by Dan Thompson
The blue haze filtered through the window in a straight line. It gave the room a harsh appearance. Perhaps she could find a tool to use to protect herself? There wasn’t time. Stefan barged the door with a quiet force, it opening with more ease, as if that too was frightened of his wrath. Abbey fumbled backwards on all fours, the junk and tools stabbing and poking and pinching as she clambered over them. With one more shove, the door gave in and allowed the monster to enter its lair. He ceremonially took a few steps and stared at her with an enormous grin.
The blue haze augmented his features. She surprised herself by not screaming or hiding behind a stack as he entered into the room further. Perhaps she already knew of her fate and accepted it? Stefan was slighter than she remembered and his cleanly shaven face gave way to a sharp, slightly elongated chin, which made him look odd, as if he wasn’t real. His eyes were narrow, like slits and his hairless head had tiny pimples budding atop. Abbey couldn’t really tell what he was wearing, as the mud from his earlier digging covered his torso. Maybe it was his peculiar and less than scary appearance that made her speak.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she said with a hint of calm.
Stefan stood there, glaring down at her for what seemed like an age before finally replying. “Because you belong to me, and I can do as I wish.”
Abbey’s daring grew as she listened to his voice; a little high-pitched, yet very pronounced. He spoke his words, enunciating each syllable. “What have we ever done to you?” she forced, thinking of all three of the girls she had seen disappear. Abbey had the cold feeling that they weren’t the first.
“Oh you poor thing. Do you actually believe you matter? You naïve, silly little thing,” Stefan laughed, snorting through his nose that made Abbey cringe. “You are just a commodity. My commodity. I bought you for a fair price. Your father didn’t grumble when he saw the tokens I offered. A drain, that’s what you are. A drain on society, on your father. But not to me, no. To me, you are worth every token.”
Abbey shrieked, crawling backwards until she backed into one of the many stacks. She had so many questions, but maybe Stefan was right, maybe she was naïve? Life had been difficult to say the least, but that’s all she had ever known. It was the same for everybody, every family – trading tokens, growing whatever food that was available inside makeshift containers. Her grandmother had once spoken of ‘society’, mass production, fresh vegetables grown by the light of The Sun, but even that was in her youth. Abbey missed her gran; if only she was as strong willed as her.
Stefan took a step forward and pointed towards the window. “Do you think it will be nicer out there for you, hmm? Perhaps if I let you go, I’d wager a month’s tokens on you returning, longing to be back here, sheltered and warm.”
“You’re a monster,” Abbey sobbed.
“I’ve been called worse, dearie. I’m going to show you exactly what a monster is capable of.”
Stefan marched towards her, taking large strides to avoid the clutter in his way. Abbey couldn’t back up any further, already leaning against a stack, causing it to wobble. She pulled herself up and heaved the stack over. It creaked and toppled, smashing into her captor, knocking him to the ground. The sound of metal clattered around the room and Abbey made a run for the door. She screamed as she fell forward, hitting her head on a wooden crate. Stefan had grabbed her foot and was now cursing and seething as he wrestled the crates off himself.
“You little brat. I’m gonna …” Stefan spat, dragging Abbey over the carnage. She felt the lump swell on her forehead, but as she tried to kick the monster off, his abnormal strength refused to let her free. She felt groggy, but Abbey knew she had to fight; fight to survive.
As Stefan yanked her across the room, back towards the door, Abbey fervently clawed her nails over the ground, hoping to add a little friction. Her hands felt bruised as they hit the inanimate objects; thin, sharp aerials pricked themselves in her skin. Stefan’s strength didn’t seem to wane however, and Abbey knew she had to try something or before long, she would be lying next to Rheanne in the hard, cold ground.
Abbey tried to twist herself around, but again, it failed to slow Stefan down, his grunts invading her hearing. She caught sight of a rusty screwdriver among the rubbish and she stretched her arms out for it. Clamping her teeth, she edged a few inches further, her fingertips just managing to brush the end. By enveloping two of her fingers over the metal, Abbey managed to flick the tool into her palm, before another grunt pulled her away from its grasp. As she turned to glance at Stefan, Abbey realised that he hadn’t noticed. She needed to get free.
“Let me go,” Abbey implored.
Stefan just laughed, and continued to heave her by the legs. They were nearly at the door. A quick plan of action formulated in her brain, she only hoped it would work. Giving up the fight, Abbey allowed herself to be hauled. She tried to let her body go limp, but the swelling upon her head throbbed and ached, desperately calling for her to reach up and press against it, as if to make it better. As the door got nearer, she waited for just the right moment before clamping her hands onto it, jolting Stefan in the process, which in turn forced him to let go of her legs and stumble into the corridor.
Abbey staggered to her feet and just as Stefan lunged back towards her, she slammed the door with all her strength, knocking the monster to the ground. She knew she would never make it past him into the corridor, and besides, this was his home. She would be running anywhere she could, whereas he would know what doors would be locked and where the unlocked ones would lead. Abbey darted back into the sealed room and hid behind one of the three remaining stacks of crates, the screwdriver at the ready.
Stefan chuckled with a grotesque glottal purr; Abbey knew he was back inside the room. She heard him kick some of the debris, it firing against one of the walls. Adrenaline pumped itself around her body and Abbey could feel her heartbeat increase. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum ba-dum. It was a sickening feeling, but Abbey knew she had to concentrate, for her life depended on it.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the monster chortled. Abbey dug deep to shake the impulse to cry. She daren’t blink in case she missed her chance.
She almost screamed when a tower of crates came tumbling down just behind her, followed by Stefan’s nasty giggling fit. She needed him to come closer.
“Only two left, dearie,” Stefan called out. “Hmm, eeny meeny miny moe …”
His epicene voice wavered as Abbey swung round from her hiding place and thrust the rusty screwdriver into him. Breaking her coerced silence, Abbey’s blare sent a rush throughout her body making her feel lightheaded. She hadn’t cared where she stabbed him, she just hoped it would be enough. As she stood still staring at the man that had debauched her, stained not only her face, but also her soul, Abbey noticed the panic in Stefan’s cloudy eyes, the screwdriver stuck right into his chest.
The monster lunged at her one final time, his hands gripping Abbey’s shoulders, shaking them as he twitched and stumbled. Abbey kicked at him, knocking him to the floor and without hesitation, clutched the crates she had hidden behind and lurched them onto him.
The monster remained silent and still.
Abbey stared at herself in the mirror, her reflection surprisingly unshaken. Her blue eyes were vacant as if they refused to acknowledge what had just occurred. The makeup had run further down her cheeks and she resembled a kind of abnormal clown. She didn’t care, she felt nothing. Empty. Void of emotion. Abbey desperately questioned the lack of fear, the lack of trepidation, and she continued to watch her reflection as if she kept looking an answer would soon reveal itself.
Time slithered by.
Abbey pulled her scrutiny away from the mirror. How long have I been stood here? Two hours, maybe three? It was the biting cold that snapped her from her trance, night clearly ascended, but as usual the blue haze looked, felt and sounded as familiar as it always had. Its ringing now a gentle clam inside of Abbey’s head. Normality persevered. Abbey didn’t
need to question herself on what to do next, she already knew. Stefan’s words ran over and over in her mind.
Oh you poor thing. Do you actually believe you matter? You naïve, silly little thing.
You are just a commodity. My commodity.
A drain, that’s what you are. A drain on society, on your father.
Her knees and back ached, her fingers painful to bend, but through the discomfort, Abbey sallied the bare room, psyching herself up to leave the nightmare she had been trapped in for months. As she descended the layers of the prison and found the front door, she didn’t know what lay in wait for her, but what she did know was that even though she would walk alone, she would do so without her dad, without Stefan. Abbey knew she would hold her shoulders high and prove to them she could survive in this harsh world.
A smile reluctantly embraced her face. She took hold of the handle, opened the door, inhaled deeply, and ventured out into the cold.
The blue haze grew darker, more menacing. An omen of bad times to come perhaps? Abbey wasn’t sure if things could get any worse. She had been responsible for the death of a man; a monster no less, but a man all the same. The city loomed in front of her, a ramshackle façade of freedom that was neither inviting nor promising.
What was she to do? Turn back and hide within the monster’s lair, where his presence would surely linger like an acrid and contemptible stench; overpowering and dirty? No, she must go on.
The fresh, cold air intoxicated her, making her light-headed as if inebriated. She wobbled in the only boots she had found, which were a little too big for her. An echo from above abruptly made her jump, and her eyes began to water. What was she doing? Who was she kidding? Did she really think she could delude herself into believing that sanctuary was waiting for her out here; its arms open wide bearing gifts of warmth and food and wellbeing.
Abbey screamed in frustration, loud and piercing. She tugged at her hair; sick and tired of her confused mind flitting back and forth from one extreme to another. Why couldn’t she be normal, in between the two opposite thoughts? She turned and faced Stefan’s dark abode. Its grey stone was ghost-like in the haze, a sceptre stuck in a neverwhere, incorporeal and translucent. The gothic architecture was much more stable than the broken city it faced, but it too didn’t offer any salvation, and yet it was old, much older than the surroundings. Abbey thought she could see faces at the windows, up in the highest echelons of Stefan’s prison. His victims, the girls cheering her on for liberty and freedom. Or maybe there was no candour at all, they were jealous, in fact, that she was able to escape his deathly clutches where they had failed.
Or was it Stefan himself, planning his revenge, plotting his dirty tricks to punish her for her disobedience.
Abbey closed her eyes to squander her mind’s frightened state before it overloaded. She knew she couldn’t return. The city was titanic in comparison; plenty of opportunities were bound to present themselves. She turned back to face the ruined vista. It wasn’t scary, she told herself, just lonely and misunderstood. A whisper strained through the dereliction and neglect, calling out to her. Abbey took a deep breath once again, and ventured into the unknown.
Chapter Five. Cigarettes Burn
The wind was always unpredictable. Here all year round, it either stung your face as if someone had given it a pretty hard slap, or was docile, barely touching your skin before it playfully slipped off. As Abbey trawled the lonely streets, she encountered both forms. She wasn’t tricked by its unsavoury disguise, trying in earnest to lull her into a false of security, so as to swindle her into wrapping her arms around her for warmth as well as comfort – only to moments later, take a running charge and literally suck the air from her lungs, making her catch her breath.
No, Abbey was too smart for that.
She wasn’t wearing her own clothes. Before leaving the expansive grounds, Abbey had plundered what she could, including a few malt biscuits and a green tomato, which she devoured almost instantly, succumbing to the ravenous jaws of hunger. Inside a bolted cupboard, Abbey had found a pair of black jeans, which were made of a coarse denim she was unfamiliar with, and a long sleeved white jumper, which surprisingly wasn’t stained at all. She couldn’t find her own clothes; probably ripped and cut as Stefan … Abbey gulped, trying to swallow the painful thought away. She didn’t want to think about what that monster had done to her.
At first, Abbey had hesitated, but she soon told herself to not feel guilty for taking the clothes. In this instance, ignorance had helped. Whichever girl these clothes once belonged to, Abbey hadn’t seen her, and for that she was thankful. The jeans chaffed a little, and the jumper, although thin, was comfortable but slightly too long in the sleeves. Not that it mattered. She embraced the cosy feeling of tucking her hands inside, with only inches of her fingers peeking out.
The people of the dilapidated city had acted just as Abbey had presumed. In this case by not reacting. The handful of people that trundled past were probably homeless too, taking shelter inside the derelict grey buildings. Abbey hadn’t recognised exactly where she was, but she knew that if she kept on wandering, she would eventually stumble upon a feature or place she knew. But then again, where would she go? This was it. Life was now going to consist of toing and froing, searching for food and just … existing. Isn’t that what people do anyway? Exist.
A wrapper of some kind playfully bounced across the street, as if it was being pulled upon a string. A sharp whine too swirled in the air above. Despite being locked inside a cage for a few months, Abbey recognised the sign without a second thought. Quickly, her eyes darted around the street, searching. All of the buildings and entranceways were too shallow, windows and doors boarded up. Pulling the sleeves over both of her hands, Abbey picked up her pace, jogging slightly on her tiptoes. As she rounded a corner, Abbey spotted a dull, washed-out building that had an old noticeboard hanging from its fixture. She ran towards it.
A gust of wind groaned and grumbled as it made its attack, its invisible hands swirling through the air, ready to snatch anyone who had missed their chance to hide.
Abbey reached the old shop and noticeboard just in time, throwing her back against the wall, hoping the ever so wobbling board and the small alcove to the shop’s door would suffice. She tucked her chin to her chest and bit her lower lip, waiting for the wind to pass. Her ginger hair flew over her face, tugging at her scalp, but Abbey remained strong against the wall. The chill was debilitating, painfully so, and she felt her fingers go numb.
As she dared to look up, out into the street, she saw a man struggling against the wind. What are you doing? Get to cover. She found herself glued on his attempt to beat the airstream. His red shirt flapped behind him, adding resistance to his fight. Abbey saw him bend his head, ploughing his way forward. She knew he would be holding his breath – you couldn’t breathe at all when the gust hit you. She remembered only too well the force this type of gale could produce.
The man grunted as he fell to the ground before sliding backwards until he was out of sight. Abbey closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, trying hard to push the thought of returning back to the house, back to the prison for warmth.
And just as quickly as it had arrived, the wind ceased.
Abbey rubbed at her eyes hard as they watered. She ignored the raw pain, before blinking incessantly. The surprise outburst had made the lump on her forehead throb, which only reminded her of how she had received it in the first place. She knew she should keep walking to find a place to sleep. An overwhelming tiredness made her legs heavy, weights pulling her feet down into the pavement. Although try as she might, her body ached for rest. What her body must have gone through during the last couple of months had built up, until now, and with Stefan gone, it implored her to stop.
Perhaps the alcove to the shop might be enough shelter to sleep? That was if there were no more wind attacks. She turned and looked up at the grubby, smudged sign above the door. She could just about recognise the bold black letters –
‘A. M. CONFEC’, but she couldn’t read the words that came afterwards. It reminded her once more of her grandmother, who persevered through her arthritis to try and teach Abbey how to read. Abbey was mesmerised by objects known as books, which contained thousands and thousands of words. ‘Gates to other worlds’ her gran had called them. She loved the old dust covers, and the mildewed scent they gave off only added to their appeal. Her gran had also said that it was a sad moment when illiteracy outranked the erudite. Her dad had burned all of her gran’s books a few days after she had passed away. They made for great fuel, he had said.
Abbey had really hated her dad that day.
Abbey squeaked as the cold of the pavement seeped through her white jumper. As she lay there, knees tucked up to her stomach, her arms forming a pillow for her head, she pushed the discomfort to the back of her mind. At least she wasn’t locked inside a cage anymore. Her lower lip wobbled as she yawned. It was going to be an extremely long time before she fell asleep, but she had to try. If she thought of her gran, then maybe the calm it brought would ease her off.
Closing her eyes, her gran’s wrinkled face appeared instantly. Her long white-grey hair was thin, brittle almost, but really gave life and animation to her sad ashen eyes. She had never told Abbey of the horrors she must have witnessed, but in her eighty-four years, she must have seen a great deal of suffering. She once spoke of transport by car; a contraption that could take you to the market in no time at all, and of school; a place where you could learn to write and read.
Still with her eyes firmly closed, Abbey pictured a familiar scene, where they were sat in her gran’s battered armchair, a fire roaring beside them both, the heat almost too hot against the side of their faces.
She had forgotten about that memory, it was the clutching of her necklace that reminded her. A Saint Christopher, if she recalled correctly. It had belonged to her mother, and her mother’s mother before that - people Abbey had longed to meet, but had to suffice with stories of their lives. Her gran had spoken of religion, of a higher being who looked down on them all, never judging, always forgiving. Apparently performing miracles, saving lives. Abbey remembered saying that she would love to meet this person someday.