The pentagram bride.
Chapter 1
‘They say they’re all behind the dry wall’
‘What are?’
‘The children’
Gary Taylor smiled a goofy gap toothed smile as he recounted the horrors of the old mansion in the
cornfield.
‘You’re full of shit’ Andy answered looking through the stalks of corn towards the haunting edifice
now a mere silhouette against dusk’s dark sky.
‘Oh yeah, then where they all go, the kids that come up here hey? I’ll tell you where. It’s the old
woman’s son. He nail guns em to a table, splays em and sticks em in the wall cavities.’
Andy laughed, at the same time looking towards the upper left window of the house. The curtains
were drawn but there was a light, someone was in and then the horrible thought that he might
Be being watched entered his mind.
‘So why would he do that? Andy asked, trying to keep the frayed nerves from his voice.
‘They upholster the furniture init, skin on the sofa, the lamp shades, the curtains.’
Andy squinted towards the window focusing on the drawn curtains, they looked normal to
him,velvet, maybe cotton, certainly not skin.
‘Lets knock the door’ Gary proffered, his eyes gleaming in the wane light.
Andy paused a moment, absorbing the challenge, assessing the implications before agreeing with a
nod.
The corn stalks rose at least a meter high. Crickets chirped within the mottled shadow. A crow
raced across the sky, alighting on the mansion’s clay chimney pot. Shuffling its talons, it watched
the two children as they stole forward. The house was made of old masonry, lattice windows
peering into pitch darkness. The door was hewn of oak studded with a border of metallic bolts. A
stone gargoyle stood sentry, its granite eyes peering out at the corn, its decorative wings folded back
like a grey cape to fight off the biting cold.
Gary had reached the house first and decided to peer through one of the ground floor windows.
He was met with dust smeared panes and pixilated pitch. As his eyes adjusted he could just
make out the old white dust covers that dressed the parlour room furniture.
‘Here check it out’ he called.
Andy made his way to the window and peered through. As the darkness softened, he made out
the various furnishings. The crystal chandelier, the ornamental bookcase even a small winerack
built into far wall.
‘She doesn’t do too bad for an old witch, must be good money in the skinning business’ Andy
remarked, regretting the joke immediately.
‘Well you gonna knock or just chat shit all day?’
Andy looked towards the foreboding door with its fortress like facade and frost streaked panelling.
Doubt their hear me if I just knock with my hand he thought, checking to make sure Gary was
witnessing this brave feat.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound was amplified in the moment. It thundered percussively.
Gary had already turned heal and darted through the corn stalks. Andy turned to an ominous
creak and screamed.
The old woman’s eyes were milky white. Her face was a wicker basket of wrinkles, her neck
folds like crumpled parchment. Two salted slug like lips twitched as she moved her mouth to
talk.
‘Andy your father has been asking up about you?’
‘What?’
‘He’s waiting for you to return to him Andy, go to him and tell him Enid sent you, I want him to
know my name.’
As Enid blinked Andy could have sworn that her eyelids closed horizontally, meeting in the middle
before once again opening to reveal the catarax white irises.
Andy laid the yellowed Polaroid on the table and looked up. The memory of that night was still
vivid. He noticed his skin had marbled as he’d been recounting the origins of the photo. He took a
last look at the solitary mansion ringed by vast cornfields before looking up. A man, beard speckled
white, bifocals inched down to magnify the pupils to comic proportions, sat bolt upright on an
ornately upholstered armchair. He appeared focused on a pad of illegible notes, moving the pencil
like the piston motion of a sewing machine needle, only stopping when Andy placed a second
Polaroid next to the first.
‘Before you show me this Andy, do you understand the point of this exercise, I mean do you get
why we are doing this?’
Cos you wont write me out a bloody prescription for meds Andy thought.
‘Its a memory exercise, you’re trying to unlock something from my subconscious, trying to figure
out the root cause of my insomnia.’ Andy said, feeling like a student who had just answered a
complex maths problem.
‘Then we shall continue, tell me, this second picture, was it taken around the same time?’
Andy traced his finger over the gloss finish. As he did the memories came flooding back, like an
old movie reel animating the story of his childhood. The picture was of the old mansion, only
now it was merely charred timbre struts, a black skeletal husk like a beached whale, its carcass
picked to pieces by ravenous birds.
‘There’s a window round the back, I saw it the other night’ Gary said
‘The old crone doesn’t shut it properly, come on, we’ll get inside.’
Andy shuddered partly from the cool night air but mostly at the thought of seeing her again, seeing
that wrinkled face and those ghostly eyes.
Gary had already made his way round the back, the crunch of his footsteps adding to the melody of
the night. Andy followed, his eyes darting across the house’s many windows, just in case she
happened to be standing, somewhere on the upper floor, peering between net curtains. There were
no lights on, in fact the place was ominously quiet. A pile of crates had been conveniently stacked
beneath an unlatched window, a meter or so off the ground. Gary was peering inside.
‘You see anything?’ Andy asked still checking the many windows, still unable to shake the feeling
they were being watched.
‘Its pitch black, come on give me a leg up, I’ll open the window proper from the inside.’
‘I don’t know about this, something doesn’t feel right, you said she had a son, what if he’s
there,what if he’s waiting for us in there?’
‘Fuck me, I was shitting ya, that old bat’s on her own, always has been, that’s why she’s batshit
crazy. Look she’s a hoarder, she’s got tons of valuables in there ripe for the picking. We go in,
canvas the place and leave, come on.’
Andy realised the futility of arguing and watched with a kind of silent detachment as if he were
back at home, viewing this through the screen of his television and not out here in the brisk cold
among the towering stalks of corn.
The window creaked open and Gary’s silhouetted figure beckoned him in. Outside the clouds
scudded across the sky revealing a waxen moon, its wan illumination slicing through the opened
pane. The room smelt of damp. Eddies of dust were whisked into life as the window was closed
behind. Andy waited for his eyes to adjust. When the heavy gloom dissipated he could make out
a study. The rear wall housed a fireplace, its front sealed by an iron grate like the portcullis at
the entrance to a castle. Above the mantle piece, a gold framed painting adorned the wall either
side of which were bracketed candles veiled in webs. In the centre of the room stood a pine wood
desk, an old lamp and stacks upon stacks of dog eared magazines, their pages yellowed and
tattered.
Gary was already searching for a door, his hands wading through the shifting darkness, as if the
black were an oozing quagmire pulling them in.
A shadow crossed the window outside, perhaps a cloud, perhaps a person, either way Andy was
in no hurry to find out. He ran to the left wall and searched frantically for a door built into the
wood panelling. He couldn’t find one, Gary was having little luck as well.
‘Who the hell is that?’ Gary suddenly harped pointing to a figure at the window.
Andy could feel his knees buckling beneath him. Suddenly a torch light shone through the
glass, its conical beam moving slowly and methodically from left to right. Someone had seen
them enter, was it the woman? Had she followed them round the back? Andy crouched down,
hoping to be concealed by the enveloping shadow. He waited with bated breath, listening as
Gary to crouched down and huddled tight like a frightened animal. The torchlight receded and for a
moment they were both plunged into comparative blindness, as if all the rooms details were
instantly erased. The sounds too suddenly disappeared till only the clamour of their heartbeats
could be heard.
‘Gary you there?’ Andy asked his voice feeling way too loud. He cupped his mouth as if to trap
the sound, all the time looking towards the site of the torch beam.
‘There’s a way out here, but its stuck, come here give me a hand.’
Andy shuffled forward stealthily. When he reached the wood panelling, he pressed his shoulder
up against it, his heels planted firmly on the floor. The door gave way and both parties tumbled
forward.
It wasn’t immediately clear where they were, just that the space was vast. A vaulted cross
beamed ceiling rose above them and in front, an armchair faced the far wall. It wasn’t until he
looked again that Andy noticed someone was sat upon the chair. A thatch of white hair
surmounting the back rest.
‘Its her, its the fucking witch’ Gary whispered, his feet already making a hasty retreat.
‘Come here Andy, Enid wants to see you.’ Her tone was flat, possessing a gravely quality.
‘Come close boy, don’t be afraid now.’
Andy felt himself compelled forward as if his legs were taking on a life of their own. He couldn’t
have stopped the momentum even if he had wanted to. Gary had already backed into the doorway,
his figure a mere outline against the darkness of the surrounding environ.
Andy could see the woman’s slippered feet, the tip of her gown as it flayed out over her gnarled
shins. A liver spotted hand, fingers curled by arthritis tapped the arm rest.
As she came into full view, he could make out the deep set wrinkles further shadowed by the
shifting gloom. She opened her mouth, those slug like lips trailing with strings of translucent
spittle.
The jelly in her eyes suddenly appeared to bubble, the mucilage seeping down the cheeks. The
contours of her face softened as the flesh drooped, all elasticity lost. Slender tongues of flame
rose from the sub-dermal regions, out from behind the melting cartilage and charred skull. Soon
the flames appeared lower down, consuming her lap. An acrid stench filled the air as her
nightgown was turned to cinders and flakes of soft tissue plumed upwards like the glowing embers
of a freshly stoked fire. Within seconds, she was barely recognisable. Her screams choked by the
loud crackling and the popping as bodily fluid came to a boil and erupted from within. As quickly
as the flames had appeared, they retreated, leaving a half cremated skeleton, bones and ash piled on
the upholstery.
‘So what do you suppose happened?’ came the doctor’s voice, intruding on Andy’s recollections.
‘My dad told me, the whole place later went up in flames but that Enid had spontaneously
combusted. She had been drinking gin that night, they say it sped up the whole combustion
process, made her highly flammable. I still see her face, the way she stared wide eyed at me as if
I were meant to help, as if I could do something. Gary says he didn’t see it, said he’d fled outside
before all of this happened. I’ve tried speaking to him about it but…’
Andy found himself choking on his words and cut himself short, pushing the Polaroid aside.
‘I think we’ll finish up for today, next week will look at ways you can deal with recurring, intrusive
thoughts that may be disturbing your sleep.’
Andy just nodded, all too glad to get out of the stuffy psychiatrists office and back home to a cold
drink of Dissarano and Coke, no ice.
Chapter 2
There was something very demoralizing about a white screen, a blank word document. The
taunting emptiness, the teasing, malevolent smile of the Paper clip in the bottom right hand
corner.
The pint glass of Dissarano and Coke or Amaretto as he’d heard it called was half empty. The
anesthetizing effect of the liquor was beginning to set in. A kind of liquorish sweetness followed
by a wholly desirable numbing of the senses. Perhaps that was why the words were not coming
out. It was his third glass after all and the bell jar was three quarters empty serving only now to
prop up a carton of menthol cigarettes-a monument to two demons, two equally enticing demons.
It had been three hours since Andy had taken the call from his agent. The lovely red haired fireball
of a woman.
‘When can we expect the manuscript, they’re getting impatient Andy. You know
they’ve sent you money up front and they expect results.’
The said money had been squandered in bars and off licenses, Sky vodka, white rum, gin and
Baileys. Four days of blessed blurriness had passed. Time transitioning in the bliss of
unaccountability and inebriation.
The mornings always commenced with a headache but a few mixes sorted that and then life
continued.
The pent house apartment Andy had acquired three months previous had already lost its
simplistic, modernistic charm. The fusion of economic furnishings with the vast white walls had
been usurped by tacky grind house movie posters, empty foster cans and clothes slung on every
available floor space.
He surveyed the beautiful carnage. He had surely made a house a home. Everything had its
own personal touch from the unwashed dishes to the unlaundered jeans. There was a unique
smell as well. Not to everybody’s taste but easily dispersed by opening the patio doors to the
balcony garden. It had originally come with hanging baskets of tulips and geraniums . Small all
weather palms lined a meandering patio path winding under a wooden trellis and other enmities
that gave the garden a magazine cover feel.
Andy’s attention turned once again to the screen but this time he began to see double. Two floating
Paper clips, duplicate cursors, desk top icons that appeared animated, alive even. He should
probably lie down, take a nap, let some ideas, some concepts percolate a while.
Just then the phone rang, momentarily sobering him up. If it were his publisher he had readied
a creative excuse. If it was PPI he was not interested, if it was his ex, well…
He reluctantly picked up the receiver and uttered an unintelligible sound. There was silence on
the other end.
‘Hello?’ he said
‘Andy its Karen. I know your probably working but Milly really wants to see you, can she come
and stay over?’
Andy paused just long enough to think that perhaps this was merely his ex trying to pawn off his
daughter before the ‘court designated’ visiting times. Typical deferral of responsibility.
‘Its Tuesday’ he replied, a little more testily than he had planned.
‘You know she’s just started back school, she wants to tell you about it, she doesn’t want to have to
wait all the way to the weekend. Surely you can make some time in your busy schedule.’
The final part of that sentence would have come out sarcastic however it had been said. Karen
never appreciated that being a writer was a job. That in those moments where he appeared to be
doing nothing, he was in fact contemplating his creative mind, musing on the abstract concepts of
the universe and meditating on the philosophical implications of life itself. No Karen saw it as
idleness and nothing more.
‘I’ve got a deadline to meet with this latest book, I’m…’ even as he spoke he could picture her
sullen expression as the words hit her auditory canal at the wrong angle bouncing off ineffectually
into the stratosphere.
‘Take some time to see your damn daughter for god sake, she’s more important than any book you
are or aren’t writing.’
He inhaled deeply, this deliberate dig was not about to phase him.
‘Bring her in about an hour, I need to have a shower and freshen up.’
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘What’s with all the questions, I’ve agreed to take her haven’t I, come in an hour and I’ll buzz you
in.’ with that he placed the phone down and sat back, for a moment just staring into middle
distance. The very notion of a plot surfacing now seemed near impossible. The writer’s block had
transformed into a full blown migraine that nothing but Tramadole or Morphine could touch.
He had just slipped back on his old jeans and a wrinkled Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt when the buzzer
shrieked out from the little box on the side of his door. He took a cursory glance at the apartment,
suddenly realising how bad it looked, suddenly aware of the lingering odour that must be a hundred
times more noticeable to new noses. He quickly cleared evidence of his latest drinking session,
glasses in the sink, decanters hidden behind the biscuit tin, bottles emptied of their last drop and
disposed of in the recyclables. Only then did he buzz her in, waiting with the same nervous
anticipation as one would await a blind date.
Milly had come up the stairs herself, a small ‘My Little Pony’ back pack swung single strapped
over her shoulder. Blonde, school girl pony tails and petit pink spectacles with misted lenses.
‘Where’s mum?’
‘She parked the car downstairs, said she had to get to the shops.’
Andy found himself sucking his teeth in hearty derision but stopped when he clocked his daughter’s
concerned, magnified stare.
‘She said you could ring her.’
‘No, its fine, come in, come in.’
Andy stood aside letting her pass. Too much time had elapsed to initiate a hug, at least with out
it looking awkward and forced. Milly headed towards the sofa, offloading her bag and positioning
herself immediately in front of the TV. As Andy closed the door he sighed. What on earth was he
meant to talk about, when was Karen picking her up? Why had she bought a bag with her, was it her
school bag, did she have homework she would need help with?
‘Fancy a drink?’
‘No thanks’
‘Something to eat?’
‘What you got?
That was a good question. He didn’t have much of an appetite when he drank, he wasn’t even sure
when his last food shop had been.
‘Let me have a look.’ Opening the fridge, he peered from empty shelf to empty shelf.
‘How about I order in, pizza sound nice?’
Milly had a quizzical look on her face, a look that could go either way.
‘Yeah alright, sausage and mushroom.’
‘Mushroom, since when you likes mushroom’
‘Pete got them for me.’
Andy nodded. He felt somehow obliged to ask how Karen’s new man was doing, but the truth was,
he didn’t care much, certainly not enough to waste any breath asking.
‘I got a takeaway menu with the number on somewhere.’
‘Your place is a mess daddy’
An organised mess, he thought. ‘What you watching on TV these days?’
Milly looked at her watch then up at the screen. ‘Cartoons are on now’
Had she just told the time, was that possible at age six? It was improbable but possible, she had
always been an early learner, speaking fluently at two, writing her name at three.
‘Mummy says you started back at school.’ The statement was met with a blank expression.
‘How is it?’
‘Ok’
‘Just ok?’
‘I don’t like Mrs potter, she’s old and she smells funny.’
Andy stifled a laugh.
‘I hope you haven’t said anything.’
Milly shook her head. ‘Are you coming to school, mummy is next week.’
‘Um’
‘Its a parent meeting, you gotta come.’
‘Um, lets see what cartoons are on hey’
As Milly sat watching the screen, Andy scrambled about searching for the takeaway menu, sneakily
tidying up as he went. He eventually found it under her bag.
‘What you got in here, Potter already given you maths homework.’
‘Silly daddy, its my jim jams, mum says I can stay the night, she says she’ll pick me up in the
morning.’
Andy nearly choked as the words to a suitable response formed in his throat.
‘oh dearie, I don’t know, did mummy tell you, I got tons to do, my publishers have been calling
me and…’ he suddenly realised who he was explaining this to and stopped himself short.
‘Let me ring mummy and see exactly what she said.’
Three hours passed. The pizza had arrived, the cartoons had lost their allure and Karen had won
out the reasons why Milly could stay the night. Andy had returned to his computer and was just
finishing the third paragraph of a half decent page when Milly tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Can I go out in the garden?’
Andy was startled by the interruption and swore involuntarily. Milly was taken aback, her
bespectacled eyes tearing up.
‘Sorry dear, it was just dad was beginning to make a break through. What did you ask?’
‘Can we go in the garden, I’m bored.’
‘Sure’
The metropolitan skyline spread out to a shimmering sea-scape horizon. A million buildings rose
in concrete clusters. Mirrored office windows glinted in the pre dusk light. A Pac-man like maze of
traffic wound between the architectural clamour, an endless urban sprawl punctuated by car horns
and muffled shouts.
‘I don’t like the city’ Milly said suddenly.
‘Why, look at all the beautiful sky scrapers, what’s not too like?’
‘I like the country, its quiet there.’ As she said this she turned to the hanging baskets and
stroked the petals of the overarching flowers.
‘The country’s prettier, the city its so…so grey.’
Andy shuddered as he heard Karen’s objections projected through the mouth of his daughter.
‘Well you should see it on a summers day, too many clouds in the sky to properly appreciate it at the
moment, but you’re see.’
Milly seemed unconvinced and continued to study the menagerie of plant life that populated the
garden.
Andy managed to fit in another hour and a half of writing but none of the additional paragraphs
seemed to match the majesty of his opening lines. Milly had got into her pyjamas and had pulled
the blanket over her. The news was playing but it appeared she was asleep.
Andy clicked save and stole over, picking Milly up and placing her on the bed. He’d take the sofa
tonight, probably have a glass or two and then fall asleep. It struck him how this small action of
surrendering his bed almost made up for any past neglect, anyone who witnessed this selfless act
would have to reach the inevitable conclusion that he was in fact a dutiful father, a good dad and a
considerate human being.
The sofa was surprisingly comfortable, though that didn’t detract in any way from the good deed
of sacrificing the comfort of his own, pocket sprung mattress. Dawn’s pink syrupy hue issued
through the French windows. A tessellation of soft ribbed clouds clustered above a rising sun. it
was almost a poetic sight and yet all Andy could think of right now was the stale gammy taste in
his mouth and the way his right arm was unpleasantly stiff from the elbow to the shoulder.
Milly came to the kitchen at the sound of cereal bowls being retrieved from the sink.
‘I’ve only got rice krispies I’m afraid but we chuck some sugar on them and they’ll be fine.’
‘Pete says I have to cut down on my sugar.’
Andy breathed in deeply, refusing to exhibit his indignation. Bloody Pete, who cares what bloody
Pete had to say. Yes he was a doctor but that didn’t make him a god. Andy could easily acquire
equal knowledge from a few weeks surfing the medical blogs on the internet, frequenting the
health forums, the Q and A’s and self proclaimed drug gurus.
‘We just wont tell Pete will we?’ He found himself spitting out the name, as if the syllables burnt
his tongue.
‘What are we doing today daddy?’ This disarming question had him pause for thought. He
looked outside once more. Unfortunately it looked like the weather was going to be nice so he
couldn’t use rain as an excuse for not going out. He’d already used the excuse of his work and that
seemed to be falling on deaf ears. Struggling for an answer, he searched the room, finally settling
his gaze on the phone.
‘We should probably stay in, in case your mother wants to pick you up?’
‘Oh’ Milly replied dejectedly.
‘But until then, we’ll do something fun hey.’
‘Like what?’
He hadn’t thought that far ahead, the sentiment should have been enough. As he was thinking of
what to suggest the phone rang. It was Karen.
‘Andy, Andy is that you?’
‘Who else it going to be, you rang my number didn’t you?’
‘I’m at my mothers, she had a fall.’
Andy pictured Karen’s pompous mother and found himself grinning at such a prospect.
‘I’m sorry, i hope it wasn’t anything serious.’
‘She broke her hip, she’s bed ridden, I need to stay until I can sort out some home care for her.’
‘Oh. Well of course. It’s your mum after all. So what time shall I drop off Milly with you then?’
‘You’re joking right, your seriously taking the mick right now, tell me your taking the mick.’
‘yeah of course, I mean…
‘She’ll need to stay with you for the week, at least till after the weekend anyway.’
‘what about clothes?’ he found himself saying.
‘Pete will bring them round, later today, I told him your address, hope you don’t mind?’
‘Pete, so why cant Pete look after her hey?’
‘You know he works?’
‘and I don’t? I don’t go around healing the sick like Christ Pete but I work, I got dead lines to meet,
people expect to read my stuff.’
‘I think the adventures of Detective Biggins or Higgins or whatever you call him nowadays can
wait don’t you, some things are more important.’
‘It’s Detective Inspector Higgins and I’m writing something different if you must know.’
‘Who gives a shit Andy, take some responsibility for once in your useless life, this is your daughter
we’re talking about. Switch off the computer, put down the whiskey and take bloody care of her.’
Andy was certain, Milly could hear her mothers raised voice through the receiver.
‘Ok, ok just please, try and sort some help out as quick as possible.’
The line went dead. That was it, the conversation was over, he had lost. Milly had nearly finished
her cereal and was already looking for the next form of entertainment.
Andy looked longingly at the computer. He wasn’t sure how long it would be until he would be
back creating, correction, drinking and creating.
By midday Andy had exhausted all ideas and Milly was looking less than impressed at his efforts.
He had resigned to the computer, trying desperately to recover some of the brilliance of
his opening paragraph. The ideas were coming together a little more cohesively. He was in no
mood to construct an initial synopsis so instead hastily typed the words hoping his creative mind
would mould them into something marketable. He was surprised that his publisher hadn’t called
and was almost tempted to ring her up and tell her how well it was all going, like an excited child,
like Milly. He looked round. She had propped herself once again in front of the TV. It wasn’t
exactly clear what she was watching now, some kind of panel show but it was keeping her
somewhat amused, quiet at least. As he turned back to the screen, he glimpsed the paper clip, a
speech bubble rising from its smug smile.
‘Do you want help raising your daughter.’
Andy shook his head
‘Do you want help with your toolbar?’
that was weird. He looked at his glass. First one of the day, a mere smidgen of vodka midst
lashings of coke and even a bit of ice that further watered down the mix.
When he had finished spell checking his work so far, the sky outside had noticeably darkened.
Milly was silently watching some nature documentary. Two leopards racing across the Serengeti.
The phone rang.
‘Andy, its Karen, Pete cant drop the clothes till the morning, I hope you hadn’t planned on going
out anywhere with her today. Sorry if you had.’
‘It’s fine, I found enough indoor activities.’
‘Mum’s doing a lot better. Doctors got her tucked up in bed on a Morphine drip, I’ll be able to
leave soon. Most of the time she’s so out of it with the meds she doesn’t know I’m even there.’
Andy wasn’t sure if he was meant to laugh or just agree at this point, he said nothing.
‘How’s Milly doing?’
‘She’s fine, she’s fine’ he said, his eagerness to get off the phone becoming blatant.
Two two hundred ml bottles of Smirnoff vodka later and Andy had well and truly abandoned any
attempt at writing. Milly had once again fallen asleep. He’d wait a bit longer, then transfer her
through again. Tomorrow he’d make more of an effort, they’d go out somewhere, no where too far,
a local cafe or something.
It was ten past midnight when Andy finally transferred Milly to the bedroom and made a half
hearted attempt at cleaning away the evidence of his evening drinking session.
He must have only just drifted off into proper REM sleep when he heard a scream. A girl’s
scream, it was Milly. He threw the couch blanket to the floor and raced into the bedroom.
Milly was sat at the foot of her bed. She’d been crying that much was clear but there was
something else. He flicked on the light. She squinted with the abrupt illumination. She was
cradling her right arm, messaging the skin. Several deep red welts, burns crossed the forearm.
‘What the hell happened?’ Andy asked, his panic not helping the situation.
Milly stretched out the burn streaked arm. ‘She tried to grab me’
‘Who did, who tried?’
‘The woman standing by the closet. She was there the other night to, she just stands there,
watching me.’
Andy turned and looked.
‘There’s no one there honey, I think you were having a bad dream.’
‘No I saw her. Her skin was all wrinkled and she had white hair.’
‘There’s no one there honey. You need to tell me how you got those burns?’
Milly began to whimper before weeping inconsolably.
‘I told you daddy she tried to grab me. She walked up to my bed, she said her name was, oh
daddy I cant remember, it started with E.’
Andy took Milly into his arms and hugged her.
‘Let’s get that arm under some water and see if it doesn’t need some more treatment after that.’
As he said this he cautiously gazed around the room, at the gathered shadows by the cabinets and
the closet. Could Milly really have seen her, could Milly really have met Enid?
Chapter 3
Pete came round at about eight o’clock in the morning. He seemed in a rush to drop off Milly’s
clothes. He gave her a quick hug, gave Andy a quick nod and left. Andy tried phoning Karen but
was only getting the answering machine. Milly was still stroking her arm. The redness had
gone down slightly but some of the skin was blistered. The more he looked at it, the more it
looked like the print left behind when someone grabs you and holds tightly as if giving an Indian
burn or reprimanding a wondering child.
Milly didn’t seem much like playing. In fact she receded into her self the entire morning, not
once asking if they were going to go any where or do anything. The sky outside was a steely grey
and a wind whistled between the high rises. Andy had tried sitting himself by the computer only
to find writers block had returned with avengence. All he could think of was what he’d tell his
psychiatrist when they met up again. How the memories of what happened on that fateful day in
that house in the cornfields was all real, Milly had seen her, Enid existed and for some unknown
reason she was coming after him.
To Andy’s relief Karen came upstairs to pick up Milly. Milly was more than glad to leave, her
eyes forever darting towards the bedroom doorway. Did she see Enid now, was Enid stood
watching her?
Karen appeared to have brightened up. Her usual flustered countenance was replaced with a
somewhat calm demeanour if only a facade.
‘How is your mum doing, is she recovering well?’
‘Yeah’ she nodded ‘but I’m just glad to be back I hate it up there.’
The conversation continued, all the time Andy weighing up the advantages of telling Karen about
the burns, she’d surely see them eventually and then what? He couldn’t find it in himself to
mention anything yet and breathed a deep sigh of relief when the front door was finally closed
and he was alone once again, then again he didn’t feel that alone.
Once again in the increasingly familiar smell of the psychiatrist’s office. Andy watched as the
doctor combed his fingers through his beard, flattening out the white wisps.
‘Have you bought me some more photos that you wish to discuss.’
Andy shook his head and watched as the doctor analysed that response and all its inherent
implications.
‘My daughter saw her?’
‘And who is that you are refereeing to?’
‘My daughter, she saw Enid, the woman from the house in the cornfields, she was in my room.’
The doctor nodded, penned something down and looked back through his ultra magnified
bifocals.
‘I thought she had just dreamed it but she showed me these marks, like finger prints, only they were
burns and they were on her arm, she said Enid tried to grab her.’
The doctor continued to nod but it felt as if it were an insincere almost ridiculing gesture.
‘I’m telling the truth, it happened. Look if it was just me that had seen it I’d think I’d just drunk a
little too much you know, but Milly she’s smart, she knows what she saw. She says the woman
spoke to her, that she told her that her name was Enid. Do you think it was a vengeful spirit some
kind of apparition from the dead?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I saw the woman burst into flames, that image will never leave my mind, she died right in front
of me and I was hapless to do a thing about it.’
‘Have you ever considered this experience to be merely a physical manifestation of your guilt?’
Andy sighed.
‘ That’s what I’m trying to tell you, if I had been the one to see her I could buy into all that
psychobabble but it wasn’t me, it was my logical, rational thinking daughter who had the marks
to prove it.’
‘Lets come back to this’ the doctor exclaimed, ‘I feel at the moment it may take us down an
unhelpful path. What is your current situation vis a vis your alcohol consumption, are things
beginning to get under control?’ Andy nodded. Why isn’t he discussing the important things, the
life threatening things like the ghost in his apartment?
The rest of the session blurred into insignificance next to the seething thoughts populating
Andy’s mind.
Maybe he needed to collect physical evidence. This doctor seem to like photos. Perhaps with the
right image, these reported sightings could be taken seriously but as it stood they appeared only as
the mad ramblings of a jobless alcoholic.
Andy’s morning was disturbed by the piercing ring of the phone like a pneumatic drill in his
head.
‘How did Milly get those marks Andy? She wont tell me’
Taking a moment for the sleep to dissipate from his mind, he said.
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told ya, but I think it best she doesn’t come over for a bit.’
‘You’d like that wouldn’t ya Andy, shirk your responsibilities like usual. Regular father of the
year you are. I might have to be visiting my mum again, and Pete’s got a real job so I can’t see
much choice in the matter.’
Andy slammed down the receiver. He could feel his body shaking.
Why was she always making things so difficult, like her prime objective in life was to make his life
a misery, even though they weren’t even still together. Unable to get back to sleep, Andy hobbled
over to the couch. The remnant of a bad dream still clinging to his mind. He turned on the TV
and flicked idly through the channels. Nothing but news and exercise promotions. There was a
time, many years ago that he exercised, that his physical image mattered. Now his fuzz mottled
gut cascaded over his belt line following all his features south, until one day he’d be a mere sagging
bag of flesh and hair. He turned off the TV and crossed over to the kitchen. The thought of washing
any of the dishes in the sink failed to appeal to him, perhaps he’d make some toast, use his lap for a
tray and not wash the cutlery after. The minimal effort level suited him perfectly. Then he should
probably shower or maybe just sink wash and dress, same clothes as yesterday, boxers turned inside
out. He wasn’t planning on going any where, at least no where important. The sudden urge for a
stiff drink trumped any semblance to plans he had made and he began scouring the bombsite of an
apartment for a bottle, even a can just to start the day off right.
As he sat back on the couch, trying once again to find something on the TV that would keep his
attention he was sure he could smell something strange in the air. The smell of burning. He’d
turned the toaster off, perhaps some crumbs or a bit of crust was still smouldering in the
mechanism. Maybe a cigarette hadn’t been completely stubbed out and what he was smelling
now was the wisps of tobacco slowly and subtly filling the air. No it wasn’t that. He hadn’t
smoked since the night before and he only smoked menthols, this smell was stronger, almost like
sulphur.
He put it out of his mind as he remembered the work he should probably be doing on his
manuscript. One more drink and then, no excuses, he’d get up and start doing something
productive.
Midday came and he’d achieved, four A4 pages albeit double spaced, size 12 font but it was
quality writing and that’s what mattered. He could sit back down, just for a while and justifiably
have a break. They were the best kind of breaks, those that could be justified. His sleep was soon
interrupted by a loud knocking at the door. It took a moment to register that, that in itself was odd
seen as he hadn’t buzzed anyone up. It would either have to be a neighbour or the building
manager both he had little contact with. He sat up, his joints clicking arthritically. His head was
spinning but he was certain it wasn’t drink induced, it was more of a groggy, detached feeling, lack
of sleep or stress maybe. The knocking continued.
‘Yeah, Yeah, I’m coming’
Andy undid the latch and opened the door. The sight made him leap back abruptly. The figure was
at least seven feet tall. He wore a postman’s outfit, dark blue shorts and top but it was his face, the
milky white eyes, the pallid skin and the mouth that appeared to be stitched together.
Andy sat up, knocking the can from the side table. An exercise program was still looping on the
TV, three months free, then £21.50 each month after. He looked across the room. The door was
closed, the latch pulled across. Had he just dreamt this, it felt way too real to just be a dream.
He ran to the door, unsecured the latch and stepped out into the hallway. He half expected to
see that towering figure, the tall postman but the landing was empty. There was still the distinct
smell of burning. Had Andy looked round he would have seen the tall postman crossing the
threshold to his bedroom, leering towards him with that stitched smile and those milky irises.
The strange thought that it would be comforting for Milly to be round at this point entered his
mind, at least then he wouldn’t feel so alone but in all honesty he didn’t really feel alone. He
had that eerie sense that someone was watching him. That same sense he had described to his
psychiatrist when him and Greg were exploring the old house in the cornfields. The spine tingling
feeling of a lone figure, standing in some undisclosed location watching and waiting, watching and
waiting.
No more writing was achieved that day just plenty of drinking. Tomorrow he would have to do a
supply run to procure the essentials, spirits, rums, liquors, wine and beer the five liquid groups.
He’d ring his publisher and demand an extension, they worked for him now and not the other way
around. Then over the next few weeks he would amble on with his writing whenever he felt like it.
He’d leave editing off until he’d done a sizable amount and dared read back how any of it sounded.
It felt an achievement in and of itself to devise this plan of action, and with that he slunked off to
bed, his mind closed for the day.
Milly was running down the forest path laughing and giggling. She seemed to know the way as
she darted through the coniferous trees. Pin pricks of sun shone through the canopy, dappled
shadows freckled the gravel. It would have been a perfect day, if only he had the energy to keep
up.
‘Milly’ he called, ‘slow down, your old man cant keep up, slow down will ya.’
If anything she sped up, still laughing. It sounded more like a taunt now, possessing a
pantomime villain quality. Why was she laughing, why had it turned from joyous to maniacal?
And where were they? There were no forests round where he lived and he hadn’t driven for
years, not since the hefty speeding fine he received and the classes hed ‘been forced to take.
‘Milly, for god sake slow down.’
As he ran to keep up, he couldn’t help looking from side to side at the pillared pines and the
encroaching shadow. That’s when he noticed right of the path, the slender outline of a person.
A tall person, very tall, standing perfectly still. He had to stop to distinguish if this had just been
a trick of the light but no, silhouetted fifty feet or so away was a man, almost as narrowly built as
the trunks that surrounded him. Arms and legs as scraggly as branches.
Andy turned his gaze back to the path but by now Milly was too far ahead. As he took another
look, the figure had gone leaving no trace of it ever being there. He could feel something on his
face, fingers, hot sticky fingers stroking his cheeks, trailing from his forehead to his chin. He
opened his eyes to find the comforting surroundings of his bedroom. The cabinets and closets, the
bedside table and the trashy movie posters. The only thing was that now the smell of burning was
back, it was a sulphuric smell as if from a volcano. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. The face, the
White skin, the stitched mouth right in front of him, then nothing. Nothing but the mundaity of the
bedroom, the contrasting silence hitting the ear like a piercing scream. The eerie quietude that
proceeds a nightmare, shattered once again by the ringing of the phone and a return to his senses.
As Andy stood up, he realised he was soaked in sweat. His cotton vest clinging to him like a
second skin. The image of the pale face was still clearly imprinted in his mind. Branded into
his consciences with horrific vividness. It was only when he heard the phone still ringing that he
ran over to the worktable and grabbed the receiver. Out of breath he said, ‘hello?’
‘Andy its Rachel, how are you?’
‘Rachel hi, sorry I’ve literally just woken up.’
‘Wow the life of a writer. One in the afternoon and your only now rising. God how I envy the
creative.’
‘What’s up Rachel?’
‘we need to meet to discuss the progress with your manuscript. The publishers wanna better idea
of its completion. ‘
‘Completion?’
‘Well yes. Come to my office. Lets see what you’ve got. Give me a brief outline of what’s left to
happen and then at least I can keep them off your back a little longer. They just feel you need to
justify the monthly royalties. They need to see returns on their investments, you know what I’m
saying?’
Andy’s head was pounding. He needed a drink. He needed to stop this pointless call and finish
off the Premium.
‘You still there Andy? Andy?’
‘Yes yes of course. Give me time to get ready and I’ll be over.’
‘Alright I’ll see you soon.’
The line went dead. Andy turned on the computer, hoping the sight of his last endeavours would
respark his creativity. Perhaps ignite his enthusiasm so that when he met up with Rachel he’d be
promoting his ideas rather than clutching at them from the hazy recesses of his mind.
He guessed he should shower but he’d leave off shaving. The facial hair trend was making a
return and although presently, his goatee was tangled and unkempt, he felt it gave him a worldly
air like a man whose seen things, done things beyond the comprehension of the average person.
After the shower, he let his hair dry in the air. The water darkening the individual strands and
styling them naturalistically, giving the illusion of the application of product. He felt a little more
awake and if one ignored the dark rings around his eyes, it was almost possible to say he looked
on form.
It was bitterly cold outside. A grey pall lay heavy on the city. Rivulets from last nights deluge
flowed sluggishly across the blocked drainage systems. Water had amassed against the kerb so
as to waver the demarcation between the pavement and the road.
A few of the street lights were still on despite the time of day. Their halogen white bulbs spilling
out over the chrome shine of the parked cars. Up ahead was a bus stop. Three people already
gathered under the Perspex shelter. Two girls had their ear phones in and were lost to the
incandescent glow of their phones. The third was an elderly man. Burburry flat cap shadowing
his features. A farmers gillet and corduroys blackened by the rain. He seemed reluctant to sit
despite the availability of seats and decided instead to lean slightly on his cane. It wasn’t clear
whether it was the oak walking stick or the man’s aged bones that were making the dull creaking.
A flash of lightening followed quickly by a growl of thunder. Andy jumped, making sure to
compose himself after in case anyone had noticed. Seconds after the grumbling thunder came
the mechanical roaring of the bus engine and the hissing of the dump valves.
Andy gestured the others to go ahead whilst he fumbled for his bus pass. The driver nodded him
on without looking at the photo. Most of the seats were occupied. Teen mums in the disabled
bay, prams sticking out into the aisle. The strange man that always talked to himself and smelt
of piss sat on the elevated seats above the wheel arch. Truant school girls giggled on the back
bench as if sitting on the bleachers of an assembly hall. Each of them traced vulgar patterns in
the condensate of the emergency glass.
Eventually Andy settled for a seat next to a man his own age, maybe older. He had his laptop
out and seemed to be typing away, oblivious to the world around him.
Andy looked down at his phone. He had a missed call and two texts. One was from the
banksaying that he had exceeded his overdraft limit but that wasn’t really news. The other
Was Karen. Milly had gone to A and E when one of the burns had got infected. Pete was up there
with her so everything was under control. This text was purely for informational purposes and
not, she repeated not an obligation for him to drop what he was doing and see his daughter.
The bus took the scenic route, winding through the detached houses of the suburbs before
edging into the business district. Towering monolithic structures rose like the pillars of
enterprise. Banks and building societies, insurance brokers and lawyers offices all equally bland
and lifeless. Rachel’s office was two stops from here.
‘My God Andy, you look terrible.’
‘Well thanks but what do you mean?’
Rachel shuffled around her Radley handbag eventually retrieving a small make-up mirror.
‘Look at your eyes, have you even slept at all and your skin its so pale. Have you been drinking
again?’
‘To say again would be to assume that I’d stopped.’
‘Andy I’m worried about you.’
More worried about your commission Andy thought.
‘don’t be, I’m fine. Anyway lets talk my book. I’ve gone for something a little different. I’m bored
of the mysteries. I’m going for a horror which seems an appropriate subject at the moment.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing, nothing, I shouldn’t have said anything. Anyway I’ve emailed you the first few pages
and I thought we could just discuss the rest here. Nothings solid yet. Its still going through the
developmental stages and I guess the research stage to.’
‘Oh’ Rachel said looking slightly crest fallen.’
‘Only I thought you’d be further along by now. I’m getting calls everyday, people are waiting.’
‘You cant rush creativity.’ Andy blurted, feeling his cheeks redden. He could also feel
Himself shaking. He could really do with a stiff drink, some brandy or maybe some white rum.
‘So tell me what you’ve got so far Rachel said leaning forward in a kind of mock anticipation
that came across patronising and almost condescending.
‘Well I wanted to write from personal experience. They always say its best to write about what
you know.’
Rachel nodded. This same slow and methodical nod the psychiatrist had given just the other day.
‘yes well anyway. I’ve been looking over some things from my childhood. Things I think have
potential to be moulded into a best seller.’ He was almost believing his own hype.
‘There are certain memories I have that I want to work into a plot.’
‘You’ll have to give me more than that.’ Rachel urged her eyes slitted into a scrutinizing and
expectant stare.
‘There was a house you see.’ Andy began picturing the Polaroid’s, then the real house. The feel of
the corn stalks as they brushed against his arms and Enid, Enid stood in the above bedroom window
looking out, as still and lifeless as a scarecrow.
‘Me and a friend of mine, we used to visit it out in the cornfields. Its burned down now, Anyway…’
as Andy was recounting, the images continued to cross his mind like a movie reel or the
photographs on an old view finder. The house, the flame, Enid’s melted face.
‘Andy, Andy, I thought we’d lost you there for a moment, you alright?’
‘What? Yeah I’m fine look can I email you a synopsis it would be easier. I got a lot on my mind
at the moment. My daughters in hospital at the moment and, and…’
‘okay, okay just send me an outline. I’m sorry to hear about your daughter, is she okay?’
Andy pictured Milly’s arms. A veiny liver spotted hand was clasping the wrist, digging talon like
nails into the flesh.
‘I gotta go.’
The apartment felt disconcertingly quiet when he returned. He poured a Jack and Coke and sat
on the rumpled cushions of his sofa, staring bleakly towards the TV screen. In the reflection,
He could clearly make out his balcony garden and how the high winds had done a number on
The hanging baskets and trellis. The plants had the unkempt look of his beard or…Enid’s hair.
Where the hell did that come from? He shook his head trying to dispel the thought. Moving
across to his work desk, he turned on the computer and thought for a moment of putting a few
words to page. Then a second thought surfaced, a more appealing thought.
He loaded up the browser and entered in a search. There had to be sites, forums or something
that discussed the origins of the strange things that had been going on. The sightings, the smells…
what was it all about? where did he start? Were they demons or ghosts, were they the same thing?
Why was it happening in his apartment. Was it just the figments of an overtaxed imagination or
was it something else, something darker.
