Tales of the Mysterious and Macabre Read online

  He felt a prickle in the nape of his neck. Mother! Her voice stung, loud and clear in his ears. Calling him names again, berating his actions, belittling his intentions.

  “No, Mum,” he said out loud, suddenly conscious he had done so. He looked around. No one near enough to hear, yet he continued his defence in a whisper. “It’s not like that. It’s clean, it’s real, it’s pure. It’s not dirty or smutty. I’m being good, mum!”

  He left the locker room to his duties. The morning passed slowly but uneventfully. As half past ten approached, Steve’s heart began to beat faster. He’d be acting out his dream in moments! The guys he worked with headed to the canteen for a cup of tea, and Steve slipped off to get the flowers. As he approached the sick bay, his heart fluttered like a moth in a cup. His mouth went dry. He paused and took a steadying breath before he knocked on the green door.

  “Come in,” came the sing-song voice. Another breath, then he entered. There she was, at her desk doing her paperwork. She smiled when she recognised Steve.

  “Hi hun, how you feeling?” She laid her pen down, a sign she was making time for him.

  “I’m feeling great actually Christine. I just dropped by to say thank you and bring you these.” He presented her with the bouquet that he’d hidden behind his back, like some amateur magician. Her face was a picture, her eyes lit up.

  “Oh hun, they’re gorgeous! Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” She stood and took the flowers from him. His elation was palpable now. She loved the flowers. It was all going precisely to plan. His confidence boosted, he smiled, caught his breath and spoke the words he had rehearsed a hundred times, though they still felt like a foreign language as he said them.

  “I wondered if you’d like to join me for dinner tonight?” Chrissy’s honey-coloured eyes connected with his for what seemed like an age, but then...

  “That’s sweet of you hun, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

  Steve thought he’d misheard her.

  “Well…maybe, er…another night?” he stammered, his confidence in his plan suddenly crashing. She lowered her eyes and her smile faded a little.

  “I’m really sorry, Steve. I appreciate the offer but I really can’t go out with you.” Steve’s vision clouded. He looked at his feet as his world crashed around him. All those hopes, dreams and plans dropped away like the shards of a shattered mirror. He felt desperate, and the uncomfortable silence in the room was deafening.

  “But…you were so nice to me. You said ‘see you later.’ I…I thought we’d connected. I thought you understood me.”

  She sighed and looked at him again. He felt pathetic standing there, pleading. He could hear his mother’s witch-like cackle saying, “Told you so, boy.” He gritted his teeth.

  “I’m really sorry if you misunderstood me, Steve. That’s just how I talk to people to put them at ease when they’re in sick bay. Nothing more, nothing less. I didn’t mean to mislead you or upset you.”

  Her smile was still there, but now Steve saw a different facet to it. There was pity in there too. Condescending pity! Pity was almost as painful as ridicule, as isolation, as rejection. He could feel a powerful fury building inside him, a murderous rage boiling in his veins. He kept his head low, but raised his eyes to meet hers, scowling under his brow at her.

  “I thought you were different,” he snapped, “but you’re just like the others. Just another fucking bitch with ice in her veins.” The pity was instantly banished from her gaze as her eyebrows ascended at his unprompted outburst.

  “Excuse me?” she sputtered, slamming the flowers down, crushing two of the blooms. “My job involves being nice to people who need my help. If you took that the wrong way, then that’s down to you, little man, not me. How dare you come in here and start effing and blinding at me.” She turned her back on him and sat with her paperwork again, obviously hoping he would go away.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, bitch!” Steve bellowed, taking a step towards her. One step was all it took, she flinched and in that flinch he saw all her bravado and confidence shatter into dust. He wanted her to cower before him, know he was a man that demanded respect. He took another step, spitting venomous words through his clenched teeth

  “I’ve scraped nicer things than you off my shoes, you fucking low-life whore.” He clenched his fists as tightly as his jaw, barely keeping a gate on the tide of his fury. “You lead people on, slutting around, making out you’re something you’re not. You’re not a fucking angel at all. You’re the devil’s harlot and you will get what’s coming to you.”

  The bitch was now pushing herself into the padding on her chair as if trying to expand the distance between them. She shook like the cornered prey of an invincible predator.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Steve?” came the booming voice. Steve turned on his heels to see the hulking figure of his boss filling the doorway. His rage suddenly deflated like a released balloon. Shit, he’d been loud and now he’d been caught.

  A small crowd gathered in the corridor, their expressions curious as to what all the noise was, some looking glad to discover a little excitement in an otherwise boring day at work. Steve stood there feeling like a chastised child again.

  “I…er…I…er,” he stuttered.

  “My office. Now!” said the boss and strode away, parting the crowd like some Moses at the sea. Steve followed, head slung low between his shoulders. Feeling the amused glares from the assembly, he shot the nurse one last glance as he slunk off. As he left, he saw two girls enter the sick bay, obviously checking if the slut was okay.

  “I’m fine girls, really. It’s just that little freak scared the shit out of me.”

  Steve, only ten paces down the hallway, heard her words and hung his head lower, moving his feet faster in an attempt to escape the now-sniggering crowd.

  Freak!

  He closed his eyes and felt the word, branded onto his soul by the searing iron of his mother’s tongue, now branded into his brain by Christine’s acid tongue. He could feel his mother, laughing with the others.

  “Told you so, boy. You are a freak and she’s just another whore, leading you straight to the devil’s lair.”

  “Shut up, mum,” he whispered under his breath as he entered his boss’s office.

  Half an hour later, Steve was clearing out his locker and headed home to await his P45. His boss had told him he was lucky it was only his job he was losing, not his liberty.

  “If you’d so much as lifted a finger to her,” he’d said, “you would be up on an assault charge too!”

  Steve shuddered at the thought of being in trouble with the police.

  “You’re a pathetic excuse for a man,” came his mother’s vitriolic words. “Just like you were when you were a boy. No change. Useless.”

  Once Steve arrived home, he sat and stared at the wall for hours, mulling things over in his addled mind. He felt depressed, angry, bitter, resentful. A hateful burning was rapidly becoming his ally. By half past four, he found himself sitting in his car outside the council depot again. The anger and hate had driven him here, but Steve didn’t know where they were leading him.

  As he sat in the parking space almost opposite the gate, he saw her. Cherry-red hair swept back by the sunglasses high on her head. Christine was driving out of the gate. His heart skipped a beat and he instinctively started his own car and followed her. It was only ten minutes later that she pulled to the kerb on a side street. Steve pulled into a space five cars behind her and sat unnoticed. He watched as she locked her car and walked up the steps to unlock the front door of a house.

  Her home, he thought. Now I know where she lives.

  The devils lair, came his mother’s whisper.

  He sat and stared, unblinking, at the front of her house. When the last streams of sunlight had left the sky and the dark cloak of night was well established over the town, he blinked and came back to life. He stepped from the car and breathed the fresh, crisp night air, exhaling the stale car
smell from his lungs.

  “Do it!” came his mother’s cry.

  He stood at her front door, wondering what was going to happen. His heartbeat was surprisingly even, not pounding as he had expected. He knocked gently. Christine opened the door, her eyes widened with fear as he barged the door wide and stepped in, arms raised.

  “Do it!” his mother shrieked at him.

  Christine opened her mouth wide but her scream was silenced before it escaped the confines of her dry throat.

  An hour after he had entered her house, Steve found himself kneeling in a pool of her sticky viscera. Her disembowelled carcass lay in front of him, glazed honey eyes staring blankly at the blood-speckled ceiling, no longer in their sockets, but neatly placed on the carpet. Her cherry-red hair was slicked across her forehead, contrasting with the scarlet smears of her blood.

  Steve’s breath came in short gasps from the exertion of the kill. He was exhausted, but exhilarated too. He looked at his hands, covered in the life of another human being. Enormous power surged through him. He had taken her life. He had controlled her destiny more than he’d ever been able to control his own. It felt so damn good! He smiled and spat on her, a final act of degradation for the devil’s whore.

  “Fucking bitch!” he hissed, still smiling. He opened the front door a crack and made sure the path to his car was clear. He felt supremely powerful, but knew it would all crumble if he got caught, quite literally, red- handed. He left her door wide open and strutted to his car, started it and drove off rapidly.

  His smile lasted all the way home. He now knew his purpose. All those years being lost, misunderstood and bullied now made sense. They had made him who he was for a reason. Now he must do God’s work and clean up all the bad people in the world.

  He showered, watching the blood and water running down the drain. His fingers smelt of death and tasted of the coppery fluid that had coursed through the nurse’s veins. The scent aroused him and he touched himself, feeling none of the usual guilt. He felt like a king, a god!

  “You filthy little shit!” His mother’s spite echoed in his mind. “Leave it alone. It’s the devils plaything and no good will come of it.”

  “Fuck off, mum!” he said, feeling a new power. “I don’t care what you think or say anymore!”

  Silence.

  Excellent, he thought, she’s gone. He laughed. A forceful, elated laugh and continued to touch himself just to prove he could. He would do it whenever he wanted to from now on!

  He found it hard to sleep that night, but eventually discovered the soft folds of slumber in the early hours. Holding himself, he dreamed of rivers of blood and of himself as a god, raining hellfire and brimstone down on the sinners.

  When he awoke, everything was different. The morning looked as grey as his soul felt. The elation of the night’s activities was gone and in its place, a heavy cloud of smouldering guilt flowed into the empty pit of his being. It had felt good to snuff out the life of one of the earth’s scum, but now he felt for her family, those who had loved her, despite the darkness hiding in her soul. He’d affected them too. His mind see-sawed between knowing that he’d rid the planet of one of the haters, and knowing he had played God.

  He tried to force some breakfast down, but he felt sick. He turned the telly on, looking for something light-hearted, but all he found was the depressing morning diatribe. By eleven, he was pacing and wondering what he could do to cure his woes. He was a murderer for God. He knew he’d do it again and again, but he had to do something about this guilt and depression or it would make his new job practically impossible. Suddenly, he had an idea. He remembered an ad he’d seen in the local paper, so he dialled enquiries to get the number he needed. After just three rings, someone picked up.

  “Good morning, crisis help centre. How can we help you?” Steve smiled and sighed with relief. He spent the next twenty minutes talking to a lady called Rose, pouring his heart out about how his parents had made him feel and how it had messed up his life. He surprised himself at how easily his story flowed and how emotional it made him feel. He left out the bit about the murder and the exhilaration he had felt, but instead said he’d hurt someone close to him and felt guilt and depression.

  “I don’t know where to turn,” he finished.

  “That’s why we’re here, Steve. It’s what we do. You’re not alone and we can help. That’s the first thing you must remember.” She sounded so calm and sensitive to what he was feeling. Hot tears burned a line down his scarred cheeks. His next words were croaked through an emotion-constricted voice box.

  “N..n..not alone?” He heard the tremble in his voice.

  “Steve, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to suggest you come in and have a chat with me here. We’ll talk over everything and I can give you some help and support, put you in touch with other people who can help you deal with the issues you have going on at the moment.”

  He breathed in her empathy, almost smelling her there with him. He knew it was empathy, not pity. Not like that other bitch. This lady knew how he felt, could understand him. She must be something really special. Maybe she was just like him.

  They made an appointment to meet at her office for a chat later that same day. Steve said his goodbyes and replaced the receiver, feeling better already. With a smile on his face again, he showered, getting ready for his meeting. He wondered if she was as lovely as she sounded. With these thoughts and the memories of Christine’s extinction moment, he touched himself again, this time to conclusion. No hint of guilt; no mother’s malicious intervention. Her voice was as dead as she was.

  When he arrived for his appointment with Rose, he felt excited, but he was supposed to be depressed, bordering on suicidal. He couldn’t walk in all smiles. He made himself think about Christine’s family and friends again and soon the morning’s greyness returned.

  Rose was every bit as attractive as he had imagined. She was around thirty years old, hourglass figure wrapped in a feminine business suit, silky blonde bob and the bluest eyes Steve had ever seen. Their sparkle was magnified slightly by the designer-framed glasses that adorned her perfect little nose. She extended a hand for Steve to shake.

  “Hi Steve,” she said. “Glad to see you in person. Let’s get you a tea or coffee and we can talk.” She ushered him to an easy chair directly facing a leather swivel chair that was obviously hers. He glanced around her office once he was seated. She had a neat and orderly desk with a leather blotter. On the wall behind her desk hung several frames containing what looked like her degrees and qualifications. Beside these, the only other adornment on the walls was a large cork message board with all newsletters and memos pinned to it. In the bottom corner was a neat row of black drawing pins numbered 1 through 12 in white outline, precisely placed. He wondered briefly what they were for.

  As she made him a coffee in the small corner kitchenette, they chatted briefly about her role here, how everything he said was in confidence, and that no subject was taboo. If Steve felt the need to talk about something, no matter what, they’d talk about it. By the time she passed him his cup and took her seat, Steve felt confident and at ease. He held their eye contact longer than he usually would before setting his cup on the coffee table. Those eyes … they were like gazing into the sky on a cloudless morning in spring.

  “What would you like to talk about?” Rose asked. “What’s making you feel so down?”

  He was very careful not to reveal his new calling, but felt comfortable talking to Rose about his past and his most personal feelings. It felt cathartic to get some of this crap off his chest at long last. They chatted for almost an hour. Rose seemed to completely understand everything he had gone through—everything he felt since his tortuous childhood. She smiled in all the right places, nodding sympathetically, and offering advice on how he could begin taking back control of his life and asserting his self-worth. She was quite simply amazing. She seemed to glow from within. She was all the things he thought he’d seen in Christine and so much
more. She was the real deal.

  When the meeting was over, he stood to say his goodbyes. She leant forward to put her clip board and notes on the coffee table between them, and then she stood also, slightly closer than Steve normally found comfortable. She moved with precision and grace, her beautiful blonde hair swaying like silk in a breeze. She placed her perfectly manicured hand on his arm.

  “It’s been great talking with you, Steve,” she said, beaming her perfect smile at him. “I’ve got your details here now, so if it’s okay with you, I’d like to follow up in a few days to see how you’re getting on.”

  Steve’s heart was beating faster now. He could smell her perfume and a unique scent that emanated from her. Something he couldn’t quite identify, but that somehow excited him. She wanted to see him again. No doubt this time, no mistake, she definitely wanted to see him again. She knew of his troubled past, all about his being bullied, the physical and emotional scars and the rejection he had endured. She knew he had no loved ones and that he had been considered a loner and a loser his whole, pathetic life. Yet she still wanted to see him again.

  Simply amazing, he thought.

  He wanted to hold her close and kiss those plump lips right now. Tell her she was the one, his soul mate. But he knew it was too soon. He realised he was just standing there, grinning like a fool. At the same moment, he became aware of a sudden pressure in his jeans that brought a certain amount of shame. The thought of holding this goddess in his arms had aroused him. He felt himself flush as she stroked her hand over his shoulder and down his arm again.

  “See you soon, Steve,” she said. He could tell she wanted to hold him too, the way she touched him, but he realised she was at work and trying to be professional. There would be plenty of time for all that later. This was just the very beginning of their relationship. He thanked her profusely for her help, her time and her advice and then left, feeling like he was walking six inches above the pavement.

  All the way home his mind was filled with Rose, her smile, her soft yet powerful voice, her appearance, her perfume, and that strange but exciting scent he couldn’t quite identify. By the time he got home, it was late afternoon, so Steve decided to have an early dinner. He practically waltzed around the kitchen, so happy that he’d finally met ‘The One.’