Whispers in the Shadows
Vol II
By
Alan James Keogh
This work may not be copied in it’s entirety. Short samples may be used as long as credit is given to the author and a link to the authors website is given.
Smashwords Edition
© Alan James Keogh, 2011. All rights reserved
Table of Contents
A Single Drop
Escape
Just A Trick
Blossoming
Do You Have Your Ticket?
Isolation
Hunter
Spiralling Descent
And Yet I Scream
Alone
A Sunday Drive
A Relaxing Evening
A Simple Choice
Hide and Seek
A Young Vintage
A Little Fun
In The Darkness It Waits
Matilda’s Secret
Holly’s Folly
The Dressmaker
A Single Drop
It was the steady drip of cold fluid on her forehead that woke her. When she woke, it was slow, confusing. Distractedly, she reached for her forehead, trying to reconcile the sensation with her dream, her fingers prodded at the liquid, it was sticky.
Opening her eyes she looked at her fingers. They were covered in a thick tarry substance. Another drop fell from above. Looking up, she saw her entire ceiling was covered, long sticky strands dangled into the room while small mounds had formed where the liquid had fallen. They shimmered in the low light of the bedside lamp. She wiped her hand on the duvet, leaving long black marks on the already marred surface. Singular drops had spattered onto the white sheets, some had formed pools.
Once her hand was clean, she rubbed her eyes, just to be sure. She wondered if she was dreaming, then dismissed the idea. If she was, she wouldn’t question the liquid. Carefully, she slid her legs from beneath the covers and carefully stepped on the carpet, not wanting any of the liquid to touch her feet. Slowly, she wound around the maze the pooling liquid had created. Reaching the door, she turned the knob and stepped outside. Leaning against the door she felt the cool wood through her nightdress, she could hear the faint dripping noise still coming from her room. She didn’t know what to do. Who could she call for this sort of thing? She still didn’t know what it was, it wasn’t oil or water from the pipes. Opening the door once more, she glanced into the room. It was still there, no different. Still that same steady drip.
Drip.
Drip.
She moved from the door and went down the stairs, it was early, the sun hadn’t begun to rise yet. She wasn’t fully sure of the time so far, but, figured there must be an emergency repairman working somewhere. They might have a better idea of just what the hell was going on in her room.
As she walked, she turned on the lights, she didn’t want to be in darkness. Suddenly thirsty, she went to the fridge looking for a drink, normally water would be fine, but with that black stuff coming from the ceiling god only knew what could be wrong with the water pipes. Finding only orange juice, she decided it would do and drank it straight from the carton, greedily gulping as much as her mouth would contain, the carton emptied quickly without slaking her thirst. Sighing, she went to the cabinets. Surely there would be some bottle of soft drink in the cabinet.
Finding a flat, ¾ full bottle, she drank from it while going towards her laptop, she figured it would be faster finding someone that way, going to take another drink, she noticed the bottle was empty. She had drank it all in less than two minutes. The orange juice had been almost full when she started to drink, it was a two litre carton. She had drank almost four litres in less than five minutes. Realising how much liquid she consumed she felt sick, her hand absentmindedly going to her forehead and scratching the place where the drop had fallen.
Disregarding the massive consumption of drinks as a mere trick of the mind, she went back towards the computer, glancing in the mirror as she passed, she froze. There was a dark mark on her forehead, where the drop had fallen and from it were smaller, branching tentacles, curling and seeking new, fresh skin to infect, spreading from the original site.
Gently, she pressed at the dark patches, then, using her nail, she scraped at it. She could feel the pressure and a vague movement but that was all. Taking a sliver of flesh between her fingernails she squeezed. Nothing. No pain, no mark, nothing.
She took a deep breath, then another, trying to stave off nausea, she felt faint. First, she would need to get to a doctor, they could figure out what the hell was in her room, what the hell was on her face, she needed medical attention. Now.
Trying to stay calm she ran through what she would need, wallet, ID, money. She ran about the house in a frenzy, there was no time to change, besides, she didn’t want to expose herself to more of that weird black stuff. Reaching for the door she felt lightheaded and, still trying to grab the door handle, she fainted.
It was much brighter when she regained consciousness. It was past eleven, her first panicked thought was that she was late, then realising she was on the floor she remembered what had happened the night before.
Maybe it was all in her head after all. First, she would check in the mirror, then, if it was still there, then she would go straight to the doctors.
Staring at herself in the mirror she turned her head this way and that, trying to see if there was anything, anything at all on her face, but her skin was clear and fresh. Blemish free. Feeling slightly stupid, she returned to her room to find it equally clear. Shaking her head she wondered what had caused such a vivid dream. Sighing, she sat on the bed. At least it was a dream. She only had college later, she could miss it, take some time to relax. Obviously she was stressed out.
Though she had stared in the mirror for a good ten minutes and periodically checked throughout the day, she did not see the thin filaments of black that now spread throughout her eyes, subtly twisting and undulating.
Before she went to bed that night, she had, without realising it, drank almost twelve litres of water without going to the bathroom once. She felt good, better than she had in a while. For the past few weeks there had always been a vague tiredness behind everything she did, no matter how much or how little she slept it remained the same, there was no relief from it. She did not notice how much it affected her until she finally felt better. The day had passed uneventfully, though the boost she felt allowed her to finish off college assignments. Usually she averaged one a day or so, but today she managed to finish the last five essays she needed to have completed for the semester.
Settling into her bed, she reached for the book on her bedside locker. She had begun it the night before and had read the first few chapters. It was good and she doubted it had caused the nightmare. Giving a sigh of relaxation, she snuggled deeper into her pillow, wrapped the duvet tighter around herself and began to read.
When she finally put the book down, her eyes were gritty and sore. She should have stopped reading a half an hour ago but the book was good. Or she thought it must have been. She couldn’t really remember most of what she had read. She folded the corner of the page, not noticing that she had not read more than a page of the book in over two hours. Turning over, she closed her eyes and quickly fell into a thankfully dreamless sleep.
As she slept the thing which was now growing inside her remained active, spreading outwards, sending tentative tentacles out, searching for new areas to invade. Finally, finding her brain, it began to feed from her, using her energy to allow itself to grow faster. It had already used her ocular nerves to block the sight of itself from her. Though she couldn’t see it, the blackness that had started in the drop had spread across her forehead and cheek, enveloping almost all her face. As she slept, more of the black sludge began to drip from the ceiling. She slept through the drops falling on her and in the morning did not notice that new spots had appeared on her arm and stomach, spreading outwards.
Though she had prepared for college, she felt uneasy, she didn’t want to go in and though unusual, she followed the instinct, after all, she didn’t normally miss it and besides, she had all the work she needed to do done. Missing another class wouldn’t hurt. The day passed quickly, though she did not notice how quickly. She spent chunks of time just standing, staring at nothing, before snapping out of it and returning to whatever task she had been engaged in prior to the temporary fugue. The blackness inside her continued its unstoppable march forward as more and more of her mind fell under its control. Soon she would belong to it and nothing could be done.
When she woke the next morning, she was not herself. The woman who had inhabited the body was now gone, leaving behind a not so empty shell. The black marks on her skin had completely vanished, not a trick of the eyes this time. Her skin truly was clear. It hid itself deep inside her, now in complete control.
It showered and brushed her hair. It packed her books into her bag and, on the way out of her house on the way to her college, it stopped and looked at her in the mirror and smiled. Closing the door behind it, it entered the world.
Escape
I draw the curtains as the sky turns
black, outside the street lights glow a bright orange, throwing pools
against the ground, little sanctuaries of light in the growing
darkness.
Taking one last look at the world outside I finish
closing the curtains and continue cleaning the house. I check my
watch, then quicken my pace, he’ll
be home soon.
The fire cheerfully crackles in the grate, he likes to sit in the fires warmth as he sips his scotch. I sit momentarily on the couch, sinking into its comfortable embrace. Although I am tired I do not fall asleep. I had made that mistake once and once was enough. After spending the day cooking and cleaning I settled into the couch to briefly rest, but the warmth and lull of sleep proved too strong and soon I dozed off, I never heard him come in.
I was woken by the harsh sound of skin against skin, the pain which glowed brightly in my face. My cheek burned and turned a mottled red. He stood over me, glaring. I expected him to strike me again, but he refrained. My parents were visiting the next day, one bruise could be explained away, more would be suspicious. He very rarely hit my face, at least, not hard enough to leave a mark.
I got off lightly that day. I know that if I am caught doing it again my punishment will be much worse. He has thousands of ways to punish me.
Sighing, I disentangled myself from the couches desperate grasp. I smooth over the wrinkles I had left behind and hurried into the kitchen. The dinner was cooked but sat in the oven so as not to lose its warmth. Dinner must never be served cold. Quickly glancing around the room I searched for anything wrong, anything that needed straightening but everything seemed clean, nothing was out of place.
I
grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and placed it on the counter the
glass was soon joined by the bottle of scotch. Ice need not be added
until I came back to pour it.
Turning around once more to leave
for my final check through of the house, my hand struck something
cold and hard, I cried out in surprise as it yielded to the force of
my hand and slid of the counter, still turning, I spun in a full
circle in the hopes of catching the falling glass. The sound exploded
in my ears seeming to rebound off every surface of the empty house,
shards of glass flew outwards as the glass broke.
I dropped to my knees not worrying about cutting myself, this must be cleaned before he arrived home. He could not know I broke a glass. I must dispose of the evidence. As I scooped up the shards I felt a sharp pain in my finger, looking down I could see blood flowing from the wound, not caring I continued, I had suffered far worse at his hands. I grabbed the sweeping pan and brush and swept up the remaining shards. I opened the back door and walked out into the cool evening, I would deposit the glass fragments under one of the bushes. The back garden was a pristine paradise. Everything had its place. It was beautiful while in bloom but he never ventured outside. Knowing this I did not fear my crime would be discovered. I replaced the dustpan and brush and grabbed the plant cutters, moving quickly I snipped six or seven roses from the bush and headed back inside with them, placing them in a vase in the hallway. As the cold water washed away the blood I thought back over my actions, making sure I had not done anything that would cause him to notice something wrong. I knew my chances of being punished were slim. While I had deviated from what I was doing today, I hoped he would think it was a loving touch done by the doting housewife. I turned off the cold tap and dried my hands before placing another glass on the table, careful this time that it did not break.
Outside I could hear the crunch of tires against the gravel, I hurried into the hall, glancing in the mirror I checked my hair and makeup, I opened the door, I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. One of his rules. I must always be pleasant and smile, no matter how I actually feel.
He approached the door, the lights banishing the darkness and illuminating his features. There was a slight smile on his lips, my smile went a little brighter, he was in a good mood, he walked passed me, then he went into the living room, stripping off his work jacket and loosening his tie he reached the couch and sat down. I trailed after him, picking up his jacket along the way “hello honey, how was your day?” “Good” I bent down and started to remove his shoes. Finishing the unpleasant task I picked up his shoes and walked out of the room with his jacket draped over my arm. I placed his shoes in the hallway and put the jacket on the banister.
I poured out his scotch and quickly brought it to him. He looked at me and asked, “Dinner ready yet?” “Yes, it is, do you want it now?” he nodded the affirmative and I quickly set about putting everything onto the plates.
The evening past quickly, I was not allowed to choose programmes on the television, most of the time I focused on my knitting or mending while he relaxed. Soon it was time for bed. As I lay in the dark I thought of how I ended up living with the man who was currently snoring beside me.
I thought of how lucky I was, it was rare to have a good day like this, today I would sleep without worrying about how I was to hide the bruise on my arm or face when venturing outside to the shops, the only place I as really allowed go by myself, or how I wouldn’t have to check my urine for blood the next day because of a kick to the stomach. I remembered how I used to be, I was never like this. Scared to speak my mind. Scared to defend myself.
I found myself slipping back into my memories, it seemed be happening more often lately.
We
had met in high school and married early. While we were dating he was
the perfect gentleman. Always opening doors for me, insisting that he
pay for the meal, even though I was perfectly happy to pay for my own
food. He was my first and only boyfriend.
I grew up in a very
strict catholic town, one where abstinence was preached instead of
birth control and so I became pregnant. Although we were going out
for two years and everything indicated marriage, it was a scandal. My
mother cried and my father shouted about how I was going to hell. At
the time I believed him but after a year of marriage I lost belief in
god. Our marriage was quick so as to make it seem I became pregnant
on the honeymoon.
There was no specific event that signalled the start of abuse, it was something very gradual. There was always some reason behind it, I tried to rationalize it. Once every now and then he would hit me, then apologises immediately. He would act so upset, sometimes he seemed as though he was on the verge of tears, promising it would never happen again, buying me gifts, trying to seek my forgiveness. This had been going on for three or four months before he stopped apologizing.
I was five months pregnant the first and last time I confronted him. We had an argument about what to watch on the television. Something which seemed so inconsequentional at the time, led to me obeying his every word.
During the argument he strode across the room and punched me in the nose, as the blood started gushing from my nostrils I fell to my knees, trying desperately not to pass out. I can only remember the first few kicks to my stomach. I could feel my belly sinking deeper each time as I fought for breath, trying to scream as darkness closed in. the next thing I remember is lying at the bottom of the stairs, blood stained my pyjamas and paramedics were trying to move me onto a stretcher. It seems that while I was passed out, he dragged me up the stairs, then let my limp body fall, then he told the paramedics I had fallen down the stairs. I had to be medicated when I was told I miscarried. I was nearly catatonic. I never told them what really happened.
As these thoughts swirled through my mind I knew that what chance I had of sleeping was gone.
I carefully stood and made my way downstairs. The cold tiles of the kitchen felt soothing against my feet. I filled a glass of water and stood at the window, looking out at the garden. It looked almost ethereal at night. The moonlight caused the plants to take on a silvery sheen and the shadows to become distorted. I felt a strange, but strong urge to venture out into the night time realm. The grass was damp and soft beneath my feet, I looked about the garden, taking in the beauty, breathing in the scent.
I was so captured by the sights and smells I never noticed the shadow that fell upon me, the sound of shallow, ragged breathing behind me. “What the hell are you doing out here?” I whirled around, stunned to see him standing there. “I…” “Shut the hell up, I never said you could talk you stupid bitch” I doubled over as his fist hit my stomach, I looked up at him, my long hair draped around my face as he pulled back his fist for another punch.
I gasped as his fist connected with my nose, blood gushed and droplets flew as my head was flung to the right. I fell to my knees, hoping seeing me in such a vulnerable position would calm his anger, if not he might regain his senses and remember that the neighbours could look out and see us. I could feel his eyes on me, “please” he muttered something under his breath then he turned and walked into the house. I knew that in the morning he would do something much worse, so far I had gotten off lightly. Tears streamed down my face as I stood I wiped them from my cheeks.
I glanced over as I stood and I caught sight of something that changed me. Upon a single white rose lay droplets of my blood, staining the petals. the moonlight turning those drops black. I felt something in my mind open. I felt the anger flooding out. All the years of repressed resentment rushed forwards.
The feeling of pain vanished, replaced instead with a desire. I walked back into the kitchen and picked up a knife. As I walked forward there was a part of me which wondered what I was about to do. I couldn’t take a life, I couldn’t take his life. He was eternal, he could never die, he would always be there, watching, judging, punishing.
So lost in the turmoil of my mind I had not realized I was standing above his slumbering body. Although I am unsure of how much time has passed it surely cannot be longer than a few minutes, but then, he slumbers so deeply.
I watch in horror and slight exhilaration as my arm rises, part of me wants to cry out, to warn him but before it can betray me my arm swings in a vicious arc, slitting his throat. As warm blood sprays across my pyjamas and face, his eyes open, he tries to speak but is unable as his throat and lungs were filled with blood.
The blood flow began to slow, dribbling now instead of gushing. As I watched him finally die I feel something inside tear, opening my mouth I begin to laugh. I am free.
Just A Trick
She didn’t notice the smell in the bathroom. At least, not yet. She was far too busy to pay attention to such trivial things. Her eyes were puffy and red, her makeup smeared and streaked. She furiously wiped away each tear, then, going into a stall she grabbed a handful of tissue, sat on the toilet seat and finally gave in.
It had been a trick. That’s all, a trick. She had been asked out, her, Janet, had been asked out by Daniel, the boy she had had a crush on as long as she could remember. She had been so exited when he asked and answered in one breathless rush of “of-course-I’ll-go-out-with-you” before he had fully finished asking.
He had picked her up from her house and together they went to the mall, where they were supposed to get food, then go to the cinema. They seemed to be having a good time, at least, she thought they were.
Conversation was good, they were both laughing, there were no awkward lulls or pauses. Then, she had gone to the bathroom to check her makeup and to give herself a few seconds to realise, fully realise what was happening. But, when she returned she found the booth empty, nothing left but the bill. He had left her in the mall all alone. Miles from home without anyway of returning. It was all a big joke to him.
Deep down, so deep she may not have been aware of it herself, she wished it had been something physical. Maybe rotten food dumped on her, or Daniel and his friends all pointing and laughing at her for thinking she could go out with the likes of them. At least then people would hear of what happened and think “oh, poor Janet. That was just awful what they did to her.” because you could see the effects of that. The people in the restaurant would have seen. There would have been evidence of the cruelty that had forced her to endure. But this pain was inside, they wouldn’t see it and know, they would just think “What a fool Janet was. Just a stupid fool.” They wouldn’t see how she had spent hours agonising over what to wear, how to put on her makeup, choosing just the right shades and the right perfume. They wouldn’t know she spent the last of her money on a new top and jacket so she would look nice. They wouldn’t know that she had sat by the door for hours, just waiting for him to arrive. They wouldn’t know that she had to go through the humiliation of everyone in the restaurant knowing she had been ditched, that she had to pay the bill, the rest of her money. They wouldn’t know that the money could have gone on more important things, like school books or a birthday present for her younger brother.
All they would know was that Janet was a fool and she had fallen for their prank.
She would have to walk home, there was no money left for the bus, never mind a taxi. It would be at least a two hour walk and it was beginning to get dark out. They wouldn’t know that the walk home would make her thighs chafe until they were red raw and beads of blood would begin to form. Distractedly she swiped at the tears, dragging off the make up that was so carefully applied a few hours before.
She could ring her mother to pick her up, but the humiliation would be too great. She saw how happy her mother was that she was going out, that she had finally gotten a date and beneath that she saw her mothers fear. Fear that it was all a trick. And she had been right.
No.
she couldn’t go through the look her mother would give her, she couldn’t tell her what happened and then cry together. This was too great to share. She had told her mother most things. She told her when they laughed or called her names, she even told her about the time she had been tripped in the lunchroom and Stacy had poured ketchup over the back of her skirt so it looked like she had her period and how all the boys laughed at her.
She looked down at herself, wondering why she didn’t realise what was happening. Why she had allowed herself to be tricked. She should have known better. Sniffing loudly, she tried to wipe away the makeup stains on her top, but they wouldn’t come out. She would have to tell her mother that they laughed so much tears had run down her face. that they had the best time but that she didn’t like him in that way and they decided not to go out again and how he was a perfect gentleman and drove her home without pressuring her to kiss or do anything at all.
Janet would tell her mother this because she herself just wanted to forget and she knew her mother would keep mentioning it in her sly little ways. Her mother loved her, truly loved her, but felt that all Janet needed was a little push to make herself better and once she had become better (with no mention of how that would occur) she would be happier, she would be popular, she would be calling people names and taunting them and not the other way around.
They had gone to the school about the problem and the teachers were told but they didn’t do anything. Just looked at her pityingly and occasionally asked her if everything was ok. They asked in front of everyone. Everyone. Of course she couldn’t tell them about what was happening then. It would make it worse.