Inheritance

by Thomas Wymark

Mum and Dad lived about thirty five minutes away. A place called Banwell, just east of Weston-Super-Mare. A beautiful place surrounded by woods and streams.

  Being with Colin had started to unpack some of the archived boxes of memories I had stored away in my mind. There was a big box for Banwell. I had loved growing up there, and the house and area still held many happy memories for me.

  Even with the rain hammering down and the wind howling, the place looked good. I remembered trying to build a shelter in the woods during a massive thunderstorm. I had wanted to stack up a fire and cook sausages too, but Mum, quite rightly, pointed out that the rain would put the fire out. It had felt like an adventure right on our doorstep.

  I pulled the car into the drive and saw Dad’s car. They were in.

  Within five minutes I had used the loo, brushed my hair and sat down with Mum and Dad and a hot cup of coffee. Mum sliced the top off a packet of biscuits and tipped them onto a plate between us. I saw a couple of side dishes newly washed up on the drainer by the sink. They must have had an early lunch.

  ‘How’s it going, love?’ Mum said. ‘You look great.’

  Dad nodded.

  ‘I feel pretty good, actually,’ I said. ‘I have moments, of course. But I think I’m turning things around.’

  I told them about what had happened the previous night. The spray paint and the mutilated fox (although I didn’t tell them exactly what had been written on the wall). I told them a little about how Neil was looking. I didn’t mention that he had been home late from work.

  ‘You know when I went to see the doctor the other day?’ I said. ‘Well at the time he mentioned that, because I had been through a traumatic incident with the attack, that it might be worth considering going to see someone about else — a counsellor.’

  ‘Do you think that would help?’ Dad said. ‘You seem to be coping really well.’

  If only he knew.

  ‘Actually, I went to see someone this morning,’ I said. ‘Before I came here.’

  Dad looked at Mum. Mum reached for a biscuit.

  ‘I’ve been having these, sort-of dreams and visions. They’re not about the attack, but they have only happened since then. Also my sense of smell has gone pear-shaped.’

  I felt a mini convulsion in my stomach, as though I was about to cry. Hold it together, Christine.

  ‘The dreams have been horrendous. Violent and vicious — but also incredibly real. I have felt the wind blowing against me, and smelled the air. I’ve heard the noises.’

  Fight back the tears!

  ‘I have honestly felt like I’ve been losing my mind. It’s been so real and it’s like I’ve had no control over my thoughts. No control over my mind at all. At times I’ve felt like I’m going mad.’

  I hoped that neither of them would come and put their arms around me and tell me that everything would be fine. That would send me off immediately and I was pretty proud of myself up to that point for not crying.

  ‘You should have told us, Chris,’ Mum said. ‘We would have been there straight away. We can help you.’

  A single tear trickled from my right eye. I rubbed my eyebrow and wiped away the tear at the same time.

  ‘This chap I saw this morning, Colin, seems really good. He was recommended by Doctor Jones. He deals with these sorts of cases quite a lot I think.’

  Dad reached for a biscuit too.

  I looked out of the kitchen window to take my mind off my emotions. White clouds stood out against the dark sky. Rain still pummelled the earth.

  Mum and Dad shifted their posture a little. I knew one of them would ask the question I had been dreading.

  It was Dad.

  ‘What sort of dreams are they?’ he said.

  For the second time that day I didn’t know where to start.

  ‘To be honest, Dad, I feel ashamed. I’m almost too embarrassed to talk about them.’

  ‘You can’t help your dreams, dear,’ Mum said. ‘They are just dreams.’

  ‘But these aren’t just dreams, Mum. They’re different to that.’

  My eyebrow itched and I rubbed my knuckle across it. I felt a dull thud starting up in my leg.

  ‘I hurt people,’ I said. ‘In the dreams. Girls. I attack and hurt them.’ I looked down at the table. I couldn’t bring myself to make eye-contact with my parents. I didn’t want to look at the biscuits either, they seemed too jolly for what I was talking about.

  ‘I do horrible things to them. I think I may even kill them.’

  My mum started to say something. Probably a repeat of “you can’t help your dreams, dear”, but I carried on talking.

  ‘And they aren’t just dreams. I thought I actually saw one of the girls at home. On the stairs — like a vision or something. And when I saw her, a wind blew. In the front room. A wind that was strong enough to blow my hair back off my face. There were no doors open and no windows. And she looked at me from the stairs. It was terrifying.’

  My dad reached out and held my hand across the table. I still didn’t look up.

  ‘There was a smell too. A sweet, sickly smell that I can’t identify. I always smell it when the visions and dreams come. Always the same. And we had Oli and Abi over with the kids recently. The kids raided our wardrobe and dressed up in our clothes, used make-up — the whole works. When they came downstairs I freaked out. Josie looked just like one of the girls in the visions. One of the girls I had hurt. And the wind and the smell came right on cue. It was awful.’

  My mum reached out and took hold of my other hand. It felt like we were at a seance.

  ‘There are things happening to my mind over which I have no control. I am really, really scared.’

  Almost as one, Mum and Dad stood up from their chairs and moved in close to me, one on each side. I felt their arms around my shoulders, hugging me. No words, just love, from them to me. My stomach was convulsing uncontrollably and my tears splashed onto the table.

  It felt like I cried forever, although it was probably only a few minutes. But a few minutes was all it took to turn me into a wreck. My nose had run, my make-up had run and I felt exhausted. I just wanted to sleep. I wanted to shut my sore eyes and just sleep, held by my Mum and Dad. No words — just love.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, eventually. ‘I can’t believe how much I cried.’

  ‘It all needed to come out, love,’ Mum said. ‘You do need to let things out you know. It doesn’t do any good keeping them bottled up inside.’

  I tried to smile and wiped some of the snot from under my nose. I really needed to get tidied up.

  ‘Do you want a biscuit?’ Mum said.

  It made me laugh.

  ‘Do you mind if I make myself a sandwich,’ I said. ‘I suddenly feel starving.’

  ‘You go and sort yourself out,’ she said. ‘I’ll make you a sandwich. Ham OK?’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. That would be lovely.’

  When I stood up from the table I realised my heart was pounding, almost at double speed. And as Mum moved her hand from my shoulder I could see she was trembling.

  23