The Story Collection: Volume One

by Matt Shaw

  The lake with the blood red water.

  A gust of wind rustles the pages, now nothing holds them down, and carries one of them into the lake - words are side up.

  My words.

  My story.

  My novel.

  Phil’s looking at me. As is the man sitting in the corner of the room. Who is he?

  “Did you hear me?” Phil repeated.

  “My wife hasn’t been seeing a therapist.”

  “You have a recurring dream, don’t you....”

  I looked at him. How did he know that?

  She must have told him.

  “Tell me about your dream.

  The man, in the corner of the room, is scribbling down notes.

  “Get out of my house...”

  “Look around,” Phil repeated.

  Where the fuck am I?

  “Your dream,” Phil pushed.

  I feel a heavy thumping sensation in my head. Banging constantly as a state of confusion sets in.

  Confusion.

  It’s hard to stay angry.

  * * * * *

  “I’m running in the woods,” I say.

  “Rebecca?”

  “Yes?”

  “Sorry, please continue...”

  I sit back in the lounge’s sofa, confused as to why I’m telling Phil about my recurring dream. Confused, even, why he even gives a stuff about it.

  “I’m running in the woods - I feel fear. I feel as though something bad has happened....”

  “Go on...”

  “I feel as though someone is watching me.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I just feel as though someone else is with me. There’s something about the lake.... something that scares me. A pile of notes by the water’s edge. A paperweight on them, to start off with but, when I go to read them - the paperweight is gone and it’s two small pairs of shoes....”

  “What’s on the paper? What’s written down?”

  “I don’t know.... I scream - I throw the shoes into the water.... sometimes, before I even get to that.... sometimes I wake up first.”

  Phil shuffled through the various papers, in his little wallet, and pulled out a photograph.

  “What about this?”

  He handed it over to me, face down so I couldn’t see what it was. Nervously I took it and turned it over, to see the photo.

  * * * * *

  Anger.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  Phil smiled at me. Half-tempted to smack that fucking smile off his face. Push his teeth down the back of his throat.

  “You tell me.”

  I look over to the man in the corner of the room who has sat forward - as though he’s ready to pounce should I start anything. He can try. He’ll be the first to drop.

  I looked back down to the photograph.

  Two kids.

  “What are you trying to say?” I asked - not trying to hide any of the venom in my voice.

  “Her kids.”

  “What?”

  “Rebecca’s children.”

  “Look, I don’t know what you think you know but.... you’re talking about a completely different Rebecca. My wife.... Rebecca.... my wife doesn’t have any fucking children. I think I’d know about it, don’t you?”

  Silence.

  “Rebecca is in my care - referred to me so I can see whether she was fit enough to stand trial....”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  The man in the corner, still scribbling frantically away on his notepad.

  “I swear to God, if you don’t stop writing - I’m going to stick that pen through your fucking eyeball.”

  The man stops and holds my eye contact for a split second - as though to challenge me.

  I stand up, as does Phil.

  “Rebecca has been diagnosed with Split Personality Disorder....”

  I turn my attention back to Phil.

  * * * * *

  Rebecca smiled when she saw the photograph in her hands.

  “I thought I lost this,” she said as she sat down on the chair.

  “Who are they?” I asked.

  “That’s my niece, Sarah, and my nephew, Jack. I miss them. He doesn’t like it when I bring people round. Seems like ages since I’ve seen them....”

  I flashed Jeremy, still in the corner of the room, a quick glance which went un-noticed by Rebecca who was fondly looking at the photo again.

  “What if I told you they were your children?”

  “I’d say - I don’t have any children....”

  15.

  I shifted through more of my paperwork until I found two more photographs. Another, un-noticed, glimpse over to Jeremy who, in turn, simply nodded and leant forward - like he was overly keen to see the reaction.

  I passed the photos over to Rebecca and sat back.

  Her face showed no emotion as she looked down at the two snaps; her two children - dead.... drowned in the lake. Two children, a girl and a boy, aged between eight and ten.... both of them dead. Floating there.

  “Why the fuck would you show Rebecca this?”

  I thought this might happen.

  Once again, it pushed Rebecca away. Pushed her away and brought him back.

  “Rebecca killed her children...”

  “She doesn’t have any fucking children.”

  “Rebecca killed her children. In the woods - your spot... she killed them in the lake. Drowned them....”

  “She isn’t that sort of person.”

  “She killed them....”

  “Even if she had - why would she?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  “Look, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are.... and him over there.... I don’t know what sort of fucking game you’re playing...”

  “Her mind fractured. You were created....”

  “What? So, I’m not real? That’s what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “You’re both two personalities fighting inside the one mind. You’re the more aggressive of the two of you...”

  “I thought you were an author...”

  “I’ve written one book - medical. My second is going to be about split personalities....”

  “This is such bullshit.”

  “The recurring dream.... her mind fractured. You took over before she could come to terms with what she had done. Your story was invented... you remember signing stuff....”

  “My book signing event....”

  “You were signing forms when you were admitted here - when I was asked to evaluate Rebecca’s mental state.... She was wound up so your personality was in the forefront.”

  “People were taking my picture.... I remember them.... calling my name....”

  “They were calling Rebecca’s name. It was journalists taking her picture.... at the courthouse.... What she did.... it made the papers. Both local and national....”

  I passed him a couple of newspaper clippings, from my stack of paper but he didn’t even look at them. Instead, he just let them drop to the floor.

  “People know me.... they know my work....”

  “People read the story. All over Britain.... people read your story.... they know what Rebecca did....”

  * * * * *

  I don’t know what’s going on - but I’ve had enough. Had enough of my neighbour, had enough of the bullshit he’s feeding me.... and I’m confused. I stood up and turned to leave the room.

  Where am I? I don’t even know how I got here...

  Phil stood up too.

  “Rebecca still thinks she’s in her home. She is still scared of you - believing you’re in the study, still beavering away on your new book...”

  “I am working on a new book. My second book.”

  Am I trying to reassure myself?

  “You’re starting to see the whole picture.... you’re more open to it. Rebecca is damaged - the weaker of the personalities...”

  I walked to the door and opened it, walking out despite Phil
’s pleas for me to sit back down.

  A corridor?

  Various people milling around. Some in dressing gowns. Some in long white coats - holding onto clipboards as they disappear into rooms which line the long stretch of corridor.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder and spin around, “Aren’t you supposed to be with Dr Jenkins, Rebecca?”

  What?

  I catch my reflection in a window on the opposite side of the wall.

  Rebecca looks back at me.

  The anger disappears from my body.

  Panic sets in.

  * * * * *

  Where am I?

  What’s going on?

  I drop to my knees and start crying. Where are my children?!

  I want to see my children!

  Sarah and Jack.

  I want to see my children!

  A lady in a nurse’s uniform crouches down to my level. Who is she?

  Phil approached me from the other side and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Come on,” he said, “why don’t you come back into my office....”

  * * * * *

  I sat down opposite Jeremy who turned the last page over of my manuscript.

  “Well,” he said, “I have to say Phil.... this is good.... really good.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes. Your best work.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. My first book in three years and I wasn’t sure about it.

  Originally I struggled with the concept of it and found it hard to continue writing; urged on only by my wife, Rebecca.

  She had always said it was good but - sometimes I thought she just said that to keep me happy and keep me focused. She prefers it when I’m writing because it keeps me from under her feet. Apparently she has a hard enough time looking after the kids without having to worry about me as well.

  She does everything she can to actively encourage me to stay in my study until my next piece is finished!

  Even lie to me. Insist something is good when, really, it’s tripe.

  It was nice to hear someone else say it was good.

  “You really going to name the main characters after your family? I’m not sure about that....”

  I laughed.

  I felt it was a bit extreme too but, I just wanted to get the story out. I figured I could change the names when it was completed. Get the story down and then worry about the finer things, such as names.

  “Well, either way, it’s good. I like it. I reckon we could get it out in a few months if we push forward...”

  That soon.

  I guess he’s just as desperate to release something, from me, too. Release it whilst there is a chance people will still remember who I am.

  By far, the best literary agent a guy could ask for.

  I owe him everything.

  He stood up, “Come, let’s get a drink. Celebrate another fine piece of work from the great author!”

  He walked over to the far side of the room and pulled a coat from the back of the door.

  “You can get the first round - as way of an apology for making me wait so long for this new book.”

  I laughed.

  Okay, so he isn’t perfect.

  ~ FIN

  SMILE

  Introduction

  I can’t stop shaking. Most notably in my legs. Even crossing my right leg over my left and holding onto the knee with my hands, pulling it up a bit.... even that won’t hide the shaking. If anything, it just makes it look worse as it makes my arms shake more noticeably.

  Stupid.

  Okay, just need something to distract myself.

  Take my mind off it all.

  Mobile phone.

  Check my emails.

  I released my shaking knee and reached into the trouser pocket on the right hand side of my boot-leg jeans. There’s another missed call on it. Mum again. I can’t talk to her. Not yet. Soon. I know I should. I just can’t bring myself to tell her yet. The panic in her voice won’t help the situation - nor will the blame she’ll be sending my way. The telling off I’m to get. Hardly fair.

  Is it really even my fault?

  Of course it is. I’m the eldest. I’m the one who was supposed to be in charge. It’s all my fault. Definitely won’t call her back just yet. I don’t need to be shouted at just yet.

  They still might find him.

  So much for checking my emails and distracting my fretful mind.

  I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

  Now probably isn’t the best of times to be checking such trivial things as emails anyway. Not when he is out there somewhere - lost.

  Should I be out there too? Looking for him?

  No.

  They told me to wait here, in this small security office. I don’t know, maybe they’re right... Part of me.... I just..... I just feel as though I should be out there, looking for him too. They put an announcement out for him, over the speaker system... feels like ages ago. Called out I was looking for him and he should make his way to the security office. Feels like ages ago. Surely he would have got here by now... probably eyes red raw from crying and shaking - scared I had abandoned him.

  I stood up.

  I should be out there. I should be looking.

  What if he wasn’t in an area where he could hear the announcement being made? Have they just made one announcement or do they warn other shoppers too? I told them what he was wearing - as best as I could remember - would they have called out for other shoppers to keep an eye out as well? Warned others that my brother was missing... would they bring him to the security office? Would he even go with them?

  A couple more minutes. That’s what I’ll give them. A couple. No more. No less. After that, I’ll go out there and look too. If he shows up here, they can always call me back too.

  Jesus, I only turned my back for a minute. It was a minute! I swear! Turned back and he was gone. I looked around for him in the nearby toy shops thinking he would have made his own way there. A proper temper tantrum more or less as soon as we got to the shopping mall because I wouldn’t take him straight to the toy shops. I tried to calm him down. I tried to tell him I’d take him after we had bought the shoes we were sent out for but he wasn’t interested - didn’t listen - just kept shouting and screaming... and tears. Not even real tears. The tears a young child does when they’re trying to get attention... the tears a young child does when they’re just trying to cause a scene.

  I couldn’t take him straight to the toys. He would have spent his pocket money and then wanted to go home and play with his new toys. I know he would. It’s what I used to do when I was eight years old too. It would have made it even harder to get the school shoes mum sent us in to get. A pair for him and a new pair of shoes for me, for when I start college next week.

  I glanced down to a shopping bag, on the floor, by my feet. His shoes. The box is so small. It just reminds me how small he is. And he’s out there alone... CCTV monitors line the back wall of the security office... each screen filled with people milling around, getting on with their shopping and general exploring. Each screen filled. And he’s out there somewhere, amongst the hustle and bustle of it all. I need to be out there too.

  Suddenly the door to the security office swung open and the head security officer came in. He wasn’t smiling. Not the face of someone who had found the little lost boy.

  “He hasn’t shown up?” I asked, a small part of me hoping that the security guard was just playing a cruel trick in pretending my brother was missing still but, in reality, he was waiting outside the door ready to burst in shouting ‘surprise’.

  The security guard shook his head.

  Mum’s going to kill me.