“I just want to get a drink,” she said, pulling free of their embrace.
“Where were you? Where have you been?” her mother shrieked, dabbing her eyes with a crumpled tissue.
“I just went for a walk,” she replied. It was the last thing she remembered before she passed out, her father catching her before she could hit the ground.
SIX
Vanessa opened her eyes, waiting for them to focus. She was in her bed, sunlight trying in vain to fill the room with its warmth from the single side window. The headache was still there but she at least felt well rested. Her father was at the door, talking to an older man she didn’t recognise. He was skinny and carried a brown case. When he moved, his watch caught the light of the sun and hurt her eyes. She turned away and stared at the wall, trying to rebuild her hazy memories. The older man left, Vanessa’s mother talking to him as she showed him out, putting on her polite caring voice.
“How are you feeling?” her father asked as he came into the room and sat on the foot of the bed.
“Tired and confused. Why is everyone making such a big fuss? Why were the police here?”
“You don’t remember anything?”
Vanessa shook her head. “I just went for a walk.”
“You’ve been gone for two days.”
Vanessa stared at her father, trying to put everything together. “That’s not possible. I’ve only been gone an hour at most.”
“No, you haven’t,” he replied, shaking his head. “We had no idea what had happened to you.”
She looked away from him, staring at the wall, wondering if she should tell him that she had no idea either.
“Where were you, Vanessa? What happened?”
“I’m tired,” she said, still not able to look at him. “I just want to get some sleep.”
“Alright, you get some rest,” her father said, leaning forward and kissing her on the head. “But we are going to talk about this, understood?”
Vanessa nodded.
“Alright, then get some rest.”
Her father left the room, closing the door after him. Vanessa lay there, trying to figure out what had happened. She wasn’t tired, not at all. Sleep was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to know where the missing two days had gone. She didn’t remember leaving the clearing in the woods, but couldn’t imagine she had spent two full days there, even if the evidence said she had. She recalled how hungry and thirsty she was when she was walking home, how tired. Could it be possible that it was because she had spent the last two days in the clearing? She wasn’t sure. She stared at the floor, trying to put it all together, and without realising it was going to happen, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
***
Pam lit a cigarette and exhales smoke into the already hazy atmosphere of the kitchen. “Is she getting out of bed today?”
“She’s tired. Let her rest.”
“It’s been three days since she came back and she’s hardly been out of bed. Don’t you think we deserve and explanation?”
Bill stared at his wife, not wanting to get drawn into another argument but knowing it was unavoidable. He knew the mood, recognised well enough when she was looking for a fight. “We’ll get one. The doctor said she needs rest.”
“Rest,” she said, shaking her head and exhaling more smoke. “Time to make up excuses. That one knows she has you wrapped around her little finger.”
“At least she won’t resent me.”
Pam looked at him, glaring through the smoky haze. “Unlike me, you mean.”
“I didn’t say that,” Bill snapped.
“You were thinking it. You think I don’t know you’re the favourite?”
“Don’t start, Pam. I’m not in the mood for this.”
“No, I think we need to get this out in the open. You think I’m stupid but I see it, the way you and her talk, the way you side with her so she’ll hate me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“She does. You both do. Just because I try to instil a little discipline. A little stability.”
“I don’t hate you, Pam. You frustrate me, but I don’t hate you.”
“And you frustrate me,” she said, stubbing out her cigarette in the overstuffed ashtray and lighting another. “You drag us all out here to the middle of nowhere and expect to be treated like some kind of hero. You got ripped off. Our old house was better.”
“We couldn’t keep our old house because you spent all the mortgage money,” he snapped, the words escaping him before he could stop them.
Pam looked away, staring at the cooker, then back at him, face screwed up in hatred. “Don’t you dare blame me for this. I had a problem, an addiction. You can’t keep blaming me.”
“And you can’t keep complaining about being here. This was all we could afford; I’m doing the best I can.”
“You-” Pam stopped talking, watching as Vanessa walked into the kitchen. Bill also watched their daughter.
“You feeling any better yet honey?” Bill asked.
Vanessa ignored them, eyes focused ahead of her. She walked to the old pantry door and unlatched it.
“Don’t go in there; I haven’t cleaned it out yet. There’s loads of old junk from the people who lived here before we did,” Bill said.
His daughter ignored him. She opened the door and stared at the boxes and furniture stacked in the small one time pantry.
“Vanessa?” Bill said, sharing a quick glance with Pam.
Still, she ignored them both, her eyes scanning the dusty, mildew smelling boxes. She reached out and took one, its sides soft with rot. She tossed it onto the kitchen floor.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Pam said, striding across the room and grabbing Vanessa’s wrist before she could take the next box.
Vanessa was pale, her hair greasy and sticking to her head in listless clumps. Mother and daughter locked eyes, mirror images of each other.
“I asked you a question. What do you think you are doing?”
Vanessa grinned and opened her mouth, releasing the spider that was in there. It scurried over her cheek and down her neck, before falling off onto the floor and scurrying into the open cubby. Pam stepped back, removing her hand from her daughter's arm and staring at her with unhidden repulsion.
“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here,” she said, staring her mother down.
“What do you mean? What are you saying?” Pam said, unable to hide the fear.
“He cut them up and still couldn’t find the voices,” she replied, shifting her eyes towards her father who was still sitting at the kitchen table and watching everything unfold. “People die in this house.”
She turned and went back the way she had come, slowly walking back upstairs. Pam and Bill didn’t move, listening to her footsteps diminish and her bedroom door open and close.
SEVEN
Pam snapped awake and lay in the dark, listening to the silence of the house. Bill lay beside her on his side, still sleeping. She hated how dark it was out here in the country. There were no streetlights in the way there used to be back in the city. Here, the darkness was total, and the room was a shadow draped landscape. She looked at the door, holding her breath and straining to hear.
A scratch, a repetitive sound but one that was definitely there. She shook her husband, speaking as loudly as she dared. “Bill, wake up.”
He grunted and turned over onto his back, but didn’t wake. She was about to give him another nudge in the side when she heard it again. A scratching sound coming from somewhere in the house. She shook Bill again, this time rousing him from his sleep.
“What is it? What’s happening?” he muttered, propping himself up on his elbows.
“I can hear something. A noise,” she said, straining to hear it again.
“What kind of noise?”
“Scratching. A scratching sound.”
“Go back to sleep. It’s probably just the wind,” Bill said, turning back onto his side.
&nbs
p; “It’s not the wind. Just listen.”
She lay there in the dark, straining her ears for it. “There. Did you hear it?”
Bill sat up, propping himself on his elbows. “Yeah, I did. What the hell is that?”
“Someone trying to break in?” Pam said, staring at the door.
“No, I don’t think so it-”
“There it is again,” Pam cut in. “Go see what it is.”
“It’s probably nothing,”
“You’re scared.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then go look.”
“You go look,” Bill snapped.
“You’d send me down there on my own in the dark to see what the noise is. That’s a new low, Bill, even for you.”
“Fine, I’ll go look,” he said, swinging his legs out of bed and stepping into his slippers. “What are you doing?” he said as Pam also got up, pulling on her robe.
“I’m not staying up here on my own.”
Bill considered arguing the point and then decided it wasn’t worth it. He moved quietly to the door, opening it and standing on the threshold staring at the dark hall beyond.
“What are you waiting for?” Pam asked.
“Nothing. I’m just listening.”
They both heard it again, clearer now that they were outside the bedroom.
“Sounds like it’s coming from downstairs,” Bill whispered, inching down the hallway towards the staircase. At the top, he paused again.
“What is it now?” Pam whispered behind him.
“Should we turn on the light?”
“I don’t know, what do you think?”
“I think it can’t harm. If anyone is down there, it would make them run.”
“I thought you said it was the wind?”
“It probably is the wind, I just…. It pays to be cautious.” Without waiting for a reply, he flicked the switch on the wall, illuminating the upper hallway and the sitting room below. They both stood there listening, but there was no movement, no rush of activity. Just the same scratching sound which was so out of place. Bill hesitated, staring at the staircase.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Pam said, her breath hot in his ear.
“Nothing. I’m just….” Scared. That was what he wanted to say, but he knew he would never hear the end of it. He was supposed to be the man of the house, the protector and provider. Not some meek man who had become trapped in a life he didn’t want with a woman he was sure he hated.
“This is stupid,” Pam said, shoving past him and stomping down the steps. “Let someone with a backbone take over. It’s obvious you don’t want to.”
“Pam, wait,” he said, following her down the steps. As Pam reached the bottom, the sound was clearer. It was coming from the kitchen. She switched on the light, checking that the doors and windows were closed and locked. Bill had joined her now, embarrassed at his public lack of courage. They heard it again, the scratching sound. It was coming from the pantry.
“I bet it’s a rat,” Pam said, glancing over her shoulder. “I told you to clean that out when we moved in. If we have an infestation-”
“-I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
Pam grabbed the broom which was propped by the door and handed it to Bill.
“What’s this for?” he whispered.
“When I open the door, it might run past me. Hit it with that.”
“Is this necessary?”
“It is if you want any sleep tonight. Now be ready,” she said as she crossed to the pantry door.
Bill readied himself with the brush as Pam swung the door open.
There was no rat. Vanessa was sitting on the floor at the back of the pantry. She had moved the boxes and clutter to make a space for herself. Her fingers were covered in blood, cut raw by the incessant scratching on the floor.
“Vanessa, what are you doing? Come out of there now,” Pam said.
Vanessa scratched her fingers on the floor, adding more blood to the four jagged lines she had left on the ground. She looked at them, eyes vacant, skin pale and sweaty.
“They all died down here,” she said, then scratched at the floor again.
“Stop it stop doing that,” Pam said as Bill joined her.
“I can still hear them. All of them,” Vanessa said, grinning at her parents. The shadows morphed her face into something ghastly. “We’re all going to die here.”
“Out of there, out of there now,” Pam said, grabbing her by the arm.
Vanessa started to scream, thrashing and trying to pull away from her mother.
“Don’t just stand there, help me,” Pam screamed as her daughter clawed at her face, leaving bloody smears on her skin. Bill dropped the brush and helped pull Vanessa out of the pantry.
“What do we do? She’s bleeding all over the floor.”
“I don’t know; just hold her tight so she doesn’t hurt herself.”
“They won’t stop talking. They all die. Everyone dies,” Vanessa said, glaring at them both and hissing the words through gritted teeth.
The three of them sat on the kitchen floor until Vanessa calmed and drifted off to sleep.
“What do we do, Bill? What’s wrong with her?” Pam whispered. It was the first time Bill had seen her without her sneer or arrogance in as long as he could remember.
“I don’t know. She needs to see a doctor. We’ll get through this.”
EIGHT
Doctor Phillips approached Hope House, brown bag held in his right hand. He knocked on the door, hoping he could get away from this house call quickly and meet his friends for golf later that morning. Bill opened the door, and Phillips smiled.
“Good morning, Mr. Hamilton. I understand you have a sick daughter?”
“Yes. Come in please,” Bill said, stepping away from the door to allow the doctor in.
Phillips looked around the house. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to visit again after your daughter last went missing. Is this a follow up from that incident?”
“No, this is unrelated.”
“I see. And where is Mrs. Hamilton?”
Bill wanted to be honest, and tell the doctor that she was refusing to come out of the bedroom, and sat there all day smoking and praying for help. He wouldn’t do that, though, not as long as he could keep up the illusion that all was well. “She’s shopping, in Oakwell Village.”
“Ah, I see. In that case, it’s down to the men to deal with this issue,” the doctor said. He stared at Bill, waiting for him to speak. “And what is that issue, if I may ask, Mr. Hamilton?”
Bill blinked and scratched nervously at his beard. “Apologies, doctor. I haven’t been sleeping that well myself.”
“No, you look a little pale. Are you feeling at all unwell?”
“I’m fine. My daughter….” He drifted off and stared at the floor.
“In your own time, Mr. Hamilton. What seems to be the problem?”
“She’s having….episodes. Behaving strangely, talking to herself. Last night we found her in the pantry scratching her fingers bloody on the floor.”
“I see. Is this all since she went missing?”
Bill nodded. “She says she can’t remember what happened, but something isn’t right. She’s sick.”
“May I see her?”
“Yes, she’s in her room. Shall I show you up?”
“No need, Mr. Hamilton. I remember where it is from my last visit. You go ahead and make yourself a cup of tea. You look like you need it.”
“Yes, thank you, doctor. Would you like one?”
“Please. Milk, no sugar, thank you. In the meantime, I’ll go and see if I can help your daughter…”
“Vanessa.”
“Vanessa,” Phillips repeated, then made his way upstairs.
***
He wasn’t sure what to expect when he entered the room and was pleasantly surprised to see that everything was as he expected to find in the bedroom of a teenage girl Single bed, posters on the walls.
Vanessa was
on her side, facing him, her eyes closed, hair fanned across the pillow. She was pale and had lost weight since he last saw her. Her hands were roughly bandaged and were folded on top of the covers.
“Vanessa, I’m Doctor Phillips. Your father asked me to come and see you.”
Vanessa opened her eyes, watching the doctor as he walked into the room.
“They are quite worried about you. How have you been feeling?”
“Fine,” she said, staring at the doctor’s heavily lined face. “You can’t help me, though. I’ve already told them.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, shall we? Not until I’ve examined you.”
“Examined?” she said, sneering at him. “Is that what you do, dirty old fuck of a man who likes to touch little girls.”
Philips stepped away from the bed, too stunned to respond as Vanessa went on, drooling and snarling as she spoke to him.
“Is that what you want, old man? To touch me? To be the first to spoil my flesh.”
She flung back the covers, exposing her legs. “You want to touch it, don’t you? You want to do things to me you old cunt.”
“Stop that. I’ll tell your father,” Phillips said, taking another step away from the bed.
“He’s a cunt too. Him and that old slut of a wife of his. They all die here, everyone. All of them, but you know that don’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
Whisper: The untold stories Page 6