Eyes On You: A Ghost Story

by Steven Jenkins

  Something strikes the side of my face, cutting my cheek. It’s a DVD case, flung from the shelf next to the TV. Then another hits me, this time I see it coming and I block it with my forearm. One of Aimee’s glass ornaments flies towards me from the windowsill. It misses my head by an inch, smashing into a million pieces against the mantelpiece. I duck, avoiding the wedding photo frame hurtling across from the opposite wall. The mirror by the porch door shatters. The top glass panels of the kitchen door shatter. Then the bottom ones. The mirror behind me, above the mantelpiece explodes, splinters of glass raining over my hair and shoulders. Shaking the pieces off me like water, I move away, heading towards the porch door. Can’t stay here anymore. Gotta get the fuck out. Right now. Reaching for the handle, I judder in fright as each panel of glass in the door bursts. I fly backwards, tripping up over the baby basket, and then hit the back of my head on the first step.

  The room is spinning; my body glued to the floor; my eyelids desperate to close.

  Am I asleep?

  Is this a dream?

  It has to be.

  None of this is possible.

  None of this…

  There’s an echo of something hitting the wall above me. Then another smashing sound from the other side of the room. My eyes spring open. A surge of clarity rushes through my body. I struggle to my feet, head pounding, legs weak and heavy. I look at the living room, at the mess; listen as objects are pitched through the air, breaking to pieces. The living room, the kitchen, the entire house is alive with noise, with movement, like a street riot.

  Have to leave this house. It’s not safe. There’s no getting through to her. It’s too dangerous.

  I grasp the door handle and start to pull it open. The gap is mere centimetres before I feel something yank it out of my hands, slamming the door shut. I grab the handle again but it’s welded shut. Using both hands, I pull as hard as I can, nearly passing out from the strain. But it’s no use.

  “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?” I bellow in desperation. “TELL ME!”

  All of a sudden, the house falls dead silent.

  I try to remain still, try to calm myself, maybe get through to her.

  I wait.

  And wait.

  Still silence.

  Where is she?

  “Iiiiis…oooo…beeeeellll.”

  Once I feel the ice-cold whisper in my ear, I yank the handle and the porch door finally opens. My eyes in tunnel vision, I race towards the front door. I turn the lock and the door swings open; the cold winter rain hits my face instantly. I dart towards the car, soaking wet, not looking back, eyes fixed straight ahead. Pulling out my car keys from my pocket, I push the clicker and the door unlocks. I quickly clamber inside, start the engine, and speed off down the street. Away from the house.

  Away from Lucy John.

  Not really sure where the hell I’m heading to. Mum’s? Ed’s? A hotel maybe? Don’t know where it’s safe. Can’t go to Aimee’s parents’ house. Can’t risk it. And she’ll never let me be that close to Isobel.

  My cheek feels sore from the DVD case. I prod it gently, wincing in pain as my fingers touch damp skin. I’m bleeding. I glance up at the rear-view mirror to see the cut on my face.

  “FUCK!”

  Lucy is sitting in the backseat.

  I swerve the car in fright, tyres slipping in the rain, hitting the curb hard. Straightening the steering wheel, the side of my head hits the window. Ignoring the shooting pain, I look at the back seat. It’s empty, apart from Isobel’s baby-seat. Clenching the steering wheel, knuckles white, I slam down the accelerator and race down towards the bypass.

  Can’t run from her.

  Can’t hide from her.

  She’s always with me.

  Always watching.

  Speeding down the long dark road, I pass a car. Then another. And another, nearly clipping an oncoming van. I keep accelerating. Not sure why. Not sure what I can achieve from it. She’s already found me. I can’t see any other cars for miles, just floods of rain pouring down from the sky, drowning the road like a river.

  Just have to keep driving.

  Without even realising, the speedometer has reached a hundred and thirty miles an hour. At the end of the bypass I see a roundabout. There are bushes to the left of it and houses to the right. I think about blasting straight on, powering through, regardless of any potential oncoming traffic. But instead I slam on the brakes and the car comes to an abrupt stop. Without a seatbelt on, my body jolts forward, cricking my neck as my head bounces back against the headrest. My foot slips off the clutch and the engine cuts out.

  Breathing like I’ve just completed a marathon, the thought of opening the door and fleeing pops into my head. But my hands are fused to the steering wheel. Not from any power Lucy has over me. This time it’s just an overwhelming feeling of loss and terror.

  I start to sob in frustration, in futility. I try to fight it but the turmoil overpowers me.

  Don’t know what do to.

  Need to end this nightmare.

  End this hell.

  Just wanna go home.

  To my family…

  Loud music suddenly bursts out of the car speakers.

  Body jarring in shock, wincing as my eardrums throb, I rush to press the ‘off’ button and the music vanishes.

  The deafening sound returns.

  Once again I frantically switch it off.

  “What do you want, Lucy?” I ask, bravely, ears ringing. “Tell me!”

  I start to feel two cold hands slither down from the back of my neck, under my shirt, down to my chest. Just as I shake them off hysterically, I catch a glimpse of the rear-view mirror again.

  Lucy is hovering behind my seat. I see her hands buried beneath my shirt; her eyes and smile wide; her skin pale and dull. I scream in horror, open the door, and then scramble out of the car. I fall onto the wet road, scraping both knees as I roll to a standing position. And then I run. Run as fast as I can in the torrential rain, over the grassy roundabout, then back onto the road towards the city. Don’t think I’ve ever run so fast. I don’t look back. Don’t care if someone steals the car. They can have it. Need to keep moving. As far away from her as possible. Just have to keep—

  “Where are you going, babe?” I hear Lucy whisper in my left ear.

  Vision skewed, mind in tatters, I somehow pick the pace up even more.

  I pray to find people, any people. Just someone to hide behind, to hold her off ‘til morning. But as I sprint past the town hall, then past a school, and a row of shops, I realise that there’s no one. Not for several hours. Not in this weather. I’m completely alone. No people. No cars. No buses. Not even police. It’s just me and Lucy John.

  By the time I reach the leisure centre, my heart and lungs are just about ready to explode. Can’t breathe. Can’t even see straight. Have to rest. Have to sit for a minute.

  But I can’t. Not now. Not here.

  She’s watching me.

  Ignoring my willpower, I have to stop by the fire-station gates. Crouched over, hands on knees, I take in as much oxygen as I can. As the seconds pass, as my gasping for air decreases, I straighten. Glancing around the area, without the sound of my thrashing heart, my wheezing lungs, I notice how quiet the streets are. Not even a siren in the distance, or the sound of a delivery truck nearby. Just the rain, soaking my clothes through; freezing my ears, cheeks, and hands; blurring my view of everything. I start to walk down the street, body hunched from the cold, arms wrapped firmly around my chest. Not sure what the plan is, where I’m heading. Just walking. Just moving. Until the sun comes up. Until the city is once again alive with the sounds of cars and people.

  My head is aching, trying to make sense of everything, battling hard to pluck out a solution. Can’t run forever. Distance doesn’t seem to be a problem for Lucy. In fact, it seems the more I run, the more it spurs her on. But what choice do I have? There’s nothing I can do. There’s nowhere safe for us to live. It’s—

&nbs
p; “There…you…are.”

  The words send an electric shock of terror through my body. Without even looking behind me I’m off again, sprinting down the street. I head towards the city centre again, doubling back.

  I see Isobel’s face in my head. And then Aimee’s. She cradling her, shushing her to sleep.

  Why aren’t I with them? Why aren’t I there, holding her in my arms, rocking her gently to sleep?

  Why the hell am I running in the middle of the night? In the middle of nowhere?

  It’s hopeless!

  There’s got to be a way out of this. Can’t keep running. Have to keep my family safe. And they’ll never be safe while Lucy is out there. She wants blood. My blood. She’s pissed off with me. Seething. She wants to take away my family. Take away everything that matters to me. Just to hurt me. Just to be near me. To watch me. Can’t live like this. It’s been too long standing over my shoulder. Getting more bitter with every step forward I make. To a normal life. A normal family. Nothing like the life I left behind. Nothing like the life she lost. But I can’t take back what I did to her. I wish I could, but I can’t. I’d give anything to change it. Give anything to go back to that night. Go back to that moment in the park, or at the side of the tracks, and tell her that I was wrong about life, about pain. It can get better. Time really is the greatest of healers. It’s not just a fantasy. There is hope out there. No matter how lost, how alone, how desperate you are, someone, somewhere, is out there for you; waiting to free you, to drag you from the cesspool of misery, of self-loathing. To hold you. To smile with you. To be there for you. To give you everything you ever wanted. To make a home. A life.

  To make a family.

  Aimee…

  I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m so sorry I lied to you. Please forgive me. Please tell Isobel that I love her. That she’s everything to me. Please tell her that I would never intentionally hurt either of you. Everything that I am I owe to you, Aimee. Everything that I was is dead because of you. I’m strong because of you. I’m happy because of you.

  And I’m alive because of you.

  Never forget that.

  Never forget what you both mean to me. How much I love you both. How much I need you both.

  There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you. Nothing that I wouldn’t sacrifice to keep you safe.

  Lucy is standing beside me. She’s smiling; crying. She’s telling me something. Can’t make it out. Can’t make out the words. But they’re gentle words, words of love. They remind me of that first night we slept together. How sweet she was. How much fun she was. Before the bitterness consumed her. Before the pain, the loss, took hold of her. She takes my hand. It feels cold at first, but then somehow warm, even in the cold rain. I tell her that I’m sorry for everything. That I’m sorry I left her alone that night. Alone to die.

  Don’t know if she can hear me over the deafening noise. It’s getting closer.

  And closer, until the screaming train engine is all I hear.

  Time freezes the moment I step onto the tracks. But it’s long enough to hold Lucy near, to cradle her, whisper again for forgiveness. To let my family live in peace. Without fear. Without pain.

  I think she hears me. I think she understands now.

  I love you, Aimee. I love you more than words could express.

  Keep Isobel safe.

  Tell her that I’m sorry.

  Tell her that I love her.

  Tell her—

  Epilogue

  Standing in the bathroom doorway, I watch Aimee as she removes her makeup with a cleansing pad. Don’t know why she bothers wearing the stuff; she looks better without it. Not that fussed on women plastered in foundation and eyeliner. It’s not natural.

  Although, natural or not, I’m glad she shaves her legs. Definitely not that fussed on the cave-girl look either.

  Even though I’ve watched her a hundred times before, tonight, for some reason, seems different. Almost like the first night we spent together, or when we brought Isobel home from the hospital; every emotion turned up to eleven.

  I’ll always cherish those moments.

  Just before I leave to check on Isobel, I catch a glimpse of Aimee’s phone on the bedside table. I smile when I see her screensaver—it’s another embarrassing photo of me, this time passed out drunk in Nia’s birthday party.

  Where the hell are all the nice pictures of me?

  Tiptoeing across the landing, I gently prod Isobel’s bedroom door open. She’s sitting at the centre of her room, playing with her princess castle and dolls, locked in fantasy. She doesn’t see me at first, so I sneak in, not wanting to spoil her playtime. I crouch down by her bed, smiling, watching from afar, wondering how on earth we made such a stunning, perfect daughter; so polite; so thoughtful; so beautiful.

  I whisper that I love her. She doesn’t hear me. This time I whisper her name. Isobel, my darling.

  She still doesn’t acknowledge me.

  That’s okay. She’s probably too engrossed in another one of her princess adventures. She doesn’t need me spoiling her fun. It’s not that important. As long as I can watch.

  As long as I can feel her warmth when she’s near.

  As long as I can hear her sweet voice when she laughs, when she sings.

  And as long as I can watch her grow into the wonderful person I’m certain she’ll become

  I see you, Isobel.

  I see you, Aimee.

  I’m always here.

  Always near.

  *

  Always watching…

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