HOUSE ARREST

AN EXTREME HORROR NOVELLA

BY

SAM WEST

COPYRIGHT

SAM WEST 2023

HOUSE ARREST

AN EXTREME HORROR NOVELLA

BY

SAM WEST

COPYRIGHT SAM WEST 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:  This book may not be reproduced or used in any way without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews. The characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

Book Description

Kimberly and Josh Smith, along with their two-year-old son, are on the brink of financial ruin. What a stroke of good fortune for them that Josh’s estranged great uncle has bequeathed them his mansion in his will.

But nothing good ever comes for free.

There is always a price to pay.

A very bloody price indeed…

CHAPTER ONE

Kimberly Smith sat hunched over the kitchen table, her head in her hands, an untouched mug of tea rapidly cooling next to her elbow with one of the many bills before her. She wasn’t sure exactly, quite when life had become so bleak. Was it when her husband Josh’s building firm had gone belly up, one and a half years ago? Or was it when the small clothing store she had been manager of had closed its doors almost three years ago? She had been four weeks pregnant when she had been given the old heave-ho, leaving her high and dry, without even a sniff of any company maternity pay. She had been a fulltime mother for two years now and, as childcare was so expensive, it wasn’t even worth trying to get a job at this point. Kim had entered the vicious circle of poverty and motherhood.

She groaned, her head weighted by her financial woes, weeping internally over a five-hundred quid, final reminder utility bill resting on the table between her elbows. She didn’t even want to think about the rest of the debt – unpaid rent, council tax, electricity... It was relentless. Josh had declared himself bankrupt a year ago to absolve himself from the monstrous business debts that had ruined him, but that hadn’t stopped new debt from accumulating. Kim felt that life was just a never-ending shitshow right now – the shittiest of the shit, in fact, and the priciest pile of shit she’d ever had the misfortune of drowning in.

And then Benjamin started to cry, having awoken from a far-too-short afternoon nap. Kim flinched, her elbow sending the lukewarm mug of tea crashing to the tatty lino floor, but not before most of the brown liquid had drenched the gas bill and the sleeve of her tunic.

Muttering obscenities under her breath, she lurched ungainly to her feet, shuddering theatrically in revulsion at the feel of the tunic’s sleeve clinging nastily to her elbow. But she was tired, dammit, and Ben had always been vocal and difficult, rarely having slept for more than two hours straight. Things were improving, but a solid two years of sleepless nights had taken its toll. As much as she would lay down her life for her son, she was still permanently knackered and stressed, and not in the best mood ninety percent of the time.

“All right, I’m bloody coming,” she groaned, making her way towards the stairs in the corner of the kitchen that led up to the tiny first floor of their two-up, two-down terraced house in the heart of the city of Lancaster.

Their shithole rental was cramped, to say the least and Kim loathed the damn place with every inch of her being. The ugly, mismatched carpets were faded and threadbare, the furniture decrepit, and there were mold spots climbing the dated, peeling wallpaper.

How has my life come to this? she thought despairingly. Things never used to be this bad.

Swallowing down the ever-present tears of frustration, she mounted the stairs to tend to her screaming son.

*

“Hush little Benji, don’t you cry, Mummy’s gonna love you to the end of time…”

The made-up lullaby died on her lips and she ceased the child jiggling when she heard the sound of keys in the front door. She was trying to stop Ben crying; he wasn’t having a full-on tantrum, but he was upset because the lid of his sippy cup had come loose, tipping milk down his front and therefore he had to be changed out of his favorite top with the grinning giraffe on it.

Ben, however, was not to be perturbed by something so trivial as an opening door, and he squirmed in her arms, unhappy and vocal, full of hell.

Exhausted, Kim’s backside rested against the freestanding gas oven set against the far wall of the house, watching her husband step straight into the tiny postage stamp of a living-room.

“Hi,” Josh said softly.

They may have been on opposite ends of the house, and Benjamin was crying, but there was still no need for him to raise his voice to be heard. If they each strode forward five paces, they would meet in the middle of their home. They had lived here for almost a year now, and Kim didn’t think she would ever get used to the lack of space. Their old place hadn’t been a mansion by any means, but at least it had been theirs up until the bankruptcy.

“You’re home early,” she said, jostling Benjamin from one side of her body to the other in a vain attempt to quieten the unquiet-able.

“Yeah, I am.”

Kim fell still. Something’s wrong.

“Josh?” she said slowly. “What’s going on?”

She took him in properly for the first time since he had walked through the door. He wasn’t in his work clothes of plaster-and-paint-stained white T-shirt and thick cargo pants, but instead was wearing clean blue jeans and a white shirt. He was looking so uncharacteristically neat that her stomach twisted into a tight knot of apprehension.

“I haven’t been to work today.”

No shit.

Her heart started to pound, her mind racing. Was he leaving her? Was he dressed smartly to liaise with lawyers or bank managers or estate agents? Had he met someone else? Or maybe it was something as benign as having been for a job interview which he didn’t want to tell her about until after the event and if that was the case then why was he dressed in jeans rather than a suit and…

And she was spiraling.

“Here, let me take Ben,” Josh said, striding the short distance into the kitchen. “Why don’t you sit down?”

Instinctively – protectively – she hugged her child harder. “It’s fine. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ve been talking with a lawyer today, going over a few things. There is still a lot to sort out, but it’s real. It’s really real, Kim.”

Her heart sank. So that was it, then. A divorce. There had to be someone else, because there was denying the past few years had taken its toll on her, physically. Lingering baby weight and pregnancy-induced body changes aside, she felt old lately. At thirty-six she was the same age as Josh, but all men preferred younger women, didn’t they? Kim conceded that she may have been classed as an objective beauty once-upon-a-time, before the two stones of extra flesh and the monstrous bags under her eyes had come home to roost. Now, her classically pretty face with the curtain of once-glossy, lustrous dark hair, her big, brown, doe eyes and her full lips just somehow added to her worn appearance. Almost as if her once fresh-faced beauty was mocking her in the mirror, like she was a shadow of her former self.

And Josh was a tall, good-looking man who only seemed to get better with age. He had grown into his blonde, boyish looks, the advancing years having lent him a more manly appearance. His face and jaw had filled out more, yet his chubby cheeks had grown leaner. His blue eyes glittered with confidence and a certain cynicism in the perma-tanned face, gained from working outside on building sites. Now he was rugged instead of cute, and Kim didn’t think it was at all fair.

Also, it wasn’t like Josh had been getting any lately – she was always too tired, too stressed, and felt dowdy, bloated and simply not in the mood. She closed her eyes, the cluttered, dated kitchen swaying around her as she imagined the hot, sexy twenty-five-year-old she had been replaced with, with her perky boobs and tight, pre-baby pussy…

“How long?” she asked, still not looking at him. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“How long? Only today.”

Her eyes snapped open – his reply made no sense. How could he admit to an affair, but in the same breath say he had only met her once? Unless it was an online thing, and they had been messaging for ages, sending dirty pictures and pouring their hearts out before finally meeting for the first time today. It made sense as she’d long had suspicions about her husband. He was protective over his phone, stayed up late on his laptop and he was distant, emotionally, which she had just put down to stress.

“So, it was just today,” she said numbly, her eyes snapping open.

Oh my God, she thought in mounting horror; what if he had been with a prostitute? She felt sick, yet somehow, not wildly surprised. Not so long ago she had discovered his porn habit in his browser history, so what was a hooker if not the next logical step? The porn had caused one hell of a row, and she had almost left him over that, before finally coming around.

But an affair or a prostitute she could never forgive.

“Yes, it was just today.” He looked puzzled. “How did you know about her, anyway? I only got the letter two days ago. Did she contact you too?”

Kim looked at him blankly. “Letter? What letter?”

She continued to jiggle Ben, dimly aware that somewhere during this exchange his ferocious cries had morphed into more of a gentle wail, as if he too was intrigued by his parents’ conversation.

“This letter, Kim,” he said with a gentle, yet faintly amazed kind of smile that would suggest he hadn’t been fucking around behind her back in the slightest.

She was so confused, it took her a moment to register that he had fished out a folded piece of paper from his jeans and was thrusting it towards her. She didn’t take it, holding tightly onto Ben. Josh’s hand lowered slightly, the disbelieving confused smile not leaving his broad, handsome face.

“It’s the answers to all our prayers, baby,” he said in a tone of wonderment, as if he were clutching a winning lottery ticket. “I didn’t tell you about it over the weekend in case I got your hopes up. And it was just so damn weird, you know? I thought it was some bizarre hoax, or something.”

No Kim did not know. “Will you please, for the love of God, just tell me what’s going on?”

Now she was mentally shifting gears – could this be, whatever it was, actually good news?

“You really should sit down,” he said, gesturing to one of the decrepit wooden chairs that surrounded the equally decrepit, fake-wood kitchen table.

This time she did sit down, hugging Benjamin to her chest and balancing him on her knee. She buried her nose in his good head scent to steady her nerves.

“You know better than anyone about my fucked-up family, right?”

“I guess,” she said, when he fell silent, as if he were gathering his thoughts.

Like her, Josh was an orphan and an only child. Unlike her, who had lost both her parents to Cancer when she had been in her early twenties, Josh had become an orphan much younger. She didn’t know much, but she supposed that she knew more than anyone, for Josh was incredibly tight-lipped about his past. She had always sensed that there was more to Josh’s family history than he let on, but she had never pushed for more details. According to her husband, his father’s father, Edward – Josh’s grandfather – had a brother called Henry. Growing up, Uncle Henry had been a big part of Josh’s father’s life… until adulthood, that was. Josh’s father had admitted to being abused by his uncle as a child. As such, he and Laura – Josh’s mother – had cut ties with Uncle Henry.

At the time of his father Edward’s confession, Josh had only been little. He and his parents had moved up north, far away from their hometown of Broadgate in the southeast. Far away from Uncle Henry. They had changed their family surname of Harvey-Taylor to his wife’s maiden name of Smith, to escape the ghost of his evil uncle.

That was the start of the succession of tragic events that had befallen Josh’s family over the years. First, his mother and father had been killed in a head-on collision traffic accident, leaving him an orphan at the tender age of ten. He had been forced to go and live with his mother’s older sister, Janet, his only remaining family, besides his scumbag of a great-uncle.

Not long after losing his parents, Great-Uncle Henry’s wife and their visiting son had died in a house fire. Their son Luke had been forty-six when the house fire took him, along with his forty-year-old wife and their teenaged daughter.

Aunty Janet – a kindly spinster – never spoke of his great-uncle Henry again. Whatever truths, if any, that Janet knew about Henry died right along with her in Josh’s twenty-first year. Cancer took her, leaving Josh all alone in the world.

Great Uncle Henry had simply disappeared. All Josh had said about him was the man was a multi-millionaire, and he had houses all over the world. Josh mentioned once that his uncle was supposedly fond of America, but that was all Kim had ever gleamed. As far as anyone knew, America was where he had stayed.

“What about your great uncle, Josh?”

She eyed the folded sheet of paper in her husband’s hand. It was a letter. Something to do with the notorious Henry. Ever so slowly, she felt the cogs of her brain wheels shift clunkily in a new direction.

“Henry’s dead, baby. And he left us his house in Broadgate.”

She heard the words, but they didn’t go in. A distant part of her was glad to be sitting down, for she was definitely a little numb and wobbly around the legs.

“A house? What do you mean, a house?”

Although, she knew. She dared to allow herself to understand. Her heart gave a little flutter in her chest, her head suddenly light and buoyed by something that may even have been hope.

“I mean a house, baby. A mansion. Great Uncle Henry left us his house in Broadgate in his will.”

He sounded as shellshocked as she felt, and he gazed down with round, disbelieving eyes at the paper in his hand. “I got this letter over the weekend, and I didn’t dare tell you in case it wasn’t true. But, I caught the train down to London this morning instead of going to work and met with Henry’s legal team. It all checks out, sweetheart, we are now the proud owners of Great Uncle Henry’s ten-bedroomed property on the outskirts of Broadgate.”

“Jesus,” was all Kim could say, still having great difficulty digesting his words.

“Yeah,” Josh solemnly agreed.

They fell silent for a moment. Even Benjamin had ceased squirming, as if also stunned by his parents’ stroke of good fortune.

“Have you ever been in the house he left us?”

Kim was Lancashire born and bred, and she had never been to the southeast of England where her husband hailed from.

“No, I haven’t. My dad cut ties with my uncle when I was little, I don’t think I’ve ever met him.”

“You don’t think you have, or you haven’t?”

He shrugged. “I was a baby when I did; my dad was still talking to him at that point. My dad knew that house well – he spent a lot of time there when he was a boy.”

Kim didn’t push anymore, the implication about Josh’s father’s childhood hanging heavy in the air – the house they had inherited was undoubtedly the house where Josh’s father had been abused by Great Uncle Henry.

“Did you say ten bedrooms?” she asked quietly instead.

But now Josh was laughing. The sound was alien to her, making her realize how little they had laughed together the past few years and she felt the corners of her own mouth tug upwards. And then Josh was pulling her to her feet, one hand wrapping around her waist and the other cradling Ben between them.

“Yes, there are ten bedrooms,” he said, smiling down at her. “A mansion with ten bedrooms worth five million is now officially ours.”

A bubble of elation rose upwards from her stomach before bursting, swamping her with a rush of endorphins. And then she was squealing in joy, returning his happy kisses that rained down on her grinning mouth.

This was the best news that she’d had for years. It was a dream come true.

For the first time in a long time, Kim allowed herself to believe that everything was going to be okay.

CHAPTER TWO

A few days later, while Josh was meeting with Great Uncle Henry’s solicitors yet again in London, and Ben was down for his late-morning nap while Kim sat in her tiny kitchen, she took the opportunity to call her best friend, Abigail Winters. Kim loved Abi like the sister she’d never had. At thirty-four-years-old, she was wise, cynical, potty-mouthed, and no one made her laugh like she did. They had only known each other for five years – the same amount of time she had been with Josh – but Kim trusted her with her life.

“Hey babe,” came her friend’s warm voice after only one ring. “Why haven’t you been answering my texts? What’s going on?”

“There’s been a lot of stuff going on here. Big stuff. Are you busy? Can you talk?”

They had both worked at the now-closed-down clothing store where Kim had been manager. The shop had long gone but the two women had remained firm friends.

“I’m always busy, but I always have time for you, you know that.”

Kim smiled into her mobile. Her friend was juggling an online counselling degree, two jobs of barmaid and cleaner, and she was a single mother. She didn’t know how she did it all.

“Is Jack with you?”

Jack was Abi’s twelve-year-old son, whom she shared fifty-fifty with her ex-husband.

“No, she’s with Rob. I’ve got a deadline for this damn essay, but apart from that, I’m all ears. Come on, shoot, what’s happening?”

Kim sighed heavily – she simply didn’t know where to start. Before making this call, she had been bubbling over with everything that she felt she needed to say, but now her thoughts had dried up more surely than the Sahara Desert.

“You know I told you that me and Josh are basically orphans in the world? Well, that’s not quite true. Did I ever mention a great uncle to you, on Josh’s side? His dad’s brother?”

“I don’t think so?” Abi said. “At least, not that I remember.”

It was no secret that Abi wasn’t the biggest fan of Josh. Abi was polite enough, but she avoided coming to their home when Josh was around. Kim didn’t know what her problem was, and Josh was always moaning about her, too. He said she was a manhater and standoffish.

Kim just didn’t get it.

“Well, anyway. So, this great uncle. He left Josh a house.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “A house? I mean, where? How? What house?”

“A house in Josh’s parents’ hometown down south. I say house, but it’s more of a mansion.”

“You what now?”

Kim couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s obvious bewilderment. “His great uncle died a few weeks ago and he left Josh his house in Broadgate. It’s huge, Abi. And it’s worth millions.”

“Well, shit,” Abi said dryly. “That is crazy.”

“Yeah.”

“You never mentioned this guy before, was Josh close to him?”

“Nope, he’s never even met him,” Kim said.

“So then why did this dude leave you his house? Didn’t he have other family? A wife and kids?”

“He did,” she said warily. “Once.”

“Once?” Abi repeated.

“They died.” Kim took a breath.

“Do you know anything about this great uncle? What was he like?”

Now that, Kim decided, was a very good question. “He wasn’t a nice man, Abi. Josh has never gone into details or anything, but he abused Josh’s dad when he was little. It didn’t come to light until long after Josh was born, and then he and his parents moved up here to Lancaster to get away from the creepy uncle. Josh’s dad was so traumatized he changed his name from Harvey-Taylor to Smith, and I guess he just wanted to move on with his life.”

“I thought Josh’s parents died in a car accident?”

“Yeah, they did. Josh was only ten at the time. He went to live with his aunt on his mother’s side.”

“And the creepy dead uncle left Josh his house? Well, that’s weird.”

Kim thought she didn’t sound happy about it at all. Maybe she was jealous. Maybe this phone call had been a bad idea, like she was rubbing her friend’s nose in her good fortune.

“Weird, but good right?” she said.

“How did this old guy die?” she asked matter-of-factly. “I mean, I presume he was old if he was your husband’s father’s uncle?”

“Yeah he was old. In his eighties. He was sick, like, dying of cancer. He killed himself and left the house to Josh. Josh reckons he was trying to atone for past sins. You know, like he felt bad about what he did to Josh’s dad.”

“Shit, Kim, it sounds so strange. Are you sure it’s really happening?”

“Yes, it’s really happening.”

“How did this Henry’s wife and kids die?”

“Kid. Just one.” Kim was suddenly uneasy at having to explain this to Abi. “His wife and grown-up son died in a housefire not long after Josh’s parents were killed in that car accident.”

“Did they die in the house Henry left you?”

“No, Henry had properties all over the world and spent a lot of time in America. It happened in New York.”

Abi laughed, but there was little humor in the sound. “At least the house won’t be haunted by their restless spirits.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Who says I’m joking? But it’s kinda creepy, don’t you think? Bad karma seems to follow Great Uncle Henry around, doesn’t it?”

“I agree that it’s a run of bad luck,” Kim said carefully. “Why are you playing Devil’s advocate? Since when have you believed in ghosts and karma, and all that shit?”

“Who says I don’t?” Abi replied. “Do you think Henry killed his wife and kid?”

“Abi!” Kim spluttered, even though she had thought the very same thing. Child molester wasn’t much worse than murderer, was it? “It was an accident; he was never under suspicion for murder.”

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it though, does it? What happens next?”

Kim was glad to get off the subject of murder. “Josh is meeting with the great uncle’s legal team as we speak. And then we move in, I guess. Live there for a while, put it on the market and work out our next move.”

“Just be careful, sweetie. When something seems too good to be true, it usually is.”

“Right. I should go,” Kim said, upset her friend wasn’t being more supportive of her.

“Just, be careful. If it’s true, there will be catch. There always is.”

“My God,” she said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “Cynical, much?”

Why couldn’t her friend just be happy for her? But it was more than that, she just didn’t want to admit it. Because Abi had managed to tap perfectly and precisely into the centre of her paranoia. Kim was frightened.

“I love you, Kim. Just keep your wits about you, that’s all. Perfection always hides something.”

“Jesus, you’re a real killjoy, you know that? I gotta go, Ben’s crying.”

He wasn’t, but Kim regretted calling her. In a few more minutes, she was bound to start taking sly shots at Josh, and Kim didn’t feel like laughing it off.

They said their goodbyes with promises to talk later, Abi’s words ringing in her ears: Perfection always hides something.

Kim had the most horrible feeling that she was right.

CHAPTER THREE

Three weeks later, Kim, Josh and Ben pulled up outside their new home in their beat-up, silver Citreon Picaso, the sum of their worldly possessions crammed into the boot. They had abandoned their rental along with all their furniture, seeing as they were moving into a fully furnished mansion.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Kim murmured when their car came to a halt in the large forecourt, complete with fountain, after traversing the long gravel driveway.

“Duck,” Ben gurgled from the backseat, holding aloft his favorite stuffed animal – a fluffy pink duck.

“That’s right, sweetie,” Kim cooed, twisting around in the front seat and smiling at her son, reaching out to gently cup his little bare shin. “This is our new home. Temporary new home,” she added.

“I don’t know, this is quite some place, huh?” Josh said.

He stared dead ahead through the windshield and Kim followed his gaze, her arm still twisted awkwardly around to hold onto Ben’s leg.

It had started to rain, and she shivered. It was late May, but the remnants of winter still chilled the air – Kim didn’t think winter would ever truly leave them this year.

Kim felt herself sinking into a trance, staring up at the big house. She may have seen a handful of photos of the exterior of the building, but nothing could prepare her for the sheer overwhelming size of the place and its imposing air of forlorn grandeur. The rain and grey skies washed out all colour from an already colorless, grey building and for a moment she found it stifling and miserable.

“I can’t believe that this is a relatively new building,” she said in a low voice. It looks so…” she paused, searching for the right word. “Old. Ornate. It’s like it’s always been here.”

But then, the more she gazed up at the imposing façade, the more she supposed that the architectural style made no real sense. At first glance, it was very much in the style of a Georgian mansion, with the symmetrical, long sash windows, shutters and columns, which framed the grand entrance. Yet there were gothic flourishes too, like a turret to the side of the building, complete with medieval style, arrowslit windows. The wide double doors beyond the white columns were iron-studded and wooden, and the entire building was comprised of dark grey stone. It was a mismatch of everything, and made her think of vintage cartoon Dracula, the type of extravagant funhouse one might find at some overpriced theme park in Florida.

It was more subtle than that, of course – maybe the rain was adding to its somber appearance.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Josh said in a low voice.

“Yeah,” she replied.

It was something, all right. Kim was impressed, certainly, but she wasn’t sure that she liked it. It gave her a bad feeling, it was just too much.

“Shall we go in?” Josh suggested.

Kim nodded, still not able to tear her gaze away from the building. She didn’t want to go in. But she was being stupid, and together, they exited the car.

CHAPTER FOUR

The first thing that hit her when they entered the hallway was the smell of neglect and damp. There was something behind the dampness too, something that she couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t rot exactly, but it was organic. Faint maybe, but still unsettling. The smell came in waves, decreasing in intensity with every breath until it was so subtle she wondered if it had even been there at all.

She looked around in wonderment. If Kim thought that the façade of the place was dramatic, then stepping aside knocked the breath from her lungs. A sense of incredulity so strong washed over her, leaving her lightheaded.

I can’t believe this place is ours.

It still hadn’t sunk in and she wasn’t sure that it ever would.

Josh squeezed her shoulder. “I know. This is insane, right?”

“Yeah,” she replied absently, gazing around the large hallway, taking in the broad, stone staircase with the wrought-iron banister curving gently upwards into the cavernous ceiling.

“I’m just going to turn the electric on, okay? The lawyer said the fuse box was in the basement.”

“Sure,” she replied dreamily, still not looking at him.

Josh retreated, Kim barely even noticing which direction he had gone in. Gingerly, she set Ben on the floor. He didn’t protest, even though he was still unsteady on his feet and demanded to be carried a lot of the time.

The hallway stretched past the imposing stairs, curving to the right with doors on either side of her where she stood.

“Shall we look in here, baby boy?” she cooed, gently steering Ben in the direction of the nearest door to her left.

Ben clung to her hand, toddling along next to her.

“Jesus,” she moaned softly on pushing open the door.

They entered the spacious living room, her jaw almost on the floor. The furniture and paintings alone had to be worth the type of money that would ensure they would never have to work again. That was their plan – sell off some stuff and then put the house on the market.

She instantly recognized the Beatrice Langleys on the walls – six of them, no less. Langley had to be one of the most famous modern painters. The artist had committed suicide in mysterious circumstances a few years back. She walked up to the nearest painting with Ben in tow; the painting was typical Langley, and had to be worth at least twenty grand. The seven-foot-plus canvas depicted an obligatorily nude woman, this one colored in luminous pinks and vibrant reds, her hair a blazing blue fire, her lips set in a snarl and her eyes two fiery red pits.

Kim shuddered – as competent and as compelling as Langley’s paintings were, she had never been a fan because they always struck her as inherently evil. She didn’t recognize this particular painting – it wasn’t one that was constantly reproduced in endless magazine articles, nor shown on the many documentaries about the enigmatic painter’s life, but it was still unmistakably her. Wrenching her gaze from the simultaneously beautiful and ugly artwork, she took in the rest of the room.

Shit.

Another wave of dizziness floated over her – it was still a lot for her to get her head around. Letting go of Ben’s hand, she pirouetted on the spot, absorbing it all. The size of this room alone had to be at least five times bigger than the entire floorspace of their two-up, two-down, back in Lancaster. And there were apparently seventeen other rooms to go yet.

This room had four large sash-windows in total, two overlooking the long driveway they had just driven down, and the other two windows overlooking the large back garden and the churning grey Atlantic at the end of it. Kim found herself drawn to the far windows with the view of the ocean. The garden was only accessible from the basement level as the window she was peering out of was much higher than the garden, unlike the ground-level windows on the other side of the room. The effect was dizzying as she tried to mentally picture the structure and geography of the house, but not being able to.

This room was exceptionally big, especially in length, but she supposed that was because it ran the entire length of the house, therefore she couldn’t imagine that all the rooms would be near ballroom-sized like this one. Her gaze fell upon the simple but well-tended garden, currently rain-soaked, and perched on the edge of the cliff a few miles from the town of Broadgate.

Slowly, she turned back to face the room, the only sound in here the monotonous pelt of the rain on the windows. The noise was hypnotizing, dulling her brain. The décor was a mix of old and new, blending beautifully together. Two crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling and thin, fussily-patterned rugs offset the parquet flooring, a floral chaise lounge somehow managing to compliment the minimalistic, blocky, long red sofa. A black grand piano stood proudly near one of the sea-view windows, set slightly back from the floor-to-ceiling bookcase, stuffed full of leather-bound tomes. An old leather Chesterfield armchair sat nearby, and Kim could easily imagine the elderly Henry sitting in it, smoking a pipe and balancing one of those leather-bound books on his corduroyed knee, glasses perched on the end of his hawk-like nose and his watery blue eyes straining to read the text, illuminated by the 1940’s, stained-glass Tiffany lamp that sat atop the little round table next to his seat…

She blinked, averting her gaze from the chair, dispelling the image. It was the most curious thing – she didn’t even know what the man looked like but the mental picture she had just conjured up had been so strong.

Her gaze fell upon the spot near the door where she had just been holding Ben’s hand, and saw it was empty. Instantly, her vision lurched and a buzzing sound sung out in her ears. She scanned the room, her heart twisting painfully hard in her chest then racing at thrice normal speed.

“Ben?” she breathed, aware of how small her voice sounded in the cavernous space, as if the room itself was eating his name. “Ben,” she tried again, louder this time.

On shaky legs she staggered forwards, eyes darting everywhere. Was it her imagination, or was it suddenly darker in here, the noise of the rain louder? The raindrops hitting the glass of the windows threw silvery, cascading shadows over the walls and furniture, adding to the dreamlike feeling. And that weird smell from just now was back, stronger than ever – not quite nose-wrinkling in intensity, but close. It was definitely something rotten, like a bag of rubbish that had been left to sit in the sun. but that wasn’t quite right either, there was more to it than that. Something that put her in mind of dark, forgotten corners and loneliness.

She blinked, shivering, shoving the strange feelings to one side. Ben couldn’t have gone far; everything was fine and there was absolutely nothing to panic about. Movement to her right danced in the corner of her eye and she whipped sideways with a small gasp, her gaze settling upon the piano where she could’ve sworn that she had seen scuttling. She fully expected to see Ben, but there was nothing there. She shivered. Because, if she was being completely honest with herself, it hadn’t really felt like a small child darting amongst the furniture, but more of a sense of flickering, of undulation, as if a dark cloud had raced across the wall.

Great. Now she was losing her mind.

It was then that she heard the scratching and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

“What the…?” she muttered, straining her ears.

It was only faint, but very much there, like little rodent claws scrabbling at wood. It felt like the noise was coming from inside the walls, but she couldn’t say for sure. The creepy sound abruptly stopped, which was somehow even more unsettling than the scratching.

Yet again, she sensed – rather than saw – more movement to her left. She spun around, staring at the Beatrice Langley painting she had paused to admire earlier, although admire was perhaps too strong a word.

She stared intently at the painting, because that was where she had sensed movement. Yet still there was no sign of Ben. She would not panic. Ben was here and everything was fine.

She didn’t know why she was still staring at that bloody painting, at the red and pink woman with the blue fire for hair. It was like she was falling into a trance…

“Where are you, Ben?” she moaned, wrenching her gaze away from the horrible painting and scanning the room.

He was here, dammit. She was not going to freak out.

It was only when she had turned away from the scarlet woman did she once again sense movement coming from the same place – from the painting. She whipped her head back around, heart slamming. Because, if she didn’t know better, she would say that the painting itself had shifted. That the blazing blue hair had undulated. It was insane, but she could’ve sworn that the fiery hair had flickered and shimmered in her peripheral vision, as if the flames were real. And so help her God, the infernal thing’s expression had also moved, the lips curling further into their cruel smirk and the fiery red pits that were its eyes blazing right along with its hair…

Staggering backwards, she clasped her gaping mouth in horror, willing herself back under control. She was jumping at shadows, the moving painting was nothing more than a trick of the light – or lack of light. It was a result of the rain shadows cascading over the walls, giving the impression of movement. Her eyes were bleary and tired after the six-hour drive, her vision was simply wavering.

“Mum-mum,” a small voice that gladdened her heart called out behind her, and Kim almost lost her footing with the force in which she spun around.

“Ben,” she cried, tears of relief springing into her eyes. Hastily, she blinked them away – the last thing she wanted to do was lose sight of him again.

He was standing next to the chaise lounge. The highest point of it was taller than he was: he must have been hiding behind it the entire time. But surely that was impossible, because she would’ve noticed his little legs protruding beneath the seat of the thing?

Whatever. It didn’t matter – he was here and he was safe.

“Baby, don’t ever do that to Mummy again,” she sobbed, arms outstretched, clumsily lurching towards him. She was blind, that was all, he had been there the entire time…

She had only taken a few paces when she ground to a halt, her breath catching in her throat, fear trailing an invisible fingernail down her spine. Ben stood there grinning at her, and her brain lurched horribly against the confines of her skull. Because that toothless grin didn’t look like it belonged to Ben at all. The smile was lecherous, the expression in her son’s flashing dark eyes wise beyond his years. And he was so still, his head titled slightly downwards so that his brows appeared knitted together.

The effect was terrifying and her chest tightened in fear. That dreamlike feeling coiled more tightly around her – except now it had slipped firmly into nightmare territory.

And then Ben moved, and the horrible spell was broken. He was himself again – just a little boy who tottered unsteadily on his feet, his face soft, his expression childlike and benign, if teetering on the edge of confusion and impending tears.

“Mum-mum?” he asked, his voice shrill and wavering.

And then she was rushing forwards, scooping him up in her arms, a pent-up sob of anxiety pushing past her lips.

“Baby,” she cried, burying her face in his familiar, good head-scent, his Ben-smell that never ceased to chase away the cobwebs of her darkest moments.

He squeezed her back. “Henry,” he gurgled.

Kim froze in fear, her body locking into position. Bright light flared in her eyes as her husband’s voice drifted towards her.

“And The Lord said, let there be light. I found the fuse box.”

“Mum-Mum, Dad-Dad,” Ben chirruped, wriggling in her arms, indicating that he wished to be put down.

Her arms felt weak and shaky, so she was happy to oblige. She didn’t let go of his hand, though, and gazed nervously down at him, scared to lose sight of him again. She had to have been hearing things, because why, in the name of God, would her two-year-old say Henry? Had she imagined it?

He said it, I know he did.

“The chandeliers are something, aren’t they? And still fully functional,” Josh was saying, craning his neck backwards to gaze up at the high ceiling as he strode over to join them. “I thought we were going to have to buy a million little bulbs, but I don’t think a single one has blown. Good job, right? Because how the hell am I supposed to get up there to change them? I don’t think a stepladder would cut it…”

His voice trailed off when he reached her side. “Are you okay? You’ve gone white as a sheet.”

Kim stared up at him, the fear from just now rapidly dissipating. She was tired that was all, completely exhausted and overwhelmed.

“I’m fine.” She even managed a smile. “This is a lot, that’s all.” In fact, she was feeling increasingly foolish with every passing second. She didn’t want him to think she was crazy and she gazed up at the high ceiling. “They throw off a lot of light, don’t they? Look at them sparkling – I hadn’t noticed how dark it had got in here.”

And the shadows can’t roam anymore.

She pushed aside the bizarre thought and smiled up at her husband.

“You sure you okay?” he asked, looking down at her with some concern.

“Yeah, just tired, that’s all.”

Josh held her gaze for a few seconds longer, then seemed satisfied with her answer, for he crouched down next to his son and scooped him up, holding him tight against his chest.

“What do you think about it all, Mr. Benjamin?” he asked happily. “Do you like your new home? Isn’t it amazing? Just think of all those games of hide and seek we’re gonna be playing in a few years – you could stay hidden for days.”

Her blood ran cold; hidden for days? Josh laughed, but Kim didn’t find the idea of Ben going missing for days remotely funny. Neither did she appreciate the idea that they might stay in this house for so long. She envisioned a few months here, but a few years? Just, no. The whole point was to sell it, not move in forever.

But her husband was joking and their son was two. Josh’s words were empty.

“Come on, let’s go and explore,” he continued in the same jovial vein. “Let’s hope we don’t get lost. Maybe we should tie ribbons around the furniture to mark our trail.”

Kim’s smile felt forced as she followed her husband and her son out of the room.

CHAPTER FIVE

Kim peered nervously at the baby monitor perched atop the ornate dresser, absently running a finger around the rim of her wineglass. The rain pelted rhythmically against the two sash-windows overlooking the ocean which had been swallowed by the dark, miserable night.

“You shouldn’t do that, sweetheart,” Josh smiled. “You know it calls up the Devil.”

Her finger froze on the glass – she didn’t find that at all amusing.

“Right.” She swung her feet to the dark-oak floorboards from where she was curled up on the gold-velvet chaise lounge. “Maybe I should go check on Ben.”

Josh rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, he is asleep and absolutely fine. Will you please stop fussing? You’re practically hugging that damn monitor, and you would hear him through the walls anyway if he started crying.”

Kim bristled at his tone – she couldn’t help it; he could be so flippant sometimes.

“He might only be next door, but these rooms are big and the walls are thick. And what if there’s something wrong with the monitor?”

Josh snorted laughter. “Paranoid, much? The monitor is fine.”

“Ben should be in here, with us,” she said.

“Ben is fine where he is. He needs to sleep and we wanted a little us-time, didn’t we? You were the one who didn’t want to be a million miles away from him while he slept, remember? Your words, not mine.” He patted the empty space next to him on the four-poster, king-sized bed, with the elaborately carved, mahogany posts. “Please, come and sit with me.”

“I’m okay, thank you,” she replied primly.

She itched to get up and pop her head around the door of the adjacent bedroom, but she refrained. She knew Josh was right – she just needed to chill out and stop stressing. The events in the living room from earlier were brought on by lack of sleep and an overworked mind.

Yet still she couldn’t shake the sense of unease that clung resolutely to her like a damp sheet. She looked around the big bedroom, shivering at the grandness of it. She didn’t think she would ever get used to this place – it was just too much. The décor in here was much the same as the rest of the house, that same mix of old and new styles blending together. Thankfully, there were no Beatrice Langley paintings up here, because she didn’t want to even think about what had happened earlier…

“I thought, maybe, we could put a few bits up on eBay tomorrow at a set price. What do you think? Get the ball rolling as soon as possible, right?”

“Right,” she replied absently, trying not to gaze too obviously at the baby monitor.

“This is a dream come true,” Josh continued. “I mean, God, our financial worries are over forever. I still can’t believe it.”

Nor could Kim. Neither could she understand why she couldn’t be more happy about it.

“Doesn’t it worry you?” she asked, tentatively, not wishing to sound too down on their good fortune.

“Does what worry me?”

“I don’t know,” she said, knowing perfectly well what she meant, but unsure how to word it without sounding crazy and ungrateful. “Just, this place, I guess. Wasn’t this where your great uncle and your dad, well, you know…”

Her voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between them. Where your great uncle sexually abused your dad.

“I’ve never been here, before,” Josh said, shrugging. “Whatever my great uncle was, he was the problem, not this house. A house is just bricks and mortar, right? People are the problem, not buildings.”

“Yeah,” she said.

Kim didn’t believe in ghosts, but earlier, in the main living room… She wasn’t sure she agreed anymore that a house was just a house. Some places – some buildings – they just felt bad. This was why she hadn’t told him about earlier because Josh was as pragmatic as they came – he would get her bloody committed or something, if he thought she believed that the paintings came alive, and that her son had grinned so lewdly at her, like a dirty, evil old man.

Grinning at her as if he were Great Uncle Henry himself…

Henry, Ben repeated in her mind, whilst grinning that awful grin.

She shivered. Christ, what if she was really going crazy? She didn’t believe in possessions or hauntings or anything like that.

Did she?

“Are you sad that we’ve inherited this place?” Josh asked.

“No,” she answered quickly. “Of course not. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

She paused. Yeah. Good question. “It’s just a lot, that’s all.”

“It’s not like we’re going to be living here forever, is it? We will make millions from this; we will never have to work again. After working for myself and then having to go and be goddam brickie for a rival construction company made me sick, sweetheart.”

“Yeah. I know we won’t be here forever,” she repeated, wanting to have those affirming words out there. Because that wasn’t what he had said earlier, having given her the impression that he was all set to make this weird bloody mansion their forever family home. “I don’t mean to go on a downer, it’s just this place is so big and kind of strange. Maybe we should book into a hotel for a while, just while we sort through some of this stuff, before we stick it on eBay, or take it to auction, or whatever.”

“We could do that,” Josh replied, “but what if we don’t see any real return on Henry’s stuff for a while? We’re up to our eyeballs in debt as it is. And what if we never sell this place? And if we do, it could feasibly take years, couldn’t it? How many millionaires do you know that would want to move to Broadgate? It’s not exactly a posh tourist resort in Cornwall, is it?”

Kim didn’t appreciate his negativity, although, it was almost like he wanted it to be true. “Some hotel chain might take an interest in the place.”

“Would it? I’m not sure it’s big enough for any of the larger chains to consider it. Don’t look so put out, I’m just saying that it might take a long time to sell, that’s all. And hey, if all else fails, we could turn this place into a hotel.”

She hoped he was joking. “Yeah. No. I’ve seen The Shining, thank you very much.”

Josh laughed softly. “I love that movie.”

But Kim was growing more on edge with every passing second, because it was like he wanted to live here. Like he was just looking for excuses as to why they possibly couldn’t move out.

Like the house had its claws into him and was forcing him to want to stay…

She shivered, pushing away the ludicrous thought.

But there was still that one incident from earlier that she couldn’t shake and she just had to share it with Josh, no matter what he may think of her. She took a deep breath.

“In the living room earlier, when you went in search of the fuse box, Ben said Henry.”

“He did?” Josh’s expression remained impassive.

“Don’t you think that’s odd?” she pressed when he didn’t elaborate on his indifferent response.

“I guess? I mean, are you sure he said that? Maybe he said hairy? He said that the other day when he was patting a cushion; it made me laugh.”

“No. It was definitely Henry.”

Josh shrugged. “We’ve been saying that name a lot lately, and kids are like sponges.”

Now Kim was beginning to feel annoyed: he was dismissing her. She got to her feet, still holding the wineglass.

“I’m going to check on Ben.”

“He’s asleep, Kim – you’ll only disturb him.”

She looked at him sharply. “Aren’t I allowed to check on my own son, now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Suddenly, she found she had tipped over into full-blown irritation at Josh. She just felt dismissed, ignored, belittled.

“It sounds to me like you did. I don’t like this place, Josh, stop trying to dismiss my feelings, or imply that I’m being irrational.”

“I’m not saying that.” He sounded put out.

“It sure feels like it,” she pressed. “Doesn’t it bother you at all the way that Henry died in this house? Doesn’t it strike you as weird that he left this place to you?”

“I’m his only living relative. Maybe he wanted to make amends for what he did to my dad.”

“The man was a prick, Josh. He left his countless other properties around the world to bloody cat homes. And the lawyer told you that he hated cats.”

Josh smirked at that.

“It’s not funny,” Kim shot back. “It just proves what a heartless dick the man was, how he was laughing at everything and everyone and didn’t give a shit. It’s smug, sanctimonious, entitled, evil. And then you turn around to me and say that he left you this house out of the goodness of his heart? Because he wanted to make it up to your father?”

“Yes. Why not? Why else would he leave me the house? And it’s not evil to leave everything to a cats’ home. Cats need love, too.”

His flippant attitude was really beginning to piss her off. “He killed himself in this house. He took a damn overdose,” she said in an angry whisper, although why she was whispering, she didn’t know. It wasn’t like anyone was listening.

“So?” Josh said.

“So? So it’s fucking weird, is what it is. Why won’t you admit how weird this all is?”

“It’s not that weird. He was eighty-three and he had terminal cancer. He didn’t want to live anymore.”

“It just seems too neat. Nothing is ever that simple.”

“You’re looking for problems that don’t exist,” he said.

“And you are burying your head in the sand over problems that potentially do.”

“Kim, sweetheart, you’re getting yourself worked up –”

“And you are patronizing me,” she said, cutting him dead. “I don’t know how you can be so fine with him killing himself in this house.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Next you’ll be telling me you believe in ghosts and Henry is haunting us.”

She bristled at his tone. She didn’t want to go there and changed tac slightly. “And I still don’t get why his damn solicitor has to move in with us.”

“It’s only for a week.”

“But why?” Kim complained, aware of the whine that had crept into her voice.

Josh shrugged. “We’ve been through this, and your guess is as good as mine. It was one of the stipulations written into the will. If she doesn’t honor the obligation, then she’s at risk of losing the million pounds that Henry promised her, on the proviso that she stays the week.”

And that was exactly what was happening. Henry’s number one solicitor – Claire Montgomery – was coming tomorrow to stay with them.

“It’s barking mad, is what it is,” Kim huffed. “There is no reason for her to be here.”

“She says there is more paperwork to go through. More stipulations in the will we need to look at.”

“Like what?”

“She didn’t say. All will be revealed tomorrow, I’m sure.”

Kim hadn’t met the woman, for it was Josh that had been meeting with Henry’s legal team, not her. The last thing she wanted was a stranger in the house for an entire week, but she didn’t see a way around it. The house was plenty big enough, she told herself – plenty of space to get away from her if she turned out to be a total nightmare.

“It’s just so bloody strange, that’s all,” Kim moaned.

“Yeah, I agree. But if we don’t honor the agreement, we put our entire inheritance at risk. Henry was keen to make sure we stayed in the house, with Claire Montgomery, between the twenty-seventh of May to the third of June.”

“It’s so specific.”

Josh shrugged. “It is. And maybe we’ll find out why those dates are so important. But so what if we don’t, right? After the third of June, we’re free to do whatever we like.”

“I just don’t get it,” she continued, knowing she was beginning to sound petulant. “We weren’t even allowed to attend the man’s funeral – why was that shrouded in so much mystery?”

“I can’t answer that, baby, you know I can’t. It was just another thing written into the will. No one was to attend his funeral, and the details of it were to be kept private, only known by his legal team.”

She wanted to say it’s so weird, but she stopped herself just in time because she was getting sick of hearing herself saying it. Instead, she placed her glass of wine next to the baby monitor and walked over towards the door.

“I’m going to check on Ben.”

CHAPTER SIX

Out in the long, wide, second-floor hallway, the wall lights flickered with the clap of thunder. Kim paused, heart pounding. It had rained all day, and now a storm had set in in earnest. There were no windows here, the rooms either side of the hallway cushioning her from the raging storm, but she could still hear the muffled, rhythmic patter of the rain and the distant howl of the wind, like a wolf’s cry.

Kim shivered in the jeans and T-shirt she wore – early summer or not, she was freezing – the floorboards creaking beneath her bare feet. She paused, flinching, because she couldn’t pretend to like this creaking, groaning, cavernous house, even if it did technically make her a millionaire.

The wall lights in the shape of candles flickered once more with an especially loud howl of wind, and up ahead the floorboards creaked.

Kim couldn’t stop shivering, her forearms breaking out in a rash of goosebumps, but not necessarily because she was cold. The house was groaning under the force of the storm, but it was all too easy to let her imagination run riot in this house, on a night like this one.

Tentatively, she pushed open Ben’s bedroom door all the way, peering into the darkened room, the hallway light the only source of illumination. Her gaze fell upon the big window, overlooking the garden and the ocean, everything shrouded under the blanket of darkness. Only the rain pelting against the glass broke up the monotonous blackness beyond. She shivered, itching to turn on the overhead lights, but she refrained for fear of waking Ben.

Why did I put him down in this room?

These two bedrooms had been the closest two together, but now she regretted her choice, as the room was so damn spooky and so big. Unlike the room they had chosen to sleep in, this one was entirely paneled in dark wood, including the high ceiling. For wide wooden pillars stretched from floor to ceiling, two on each side of the room. They struck her as strange, because surely they weren’t offering structural support? None of the other rooms had columns like these.

The furniture was sparse – just a single bed and bedside table nestled between the two curtainless sash windows. There was an old-fashioned rocking horse in one corner and a rocking chair in the other. Under different circumstances she might have been amused by the sheer spookiness of the space, like it was a stage set lifted straight from a horror movie, but right now her sense of humour had deserted her.

She stared hard in turn at the rocking horse and rocking chair, fully expecting them to move. They didn’t, of course, as the storm was raging outside, not inside, but their stillness was almost as disconcerting as them potentially rocking.

God, it was so dark in here. She stepped into the unwelcoming gloom, her skin crawling, peering at the bed.

Her bowels turned watery and her heart kicked up a notch in her chest because the bed was empty.

“Ben,” she gasped, rushing over to the bed on the far side of the room.

The sheets and Spiderman duvet she had made the bed with were warm and rumpled as if recently vacated, and she looked wildly around her. At that instant a fork of lightning lit up the room and she flinched and gasped, her head jerking in the direction of one of those thick, circular posts that jutted up from the floorboards. She stared at the pillar, heart thumping painfully hard, sure that she had sensed movement there, but there was nothing. A few seconds later a loud rumble of thunder reverberated around her, and she felt the air shift with the intensity of it.

Now she sensed scurrying around another column opposite to the one she had been staring at, and her head whipped around in that direction. Yes, this time she was sure she could see a shadowy figure, hiding out of sight behind the thick post.

“Ben?” she called out, her voice high and shaky. “Quit playing around.”

On trembling legs she lurched over to the pillar and flung herself around the smooth wood… Only to find there was no Ben hiding there.

Shit.

The wind howled louder, and the house creaked. Kim discovered that she was shivering.

“Ben,” she cried, frightened now and unable to pretend otherwise. “Where are you?”

He had to be in here.

Unless he wasn’t.

She looked under the bed. Nothing. Her bowls squirmed coldly as she contemplated the possibility that he had left the room. Perhaps he was off exploring the house. But why would he do that? He was two-years-old for Christ’s sake – surely two-year olds didn’t leave their beds in the middle of the night to go for a damn walk?

Unlike in their room, there was no ensuite bathroom, so there was nowhere else in the room he could be. Unless he was hiding behind one of the posts and inching around the wood every time she changed position in the room. But she didn’t believe for a second that a two-year-old could be that cunning and dexterous.

Sure enough, it was at that moment she sensed movement behind a different post, and she spun around, her heart in her mouth, slumping against the pillar for support. Kim licked her dry lips – there was no way that Ben could dart from one post to another like that with her seeing him. Therefore, it stood to reason that she was jumping at shadows.

She stared hard at the offending post, straining her eyes in the dark.

There was nothing.

Then the rocking horse started to rock. This time Kim did scream and she spun around, not believing what she was seeing. It creaked as it slowly rocked, tipping back and forth on the curved wood of its base.

But still there was no sign of Ben and panic curled around her.

“Ben?” she hollered, no longer respectful of the dark night, or her husband’s views on her sanity.

Another fork of lightning stabbed the room, flooding everything with brilliant light for a split second. It gave her another start, rather like the exploding lights one might see when hit over the head, minus the accompanying pain.

The thunder followed immediately: the storm was close. It boomed in her ears and she felt the force of it rumbling through her body. It was then the small hand shot around the post she was leaning against and gripped her forearm in a vice-like grip.

Kim screamed loudly, wrenching herself free at the zenith of the clap of thunder and staggering backwards. Her body shook with fright, her heart racing, her head and vision lurching.

And she was angry.

“Ben,” she shouted, her voice so shrill his name cut into her throat like a shard of glass. “What the fuck are you doing?”

This was the first time that she had ever sworn directly at her son, but her mind was momentarily unhinged in terror and flashing rage. Her head snapped in the direction of the bedroom door just in time to see Josh rushing towards her.

“What the devil’s going on?” he boomed into her face.

She could only gaze up at him stupidly, panting, clutching the spot on her arm where her son had grabbed her. It didn’t hurt, but she could still feel his touch and there was another indignant rush of anger.

“Ben grabbed me,” she ground out through gritted teeth. Dimly she was aware that she was sounding like a lunatic, but she was still consumed by adrenalin.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Josh asked in a dangerously low voice. Even in the gloom she could discern the way his eyes flashed anger.

“Ben…” grabbed me, she was about to repeat, but then she followed the direction of her husband’s gaze and abruptly stopped.

Ben was in bed, curled up on his side under his spiderman duvet and apparently fast asleep.

“What the…” Kim began, her voice trailing off in bewilderment. How? was all she could think.

Josh hurried over to their sleeping son, standing prone over his bed. He was in profile to Kim, his expression unreadable, but Kim could sense his madness.

Slowly he backed away from the bed, lightly touching her on her arm when he drew level with her, indicating to her that they should leave the room now. but Kim didn’t move. She couldn’t. She couldn’t take her eyes off her sleeping son. How was this even possible?

“Kim,” Josh whispered harshly.

Still she could not bring herself to turn her head to look at him. Next to her she heard him angrily inhale a sharp intake of breath.

“Come on,” he said in that same angry whisper, his light touch turning to a more insistent tugging on her arm.

His touch was far from firm, but she felt the barely restrained anger there, nevertheless. Dazedly, she allowed him to lead her out of the room, too disorientated to stand there and argue.

“What the hell are you playing at, Kim?” he spat once they were safely out of immediate earshot in the hallway, Ben’s door pulled to.

Kim was still too stunned to properly gather her thoughts.

“I…” She swallowed, “He wasn’t in the bed.”

His broad jaw clenched and she watched a vein twitch near his ear.

“He was in the bed though, wasn’t he, Kim?” he said, barely containing his rage.

“He wasn’t,” she shot back, knowing how petulant she sounded, but godammit, he hadn’t been in the bed.

“When I was in the room he was hiding from me. He was darting between the posts,”

“Ben doesn’t bloody well dart,” Josh scowled. “Jesus Kim, it’s a miracle you didn’t wake him.”

I didn’t wake him because he wasn’t asleep, was on the tip of her tongue but she bit it down because it would make her sound crazy.

The cold light of day was the time for this discussion, not now, in the middle of this raging storm, on such a disturbing night.

“I’m going to bed,” she said, turning away from him.

He grabbed her arm as she walked away and she flinched.

“Do not grab me,” she hissed, her already stressed heart pumping hard all over again.

“You can’t go into our son’s room screaming your head off in the dead of night,” Josh chided. “If you woke him you might have scarred him for life.”

Kim was suddenly exhausted and looked wearily down at his hand on her arm. He shouldn’t be touching her like that, it wasn’t right. In all the five years she had known him, he had never once grabbed her inappropriately.

“Let go of my arm, Josh,” she said in carefully modulated tones.

Something in her voice must have given him pause, for he fell perfectly still, then finally relinquishing his grip.

“I’m going to bed,” she repeated sulkily.

She could feel his eyes boring into her back as she walked the short distance to their bedroom door. Inside she was wrecked, but she refused to let it show. This was not the time for this. She was going to use the bathroom, get into her pajamas, then bring Ben into their bed for the night. But it was imperative that she completed this course of action rationally and calmly, otherwise Josh might accuse her of hysteria.

And if Josh didn’t like it, he could go fuck himself.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sure enough, Josh hadn’t liked it as soon as he had realised her plans. By some miracle she had managed to lift the sleeping Ben out of his bed without waking him and had carried him into her bed.

Josh had refused to lie with her and had gone to sleep in Ben’s vacated bed, hissing the warning that they would talk tomorrow.

That suited Kim just fine, for she was still irked at the way he had grabbed her and had been so quick to dismiss her as irrational, or, worse, downright crazy.

Kim had drifted into an uneasy slip, Ben next to her in the massive bed, fast asleep and clutching Duck, his beloved stuffed toy that rarely left his side.

She wasn’t sure what had awoken her, but suddenly she was wide awake, lying on her back, staring up at the carved wooden canopy of the four-poster bed that felt more like a black cage. Ben didn’t stir and instinctively she stretched out her arm, brushing a lock of dark hair off his forehead. She strained her ears in the gloom, listening to his deep, regular breathing, gladdened to feel the gentle rise and fall of his little shoulder when her hand travelled lower.

Ben was fine, but the anxiousness remained. It was still raining, albeit less. The rainfall had penetrated her deep, dreamless slumber. It dulled her thoughts and her capacity to dream with the endless white noise.

A creaking noise reached her ears, and she flinched, jolting out of her brain freeze. The room felt suddenly darker, the shadows denser.

Am I awake? she thought, rolling onto her side to face Ben, then raising her head to take in the rest of the darkened room.

A small gasp of terror escaped her lips, because Josh was standing there in the opened doorway, blocking a good portion of the only light source that poured in from the hallway. And, even though the light behind him threw his form into silhouette, Kim saw that he was completely naked.

“Josh?” she said, then immediately flinched at the sound of her own voice – the last thing she wanted was to wake Ben. “Jesus,” she muttered under her breath. What the hell was he doing?

He was just standing there, unmoving, staring at her, his expression rendered unreadable from the stark shadows that ate his face. Kim sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Was her husband sleepwalking? To her knowledge he had never done so before, so this was beyond bloody disturbing.

And then he stepped into the room. Kim was suddenly on high alert, every nerve ending in her body singing, her heart pounding hard and fast. Just, what was he doing?

He took another a few steps into the room and now that he was closer she was better able to make out his face – and fuck her if he wasn’t grinning.

“Josh,” she whispered frantically, shoving the duvet to one side and standing up. “What are you doing?”

“Get back in the bed Kimberly, there’s a good girl.” His voice was low. Threatening.

He never called her Kimberly, only Kim.

She glanced at Ben; he was asleep and she wished to keep it that way. Irritation stirred in her guts. Why was he being such an arsehole?

Then he grabbed his cock with one hand and started stroking himself. Kim watched him bug-eyed, rooted to the spot in disbelief. Even in the gloom she could see that he was semi-erect. Josh was a big man – tall, naturally broad and strong and extra muscular from years of working in construction. Right now he cut an imposing figure. What he was doing was extremely threatening and cold fear cut a swathe through the irritation.

“Josh,” she whispered, more urgently now, taking a step towards him. “Stop.”

“If you come any closer, Kimberly, I’ll scream so loud I’ll wake up the little brat and then I’ll leave a puddle of cum on the floorboards.”

Kim could feel the slackness of her jaw as she stared helplessly at him. This couldn’t be happening; this was a nightmare, it had to be.

“Josh, please…” she began.

“I mean it,” he said cutting her dead. “Get back in the fucking bed right now or pay the price.”

Pay the price? she thought. Pay the fucking price? What was this?

But she didn’t to wake up Ben and have Josh wank. Jesus Christ, this was horrific, it just couldn’t be real.

So, Kim edged backwards on shaky legs, not taking her eyes off her husband. Or this psychopath who was pretending to be him.

This was a nightmare.

“In the bed, Kimberly, and I promise I shan’t wake the child. I’m not strong enough yet.”

He wasn’t strong enough yet? What kind of bizarre shit was that? Kim was too stunned to argue. Part of her wanted to rant and rave at him, to flee the room, but the biggest part of her wanted to protect her sleeping son. If he woke up that was different, then it was different. Then she would flee the room with Ben, but for now she would brave this out.

Whatever the fuck this was.

So, she climbed back into the bed, sitting stiffly upright and clutching the edge of the duvet to her pajama-clad chest, warily watching him as he came all the way up to the bed, to her side and thankfully not Ben’s. But if he so much as laid a finger on her, she swore to God she would scream blue bloody murder.

“Please stop,” she whispered, her throat choked with unshed tears.

He wasn’t close enough for her to reach out and touch, but if he drew any closer she was poised to run with Ben in her arms. He grinned down at her in the dark room and her stomach lurched in fear. This was a nightmare, there was no other logical explanation.

“I’m going to enjoy cutting you open, Kimberly,” he said, his voice drifting in and out of a harsh whisper. “I’m going to hack off your feet then drink the marrow from your bones. Oh yeah, you’re gonna taste so damn good.”

As he spoke, he beat himself all the harder. He was fully erect now, his hand a blur of movement on the stiff shaft. She could make out the pre-cum glistening on his slit in the shadowy room and her guts roiled in horror. The rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh assaulted her ears, an onslaught that was just as powerful as physical violence. His head was thrown back now, his eyes half-mast in bliss, a cruel smirk on his usually kindly, full lips. The strong muscles of his thighs tensed and his back arched slightly, the hard lines of his chest and stomach taut with his pleasure.

Fuck this, Kim thought. Nightmare or not, why am I just sitting here?

But still she didn’t move, thankful that Ben remained sleeping soundly next to her.

“Yeah,” Josh continued in that same horrible, growling whisper. “I’m gonna eat you up, baby girl. I’m gonna cut off your tit, drill a hole in your ribcage and fuck you straight in the heart. You’ll feel me coming when your heart beats for the last time.”

His own filthy, deranged words clearly excited him for now he was grunting in pleasure, his muscles tensing, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his hard body, gleaming gently under the hallway light.

And then Josh came. His hips jerked and his hand thwacked his cock with wild abandon, dragging the foreskin over the shaft with such force Kim thought it might tear. He came in hard jets, great arcs that spurted out of him, a pulsing, perfectly-curved fountain, landing out of sight on the floorboards.

Kim was too stunned to move. She realised that she had been holding her breath and her entire body sagged when she exhaled. One final jerk of his body later and Josh visibly slumped on the spot, still fisting his stiff, damp cock.

“Fuck,” he moaned in satisfaction.

He lifted his head and grinned at her, and Kim recoiled at the look of sated lust in his glittering eyes. It was pure evil and made her think of the way Ben had grinned at her in the living-room, earlier that day.

“Goodnight Kimberly, sweet dreams.”

With those words, he left the room, his firm buttocks flexing with his carefree strides.

Kim could only stare after him in horror, too stunned to so much as blink.

That hadn’t just happened.

A strangled sob escaped her lips and she bit down the cry of disgust and fear. She would not wake up Ben. Suddenly she was overcome with exhaustion and she flopped back on the bed, palming her eyes, her elbows pointing heavenwards.

Fleetingly, she thought of somehow barricading herself in the bedroom so there would not be a repeat performance, but there was no lock on the door, or any piece of furniture that she could feasibly wedge under the door handle. If she attempted to drag anything over to the door then she might wake her sleeping son. And she was tired, dammit, she wasn’t sure that she had the energy to do so.

Her eyelids drifted closed, and she gave in to the overwhelming tiredness that swamped her.

It was just a dream. A horrible, horrible dream…

The rain continued to steadily pelt the windows, lulling her mind into a dead trance, into a state of anxious exhaustion.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The next time she opened her eyes, daylight was flooding the room. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless.

Well. Mostly.

The memory of Josh coming into this room while she slept regurgitated vividly in her mind.

No. not a memory. A dream.

Groaning and squinting against the harsh morning light that poured through the west-facing sash windows, she realised that the storm had passed.

She looked over at Ben next to her on the bed. He was awake and sitting upright, happily gurgling and chuntering to himself and to Duck.

“Good morning, baby boy, how’s your nappy?” she asked sleepily. Ben was in the process of potty training, but nappies at night were still mandatory.

“Poo,” he said happily.

“Indeed.” Kim grinned, still half asleep.

The smile dropped from her lips when the events of last night once again forced their way into her mind.

What was real and what wasn’t? She frowned at this conundrum. The argument with Josh had been very real, of that she was sure. But, in her troubled state of mind, had she dreamed everything else? Had Ben been in bed all along, and the raging storm had spooked her so much she had seen things? It was so dark in that room, it would be easy to miss seeing the slight form of Ben in the bed, and the thunder and lightning could cause her hallucinate movement in the shifting shadows…

But now, in this cheerful, sunny room, it was hard to remember her terror, and it was all too easy to dismiss herself. Her imagination had run wild in the perfect conditions. In the perfect storm, she thought wryly.

As for Josh’s little performance in the dead of night, that was most certainly a nightmare.

It wasn’t cold, but she found she was shivering.

It wasn’t a dream.

She sat upright in the bed, unceremoniously shoving the misgivings to one side. Revolting nightmares aside

it wasn’t a damn dream

she had a two-year-old to attend to. It was time for a nappy change in the spacious and grand marble bathroom, so she scooped up her chattering boy, feeling the heavy heat of his underside.

A shadow fell across her in the sunlit room as she was scrabbing to her feet with Ben in her arms, and she jumped, looking up.

“Josh,” she gasped, his impromptu, middle-of-the-night visit replaying vividly in her mind. She discovered that she was trembling, a strange sickness churning in her stomach.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Josh said like he didn’t have a care in the world.

He was holding a tray, on top of which was Ben’s sippy cup, two mugs of black coffee, a little pot of baby food and a few slices of marmite toast – Kim’s favourite of a morning.

He was barefoot and fully dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt.

Not like last night.

A slight frown of concern creased his previously open, relaxed expression. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “I figured you were just exhausted last night and would’ve calmed down by now.”

Kim hugged Ben tightly to her chest, backing away from him in the direction of the bathroom. After what he had done to her, he was implying that she was the irrational one?

“I need a wee,” she said steadily. “And Ben needs changing.”

He regarded her intently for a moment, as if internally debating with himself if she was crazy or not. Then he nodded.

“Don’t be long; it’s a long way from the kitchen and you don’t want your coffee getting colder than it already is.”

*

Kim and Josh sat at the top of the bed – Kim still in her pajamas – resting against the wooden headboard.

Josh was just so normal. The more they talked, the more foolish she felt. His little wanking show had been a nightmare, it was preposterous to think otherwise.

I’m gonna eat you up, baby girl. I’m gonna cut off your tit, drill a hole in your ribcage and fuck you straight in the heart…

She shuddered – how could she even dream up such words? There must be something deeply wrong with her.

“What time is Henry’s solicitor coming again?” Kim asked. She did know, but what with everything that had happened it had slipped her mind.

“Late morning, she said in her email.”

“What’s the time now?” Kim asked, reaching for her phone. When she picked it up, she saw that she had five texts from Abi. There was nothing unusual about this – they usually texted daily and got together every few weeks or so. They talked about everything from menstrual cycles, to children, to the ingrowing toenail that was currently really bugging Abi. But Kim had been ignoring her the past few days, as caught up as she was in her own dramas.

I’ll get back to her later, she decided.

“It’s ten-fifteen,” she said, answering her own question.

“Duck,” Ben said. He was pushing his stuffed toy against a bed post, having finished his breakfast.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Josh asked again, setting his drained coffee cup down on the bedside table.

“Yeah,” Kim said, feeling the heat suffuse her cheeks. “I was just tired, and freaked out by the storm and the house.”

She almost believed it, too. It was easy to when the sun was shining.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more sympathetic. I shouldn’t have stormed out like that. But you kind of freaked me out, too,” he said with a small smile.

She wanted to say, you still shouldn’t have grabbed me like that, but she refrained.

They were in a good place right now and the last thing she wanted was more friction. As for her nightmare, she didn’t even want to think about it. As if Josh would do such a thing.

“Can we just forget it? Can we start again?”

“Yeah. We’ve both been under a lot of strain lately,” he agreed.

“Do you mind if I grab a quick shower?”

“Sure.” He smiled kindly. “I’ll dress Ben then take him downstairs while you get ready. Claire Montgomery will be here soon.”

“Right.” Kim frowned slightly.

What the hell were they supposed to with a strange woman for an entire week? It suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t know a single thing about this lawyer woman. Josh hadn’t volunteered any details about her. She was just the solicitor, and it hadn’t seemed important. That was until a few days ago when Josh had suddenly announced that this woman was to move in with them for a week.

“What is she like?” Kim asked, curious.

“Like? How do you mean?”

Was it her imagination, or did Josh suddenly look shifty?

“I don’t know, how old is she? Is she married? Is she fat, thin? Blonde, brunette? Is she British?”

“Yeah, she’s from London. She’s about your age, I guess. Hard to tell. Could be anywhere between twenty-five and forty.”

Kim was suddenly on high alert. He was being cagey.

“Is she married?”

“I don’t know. It never came up.”

What else came up? she thought darkly. She took a deep breath.

“Is she pretty?”

“She’s just ordinary.”

Ordinary.

There was the stock male response to that loaded question. Now Kim was anxious, all thoughts of nightmares and hallucinations and ghosts forgotten.

“You mean she’s pretty, then?”

Josh’s eyes flitted nervously away from her. “What is this, Kim? I didn’t notice, okay? She’s Henry’s solicitor – she’s just a woman, doing her job.”

She’s hot then, Kim thought glumly. She knew that she was prone to bouts of jealousy from time to time; Josh liked looking at other women, she knew he did, even though he denied it. It made her feel like shit about herself, even if it was harmless.

“Right,” she said. “I’m going to grab that shower. You’ll be okay with Ben, won’t you?”

“Of course. Where are you going? The bathroom is the other way.”

Kim ignored him, walking around the four-poster bed to the side where Josh still sat – the side that she had been sleeping on last night. She peered down at the floor, where Josh had been standing last night, in her dream.

At the spot where he had spunked.

The floorboards there were perfectly uniform. The wood was dark, which would hide a multitude of stains, but she still couldn’t detect any trace of semen on the floor.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” Josh asked, confusion creasing his face.

His expression told her everything that she needed to know; he truly had no idea what she was looking at, and she couldn’t help by smile in relief.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.”

CHAPTER NINE

Half an hour later, Kim was showered and dressed in a shin-length, loose summer dress, patterned with tiny daisies against a light blue background. There was still a light chill in the air – or there certainly was inside the house – so she had bunged a blue cardigan on over the top of it.

She was in the kitchen, happy to be alone for a short while, busying herself putting things away and rootling through all the cupboards. They hadn’t brought much with them because the house had everything, and then some. Initially, she had been wary at the thought of using a dead man’s things, but she found herself making peace with that at breakneck speed. This kitchen was bloody lovely, and any discomfort and intimidation she felt in the rest of the house did not extend to this room.

Of all the rooms in the house, it was one of the smallest, which still meant big, by anyone’s standards. The dining room further down the hallway was suitably austere and oversized to make up for it, with wood paneling and the type of table that would be more at home in Buckingham Palace, and was in stark contrast to the homely kitchen.

Sighing, she gazed around herself at the modern and sleek room with the old-fashioned, elegant touches that she appreciated. She supposed that it followed the aesthetic rules of the rest of the house – the eclectic mix of old and new – but in here it was pleasing. The work surfaces were black, shiny granite, the bulk of the cupboards stainless steel, like a restaurant kitchen. A smallish, light oak, beechwood table stood near the sliding glass wall, overlooking the garden. The floor was polished concrete, sparkling and iridescent in the sunlight.

The kitchen was technically basement level, the stairs leading down to it from the main entranceway. As such, it opened up straight onto the clifftop garden, and the ocean beyond.

When she was in this comforting room, it was easy to forget that the rest of the house was monstrous. What made it even better was she was able to watch Josh and Ben in the garden. Ben was having a whale of a time, staggering around in tiny circles mostly, like a stumbling puppy chasing its own tail. She could hear their laughter from here.

It was promising to be a warm day, and she opened the patio doors a little more to let in some of that fresh sea breeze. Maybe last night’s storm heralded a break in the weather, the final transition into early summer. She smiled to herself, Ben’s laughter and the cawing of the seagulls music to her ears. Maybe they could get a swing for him, she thought. He would like that. Or they could use a tyre and a rope and hang it from that lovely old oak tree near the patio doors…

She caught herself; she would never live long term in this house.

Turning her back on the heartwarming sight of her husband and son, she opened the tall, American-style fridge. It was almost empty, except for half a dozen bottles of obscenely expensive champagne that Henry had stashed in there. There was no food in the house, not counting a few tins, spices, and bags of flour in the pantry. All they had was the scant supplies they had brought with them – they were going to have to do a supermarket trip soon. Either that, or get an online delivery in.

Henry had a lot of wine however, she thought with a smirk. Not only was the fridge stuffed with champagne, she had also found various bottles of spirits stashed in the cupboards. And that was before one took into account the honest-to-God wine cellar in the windowless room behind this kitchen…

The loud chime of the doorbell jerked her out of her reverie, and her heart thumped hard in trepidation.

That could only be her. The solicitor.

If Josh had heard the doorbell from the garden he showed no sign, so it was up to her to let in the mystery woman. With her heart beating hard, she made her way upstairs.

CHAPTER TEN

You have got to be shitting me: this is the solicitor?

“Hi,” Claire Montgomery said, extending her hand on the wide porch. “I’m Claire Montgomery, Henry’s solicitor.”

For a moment, Kim was too stunned to move, dazzled as she was by her beauty. She could feel the slackness in her jaw, and she had to force her mouth to close.

“Kimberly Smith,” she said, after an embarrassingly long pause.

She took the woman in, jealousy twisting in her guts so strongly she almost gnashed her teeth. The woman – although she didn’t look much older than early twenties – was a knockout. Sickeningly so. She instantly reminded Kim of pretty much every blonde movie star or supermodel who had ever lived. Her long, light-golden hair was swept up into a sophisticated chignon, her makeup was understated and immaculate. Her face alone had everything going for it to the point of obscenity. The full pout, button nose, the high, broad cheekbones, lightly-tanned heart-shaped face and a subtle widow’s peak similar to Marilyn Monroe’s. The whole effect was breathtaking, like a heavily-filtered insta-model made flesh.

And this was before Kim took in the full magnitude of her body, with the full chest, tiny waist, flared but neat hips, short torso and endless, slim legs. The well-cut, simple white suit with the knee-length skirt highlighted her assets whilst remaining classy, and Kim was positively sick with envy. In her cardigan, flipflops and what now felt like a proper washerwoman’s dress, she could not have felt dowdier next to her.

“Can I come in?” the solicitor asked politely, one perfectly-arched, full eyebrow raised in a manner that managed to be ironic, intellectual and as sexy as hell.

Fuck.

Kim wanted to tell her to leave there and then, but she refrained.

“Yeah. Sure.”

She stepped to one side, catching sight over her shoulder of her motorcar parked next to theirs on their gravel forecourt. It was a Porshe 911, white like her suit.

“Thank you,” the woman simpered, trailing her glossy white suitcase on wheels behind her.

The woman paused in the vast hallway, smiling down at her. She had to be at least five-foot-nine to Kim’s five-foot-six, and she must have been pushing six feet in those shiny, red and black Manolo Blahniks.

Well isn’t this wonderful? Kim thought darkly.

“Is your husband around?” Claire Montgomery asked with a sweetness that Kim wasn’t buying.

“He’s in the garden with Ben,” she replied primly.

“How lovely. I can’t wait to meet your little boy, Josh is so very proud of him.”

“Yes, we certainly are.” Kim replied, stressing the we.

How much time alone had her husband spent with Claire Montgomery, exactly? He had gone to London a total of five times to meet with Henry’s supposed legal team. Had he taken her out to lunch? Had they kissed? she thought in some alarm. Had they booked into a hotel after lunch and spent the afternoon fucking before he had caught the train home to his family?

“Are you all right, Kimberly?” Claire Montgomery asked, oozing fake concern. “You’ve gone quite pale.”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “I am fine, thank you.”

“That’s good. This is a lot to take in, isn’t it? An inheritance like this is the stuff of dreams.”

Or nightmares, she thought. Especially now that you have come on the scene.

“How was the drive down from London?” Kim asked, if only to gain some control of the conversation and not come across as a bumbling, dowdy housewife in front of this classy, elegant bitch. “I take it you did drive down from London?”

“Oh yes, I live in Kensington.”

Of course you do, she thought bitterly. “Have you been in this house before?”

“Yes, Henry and I were… close.”

Kim narrowed her eyes at her, scrutinizing her beautiful face: was she blushing? Had they had a thing? How gross – Henry was old enough to be her grandfather.

Claire Montgomery quickly regained her composure. “I have been here a handful of times, especially when the end of his life drew near, and I helped him to finalize his affairs.”

“Why did Henry want you to stay here for this week? It’s all rather odd.”

Claire Montgomery smiled, but it didn’t touch her wide, blue-green eyes. “All will be revealed in due course I promise, but these are legal affairs that must be discussed with both you and your husband. Did you say that he was in the garden?”

Kim really didn’t want Miss Montgomery anywhere near the vicinity of her husband, but seeing as she had no choice in the matter, she said: “The garden is accessible through the kitchen. Why don’t we go and put the kettle on and you can tell us what’s going on?”

Claire Montgomery left her bag there in the hallway and followed Kim down the stairs.

*

Kim summoned her husband and Ben into the kitchen, calling them inside from the patio doors.

“Hello, Claire,” Josh said warmly on entering the kitchen, shaking her hand. “Welcome to the madhouse.”

The solicitor smiled and Kim frowned. “I’ll make coffee, then,” she said when Josh didn’t make a move to do it.

It wasn’t like he was obviously tripping over his tongue, but he would have to be gay, blind or dead not to notice her beauty.

“So, now that you’re here, are you finally going to tell us why Henry saw fit to have you move in with us this week?” he said.

“Of course, Josh,” Claire Montgomery replied. “That is why I am here.”

Josh and the solicitor sat down at the table, Josh balancing Ben on his knee. Kim fiddled with the big silver coffee machine that had more buttons on it than the average airplane dashboard. Coffee was another item that Henry was well stocked in, along with the abundance of wine. Kim paused in her fumbling – the solicitor wasn’t elaborating and silence filled the air.

“Is there any need for us to worry?” Josh asked after an uncomfortable pause. “Is our inheritance in doubt?”

“Oh no, absolutely not,” the solicitor replied smoothly. “Nothing of the sort.” She turned her megawatt smile onto Ben, who writhed happily on Josh’s knee. “Hello, little man, aren’t you handsome? And what might your name be?”

Ben regarded her with some interest and gurgled a few nonsensical consonants.

“Doesn’t he talk?” she asked Josh.

Was she taking the piss? Kim wondered, also duly noting how she addressed her husband and not her. If that hoity-toity bitch thought she was going to come into her home – or Henry’s home, more like, because this place would never be theirs – and treat her like a housemaid whilst simpering at her husband, then they were going to have a problem…

“No, he’s only two,” Josh laughed. “He has some words, but he doesn’t speak yet.”

“Oh. Sorry. I don’t know much about the developmental stages of children.”

No shit.

“But he’s gorgeous,” she suddenly gushed. “He’s absolutely perfect.”

Kim froze, making the coffee, watching her. Claire Montgomery hardly struck her as the kiddy type; she was a high-powered, drop-dead gorgeous businesswoman who clearly didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. It was almost like the woman feared Ben.  The strangest feeling of disassociation wrapped softly around her and trickled down her spine, her mouth going suddenly dry.

I really don’t like this woman.

And, for the first time she believed that this feeling stemmed from something other than jealousy.

“Are you going to tell us why you’re here?” Kim asked, aware of the note of annoyance that had crept into her voice. Good. It wasn’t as if she wanted to make her feel too welcome.

“Yes,” the solicitor replied blandly. “We’ll discuss it over dinner.”

“Dinner?” Kim repeated, dumbfounded by the woman’s casual arrogance.

“Yes. There is no rush, is there?”

Not for you, maybe. “Coffee,” Kim said, carrying the mugs over to the table, then sitting down next to her husband.

“Thank you,” the solicitor said, all pretend innocence. Kim fancied that she could see right through her act. “After this coffee would you mind if I go for a lie down?”

“Are you feeling unwell?” Josh asked. He too, seemed puzzled by her.

“I am more of a night owl,” she said. “Please don’t worry about dinner, I have arranged for a local restaurant of good reputation to deliver a meal to us tonight. I don’t want you slaving away in the kitchen for me. Until then, I would like to meditate, then rest.”

Kim didn’t know what to say, and Josh spoke for them.

“Right. Whatever you want. And at dinner we’ll discuss Henry’s will?”

“Of course.”

She got to her feet, and Kim did too. Josh remained seated as Ben was on his lap. The woman headed for the kitchen door.

“Shall I show you to your room? I made up a bed for you,” Kim said.

“Thank you, but I shall be sleeping in Henry’s room for the duration of my stay.”

Okay. Creepier and creepier. Kim had washed the sheets on a bed in one of the many bedrooms, but if she wanted to sleep in the creepy old dude’s bed, then that was up to her. Just, ugh, she hadn’t even touched that bedding – the guy might have died in that bed for all she knew. But something told her that the solicitor was already familiar with his bedroom.

“See you guys later,” she said, smiling at them from the doorway.

Kim glanced at her husband and her heart lurched in a fresh stab of jealousy; that was not a look she approved of. It was fleeting but his eyes flashed something that resembled anger.

Except it wasn’t anger, it was lust.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Kim didn’t know what compelled her to go up to the third and final floor, not including the attic. Josh was putting Ben down for a nap in their bedroom, and Kim had just kind of wandered that way. It hadn’t been a conscious decision. She wasn’t spying. Or at least, that’s what she told herself as her legs carried her up the broad, curving flight of stone stairs.

She paused when she reached the landing, suddenly feeling guilty as sin, even though she told herself there wasn’t anything to feel guilty about – she did live here, after all.

Kim disliked this floor the most – the rooms were bigger and fewer, the ceilings higher again. She found it unsettling, like the floor belonged in some stuffy museum. The furniture was older and grander, with no modern pieces like in the rest of the house. It felt like stepping into another world, into a bygone era. The only thing that she liked about this third floor – although like was perhaps too strong a word – was the lack of Beatrice Langley paintings. The old oils on the walls, depicting hunting scenes and Victorian-esque, gloomy, still lifes of bowls of fruit, empty rooms and the like, looked like they belonged in the Louvre and to Kim they were a welcome break from the shockingly-bright nudes.

I really have to gather together all the Beatrice Langley paintings in the house and photograph them today, she decided. And then she would stack the bloody things up in one of the many unused rooms and forget about them for a while…

Scuffling sounds coming from down the hall reached her ears and she started, snapped her out of her musings. It stopped, then started up again. She strained her ears, listening. The noise had now settled down into what could only be described as a rhythmic thumping. But this thumping was faint, more of a tapping, perhaps.

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled and the skin on her back tightened. What was that?

The more she listened, the more she decided that the noise was coming from a room on the other side of the hallway to Henry’s room, where Claire Montgomery had elected to sleep. Had the noise been coming from Henry’s room, then maybe she would not have felt so compelled to investigate, as that would be an invasion of the solicitor’s privacy. But the noise was coming from another room, and this was her house, even if it didn’t feel like it. She had a right to know what was going on under her own roof; there was no need for her to feel like a criminal in her own home.

I am not being nosy, she told herself assertively, yet not quite believing it. No matter what Claire Montgomery’s fancy job title may be, or whatever official business she was supposed to be here on, she was still a stranger in her home. And the fact remained that Kim didn’t like her one bit.

Besides, what if the noise was rats? She needed to investigate.

Kim had reached the door to the east-facing room, overlooking the front of the house and the long, tree-lined driveway. It was already ajar, so it wasn’t like she was properly spying. It wasn’t her fault if she happened to be passing and the door was open. And it was just coincidence that her footsteps were as light as falling snow.

Kim peered through the crack of the door into the darkened room, her body tucked away out of sight beyond the doorframe. It was all she could do to stop herself from gasping loudly as she took in the sight of Claire Montgomery, sitting cross-legged and nude in the middle of the room. The rhythmic thumping sound came from her outstretched hands, slapping the floorboards either side of where she sat with her eyes closed. Her lips were moving, she noticed in mounting horror. She was whispering something to herself, the odd word reaching her ears. She didn’t recognize the words, and it sounded as if she were chanting.

Kim remained rooted to the spot in shock, not believing her eyes. Slowly, she realized that the big, Persian rug which had previously taken up the middle part of the room had been rolled up and pushed to the side. Claire Montgomery appeared to be sitting in the middle of a large, star-like shape, which had been drawn in white on the dark boards.

Is that a pentagram? she thought, stunned.

It was hard to make out in the gloom. She had not previously paid much attention to this room as there was very little in it, although it was the only room with thick, velvet curtains in a dark crimson adorning the three sash windows. It was big, and barren, and had instantly given her the creeps.

And never more so than now. Claire Montgomery continued to slap the floor, her face tilted upwards. She looked to be fully away with the fairies. Kim’s gaze swept over her body, a wash of emotions flooding her. Her body was out of this world, and a strange sickness churned in her belly. She gazed, slack-mouthed, at the woman’s full, high breasts, utterly perfect, like a Playboy centrefold. Her breasts jerked slightly with each slap of her hands, and the flat stomach with the noticeable ab lines running parallel to her neat little belly button quivered slightly.

Her gaze involuntarily travelled lower to her exposed vagina in her cross-legged position. The patch of pubic hair was dark, plush and narrow, the pink folds of her labia visible, the inner labia poking out the smallest fraction past the outer lips, glistening, as if in arousal.

Kim licked her dry lips, unable to tear her gaze away, but it was as if she too had fallen into a trance. Times ceased to hold meaning to her as she drunk in the spectacle, unable to shake the numbness that engulfed her brain.

She didn’t know how long she had been standing there before she realised that the solicitor’s eyes had opened and she was staring right at her. Her slapping hands did not miss a beat, nor did that strange, chanting whispering cease, her upper lip curled slightly in a cruel smirk.

Mortification flooded Kim, the spell she had fallen under broken, and she staggered backward away from the door. The adrenalin coursed through her, leaving her coiled tight and ready to take the stairs five at a time.

Kim bolted and didn’t look back.

*

Ten minutes later she was in the kitchen – the only room in the house where she didn’t feel anxious or scared. The kettle boiled as she tapped out a text to Abi:

This house is mad, Abs. Honestly, it’s crazy, the house is HUGE and I’ve been having the worst nightmares. Also, Henry’s main solicitor is staying with us for a week (it’s complicated). And I caught her just now, sitting in the middle of a goddam satanic star thing, completely naked and chanting something…

“Watcha doin’?” came Josh’s voice from behind her and she jumped guiltily, spinning around from the kettle.

Her finger accidently spasmed on send before she had a chance to elaborate further on her ranting. Oh well. Abi could wait.

“Nothing. Just texting Abi.”

That guarded look came over his face – one that she knew all too well. The look he reserved solely for the mention of Abi’s name. It was subtle and fleeting but there was no mistaking the frowning disapproval.

“Right,” he asked, closed off now. “What did she say?”

The familiar tug of irritation washed over her; just, why was he always so damn weird about Abi? He never gave her the third degree over anyone else she happened to interact with.

“Not much, she just wanted to know how it’s going here. Is Ben down?” she asked, keen to change the subject.

“Yeah, he went out like a light.”

The kettle clicked off and she poured the boiling water over a herbal teabag. “I’m going upstairs to our room, then. We’ll never hear him crying down here.”

“You could just fetch the baby monitor,” Josh suggested.

Kim shook her head. “It’s okay.” She would rather be physically close to him.

“I saw our solicitor friend upstairs,” she said. Then she stopped, for some reason. Suddenly, she didn’t want to tell Josh what she had seen.

“And?” he asked, curious. “What did she say?”

“Mumbo jumbo mostly.” She laughed, but it came out nearer a bark. “It sounded like Latin, but who knows?”

Josh looked confused. “I’m sorry, what?”

“She was naked, Josh. She was in that big, empty room on the other side of the hallway to Henry’s old room. And she was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor with the rug pushed back, and there was this drawing on the ground, this pentagram or something. And she was doing this chanting, whispering thing, and she was slapping the ground with her hands. Didn’t you hear it?”

She took a breath; she was speed-talking now, like she was the one who was deranged.

He shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”

He’s looking at me like I’m the crazy one, she realised with a start.

“Do you think I’m making it up?” she asked incredulously.

“Of course not,” he replied, far too quickly for her liking. “But what were you doing up there, anyway? I’m not sure you should be spying on our houseguest when she’s doing yoga, or meditating, or some shit.”

“It wasn’t bloody yoga,” Kim said, annoyed at him. “And it’s supposed to be our house, isn’t it? Can’t I go upstairs in my own home if I want to?”

“You were spying on her, Kim. That is not cool.”

His sanctimonious attitude was riling her. “It was so creepy, Josh. You go and look if you don’t believe me.”

As soon as she said the words she regretted them – no way did she want her husband ogling Claire Montgomery in all her perfect, naked glory.

“I’m not creeping on the bloody solicitor,” he said, and Kim was secretly relieved so she didn’t push it.

“Fine. But at least go and take a look at the bloody floor in that room when she’s not sitting on it.” Angrily, she grabbed her mug of tea and stalked past him towards the door. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Fine. I’m going to mow the lawn.”

Kim stopped mid-stride. “But that will wake up Ben.”

“He’s two floors up and the garden’s big. It’s supposed to be raining again later, and we have to keep the grass down, don’t we? We can’t afford to get in a gardener, like Henry did.”

“Whatever.” But she didn’t add, if you wake up Ben I’ll be pissed.

At that moment, Kim’s phone lit up and buzzed in her cardigan pocket. When she pulled it out, Abi’s name glowed on the screen.

“Who’s that?” Josh snapped.

“Just Abi. I’ll call her back later, I can’t be bothered to take it right now.”

The truth was, she didn’t want to take the call in front of Josh. She switched off her phone and left the room.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ben slept soundly. Kim left him to it and retreated into their bedroom, her head tilting backwards to stare at the high ceiling. What was the solicitor up to now?

Meditating my arse. How could her own husband be so dismissive of her? It wasn’t right. Kim knew nothing about witchcraft, or satanic rituals – only what she had seen in the movies – but it sure as hell had looked that way to her. What was Claire Montgomery up to? Why was she really here? Kim trusted her about as far as she could throw her.

The distant, low rumble of the lawnmower reached her ears and she wandered over to one of the sash windows, gazing out at the garden and the strip of grey Atlantic beyond. Her heart thumped harder in her chest and she inhaled a sharp intake of breath. The lawnmower was running, but it wasn’t moving. Josh was standing stock still next to it, gazing up at the house.

But not at her.

Her stomach plummeted, paranoia stirring in her guts. He was staring higher than her, at the floor above her. At Henry’s room. At her.

Hissing like she had been scalded, she shrank around the window frame, peering down at him out of sight. Not that she needed to hide, because it wasn’t her he was looking at.

What is she doing up there?

Kim conceded that she could be jumping to conclusions – her husband could just be gazing into space.

But she didn’t think so. She watched him, watching her. She thought how handsome he looked, standing there in his white T-shirt and scruffy work jeans. He was so strong, so fit. Sweat pasted the T-shirt to his rippling back muscles and she wondered if she was admiring him as much as he was clearly admiring her. And then she wondered if she was still naked. This was some kind of mutual, perverted wankfest, of that she was sure.

The memory of the dream last night slammed unbidden into her mind, and she whimpered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and backing away from the window.

No. She was falling down a rabbit hole of her own making, giving in to the jealousy and paranoia, and the sheer burden of inheriting this house. And, there was the truth, she decided. This house felt like a burden when it should’ve felt like a gift from up high. When she steeled herself to look out the window again, Josh was mowing the lawn like nothing had happened.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“This lobster Thermador is outstanding. You can understand the restaurant’s formidable reputation, can’t you?” Claire Montogomery said.

“You certainly can,” Josh agreed, far too readily for Kim’s liking.

“And this side salad, it’s simply divine,” the solicitor continued to gush.

Kim shot daggers at her. Half an hour ago, the bitch had swanned down the sweeping staircase in a goddam, floor-length, slinky black gown, backless and slashed to the waist. Josh was looking decidedly strained tonight, she decided. His back was too straight, his face rigid, as if he were trying not to fall down the front of her dress.

Kim took a large gulp of the Dom Perignon, sick of the small talk. The insecure part of her wished that she too had changed for dinner as she was still wearing the same frumpy dress, but how was she to know that Claire Montgomery would be dressed like an A-lister on Oscar Night?

“Yes, it is a spectacular spread,” Josh continued with nauseating sincerity.

Kim had reached boiling point with this frustrating chitchat. They were still no clearer as to why the solicitor was here, and what her business really was. They hadn’t even seen the woman all day, and then she had appeared at half past eight, dolled up to the nines, full of small talk and chattering inanities as she made a big thing of laying up in the formal, wood-paneled dining-room and accepting the restaurant delivery when it arrived.

“So, do we get to find out why Henry wanted you in our house this week?” Kim asked in clipped tones.

“Yes, Kimberly,” she said with a cold smile, her eyes appearing a chilly green under the flickering light thrown off from the candelabra in the centre of the long table. “But first, let us propose a toast.” She raised her champagne. “To new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings,” Josh echoed solo.

Kim merely glared, but she drank when her two dinner companions did. She drained the glass and reached for the bottle in the ice bucket for a refill.

“Did you have a good day, today?” Claire Montgomery asked. “Are you getting better acquainted with your new family home?”

“We’re not going to stay,” Kim said quickly. “We’ve been busy sorting through a few things, and then we’ll be putting the house on the market.”

She frowned slightly, thinking of how she had begged Josh to check the room where Claire Montgomery had been ‘meditating’ earlier. In the afternoon, under great protest on his part, they had crept up to the top floor while the solicitor slept so she could show him the strange, chalk markings on the floor…

And there had been nothing there.

“Yes, about that,” the solicitor interjected. “This is one of the reasons why I am here.”

Instantly, Kim was on edge – at last, they were getting closer to the crux of the matter. “What do you mean?”

“Well, since you insist on discussing business before we’ve even finished the starter, it was Henry’s wish I inform you that you must not sell anything in the house – or the house itself – until such time as I am gone.”

“When are you going again?” Kim asked sulkily.

For the hundredth time, her eyes were drawn to the woman’s full breasts in the lowcut dress; they really were stupidly distracting. And if those tits were real, then she was the Virgin Mary.

“Kim,” Josh said sharply. He cleared his throat, his voice softening for the solicitor. “What my dear wife means to say, is how long must we wait before we can sell anything?”

“And why do we have to wait?” Kim butted in.

She glared at her husband. Patronising arse.

“I’ll only be here for a week, don’t worry. Then you are free agents.”

“And in the meantime, we’re under house arrest,” Kim said.

“Not quite, Kimberly,” the solicitor simpered. “You may come and go as you please, but the items in the house cannot. Everything must remain in its place and as it is for the duration of one week. If any object is removed from the house, then Henry’s last will and testament is rendered null and void.”

“Is that even possible?” Kim challenged. “If we sold a painting, say, can an entire inheritance be rendered null and void?”

“Of course,” Claire Montgomery replied. “The clauses are ironclad; they cannot be broken.”

An uneasiness settled over her. As logical as her words were, something about it just didn’t sit right with her. It was probably that bizarre ritual she had caught her performing earlier that was colouring her mood and judgement.

“And Henry deemed it necessary for you to move in with us for an entire week, just to tell us that?” Kim pressed.

“With the greatest of respects to you both,” Claire Montgomery said, “Henry may have been family, but he did not know Josh. How could he trust him to follow through with his wishes without supervision?”

“But why is us not selling anything so important for only this week? If we can flog anything we want after seven days, then what does it matter if we sell something this week?” Kim asked, confused.

“Because Henry believed that big decisions should not be made in haste. He wanted you to sit with the house. It was his belief that you both might act rashly in the early days, without allowing yourselves to become fully acquainted with the house. He wanted you to get a feel for the place before you decided whether to sell or not.”

“It makes a warped kind of sense, I guess,” Josh said.

Kim glared at him, irritated; what a surprise that he should take her side. “You don’t find this strange, Josh?”

He shrugged. “Nothing about this situation is normal. Look around yourself, sweetheart. Look at this place. Henry was eccentric, rich, powerful. He didn’t get where he was by being normal.”

“Precisely,” Claire Montgomery agreed. “Henry was a unique man. He did things his way and sometimes his motives weren’t always immediately obvious. He could be quite the enigma.” She smiled warmly at Josh, and jealousy gnawed at her insides. “Your great uncle was a law unto himself. You remind me a little of him.”

Jealousy aside, Kim wasn’t satisfied with the explanation. “What aren’t you telling us?” she asked bluntly.

“I’m telling you everything, I promise.” Claire Montgomery raised her hands, palms up, her eyes big and childlike. “This is simply the way Henry wanted it. And at the end of the week you are the proud owners of a house worth millions, to do with as you will, and I also walk out of here a very rich woman. It’s a win-win all round, wouldn’t you say?”

On the face of it, perhaps, Kim thought.

Josh raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that. The future looks bright, for all of us.”

“To the future,” Claire Montgomery agreed, and Kim did not appreciate the coy but sexy sparkle in her eye one little bit.

They resumed eating in silence, Kim still on edge.

“After dinner there are a few more documents to go over,” Claire Montgomery said casually. “Just a few more bits to sign.”

“What documents?” Kim asked.

So far, she hadn’t been the one to sign a single thing – it was all Josh. All her other misgivings aside, the fact she hadn’t signed anything made her feel lesser, somehow. She understood perfectly well that the house was left to Josh, and therefore only to her by default, but still. It niggled at the back of her mind that Josh was in control of her. What if he decided that he wanted to leave her? Then where would she stand with regards to this house?

But now, when faced with the prospect of actually signing something, she was doubtful and she wasn’t sure why.

“It’s nothing, just more legal mumbo jumbo,” the solicitor said smoothly. Too smoothly, Kim thought. “Just jargon to the effect of what I’ve just said. That you have heard and understood all of Henry’s stipulations.”

“And I must sign this, too?” Kim asked.

“Of course,” the solicitor replied. “You are also a part of this.”

Am I?

She pushed aside the sudden, strong instinct that she didn’t want to be a part of any of it.

But it was too late now.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The meal which had started out so formally had degenerated into a piss up. Getting drunk hadn’t been Kim’s intention, but the champagne and expensive red wine just kept on flowing. The surreal atmosphere of their ill-matched threesome, the bizarre circumstances specifically, and the overawing vibe of the house generally, lent itself to a fuck-it attitude.

Kim still didn’t like Claire Mongomery, but at the same time they were on the final cheese course – all delivered to their table by the giggly, tipsy solicitor – and they had cracked open a bottle of vintage port.

The forms had been signed and whisked away before the cheese course. Kim wasn’t sure what she had signed, exactly, but it was all too late now.

“I need to go the bathroom,” she said, scraping the highbacked chair across the herringbone floor. “Shan’t be long.”

I’m slurring, she thought dimly. A pleasant numbness gripped her brain, dulling her thoughts. But she was buzzing too, lightheaded and chilled, the most relaxed she had felt in years. In fact, she almost felt good about everything. What had she been fussing about? This house was worth millions, and it was hers. How lucky was she?

And Claire Montgomery was beautiful, so what? It wasn’t her fault she looked like a goddess. What was wrong with having beautiful friends? She didn’t have to be a threat – if Josh was going to cheat on her then he could do so with anyone. Either he shopped around, or he didn’t. He was either faithful or he wasn’t. The presence of one beautiful woman didn’t change who he was as a man. He wasn’t flirting; he was friendly. They were all friendly. They were all good people.

I love these people, came the drunken thought. She staggered slightly on her feet.

“Steady there hoss,” Claire laughed.

Kim waved her off. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Why don’t we put on some music?” Josh suddenly exclaimed with boyish enthusiasm, he too jumping none-too-gracefully to his feet.

Instinctively, Kim’s gaze flitted to the neck-height sideboard nestled between the two sash windows, to the baby monitor that took pride of place there. Kim had initially said no to background music, because what if it drowned out Ben’s cries?

“Fuck it,” she decided. “Put some music on, then.” Just, what had she been so paranoid about before? She really needed to lighten up.

She staggered out of the room, leaving her husband prodding at his phone and Claire Montgomery watching him, giggling.

*

Up on the first-floor landing, Kim paused, swaying on the spot. Music, punctuated by staccato bursts of laughter drifted into her ears all the way from the basement level of the house. The walk up the stairs had been challenging due to wobbly legs and now her head was swimming. Sometime during the last ten minutes she had slipped from pleasurably tipsy into the realms of uncomfortably blotto.

Shit. That couldn’t be good.

She needed to check on Ben, so she staggered in the direction of the second flight of stairs. They loomed ahead of her, broad and intimidating, wavering slightly before her eyes as if viewed in a heatwave.

Whisper softly in your ear, came the creepy, almost flat male voice from the basement, accompanied by the dark, slow, electronic beat and she shivered. It was a perverted thing to say…

Kim didn’t feel at all right; her skin was tingling and she had broken out into a cold sweat. Someone laughed over the song – a deep male rumble. Her husband – it could only be her husband – but it sounded wrong. Different. There was a cruel edge to it that made her shiver.

Ben. The sudden need to get to him was strong. Gripping the banister, she hauled herself up the stairs as if she were a mountaineer scaling a mountainside with the aid of a guide rope.

Her legs felt heavy and cumbersome beneath her, alien appendages that were no longer quite a part of her physicality. And the concrete steps felt squishy beneath the soles of her flat sandals, as if she were sinking into each step. Her phone buzzed against her thigh in the deep side pockets of her flowing skirt – an incoming text, from Abi, no doubt.

Nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby, came the eerie, otherworldly voice, adding to her ever-growing sense of disorientation.

“As long as you’re with me, you’ll be just fine.”

Kim jolted, grinding to a halt on the concrete steps. It took her a moment to realise that it was Josh’s voice in tandem with the song lyrics, speaking the line as it was sung.

She spun around on the spot, her vision leaving a blurry trail with the movement of her head. She was so dizzy now this small action almost made her collapse.

Sure enough, her husband grinned up at her from the foot of the stairs. Kim blinked, trying to clear her blurred vision.

“Josh?” she asked, her voice high-pitched with the bout of sudden anxiety. “What are you doing?”

He took a step towards her up the stairs, his grin remaining firmly fixed in place, and Kim shivered. She didn’t like the look of his smile one little bit – it was wrong. There was nothing friendly to it, it was too wide, too fixed, and his eyes appeared hard and cruel. It was like the knowing, nasty grin her two-year-old son had thrown her yesterday.

“I’m going to check on Ben. And I need a wee,” she added.

Now she was walking up the stairs backwards, slamming the backs of her ankles into the edges of the steps with a ferociousness that might have posed a painful problem for her, had she been sober. Her husband remained silent, making no move to follow her. He cocked his heart to one side, still grinning that horrible grin, just watching her.

“Jesus, Josh, what are you doing?” she moaned, continuing to back up the stairs.

Now her heart was pounding hard and her head swam.

There’s something wrong with him.

The thought was sure and true, effectively cutting through her inebriated state. Neither did she feel at all right. This was more than merely drunk, her head was spinning violently now and her body just felt so wooden and heavy. She had to turn around to continue to climb the stairs because walking backwards was proving too difficult a feat to manage.

When she reached the landing she swiveled on the spot. Josh was nowhere to be seen. She blinked, trying to still her swimming vision, but it felt as if she were on a merry-go-round.

“Fuck you, Josh,” she slurred to herself, before turning around to head for her son.

*

Ben slept soundly in his room – the same room he had started the night in yesterday evening. Her phone buzzed again in her pocket and she pulled it out, peering drunkenly at the screen. It was proving extremely difficult to focus. The music was only faintly in the distance now, and she wondered if that was because she was further away or because she was so drunk her hearing was slowly packing up.

Sure enough, when her eyes finally cooperated, she saw a string of texts and missed calls from Abi. She started to punch out a reply, but her fingers were cumbersome, and she was typing gobbledygook.

“Fuck it,” she groaned, and hit video call, backing out of Ben’s room as she did so.

She waved the phone in front of her face, her feet instinctively carrying her in the direction of her and Josh’s room.

Abi’s pretty face soon filled the screen. “Fuuuck, Kim, you look wasted.”

Kim squinted at the screen, Abi’s face wavering in and out of focus. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make her friend’s face stay de-blurred. She gave up on trying and just drew comfort from the overall vibe of dark, curly hair, olive complexion and huge, near-black eyes.

“I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine,” Kim slurred.

“A couple? You mean a couple of four-litres boxes, right?”

“Ha. Funny.”

Kim managed to navigate her way into the bedroom without tripping over her own feet and plonked herself down on the edge of the four-poster bed.

“My God, is that a four poster? Jesus, the bedroom is huge. I would ask for the guided tour, but I don’t trust you not to break your neck.”

Kim drunkenly waved her hand and made a disparaging pfft noise. “I’m not that pissed,” she slurred.

“Right. Do you even know what time it is?”

Kim didn’t – the time hadn’t even occurred to her. “No. Eleven, or something?”

“No, sweetie, try one in the morning. I was just texting you; I wasn’t expecting a call this late.”

Kim giggled, but it came out as more of a hiccup. “Oops. Sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter; I couldn’t sleep, anyway, hence I was texting you. Where’s your husband?”

That uneasiness snuck back past the drunken haze; why had her husband just stood there at the bottom of the stairs watching her like that?

“He’s downstairs, with the sexy solicitor,” she slurred.

“The naked, creepy, devil-worshipping solicitor, you mean?”

“Yup, that one. She’s Henry’s solicitor, she’s moved in with us for a week.”

“Why is there a naked solicitor living with you?”

“She’s not naked all the time. It was a stipulation in Henry’s will.” Kim stumbled over stipulation, the syllables rolling together as one. “She’s kind of creepy.” Kim frowned, once again thinking of earlier, when Claire Montgomery had been sitting naked in the middle of that chalk circle and chanting what had sounded very much like devil shit. Now she was away from her again, that feeling of comradery was beginning to wear off. “Everything is kind of creepy,” she finished lamely.

“How so?” the blurry close-up of Abi’s face asked. “I mean, shit, just the glimpse of the house behind your drunken arse is creepy. It looks like something out of a horror movie.”

“Yeah. It feels like that, too, believe me.” Groaning, she flopped onto her back, holding the phone in front of her face. Shit. Maybe lying down wasn’t such a hot idea because the dark-wood ceiling of the bed spun violently around in a never-ending circle. “I am pissed, Abs.”

“Yeah. No shit.”

“I think I’ve been seeing things,” she suddenly blurted out. She hadn’t meant to tell Abi that, but the alcohol consumption had lowered her inhibitions. “I think this house is haunted.”

Abi started to laugh, then stopped. “You’re not joking, are you? What have you seen, Kim?”

Kim tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Just stuff. Weird stuff.”

“Like what?”

She thought of her darling little boy, grinning at her like a gargoyle, and she immediately shoved the image to one side. “Like, shadows flickering in the corner of my eye. Paintings that move. Seeing things that aren’t there.” She let out a shaky laugh. “Now you think I’m crazy.”

“C’mon hon, you know I’d never think that. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, that are dreamt of in our philosophy.”

“Fucking Shakespeare,” Kim groaned. “Just what I need tonight.”

“You’re under a ton of stress, sweetie, pretty sure anyone would be seeing things in your position, in a spooky-arse house like that.”

“You don’t believe me, then?” she asked matter-of-factly, suddenly overcome with tiredness.

She forced herself to sit up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The last thing she wanted was to go back downstairs but at the same time, she wasn’t about to leave her drunk husband alone with the stunningly gorgeous solicitor.

“I never said that, Kim. Shit, what’s that behind you?”

Kim’s heart lurched and she twisted around on the bed so violently she almost fell off it. “What’s what?”

She scanned the bedroom behind her, half expecting to see Josh, Ben or Claire Montgomery lurking in the shadows, but there was no one – and nothing – there.

She was perched on the side of the bed, and directly behind her was the far wall with the two sash windows. Unease clawed at her wine-sodden brain, and she regretted not putting on the overhead chandelier when she had first entered the room. The light spilling in from the hallway had felt like enough.

But now it didn’t.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you,” the mini-Abi face said on her lit-up phone screen.

Kim looked behind herself again, at the expanse of empty wall between the two windows. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” Abi said quickly. Too quickly.

“Seriously Abs, what did you see?”

“Nothing, I swear. You just jerked the phone, or something. And it’s dark.”

She was making excuses now, and Kim knew it. “You’re lying.”

“Honestly, it was nothing.”

But it was too late now – Kim was spooked.

“How’s Ben liking the new pad?” Abi asked, blatantly trying to change the subject. “Is he settled in?”

“Ben’s fine,” Kim said absently, still swiveled at an awkward angle on the bed and staring at the blank wall. She was staring at the plain white wall so intently, in fact, she didn’t hear her husband enter the room.

“Hello sweetheart,” he drawled from the bedroom door, directly opposite from where she sat.

Kim gasped and twisted around, holding her phone aloft.

“Who are you talking to?” Josh demanded none-too-gently, probably only then realising that she was on a video call.

“Jesus, Josh, you scared the shit out of me,” she moaned. “Don’t creep up on me like that.”

He remained standing in the doorway, thrown into silhouette, his face swallowed by shadows. She was suddenly reminded of her dream last night and she immediately started to tremble.

It wasn’t a dream, came the awful thought.

“Hang up the phone, sweetheart,” Josh said in a gentler tone, but there was a coldness to his voice that troubled her deeply, that inexplicably made her want to cry. It struck her then that he didn’t sound remotely drunk anymore.

“I’m just talking to Abi, I’ll be back down in a minute, okay?” she said, aiming for breezy and sober and failing miserably.

“I told you to hang up,” Josh repeated, his light tone not disguising the inherent threat behind his words.

Or what? she wanted to say, but didn’t. She didn’t want to antagonize him, to inflame the situation. There was nothing to inflame of course, but nevertheless she could not shake that bizarre conviction.

“Kim? Josh sounds angry, what’s going on?”

Abi gave her comfort and emboldened her – she wasn’t losing her mind, or overreacting, or even dreaming right now. Josh was being a total creep.

“I said I’ll be down in a minute. Could I have some privacy please? I’m trying to talk to my friend.”

Josh stepped into the room and her bravado significantly wavered. This was like her dream all over again – the dream that wasn’t a dream. And Abi was her witness. Thank God for Abi.

“Put Josh on, will you?” Abi asked. “I want to say hi.”

Kim half-squinted, half-smirked at her friend. “Sure. Josh would love to say hi, wouldn’t you Josh?”

She got to her feet and walked over towards the bedroom door at the same time as Josh also strode into the room. They stopped and faced each other when they met in the middle. Josh was grinning at her in the moonlit room in the same way he had just now on the stairs. Her stomach somersaulted with nerves but she stood her ground. It was only Josh; there was no reason for her to be afraid.

“Say hi,” she said, thrusting the phone at him like it was her talisman, the screen facing outwards.

“Hello Abi,” Josh said, that nasty grin fixed to his face. “Goodbye, Abi.”

With that, he grabbed the phone, ended the call, then threw it across the room. Kim was so surprised, she could only gawp helplessly at him in shock. It skidded across the floorboards coming to a halt near the bedroom door.

And still Josh grinned.

I’m dreaming. Please let me be dreaming…

“What the hell?” she managed to get out after a pause that seemed to stretch on forever in its weirdness. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“There is nothing wrong with me, Kimberly; I have never felt more right in my entire life.”

A numbness born of a fear she wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge spread through her body. Eventually, she once again found her voice. “Fuck you, Josh.”

She stumbled in the direction of the phone, not believing that he had done that. Not believing that this was happening. When she straightened back up after retrieving her phone, Claire Montgomery was standing in the doorway.

“Hello Kimberly, I thought you were coming back downstairs to join us? What are you doing, hiding up here?”

Kim gawped at her, as confused as she was scared. The woman’s tone was pleasant enough, but maybe that was what she found most disturbing. She was standing in the doorway, thrown into stark silhouette the same way Josh had been a few seconds ago. Kim’s gaze was drawn to her hand. She was holding some kind of large square handbag.

No, she realised. Not a handbag. A toolbox.

“What’s going on?” she asked in a steady voice that belied the rapid thumping of her heart.

“We’re having a party Kimberly,” Josh said from directly behind her.

Kim inhaled a scream and spun around; how the hell had he got behind her so fast? She found herself gazing up into his smug, grinning face and her stomach lurched afresh in fear.

Something is really desperately fucking wrong here…

“That’s right, Kimberly, this is the start of our new lives. A new era, for all of us,” Claire Montgomery said.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Kim said with far more bravado than she felt.

But Kimberly didn’t move from the doorway. Kim glanced down at the phone in her hand – the screen was black and cracked. Shit.

“That’s rude, Kimberly,” Josh said silkily behind her, and she could hear that disgusting grin coating his voice. “You should be more respectful, Kimberly.”

“Stop fucking calling me that,” she spat, spinning around to face him.

As she gazed helplessly at Josh in disbelief, she was aware of Claire Montgomery moving into the room, closing the short distance between them.

“Shall we teach Kimberly some manners, darling?” Claire Montgomery said sweetly, and Kim’s insides shriveled in terror.

Kim looked from one grinning bully to the other. Her husband had morphed into a stranger before her very eyes and a crushing sense of loneliness cut through the fear. She didn’t know what was going on and she wasn’t about to hang around to find out.

“Fuck off,” she said.

She went to dodge around the solicitor as the doorway was now empty, but when she passed her, her free hand shot out to grab her upper arm.

Kim stopped dead, adrenalin coursing through her perfectly prone body. “Get your hand off me, bitch.”

Behind her, Josh chuckled. “And yet you are still so rude, Kimberly.”

He was closer now – close enough to reach out and touch her, should he so desire. The hand around her arm tightened and she felt the inherent threat of violence in the air. She could almost taste the promise of it, bitter and metallic on the roof of her mouth, and a low whimper escaped her lips.

The solicitor yanked her towards her and sniffed her hair. “I can smell your fear,” she whispered throatily. “It’s so sexy.”

Kim’s paralysis broke and she threw off the woman’s hand with a dramatic wave of her arm. At the same time, she lunged for the door.

She had only taken one step when a pair of hands on her shoulders reclaimed her. It took her a moment to realise that it was her husband who bore down upon her. Now he sniffed the back of her head and she could hear the arousal in his voice.

“You’re a naughty girl, Kimberly, now bow down before your master.”

Her scream was cut short when he snaked a hand around her neck, effectively cutting off her air supply. His other arm wound around her chest like a snake and before she quite knew what was happening, she was being dragged across the room in the direction of the four-poster bed.

The dark bedroom tilted around her and her head felt too tight, like her skull was inflating with air. The next minute she was being thrown down onto the bed and she was left reeling at the speed of this attack. She bounced once, landing awkwardly on her side, her forehead missing smacking into one of the posts by inches.

Josh fell on top of her, roughly twisting her onto her back and straddling her hips, pinning her wrists to the bed above her head. Through her swimming vision, she saw his familiar face, rendered hateful and terrifying with that awful grin.

“Whatcha doing, Kimberly? You are being extremely fucking rude.”

She gulped down air, her windpipe still feeling the effects of the strangulation. He now only bore the most passing resemblance to her husband, for his grin had turned sneering and cruel.

“Stop it,” she gasped. “Get off me.”

In her peripheral vision, she was aware of Claire Montgomery looming closer, an ominous shadow that struck terror into her soul.

“Hold her hand to the post for me, baby,” she said gently.

Josh shifted on top of her, one knee pinning her arm to the bed by her inner elbow, immobilizing her. His weight bore down on her chest, crushing her sternum and snatching out her breath. At the same time, he wrenched up her other arm by the wrist and ground the back of her hand against the post. Her bones crunched painfully against the wood and she gasped breathlessly beneath him, bucking and writhing in an attempt to throw him off her.

Josh didn’t budge an inch. Dimly, she was aware of Claire Montgomery standing next to her head. And what the hell was she holding? It was too dark to make out and panic clawed at her mind, rendering her irrational. Or maybe she knew exactly what Claire Montgomery was about to do and she just didn’t want to see.

Because that couldn’t be a nail gun she was holding.

A few seconds later, blazing agony exploded in her right hand. The pain was shocking, making her entire body twist and convulse as if she had been electrocuted. Brilliant white light momentarily exploded behind her eyes and the white-hot pain flared down her arm and swirled hotly around her body.

Kim screamed, but it caught in her throat, stifled by the lack of air and the cruel pain that stole her voice. The pain was accompanied by a high-pitched buzzing noise in her ears that made it feel as if her eardrums had ruptured. When the infernal buzzing subsided, she became aware of voices drifting over her:

“… let her pass out.”

The solicitor, she thought dazedly.

And then her husband’s voice. “She won’t, she’s fine.” A fiery pain exploded in her left cheek, nowhere near as fierce as the pain in her hand, but noticeable, nonetheless. “You’re still with us, aren’t you Kimberly?”

She groaned in response, her brain fried with confusion, pain and terror.

“I’m just going to put the light on,” the solicitor announced. “Some things are just so much more enjoyable when one can see what is happening.”

Kim groaned, sick with hurt and misery. She wanted to tell herself that this was a dream, but the pain prevented that cushioning lie. Bright light suddenly assaulted her retinas and at first, she thought the pain was blinding her. It wasn’t – the solicitor had switched on the overhead chandelier. The first thing Kim did was peer up at her hand, and then promptly wish that she hadn’t. Because fuck her if her hand wasn’t nailed to the post, like Jesus fucking Christ.

She went to scream, but her husband’s weight still compressed her lungs. Her head twisted sideways and she found herself staring up into Claire Montgomery’s hateful, grinning face. The bitch tilted her head to one side, her breasts almost falling out of the slashed dress with the way she was leaning over her.

“Stop,” she managed to gasp out, twisting her face back to her husband. “Josh. What are you doing?”

Josh laughed and dismounted her chest. Her body felt strangely weightless now he was no longer squashing her, as if she were filled with helium and might float away. Through her swimming vision and the cloud of pain that wrapped around her, she watched him go and stand next to the solicitor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and they kissed passionately in front of her.

Kim groaned in despair as the kiss deepened. Josh reached inside the lowcut front of her dress and openly groped a breast. He pulled the dress slightly to one side, exposing a small, pink nipple which he then bent over to suck on.

A great tide of nausea washed over her, and she twisted her face away in disgust, not sure which was worse – the mental or the physical agony.

Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of the two lovebirds disentangling themselves from each other. Claire Mongomery bent over to pick something up.

The toolbox, Kim realised dazedly. The solicitor dropped it on the end of the bed, out of reach of her spasmodically kicking feet.

This can’t be happening.

But it was, because the pain of everything tore through her like wildfire.

“Now, Kimberly, this might hurt a little bit,” her husband informed her happily.

As he spoke, Claire Montgomery ambled over to the toolbox at the foot of the bed, absently tucking her damp breast back into the dress as she did so.

“What shall we do first, baby?” she asked. “I mean, there’s nothing that heavy duty in this little box of goodies, the nail gun was by far the biggest.”

“Let’s just do some light work, baby. We don’t want her bleeding out on us, do we?”

“No, I don’t suppose we do. Not yet, anyway.”

“And you shouldn’t be touching any of that stuff. We don’t want your fingerprints on anything; you are just the passive observer, remember?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Guess I get carried away sometimes.”

A distant part of her mind understood that this wasn’t her husband speaking. It looked like him, and it was his voice, but it wasn’t him. It offered her little comfort.

“Josh, please just stop,” she begged, only then realising that the tears were streaming down her face, that she could barely get the words out for the miserable wetness that choked her.

“I’ll stop eventually, honey, don’t you worry. I’ll stop when you’re dead.”

“How about pliers?” the solicitor interrupted. “You always did have fun with pliers, didn’t you baby?”

Through her streaming vision, she saw that the woman was holding up exactly that – a pair of red-handled pliers.

Josh chuckled. “Yes, I certainly did.”

Claire Montgomery walked over to where Josh stood by her side, looming over her. She handed him the pliers, and they kissed again.

A fresh burst of rage, carried on a tide of terror washed through her and she screamed, bucking and writhing on the bed, twisting her body, arching her back and kicking her legs, temporarily rendered unmindful of the agony that ricocheted through her hand.

“Josh, stop,” she bellowed, blinded by the strength of her own, obliterating misery.

She grew aware of a pressure on her contorted face, of fingers squeezing her cheeks, and her head subsequently snapping sideways.

“Shut up, Kimberly.”

Josh’s voice. But not Josh.

She didn’t shut up. The screaming felt good, it blotted out everything. It saved her from the pain, the fear, her impending madness.

“Make her shut up,” the solicitor said.

Pain suddenly flared in her face and twinkling lights danced in front of her eyes. It stunned her into momentary submission.

“You need to shut the fuck up,” Josh said. “You’ll wake up the kid.”

Right on cue, Ben’s cries from the nearby baby monitor reached her ears, loud but tinny. The sound of it twisted in her heart like a knife.

“See? You silly cow,” Claire Montgomery chided, “now look what you’ve gone and done. Can’t we all just have a little adult time without you going and ruining it?”

“You need to go and sort him out,” Josh said.

“Me?” Claire Montgomery snapped indignantly.

Kim’s heart lurched in her chest in unspeakable fear.

“Ben!” she cried, her voice shattering in her throat like glass. “Don’t touch him.”

“Relax, no one’s gonna hurt the kid,” the solicitor said. “Jeez, this is your fault. What the hell did you go and make so much noise for?”

“Just go and see to him, will you?” Josh said.

He still cupped her stinging face, and she clawed at him, but he swatted her hand away like it was nothing more than an annoying fly.

“Fine. But what am I supposed to do with him? Is it hungry? Does it still drink formula milk? Do I have to go all the way down to the kitchen and fetch milk for it?”

“No, it doesn’t take formula anymore; he’s two,” Josh said with exaggerated patience. “Give it some diluted fruit juice, or milk, or something. Or maybe change its nappy, I don’t know.”

“Ben,” Kim cried, contorting herself mercilessly, not caring about the flaring agony in her hand. If they hurt him, so help her God, she would rip their throats out with her bare hands… If she ever got the chance.

“Fine,” Claire Montgomery huffed. “If I see to the kid, you have to see to her. Please will you stop her making that bloody racket?”

“Yes, darling.” He slapped her on her bottom, and she giggled.

When she had left the room, he turned his attention to her, gazing down at her with that horrible grin fixed firmly in place.

“Josh,” she gasped through the tears. Her insides felt watery with terror and the flaring agony in her hand had turned into an indescribable ache, a throb that alternated between numb and blazing fire with every shallow breath she took. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Still grinning, he cocked his head to one side. “Because this is the role you must play, Kimberly. Not everyone can be a main player.”

The nonsensical words he spewed like bile mingled with the pain and her stomach clenched in disgust. The tidal wave of nausea caught her by surprise and she instinctively twisted her head in the opposite direction to her nailed hand, proceeding to haul up the contents of her stomach. Half-digested lobster and salmon, swimming in a bilious sea of champagne and red wine erupted down her dress and sprayed the bed. Contractions seized her, holding her helpless in their grip.

When the spasms subsided, she grew aware of Josh speaking above the ringing in her ears.

“Oh, you dirty bitch, I can’t believe you did that; we haven’t even started yet.”

“Please,” she groaned hoarsely, her throat and nostrils burning with the acidic trail the vomit had left behind. Sick dripped off her hair and hung in her eyes, stickily plastering to her face. The sour smell of it brought on a fresh stomach contraction. Groaning, she fought it back down, because there was nothing left in her to expel but stomach acid.

“Your suffering excites me, Kimberly. God I’ve missed hurting women – women just like you.”

Tenderly, he brushed her sick-soaked hair out of her eyes, while his other hand caressed her nailed palm. The soft brush of his fingers sent bolts of agony shooting down her paralyzed arm. Gently, he wiggled the nail, like a tongue nudging a rotten tooth and the crippling hurt snatched the breath from her lungs.

Josh suddenly fell still. “Listen to that. He’s silent.”

Despite her wretchedness, her maternal instinct was still very much there, her fear for Ben equal, if not more than, the fear for herself. And Josh was right – Ben had fallen silent. His cries no longer echoed from the baby monitor. They were replaced by Claire Montgomery cooing at Ben, the mindless, maternal babbling that came so naturally to most women – even to the solicitor, it would seem.

“I’m glad they’ve bonded – it might have been a trying week if they hadn’t.”

Kim shrank from him when he leaned over her once more, but there was nowhere for her to disappear to. He trailed the head of the pliers down her cheek and she cringed afresh in terror.

“You know, Kimberly, I don’t remember what it was like, when I was gone. Now here I am again, made flesh, and the incorporeal just vanishes. Even with the miracle I’ve performed, I’m still none the wiser. Is there really nothing, or can the flesh simply not know? Is before life and after life unknowable? The two sides of existence – two sides of a coin that will never see the other. The real and the metaphysical. The physical existence, and existence not composed of matter.”

Kim had no idea what he was talking about, all she cared about was the insanity that radiated off him, stomach churning in its intensity.

“Who are you?” she choked out.

The question caught even her off guard, but the knowledge that this wasn’t Josh was a fundamental truth she recognised on an unconscious level.

“You know who I am. I’m your Uncle Henry.”

With a moan of terror, she wrenched her head sideways because she could see the truth of that in his eyes.

“Open wide, there’s a good girl.”

Fingers clawed at her lower face, roughly prising open her lips. She clenched her teeth tightly together, refusing him access, but he was stronger, more persistent. The side of his thumb pushed up into her slight overbite, using that as leverage to part her teeth. The bitter, copper taste of blood exploded in her mouth where he had ripped open her gums.

A moment later the terrifying clank of metal colliding with tooth enamel echoed darkly in her brain. The pincers closed around a front tooth and madness ballooned in her brain. She renewed her struggles and was rewarded with Josh jumping on her, slamming her into the mattress, his knees digging into her lower stomach and the hand not holding the pliers to her tooth wrapping around her throat.

The pressure in her skull instantaneously increased, as if filling with the air she could no longer breathe.

“Tooth or tongue?” He leered down at her, roughly maneuvering the pliers from hard enamel to soft flesh, the sharp edge of the head jabbing at her gums, drawing more blood.

I’m going to die, came the sure and true thought, cutting through the all-consuming terror. This is it.

“I think, a tooth first. And the tongue later.”

The pliers pushed harder. Such was her struggle he had to remove his hand from around her throat to hold her face steady. Every jerk of her body sent fresh shards of agony shooting from her hand. Closing her mouth against the onslaught was impossible. The pliers shoved past her clenched lips, ripping delicate flesh and drawing blood. When she tried to claw at him with her free hand, he shuffled up her body and pinned her flailing arm to the bed with his knee.

The instrument of torture clamped down around a top front tooth. Blood pooled in her battered mouth from the rough penetration, some of it trickling down her throat and diluting her screams, making her cough and splutter all over again.

The pressure on her tooth grew stronger, tipping over from a pushing sensation into one of pressurized pain – a pain that escalated quickly. There was an almighty crack that emanated from her shattered tooth, reverberating loudly in her skull.

The blast of agony was shocking, rendering the hurt in her hand that of a mere inconvenience. That infernal pressure accompanied the explosive agony, and her head jerked from side to side with the force of his manic tugging.

Bright light danced before her eyes, and then her vision took on a welcome, grainy black and white quality where the pain dimmed right along with the lights.

But there was to be no respite for Kim. Another almighty crack in her mouth jerked her into full consciousness, as if a firecracker had gone off in her head. And then her mouth was swamped with blood. It filled her up, spilling past her lips and trickling into her lungs. Gut wrenching splutters hacked through her, leaving her contorted and helpless. There was no pressure anymore, just pain, and blood.

“Isn’t this incredible?” Josh cried above her. He was shouting, but still she barely heard him over her own internal screaming. “Can you feel the energy in the air? But I cannot stay in this body for any significant length of time – the rituals must be completed first. And you still manage to make so much noise.”

She became aware of a tugging sensation at her hips, of her knickers being yanked down her legs. Through her red-stained world, she was aware of the bunched-up underpants in his fist, looming closer to her face.

He shoved them in her mouth.

Somewhere along the line – Kim knew not when – he had removed all his clothes. He must have undressed at the speed of light. His erection jutted out proudly and her mind twisted in on itself.

She howled in rage, her breathing dramatically hindered. Desperately, she sucked in air through her burning nostrils, but they were congested with blood and liquid. She was going to drown on her own fluids, and she forced her breathing under control, the primal urge for survival coming to the fore.

“Now, we aren’t yet done for the night, but we don’t have long. I can feel Josh struggling down there… He thinks he is having a nightmare. I think we should begin here.”

Kim refused to look at him, twisting her face away and scrunching her eyes tightly shut, but she could feel his hateful fingers wrapping around her free left hand. She tried to bat him away, but he effortlessly held her steady.

“We can’t have you tugging on your hand nail, can we?” he said, the childish snigger in his voice making her flesh creep. “Now, which piggy shall we do first? The littlest little piggy, or the biggest?”

Metal pliers grazed her little finger, and Kim let out a muffled, blood-soaked scream.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Josh opened his eyes to the mother of all hangovers. The residues of a nightmare clung to him, one that grew fainter with every passing second of wakefulness. There had been blood. A lot of blood. Blood and madness and terror. The importance of it, the dream’s significance, faded rapidly, leaving behind an empty, anxious ache.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groaned, squinting in the morning light that spilled in through the curtainless window, shooting daggers straight into his eyeballs.

Next to him, a body stirred, accompanied by a feminine groan. Josh palmed his aching eyeballs, elbows pointing up towards the ceiling. Dimly, he realised that there was an actual ceiling above him, as opposed to the wooden canopy of the four-poster bed. This troubled him, but his brain ached too much from alcohol poisoning to fully grasp the importance of this.

“Christ, how much did we have to drink last night?” he groaned, aware of Kim pushing her bottom against the side of his hip.

He squinted up at the high ceiling before closing his eyes again. He frowned; he didn’t like the ceiling. It didn’t make sense and a strong sense of unease niggled at the back of his sore mind.

“Mmm,” Kim said, pushing her bottom against him, wiggling in a way that would suggest she might be open to any sexual advances he might care to make.

His cock stiffened automatically at the prospect of sex. His wife wasn’t exactly his number one choice, but a warm, wet hole and soft, womanly curves would soothe his hurting brain. He would simply close his eyes and think of the sexy solicitor. He stiffened into full hardness at the memory of her in the bedroom window yesterday when he had been mowing the lawn. Fuck, she was just about the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He could hardly believe the way in which she had just stood there like that, stark naked, fingering herself and lifting her tit to her mouth to eat her own nipple.

Fuck.

Groaning, he rolled onto his side to spoon his available wife. As much as he might prefer it was Claire Montgomery, Josh abided by a simple rule – he didn’t shit where he ate. Porn, prostitutes and the occasional anonymous hook up didn’t count.

The only mistake he had made since the start of his relationship with Kim was hitting on Abi – his wife’s best friend. But, he and Kim hadn’t been together for long at that point, and Abi was stupidly hot.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he mumbled into the back of her head, his eyes squeezed tightly shut against the harsh morning light.

His stiff cock prodded her flank and he trailed his hands down her upper arm, stopping at the dip of her waist, which he gently squeezed.

She felt… different. The hair his face was mushed into was less coarse and springy, the strands finer and softer and hugging much closer to the scalp. And her proportions were all wrong. Her waist seemed lower down and significantly bonier. She smelled different too, a subtle change in aroma that was impossible to describe but something he recognized on a primal level and disorientation washed over him.

This isn’t Kim.

His eyes snapped open and he jerked away from her, finding himself staring at the back of a blonde head. He snatched back his hand as if her skin had scalded him, and in doing so he dislodged the duvet.

And it abso-fucking-lutely wasn’t Kim lying next to him. In utter disbelief, he gazed at the nude figure lying on her side. Her breasts were covered by her slender arm and she was facing the other way, but that body was unmistakable. The lean, tight curves, the endless, slender legs and cute little arse that looked as if it had been carved from stone by a master sculpture.

Shit. The fucking solicitor.

Claire Montgomery moaned luxuriously and rolled onto her back, stretching like a pampered cat in a patch of sunlight.

Jesus Christ.

Stunned, Josh drank in the sight of her. Her full breast jutted out from her ribcage and her flat stomach tightened further with her stretching motions. His gaze fixed upon the dark, narrow strip of pubic hair, at the hint of pink labia between the closed, flexed thighs. She entwined her hands in her loose blonde hair and smirked up at him through heavy eyelids.

“Good morning handsome, how did you sleep?”

Josh could only gawp at her, slack jawed. Slowly, it dawned on him that he too was naked, although thankfully most of him was hidden by the duvet.

And the sight of her sure wasn’t helping to deflate his hard on.

“What the fuck?” he finally managed to get out as he hauled himself into a sitting position, awkwardly wrapping the duvet around his middle.

Claire Montgomery giggled. “I’ll take that as a yes, you did sleep well, then?”

“Where’s Kim?” he blurted stupidly.

“In bed where you left her, I should imagine.”

Josh blinked. Hard. Yet he didn’t wake up. Shit. This couldn’t be happening.

“What the fuck happened last night? Did we fuck?”

“What do you think, baby?” she cooed sweetly.

It wasn’t an answer and panic assaulted him. A thousand other questions slammed into his throbbing, addled brain all at once. He didn’t even know what fucking room he was in. He couldn’t remember a damn thing; everything was just a big fat blank after the cheese course. He had a vague recollection of putting on some music, and then…

And then nothing.

Shit. Kim.

Did she even know that he was in bed with the solicitor?

“God, will you relax?” Claire Montgomery said with a sigh. “Kim is exactly where you left her; she isn’t going anywhere.”

Her reply sent a chill down his spine, even though he wasn’t sure why.

“Fuck this,” he said to himself, getting to his feet and casting his gaze around the room for his clothes, but there was not so much as even a sniff of a discarded sock.

He realised that he was in one of the guest bedrooms on the same floor as Kim and Ben – he recognized the furniture and the Beatrice Langleys on the walls.

Fuck. Ben.

Why was he only just thinking of Ben now? What kind of a father was he?

He stood up, holding the duvet to his stiff cock. “Where are my fucking clothes?”

“In your bedroom. You didn’t want to get them dirty.”

She was so beautiful and sexy it was dazzling. He couldn’t think straight, but her reply was off. It was ominous. His fear was growing ever stronger beneath the horniness. Everything about this was so wrong on so many levels, in so many different ways, he didn’t even know where to begin unpacking it all.

Fuck it.

He let the duvet fall to the floor, standing naked before her, unrepentant hard on and all. He didn’t see the point of traipsing down the hallway with the duvet wrapped around him. It wouldn’t change anything that he had – or hadn’t – done.

“Mmm, you’re so handsome,” Claire sighed blissfully.

Her legs fell open and a hand dipped into her splayed vagina. Mesmerized, Josh watched her finger herself, momentarily rooted to the spot, consumed with lust at the sight of all that glistening pink.

He tore his gaze off her, forcing the spell to break. No. This was just way too fucked up. He turned to leave, his dick pointing the way.

“Don’t go,” she purred silkily. “I am gagging for you, baby.”

Josh grimaced. The urge to dive on top of her and fuck her senseless was real.

But Josh didn’t turn around.

“I’ll see you real soon, handsome,” the solicitor laughed.

Ignoring her, he left the room.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Out in the hallway he pushed down on his erection, wringing the bloody thing with a firm hand. He found he was trembling, suddenly overcome with dizziness, and a cold sweat broke out all over his too-warm body. He shivered hot and cold and leaned against the wall for support, momentarily squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

Just, what the fuck had he done last night? Guilt racked through him. Had he fucked the solicitor? It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it. Why couldn’t he remember anything?

He looked helplessly down at his naked body, feeling incredibly vulnerable and stupid. There were other bathrooms on this floor, so he didn’t have to go into their bedroom naked – he could at least wrap a towel around himself and pretend that he’d had a shower, or something.

It suddenly occurred to him how clean he felt, that his body was wafting something distinctly soapy, like he’d had a shower late last night to wash away the sticky sex with the solicitor. Josh shuddered – surely he wouldn’t have been that stupid?

There was a bathroom directly opposite Ben’s bedroom, but the urge to check on Ben took precedence over grabbing a towel. Josh padded silently into Ben’s room.

Ben slept soundly. Thank God for that – his relief was enormous. What if something had happened to him last night while he was smashed out of his tiny mind? He was still so little – what if he had fallen out of the bed and no one had heard him? It just didn’t bear thinking about.

On shaking legs, he crept all the way over to his sleeping son and placed a gentle, trembling hand on his forehead. The gentle rise and fall of his little chest beneath the Paw Patrol pajamas reassured him and ever-so-carefully he removed his hand.

Ben was fine. Nothing had happened in his nightmarish drunken stupor.

He cast a glance behind himself at the door. That only left his wife. What damage had been done there? Was he in a position to still call Kim his wife?

Just, what the fuck had he done last night?

The time of reckoning had come – he had to face the music. Taking a deep breath, he exited Ben’s room.

*

A minute later, Josh was pushing open the door of their shared bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.

Hey babe, I just grabbed a quick shower, I didn’t want to wake you.

Yeah, right. Who was he kidding?

And yet. Maybe everything was going to be okay. Maybe Kim had been as drunk as he had been – from what he remembered of the night, she hadn’t exactly been sober either.

Josh entered the room, praying that she would be fast asleep, oblivious to his escapades last night.

He paused in the doorway, his body jerking in shock. She was asleep, all right. Just, not in any way that he had ever seen before.

“Kim?” His voice came out so small, it was instantly swallowed by the vast room. “Kim,” he called again, louder this time.

He edged closer to the bed, not really understanding what he was seeing. He was hallucinating, he had to be. He blinked rapidly, but the vision of bloody horror did not alter in any way. The bloody, mutilated figure, lying naked on top of the bedding with one arm raised heavenwards, the back of the hand resting against a post simply could not be real.

Kim was sheened in blood. The bed was also splattered, as well as the nearby floorboards. And, worse than the blood, Kim just looked wrong. Raised arm aside in that unnatural, twisted position, her body appeared mishappen. Remnants of last night’s nightmare came back to him in an agonising flash. Kim screaming. Her blood flowing. A little toe, plucked from her foot like a blackberry from a bramble. How easily those sharp pliers had sunk into flesh and bone.

Josh staggered forwards: he was dreaming, this couldn’t be real. His disbelieving gaze latched onto his wife’s face. It was a bloody, distorted, swollen mess, her eyelids puffy and red, the lower portion of her face blown out of all proportion in its deformed lumpiness.

Dead, came the intrusive, strangely flat thought. She is dead.

And then Kim writhed, a low, guttural groaning reaching his ears.

Ambulance, came the second clear thought, also like it had been planted in his mind by another source.

“You did that, Josh. You should be so proud; isn’t she beautiful?”

The voice was coming from behind him and he spun around on the spot, finding himself staring at the naked form of Claire Montgomery. She was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest, a smirk playing on her stunning face.

“You are quite the artist, Josh.”

“Call an ambulance,” he said numbly. Because, even though this was just a nightmare, it was still perfectly acceptable to call the emergency services.

“Oh, come on, Josh, why on earth would you want to call an ambulance? You did this to her.”

No. Nightmare or not, he would not accept that. He was incapable of such a thing.

“No,” he groaned, shaking his head like a petulant child, his feet rooted to the floor.

“Yes, Josh, you did. You cut up your wife and then you fucked me.”

When Josh clawed at his face in horror, his hand came away wet. He was crying.

“Kim,” he groaned.

Yet still he couldn’t bring himself to move any closer. She was moaning now, although the sound was muffled by the blood-soaked fabric that had been shoved into her mouth. Her eyes may also have been open, but it was hard to tell due to the severity of her eyelid swelling.

“Soon, dear Josh, Henry will be here all the time, and you won’t.”

But he barely comprehended her nonsensical words, because he was feeling increasingly off. His head was swimming and confusion gripped him. His body felt heavy and leaden, his limbs like they were filled with wet concrete.

What’s happening to me? was his last coherent thought before he sunk to his knees. The dull thud of his kneecaps smacking into the floorboards jolted through his body and echoed faintly in his brain, but it wasn’t accompanied by any pain. His vision blurred and dimmed; he could feel himself sinking.

He was unconscious before he fell face first into the floorboards.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Josh calling her name had roused her from her uneasy slumber, which only offered minimal respite from the pain. The pain penetrated every inch of her, relentless and cruel. It blazed on and on, the focal point of her new reality. Or it was, until he came back, the inflictor of her pain, in all his naked – now blood-free – glory. It wasn’t her husband. No, he was gone, and a monster had taken his place.

“Kim,” the monster called out to her.

At first, she thought that she was dreaming, for his sneering, hateful face never left her, leaving her unable to differentiate between dream and reality. But, just as he would go to plunge a screwdriver into an eyeball, or bludgeon her skull with a hammer, she would jerk awake into even more intense pain, the grinning face looming over her disappearing into thin air.

And the pain. Dear God above, the pain. Everything hurt, but her left hand was perhaps the worst of it. It was missing four fingers, her thumb still intact.

This time however, it was different, because Josh hadn’t disappeared. She recognised the fundamental truth of this on an instinctive level. This time, he was really here.

And he was different, too. Despite the pain she was in, she knew that it was Josh, not the thing he had been earlier. She groaned into the gag, begging him with her pitifully writhing body for help…

But then she came. Her. The evil witch from Hell. She hadn’t changed – Kim understood that too – she had been there all along, hiding behind her flimsy mask of civility.

Josh – the real Josh – had been dumbstruck by what he had done to another human being, wife or not. He had wanted to help her, she knew he did, and once he had gotten over the shock, maybe he would’ve done. But he hadn’t got the chance. He had simply fallen, thumping to his knees with a shocked, yet glazed expression on his face.

A few seconds later, he had facepalmed the floor.

When he hauled himself back up, it wasn’t Josh anymore. It was that thing again. Him. Him, with his bitch accomplice, the pair of them naked and sneering and laughing.

“Did you miss me, baby?” the bastard that was no longer her husband laughed.

Great Uncle Henry.

The name popped into her head and was immediately swallowed by madness and pain, leaving her shivering and groaning for mercy.

He strode over to her and stroked her blood, vomit and sweat soaked hair out of her eyes.

“This won’t last forever, sweetheart, so you should try to enjoy it while you still have the chance.”

Kim flinched away from the dreaded touch of his fingers, but there was nowhere to go. The bitch joined him, and they stood together by the side of the bed, his arm thrown casually over her naked shoulder.

“She looks beautiful,” the solicitor sighed.

“Doesn’t she?” the Josh-imposter replied. “It sure does bring back happy memories, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it certainly does.”

And then they were gazing into each other’s eyes, Kim momentarily forgotten, simpering at each other like lovesick teenagers.

“You are also beautiful,” he told the solicitor.

Then they were kissing again and Kim turned her face away in revulsion. Maybe this was another hallucination. Maybe, if she closed her eyes tightly enough, then they would simply disappear.

But no, there was to be no such joy for Kim. The two lovebirds broke off the kiss and turned their attention back to their captive.

“What should we do to her next?” the solicitor asked.

Kim gazed up at the gruesome pair, only then consciously noticing that the room was no longer cast into shadows. Somewhere during this insanity, dawn had broken. The starkness of her new reality hit her, then. This was all just so real, she couldn’t even remember a time when her life wasn’t this.

“We,” he laughed. “You know this can only be me. You must stay clean, baby.”

“I know,” came the girlish reply. “It just looks so much fun, that’s all.”

Kim groaned into her wadded knickers when the two of them briefly embraced and kissed again. The inside of her mouth ached and throbbed so horribly the pain was almost as bad as her mutilated hands. The blood, the vomit, the terror, it stagnated and pooled in the back of her throat, leaving her insensible with misery.

But, worse than all of it, was the thought of her son. If they had hurt Ben… Sometimes, during the night, she thought she heard him crying, but maybe she was just hearing things. The mere thought of them hurting Ben was worse than any pain they could inflict upon her.

“It is fun,” he agreed. “The balance is the fun part; the maximum level of pain inflicted, versus longevity.”

“Well, I suppose we don’t have to keep her alive too long,” Claire Montgomery said thoughtfully.

“This is very true. A week is nothing. So, why don’t you be a good girl and run along and fetch a little something out of the toolbox for me? You can pick anything you want.”

He slapped her backside and she squealed appreciatively, as if she had just been presented with the Christmas gift of a lifetime.

“Anything I want? How lovely, thank you.”

Kim was aware of her dancing around the other side of the bed, large breasts bouncing. Kim knew what she was doing, for that was where the dreaded toolbox had been stashed.

Sure enough, the solicitor straightened up again, brandishing a small hacksaw.

“Wow, that’s ruthless, baby,” Josh said with some admiration. “What do you want me to do with that?”

“Whatever you want, Henry,” she said as she strode over towards him. “You are the artist.”

“This is true.” He gazed down at it thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “We have to be careful, though, we don’t want her bleeding out before the week is up, do we? And she’s already lost a lot of blood.”

“Then we’ll cauterize the wound immediately.”

“Yeah. We should’ve done that with her fingers, too.” Josh said. He grinned down at Kim, and she whimpered. “I think that the hand must go, completely, don’t you? Hands are dangerous things for a lady in her position to have.”

“You have a point.” Claire giggled. “You will also hack through a main artery.”

“Fire should seal it.”

“Should?”

“It will seal it,” he said with conviction. “I would ask you to hold her down, but I don’t want a single scrap of her DNA on you. Forensics nowadays, it’s not worth the risk.”

In a flash, Josh was straddling her.

Kim groaned and thrashed, terror seeping into her every pore. She knew she wouldn’t be able to take the pain, it would be too much, her system would surely just shut down.

Josh pinned down her wrist, and fresh pulses of agony slithered up her arm, emanating from the nubs of her missing fingers. The cool kiss of the jagged blade gently caressed her inner wrist, dragging at the vulnerable flesh, yet not breaking the skin…

Until it did.

The pain was unspeakable and Kim convulsed as if she were being electrocuted as the cruel blade dragged back and forth, over and over. Sawing. Hacking. Her mind collapsed in on itself as Josh continued in his mission of the mutilation of her flesh.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Abi Winters frowned up at the high, wooden gates, the engine of her ancient Ford Fiesta idling. Up until five minutes ago, this had seemed like a really good idea. But now? Now it seemed like a really shit idea.

Why did I come here?

Two days ago, after she’d had that bizarre video call with Kim in the dead of night, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Drunk or not, Kim had clearly been scared. And Josh had been so damn weird, hanging up on her like that. After that, Kim’s phone had been permanently switched off.

Neither could Abi stop thinking about that lurching movement behind her friend when her drunken arse had been sprawled on the bed. On an intellectual level, Abi knew that it had been nothing more than a trick of the light – or lack thereof – but it had chilled her. Because maybe she had witnessed some ghostly occurrence. Something not of this world.

All she knew was that her friend was either living in a haunted house or having a psychotic break. Either way, Abi felt compelled to come. She loved Kim like a sister and it saddened her she had married such a perverted ratbag. How could Kim not see what a shit her husband was? Years ago, when Josh and Kim had first started dating, and her own son Jack had only been little, Josh had made a pass at her. Sure, he had been drunk, but she had seen him then. The man he really was. Abi was beautiful and men looked at her constantly with lust, but there were different kinds of lust. At one end of the spectrum there was the awe-inspired, admiring lust that was sometimes a precursor to a full-blown crush. It usually involved wide, sparkling eyes and goofy grins. And at the other end there was plain-old animal lust. Not all primal, animal lust was bad – men checked out women, and she didn’t have a problem with that. But the far end of the spectrum was different, it was a bad kind of lust. It was aggressive, objectifying and hateful and usually dolled out by a misogynist, closet or otherwise.

Josh was the bad kind. On speed. The type of man that could make a women feel dirty and tearful just with one leer. Just, how could Kim not see it?

For the hundredth time, she picked up her phone next to her on the passenger seat and stared at the screen. Still nothing from Kim and she didn’t have Josh’s number. They were both also ignoring her on all social media platforms.

I had to come.

The intimidating gates towering over her car entirely blocked the view beyond. She eyed the intercom speaker, tucked to one side of the gates, a strong sense of foreboding curling around her.

Just turn around, right now, and don’t look back…

The engine still running, Abi got out of the car and pressed the buzzer.

*

“But she wouldn’t just leave Ben like that,” Abi protested.

Josh smiled at her, and she didn’t care for that smile one bit. He hadn’t smiled at her like that since that day, all those years ago, when he had flirted with her and shown her his true face.

Yet somehow, this was so much worse than that.

“She said she needed a break, you know? Everything was just getting all too much for her.”

“But without Ben? She wouldn’t do that. And she hasn’t spoken about Lucy for years – why the hell would she go and see her, of all people?”

Abi just couldn’t fathom it. Lucy was an old school friend who had moved to Scotland years ago and Kim barely mentioned her. She didn’t think they were still in touch.

“Because she talks to Lucy all the time. And what’s so strange about not taking Ben with her? I don’t see Jack with you.”

“That’s different,” she said indignantly. “It’s Rob’s turn to have him so I took the opportunity to come here.”

Rob was her ex who lived locally. Their fifty-fifty split of their twelve-year-old son was a longstanding arrangement and mostly amicable.

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Looks like you’ve had a wasted journey, doesn’t it?”

Abi regarded him through narrowed eyes. “Then why is your car still here, if she’s gone all the way up to Scotland?”

“Because I need a car this end. And it’s cheaper and quicker on the train.”

Everything he was saying made perfect sense, but somehow, Abi just didn’t believe a word he said. He was acting strangely, creepily, and this was weird.

“I’ve just been driving for six hours – aren’t you even going to offer me a cup of coffee?”

The truth was, as the pair of them stood there in the huge hallway of this otherworldly mansion, she hadn’t reckoned on driving home again immediately on arriving. She hadn’t exactly thought this through, and now evening was fast approaching. She had just assumed that she would be staying here tonight, that Kim would be here.

Now what was she supposed to do?

“If Ben isn’t with Kim, then where is he?” she asked.

“Taking a nap.”

His reply was one-hundred percent plausible, but she didn’t buy it. Gut instinct told her that he was lying.

“And where is this solicitor woman who is supposed to be staying with you?”

Josh looked momentarily taken aback, but quickly regained his composure. “She told you about that?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t she?”

“Well, she’s only here for a few more days,” he replied, not directly answering her question. “It was written into Henry’s will that she should stay with us for a few days while some technicalities were ironed out.”

Abi studied him intently; was he having an affair? That would explain Kim’s sudden disappearing act. But it made no sense to her that she would go all the way to the other side of the country to stay with a woman that Abi didn’t even think she was friends with anymore. Surely she would’ve come and stayed with her instead?

Movement to Abi’s left had her spinning around on the spot – someone was ascending the grand, spiral staircase. Openmouthed, she watched the approaching blonde woman, slinking down the stairs like a beautiful, sleek, predatory wild cat. Her perfect figure undulated in the form-hugging, floor-length cream silk dress she wore, and Abi felt immediately and woefully underdressed in her jeans and loose t-shirt.

“My ears are burning,” the stunning newcomer said. She stopped before Abi, smiling serenely, but her brilliant turquoise eyes remained cold. “Hello, I’m Claire Montgomery, I’m staying with the Smiths for a few days.”

Reluctantly, Abi accepted her offered hand. “I’m Abi, a friend of Kim’s.”

“Oh? She never mentioned a friend called Abi to me.”

That’s because you’re a husband thief, came the involuntary thought. Kim would never leave Ben behind with you in the house.

Right there and then she grasped the full magnitude of that unsettling truth – the pair of them were lying through their teeth. But why? Where was Kim?

Abi decided it was time to change tac. “You know what? I’d really like to stay here for the night, if you don’t mind? It’s been a long drive, and I wasn’t expecting Kim to not be here. She would want me to stay. You know what?” she said, opening her shoulder bag and retrieving her phone. “What’s her friend’s number? I’d like to call her, if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t have her friend’s number. Sorry,” came Josh’s blunt reply.

“Then how are you in touch with her if her phone is switched off?”

He shrugged, still smiling steadily in that way that made her skin crawl. “She said she’d call me later on tonight. Then I will have her friend’s number. Her phone screen is broken.”

Yeah. Because you broke it.

“Right,” Abi said. “In that case, I’ll just have to make sure I’m still here when she calls, won’t I?”

“You can’t stay here tonight,” the solicitor informed her with an icy smile.

Abi tried not to let her nerves show. “Kim would want me to stay.”

“Yes, you are absolutely right,” Josh agreed. “Of course you must stay.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” the woman countered. “I think she should leave, right now.”

“But why?” Josh smiled. “She wants to stay and there is plenty of room. I’m not going to turn away such a good friend of my wife’s now, am I?”

Claire Montgomery turned to face her, and for a moment, Abi was sorely tempted to pay heed to the woman’s words, because there was almost a frightened look in her eye. Just as quickly the look passed over and that icy indifference was back.

“If that’s what she wants,” the woman said.

“Can I check on Ben?” Abi asked.

“He’s sleeping,” the solicitor said.

Abi glared at her – why was this woman pulling rank over her? She was nothing to Ben, just, what exactly was going on here?

“I’d like to see him. I won’t wake him.”

“Why don’t you take her up to see Ben?” Josh suggested.

The solicitor looked as if she were about to protest, then she seemed to think better of it. “Fine. Follow me, then. But don’t wake him, okay? He needs to rest.”

Abi followed the beautiful woman up the stairs, aware of Josh’s gaze boring into her back on the way up. She wondered if he was still grinning that awful grin, but she didn’t turn around to look.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“See? What did I tell you? Fast asleep.”

Kim ignored the solicitor’s smug voice coming from behind her, and stared at Ben’s sleeping form in the big, near-empty room with those strange, thick, black wood posts that seemed to serve no discernible purpose. The sash windows were curtainless and it was still light out – he was clearly alive and well.

She frowned at this thought – what had she been expecting, exactly? Despite what she thought about Josh, did she really think that he could allow any harm to befall his son? No. Of course not.

So then why was she still feeling so damn uneasy?

“Are you happy now?” Claire Montgomery asked. “Ben is fine and I really don’t think you should be here tonight.”

Why? was on the tip of her tongue, when a dull thud reached her ears. She flinched, instantly – and inexplicably – on edge.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” the solicitor said.

Abi hissed in exasperation. “That thumping noise.”

She looked behind herself, down the long and wide hallway they had just traversed. She couldn’t say for sure, but it had sounded like the noise had come from the next room down from this one – the room with the closed door.

“I didn’t hear anything. Come on, let’s go back downstairs, we don’t want to wake Ben…”

And then that dull thud came again, louder this time. Whatever it was, it was something. They were hiding something.

“What’s going on?”

Now the solicitor was looking at her in a way that made her feel extremely uncomfortable. Her smile was just plain nasty.

“Don’t say I didn’t try to help you. This is your fault.”

“What’s my fault? What are you talking about?”

She was so transfixed by that horrible expression on the beautiful face, that she hadn’t heard Josh approach.

“You had your chance to leave, Abi, and now it’s too late,” he called to her from the other end of the hallway. “If you want to see Kim so much, then I’m happy to show you her.”

As he spoke, the wall lights – or sconces – in the shape of old-fashioned, wall-mounted candles flickered. Her bowels turned icy cold and she shivered as the air around her plummeted in temperature.

He walked towards where they stood and the lights flickered again, more dramatically this time.

“I’m getting stronger,” he said as he neared. “It won’t be long now before I’m always here.”

“What’s going on?” Abi managed to gasp out.

Her heart thumped painfully hard and fast against her sternum and she instinctively backed away from him, but the solicitor blocked her path. She had nowhere to run, anyway, apart from the next floor up, so she stood her ground.

This was wrong. Badly wrong. But maybe, if she pretended that everything was normal, then it could still be yet.

“Do you want to know what’s going on, Abi? Do you really?”

Abi discovered that no, when it came down to the crunch, she did not want to know. But it was too late now.

“Then I will show you,” he said.

He stopped before the closed door she and the solicitor had passed a second ago, and the worst feeling curled around her. She thought about making a bolt for it, of simply running past him, but uncertainty kept her rooted to the spot.

She still hoped that this was going to be okay.

“Come on then,” he taunted, on pushing open the door. “Come and see.”

Abi licked her dry lips, her throat suddenly parched. Feeling like she had no choice in the matter, she edged forwards, quite sure that she was dreaming. As she walked, the lights in the hallway flickered some more, and the air was still so chilly. She had reached the door. She had to be brave. She had to look…

At first, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. Her brain couldn’t process the imagery. She stared at the mutilated, blood-drenched form of Kim on the big, four-poster bed, too stunned right then to be scared.

Dazedly, she became aware of Josh coming up behind her, closing the gap between them, followed by the light brush of his big body against her back.

Oh fuck. This is bad.

She stiffened, the terror slowly creeping up on her. A small part of her still hoped that somehow, by some miracle, this was going to be okay.

And then his hand was around her neck, squeezing. She struggled then, clawing at his hand but he just squeezed harder. Her head ballooned with an awful emptiness and her lungs burned on the sudden nothingness. Everything lurched violently around her, and she was being bodily walked across the room. He walked her into one of the thick posts that sprouted up from floor to ceiling like tree trunks, but he didn’t stop walking. He mashed her front into the wood and pushed, hard. Dimly, she was aware of his hand curling in her hair, drawing back her head, then slamming her forehead into the wood. Brilliant light danced behind her eyes, accompanied by a flashing pain, and then there was only blackness.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Abi opened her eyes to a blazing headache. She groaned, groggy and disorientated, not knowing where she was or what had happened.

Blinking, wincing in pain, she looked around herself. The worst feeling of doom enveloped her. On a deeper level, she understood that she was in mortal danger, even if her brain was yet to catch up with the soul-crushing feeling of terror.

Slowly, she took in the scene. She came to realise that she was lashed to the wooden column with long coils of rope, that she wasn’t alone in the room. She opened her mouth to cry out, but all that emerged was a muffled, pathetic wail of protest.

“Good evening, sleepyhead, we thought you were never going to come ‘round. I’m so glad you could join us.”

Abi tried to scream again, to push the thick tape away from her mouth with her tongue, but it didn’t budge. She stared helplessly at Kim’s naked husband, who stood only a few metres in front of her. To her utter horror, she saw that he was holding a claw hammer.

Her terrified gaze flitted to Kim, who still lay sprawled in a bloody puddle on the bed, her hand raised above her prone body, as if a student in class wanting to ask a question.

Lashed to another post was the solicitor and Kim’s two-year-old-son, Ben. Unlike her, they were sitting at the base of the post, whereas Abi had been upright all the while she had been unconscious. She ached all over from where the ropes had held her upright and cut into her. Thankfully she was still dressed, so that had probably prevented the rope from drawing blood.

Ben and the solicitor couldn’t see each other, for they sat back-to-back, the post separating them. The solicitor was naked, and Ben was wearing a pair of spiderman pajamas. Ben looked as if he were unconscious or dead, his head lolling on his neck. The solicitor was awake, smiling over at her as if she were perfectly happy to be where she was.

“It is time,” Josh said to her. “The rituals have been completed, and soon this will be permanent.”

Abi didn’t have a clue what he was talking about and neither did she care. She screamed into the tape, her horror-filled gaze flitting helplessly from Ben to Kim, and back again. Were they dead?

Ben shifted slightly, his head rolling forward, and she sobbed loudly in relief. His eyes didn’t open, but at least he was still alive.

“Yes, it is time,” the solicitor said calmly. “You must do it now. Are you sure you are happy with the choice you made? Because there will be no going back.”

“Yes, I am sure. Prison would rather put a dampener on proceedings, would it not?”

The woman giggled softly. “Yes, I rather suppose that it would.”

“Wake up, bitch, you are going to want to watch this.”

With those words, Josh strode over to Kim, and shook her by the shoulders. Abi couldn’t see exactly what was going on because Josh was blocking most of her view, but when he moved her to the side, he saw that he had hauled her into a sitting position. She slumped against the headboard, the bloody, raised hand now parallel to her swollen face.

He grinned at Kim, and then at Abi. His contorted, twisted face turned her guts to ice-cold liquid.

And then he raised the hammer, bringing it down hard on his opposite arm, right on his bicep. He howled in pain, but to Abi’s horror, he was laughing, too.

“Fuck,” he laughed, and Abi cried out in disgust. “That fucking hurt.”

There wasn’t much blood, but his arm was already swelling.

“You should do Abi now; what if you deliver a fatal blow to yourself before you get the chance?”

Josh turned to look at the solicitor, that horrible grin plastered to his face, pain and insanity etched into his pulled taut lips. He nodded, then walked over to Abi.

Abi shrank away from him when he towered over her, a nightmare figure that sent her mind spiraling into terror.

He swung the hammer down into her stomach. Her body wanted to fold in on itself, but the ropes held her in place. The air knocked out of her, the pain dazzling and awful. She cried out for him to stop, but all she could dredge up was a pitiful, airless sob.

The hammer came down again, another heavy thunk in her soft stomach and she cried out incredulously. How could this be happening to her? The pain aside, it didn’t feel real.

“Josh,” she cried, “what is wrong with you? What are you doing?”

The words came out incomprehensible, swallowed by the tape, and hastily she blinked back the tears. Her nose was clogging which made it near-impossible to breathe. She forced herself under some semblance of control, driving the madness back for all of two seconds.

“No,” she wailed when he swung the hammer at her guts for the third time, this time the claw head facing outwards.

It tore through the thin cotton of her top, thunking straight into her flesh. Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, he dragged the claw horizontally across her stomach, tearing into clothes and skin alike.

At first, she didn’t fully comprehend what he had done. It hurt, but not necessarily in a life-threatening way. The hot wetness of her blood soaking her midriff was initially the only indication that this wide gash in her stomach was mortally deep.

She looked down at herself with disbelieving eyes, only seeming to register the pain, the severity of it, on seeing it. A fetid aroma reached her nostrils, putting her in mind of flatulence the morning after a heavy night of food and booze, except this smell was tinged by something metallic.

The stink of my insides, she thought in mounting horror.

Also, she saw that her stomach looked lumpy. Initially, she thought it was just her ripped clothes hanging off her in clumps, but no, it was all her. It was her insides, spilling out of the slit in her flesh.

She screamed in terror, but her voice felt reedy, weaker than ever, suffocated by the gag.

“Can you feel it?” Josh screamed triumphantly down at her. “It’s happening.” In terror, she watched him stride over to Kim on the bed. “Your turn.”

He then did the same thing to Kim as he had done to her, dragging the claw of the hammer across her stomach.

Abi realised then with absolute certainty that she was going to die, just as Kim was. He swiveled on the spot, grinning at Abi and she bellowed in silent rage at his hateful face. All around her, she was aware of movement, of undulating, flickering shadows. She didn’t know if this sudden lurching was a product of her fading, terrified mind, or if there was something in the room with them.

“Can you feel it?” Josh screamed again.

She watched him raise the claw of his hammer to his own stomach and drag it across the flesh in a horizontal line. The skin split open effortlessly, his guts instantly bulging in the slit, his blood spilling out. He then thunked to his knees, laughing and sobbing, dropping the hammer and clawing at his own stomach, teasing out his insides. His fingers paddled in his stomach, tugging at slippery organs and intestines.

And all the while, the shadows darkened around her. Or maybe, Abi thought dimly, it was she who was darkening, she who was fading. She closed her eyes to the horror, to the relentless pain, to her very life slipping away.

It wouldn’t be long now, she could feel it.

*

Kim came ‘round briefly when Josh sliced open her guts. She emerged fully – and briefly – into consciousness to witness Josh dying hysterically on the floor, pulling out the contents of his stomach, his hands wrapped around coils of intestines and tugging on them.

In that moment of pained clarity, she took in the room. Was that her good friend Abi, lashed to a post by coils of rope, her stomach a bloody mess, her head hanging limply on her neck?

She cried out in mental agony when her gaze slithered further afield to her son, tied to the base of a post with the naked solicitor. He too, was alarmingly limp. There was no blood on him, which she prayed was a positive sign.

Josh was now convulsing on the floor, twitching like a landed fish on the deck of a boat. He may have been laughing, although it was hard to tell.

Finally, he fell still.

“Henry?” came a woman’s voice.

Kim focused her once-again-fading attention in the direction of the voice. It was the solicitor, twisting her head around to address Ben. A rush of emotions flooded Kim when Ben raised his head, his eyes opening.

But he was giggling, and any elation she felt quickly deserted her.

“You did it, baby, you really did it,” Claire Montgomery gushed. Slowly, Kim realised that the woman was now talking to her. “Finally, Henry is back with me. And you signed him over to me, Kim, that night at dinner. In the event of any tragedy that were to befall this family, then I am to become Ben’s legal guardian and the sole beneficiary of Henry’s estate. How sad that Josh should lose his mind and slaughter his wife, a family friend, and himself.”

But Kim barely heard her – the shadows were crowding her, darkening her vision and dulling her mind. The pain was still present, but dimmer. She could feel herself untethering, detaching from what had once been her life.

The last thing she saw was Ben grinning horribly, he and the solicitor struggling against the rope.

It wouldn’t be long until they were both free.

Ben, was her last, coherent thought. Please still be in there, Ben. Don’t let Henry in.

Kim slipped in and out of the waiting blackness as Ben wriggled free of the rope and stood up.

The next and final time she opened her eyes, he was standing over her, grinning at her like a heartless, corrupt old man who had spent a lifetime joyfully inflicting suffering on others.

“Goodnight Mummy,” he said lightly, reaching down to gently caress her hand where her fingers used to be. “Sweet dreams.”

THE END.

Hello dear reader, you have reached the end of HOUSE ARREST – thanks for sticking with me to the end.

It must be said, I even scared myself writing this story. Being a mother, as well as a somewhat gentle soul (yes really) I tend to avoid using children in my stories. As such, this was a difficult one for me to write.

I remember, as a young teenager, the first time I watched ‘The Exorcist’ from 1973, and it had a lasting impact on me. I still have nightmares about that damn film and book. I still get the occasional night terror, where I lie there paralyzed in bed, with the delightful Regan sitting on my chest, spewing obscenities and vomit all over me. Except now, sometimes Regan morphs into a dark-haired, two-year-old-kid called Ben who wears the face of pure evil…

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the twisted tale. Below, I have enclosed a sample of my next release, FLESH FACTORY: AFTERMATH. I wrote FLESH FACTORY back in 2016, meaning this sequel has been seven years in the making. At time of writing this afterword, I am still working on it, and it is shaping up to be extremely dark. I don’t know about you, but sometimes I do wonder for my sanity…

Thanks again for accompanying me on my writing journey, I appreciate you all more than I can ever say.

Sweet nightmares to you all,

Sam West.

BOOK DESCRIPTION

FLESH FACTORY: AFTERMATH

In 2016, The Flesh Factory ceased to exist.

Hope Hill – the sole survivor of the bloody massacre that saw the termination of the despicable organisation that was the Flesh Factory – is  picking up the pieces of her broken life. She is free of the mental asylum, but she is not free of her own personal demons.

She is haunted by the events of seven years ago, forever changed by the unspeakable depravity she bore witness to. In order to move forward she must first confront the past. And what better place to start than the mansion in which the demise of the Flesh Factory occurred and where hundreds of people met their untimely death one fateful night. This mansion is a hotel now, and Hope decides to book herself a room. She intends to face her demons head on and draw a line under the past once and for all…

Hope will come face to face with her past alright, in spectacular style. Because evil never truly dies. It does not sleep, it does not rest, and it will stop at nothing to get at what it truly desires.

It wants the one who got away.

It wants Hope.

FLESH FACTORY: AFTERMATH

ONE

The man reading the newspaper, sitting at the dark-wood bar in the dingy, low-ceilinged pub looked exactly Rohan Sanders. It wasn’t Rohan, of course, because Rohan had been dead for seven years, but the similarity was uncanny. This guy was bigger and older, his shoulders broader and his physique stockier, but they shared the exact same shade of golden blonde hair that flopped onto an identical, smooth and broad forehead.

Something in this stranger’s face made Hope Hill’s heart twist in pain. Maybe it was his boyish, snub nose that was so much like Rohan’s, or the wide, full mouth, also like Rohan’s, that was currently set in a pursed line of concentration as he studied the local newspaper.

Rohan had the most dazzling smile that cracked open his entire face, and this stranger looked as if he might also share that special trait. This guy, however, had a broader face and lacked Rohan’s finely chiselled cheekbones and nicely proportioned jaw. His eyes – although the same shade of brilliant, cobalt blue – were smaller and deeper set, giving him a more intense look, rather than one of boyish innocence.

As if sensing the weight of Hope’s gaze upon him, the stranger lifted his head. Two empty barstools separated them and the lighting was low, but there was no mistaking the combination of confusion and sexual curiosity in his eyes.

“Hello,” the man said.

His voice was deeper than Rohan’s, in keeping with his bigger physique.

“Hi,” Hope said, dropping her gaze with a good dose of false modesty.

She may not have been able to fake a blush, but under the cover of this dark establishment it would be easy to assume that she was blushing.

“Are you here alone?” the man asked.

“It looks that way.” She laughed softly. “I think I may have been stood up.”

“Oh. That’s too bad. Can I buy you a drink?”

The six magic words. She was in.

“That would be nice. But, I don’t want to make nuisance of myself. I mean, if you’re waiting for someone…”

She let her words trail off, the perfect mix of polite yet shy. Christ, she figured she deserved an Oscar for her little performance. But then, Hope had become a dab hand at performance of late.

“No. I’m here alone.”

Reaching over, he dragged the barstool backwards. “Please, join me. What are you having?”

It was painfully obvious to Hope that he was here alone – a guy, out on the pull. She just hoped he would be dirty enough for her. He folded the newspaper at the page he had been reading and placed it on the bar top. Grace slid gracefully off her stool to sit on the other one.

“A G and T would be lovely,” she said with a coy little smile, lowering her gaze in a practiced, sweet way.

The stranger laughed and proceeded to order a double off the barman.

“So, who stood you up?” he asked when she had her drink. “A friend? A date?”

“A man I met on Tinder.” She groaned softly. “Oh God, I feel so embarrassed now; I don’t think I’ve ever been stood up before.”

She looked around herself, as if wildly humiliated. The pub was still quiet, given that it was only half six on a Thursday night. Hope preferred to start her evenings of debauchery early, and play the sweet-lost-little-me card, which was easier in a less rowdy environment.

“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone at some time or other.”

“Has it ever happened to you?”

She glanced down at his hand, circled around the base of his pint. No wedding ring. Had he taken it off for tonight? Not that Hope gave a flying shit about his marital status; she rather hope that he was married.

“Sure it has,” he answered smoothly, as if purposely dodging any confirmation as to whether he was in a relationship or not.

“But what if the guy in question saw me? What if he took one look at me waiting at the bar then ran a mile before I even clocked he was here?”

“Unlikely.”

He seemed to be buying her well-rehearsed patter. There was no guy, the date tonight mythical. He cast an appraising glance down her body in the sexy, but still elegant, floral, knee-length dress. At thirty-seven, Hope still had a knockout figure and she knew it. She was all boobs and legs and gym-honed, size-ten curves. It wasn’t until seven years ago when she had first met Rohan that she had taken charge of her own body and sexuality. Or maybe taken charge was a stretch because life had forced this change upon her. It wasn’t often that she felt in control of her own destiny.

“Thanks, but I’m not convinced,” she simpered, fishing for compliments. Because she hoped this guy had bad intentions. In her experience, the sweetest-looking guys, as well as the more put-together looking guys usually had the worst intentions of all. And those were the intentions that she liked the best.

“You should be convinced,” the man said with a sly grin. He had straight white teeth, like Rohan. But he wasn’t Rohan, which made her sad. “You are beautiful – a man would have to be fool to stand up a woman like you.”

“Smooth talker,” she giggled, taking a sip of her drink.

The gin was suitably strong but it would take more than this to get her drunk. Hope was hardened to booze – she was hardened to most things in life, especially when it came to sex. It took a lot for her to feel much of anything at all. Sexually, her tastes had grown somewhat more refined since her introduction to the Flesh Factory.

“Do you really think so?” the man replied. He seemed pleased. “Was I smooth? I don’t make a habit of buying strange women drinks, you know.”

“You think I’m strange?”

“A stranger, is what I meant.”

Was he blushing? Boy, this guy was good.

“Why don’t you buy women drinks?” she asked playing along. “Because here you are, doing such a convincing job of it.”

“Thankyou.” The man grinned.

Again, she found herself frowning. He really did have such an open, sunny face, like Rohan. Maybe this guy was the one who could give her exactly  what she craved. Maybe that sweet smile hid the blackest of hearts, just like Rohan.

“Honestly, you are the first woman I’ve talked to in a bar in that way for like, ten tears.”

“You haven’t talked to a woman for ten years?” she giggled, still playing along.

“Of course I’ve talked to women, but, well, you know, I haven’t chatted anyone up since forever. I wouldn’t even know where to begin nowadays.”

His bumbling act was a good one, and she studied him more closely. How old was he, anyway? A weathered thirty-five? A well-preserved forty-something? The non-descript clothes of jeans and dark pullover further made it hard to age him, being neither fashionable nor dated.

She couldn’t get a handle on him and she decided that was a good thing. She liked her men sweet on the outside and rotten-to-the-core on the inside. She hoped that this guy would take away her pain with more pain, because only strong physical sensation could drive out the demons in her head.

“So then why haven’t you chatted up girls for ten years?”

She was quite enjoying the feeling of being hunted by a man whom she only hoped was a sexual predator. She smirked to herself – these guys were always so shocked when they realised it was she hunting them all along.

“Yeah, I was with someone. She passed away six months ago.”

Hope’s heart twisted in her chest; if he was lying that was extremely and deliciously fucked up. It was the type of line that Rohan might have spun a hapless victim in order to lure her into his wicked web. How exciting. This guy was definitely intriguing.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, twirling a strand of waist-length red hair around her finger as if she were shy and nervous. “How did she die?”

“Hit and run. Drink driver.” His voice was flat but he played the part of sad beautifully. A lost look passed over his dazzling blue eyes as he stared glumly down at his pint.

Hope licked her lips, shifting in arousal on the barstool. Only someone very sick would spin a line like that.

“That’s awful, I am so sorry,” she simpered, admiring his broad shoulders and allowing her gaze to fleetingly travel to his crotch bulge as he continued to stare convincingly forlornly into his drink.

“Yeah,” he went on, still not meeting her gaze. “this is the first time that I’ve been out on the town since she died. My friends forced me; they said I had to get out there and have some fun.” He laughed bitterly. “I’m not even sure what that is, anymore.” Then his head snapped upwards, a look of convincing pain and embarrassment in his eye. “Not that talking to you is miserable, or anything, I just meant that my head is still in a pretty dark place most of the time. Shit, I told you I was no good at this.”

“Where are your friends then?” she asked, wondering how far he would go in his deviant lies.

He looked at his watch – a non-flashy kind to compliment his carefully cultivated persona of unassuming, non-materialist, all-round wholesome guy.

“I came out a little early, thought I’d get a head start on them. See if I could get myself in the pub kind of mood.”

“And how’s that working out for you?” Hope asked.

“A lot more interestingly than I thought it would,” he laughed. “I wasn’t expecting to get to buy a beautiful redhead a drink, that’s for sure.”

“And you’re meeting your friends at this bar?”

“Yeah.” Again, the man looked at his watch. “They should be here by now. Unless I get stood up, too.”

“And wouldn’t that be coincidence?” Hope replied, knowing full well that he would get stood up as his friends were about as real as her imaginary Tinder date.

“Yeah, I guess it would. I’m Owen, by the way.”

He extended his hand towards her, but Hope was so surprised to hear his name it had rendered her momentarily paralysed. Owen. Rohan.

Fuck. This was insane.

Awkwardly, his hand dropped to the bar, fingering the pages of the folded newspaper.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t mean to come across as a creep. I told you I was rusty at this.”

Hope blinked, still reeling from the name reveal. Finally – haltingly – she found her voice.

“No, it’s just…” She paused. She was losing her cool, feeling very much like this conversation was spiralling out of control. She cleared her throat. “I’m Hope. Hope Hill.”

She was fine with him knowing her real name as she had no social media presence whatsoever. Yes, maybe she was active on many less-than-salubrious interactive websites, but never under her real name. She had a variety of aliases, her main one being Honey Diamond. None of her nom de plumes were in any way connected to her real name.

And her name had been kept out of the press when the story about The Flesh Factory broke out. Although, not even a fraction of what happened was reported. Even with its demise, the factory had a way of burying its secrets. Mick Cooper, the deranged brainchild behind the nefarious organisation may have been dead, but his legacy lived on. Evil never truly died, Hope believed that wholeheartedly.

“Hope. That’s a nice name. Maybe there is Hope for me yet, Hope Hill.”

Hope froze, not believing what she had just heard. Because that was almost exactly what Rohan had once said to her – they were almost exactly his parting words after their first encounter.

There’s hope for you yet, Hope Hill.

A sense of déjà vu curled around her and she shivered, despite the warmth of the late summer night. After her cruel treatment at the hands of the Flesh Factory, specifically by the main man, Mick Cooper, Hope had suffered a complete mental breakdown. It had been so severe she had been institutionalised, convinced that she was seeing the ghost of Rohan Sanders, one of Cooper’s main henchmen. She and Rohan had fallen in love, and she loved him still. Loving him was insanity – Rohan was almost as deranged as his boss – but the heart only ever wants what it wants. And no one was perfect; he had tried to do the right thing when it mattered most, and that was the main thing.

“What’s the matter, Hope? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Again, she flinched at his words. The bizarreness of this encounter with this Rohan-lookalike just would not quit.

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Not anymore, she silently added. Because she had been declared clinically insane when she had seen Rohan’s ghost, those hallucinations having been nothing more than the product of her deeply-troubled mind. With hospital treatment, the visions had slowly ceased.

“I’m sorry, I’m making a complete pig of this,” Owen continued. “Just so you know, I wasn’t trying to pick you up; I don’t want you to think that I’m a complete sleaze, or anything. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful and everything, and I’d love to take you out for a meal or a drink sometime, but I hadn’t planned on asking you that.” He looked at her incredulously, as if seeing her properly for the first time. “Good God, I am so sorry; as if a woman like you would ever go out with a guy like me. It’s just, it was really nice to meet you, Hope Hill. You are the first woman I’ve even noticed since… Well, since a very long time.” He rubbed his face. “Now I sound like a complete douchebag.”

Hope was feeling increasingly dreamlike and strange. Dimly, she was aware that the music had been turned up and a familiar, plaintive male voice curled around her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

I turned on the lights, the TV and the radio, still I can’t escape the ghost of you…

Dizzy now, Hope slid off her stool. “I should go.”

“Wait,” Owen said, the desperate edge to his voice giving her pause. “Please. Before you go…”

He turned to the barman and asked for a pen, which the man duly produced. Hastily, Owen scribbled on the folded newspaper, then ripped the page in two, handing her the piece of severed sheet.

“Whoops, that’s a little big.” He laughed sheepishly. “Never mind.”

Hope accepted the near-A4-sized piece of torn paper without looking at it.

“Right. Thanks,” she murmured.

Suddenly, she felt awkward and shy, which wasn’t like her at all. Not this version of Hope anyway; she hated feeling as vulnerable as she used to feel, before the Flesh Factory irreversibly changed her. That version of her was long dead.

All she had wanted tonight was rough sex with a stranger who looked like dead love-of-her-life. Or she had, anyway, until his name reveal, because that shit was just too much. Maybe Hope didn’t believe in ghosts anymore, but she still retained an element of superstition. And the signs tonight with this guy were just plain weird.

Wanting to get away from him to clear her head and to escape the stupid, infernal song playing, she turned to leave…

END OF SAMPLE.

The following titles are all available for purchase on Amazon:

SUFFER HARD

MEET THE MEAT

DJINN

DJINN II

HOME INTRUDER 1

HOME INTRUDER 2

MARY BLAKE

BAD HOUSE

DEAD DOT COM

FLESH FACTORY

FLESH FACTORY: AFTERMATH

THE DARK SIDE OF RED

STRANGE GEOMETRY

DON’T LOOK

SHADOW GAMES

TWO MINDS (cowritten with Matt Shaw)

THE GIRL IN THE PAINTING (cowritten with Matt Shaw)

SCHOOL REUNION

VICTIM

HIS FOR THE KEEPING

SPLATTERPUNKS

UNSEEN

HOUSE OF NIGHTMARES

AT NIGHT

DRIVING AT MIDNIGHT

SNUFF CLUB

GARY’S GIRLS

THE COLLECTION

TALES OF A DEAD-END STREET

THE GREEN FOG

DREAMWORLD

HER FATHER’S MISTAKE

WRITERS’ RETREAT

THE NANNY

DEATH CITY

STRANGE FLESH

INSIDE

INTO YOU

THIS SACK OF FLESH AND BONE

THE GRINDHOUSE EXPERIENCE BOOK 1

THE GRINDHOUSE EXPERIENCE BOOK 2: MONSTER HOUSE

THE LOCKDOWN TRADE-OFF

DEAD AHEAD

TALES FROM THE EDGE OF THE SEA

LANGDON MANOR

TWO SISTERS

BEHIND THE CAMERA

NEVER LEAVE ME

THE CLEANER

THREE

FUNFAIR

HOUSE ARREST

Anthologies:

AND HELL FOLLOWED from DEATHSHEAD PRESS (A Splatterpunk Award Winner)

MASTERS OF HORROR compiled by MATT SHAW

THE DEVIL’S GUESTS compiled by MATT SHAW

BAH HUMBUG compiled by MATT SHAW

BATTERED, BROKEN BODIES

compiled by MATT SHAW

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