Peek-a-boo

Keep running; don’t look back, don’t you dare look back. Look back and your dead.

The laboured footsteps catch in the puddles, marking time, slowing him down; bringing him inevitably closer to his death.

She’s behind him, somewhere; she can see him. The rain doesn’t hold her back, the pavements never even touch her feet. Gliding malevolence, she knows only one thing, his death. Youth is on her side, his youth and she knows that he can never escape her, so why run? Prolong the ecstasy of the chase, prepare for the sweetness of his ultimate suffering. He will be the source of his own undoing, he has so far.

Don’t think about how you got here, don’t think about how stupid you’ve been from the start. Run. Ignore the pain, ignore the rains lash against your face, clawing at your eyes, your soul. Remember what’s behind you. No longer your flesh and blood but torn and gouged, perverted into something unrecognisable and.. yes, evil.

The story renders everything inaccessible, blinds him from all directions. By the time the realisation slams into him it’s too late. It’s a dead end; his race, his chase is over. Nowhere to go, but maybe he’s done enough to lose her. Maybe he’s safe, the alleyway is secluded enough to provide him cover.

He treads softly, each footfall treading on cotton wool; he doesn’t make a sound. He reaches the edge of the alley and peers out.

The rain masks most of the night. The street lights flicker and die out in collusion. There are still no sounds, save for the rains percussion. No footfalls, just his breathing, a rasp that still clings to life. Maybe he’s going to live through this. Maybe his luck is going to hold.

“Father.” Her voice is sweet, a deadly whisper, from behind his left shoulder. He turns around.

“no.” He whimpers as she floats down to greet him one last time.

1)

“Finding lost children isn’t as easy as it sounds. There are three groups, as I see it: those that want to be found; those that don’t and those that can’t be found. It’s only the last two categories that I deal with… sorry, dealt with. You may wonder what the difference is between the latter two. Won’t and can’t – seems to be splitting hairs, right? We used to call the last one kidnapping. Now it’s less.. obtrusive, abduction… and it’s all down to intent, after all.

“With the first group of children I used to tell the parents not to worry – they were just proving a point. Give them twenty four hours and they were probably just staying with a friend; and I was always right in those cases and parents trusted me, they knew about my track record and trusted that too.

“Of the don’ts and can’t’s? Well, I found most of them too –due to what I'd picked up over the years. There was only one case that I never satisfactorily solved and that was the disappearance of my own daughter. She was gone for six months and I just couldn’t find her; nothing I did worked. No results, no clues and everything suffered because of it. My wife blamed me for it all and we so nearly split up.

“Then my daughter turns up. She’s on one of those swings in Ellison Park, none the worse for wear. No signs of molestation, thank God, she was intact and .. pure, but she remembered nothing of her time. It was as if she never left, but there was an emptiness to her eyes that no one could explain. I had to promise Joan, my wife, that I would never put the family through anything like it again. And from that day I have never taken another missing child case and that was five years ago.”

I looked down at Cynthia who still had the handkerchief wrung tight in her hand as she sat in the chair. I was leaning against the desk, my heart bleeding for her. I knew what she was going through but there was nothing I could do; I made my promise.

“But you can help me.. you can help her!”

“I can’t, Cynthia –I’m sorry.”

“You can! You just won’t.” She snapped. “Why won’t you?”

“I made a promise…” My words tasted like bile and I hung my head, anything so I didn’t have to meet her desperation.

“And your promise is worth more than my daughters life? Can’t you just tell me whether she’s a can’t or won’t? Can’t you just give me that?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Cynthia –you know that. I need something of hers to hold.”

With that she reached into her handbag and brought out a stuffed toy that I recognised.

“You gave her this at her Christening; you could use this. Surely that has a strong enough link, she’s always holding on to it when she’s in bed.”

I was faltering; Joan’s threats to leave were ringing in my ears… but it wasn’t just her; she would take Rose with her as well –I could lose everything. But was my life worth more than her daughter?

“She’s you God-daughter, for Christ’s sake!” Cynthia pleaded. I had no choice, not really. It made things a little easier for me to swallow but I doubted that Joan would be as understanding.

2)

“You did what?” Joan spat, launching herself at me. “How could you? I can’t believe you would just do it without telling me!”

“What am I doing now?” Stupid move – now was the time to build bridges now help demolish them.

“Don’t you dare play smart with me; not after all we’ve been through… Or don’t you remember that? Six months of hell you put us through.”

“Of course I bloody remember! I was trying to find her; everyday, doing my best to track down a lead –anything that would find her.”

“But you couldn’t find anything! You accomplished nothing, just brought us to breaking point and now you’re doing it to us again! Why?”

“What would you have me do? Ignore her? Walk away? ‘I’ve got my daughter back, so might you?’”

“No…. but you promised that you wouldn’t take up any more cases –or had you forgotten that?”

“She’s your God-daughter, for Christ’s sake!”

“But she’s not my daughter.”

“I can’t just turn my back on her.”

“You’ll be sorry.” She turned round and walked out on me. But she was right…

I couldn’t just turn my back on Cynthia, especially when I took hold of Sophie’s toy. Immediately I saw the world through her eyes, experienced what she was feeling and she was scared, oh so scared.

The fear of a child is different to that of an adult; adults have the choice to battle through the inane fears that they project; their fears aren’t real. Normally they’re irrational extensions of their own insecurities. But a child’s fear is palpable, solid and all consuming. They live in a world bereft of understanding. They still know the real truth that we, as adults, have shielded ourselves from: evil is real.

And where Sophie was now reeked of evil and it was crushing her. There was no way I could turn my back on that –Joan would understand, eventually.

But first things first; I had to work with what I had, which was precious little.. just Sophie’s toy. The police would be no good to me; they never were before and now that I was retired they wouldn’t lift a fart to help me.

They ended up hating me, actually. I found too many of the missing children that they couldn’t and people started talking, asking questions about the culpability of the police; as to whether they really were doing the best they could. So when my own little girl went missing, Rose, they barely lifted a finger.

There might be one person I could still go to though, if things got really bad.

I still had nothing concrete to go on, which was where the toy came in. I had to make contact again and go deeper. It’d been some time since I’d done anything like this and I was a little reticent. In my more cynical moments I wondered whether it was because of my ability that Rose was taken. I often suspected a cult involvement, but too high up to be held accountable for their actions.

Believe me, I don’t make such accusations lightly. I have often felt that there are things going on of which we have no knowledge of. One dares not mention the word paedophile in relation to prominent people in power, and just the very thought makes the authorities very nervous. Any investigation surrounding kiddie porn or trafficking always throws the public the odd celebrity Judas goat, but normally only the ones that are out of the public eye or washed up. The high rollers still have their uses.

I’m not the only one to think like this. I worked a case with the writer Alex Paige before he became famous. He was gaining a reputation of a different sort back then and was known for walking a fine line between the .. light and dark. He’d unwittingly made himself a target for those dark forces behind our own. One of the missing children was from the village he was living in and together we managed to find him alive. The boy had been kept in a concrete shaft that had been covered over in the local wood.

Alex helped me understand a lot about what I was up against and I was pleased when his novels garnered him the acclaim that he deserved. He certainly opened my eyes to a few things and taught me an awful lot. I certainly never realised that just as I used my powers to see and feel through the child’s own eyes, so my own perceptions could be used against me; and something could be seeing through my eyes. That’s how they found out about Rose, I’m sure –they saw her through me.

So why put my family through it all again? I wasn’t. Joan had left me, perhaps for good, and taken Rose with her. I was only to follow when I’d decided who was more important. If only it was that cut and dried.

I sat in my study with the curtains drawn. The phones were unplugged, I didn't want any distractions, I had to focus everything on Sophie’s toy; see if I could open a link to her and get as much information as I could to her whereabouts.

I sat cross-legged, holding the toy in both hands and shut my eyes. Despite it being a few years since I’d tried anything like this before I was surprised by the strength of contact. A sense-searing jolt of fear; her fear and I almost broke the contact but rooted myself in deeper.

Too many people fail at this kind of endeavour because they never root themselves in. It’s the pivotal point in meditation; grow your metaphysical roots as deep as you can and you’ll always have a stable base to return to, and a guide rope if you ever lose your way.

She was still alive and intact, just alone, totally alone but so afraid. The fear had now seeped into every muscle, ever nerve ending, it was all she knew. What could be causing her this kind of fear?

And then I knew. The threats, the terror were not caused by anything on this plane of existance, no physical threat or pain could even begin to account for the feedback I was getting. Being a child she was not cynical to the true ways of the world, she saw the holy and the unnatural around her everyday; was aware of the faieries and daemons that live between our heartbeats. And now she was being opened to all the evil, to every sick and cancerous entity so she could be turned and made ready. I had to find her before it was too late.

Wait a minute – there’s something –she’s aware of my presence. Somehow she knows that I’m with her. She’s opening her eyes, letting me know where she is, clever girl. Where are you? It’s an old building, a factory. I’m picking up a feeling of mechanisation and desperation. It’s a factory in an abandoned industrial estate. She’s in the gents toilets –why there? Why in God’s name has she been locked in that room? Because of the mirrors, they’re still intact and that’s how the entity has contact with her.

I need to know where this industrial estate is, maybe I can use the mirror as a scrying glass. It’s possible and certainly worth a try. I should be able to use it to reflect back her memories.

Sophie, go to the mirror and look into it. Stare into it, allow it to tell you where you are now. Trust in me, nothing can hurt you –I won’t let it. Allow it to show me where you are.

Even though it’s dark I can still make out the reflections. The broken skeletons of the cubicles and the cracked shells of the urinals… and I realise that the smell must be terrible for her….

Concentrate on the mirror, concentration in the mirror.

Wait… there’s something there, something in the mirror’s heart that’s not a reflection. Focus on it, bring it close…closer. It could be the clue to where you are… bring it closer.

What is it? There’s something… No… Wait… don’t.. Don’t bring it any closer; it’s one of them, warping out of hell from an un-normal angle…. Too terrifying, all consuming becoming the mirror until that’s all I can see and feel… NO!

Break contact, break contact!

I drop the doll and quickly turn the lights on….

3)

This is too much for me to handle alone, I need help and fast. I no longer have Alex’s contact details and don’t want to go through any agent or personal assistant –which just left me Frank… but would he still help me?

Frank Heath was one of the few friends I had left on the police force. He knew how things were and still managed to walk the fine line and understand. He hadn’t gone over completely; he still had empathy and that went a long way.

I checked my watch -it wasn’t that late, he’d still be up; but I had to remember the code that we’d worked out. I just hoped that he’d remembered it. Five rings and then hang up.

Frank was very careful – each person had their own set number of rings. Sure enough, two minutes later he rang me back.

“Funny it should be you – I was only thinking about you the other day.”

“And like a bad penny… how are you, Frank?”

“Well… in for a pound of shit it sounds… What can I do for you?”

“I need a favour…”

“Christ – I thought you’d quit.”

“I had… have.. but this is different.”
“You not learnt from the last time? Why’d you want to drag it all up again?”

“My God-daughter’s gone missing.. I’ve been asked to find her.” There was a tutting sound on the other end.

“She’ll turn up… they always do….”

“But they don’t… not always – you know that.”

Silence.

“This is it –the last time…But I had to do it –she’s my God-daughter!”

“Yes.. I understand, but I can’t promise anything…. but I’ll look into it …. will let you know. I’ll get in contact with you.”

He hung up. What was really odd was that I never told him who my God-daughter was, he never asked for any information.

The next day I tried to remember as much as I could from my attempt to contact Sophie. This shouldn’t be too dangerous as I wasn’t actually trying to re-establish the rapport just effect a slow motion replay.

The mind stores everything and we all have the ability to access this at any time, if only we knew how…. Luckily I knew how –courtesy of Alex.

It should be relatively safe but I was going to take any chances. I marked out a circle of salt and lit four candles around the cardinal points. I sat in the middle of the circle and called on the guardians of each direction to protect me. I wasn’t sure if I still believed it all but after what I faced earlier I needed all the protection I could get.

I recognised the factory she was in. it looked very much like the one that my father worked in long ago… I had to check again to make sure.

I revisited the memory and saw Sophie cowering in the gents toilets, how could they? It was all part of the deprogramming, wipe her mind through fear….

I froze the memory and allowed myself to enter it…. We have such a narrow understanding of what’s actually possible. Memory is holographic –we are all part of it and linked into everything else, and we have complete access to that rich tapestry at all times. It’s just accessing another layer of the hologram.

I allowed myself to drift outside the dilapidated loo and out into the factory proper. This didn’t look good for me at all, but I had to check this out for sure. I moved further out and drifted through the ceiling to the front of the building. It was then that I knew for sure.

Sophie was being held prisoner in the very same factory where my father had worked years ago. But why?

4)

The next morning I drove to the factory. I was wise enough not to go in the middle of the night. Things became more active during those hours, not that it was going to be less dangerous, per se, but at least I would be able to see what I was up against.

There was also the fact that if I was stopped by anyone I could use the excuse that I was looking at factories to buy up for a new business venture. That excuse would lose all credibility at night.

Even though thirty years had passed since I last visited I still knew exactly where the factory was. Industrial estates are the modern day labyrinths; lost and insecure, places of blood and desperation, exploitation and sweat, innovation and tears.

I still don’t know what my father did for a living… He often mentioned something about pressure testing, but I wasn’t sure whether that related to his work life or at home. For the longest time it seemed that we were all under some form of pressure testing.

So it’s no surprise that seeing the factory now brought back such unsavoury memories. For the briefest of moments I felt like a child again and almost ran back to the car. I then remembered what Alex told me, recognised the reaction in me and pushed it to the back of my mind. I dug my roots in deep and found the way in.

Like most of the factories they were like overgrown sardine tins –little more than corrugated iron walls, and it looked as if this one had been attacked by an oversized can opener.

I stepped inside and instantly felt a blast of malignant terror, gut wrenching despair and anguish.

Sophie was here, but I had to tread carefully for something else was too, but not of this world.

The air was sickening, cloying damp and suffocating. They knew I was here as soon as I set foot in the factory. I had to be quick; I didn’t know how long I could stand to be in here.

The gents toilets were exactly where I remembered them to be and again I was shaken by the palpable sense of childish fear I felt when I walked inside.

The door squeeled in protest but yielded in disgust and I saw myself as a child trying to urinate in the company of ogres as I looked into the warped mirrors. Nausea swept through me and I leaned against the sink, dry heaving. This was a mistake, I should’ve come more prepared; armed myself against such attacks. What a fool… Find her, get out quick.

All the stall doors were shut and I called her name out as hoarsely as I could. I didn’t want to cause too much more attention to myself.

“Sophie.” I pushed open the first door and half expected to see a corpse, bloated and sitting there. My imagination running overtime now –not good at all. Shut up, concentrate.

It was empty but there were still five more stalls left –she had to be in one of those.

When I opened the third one I heard a sound, a shuffling; a whimper but I couldn’t tell whether it came from the fourth or the last one.

I pushed on the fourth door and found a dead pigeon lying on the toilet seat like a miniature sacrifice. It was a fresh kill, its stomach was split down the middle and its eyes had been gouged out.

The sound was getting more anxious, more frightened; sobbing now. I held my breath and tried opening the fifth door but it wouldn’t budge. I pushed harder, still no give. I took a run at it and…

“You’ll break your shoulder that way.” The voice sounded friendly but sinister, like Tim Curry from the film Legend; a deep velvet that could crush you at any moment. I barely stopped myself from colliding with the door. “Bravo –nicely handled.” I turned to face it but there was nothing there. “Having trouble? Try looking in the mirror.”

I turned to the mirror and there was something standing behind me. A black shape was coalescing behind me, like fog. I whirled around to face it but there was nothing there. I turned back to the mirror and walked closer to it. The presence followed me.

“Peekaboo.” It said. “I see you.. but you don’t see me,”

“What are you?”

“You don’t want to know that, not really. Besides, that’s not why you’re here. What you really want is behind that door.”

“What have you done with her?”

“Nothing..” The presence shimmered like a heat haze and giggled. “Nothing she wasn’t grateful for.”

“You bastard.” I whirled round to face an empty room again, bereft of sounds except the sobbing of a frightened girl.

“Now, now – she wasn’t that important. We got what we wanted so you can take her now.” It sneered.

The door to the fifth cubicle opened and Sophie was cowering, sitting hunched up like a traumatised kitten. I took my coat off and wrapped it around her. She recognised me and sobbed into my shoulder as I carried her out.

“We’ve got your daughter.” The presence said right over my left shoulder. I nearly dropped Sophie out of fright. “She’s ours now… but then she always has been.”

“Where is she?”

“You’ll know soon enough. Someone will be in touch, just go home. Take Sophie back to her parents and tell no one what’s happened else you’ll never see your daughter again.” I drove back to Cynthia’s with Sophie curled up on the passenger seat, shivering and sobbing. I just felt numb. Rose was missing… again and I knew now that she had been taken by the same people that had tormented Sophie.

Rose…. My poor Rose.

5)

Of course Joan was waiting for me when I got back. Her tears were of anger, hatred and fear; not like those from Cynthia, that of relief and gratitude. Her thanks fell like rain on barren sand; knowing that I’d damned my poor Rose made the whole rescue attempt a mockery, a farce.

Joan was hysterical with anguish, she blamed it all on me. Rose had been taken from right under her nose. One minute she was asleep in our bed because of a nightmare and the next she was gone. Initially Joan had thought that Rose had just gone back to her own bed but there was no one there. Nobody else in the whole house. All the doors and windows were still locked but there was no sign of Rose.

“Find her, Goddamn you –find her! That’s what you do, isn’t it?” Desperation raked through her voice. The phone’s shrill cut through the moment and I picked it up.

“Meet me outside in five.” It was Frank.

I knew where he’d be, it was where we always met. I couldn’t believe that he’d sold out as well, but this time I let my fists do the talking. Strangely he did nothing to stop me.

“You think I wanted this?” he finally shouted at me, blood sputtering out of his mouth in punctuation. “I tried to warn you but you wouldn’t bloody listen!”

“But you took her, you bastard!” I kicked him hard in the gut.

“No, I didn’t!” He cried back, pushing me away as best he could.

“It might not have been you but you were complicit the whole time.”

“I didn’t have much choice –none of us do. You have no idea what you’re up against! The things they can do to you! None of us ever had a choice. Comply or go under.” Comply or go under, the words to live by. He pulled out a gun as he got up.

“So, what now? You shoot me? Is that it?”

“No… they want to see you… I don’t know why.”

“Will my daughter be there?”

“Most probably.. you’re to go to 113 Woosten Road in twenty five minutes. Knock five times and they’ll know its you.”

“And that’s it –my time to go quietly in that goodnight?”

“No.. Not if you take this.” Frank handed me his gun. “I never wanted any of this. I’ve pretty much written my death warrant by doing this, but the things I’ve seen and done… I don’t want that any more. I want you to finish it. Shoot him when you’ve got the chance. You’ll know what I mean as soon as you meet him. Kill him for me.. kill him for all of us.”

6)

112 Woosten Road, one of the few genuinely old buildings left in town, dating back to the early 1600’s; always handed down through the family, the same family who was often spoken about in hushed voices. They owned the entire road, hell they practically ran the town! We all knew that but no one could do anything about it.

Nothing went on without the Woostens either knowing about it or instigating it. Alex had theories and so did I but there was no proof. So I shouldn’t have been surprised to be knocking on their front door, but it made me realise just how much danger Rose was in. I didn’t matter now, she was the only important thing to me.

Each knock was another nail in my coffin, there was a feeling of inevitability –my whole life leading up to this point. The door opened practically on the fifth knock. A well presented butler, slick back hair, slick sharp suit and the requisite air of smug superiority.

“Yes, you’ve been expected. Come this way.”

“Aren’t you going to search me? I might have a concealed weapon.” I bluffed, my every word as if it was already written.

“Do you really think it matters now?”

“No, I suppose not.” Was it all that clearly defined? No, they couldn’t know about the gun, his change of heart.

I was led to a room, up an ornate staircase, through countless corridors. I once took my aged mum round the Brighton Pavilion to see all its majesty; the gold leaf, the sumptuous surroundings, marble statues. It was a dolls house compared to this place.

The butler opened the door to a huge ballroom, a chequerboard pattern on the floor, black and white squares with splashes of red… blood.

“I thought it would be apt to meet you in here. It’s what you guessed all along, after all…. What’s it like to be right?” The voice came from the back of the room. Three thrones carved out of ivory and jet. Beautiful workmanship perverted through evil intent. The man was small, barely five foot at a glance. His hair was cropped short hearkening back to a style that was in vogue when he was born –back in the ‘20’s. The stories were true, he hadn’t aged a day.

“Alastair Woosten” I said.

“Alas, it’s true. I thought that after all you’ve been through that you deserved to see my real face.” He smiled, his eyes a deathly black, emotionless. “It’s not as if you stand a chance.”

“Why allow me to get this far?”

“Why not?” He parodied my crushing desperation and showed mock humility. “My apologies, that was unfair.” He put his hands into a steeple and smiled genially. “We are timeless. There’s very little that brings us pleasure any more. We pretty much rule your world now, despite what you may hope. We allow you to think because it’s so much more satisfying to crush you. To see that light go in your eyes when you realise the futility of it all. Just to see you realise how helpless you really are.”

I walked closer, the cold metal in my pocket the only thing stopping me from giving in. I didn’t trust myself to shoot him at this distance, a few more steps would be enough.

“You’ve been played, but you were never our target. It was your daughter. She inherited it all - all your talents, the sensitive nature and the telepathy. We nurtured it, certainly. But we gave her back to you the first time and after your dead we’ll send her back to your wife and no one will be any the wiser… And we couldn’t have done it without you.”

Enough! Like a marionette I pulled the gun from my pocket and held it in front of me. His expression barely changed except his smile widened to one of delight. Even when I pulled the trigger and left a third eye in his forehead the smile stayed there.

Then a voice, his voice echoed in the room.

“Oh bravo. Good shot! We really didn’t think that you had it in you. Your journey is nearly complete. Run along and find your daughter now… Run!”

I dropped the gun, almost blinded by the fear soaked tears. I ran from the ballroom nearly skidding on the blood. My only thought was to get Rose out of there, he was wrong –I could still do this. I could still rescue her.

The butler came out of nowhere, slamming me against the wall. Without any effort at all, he had me by the throat, lifting me up, choking the life out of me as if I was a child. I clawed at his face, kicked him as hard as I could, but nothing moved him, he felt no pain. The darkness climbed my limbs, up my spine, weighing me down, dragging me into oblivion.

“no, play nice now.” The voice came from behind the butler and he immediately let me go and fell to his knees. Standing there was Rose. No, she wasn’t standing at all, her feet weren’t touching the ground, she was hovering a foot above it. She was still wearing her ‘Ok Kitty’ pajama’s that she went missing in. My angel, my Rose. But she looked at me and her eyes were black and soulless.

“Play nicely and run.” She said in Woosten’s voice.

Dad

1)

It was really good to see Dad again, even under these circumstances. The telephone rang; it was a damp Sunday afternoon with the mid-winters bleak and cold as it was and I was ready to hibernate. My wife and son were curled up on the sofa with me and we were in the middle of watching a film.

I wasn’t paying attention but I remember it had something to do with dancing penguins and a word that no one could pronounce properly. I walked into the hall and picked up the phone, wondering who would be ringing on such an afternoon and I was greeted by sobbing.

“Mum, is that you?” I asked. Something had to be wrong if mum was ringing me. My sister, Stephanie, lived a few doors down from her whereas I lived miles away.

“You need to come over.” She said between the tears, “Something.. I want you to see something.” She sounded cryptic, which wasn’t like mum. She was the queen of straight talking, blunt and direct like a hammer.

“What about Steph?” I asked. “Can’t she help?”

“She’s already here and Roberts on his way too.” Big brother, Robert.. it must be something for him to travel ‘all that way’. “You should come down too.” Mum said. “Bring Tessa and Douglas with you. I think they’ll want to see this.” I didn’t understand what mum was saying; see what? I couldn’t think straight, Tessa was looking at me from the living room; she could sense that something wasn’t right.

“What drive all the way to you on a day like this? Are you serious, mum?” I asked. “What’s wrong? I’m sure we can sort it out over the phone.” As you can tell, we’re not that close. Steph was always closer to mum than I was… well, that’s not exactly true. We used to be close but dad’s death changed that. “Put Steph on, mum. I want to talk to her.”

I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get any sense out of mum, I just hoped that Steph would be the rational one. I couldn’t have been more wrong. A different set of tears greeted me, what the hell was happening?

“Bryan.” Sis finally said, trying to draw breath against the sobs. “You should come down here. Roberts driving with Louise and the kids and you should too.” It had been a while since I’d heard Steph cry, but these tears sounded strange. I wasn’t sure if she was crying out of grief or joy, almost as if she didn’t know herself; but if Robbie was driving down then it must be serious. We’re not the tightest of families…

“Just what is happening, sis?” I asked again, trying to get as much information as I could.

“Nothing.. Nothing’s wrong – everything’s... right.” She said. There was an edge of hysteria in her voice which really unnerved me. I was liking this less and less by the minute.

“Doesn’t sound like that, Sis.” I could feel my patience draining out by the second. “Come on and tell me.”

“I can’t explain… you need to come and see for yourself.” In the background I heard a muffled voice say, “Leave him be, pet. He’ll come round in his own time.”

With that Steph put the phone down. I couldn’t believe she’d done that – I just looked at the receiver for a couple of seconds before slamming it down. She’s my Sister and I love her, but she can really be an insensitive bitch sometimes.

I should have left it there; sat back down and carried on watching the film, but I couldn’t. My mind was racing. I could see Tessa still looking at me, but I couldn’t look back at her. Robbie was travelling down because something had mum and Steph in tears. And then there was that voice at the end. “Leave him be, Pet. He’ll come round in the end.” There was only one person that sounded like that, yet it couldn’t have been. But, y’see, I had to know… I had to be sure.

2)

On any other day there would’ve been a helluva row with Tessa, but she could see that something was seriously wrong. We drove down to mums without saying a word. I couldn’t think of anything to talk about because none of it made any sense, so I put the radio on to drown out the static in my head. I looked in the mirror at Douglas. He was sitting in the back, nose in a book with his mp3 player plugged in; in his own little world with no idea what was happening. God, how I wanted to swap places with him; I had no idea what was happening either, but it felt wrong.

We reached mums in record time, the roads were free of traffic and all the lights seemed to be in favour of the journey. It was cold still, wet and it was a Sunday and I wanted to be at home, in the warm with my wife and child, watching a film in comfort. As it was I was in the car, the heater barely keeping the cold from crystallising our breaths and everything felt so unreal.

As I parked outside mums bungalow I looked for Roberts car. I hoped that being another “rational” male he would be able to support me but he hadn’t arrived yet. I really didn’t want to play the bad guy again and deal with this myself, but it looked as if I had no choice.

The doorbell didn’t work. I finally remembered this after pressing it for the third time. This wasn’t a new development; it had been like this for weeks because of the arsehole kids that scoured the neighbourhood ringing peoples doorbells before running away. I knew that the bell didn’t work and still rung it anyway, I was that unnerved. I rapped on the window instead, hard –I was in no mood to wait around; I wanted to be inside, in the warmth.

Peering into the misty window I tried to discern where everyone was. There, in the dining room, beyond the small kitchen, sitting on the same three-legged stool he always sat in was a man; the mock coffee bar propping him up as it used to.

He was sitting hunched over looking at something or someone below him. I followed his gaze and realised that it was Steph on her knees, her head buried in his lap, holding his hands. She was still crying, great sobs that racked her whole body. What was going on?

The door suddenly opened. Mum was standing in front of me, smiling. I hadn’t seen Mum smile like that since before Dad had died.

“Bryan.” She said, and motioned for me to kiss her, which I did so, albeit reluctantly. “I’m so glad you’re here. Robert will be here soon, and then we’ll have the whole family together again… Just like in the old days.” I nodded, trying to placate her whilst motioning Tessa and Douglas in. “Good, you’ve brought them with you.” She kissed Tessa and held Douglas tight, tears starting to stream from her again. I was seriously worried now and needed to know what the hell was going on.

“Mum.” I said, holding her by the arm, tired of all the drama. “What’s wrong? Just what is happening here?”

“Nothings wrong.” She replied, almost ecstatic. “Nothings ever going to be wrong again…. You’d better see for yourself. It’s a miracle, Bryan. Let Douglas and Tessa see him first.”

I did as I was told, conditioning over-riding my spiralling sense of unease.

As soon as they walked in to the dining room both Tessa and Douglas just stood there, blocking the way in. Tessa had gone white as a sheet; in the fifteen years I’d known her I had never seen her like that before. Douglas was crying, clutching Tessa not wanting to look at what was in front of him. I couldn’t see what they were looking at, but Steph pushed past them and held me. “I’m so sorry that I hung up on you, but it’s better that you’re here to see him with your own eyes.” And with that she moved aside.

It was Dad. Dad was sitting on the same three legged stool that he’d sat on for years. I wanted to throw up, I wanted to faint, to run away. Dad was sitting in front of me, right in front of me. I looked to Tessa who was just staring at him. I turned back and he was still sitting there, staring at me; a sad look in his eyes, still smoking those same old roll-ups with the tatters of tobacco hanging loose. Dad… it was dad!

But he’d been dead for over two years.

3)

His shirt was still tobacco stained, the collar still frayed, a cigarette hanging limply from his lips; the worn braces and the faded jeans… just as I remembered him. He’s sitting there, large as life… except he’s not. He’s dead; dead and cremated; the ashes in an urn at the bottom of the garden.

So who is this in front of me? What the hell do I do when faced with the evidence of my own eyes?

I tell you what I did. I did what any other loving son would have done in that situation, I bolted. I turned on my heels and walked out of the door. I knew that Tessa and Douglas were still there, but I couldn’t deal with that – I needed some air. The world was spinning around me even in the cold outside.

That was my dad in there…. But he’s dead, said the voice.. But he was sitting right in front of you… I sat on the curb and rolled myself a cigarette. I smoke the same brand as dad.. did.. does..

“Don’t worry, luv, I’ll be all right.” A voice from the past, the same voice I heard on the phone earlier but didn’t want to believe. “It’s not as if I can feel the cold any more…” Dad was coming out to talk to me, the same way he always used to, but I really didn’t know if I could face this.

“I know how you’re feeling, pet.” He said. I couldn’t look at him, not yet, it was too painful.

“I saw you… die, dad.” I tried to choke back the tears. It was him, I knew it was. In my heart, in the deepest part of my marrow. This was my dad.

“I know, pet… I know.” He put his hand on my shoulder, like he used to.

“You were in my arms and there was nothing I could do. I wanted you to.. to die, Dad.” I couldn’t stop the tears now, even if I wanted to. I’d bottled this up far too long. “You were in so much.. pain that I wanted it to be over for you. Even when you asked…. begged me, I couldn’t.. all I could do was hold you and watch you die.”

“I know… There was nothing more you could’ve done for me.”

“But you died…. And you can’t be here, now. I’m sorry, dad, but you can’t!”

“Do you remember when you were six?” He asked, squeezing my shoulder. “We still lived in Slaugham then, and Fitz was still alive too. He was a great dog –he loved you…. And I’ll always remember the two of you curled up by the fire…” I smiled at that memory. I loved Fitz to; I’ve never had another dog as a pet, knowing that they’ll never live up to him. “Anyway..” he continued. “This one time you were playing in the garden. Fitz was up the other end, lying in the shade of the oak. Mum called you in but Fitz saw you running up and thought you were running to greet him, so he bounded up to meet you.. and knocked you flying!” I turned to look at him, saw the pain still etched in his face, but still the same dad I remember growing up with, arguing with and loving. “What I’m trying to say is, this is me. Truly. I’m here, just like I always was and I’m here for your mum; Steph and Robert. But I’m here for you too, son.”

“I saw you die, dad.” I felt like a record player, but I couldn’t just pretend that it hadn’t happened. “It doesn’t make sense.. nothing does any more.”

“I know… It was your mum.. She brought me back, her love for me. It was too strong, it never died. Her love was too strong.” He smiled sadly, knowing far more than he was actually telling me but it was enough. He was back from the dead, and I turned into him and hugged him for all it was worth.

4)

It was funny, death hadn’t changed him –it was still dad. He still smoked the roll ups, no longer worrying about cancer now that he was already dead. He still laughed at the same things; read the same newspaper and wound mum up in exactly the same way; but mum took it in her stride now, almost grateful for the attention. He pottered around in his little shed, making a mess and cheated at cards –though he seemed to have learnt a few more tricks.

He looked healthy.. well, as healthy as he could. There was a certain colour to his cheeks, but it wasn’t blood pumping through his veins. He just looked like he used to.

Douglas had readily accepted that his granddad was alive again –kids are far more resilient than adults in that way; but Tessa couldn’t. She didn’t want to see him and forbade Douglas to visit him. We argued about that a lot, and it threatened to split us up at one stage.

In the end the decision was taken away from us. Dad suggested that it wasn’t healthy for Douglas to think that such a thing happened on a regular basis; that it was better for him to think of his granddad as dead. As usual dad was right and all I could do was agree, so I carried on visiting mum and dad twice a week on my own.

Everything still felt unreal though. Obviously I couldn’t talk to anyone about this so I had to live two lives, and I slowly felt myself drifting apart from everyone else. Everything I had believed in prior to Dad coming back from the dead no longer held me.

One day I finally bucked up the courage to talk to him about it.

“I don’t know what to do, dad.” I said. We were sitting in the lounge opposite each other. “Everything’s changed and I no longer know what to think.”

“Nothing’s changed, Bryan.” He replied. “The only thing that has changed is me. I know that you feel obligated to come over and see me as much as you can.” I tried to protest but he wouldn’t let me. “It’s alright, I understand and love you for it, Son. I know how you feel and it’s alright, all I have to do is look in your eyes to see how much you love me and have missed me. I feel it. I was always with you, you know, I was always watching you. You were never alone.” He turned to look out the window, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “Some people think that because a loved one has died they’re no longer around, and they’ve lost them. Just what does that mean? How can you truly lose them? They don’t understand that as long as they remember that person and keep that person close to their heart they will never lose them.” He turned back to me. “Unfortunately your mother is one of those people who needs to cling on to their loneliness. She never came to terms with my death, she always clinged on to the hope that I would come back.”

“But you have, dad.”

“Yes, Pet.. I have.”

5)

It was the second month after the miracle, as it was now known, and I began to notice something was wrong. I couldn’t figure it out at first. Everything seemed too blissful. Mum was happy and at peace.

And that was what seemed so strange – she hadn’t once moaned at dad. Normally five minutes couldn’t tick by without some form of derogatory comment from her, but in the two months since dads return there hadn’t been one; this was the happiest I’d ever seen her.

There was something else as well. Dad was starting to look pale again, peaked. Despite being dead, he had still resembled the healthy pallor he’d had when alive but recently that too was starting to drain from him. Each week he looked a little thinner and found it harder to walk about. He still tried to laugh it off, but I could tell that it pained him. The spark that was dad was slowly dwindling and the light that was once so bright was now an ember growing slowly colder.

I seemed to be the only one noticing this. Both Steph and Robert had turned a blind eye to what was happening. Mum had her blinkers solidly down and it was as if she didn’t even want to acknowledge what was going on. He was back and that was the only thing that mattered.

One day I confronted her.

“What’s happening, mum?” I had to force her to face this. I knew what I was doing and felt sick; as usual it was up to me to ask the questions that no one else dared but all thought. I had to play that bad guy and speak the truth.

“What do you mean, Bryan?” She replied, the innocence and happiness sparkling in her voice. “Everything’s fine –what could be wrong?” It was like talking to a child.

“Dad… Alive?” I sighed. “What do you think?” I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

“He’s returned, Bryan.” Now there was an air of smugness that I found hard to stomach. “I always said he would never leave me, and I was right… wasn’t I? Your fathers returned to us.”

I gave her an exasperated look and could feel the bile rising in my stomach, burning my throat as I tried to push it down again. She was milking this for all it was worth, watching me squirm. She was right… “Dad is dead, mum.. DEAD.” I replied, my voice stern. Part of me wanted to shake it into her. “It’s time you understood this, understood what is going on. You, Steph… even Robert – you’re clinging on to the past rather than letting him go and accepting the truth. It’s always there, that you never said goodbye to him. It’s why you’ve always resented me. The fact that you never said goodbye to him has haunted you, and you’ve never let me forget that. Well, you’ve been given a second chance now; a second chance to say goodbye.. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see what you’re all doing to him? He’s wasting away.. right before your very eyes!”

“Then I’ll look after him, Bryan.” She replied, her voice stern. “Like I did before… We’ll all look after him.” What would it take for her to understand what was going on?

“Like you did last time?” I had had enough. I didn’t want to bring this up, but I had to. “You were the one that stopped him from going to the Hospice where they could’ve looked after him… given him his dignity.”

“They were going to take him away from me… I couldn’t have born that.”

“You? You?! Don’t you realise how selfish that was? What about dad? What about what was best for him?” I was nearly shouting at her, incredulous at what she was saying. “You couldn’t have looked after him if it wasn’t for me. I was the one who stayed with you for that last month. Not Steph and certainly not Robert, Me! All because you wanted what was best for him? No – because it was what you wanted… And now you’re doing it again, except I can’t just sit by and let it happen, mum – I can’t!”

“You have no idea, do you?” She replied, her voice suddenly embittered and hostile. “You don’t know what it’s like living alone with only your memories to cling to. When everything around you reminds you of what you’ve lost.”

“And whose fault is that, mum?” I spat back. “Steph has said time after time after time that she’d look after you. You could live with her.”

“And be a burden to her?” She replied and I sighed, it was impossible to reason with her.

“Make up your mind, mum… it doesn’t have to be this way. But I’ll tell you this for nothing… you’re killing him. You’re killing dad.”

“He’s already dead, Bryan, as you pointed out to me.”

“And if you’re not careful you’ll lose him a second time and this time for good!”

6)

I didn’t go down for a couple of weeks after that, I couldn’t. I felt really bad about what I’d said. Mum was coming to terms with “the miracle” in her own way and I had no right to talk to her like that, but there was no way I could apologise to her. Time had to be the healer.

Then one day dad rang. Dad never used the phone unless he had to.

“How are you, pet?” He asked, his voice strangely shaken.

“Fine, dad…” I replied. “A little overworked, same as usual.”

“Tessa and Douglas?” He asked again.

“Look, what’s wrong, dad? You’ve never once rung me…”

“I just rang to say that I love you, son, really. I haven’t had a chance to be alone with you… or Douglas and to tell you how much I love you both. Tessa too, of course. But my time here is almost over.” He paused for a second and I almost asked him what he meant before he continued. “I just didn’t want you to torture yourself over what you said to mum.”

“How do you know what was said?” I asked. I knew that mum would never have spoken about it, she brooded about things, like me.

“I could tell, pet.. I could tell. She couldn’t look me in the eye for days afterwards. She knew what you said was true, but couldn’t face it. A couple of nights ago I spoke to her, told her why I’d returned. I felt her pain and couldn’t let it carry on like that. I didn’t want her to feel alone any more. But once I was with her I couldn’t just leave her again, she wouldn’t let me go. I tried talking to her a couple of times, but she didn’t want to listen… you know how stubborn she could be.

“But that night, after you visited, I offered her the choice once again and this time she listened to me and she finally understood. She realised what she’d done. She had let her own loss blind her to the love that was all around her. Don’t hold it against her, Bryan. What she did, she did out of love, however misguided.. and there are worse motivations.

“But I wanted to ring and tell you this. Tell you that we both love you and will always love you. We will always look after you and you’ll never be alone. We’re always with you. I just… we just wanted you to know this.”

And he hung up.

There was something in his voice, a finality. I’d never heard dad talk for that long in my life. He said something about offering mum a choice, and why did he say that they would always be looking after me?

I ran out of the house and drove as fast as I could to mum and dads. There was something definitely wrong. I let myself in to the bungalow, remembering this time to bring my key. It was deserted. I shouted first for mum and then for dad but received no reply. They couldn’t have left the bungalow, not this late at night. There was no one in the lounge or the kitchen.

In the dining room I noticed that the clock on the far wall had stopped at exactly 11.47, the time that dad had hung up. I looked around and noticed a note on the dining room table. It was from mum.

“Bryan,

I’ve never been any good at writing my feelings down, but I hope you can understand why I’m doing so now.

I knew that the things you told me were true, but I just couldn’t face losing your father a second time. Yet when I looked into his eyes after our argument and saw the pain that lie there I couldn’t hide from it any more. I hope you can forgive me.

“I’ve been offered a choice. It’s the reason he came back for me. He said that I could either stay here with his love and strength, and the love and strength of the family behind me, or I could return with him.
I was never as strong as you, Bryan. I found it so hard to carry on without him, and I couldn’t bare the thought of losing him again, so I chose the latter. I hope you can forgive me.

“I will always love you, and I will always be with you wherever you go. As long as you love, you can never lose me… I understand that now.”

Open Invitation

“I can not thank you enough for opening yourselves up to me; its been such a long time since I've feasted like this.”

“It's my… our pleasure! I must admit, we… well, he was a bit wary when we opted to take part in the AhGristo campaign to help the elderly.” Janet was actually overjoyed for her wish had finally come true; a proper family gathering. Three generations; so what if the son's were John's from another marriage and this lady was just a stranger.. one made do.

“Now, hang on a minute, Janet.” John interceded. “We were both anxious about who would be knocking on our door.”

“Shush, John.” John was a typical head-of-the-household husband and, although Janet didn't always agree (and actually felt stifled by it all now), she did choose him, and with open eyes this time. Once bitten, twice shy. “We've got to be welcoming to… oh, I'm sorry, I never asked you for your name. That must seem terribly rude.”

“Not at all, please call me Lill.” The name suited her, thought John, who still wasn't warm to the idea of inviting a complete stranger into their home. There was no telling who this woman was. She seemed the rotund granny type, to be sure, but there was a sickness behind the eyes that he couldn't place.

“Lill…That's a nice old fashioned name.” Janet replied, simpering. And it was the simpering, second only to the dejected, forlorn puppy act that John despised. When he'd initially said no to the gravyboat campaign Janet played that card to the hilt. It was either give into her or smack her, and he'd vowed never to hit another woman again.

“Oh.. it's the oldest of names, my dear.” Lill chuckled.

“Edward… Morrie – you must call her Granny Lill, if that's ok, Lill.” Janet continued simpering.

“Thank you, dear. I'm awfully touched.”

“Now, hang on a minute, love.” John interceded again. “Now, that 's not on. You'll not go making them sort of decisions; they're not your kids, remember.”

“But please, dad.” Edward pleaded.

“Yes, dad. Please let us call her Granny Lill.” Morrie agreed.

“See, John. They've never known the love of a grandparent before; it can only do them good.”

John could feel something inside him start to seethe. If it was going to be like this all night then he would have to start drinking again. Lill had kept very quiet, very still; just a funny semi-smile on her lips.

John agreed, what else could he do? But it set the pace for the rest of the evening.Lill played the perfect guest, complimenting Janet on the food, which was -as usual- passable, at best.

“Thank you, Lill. I know it's not much and I know that John barely puts up with it, so it's so nice to hear that you like it… even if it is a lie.”

“A lie?” Lill seemed shocked. “Oh, I don't lie, my dear. I have no need to lie. Only cowards and cheats lie, wouldn't you agree John?” John blanched at this and was about to retort but a look from Janet stopped him.Edward and Morrie sniggered at this. “Well, you two can go to bed.” John snapped, needing to take it out on somebody.

“They can stay, John. They're not tired yet.” Lill replied and Janet agreed.

John stood up, shocked by what he had just heard. “Excuse me, who the hell do you think you are telling me what to do with my children?”

“Oh, shush now John, and sit down.” Janet said simply. “You're embarrassing Lill.. and me. The kids can stay down for a little longer.”

He didn't know what was going on, but this wasn't like Janet and he didn't like it at all.

“Anyway dear.” Lill continued. “I don't need to lie, I speak my mind.”

“Yes, we'd noticed.”

“John, shut up!” Janet snapped. “Go and dish up dessert.”

“It doesn't matter to me, Janet dear. But thank you all the same. Yes, I'm opinionated, but when you've lived as long as I have you don't care as much. People take you any way they can anyway. I enjoyed your cooking and appreciate all that you've done for me.” John had had enough of all the girl bonding and walked out into the kitchen as instructed. As he left he could hear Lill say, “but I think it's time that you were appreciated a bit more by others.”

When he walked back into the dining room he was shocked to find Janet in tears.

“What the hell have you been saying, you vicious old crone?”

“Don't you dare talk to her like that!” Janet snapped back. “She's actually opened my eyes to what you're really like. I can't believe I've been such a fool all these years.”

There was a look in her eyes that John had never seen before. An intent and a flicker of something else. As she spoke her voice became louder when she'd always been so quiet and meek before.

“You have never given a shit about me before, John, just as long as I cooked and cleaned without getting under your feet. As long as the meals are cooked and you can leave your mess about then you don't even think about me.” John was still standing by the door, he hadn't moved. He didn't know what to do, there was no telling how Janet might act in this state. But there was something else, he was worried about what the kids would think, how they might react.. but he couldn't see them.

Janet continued, shouting now. “And the kids are no better; all they see me as is a food dispenser. Nothing but a bloody brood-mare, and you never help me. You all make a mess, expect me to clean up after you. Feed you, entertain you. The only love you show me, once a week for five minutes; if you can manage that! And for that I slog my guts out.. for twenty years! Twenty sodding years! Well, no more John. No more!”

“Where are the kids, Janet?” He was concerned, apart from Janet's rants the dining room was quiet and he couldn't see them.He took a step forward.

Lill was still sitting next to Janet, not moving; looking at Janet serenely.He took another step forward.

“Damnit John! You're not listening to me!” She slammed her fists down on the table and he now saw the kitchen knife, grasped tightly. Her knuckles white, the blade crimson. There was blood on her hand, her arm and the floor was slick with blood.

“No… oh no.. what have you done?” Was all he could say, all he could see as he made a dash for the table.

He never saw Janet swing the knife at him, only felt it slice into his flesh. He turned in sheer disbelief; disbelieving even as she stabbed him hard and deep; unrelenting, one blow for each year of torment.

It was a rare opportunity to walk the mortal realm, but one that Lillith still savoured. It was even rarer to be offered such a meal, but even she had to agree that indeed, everything tasted better with AhGristro!