The House In the Woods

by Marguerite O'Callaghan

  Marguerite O’Callaghan was born in Cork City in 1982, and now lives in North London with artist Luci Maclaren and a black cat called Angelo. She is a self-confessed ethical hedonist, existentialist, animal lover, and she claims to laugh more than the average person. Marguerite also works as a television producer, specialising in true crime. She has a degree in English and Sociology, an MA in Irish Writing, and has studied Creative Writing at the University of East Anglia at post-graduate level.

  Also by Marguerite O’Callaghan

  Fiction

  This Dark Town l: When You’re Gone

  This Dark Town III: Us and Them

  Poetry

  The Silent Field

  This Dark Town II:

  THE

  HOUSE

  IN THE

  WOODS

  Marguerite O’Callaghan

  for lonely girls, everywhere.

  1

  A GENTLE MIST rests over the land surrounding the big old farmhouse, and the sheep start to huddle together at one end of the sloping fields. The thick woods at the front of the house are making their own sounds now; branches are creaking, and leaves seem to whisper. In the daylight, these woods allow a certain amount of light in, and are certainly not scary. A few of the children from the local village of Southam have started to come here at weekends, and they ride their bikes to the edge of the woods to climb trees, play hide-and-seek, or build forts. But they know not to go past the woods towards the house at the top. That’s where Melvin Todd and his wife live, and they have two big dogs, and a large gate with a sign that says: ‘No Trespassing!’.

  This evening, Melvin is gazing out of the large window of the front room, past the rose garden, and the long tree-lined driveway, to the security gate at the bottom. His right hand is holding his favourite blue and white striped mug, and he shifts his weight back and forth, until he’s almost rolling on his feet, occasionally taking a gulp of tea without looking down at the mug. His eyes are still, almost glazed over, and his mind begins to wander past the village of Southam, the woods, and farm lands that surround it, past all the sounds of the English countryside. In fact, he’s not only somewhere else in his mind, but in a completely different period of time: Texas, in the seventies.

  He misses how huge America is; how vast and full of possibility the world seems when you can drive for two hours, and barely pass another vehicle. There’s nowhere here that Melvin can do that; not in the middle of the Northamptonshire countryside. He misses the Texas heat, too. In the years since they moved here, his skin has gone a pasty white, and he has developed eczema on his elbows and the back of his neck. He’s adjusted to most other things though, and even started to enjoy British customs, culture and people, and finds it easier to blend in than he thought he would. Christine seems to be doing fine too, and people probably think any strangeness, or difference they sense when they are around the couple, is down to the fact they are American, and have been brought up in the middle of nowhere. When Christine doesn’t understand a joke, or fails to bond with the other women in the village, they probably think she is just shy on account of her sheltered and religious upbringing, and that suits Melvin just fine. This way, people give them a wide berth, and they don’t have problems with any nosy neighbours, or people wanting to come to the house. That would have ruined everything.

  Melvin snaps out of his trance when he hears the phone ringing. Christine has heard it too, and runs downstairs, but her husband is standing in front of the phone by the time she reaches it, and he shakes his head at her.

  ‘There’s no point in answering, is there? I’m not expecting anyone at this hour, and they can leave a message if it’s important.’

  Christine nods briefly in understanding, and when the ringing has stopped, she offers him another cup of tea. Melvin declines.

  ‘Have you fed her yet?’ he asks.

  ‘No, but she can have those potatoes and fish left over from lunch. Unless you want them, do you?’

  Christine is taken aback by her husband’s consideration. She tells him that she’s perfectly happy not to have the potatoes and fish, and makes her way to the kitchen to put them into the plastic container they use to feed the girl. Christine hums to herself, and cracks a little smile as she dishes out the food. Melvin is in such a good mood today and seems serene and gentle. She had grown used to his tantrums over the years, as well as the distance she feels from him now. Most of the time he barely looks at her, hardly ever addressed her needs directly, and any kindness is an afterthought, following an episode when he’s hit her, or ignored her for days. But something is changing. Maybe they are close to the change they had been waiting for, she thinks to herself.

  A few minutes later, Melvin joins Christine in the kitchen and takes a look at the plastic container with the food inside. Christine looks at him, waiting for the explanation as to what she’s done wrong. Instead, he smiles.

  ‘Let’s give her some of that new cheese too… and maybe a bit of fruit... Are there any bananas left?’

  Christine nods at his words, and immediately walks to the fridge, takes the cheese to the chopping board and starts to cut a generous chunk. Melvin saunters over casually, with a slight smile on his face. Feeling his presence, she looks up for a second, then puts the cheese back in fridge, and takes a banana and pear from the fruit bowl on the counter behind her. Melvin’s behaviour is unnerving, and she hopes he will stop. He hasn’t looked at her like this in years; since they used to sleep together.

  ‘Christine?’

  His voice is loud and makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. But acting scared is something Christine knows he finds offensive, so she looks at him bravely, instead.

  ‘Yes. What is it Melvin?’

  ‘Aren’t you wondering why we need to give her this extra food?’

  He moves closer, and Christine can feel her heart start to race and a heavy panic move from her stomach to her chest, like his hands are already on her, about to choke her. She can also feel that her face has started to flush pink, and there’s a stirring in that part of her mind that never stops; the part that’s now furiously trying to figure out what she’s done wrong this time. What could it be that’s making her husband mad? There has to be something she’s forgotten, something she said, or didn’t say… or maybe she hadn’t cleaned the top-floor shower room properly this morning. Melvin reaches out and grabs her arm gently, turning her to face him fully. Christine winces.

  ‘It’s happening.’

  She stares blankly at Melvin, and has no idea what he means. Then it occurs to her; he must mean the girl. Christine’s heart soars, then sinks, then soars again. This could be the best, or the worst thing to ever happen to her.

  ‘You mean... sh-she’s pregnant?’

  Melvin nods his head, beams at her, then pulls her close so her head rests reluctantly on his chest. Christine hasn’t been this close to anyone for a long time, and she is somewhat comforted, yet longs for him to let her go, at the same time.

  ‘You know what this means, don’t you? This child is going to change everything, Christine. Not just for you and me, but for all mankind… for the whole planet… maybe even the universe!’

  He starts to pace up and down the room, and clasps his hands excitedly.

  ‘I... We have been waiting for this for so long, haven’t we? I mean, this is basically why I was put on this earth Christine; to father this child. It’s my seed that will make the next messiah, and you are going to help me. Obviously, you won’t be the biological mother, but I don’t think that matters. This girl is unclean. She’s broken, Christine, and although she’s from the right bloodline, as soon as she has the child we won’t need her anymore. We can live as a family
. We can sit back and watch as my son, as our son Christine, saves the world!’

  Christine is pacing now too, and biting at her nails. Her whole body is full of excitement. Melvin has been waiting for over thirty years to have this son. It was a prophecy that their whole community was built on back on the ranch in Texas, and was backed up by the priests there, as well as Melvin’s own father, Joseph Todd. His vision was that his first son would have a son with a beautiful young woman with long black hair. His father had written prayers, songs, and drawn pictures of this woman, and when a new family, the Pernots, moved to the ranch in the early nineties, it was obvious to everyone, that sixteen-year-old Margaret Pernot was the one they had been waiting for.

  It’s been five months since Kate Stone went missing, and five months since she’s seen anyone, besides Melvin and Christine. She assumes that her family, and everyone, thinks she’s dead at this stage. But the reality is that being alive has been much worse than death for her.

  Melvin raped her for the first time, about three weeks after she got here, when he’d decided she had passed some sort of test, after nearly starving to death. He informed her that they had to make a baby together, and pretty much every night since then, he has come down into the basement and forced himself on her. Kate never resisted. She didn’t see the point, and had learned to disappear somewhere when he was on top of her, and to replace his grunting sounds with the rhythm of a song in her head, or think about running through forests and across fields. Kate escaped in her mind every single night, and as the weeks and months went by, she felt herself slipping further and further away. She wasn’t Kate Stone anymore. She was someone, something else; a creature maybe, who didn’t speak, who ran and ran, and screeched like the howling wind, until it reached freedom, wherever that might be. Kate longed for the vast ocean, for salty air, the smell of nature that was growing, crawling, and never stopping. Her family and friends seemed small and insignificant in comparison to what she yearned for now: death, an ending, and peace.

  Before that first night that Melvin stripped her naked, Kate had never been mistreated by a man. She’d had her bum grabbed a few times in night clubs, and men looked at her constantly, of course. Kate was a successful model, conventionally beautiful, used to people staring at her, boys wanting her, and girls wanting to be her. But the way she was treated by Melvin, was something she never imagined could happen to anyone. She couldn’t get her head around how calmly and assuredly this man could take from her, piece by piece; unravelling her like he was peeling an onion. He looked at her, touched her, and she felt herself slipping away, like she was drowning slowly and peacefully in a small pond. His mouth, his hands, the taste of him... it all faded in just a matter of weeks, until Kate was sure she’d gone deaf, or her brain had stopped working. Because, when he was with her everything was slow, distant, and heavy. Her body was there in the basement, but the rest of her was not connected to it, and she wondered if she would ever feel anything again. Lying there in the dark, when he left, she wondered about all the times she had seen sexual violence mentioned in newspapers, or heard about women coming forward to say that a friend of the family, or their mum’s boyfriend had molested them when they were children. They said it affected their whole lives, indefinitely, forever, and she remembers not being able to imagine what they meant by that. Now, she did. Melvin wasn’t even violent with her really. He was rough, disgusting, and wanted to do the most perverted things to her, but he didn’t beat her, and he didn’t torture her. Still, Kate longs for death, every single day. She wants it more than she wants to go home to her family, and to her, the world she knows and loves, will never be a place that she belongs again.

  2

  Lydia Stone hasn’t seen her mother Barbara since the night she packed a suitcase and left them two weeks ago. But, she has agreed to meet her for a coffee today in the village. There’s a chill in the air, and Lydia buttons up her tan-coloured, woollen pea coat to the top, and adjusts her green beanie so it’s snug on her head and covering her ears fully. She walks slowly and mindfully up Well Walk, passed her favourite local pub, The Wells Tavern, passed the museum, and the little primary school that she and Kate used to go to. The streets are quiet today, and Lydia only sees a couple of people until she reaches Flask Walk, and turns on to Hampstead High Street. It’s always busier there. She rounds the corner right by the underground station and a crowd of people, fresh off the train, seem to storm towards her. Lydia feels anxiety rising in her chest. Her breath quickens, her palms start to sweat, and that familiar tingling begins in her face. She’s had panic attacks almost daily for the past month, and is completely exhausted from them. Today, she wants to be strong, so she can have a proper conversation with her mother, and ask the questions she needs to. She does not want to have a panic attack on the street either, for that matter.

  Lydia takes a deep breath, waits for the pedestrian crossing light to flash green. When it does, she jogs across the road, and straight up the little hill towards The Holly Bush where she’s meeting her mum.

  ‘Shake it off Lydia’ she whispers to herself.

  ‘You’ve got this.’

  She’s surprised to see her mother sitting outside when she gets there. Barbara’s wearing large sunglasses and a winter parka with a fur hood. Lydia can’t help but smile when she sees her. Mother and daughter embrace, and Barbara removes her sunglasses with one hand as she hugs Lydia tightly with the other.

  ‘Let me look at you. My goodness Lydia, you are so bloody beautiful. I’ve missed you so much, darling.’

  Lydia smiles at Barbara and suggests they go inside and find a table. They take a seat by the window, a young waiter arrives quickly with menus, and takes their drinks order. Barbara asks for a glass of Chardonnay, although it’s not like her to drink in the day, and Lydia decides to join her.

  ‘Maybe alcohol will actually help with my anxiety!’ she says with a smile, as the waiter goes off to get their drinks.

  ‘Are you still not sleeping? Still the panic? You were doing alright for a while, weren’t you?’

  A few months back, Lydia had pretended she was feeling better because she’d started becoming paranoid her mental health problems were making the situation between her parents worse. So, she feigned recovery and concealed her dark circles and pale, blotchy skin with some very effective make-up. Part of her knew that she wasn’t really to blame, and it was the fact that her sister was missing and presumed dead, that was tearing the family apart. But maybe, just maybe, if she was stronger, they could be too, she thought. When Kate disappeared back in May, a black hole had appeared in the family, and although the three of them loved each other very much, Lydia and her parents had grown apart, and the space that Kate left when she disappeared had become bigger and bigger as the months went by. The shock, grief, and anger had made all three of them retreat from the once loving and peaceful home they had together. They say you have to come together as a family when something tragic like this happens, and that’s the only way you will gain strength. But all Lydia had seen and felt was loneliness and darkness in their once warm and loving home. Every time she saw her parents, Lydia saw the sadness in their eyes, and she was sure that every time they looked at her, Kate’s identical twin, they could only think about their missing child. Lydia felt invisible now. She’d lost her sister, kind of lost her parents, and she held the grief and love for Kate close to her. For now, her love for her twin was completely intertwined with the grief of losing her. She couldn’t feel one without the other, and there was no peace to be found in that.

  By the time Barbara and Lydia have finished their soup and sandwiches, Lydia plucks up the courage to ask her mum what she has been longing to. She clears her throat, sits up in her chair, then sits back again, and fiddles with her napkin. Barbara notices, and leans forward with her elbows on the table.

  ‘What is it, darling?’ she asks gently.

  Lydia looks up at her mother and takes a breath.

  ‘Dad and you. You were fig
hting a while back about something and I… well, he won’t tell me what it is, and I really want to know, Mum.’

  ‘I’m not sure what to say to that.’

  Barbara sits back, and looks over her right shoulder, out of the window. Lydia’s eyes drop to the table; she will have to be more forceful. She’d practised what she was going to say in the mirror at home, but now that her mum was right in front of her, it’s so difficult.

  ‘Mum, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, then we will not be able to have a relationship in the future. I know you and Dad were arguing about something from the past that you hid from us. I don’t know what he found out or what he suspects, but I do know that it has a lot to do with why you left.’

  Barbara is still looking out of the window and hasn’t acknowledged what Lydia is saying.

  ‘Mum? Are you just going to ignore me?’

  Still, her mother doesn’t look at Lydia, but there’s tears in her eyes. Lydia grabs her coat and bag.

  ‘I’m serious. You can stay out of my life completely if you don’t talk to me.’

  Barbara turns to look at Lydia.

  ‘You don’t mean that, do you?’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what this secret is from your past? Are you going to tell me why Dad stopped trusting you?’

  Barbara’s eyes drop for a second, and when she looks at Lydia tears are streaming down her face. Lydia’s face doesn’t soften.

  ‘Last chance, Mum...?’

  Lydia shakes her head in disappointment and anger.

  ‘You’ve already lost one daughter, and now you’re going to lose another. I don’t believe this!’

  Lydia turns and walks out of the pub. Barbara watches as she passes the window; her hands are shaking, she can barely contain a sob, and covers her mouth to try to stop herself. The young waiter comes over to ask if she’s okay. Barbara didn’t realise it earlier, but she recognises him, and wonders if he knows her daughters. Almost on cue, he tells her how sorry he is about Kate.