Twist and Scream - Volume 6 (Horror Short Stories)

by Jayne Bartholomew

  That friend was the last she invited into her home.

  Since she was as neat as a pin at work her colleagues could not have guessed what was happening behind the firmly closed doors where Barbara lived. Having found that the world did not, in fact, come crashing around her if she was late washing up, she quickly discovered that the universe didn’t care if she dusted or hoovered either. Lightning rods of judgement similarly failed to strike if she didn’t clean her bathroom, take out the rubbish or mop up spillages.

  Each surface that became thick with dust was seen as something of a triumph for Barbara; a physical proof that she was her own person, in her own castle and making her own decisions. Even the putrid stench of rotting meat and the noxious fumes from the un-bleached drains gave her a sense of ownership.

  Barbara was astute enough to wash her clothes regularly and made sure that bags of lavender hung in her wardrobe to keep them fresh. When the bath plug became blocked with hair and dirt she had to make do with a wet flannel wash at the sink. Possessing no plumbing skills, once the flush handle of the toilet stopped working she found an old portable toilet from when the family had gone camping and started urinating and defecating into that. Once a day, if she remembered, she would empty it into the drain outside.

  In her mind, the house had a certain order. There were paths through the rubbish where she could walk comfortably and her bed was always made up before she left for work. The bedroom was her sanctuary and, while she may not have washed her sheets for over a year, her bed was a place to read and dream the time away. She was content.

  Her dwindling number of acquaintances occasionally asked her if she was bothered about living alone; the three bedroomed house would fetch a good price and she could move into a flat which would be less work. Barbara would pretend to consider it but since she did no work in the house anyway she had no intention of leaving. Besides, she would miss her friends that shared the space with her.

  She’d noticed she wasn’t alone quite by chance when she woke up one morning before her alarm had gone off and found a mouse nibbling a left over biscuit on her night stand. It had run off as soon as Barbara stirred but its cute little nose had made her smile and she always looked forward to seeing it.

  A family of rats moved into the lounge somewhere around the time of the last frost, and if Barbara didn’t eat all her lunchtime sandwich she always brought the leftovers home for them. They were quite tame and she was optimistic that in a few months they would let her feed them by hand.

  The furry residents were pleasant enough but what Barbara really enjoyed seeing were the cockroaches. She’d watched enough dreary cleaning programmes on TV to know that they weren’t supposed to be welcome into homes but she couldn’t understand why. In the beginning she only saw them at night, or if she moved something on the floor that disturbed the carpet of rubbish, but as time went on they were happy to be seen in the day time too.

  The roaches never bothered her and rarely did they deliberately occupy her space or tickle her by crawling up her legs. Sometimes at night before she dozed off, she could feel them in her bed, their touch as they ran across her naked flesh as light as a lovers caress. Occasionally in the morning she found a red bite mark on her skin but it was a small price to pay for the company.

  Barbara noticed that the excrement from the animals and insects was building up but it was a fleeting nod at reality and she was easily distracted away from the filth by whatever book she was currently reading.

  When her colleagues at work began to complain of a musty smell around Barbara’s desk they didn’t think that the odour was coming from her. Barbara had long since acclimatised to the smell but stepped up her use of deodorant and perfume and when no one was looking she hid an air freshener behind some files on a shelf above her.

  It wasn’t until she discovered that her home was harbouring fleas that Barbara considered taking action. She had been extremely itchy for a few days and had dismissed the red welts on her skin as roach bites but as she reached for a book in a shop one day she actually saw something small jump on her sleeve.

  In the privacy of her home, curtains drawn tightly, Barbara sat on her armchair in the middle of the chaos, and watched her little cockroaches running along the walls and surfaces. She felt a huge wave of love and affection wash over her towards the little scurrying insects and decided that a life lived alone was not for her. If she hired an exterminator for the fleas the chemicals might hurt the roaches and she just couldn’t handle the thought.

  Tears brimming in her eyes she knew, deep within her soul, that no other place would ever make her feel as happy as she did in her home. She decided to take control of her future.

  With slightly shaking hands, Barbara slowly unbuttoned her blouse and slipped off her skirt. She poured herself a whisky and drank it, grimacing, in once gulp before taking a tub of cream cheese out of the fridge. After a slight hesitation Barbara tucked the whisky bottle under one arm and carried the cream cheese up to her bedroom.

  Taking a pull of whisky, Barbara removed the rest of her clothing, smeared the cream cheese over her face and head, and lay down on her mattress. She opened her book at the page she had read up to the night before and continued to drink heavily from the bottle.

  She wasn’t a regular drinker and the alcohol quickly made her sleepy. In her bedroom, strewn with discarded rubbish and rotting food, Barbara counted her blessings before she passed out.

  The cockroaches moved onto the bed as the light outside the window dimmed. Lured by the smell of food they swarmed over her face, consuming the cheese greedily. As they grew braver they began to investigate the warm darkness of her mouth.

  Cockroaches will not generally bite a human unless by accident or driven on by the numbers of the infestation. The infestation in Barbara’s house was great; the cockroaches fought for their share of the food.

  As more insects crawled out of the rubbish the smaller ones crept up her nostrils and into her ear cavity.

  When the numbers of cockroaches blocked off Barbara’s airways she awoke, briefly. Her alcohol confused mind couldn’t understand why the room was dark or why she couldn’t breathe. She struggled, pawing at her face and neck, trying to cough out the obstructions in her throat; but it was too late.

  Barbara’s lifeless body fell back against the pillow, knocking off most the cockroaches from her face except one that crawled out from behind her eyeball and stood, glistening on her cheek.

  Her plan had been a success.

  Great Expectations

  Edith grew up in an inner city housing development, in a large family, to parents that didn’t want her. Her mother and father made no secret of the fact that she was an accident, a by-product of a drunken night out and a forgotten birth control pill. They hadn’t particularly wanted their other four children either.

  Weaned on neglect Edith aspired to a different life in which she could give her child the upbringing that she had been deprived of.

  During the school day she would doodle homes surrounded by flowers where an only child stood, lovingly nestled between smiling parents. Walking home alone with her heavy satchel she had watched her classmates hand in hand with mothers who wanted to hear about their day and wondered if her own mother would have anything in the cupboards to eat that night.

  She’d wanted to learn from the mistakes she saw other people making so she didn’t try sneaking into bars with fake ID or skipping classes to make out behind the bike shed. She wanted a husband who could provide for her and their child. Just the one child, who would be special and loved and wouldn’t have to fight with their siblings for a share of the bed at night.

  Edith left school with surprisingly good grades, considering her upbringing, and went to the local college that offered secretarial studies. From there she quickly found a job in the local factory and fell in love with her manager on the same day.

  He told her he would leave his wife for her and she believed him. When he asked to her to be patient she was. Wh
en she fell pregnant and he gave her a handful of notes to pay for an abortion she refused, so he sacked her.

  She couldn’t have aborted the child she’d wanted so badly to shower love and affection on. Edith knew it wouldn’t be easy as a single mother but found a permanent job quickly, without telling them of her pregnancy, and by the time the baby was due she was entitled to maternity rights. Sitting in front of the TV in her small but neat studio flat she would hug her stomach and tell her unborn child how much she was looking forward to meeting him and what a wonderful time they would have together.

  The childbirth was long and difficult. When the baby was finally delivered Edith was too exhausted to notice the quietness that had fallen over the nurses and doctor and when he was passed to her she was too full of love to care that his little legs weren’t fully formed. She named him Terry after an old history teacher who had been kind to her.

  From the second he inhaled his first breath Edith never told him off or challenged him. She wanted to be friends with her son and for their relationship to somehow transcend traditional family bonds. Anything Terry wanted his adoring mother would do her best to acquire.

  Terry’s childhood was scattered with hospital visits and operations and he wasn’t a good patient. If he was rude to a nurse Edith would put his behaviour down to nerves or fear. The medical staff just thought he was spoiled and would try to encourage Terry to exercise more. He would refuse and Edith wouldn’t press the issue. He preferred to sit or lie in bed eating sweets whining about everything that he felt was wrong until his harassed mother bought him something to appease him.

  And now, twenty four years after she gave birth, Edith arrives home and wonders what happened to her life. Where, among the good intentions, did she take the wrong path?

  She pauses outside the apartment, counting to ten and trying to muster up some inner strength. She knows what will be waiting for her and when she reluctantly opens the door to his bedroom she is proved right.

  Terry lies in bed like an engorged toad, beady eyes peering out of a doughy face staring accusingly at his mother. His hair is greasy and the room smells of sweat and faeces. Her heart sinks, he hasn’t made it to the bedside potty in time again, choosing to lie in his own shit rather than pause his game. Looking at his slightly smug expression she wonders if he’d even tried.

  “You’re late.” Terry spits out the words with true venom.

  She hovers by the door, unsure whether to sit on his bed to chat and pretend their relationship is normal or escape into her own room. “I had to finish some urgent paperwork in the office and then the bus was delayed. I…”

  “Did you get my burgers?”

  Edith hands the warm fast-food bag over; Terry snatches it from her and greedily begins to open the first one, his fat fingers moving nimbly over the wrapper. He takes a quarter of the burger into his mouth in a single bite, ketchup dribbling down his chin, before gracing his mother with another accusing glance.

  “It’s cold.”

  “Well I did say the bus was delayed. I left you some fruit in case you got hungry,” she can see the untouched bowl next to him but carries on anyway, “you know they’re healthier for you than those burgers.” Terry is already working his way through the next one, his right hand holding the burger and his left, a cluster of fries. “Cheaper too. I can’t keep doing this every night, Terry.”

  On the window ledge is a faded photo of the two of them on holiday, the last one they took together. They are both smiling. Sometimes she thinks that the smiling woman is someone else. She can’t remember the two of them being happy together.

  He sneers at her. “Oh, here we go again, that’s right Mum, have a go at the cripple who can’t walk away. Did you spend all day working up to being such a bitch or did you just wake up that way?”

  “Terry!” Edith gasps but is unsurprised at her son’s rudeness. “That’s unfair. I do everything I can for you and you know it!”

  “Sure, when it suits you. Weren’t here last night though were you? What if I’d needed you then?”

  Last night races through her mind like an X-rated DVD. She’d had a hard day at work and come home to a petulant Terry who had whined incessantly. Needing escape she’d called Tom, someone she had met on the bus about a month ago and then occasionally for coffee. He suggested a hotel room and she surprised herself by saying yes. When he left her after a couple of hours she assumed it was going to be a one night stand but the next day she’d received flowers at work and a phone call at lunch time. She feels mildly guilty that she hasn’t told him about her son.

  “I was at a friend’s house and I asked if there was anything you needed before I left. Terry, I love you but we do need to look at ways to help you become more independent.”

  “You love me but not enough, not like a real mother. You don’t care do you? If you were a real mother you would’ve come back at lunchtime to help me to the commode. You’re selfish, that’s what the problem is.”

  She sighs. Terry knows what buttons to press and a lifetime of guilt and broken dreams has made her an easy puppet. By the end of the conversation she would clean the shit off his huge backside, remake the bed and be bullied into ordering him a pizza. He lays back in his clean bed and fishes around for the game console controls. He has no intention of changing his lifestyle to fit in with anyone, thank you very much.

  Putting down the phone to the pizza place Edith leans against the cool tiled wall in the bathroom and silently lets the tears flow. She has mastered the art of silent misery. Her phone buzzes with a text from Tom asking when he can see her again. For the first time since Terry refused to leave his bed in order to eat in comfort she feels her future might not be as bleak as she’s begun to fear. She isn’t forty yet, there is still time to have a child to love and cherish.

  That thought shocks her to her very core and she sits down to turn it around in her mind. She could have a proper family, the only thing that holds her back is Terry. If Terry wasn’t around she could do anything she wanted. A small twinge of excitement stirs in her chest.

  When Terry calls for her to bring him crisps and chocolate she actually smiles with real warmth at the ugly troll.

  “It’s the Church fete next month,” she says as the sets a food tray down on the table next to him. “Don’t forget you said you were going to come with me this year.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, come on, Terry, you haven’t left the flat in weeks. People are asking where you are.”

  Terry opens a packet of crisps and shoves a handful into his month. “I’ll see if I feel like it.” Crisps spray out of his mouth as he addresses the TV at the foot of his bed, “I was bored to death at the last one so can’t see this one being any better.”

  “I’ll be making a curry and some other bits and pieces, you liked the last one I made.”

  “Yeah, well leave me some before you join the bible-bashers.”

  Her patience is gone, “Fine,” she says.

  “And don’t skimp on portion size,” Terry demands. “I want rice and poppadoms and some onion bhajis too if you feel like doing something useful for once.”

  “OK, I’ll make sure you’re included in everything.” Edith watches his attention turn away and go back to the screen.

  She has tried to be a good mother but aren’t children supposed to fly the nest at some point? Was this supposed to be what she could look forward to for the rest of her life? A whinging whale who cared more about his next meal than anything about her? No, she has made the decision; her life will not end this way.

  That night she spends hours researching a plan on the internet. In the morning, despite the lack of sleep she can feel a new lease of life coursing through her limbs, she is buzzing with energy. When the alarm rings out at five a.m. for her to go to her cleaning job she throws the covers off with enthusiasm.

  The day passes quickly but she makes time to pick up her repeat prescription of sleeping pills at the chemist and a rare gift to herself fro
m a homeware store. As an afterthought she picks up a pint of Terry’s favourite ice cream along with his pre-dinner snack of five burgers and fries. She genuinely hopes he enjoys it.

  As usual Terry complains about her tardiness but mellows slightly when she tells him about the ice cream. She gives him a kiss on the forehead, noting from his odour that yet again he hasn’t showered and goes into the kitchen.

  On the top shelf, hidden behind the baking soda and a packet of cornflour, are three months’ worth of sleeping pills. Her original plan was to take the lot of them then sink into a hot bath with a bottle of vodka but her self-preservation has kicked in and she will not be the one enjoying a drowsy release tonight.

  She takes out the pestle and mortar from the lower cupboard and grinds up tablets. Two tablets let her sleep at night but still hear Terry if he calls, four puts her out for twelve hours. Her son is at least five times her size so ten pills should be more than enough to make him insensible.

  Scooping out a generous bowl of ice cream from the tub, Edith mashes it up with the powdered sleeping pills. She adds chocolate sauce, candy sprinkles and two wafers to the bowl and puts her toxic creation onto a tray.

  Terry’s eyes light up when he sees the dessert and Edith feels a pang of guilt for what she is about to do.

  “Cheers Mum.”

  “That’s OK.” She places the tray on his lap and notices that he’s chucked the burger wrappers onto the floor on the other side of the bed. “Terry! Please don’t throw rubbish on the floor, some of those papers have ketchup on and that’s really hard to get off the carpet!”

  “Yeah, I’ll get them in a minute.”

  “But why throw them there in the first place?”

  “I just did, OK? Get off my case why don’t you? You’re always bloody nagging me, why don’t you do some cleaning once in a while, why does it always have to be me?”

  The injustice crushes the last scrap of maternal love in her. “Forget it Terry, eat your ice cream. I’ll deal with the mess in here later.”