Eyes On You: A Ghost Story

by Steven Jenkins

  I hear the sound of feet stomping upstairs. “Coming!” Aimee shouts down, and then I see her at the top of the staircase, holding a red overnight bag.

  “You got everything?” I ask her, urgency in my voice.

  Aimee opens the bag, takes a quick peek inside, and then nods. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

  But before Aimee’s foot even touches the top step, she loses her balance, and plummets forward. Eyes wide with horror, Aimee scrambles to grab the banister but misses, slamming her chest against it instead. With Isobel still in my grasp, I’m powerless to help her as she starts to roll violently, cracking her head hard against the wall. The sound of wild drums echoes towards me as she bounces off each step. Within seconds, she’s at the bottom of the stairs; face down on the carpet.

  Horrified, I lay Isobel on the floor and race to Aimee. I turn her unconscious body over, and I’m nearly sick when I see the blood, dripping profusely from a gash at the left side of her head.

  “Aimee,” I say to her, as I gently shake her shoulders. “Wake up. Please!”

  She doesn’t respond—and now the baby’s cries have become deafening. “Please, Aimee. Say something.”

  I feel for a pulse on her neck.

  I find one.

  Is she breathing? Please let her be breathing!

  Just as I bring my ear to her mouth to listen, something catches the corner of my eye.

  Someone is standing at the top of the stairs.

  A teenage girl.

  I struggle to breathe as I stare into the girl’s eyes.

  Those dark, cold…lifeless eyes.

  I know those eyes.

  I know that grey dress, that black hair.

  Somehow I no longer hear Isobel’s cries. Somehow I no longer fear for Aimee’s life. My eyes are too fixated on this girl, standing at the top of the stairs. Nothing else seems to matter. And my eyes remain locked until I watch her fade into oblivion. Like the memory of a dream, or the face of a stranger.

  But this girl is no stranger.

  I know this girl.

  It’s Lucy.

  Her name is Lucy John.

  23

  It’s just gone midnight and Aimee has started to stir.

  For the past two hours I’ve been sitting next to her hospital bed, completely drained of life, waiting for her eyes to open. No one really knows why it’s taking so long for her to wake. The doctor says it’s probably just the concussion. But I know it’s the stress of almost drowning and losing Isobel. I didn’t tell the doctor what happened. How could I? What the hell would I even say? They’ll laugh in my face; strap a straitjacket on me. And who the hell would blame them!

  But it happened. Right in front of me.

  I saw it with my own two eyes.

  Aimee was held down under that water. Drowning. She wasn’t sleeping. She wasn’t hallucinating.

  And she was pushed down those stairs. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a coincidence. And it wasn’t a freak of nature.

  It was Her.

  All Her…

  “Aimee,” I whisper, as I watch her slowly come to, her eyes straining to open. “Can you hear me? It’s Matt.”

  She painfully winces when she turns her head, exploring the room, clearly disoriented.

  “You’re in the hospital, Aim. You’re safe.”

  And then her eyes widen as if horrified, causing me to clench up in fright.

  “Isobel!” she croakily blurts out, springing up into an upright position; IV stand nearly toppling over. She then recoils in pain, grasping her bandaged ribs.

  I leap off my chair and place my hands on her shoulders, trying to settle her. “She’s fine,” I reassure her. “She’s safe. Your parents have her. They left with her a few hours ago.”

  Breathing heavily, clearly still in a state of shock, she grabs my forearm roughly, and then pulls me close. “I didn’t fall down the stairs.” Her fingernails start to dig deep into my skin, through my sweatshirt. “Someone pushed me!”

  Prising her grip from my arm, I try to calm her down. I take her hand and stare into her eyes. “I know, Aimee. It’s all right. I believe you.”

  “You saw something. Didn’t you?”

  I nod, trying to disguise the guilt I feel, surging through my body.

  “What did you see?” she asks, twisting the top of the blanket with both hands.

  “I saw someone at the top of the stairs. Right after you fell.”

  “Who did you see?”

  “I saw a girl.”

  “Who was it?”

  Should I lie? Tell her that I have no idea?

  No—I’m tired of this bullshit!

  No more lies!

  No more secrets!

  I brace myself, take a breath, and then say, “Her name is Lucy John.”

  “Who the hell is Lucy John?” she asks, grimacing hard, covering her broken ribs again, as if the stress is worsening the pain.

  I pause before answering. Can’t face telling her. I’d give anything to walk out that door, just to avoid this conversation. But I can’t. It’s too late. I have to tell her the truth. I can’t run from it anymore. I can’t bury it any deeper.

  “Lucy was my girlfriend,” I tell her—my words brimming with disgrace. “She died twenty years ago.”

  Aimee’s face drops when she hears the words. I’ve never seen her with such a look on her face. So lost; confused. So disturbed. “And she was in our house?” Aimee says. “In our flat? All this time?”

  I nod, struggling to meet her eyes.

  “But you’ve never mentioned her before, Matt,” she points out. “Why did you keep it from me?”

  I pull the chair away from the side of the bed, and twist it around so that it’s facing Aimee. And then I sit. “I don’t know. I think I repressed it all. Pushed her away. Well, at least I thought I did.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “Only tonight. When you fell.”

  “Jesus, Matt, I can’t believe you would keep something like that from me? After everything we’ve been through.”

  “I know, Aim. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you needed to know. It was such a long time ago.”

  “I’ve told you about every ex-boyfriend that I’ve ever had. Any ordinary person would think to mention an ex that died. So why did you keep it from me? What aren’t you telling me, Matt? Come on—spit it out.”

  I don’t answer. It’s too hard. But I have to. There’s no avoiding this now.

  “Come on, Matt,” she says, her tone laced with displeasure, “tell me the truth. What happened to her? Did you hurt her?”

  I don’t respond again. But then I catch a glimpse of her eyes. And suddenly I see them transform from a look of disturbance…to disgust.

  “Did you kill her?” she asks, in a half-joking tone, as if battling with the possibility that I might actually be capable of something so vile.

  “It’s not that simple, Aim.”

  “What’s not that simple? It’s a simple question, Matt. There’s only one answer. Did you kill this girl—yes or no?”

  Suddenly I can see my life with Aimee flashing before my eyes. From our first date, to our wedding day. Everything in high definition. From the smell of flowers I got for her the week after we met, to the churning feeling of excitement and fear when we brought Isobel home from the hospital.

  “No,” I say, with pure conviction, eyes locked firmly on hers. “I didn’t kill her.”

  “Then what the hell happened, Matt? I wanna know everything. No more secrets. Just the truth.”

  “All right,” I say with a crippling knot in my stomach. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  24

  There’s a teenage girl with long black hair sitting on the swing. She’s gorgeous and she’s staring at me. What the hell is she doing in a dump like this? Should I talk to her? Tell her that I like her?

  No, too forward. She’ll tell me to piss off.

  Oh shit! She’s coming over!

  I swallow
a mouthful of vodka, wipe my lips and chin, and pray to God that I don’t have food in my teeth.

  “You gonna share that, or what?” she asks as she sits next to me on the bench, so close I can feel her hip touching mine.

  I shake my head, handing her the bottle. I don’t smile though; I play it cool instead.

  She swigs the vodka and then passes it back to me. “Thanks.”

  “It’s no problem,” I say, as if pretty girls sit next to me all the time. “So where are your friends? I thought girls were afraid of the dark.”

  “I could say the same about you,” she replies, smiling with perfect teeth.

  “I don’t see much of my friends these days,” I reply, and then take a giant gulp of vodka.

  She snatches the bottle and takes another swig. “Is that why you’re drinking?”

  I shake my head.

  She swivels on the bench with her blue eyes glowing with intrigue. “So come on then—what’s your story?”

  “I don’t have a story,” I reply, shaking my head. “I’m just drinking.”

  She chuckles. “That’s bullshit. Teenage boys drink with friends at parties. Troubled teens drink alone at night in parks.” She nudges me softly. “So come on, spit it out. You can trust me.”

  I haven’t told anyone about Dad. Why would I tell a complete stranger?

  Because she’s gorgeous, that’s why.

  She gives me the bottle, and then tuts loudly. “Suit yourself. Have fun drinking alone, loser.”

  She gets up off the bench and starts to walk towards the playground exit.

  I don’t want her to leave.

  “Fine,” I call out. “I’ll tell you.”

  The girl stops in her tracks, turns to me and beams with obvious satisfaction. “Good choice.”

  “It’s my father,” I say as she sits back down. “He’s been cheating on my mother.”

  “Oh, right. That’s tough. Are they going to split up?”

  “No. Well, not yet anyway. I’m the only one who knows. I caught them fucking in my parents’ bed. Some whore from his office.”

  “Dirty bastard!” She takes a swig of vodka. “Do you think you’ll end up telling your mother?”

  “No. I couldn’t do that to her. Or him. He begged me not to tell Mum, and he swears blind that he still loves her, that it was a one off.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  I shrug. “I want to.”

  The girl puts her hand over mine as it rests on my thigh. It sends a strange tingle up my arm and around my body. It feels good, but I don’t show it.

  “Just keep an eye on him,” she says. “Make sure he keeps his promise.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  She slides her fingers between mine and squeezes my hand gently. I can’t quite believe how forward she’s being. Is this a prank?

  “So what’s your story then?” I ask.

  “Where do I start?” She takes another gulp of vodka. “Well, my Dad left us when I was ten. Fucked off to Australia with some slut from Bristol. My bitch of a mother is a raging alcoholic who thinks that it’s my fault the old prick left.” She takes another swig, this time finishing the bottle, and then launching it into the bushes behind us. “Oh, and my brother, the only one in my screwed up family that I actually cared about, decided to tie a rope around his neck three weeks ago and hang himself in our shed. So other than that—life’s pretty uneventful.”

  Jesus Christ. I’m lost for words, almost gasping in shock. All of sudden my problems seem a lot less significant.

  She looks to me, with completely dry eyes, and somehow throws me another smile. “I’m Lucy by the way?”

  I try to return a smile but I can’t; my lips are frozen from amazement.

  “I’m…Matt,” I stutter.

  She pulls her hand out of mine and runs her fingers through my hair, pulling my head towards hers. “Nice to meet you, Matt,” she says, just before our lips meet.

  Holy fucking shit! This has got to be the weirdest night of my life.

  After maybe a minute, Lucy pulls her mouth away from mine, and then takes my hand again. “We need more booze,” she announces with eagerness “There’s a shop up the road?

  “I’m out of money though.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Lucy says as she yanks me up off the bench.

  “Then where are we going?”

  “To get booze,” she replies, steering me towards the playground exit. “We’re just not gonna pay for it.”

  I painfully swallow the chalky pill. I’m okay with painkillers, vitamins, but there’s something about ecstasy that always makes me retch. Lucy laughs as I struggle to hold back the bile that’s desperate to leave my stomach. I grab my can of beer, take a huge gulp, and the urge to puke quickly disappears.

  “You’re a lightweight, babe,” she says as she drops her pill onto her tongue, and then swallows it without flinching.

  Grabbing her thin waist, I pull her backwards on my bed until her head is on the pillow. I grasp her hips and move her body closer, kissing her on the lips at the same time.

  “I love you, Matt,” Lucy whispers.

  “I love you too,” I reply, my hand on her arse, pulling her even closer.

  Suddenly the door bursts open, causing our bodies to swiftly part.

  It’s Dad.

  “The school just called, Matt,” he says with a pissed off tone. “They said you’ve been suspended for fighting.”

  “So what?” I retort, shrugging. “The boy tried stealing my phone. What the fuck was I meant to do?”

  “Watch you’re language, boy!”

  Lucy gets up off the bed, squaring up to him. “Why don’t you just get off his back?”

  Dad snorts. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re the reason he’s fighting,” Lucy continues. “You fucked up his life.”

  “Who the hell do you think you’re speaking to?” Dad asks, his eyes wide with rage. “This is my bloody house. So you’re lucky I don’t throw you out.”

  “Leave it, Luce,” I say, taking hold of her hand. “It’s not worth it.”

  Lucy pulls out of my grip and points her finger at Dad’s chest. “You need to cut Matt some slack,” she barks at him, “unless you want us to have a little chat with Shirl. Tell her all about the little mistress you’ve been fucking.”

  The colour drains from Dad’s cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about?”

  “Yes I do,” she replies. “Matt and I tell each other everything. We don’t keep secrets.” Lucy chortles. “I can’t say the same about you.”

  Dad tries to retort but no words leave his mouth. All he can do is shake his head and back away like a frightened weasel.

  Lucy nods her head with a look of accomplishment.

  “You promised you wouldn’t tell your mother,” Dad squirms. “It’ll break her.”

  “Don’t pretend you’re doing this for her,” I say with a tone of disgust. “This is all for you.”

  Dad steps out onto the landing. “Just don’t tell her. Please, Matt.”

  “Then stay the fuck out of Matt’s business,” Lucy snaps, “and maybe we’ll do the same.”

  She closes the door practically in his face.

  I almost feel sorry him. But then I think about the day I caught him with that slag, and all my sympathy goes up in smoke.

  Lucy climbs back onto the bed and rests her head on the pillow. She grabs my hips and pulls me towards her. “Where were we?”

  “What the hell have you done?” I tell Lucy as I frantically wrap the towel around her bleeding forearm. “You’ve gone too deep this time. You could’ve been killed.”

  “It’s fine,” she calmly replies, as if it’s nothing more than a paper cut. “You sound like my bitch of a mother.”

  The blood has already started to soak through the towel, so I press down hard to stop the bleeding. “She probably didn’t mean to throw his things out. Maybe they got mixed up with the rubbish.”

  Lucy shakes
her head with a cold smirk. “No. That bitch knew exactly what she was doing. She’s glad my brother’s dead. One less person to worry about.”

  Moving the sweat-soaked hair from her bloodshot eyes, I can see that she’s been crying. She’d never admit it though. “So what are you going to do now?” I ask.

  Next to the knife on my bedside cabinet there’s a can of beer. She picks it up, opens it, and then downs it in one. “Well I’m not going back there. And if she tries to find me then she’ll have another black eye.”

  “You can stay here with me,” I say with enthusiasm. “I’m sure Mum won’t mind.”

  Lucy snorts. “What—here? With your wanker of a dad?”

  “Well what’s the alternative? Sleeping on the streets?”

  She falls silent for moment as if mulling over her options. “I suppose I could crash here.” She kisses me on the lips. “As long as I’m with you—that’s all that matters.”

  “I’ll ask Mum when she gets home. Pointless asking Dad; he’s too much of a coward to say no.”

  Lucy smiles and then kisses me again. “You’re all I have left in the world. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

  “You’re not going to lose me.”

  “You lied to me!” I scream at Dad. “You said it was just a one-off!”

  “They’re just texts, Matt,” Dad says as he tries to snatch his mobile phone from my hand. “I’m not having an affair with her. Honestly.”

  I move the phone out of reach. “You’re full of shit!” I yell, backing away into the kitchen. “I’m not stupid!”

  “Please, Matt,” Dad says, almost in tears. “I’m begging you. Don’t do this.”

  I shake my head. “It’s too late! I fucking warned you!”

  The sound of a car pulling up onto the drive fills the room.

  Mum’s home.

  “You’re lying,” I say, shaking my head. “Why would you say something like that?”

  Mum gets up from the couch, eyes streaming, and walks over to me. “It’s true, Matt,” she says, taking both my hands. “He’s gone.”

  “No,” I say, pulling out of Mum’s grasp. “He’s just with that woman. That’s all. He’s not dead. You’re a liar!”

  I start to back away towards the front door, refusing to let her lies seep in.