by David Haynes
Grey and brown feathers danced about on the breeze and below them, another goose lay slaughtered. Its neck was twisted at an unnatural angle and a dark smear covered its underbelly.
He sat back down and let his eyes drift back to the surface of the lake. Geese could be aggressive, but he’d never seen them attacking each other with such ferocity before. He sank back into the chair and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see anything like that, not today.
It was just after midday when he finally managed to climb out of the recliner. He’d allowed the morning to wash over him in a peaceful daydream and not once had Natalie entered his mind. It had been a beautiful melancholy peace and he’d come to the conclusion that it would be pointless to spend any time in trying to explain it.
He walked into the kitchen and opened the cupboards. There were plenty of tins and of course Ina’s cake but not an awful lot else.
“Steak, I fancy a steak.”
He felt saliva gather in his mouth. He’d neglected to eat breakfast in his stupor and he was starving. He’d have to drive into town but that was okay. He could visit the supermarket as well as the butcher and get some chips to go with the steak. He looked at the oven. He hadn’t cooked anything that couldn’t be tipped out of a can so far so he’d definitely need some additional cooking equipment.
He rushed upstairs and grabbed the clothes he’d discarded on the bedroom floor. Today was definitely a steak and chips day, and maybe a bottle of wine too. He dressed quickly and did his best to ignore the bloody bloom on the sheet. If he drove quickly he could be eating rare fillet at a decent hour. He jumped into the car and drove off. Not even the drizzle could lower his mood today, and as for the resurgence of the constant dull ache in his side? Well, when everything else felt this tranquil, that barely mattered, barely mattered at all. Maybe things were looking up, at last.
*
He slapped the steak onto the griddle and took a sip of the wine. He was no connoisseur but it was red, French and on special offer at half price so how bad could it be? The steak sizzled and filled the house with a delicious aroma.
“Cheers.” He held his tumbler up. There was no reply but wind whistled through the eaves in approval.
It had been a long time since he’d cooked anything but a couple of minutes on each side was just about as long as he was prepared to wait. He slid it onto the plate and piled some chunky chips beside it. He was almost dribbling as he carried it to the recliner.
As he cut the first butter-soft chunk from the steak, the afternoon finally gave up the ghost and darkness settled outside. Rain lashed at the patio doors and as he tried to look out, his distorted reflection looked back at him.
He pushed the steak into his mouth and felt the bloody juices run down his throat. He emitted a groan of pleasure. The butcher had given him strict instructions about dealing with the lump of meat and he obviously knew a thing or two because it was perfect.
He’d missed a whole day of work but it didn’t matter, there were plenty still in the bank, a whole lifetime’s worth. Besides, he felt as if he’d made a huge leap forward psychologically and that had to be worth more than a sanded floor or a repaired gutter.
He stuffed more steak into his mouth. Tomorrow he would make a start on the jobs and get them out of the way. He was at Ina’s for dinner in the evening and that was the only reason to leave the house. He diverted his gaze from the plate to the window and felt the plate slip from his fingers and fall to the floor.
It wasn’t just his own distorted reflection staring back at him.
“I’ll slice you open, Stokes. I’ll bleed you dry.”
Natalie’s twisted snarl loomed over his shoulder. The teeth she still had were blackened, broken and sharp. The others were gone, victims of the sweet methadone her body and mind craved. He could feel her festering breath on his neck.
Rain ran down the window making a crazy paving of both the image and his mind.
“You’ll never lose me.”
She lifted a knife to her lips and kissed it. The blade was covered in blood and as she pulled it away, a clot dangled from her lips. “I’m with you always.” She drew the knife along his cheek.
All Stokes could muster was a faint whisper. “You’re not there, you’re not really there.”
“Oh but I am.” She trailed the knife in a circle on his cheek and stopped at the corner of his eye.
“I’m in here.”
Stokes couldn’t move, he couldn’t even blink. A tear pooled in his eye and rolled slowly down his cheek.
“You’re not there,” he repeated, but even to his own ears his voice sounded uncertain.
She licked her cracked lips and flicked her tongue inside his ear.
A faint hiss and she was gone – back to the dark recess in his mind. Stokes wiped the tear from his cheek. He was shivering, not from any chill but in frustrated anger. A few good hours, that was all he’d been allowed. That was all she was prepared to cede.
He flipped over the plate and scooped up the chips. Blood wept from the steak and seeped into the carpet, making a brown stain. He picked up the fork and stabbed it into the meat. There was no way he could eat it now, his appetite had vanished about the same time Natalie had crept up behind him and licked the knife. The steak was going straight into the bin.
“Bitch,” he said through gritted teeth.
*
No wistful dreams inhabited his night-time hours. Instead, Stokes sat in the gloom of his bedroom reliving his near-demise. In the scene, Natalie was not the witch who now tormented him but a sad and desperate figure who had been as confused as Stokes himself over what had happened… over what she had done.
Over and over again he felt the knife slide easily through his flesh. Time and time again he saw her standing over him clutching the knife, the evil-looking blade dripping with his blood. And each time he was as powerless to stop it as he had been a year ago.
At some stage he fell asleep. It couldn’t have been for very long but when his eyes flicked open the room was light again, albeit it with a dull greyness. He felt utterly lifeless. What a difference twenty-four hours could make.
He was tired but the thought of wallowing in his own depressed thoughts, he knew, was a terrible idea. No, today was a good day for making a start on the carpet. It was a day for filling his mind with sandpaper grades and a sore back.
He dressed quickly, made tea and toast then looked out onto the lake. It was strange but since that first morning when the geese had slaughtered one of their own, he hadn’t seen them again. Perhaps they had migrated or just moved on. Whatever the reason he wasn’t too worried, he didn’t relish the thought of seeing a display like that again.
He turned and looked over at the expanse of garish carpet. It wasn’t old but someone had made an expensive and bad choice buying it. Whatever their condition, the floorboards would be a far better option and if they needed a bit of love and affection then so be it.
“A new start, Stokesy, a new start.”
*
He walked slowly down the lane toward Ina and Peter’s house. He didn’t feel like socialising and in truth he was shattered. He’d worked hard all day and three-quarters of the carpet was now removed, along with all of the gripper rods. The carpet was practically new so whoever laid it hadn’t stayed around long.
As tired as he was, he recognised that letting Ina down was apt to have far worse consequences than a simple headache brought on by tiredness. In any case, he had a few questions about the history of the cottage and he had a feeling he was about to have dinner with the best people to ask.
He was once again greeted by Peter like a long-lost friend. It was both irritating and warming at the same time. He was shown into a large open-plan room and a glass of warm beer was thrust into his hand. The décor of the room took Stokes by surprise. It was minimalist and modern. The floor was tiled in black and the walls a clean and crisp white. One side of the room was completely glazed and it afforded a stunning panoramic vie
w of the lake.
He looked around for Ina who he assumed must spend most of her time in the kitchen. She wasn’t there but steam was rising from one of the pans on the hob.
He sat on one of the two settees that faced the lake. “Beautiful house.”
Peter remained standing. “Cost a pretty penny too. All of this is an extension to the original cottage but Ina wanted it and what Ina wants...”
“What’s this? Talking about me, are you?”
Stokes stood up and kissed Ina on the cheek. “I was just saying how beautiful your house is. The view is incredible.”
“It is, isn’t it? This old stick in the mud didn’t want it, can you imagine that?”
“It was overpriced, the whole area is. I dare say Jim paid over the odds for his place. You can get twice the size for half the money twenty minutes away.”
Stokes nodded. “I know I paid too much but it was worth every penny, if only for the cakes.” He smiled at Ina.
“Not every newcomer gets cakes you know.”
“Just the pathetic ones eh?”
“Exactly.” Ina turned and walked to the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry.”
And he was, he was famished. He was pleased he’d made the effort, his mood was better already.
*
“So how long have you two been here?” Stokes scraped his spoon around the bowl, he didn’t want to miss a single drop of custard.
Peter’s reply surprised him. “Coming up to five years now.”
“Is that all? I thought you’d been here much longer.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“You just seem to be... I don’t know, part of the furniture, and I don’t mean to be rude by that, but it feels like you’re at the centre of the village.”
Ina stood up. “Looks like you enjoyed that, the pattern’s been scraped clean off the bowl.”
“Delicious,” Stokes grinned.
“I suppose we are but we’ve always been like that, wherever we’ve lived. I suppose you could say we’re social animals.” She took the bowls over to the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Only if I can help you clean up.”
“You most certainly will not. Peter will do that later. We’ll have coffee over by the window.”
Peter leaned over. “For God’s sake don’t argue with her, it won’t do any good.”
“Well it was absolutely beautiful, thank you.” Whether it was the wine or tiredness he didn’t know but Stokes felt genuinely fond of both of them. “You’ve been really kind and you probably don’t realise how much that means to me.”
Ina and Peter sat on one sofa and Stokes took the other.
“Perhaps we do.” Ina smiled at him. “What brings you here, Jim? We know you were a police officer, the estate agent told us that much, and you’re not old enough to be retired, at least not in the conventional sense. So what brings you to Stormark?”
“Ah now there’s a tale.” He didn’t want to go into the whole story. For one, they didn’t need to know and secondly, he’d thought about it enough over the last twenty-four hours. Tonight was supposed to be Natalie-free.
“The estate agent was correct and yes I am retired. Stormark is a new start for me in lots of ways.”
“Medical?” Peter asked.
“My retirement?”
Peter nodded.
“Yep.” He changed the subject quickly. “So tell me about the cottage, who lived there before me? I’ve been coming up here for a while and it’s been empty all that time.”
Stokes caught the look that passed between Ina and Peter. It was almost imperceptible but it was there and he’d seen it before. Collusion was a tricky thing to hide.
“We never really got to know him,” started Ina. “He kept himself to himself.” She turned to Peter. “I don’t think he ever came to one of our little gatherings, did he?”
Peter shrugged. “Don’t think so.”
“I assume he left in a hurry because the cottage was repossessed,” Stokes added.
“Like I said, we didn’t really know him but it wouldn’t surprise me.” Ina stifled a yawn.
“Why’s that?” Stokes pushed on despite the signal from Ina.
She stood up. “He just seemed like that, a bit of a fly-by-night. I think that coffee should be ready now. How do you take it?”
“Black please.” He was out of practice but the little look between the pair indicated Ina’s disinterested tone was an act. It was probably nothing but it made him curious. It would wait for another time though, he’d had a pleasant evening and he didn’t want to upset anyone, least of all these two.
“Maybe when I get settled properly you’d like to come and be my first dinner guests? I can’t promise anything as good as tonight but I make a mean chilli.”
“I’ve got a light ale that goes perfectly with a bit of spice,” Peter almost shouted. It was almost as if he’d been holding his breath.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. Stokes never once allowed his eyes to linger on the great expanse of glass. The night made a mirror of the window and he didn’t want to risk seeing an uninvited guest sitting beside or standing behind him.
As he walked back along the lane he realised he’d learned almost nothing about the cottage, or about Ina and Peter. He’d not drunk excessively, not by any means, but he wasn’t used to it and telling them about his own life had seemed a perfectly natural thing to do. He’d had enough sense not to spill his guts completely though. He smiled to himself at the metaphor. No, there were some aspects of his life he wanted to keep to himself and Natalie was one such facet.
5
Stokes stood up and pressed his hands into the small of his back. There was just one last strip of carpet to pull up and it couldn’t happen soon enough. The carpet was well made and scoring it with his knife had been tough work. The boards underneath looked good though and had clearly been waxed in the recent past. Why anyone would want to cover them up was beyond him but at least they had been protected by the carpet.
He knelt down and winced. It wasn’t just his back that was sore – there probably wasn’t much skin left on his kneecaps either. He worked his fingers under the side and freed the carpet away from the gripper rods, then he started to pull. It was a strangely satisfying sensation as the final stretch of wood was slowly revealed.
As he reached the patio doors, a beam of weak sunlight flashed through and fell on him. It provided no warmth but it was almost as if the sun had come out, albeit briefly, to celebrate with him. He heaved the carpet and stared with curiosity at what he’d revealed.
A small square hatch had been cut into the floorboards and a metal loop had been sunk into it. He pulled the remainder of the carpet back and hauled it off to one side. What was it? The estate agent hadn’t mentioned anything about a cellar, it was something he would have most definitely remembered.
He shuffled forward and lifted the loop with his finger. It was icy cold but it lifted easily without a single squeak of resistance. It was brass and had been crafted for this very purpose and probably at some expense. Stokes frowned and lifted the hatch.
Immediately a vile stench washed over him, pushing him back and away from the hole. The force with which the smell had rushed out was almost as if the odour had been held captive and needed to escape, and quickly. He waited a few seconds and edged forward again. He’d been to enough sudden deaths in his time, some of them ripe with age, to know he’d be better off breathing through his mouth, at least for the time being. This wasn’t a human smell though, it was too acrid. He pushed the hatch completely to one side and looked into the hole. There was nothing, nothing except a black hole and the smell was still too strong to risk submerging his head into the darkness.
He stood up and opened the patio doors, allowing the cool late-afternoon air to do battle with the sickening stink. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Although the pine trees on the far side of the lake would never show signs that autumn was on the way, the smell of the less-fort
unate deciduous trees still swirled about in the wind. It was a delicious smell and one he’d always found comforting. It wouldn’t be long until he was forced to try and light the wood burner. He hadn’t lit a fire for some time so it might be interesting.
He turned back and looked down at the hole. Now, where had he put the torch?
*
Peter Gauchment looked at his wife. She was cooking or baking something as usual and her apron strings cut deeply into the fat across her broad back. He’d bought the novelty apron for her as a Christmas present two years ago and on the front was a sexy red polka-dot bikini. It had been a long time since she’d actually worn anything quite as revealing as that. Had she ever? He couldn’t remember but he didn’t relish the idea of seeing her wear one, a real one anyway. He rubbed his chin and sighed.