SEED: A Novel of Horror and Suspense

by Matt Shaw

  This book contains themes which some people may find upsetting.

  It is intended for a mature audience only.

  The police entered the property first. A woman was wailing within the small, terraced house. The sound of fear and pain within those screams echoed through the building and their souls to a level which would haunt them for the remainder of their lives.

  Following closely behind the police, the paramedics rushed in too. Medical kits slung over their shoulders. They were prepared for most states of emergency and yet both teams were completely unprepared for what they were about to see within the lived-in house.

  Death’s unpleasant musty scent lingered in the stale atmosphere, making all who entered the house gag on their initial few breaths. They all knew the smell, although they wished they didn’t. It was one of those smells that you wished you could forget but couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried to. Once inhaled, for the first time, it was with you for life.

  They all feared the worst as they filed down the hallways towards the room where the sounds came from but none more so than Detective Andrews. He knew the occupants of the house through his job as a police officer. He failed them before and the stink in the air was screaming to him that he’d failed them once more despite his promises to them and himself.

  He hurried down towards the room, pushing past the other officers who were slowing him down, and froze when he caught sight of what waited for them.

  “Let the paramedics through!” he ordered the following officers. “Now!”

  S E E D

  Chapter One

  Another late night home from the office. It couldn’t be helped. The company, a small family run business, was in trouble and cut backs were threatened if changes didn’t happen fast so everyone, not just Mark, put in extra unpaid hours to try and keep the business afloat. They all figured they’d be repaid for their time when (if) they managed to get things turned around again. Mark didn’t necessarily want to stay later, especially unpaid, but he figured there wasn’t really much choice. Even less when others volunteered to stay on extra hours. If cut backs were on the horizon, the ones who stayed behind and were seen to be doing everything they could to keep the business moving along - well there was a good chance they’d be safe from the initial redundancies. Certainly over the staff members who didn’t lift a finger, choosing to sit back and watch the company crumble around them.

  Mark slid the golden house-key into the Yale lock on the front of his modest home’s door. A small, two-bedroom terrace house. The middle house in a set of three, in a clean cul-de-sac which also contained other houses in a similar set up (as well as a couple of detached houses as soon as you turned into the cul-de-sac from the main road which were no doubt there to make the area look more affluent than it actually was). A quick twist of his wrist and he pushed the door open before stepping into the small hallway separating the front door from the lounge where he half expected to see his wife, Becky, sitting down on the sofa watching some trashy television. To his surprise, Becky wasn’t there. The lights were on, television off, but the room was empty.

  Must be in bed, he thought. He threw his keys onto the floor where he kicked off his shoes and took his coat off before hanging it over the banister of the staircase running the length of the lounge’s left hand wall.

  It wasn’t unusual for Becky to have gone up to bed without him. Even before he started working all the hours under the sun, he’d still come home at a semi-reasonable time and find she had gone up to the bedroom to wait there for him. The only difference was now, when he came in late, she’d be up there fast asleep as opposed to waiting for him, having slipped into something a little sexier. A surprise for him after a hard day at work; instructions to lie down whilst she reached for the baby-oil to give him a nice massage which would then, after a few minutes, turn into something else just as relaxing for him. He was tired, after work, but never too tired to not enjoy the sometimes gentle (sometimes rough) touch of his wife’s dainty hands.

  He paused at the bottom of the stairs as though waiting for an invitation to come upstairs. No invitation came so he reluctantly turned away from the stairs and headed towards the kitchen. A small room attached to the lounge, the kitchen was the only other room in the downstairs section of the house. Mark walked up to the sink and ran the cold tap. For some reason, when you first turned it on, the water was always a little warmer unless you ran it for a couple of seconds first. With the water running, he fetched himself a glass from the cupboard next to the cooker. By the time he had a glass and returned to the sink, the water was cool enough to drink.

  He caught sight of his reflection in the window in front of the sink. Only in his early thirties, he couldn’t help but think he was looking old. No doubt caused by stress in the workplace and a new worry in his life; a worry that not all was happy in his marriage despite it being only a few months old. Looking back at his reflection, there were a few speckles of grey in his otherwise dark hair. They’re new. Bags under his eyes. No surprise really, considering the thirteen hour working days (minimum) he was battling with each day. He yawned and turned from the kitchen, turning the lights off as he did so.

  The lounge lights were turned off too, when he reached the bottom of the stairs where the second of the available light switches was situated. Leaving the darkness, he quietly made his way up the stairs towards the bedroom. Once there, he stopped in the doorway and looked over towards Becky. She was sleeping, just as he thought. He stayed there a moment, watching her sleeping. Part of him wished she’d wake up. Part of him hoped she wouldn’t. After all, he had no idea what he’d say to her. She seemed distant when he spoke about work. She seemed to not want to talk about her own work. Not just work either, she just didn’t want to talk full stop. For two weeks now it had been like this and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

  By the time he’d had a quick wash and climbed into bed he’d already decided enough was enough. He’d talk to her tomorrow. He’d get to the bottom of what was going on and why she seemed so distant with him. What had he done that was so wrong? What had he done, if anything, to drive her away so quickly? Unless she had met someone else and had fallen in love with them instead? He turned onto his side, away from Becky, and swallowed down the coming tears. Even if she didn’t love him, he loved her - even with the current situation between the two of them. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d fix it. He’d get their relationship back on track. He’d get it back to how they were when they were first married.

  He closed his eyes and hoped that sleep would come quickly; anything to stop the troubling thoughts of his wife slipping away from him. Sleep didn’t come as quickly as he had hoped. He lay awake. The thoughts of Becky in the arms of another man kept his brain ticking over keeping the sleep at bay. Two weeks. That was how long she’d seemed distant with him. Two weeks. Two weeks just happened to be the last time she had gone out with some friends too - a girls’ night out to be precise. Clubs and drink. Was that when she fell out of love with him? Was that when she ended up in the arms of another man? He rolled onto his other side and faced Becky. She was hanging off the bed, in her usual sleeping position, with her back to him. He desperately wanted to wake her; desperately wanted to confront her and find out what happened. He thought better of it. Now’s not the time.

  Tomorrow. He’d wake up, get her breakfast and do everything he could to put things right. Whatever it’d take. This was the love of his life, even with her snoring, and he wasn’t going to let her go without a fight.

  Tomorrow’s the day.

  * * * * *

  Becky looked like a Bond Girl as she stepped from the crystal clear Cuban waters. Long blonde hair down past her s
houlders, the tips wet from the sea water. White bikini - sex appeal through the roof despite its plain look. She gave Mark a little cheeky wave to where he was watching her from further up the white sandy beach on one of the two sun loungers they had commandeered earlier in the morning. He waved back, with a proud smile on his face.

  “Are you coming in?” she called out. Mark didn’t need asking twice. He jumped up from the lounger and hurried across the burning sands to the shoreline. He didn’t stop there either. He continued to run into the water until it was so deep that he couldn’t help but to fall over with a splash. Becky followed Mark back into the water - laughing at him as she did so. “What are you doing?” she asked as he emerged from under the still waters.

  “Winning the race!” he laughed.

  “We were racing? I thought this was supposed to be a relaxing honeymoon...”

  “I’ve been asleep all afternoon - it is relaxing,” he laughed. “Come here!” He pulled Becky close to him.

  “Oh, hello Mr Stephens.”

  “Hello Mrs Stephens.”

  “And how are you?” she asked.

  “I’m good, thank you, and how are you on this fine day in paradise?”

  “I’m happy,” she smiled.

  * * * * *

  Mark woke with a start. At first he wasn’t sure why but then he realised what it was which had stirred his peaceful dreams of a time gone by, not that long ago. Becky wasn’t in the bed. She wasn’t even in the room.

  “Bex?” he called out. She didn’t answer him so he climbed from the bed. Slipping a dressing gown on, he stepped from the bedroom and onto the landing. He could hear her in the bathroom, crying. He walked over to the closed door and tapped gently on it so as not to startle her. “Honey?”

  She tried to stifle the fact she was crying before answering but this just made it more obvious as to what she was really doing in there. “I’ll be right out.” Mark didn’t wait; he turned the door’s handle and noted it was unlocked. Becky looked up at him - tears in her eyes. She looked pale. “I said I’d be right out,” she said. She turned her back to Mark, wiping her eyes as she did so. He stopped her and turned her back to facing him. “Don’t.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. There was genuine concern in his voice - perhaps a little bit hidden by an annoyance fuelled by her lack of communication, despite his best efforts of trying to keep it from her.

  “Nothing.” She carried on sniffling.

  “Please. Talk to me,” he pushed her. She broke down in floods of tears. Mark couldn’t help but feel that was a positive step though. After all - she’d have to talk to him now whether she wanted to or not. “Come on, please, we used to talk about everything. We never had any secrets from each other, we shared everything...Let’s get back to that. Let’s get back to what we had.” He felt sure he knew what was making her upset; guilt and the fact she wanted to be with him (whoever he was) now as opposed to him. He braced himself for the worst even though he didn’t want to hear the words directly from her. His heart ached at the mere thought of her getting the sentence to pass from her lips but still he pushed her. If he was to move on, or stand a chance of fixing it, he knew he had to hear it from her. “Please - Rebecca, what is it? Whatever it is, you can tell me. Just talk to me. Fucking talk to me!” He calmed himself down. Becky was already upset. He knew shouting at her wouldn’t help. If anything, it would just push her away further. He pulled her close to him and put his arms around her - not just to comfort her but also to make himself feel better. “Please - I just want us to talk. Whatever it is that’s on your mind, whatever is upsetting you - we can work through it together...Please.”

  She buried herself in his arms - his warm and safe embrace. She loved him and had been desperate to talk to him but she didn’t know where to start or what to say without pushing him away or hurting him. Her actions were enough for him to know that she did still love him on some levels. It wasn’t too late for their relationship. A few obstacles to overcome but, the fact she was hugging him back...She still loved him.

  “You just need to talk to me,” he whispered to her as he tightened his embrace.

  Chapter Two

  The following morning, Mark was up early. The usual routine was to get up, have a wash (teeth, armpits, hair - the usual), get dressed and leave. He never usually bothered with breakfast at home. Instead, getting up an extra half an hour earlier meant he had time to grab something warm (usually a fry-up) from a cafe close to his office. Not today though. Today - the routine was out of the window.

  Becky was still sleeping. Mark crawled from the bed as quietly as he could. Becky hadn’t slept well that night, and neither had he. She hadn’t opened up to him when he confronted her in the bathroom but she’d promised him they’d talk in the morning when she was a little less upset. Of course he wanted to talk there and then but he knew better than to push her. He took his mobile phone from the bedside cabinet and crept from the room to make a phone call. The chat with Becky had waited this long, he knew it wouldn’t matter if it waited a couple more hours whilst she caught up on her sleep.

  “Hello, Chris?” he quietly whispered down the phone when the other end picked up (after a couple of rings). “It’s me.” He paused a moment to consider his lie. It probably would have been an idea to consider this before making the call. Not that it really mattered - Chris was his friend. If the lie wasn’t up to par, he knew Chris would make it a little better when he relayed it to the bosses. “Anyone else there yet?” he asked. “Could you pass a message on when they come in?” He paused as his friend agreed to do as requested. “I’m not going to make it in today. Becky. She’s not well....What’s wrong?” he paused. “I’m not sure - I’m taking her down to the hospital, though,” he lied. “Just looks like it might be appendicitis.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them. It was stupid. A stupid lie. He knew better. Lies have a habit of catching up with you. He quickly back-tracked, “Hopefully it’s just a bit of food poisoning. Something she ate.” He nodded. A good back-track and one which could ring true the following day when he planned to return to the office. “Can you let them know I’ll make it up to them and if they need to talk I’ll have my mobile on me today but I’m not sure about the signal down at the hospital,” he continued. A further lie but only because it meant he didn’t have to answer the phone if his bosses did try and call him later. They liked you to call them directly if you phoned in sick (only so they could convince you to come in anyway) and yet they were never there first thing in the morning to take the damned calls. You had to leave a message with someone else and then wait for the call back from one of the two big managers. It always annoyed Mark and he often wanted to speak up, If you got here with the rest of us maybe the company wouldn’t be in such trouble now, but he never did. Probably for the best. “Thanks, Chris. I appreciate it.” He hung the phone up and breathed a sigh of relief. A second later and he turned the phone off to tie in with the story of his lack of signal and, more importantly, to give him the necessary peace and quiet to talk to his wife.

  “Appendicitis?”

  Becky spoke out from the hallway. She caught Mark off guard and made him jump. He turned to face her and shrugged. “Didn’t know what else to say.” Becky nodded. “So,” he continued, “are you ready to talk to me?” His heart was in the back of his throat, beating hard and fast. He wasn’t sure whether it was the fear of not knowing what she wanted to talk about or whether it was the fear of believing he did know. She had cheated on him on a night out with her girlfriends and had confused feelings.

  He dismissed the thought, Let her speak. Let her tell me.

  Becky took a deep breath and nodded. She wasn’t ready. She’d never be ready. There wasn’t a choice though. She knew she had to tell him. Not because he wanted her to but because she needed to tell him. Needed to tell someone. She had kept it a secret for too long now and it was burning into her soul more than she cared for. If she didn’t tell him - she’d go mad.

  �
��So,” he asked, “what is it? What have I done?”

  “You haven’t done anything,” she reassured him.

  He could see that her eyes were already welling up but he didn’t care if she found it hard to talk or whether she broke down or not. He needed to know what was going on with them. He needed to know whether they’d be okay again. “Then what have you done?” he asked, straight to the point. A direct question which pushed her over the edge (just as he thought it may have done). She started to cry. He wanted to go forward and put his arms around her. Comfort her. Let her know that everything was going to be okay. But he couldn’t make such promises. He wasn’t the one sitting on a secret. Instead he stood his ground and patiently waited for Becky to tell him what had been going on.

  “I was raped.”

  “What?!”

  * * * * *

  Two years of saving. One and a half years of planning. A couple of tantrums, a couple of tears but many smiles and happy associated memories which will last a lifetime. And now, finally, the day was here.

  Mark shifted his weight as his legs continued to nervously shake, despite his best efforts to stop them, as he waited for Rebecca to arrive. Rebecca. Becky, as he and their friends called her. His bride. Soon to be his wife. She was running late. The clock on the far wall of the church confirmed it as it silently ticked away each passing minute. At least, Mark hoped she was running late. Rather that than had a change of heart and was actually high-tailing it towards the nearest airport with their honeymoon tickets clutched in her sweaty palm. He shook his head as thoughts of his runaway bride started to take a hold.