood run cold as she watched Patrick reach for the door handle.
The distant cries grew louder until they resembled an animal howling in pain. Patrick opened the door and Jodie held his arm as she followed him into Lewis’s bedroom.
Lewis was sitting up, staring into the far corner of the room. A woman sat with her head buried into her hands as painful sobs filled the room.
Jodie went to Lewis’s side and held his hand. ‘It’s okay baby, I’m here.’
‘She’s sad that daddy left.’ Lewis said. ‘She doesn’t know what to do.’
‘Daddy’s right there, Lewis.’ Jodie whispered, pointing at Patrick who was crouching down a few footsteps away from the distressed soul.
‘It’s not her fault, she’s just sick.’ Lewis said.
Wishing to pick up her son and run from the room, she scooped him into her arms and stood up from the bed. But just as she did, the woman in the corner suddenly snapped up at Jodie, hatred pouring out of her bloodshot eyes.
‘Put her down, she’s mine. I won’t let you take her.’ Arms flailing out, Jodie stepped back, glancing at Patrick.
‘Go, now.’ Patrick mouthed.
Jodie ran from the room and down the stairs, keeping a grip on Lewis.
And all the while, he was screaming out for her to put him down.
‘Let me go, I want mummy!’
Jodie put Lewis down on the kitchen floor and closed the door behind her. ‘Lewis, I am your mummy.’
Lewis was shaking his head and became visibly upset. ‘No, I don’t know you.’
Her heart beat could be felt in her throat. Feeling helpless, Jodie decided that the best thing to do wa
s to go along with what her son was saying. Swallowing hard, she opened her mouth to speak.
‘I’m Jodie. What’s your name again?’
‘Louisa.’ Lewis scratched his head.
‘And you have a brother, Tommy, is it?’
Lewis nodded.
Jodie’s stomach rolled as she realised that Lewis was locked inside his own mind and this soul had been taken over.
‘The lady, upstairs, is she your mummy?’
Nodding again, Lewis caught sight of the toys on the dining table.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Rita.’ Lewis picked up a toy car and gazed at it. She watched him for a few moments, allowing him time to recognise his surroundings again.
‘Lewis?’ She hoped that he would hear her over the spirit which was in possession of his body.
He looked up at her from the toy car in his hand and a slow smile spread across his face. The light in his eyes changed and suddenly, he was falling to the floor. Jodie reached out her hand and managed to catch him just in time. She carried him through to the couch in the lounge.
Covering him with a blanket, she ran her fingers through his hair and gulped back the urge to scream.
His shoulders began to relax as his breathing slowed but his eyes fluttered open again. Jodie smiled warmly at her son, hoping that he would recognise her.
‘Mummy?’
Thank God. ‘Yes, baby?’
‘Why are we downstairs?’ Lewis asked.
‘You don’t remember?’
Lewis sat up on the couch and peered around the lounge. ‘Did they come to visit again?’
Jodie took a deep breath and nodded. Lewis was only four years old, but he was beginning to understand what was happening to him.
‘It’s okay mummy, I’m not scared. But Louise and Tommy are.’
‘What are they scared of?’ Jodie asked. ‘Are they scared of Rita?’
Lewis nodded. ‘Can I have some milk, please?’
Chapter Nine
(1992)
Rita stood at the front door, Tommy and Louisa at her feet, waiting for Stewart to come and collect them. Deciding that Andy probably spoke some truth, Rita decided against having a drink, for today at least.
THE BOY WHO WASN'T THERE_a supernatural short story Page 4