Eyes On You: A Ghost Story

by Steven Jenkins

  “I’m not, Matt,” she replies as she follows me. “They found him by the train tracks.”

  “No!” I snap, my back against the door, my hand gripping the handle, ready to bolt down the street. “Dad wouldn’t do that to us! He wouldn’t leave us like that!”

  She opens out her arms, inviting me in for a hug. “Come here, Matt.”

  Shaking my head in disbelief, my vision fogs over, and the walls start to move, pressing towards me.

  Mum mouths something else, but I can’t hear her words.

  I can’t hear anything.

  The acid in my stomach erupts and I puke up over the floor. I wipe my mouth and then drop to my knees in tears. Mum kneels down beside me, her arm across my back, crying hard into my shoulder.

  I can’t catch my breath.

  I need to get out of here.

  I need to see him.

  I need to see for myself—because this is all my fault. And if it’s true, if he is dead…then I really have lost everything.

  The six-pack of beer doesn’t touch the sides. Lucy is sitting next to me on the park bench, sobbing, begging me not to do this. To stay with her.

  “I love you, Lucy,” I tell her, my eyes dripping with tears, “but I can’t deal with the guilt. It’s too much.”

  Lucy puts her cold hands over my cheeks and pulls my head close to hers. “It’s not your fault, babe. Your father was the one who made his choice. You were only looking out for Shirl. You had to tell her.”

  I don’t respond; my mind racing, my vision clouding over, Mum’s anguish just a distant problem. All I see is an image of Dad, dressed in his grey suit, standing on the train tracks—waiting to die.

  I feel sick.

  “I won’t let you go through with this,” Lucy sobs. “Not without me.”

  Her words somehow break through the fog, a glimmer of clarity returning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what it means. There’s nothing left for me here. No brother, no friends, no parents. It’s just you. It’s always been you. And if I’m gonna die, then I want it to be next to you, not on the floor of some crack-den, or lying in a ditch at the side of the road. It has to be by your side. Always.”

  I start to cry—harder than ever before. Lucy wraps her arms around me and hugs me.

  “I don’t want to die alone,” I sob, my words muffled, barely audible.

  “You don’t have to,” she replies, kissing the side of my neck. “I’ll never leave your side.”

  I take Lucy’s hand as we head across the damp field. Everything seems dreamlike, surreal, like I’ve just dropped acid. My stomach is full of butterflies, but it’s not from nerves or second thoughts. It’s excitement. Excitement that all this pain, this suffering will be over soon—and Lucy will be with me all the way.

  Forever.

  “Ready?” she calmly whispers as we reach the train tracks.

  I nod, squeezing her hand even tighter.

  There’s a rumbling sound in the distance.

  The train is coming.

  Stepping onto the tracks, I feel the floor beneath my feet vibrate.

  I see Mum. She’s standing over a grave. It belongs to me. It’s right next to Dad’s.

  The roar of the train is deafening, rippling through my entire body.

  Mum drops to her knees in grief, pounding her fist against the soft dirt, screaming for me to come back to her.

  Lucy smiles at me, and tells me that she loves me. But I can’t hear her, only read her lips.

  I scream it back to her.

  The sound of the horn bellows just metres from us.

  We close our eyes and wait for everything to be over. To begin again. To reset.

  I see Mum again. She’s standing next to Dad, about to take a photo of me at the zoo.

  I barely register my fingers slipping out of Lucy’s hand.

  Mum and I are sitting around a dinner table wearing blue and red paper hats. There’s a huge smile on my face because it’s Christmas day.

  The train screams as it passes me, just inches from my feet; the heat and air hitting me hard in the face.

  Something else hits my face as well. Something wet. Hands shaking, I touch my cheek.

  It’s Lucy’s blood.

  My scream gets lost in the roar of the train, taking a lifetime to disappear.

  But I don’t want it to stop. I want it to go on forever.

  I don’t want to see the tracks. I can’t bear it.

  Closing my eyes tightly, my body juddering in anguish, I lie back on the loose stones, and then I cry.

  I’m sorry, Lucy.

  Please forgive me.

  I love you…

  25

  “Aimee?” I say, softly, as if waking her. “Say something.”

  She doesn’t respond.

  “Please,” I persist, “talk to me. Say something. Anything.”

  Taking her hand away from her mouth, Aimee sniffs loudly, wiping her eyes and nose with her wrist. “What’s there to say?” she asks, coldly. “You’ve said it all.”

  “Please, Aimee, don’t be like that. It wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to tell you. I’ve never told anyone about this. Just you.”

  “Lucy John knows.”

  “Lucy John is dead.”

  “She’s not dead, Matt!” Aimee snaps. “She’s very much alive! And she has been all this time! She’s been watching us for years, getting angrier and angrier with every day that she can’t be with you. Everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through, moving in together, getting married, having Isobel, all that, all those great things have just added more and more fuel to the fire. The fire that you started!”

  “Look, you don’t know how hard it was for me,” I say. “You didn’t have to sit next to Lucy’s mother in the funeral, listening to her cry. She’d already lost her son to suicide, and now she had to bury her daughter too. That’s what I’ve had to live with. That’s what I’ve had to swallow every time I think about that night. And it never goes away. So tell me what I was supposed to do, Aimee? How the hell was I supposed to know what the repercussions would be? Tell you that there’s a chance that my dead-ex-girlfriend might still be pissed with me?”

  “Don’t joke, Matt. None of this is funny. She tried to kill me.”

  “I’m not joking. I’m serious! What would you have done in my shoes?”

  “I would have told you the truth!”

  “I wanted to. So many times. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Everything’s always gone so well for us. I just didn’t want to rock the boat. It was easier not to tell you.”

  “It’s always easier. But that still doesn’t change the fact that you lied. You kept something so huge from me. From your own wife. The one person you could tell. I would never do that to you! Ever!”

  “I’m sorry, Aimee,” I plead. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

  Aimee starts to cry again. “She took our baby, Matt. She took our baby from us. She tried to drown me. I couldn’t breathe. Do you have any idea what that’s like? Do you? I can’t live like this. I can’t live in fear anymore. If she wants you…she can have you. Isobel and I won’t be coming back to that house…until Lucy’s gone. It’s not safe… It never has been!” Aimee sniffs, just about managing to control her anguish. “She’s won, Matt. It’s obvious that all this is about you. She doesn’t really care about Isobel. Or me. All she wants is you! She wants to hurt you! And the only way to really do that is to hurt the people you love. So I won’t be a part of it any longer.”

  “What if I can’t get rid of her? What am I supposed to do then?”

  “I don’t know, Matt. I really don’t. But you won’t see us until you figure it out.”

  I almost tell her that she’s wrong, that I can protect them—but that would be a stone-faced lie.

  “We have to think about Isobel,” she continues, “and that means leaving you behind. It’s the only way. Moving house was never enough. She’ll find
us wherever we go. Your mother’s house, my parents’ house. China. Australia. Nowhere is safe. Not anymore.”

  “How am I supposed to fix this?” I ask, battling to hold back my anguish. “Confront her? Tell her to leave us alone? Call another medium? What? Tell me!”

  “I don’t know, Matt,” she says, frostily. “But I don’t want you here right now. I’m too afraid that she’ll come back for me. For Isobel. So you need to go.”

  I’m lost for words. My brain can’t quite register what’s happening. I feel sick, lightheaded. Need to sit down, but I can’t. I need to leave. I need to do what she says. Aimee’s right. It’s not safe to be around me. Lucy wants me—she always has. At least I finally know who I’m dealing with. Maybe I can talk to her. To make amends. Tell her that I’m sorry. Tell her why I left her on the track. Maybe she’ll leave us alone then. Maybe that’s all she needs.

  To be at peace.

  My chin starts to quiver when I say goodbye to Aimee. She sobs when I kiss her on the lips, when I tell her that I love her, that I’ll miss them both more than she could ever know.

  I leave the room, not looking back. It’s too hard. I just keep walking down the corridor, past the nurse-station, and out into the reception, fighting with every grain of strength I have in my heart not to break down, to fall to my knees in turmoil. I have to stay strong. I have to find a solution. I should have told Aimee everything long ago. But I was stupid. A fucking idiot.

  But no more bullshit.

  No more running.

  This ends tonight.

  26

  The cold night air hits me, biting at my cheeks as I step out of the car. I feel the odd speck of rain land on my neck, so I look up at the sky; it’s black with grey clouds overhead. There’s a storm coming.

  I peer up at the house and have that same feeling of foreboding that I had when I looked up at the flat.

  The lights are all still on in the house. Didn’t even realise I left them on. The last thing that was on my mind was switching them off. But maybe I did knock them off. Maybe it was Lucy who put them back on. For all I know she’s done it to show us that she’s here for good, that this is her house now. Not mine. Not Aimee’s. An animal marking its territory.

  Locating the house key from the bunch, I point it at the lock, hand shaking nervously as I twist the key. The door opens and I gingerly enter the house. I fight hard to calm myself, to control the fear gushing around my body, but every step I take, every movement, every sound I hear, only amplifies this feeling of threat.

  As soon as I’m in the living room, I start to scan every inch like a frightened child. My heart is pounding. I try to steady it but it only worsens when I see the stairs. Eyes climbing one step at a time, I’m petrified that I’ll see Lucy again, standing at the top, glaring down at me, eyes brimming with hatred, with bitterness.

  But I don’t. She’s not there.

  Creeping through the living room, I head into the kitchen. When I see that it’s deserted, my pulse rate reduces a little. But then once the idea of venturing upstairs pops into my head, it starts to charge again.

  But I have to go up there. Can’t put it off.

  I can’t run from this.

  I know she’s here somewhere.

  She’s toying with me, watching me suffer.

  At the foot of the staircase, I look to the top again. Vile, shocking images of Aimee plummeting down fill my head. And then I imagine Aimee holding Isobel while she falls. It sends a cold tremor down my spine. I shake off the image, take in a deep breath, and then start to climb the stairs. Halfway up, I peep through the railings, onto the landing. Even though I need to see her, need to talk to her, the terror that’s rushing through my body is telling me to turn back, to leave this house…for good. But I have to ignore it. I have to do this. No matter what—otherwise I’ll lose my family.

  At the top of the stairs, I inspect the landing. No sign of Lucy. Holding onto the banister, I listen out for any movement, any whispers. There’s nothing. Not even the faintest of rustles. Skulking across the landing, I head into Isobel’s future nursery. The door creaks open and I hit the light switch; my body clenched in apprehension. Inside the pink room I see heaps of boxes still littered across the brown carpet, still unpacked from the move. So much junk, so many places for Lucy to hide. I step into the room and start to explore. I can’t imagine Lucy being here, crouched behind a box. But what the hell do I know? I leave the room and head over to our bedroom. The door is slightly ajar. I anxiously prod it open with my fingers and step inside. The light is already on, which makes the ordeal marginally more bearable. Once the door is fully open, I can see the entire room. It’s deserted. I exhale in relief and then leave the bedroom, heading towards the bathroom. At the doorway, I poke my head around the corner fretfully, half-expecting Lucy to be lying in the bathtub, or standing in the middle of the room. But she isn’t. I’m torn between relief and disappointment. I want this to be over with, like tearing off a plaster, but the notion of being face to face with her, sends an icy, ominous chill over my skin. But the one time I actually want to see her, and she’s not fucking here!

  Heading back down the stairs, I think about Aimee and Isobel. What if I can’t communicate with Lucy? What if it’s impossible? What the hell am I supposed to do then? I can’t exactly live here on my own. Live here with Lucy watching me, taunting me. Day after Day. Nights endless and hellish.

  I’m in the living room and I feel nothing. No icy chill at the back of my neck. No ghostly moans. No chains rattling. No broken mirrors. No whispers of my name.

  And no Lucy John.

  Deflated, I sit on the couch, my throbbing, tired head resting back on the cushion, my eyes burning, longing for a few hours sleep. But I can’t. I won’t spend another night in fear, another night away from my family. She’s here. Somewhere. I just know it.

  Maybe five minutes of total silence passes and my eyes have finally shut. I keep seeing Isobel’s beautiful face, her rosy cheeks, her baby-blue eyes. But then the image is replaced with Lucy dragging Isobel’s helpless body off the bed, into the drawer, and slamming it shut. The vision causes my stomach to churn, so I try to think of something a little more positive. Our wedding maybe? Bringing Isobel home from the hospital? My first date with Aimee?

  Just as my mind drifts off, dipping in and out of consciousness, something brings me back to the living room, back to reality. A sound. The sound of water running. My eyes spring open and I’m off the couch, muscles tensed, fists clenched, ready for war. I peer into the kitchen; the tap by the sink is still off. I follow the noise to the foot of the stairs. It’s coming from the bathroom. I make my way up, each step causing my chest to tighten even more. At the top, I grasp the banister and edge around it towards the open bathroom door. I try to silence my heavy breathing, as if attempting to sneak up on a burglar. I creep just inches from the opening, petrified of what I might see in the bathtub.

  You can do this, Matt!

  I take a few deep breaths to prepare myself, and then leap into the bathroom.

  The bathtub tap is running.

  She’s here.

  Reaching over the tub, I grip the handle of the tap and start to twist. Suddenly I feel the room fill with an ice-cold breeze. I shudder as I straighten, checking the room again, convinced that she’s here, waiting, watching me like she’s always done. I glance up at the window just in case. It’s closed. An awful sensation of dread creeps over my skin as I leave the bathroom, stepping out onto the landing. I still don’t see her. But it’s only a matter of time before I do. I just know it. Feel it. She’s toying with me. I walk over to our bedroom. Just as my hand pushes the door open, I hear the sound of a glass smashing. It came from downstairs—in the living room. I follow the noise. Each step closer to the living room steals my breath, until by the last few steps, when the room is in full view, I can barely breathe.

  I don’t see Lucy.

  Still tense, I examine the room to find the source of the noise. Nothing
obvious leaps out at me; a smashed window perhaps; a vase; a wine glass. But then I see something glimmer on the floor next to the fireplace. A broken photo frame; tiny fragments of glass scattered across the carpet. I walk over to the fireplace and pick up the frame, shaking off the shards as I bring it up to see. It’s a photograph of Aimee holding Isobel. It was taken just hours after she was born.

  There are scratch marks over Isobel’s eyes.

  I feel sick, the image too much to bear. All of a sudden I feel weak, dizzy, my vision foggy, my legs like jelly. The walls and ceiling are closing in around me, pinning me, crushing me in a vice. Can’t take anymore. Can’t take this hell. Can’t let her take my family.

  I won’t let her.

  I won’t let her win.

  “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, LUCY?” I shout, so loud that my voice echoes around the room. “TELL ME! I’M TIRED OF THESE GAMES!”

  I listen for a response.

  Nothing comes.

  “WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?” I scream again. “TELL ME! I NEED TO KNOW! PLEASE!”

  I’m so angry—so terrified—that I can’t help but squeeze and twist the photo in my grip. I look down at it, straighten it out, but then drop it on the floor when I see the scratch marks again.

  I listen hard for Lucy but still hear nothing. Just as I’m about to turn and search the house again, the living room quakes with a deafening bang. My heart violently jolts in fright. The TV, which was mounted to the wall, is now facedown on the floor, taking with it the metal bracket and a chunk of plaster. Body frozen, eyes wide, I slowly back away against the fireplace.

  Another crashing sound!

  This time from the kitchen. It’s the sound of pots and pans being flung across the room, landing on the floor-tiles. I think about racing into the kitchen to see for myself, but I don’t. Can’t move. Can’t prise my back away from the stone mantelpiece.

  Then my attention goes to the staircase. Isobel’s baby basket is tumbling down, rolling brutally as it hits each step, until it finally comes to a halt at the porch door.

  Across the room, directly under the stairs, I can see the stereo moving heavily towards the edge of its shelf. And then it plummets towards the floor. The array of wires suspends it just inches from the floor, but then I hear a snapping noise and the stereo hits the carpet.