ghost story – Sincerely, Jennifer x

Safe and Sound

Posted on March 16, 2023 by MissJSquared

He tried to open the door, so I shot him. He staggered back, falling off of the ladder, his face frozen in horror, staring up at me, still and silent.

I was alone.

The scarlet stain spread across his once clean, white shirt, pooling on the floor around his body.

He was dead. Nothing could come in, and nothing could go out. That’s what he had always said.

It’s been three days since the bombs dropped. It felt like it wasn’t happening, like a dream. Dad grabbed my wrist, pulling me down to the garden with a cry of panic. It was just the two of us. I was all he had. He told me so as he finished bolting the shelter door, leaning against it with tears in his eyes.

I was all he had. My Mum was long dead, and they’d never had any other kids. Dad didn’t get out much. He just stayed home when he finished work, watching the news and talking to… her. I used to try and get him out to meet people, normal people, but he just wasn’t the type, and so, it was just me. I was all he had, apart from… them. I always did my bit, helping around the house and trying to keep Dad in good spirits, but it had been difficult.

We lived next door to this family of weirdos. I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s what they were. I suppose it doesn’t matter what I say. The world is… or has ended, and I’m just recording all this, knowing that there is probably nobody out there.

The Campbell’s were weird. Mary was the weirdest, a paranoid, obsessive old woman with all these silly ideas about the end of the world. I know it seems dumb to dismiss her, given my current situation, and also all the things we had lived through, but things seemed to be slowly getting back to normal, so… I did.

They moved in a few months back, and while my Dad wasn’t in a good place before they showed up, they definitely made things worse. He was still struggling with how we lost Mum, and he was vulnerable, so that Mary started filling his head with ideas, and before I knew it, he was helping her equally weird son in law and grandson to build a bomb shelter in our garden. The agreement was that we would share it, and I think they would have let us in too, if they’d have made it to the shelter.

We were so far underground, buried beneath tons of metal and earth, but we could hear it.

The end of the world, again.

I suppose all the fuss that led up to it had passed me by. There’s always bad news, isn’t there? Someone’s at war with someone. Someone else starts another war. On and on.

Dad would watch the news intently every night, hushing me as the day’s comings and goings were read out by a stony faced, stoic broadcaster. He’d been preparing for months now, ever since Mary got her claws into him. I thought that she was trying it on with him, looking for a toy boy or something, but no, she just wanted to spread her contagious paranoia

I know I sound flippant, especially as she turned out to be right, but this is a bad world. Nothing has been right since… the event. I see that now. You know… The virus. Not Covid, but the OTHER virus. The unbelievable one. The one from the movies. The one from our nightmares.

Nobody saw zombies coming, I suppose, and I guess in comparison, nuclear war seems a little tame, but it had been a few years since the grey death, and the world had become complacent again. Except my Dad, and our batshit neighbours, obviously.

He was never really the same after the zombies. Most people weren’t, they just pretended.

Maybe that was how Mary and her family got my Dad so quickly. All he had left was me, and the memory of what he’d had to do to my Mum all those years ago. He was a broken man.

Mary was broken too. She had the remains of her weird little family, but she had lost a lot when the zombies came. Her only daughter was killed, and her daughter in law. She still had her son in law and her grandson, as well as her son Martin, but none of them could really cope with it. They just kept going, tripping and falling into this constant cycle of worry. It was the only real reason they seemed to have to get out of bed.

I used to think Mary was the weirdest, but then I met Martin.

Martin was insane. There is no other way to say it, I’m sorry. He wasn’t around at first. He’d quit his job in the health service and moved across the country to clear his head. Mary would get letters and calls from him sometimes, but he never visited. His wife Ella had died when the virus came, torn to pieces. He never really got over it, I suppose.

He came back about a month ago, banging on about some man with a pumpkin at the cinema. He started talking about these bad dreams and visions, pointing wildly behind him at this alleged man, as if we could see him. He’d obviously gone crackers.

Mary dragged him into the house and managed to keep him calm for a few hours, but in the middle of the night, he just ran out into the street, screaming and shouting as she chased after him. Absolute weirdos, as I said.

He got away. Running off into the night, never to be seen by his Mother again. She just howled, reaching out into the night’s sky as she sobbed. Her son in law came out and persuaded her to come back in, but there was something in her that broke that day.

It was a few days, and then the police came around saying that there had been no sign of him, and that they’d start looking for a body. It seemed quick, but these days, the police don’t have much time for missing people, because everything is just… chaotic. Part of me wishes I’d paid more attention to everything, but I don’t think being as worried as all the adults would have done me much good. That news tipped Mary over the edge, I suppose. She’d lost both of her kids, and all she had left was a son in law she’d never really liked and a grandson that constantly reminded her of the daughter she’d lost.

We found her in the bunker.

Dad sent me back up to the house while he cleaned things up and buried her, and after that, he became obsessed with drills and practising for the next time that the world would end. Mary’s son in law, and her grandson Jude went back to Scotland, and we never heard from them again, so it was just me and Dad on our own.

We didn’t know what was coming but Dad wanted us to be prepared for everything, so every day after school we’d run drills. He pulled me out of school a few weeks ago. He just didn’t want me out of his sight. I suppose it doesn’t matter now. There’s nothing left.

When the bombs hit, we didn’t say a word. We could hear them, faintly, and Dad just stared at me. I stared back. Our gaze remained unbroken as the world fell into silence.

We just stood still for a few moments. It was like everything stopped. Dad reached for my hand as the walls began to shudder. We settled on the sofa, staring around at the small living space and waiting. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough to sustain us. There were several beds, a shelf of books and games, a camping stove surrounded by shelves of foods, and the bathroom.

It sounds stupid, but at that moment, I suddenly began to panic at the idea of going to the toilet. There was a door between the bathroom and the rest of the shelter, so I’d have my privacy, but it was a small bunker, and I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I began glancing around the small shelter, a new privacy induced panic popping into my head every second

Dad snapped me out of it, asking what I wanted for dinner. We both froze for a moment before breaking out into nervous laughter. This was to be our life. Hiding from the outside world, a broken Father and his equally broken but oblivious daughter, playing scrabble and eating freeze dried meals, tinned nonsense and caramel digestives until it was safe to go back outside.

At first, it wasn’t too bad. We had dinner, had a very lively game of monopoly, but then, Dad broke down. He could barely speak for the first few seconds, his breath, hurried and hysterical as the tears fell and he clung to me. It was Mum. She was long dead, of course, as I said, but Dad and I had planted a tree for her in our garden, and he used to sit by it every evening, for hours sometimes.

It was just a tree, but it meant the world to him, and as the dust outside began to settle, and the reality of what had happened began to hit him, he lost control. Tearing up the ladder and towards the door, he was sobbing and screaming her name. I pulled him down, collapsing to the hard ground with him as he struggled.

He just lay there beside me, crying so hard that he shook, and all I could do was wait for it to be over.

Helpless. Hopeless.

The next day was easier. Dad began to adjust, and I felt a little less weight on my shoulders. My life had changed so much in the fourteen years I’d been alive, and since we’d lost Mum, I’d been hurtling into adulthood, as hard as I’d tried to resist. Dad had noticed, but he’d been drowning for so long that it had been hard for him to do anything about it.

We had a good breakfast (or as good as you can have underground), kept ourselves amused throughout the day, broken up by more meals and small talk. It was boring, but it was safe, so I didn’t mind too much. As we settled down to bed later that day, I tried to stay positive, but within minutes of waking up a few hours later, I had no doubt that the bombs would be the least of our problems.

Dad wasn’t in his bed. The shelter was shrouded in darkness, and as I climbed out of my bed and shone my torch around the bunker, I saw him over at the ladder, the periscope gripped tightly in his hands. I called out to him, but he wouldn’t say a word, just staring into the periscope in silence.

I managed to get him down and back to bed, when he finally spoke.

It was Mum. That’s what he said. He seemed so sure, so lucid, but it made no sense. She was dead, at his own hand too, her head caved in and splattered across the pavement. He’d seen it, and so had I, but as he sat on the bed, with a smile, he seemed so sure that she was outside.

I tried to convince him that it was just a dream, but the more I tried, the more upset he became. He started trying to get to the door again, pushing me back and running for the ladder. I chased after him, tackling him to the ground. I held him down, pleading with him to stay away from the door, and after promising that we’d check the periscope together, he calmed down again.

Even though I knew he couldn’t be right, I felt anxious as he leaned to the side and motioned for me to join him on the ladder. My heart was pounding, my mind racing as I wondered, for a split second if he was right.

What if my Mother waited on the other side of the door. Could I see her again? I had tried to forget the last time, remembering her as she was years before, but every now and again, I’d see her in her final moments, lurching at us with a rabid, ripped up face before clattering to the pavement, my father’s shoes lost in the blood and brains she left behind.

There was nothing. Just rubble, dust in the air and silence. We watched the empty night for a minute or two before I managed to coax him down and back to bed. I watched him from my bunk, waiting for him to fall asleep, and as he drifted off, my eyes felt heavy too, and before I knew it, I was asleep.

I don’t know what time it was, but there was loud banging as I awoke. I thought it was more bombs. I scrambled for the torch, my heart racing, the noise constant but clearer as I woke up a little more. Dad was sat up in bed, shaking and staring over at the ladder, a frantic knock repeating again and again from the other side.

Dad was white as a sheet, his hand weak as it clutched mine. I pushed it away, striding towards the door, grabbing Mary’s gun from the top of the shelf as I passed. He called out to me, begging me to be careful, and I nodded, slowly climbing the ladder and grabbing the periscope.

I slipped in shock as my eyes adjusted, grabbing onto the ladder to steady myself as I tried to focus, so sure that my eyes were playing tricks on me.

It was Martin. He was panicked, banging his fists against the door, his screams silent and his skin, scorched by radiation. I felt along the wall for the intercom switch, pushing it and jumping in shock as his shouting flooded the shelter.

“Mum! Let me in!” I watched him battering the cool metal of the door with burned, balled up fists, his face, covered in deep sores that leaked down onto the ground before him.

I turned the intercom off. It had only been a few days since the bomb, and I didn’t know if the radiation would still hurt us. It didn’t do Martin any good, obviously. I know how selfish I am, but I had to be the adult. My Dad was a mess. He had been for years, if I was honest, and so I had to protect him.

He asked who the voice was, what the banging was, but I just told him it was all a dream. He wanted to believe me, I think. It was all too much for him. He lay back in bed, nodding as I lied, closing his eyes as I tucked him in, our roles reversed.

The noises outside stopped, and as I watched my Father fall asleep, I thought about Martin. He had nobody. He’d come looking for his Mum, but she was long gone. The world was changing, breaking apart, and he was all alone.

The guilt got the better of me, and once I was sure Dad was asleep, I crept over to the ladder, climbing up, unsure of what I’d do when confronted with Martin. Maybe I’d let him in? Maybe just explain our situation?

It didn’t matter. I was too late. At first, I thought he had just run away. There was nobody there, and I was about to climb down, when something come flying at the shelter, so fast that I almost fell from the ladder in shock.

I looked down the periscope, his face staring back at me. I held my hands over my mouth, nausea gnawing at me as his glassy eyes bore into mine.

Up ahead, I could see them, white and black striped, with cuts and sores all along their bodies. Their claws shone in the night and they were gathered together. Frothing at the mouth and bigger than I’d ever seen them before, like they’d grown five sizes or something… badgers. BADGERS! Gnashing their teeth and tearing into something… someone… Martin.

They turned to the shelter, their mouths full and their eyes focused and glowing, and I withdrew the periscope, rushing down the ladder and running for my bed.

Martin was dead. There was nothing I could do about that. There were… mutant animals outside. BADGERS! Mutant badgers! What was I meant to do?

I just lay there, for hours, wishing it was a dream but knowing it could never be.

-x-

I must have fallen asleep at some point, and I woke to Dad shaking me and shouting.

He was convinced someone was in the shelter with us. Shouting about Mary, about Mum, pointing at the door, the bathroom, under the beds. It was chaos. I got out of bed, trying to calm him down, or even just slow him down as he spoke, but nothing helped.

It was like something in him snapped. Maybe it was a nightmare he’d had, or maybe he hadn’t been as convinced as I’d thought the night before, but there was no way to reassure him.

He was frantic, and that was how he stayed. I tried to keep things as normal as I could, but he’d break out into a panic out of nowhere. He became certain that we had to go outside. I’d pull him back from the door, explaining about the radiation, the fallout, even about the badgers, but he wouldn’t listen.

We managed a few hours before he overpowered me and bolted for the ladder. He was screaming about what he could see. It was under the beds, in the shadows, everywhere he looked, angry eyes, all of these voices, so loud that he couldn’t stand it.

I chased after him, pulling at his legs but he kicked me to the ground, his hands reaching for the locks on the door.

So, I shot him.

I just meant to get his leg, or his arm. I don’t know. I just wanted to stop him opening the door. The radiation would have got in, or worse, whatever had taken a dose of the radiation outside. He fell. It was like time stopped, and he fell to the ground, the gun, burning in my hand as his blood began to flood the floor.

I ran to his side, tearing off my jacket and pushing it against his chest, but the blood poured, relentless and never ending. Soon, we were both covered in blood, my tears fell, and I was alone.

I just knelt beside him, holding my jacket against his wound, knowing it did no good, but not knowing what else to do.

“He was right, you know.” The voice took me by surprise, quiet, right in my ear, so strange. Not familiar, and frightening in a way that I couldn’t describe. I turned to face it, but nobody was there. “You were never alone, Caroline.” My eyes darted around the shelter, desperately trying to find someone, but I was all alone.

I had to believe I was alone. My Dad had snapped, gone mad from the stress, but I couldn’t follow him. There was nothing down here. I told myself that again and again. I covered my Dad’s body with a blanket and got a shower.

I could hear them, over the water, but I just told myself that I was all alone. I could see their eyes and their fingertips under the bed as I walked past. I could feel them watching me as I fell asleep, but I had to believe that I was all alone.

The outside is a wasteland. I stay up on the ladder for hours at a time, staring out, knowing that I can’t open the door and leave, and they watch me do it.

They never leave me alone. Always watching, always whispering. Addicted to my madness.

I don’t know what they are. They want me to go outside. Is there anything to go back to out there? Will they follow me? Will you be waiting outside too? They promised that you would. Mum will be there too. Dad. All my friends. The weirdos from next door. I just have to open the door.

Dad was right… we weren’t alone. Maybe they’re right too?

Shall we find out?

Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Safe and Sound – Part Two

Posted on March 16, 2023 by MissJSquared

I must have fallen asleep at some point, and I woke to Dad shaking me and shouting.

It was like something in him snapped. Maybe it was a nightmare he’d had, or maybe he hadn’t been as convinced as I’d thought the night before, but there was no way to reassure him.

I chased after him, pulling at his legs but he kicked me to the ground, his hands reaching for the locks on the door.

So, I shot him.

I ran to his side, tearing off my jacket and pushing it against his chest, but the blood poured, relentless and never ending. Soon, we were both covered in blood, my tears fell, and I was alone.

I just knelt beside him, holding my jacket against his wound, knowing it did no good, but not knowing what else to do.

The outside is a wasteland. I stay up on the ladder for hours at a time, staring out, knowing that I can’t open the door and leave, and they watch me do it.

They never leave me alone. Always watching, always whispering. Addicted to my madness.

Dad was right… we weren’t alone. Maybe they’re right too?

Shall we find out?

Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Whispers In The Dark – Part One

Posted on January 29, 2023 by MissJSquared

I spoke to God but it was too late. He was sympathetic, but ultimately, there was nothing he could do. I don’t know what I expected, but there was nothing else left to do but to find him. There was barely anything left, you see.

It all started with the secrets. We all had our secrets, until we didn’t, and once they were done with our secrets, they wanted something more.

God asked me when it all began… how long it had been, but all I could do was point behind me, strangled by choked sobs, and let him see my situation for himself.

He was aghast, his jaw dropped as his eyes widened in terror. I tried to explain but I couldn’t get the words out, and even if I could, there was nothing that God could do. It was too late.

It all started with the secrets. They were hungry for secrets, ravenous. Their minds lost to their aching hunger, if they ever had minds to begin with, but they wouldn’t leave you alone after they had consumed your darkest moments. They wanted more. They’d developed a taste. They had needs and you were expected to fulfil them. I was holding out on them, and they knew it.

I’d hear it all night as I tried to sleep. Just beyond reach. Just out of sight. Always whispering, always waiting, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before we had nothing left to give.

I thought God would keep me safe. I had never felt safe. My big sister vanished when I was a kid, and I suppose I never got over it. She went out to the shop one day and just never came back. My parents just seemed to move on. It never made any sense to me, and I’d go out looking myself, once I got old enough to reach the lock on the front door, in the woods, down by the river, but I never saw a sign of her. I’d call out to Chelsea everywhere I went, scolded by my parents who just wanted to forget, but when she left us, something left me, and I was never the same.

I’d like to tell you that I came to God with a humble open heart, but the truth is, none of us here really has that wholesome story. I wanted to feel safe, and God seemed like he could do that. If all it took was swearing off men, vices and the outside world, I was willing to try.

The abbey was a beautiful place, full of song, friendship and worship, and I’d never felt safer anywhere else. I thought that things would always feel that way, until Sister Frances went mad. It happened all at once, that was when they came to us, and since then, we have never known peace.

She collapsed into insanity, wandering the halls, wailing and screaming, her words, a jumbled storm of nonsense as she thrashed and lashed out at everyone that tried to comfort her. I can remember so clearly. She cornered me in the dining room one night, pulling me close with a tear stained face, screaming about secrets. As the other girls pulled her away and back to her room, I was heartbroken. She was so lost, and there was nothing that we could do. We didn’t know what to do, captured in fear as our leader fell apart. Nobody heard our prayers and no help came, but we never stopped believing that she’d be okay.

Every night, she’d keep us all awake, moaning and crying, calling out to unseen horrors and begging for relief. It broke our hearts that we could not help her, but we tried. We’d take turns holding vigil at her bedside, mopping her soaked brow and praying as the night’s hours slowly slipped by, always believing, always faithful, but lost in a way that we’d never felt before.

We began to hear it too. It was just mumbled whispers at first, something we could barely make out, but as Sister Frances lost her mind, the voices found a way to get closer, and clearer.

“Unburden yourself my sisters.” They would whisper, all through the night, and as I met the tired eyes of the other girls every morning, I knew that we were all being tormented by the same presence that was stealing Sister Frances from us, and so, I prayed.

Faith is hard to explain to someone who doesn’t have it, and maybe, to those who don’t believe, we seemed delusional, childish and naive, but each of us believed that our prayers would eventually be answered and that Sister Frances would be saved.

I stopped believing when Sister Frances was found in the lake, and our sister who was watching over her was found in the basement.

Sister Edith was supposed to be watching her, and she swears that she did. Things had been quiet, with Sister Frances finally falling into a soft sleep, until the clock struck three and the older woman awoke with a start, letting out a long, pained scream.

Sister Edith says that the windows flew open, the wind flying through the room as Sister Frances was carried from the bed towards the window, begging someone to leave her in peace… Edith tried to tell us more, but she broke down, sobbing in our arms as we tried to console her.

She would never explain how she came to be in the basement, or what had taken Sister Frances, but I knew that I had to find out.

The police came by a few hours later, informing us that Sister Frances had been found in the lake, and we grieved, praying for peace and relief from the strange and unsettling events. I played along, but part of me was unable to truly believe anymore. It made no sense.

Sister Frances was a good woman, God’s loyal servant, and yet, her life had been taken, in such a cruel way, and all we had were questions with no answers, fears that would not go away, and prayers that never seemed to be heard.

I began looking for answers. I bothered Sister Edith for details until she grew sick of me, spent hours in Sister Frances’ room looking for a sign, but there was nothing, until they paid me a visit.

It was late, and a storm had surrounded us. I was in Sister Frances’ room again, staring out the window wondering what to make of everything we’d been through, but I couldn’t. None of it made sense, until they began whispering in my ear, closer than they’d ever been before.

I couldn’t see them, but I could feel them, everywhere all at once. The room was suddenly suffocating, their fingertips all over my body, and their voices, swirling together into one, whirling around the room, inescapable and intolerable.

“Unburden yourself Sister Allison.” I tried to shut them out, convinced it was a dream, but they were persistent. They picked and prodded at my flesh, their whispers, warm like flames against the back of my neck, burning hotter with every second, red eyes flashing in and out of view around the room as I ran towards the door, my legs heavy as they clung to me. “You’ll feel so much better.” The whispers became a wail, tall and terrifying. “We just want to know what happened to her Allison…” I fell towards the door, watching it slam shut as my fingernails dug into the carpet before me, my heart racing.

The room fell into darkness, and the voices fell silent. All I could hear was my panicked, frantic breath as the seconds slipped by. I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, hoping it was all just a horrible nightmare, but as I opened them, red eyes lit up ahead of me, curious, staring into my own. I gripped the carpet, struggling to stand but falling back down as the eyes watched without a word.

“What did you do to her?” I whispered, a weight I could not see holding me down on the floor as the fingers found me again, gently brushing my ruffled hair from my eyes and tracing down my eyelids as a sigh surrounded the room.

“What did you do to her?” They mimicked, sick, mocking tones filling the room. “Your God cannot save you.” The eyes came closer, my skin burning under the touch of the phantom that surrounded me and I cried out in fear and agony. “Sister Frances believed right to the end, even though she knew she was going to hell.” I wept, watching the eyes narrow, their cruel words invading every inch of the air. “She did sinful things and thought she could hide them under a habit.” I shook my head, placing my hands over my ears but they still broke through and made their voices heard. “All those unclean things with all those unclean girls… God saw it all.” The floor burned beneath me, and I howled in pain, writhing in agony and falling back to the ground every time I tried to stand. I sobbed, the sound of my anguish finally towering above their torment, and within a moment, the room was flooded with sunlight, and I was blissfully bereft.

Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

The Madness Of Desire

Posted on January 10, 2023 by MissJSquared

The night that we met, I didn’t tell him what I wanted him to do, but I told him that I wanted him to do something for me. I couldn’t promise him that it wouldn’t hurt, but I promised him that it would feel good, after a while. His glance was curious, yet cautious, as if he knew that he should turn me down, but couldn’t quite bear to do so. He licked his lips, like he knew how delicious I could make his days if he did what I wanted. It was dangerous, and so was I, but I was too good for him to care.

Above all things, Brendan craved control. He had always felt left behind, forgotten, overlooked and undervalued, and I suppose that made him hungry for power in a way that he couldn’t control. He had tried to pretend that he didn’t care, and that he was satisfied with his life just as it was, but I could see the glint of ambition that still remained in his eyes, and I knew I could put it to good use.

He reminded me of my Father. Not because they were similar, it wasn’t that at all, but because he reminded me of the kind of men my Father had associated with when I was a little girl. I’d come home from school and there would always be some guy, sitting miserably in our living room, complaining about his lot in life. He’d turn them around, give them something to live for, something to believe in, and they all went on to do great things. The second I saw Brendan, I knew that he had the same potential.

My methods weren’t exactly the same as my Father’s, but things seemed to work out for me anyway. I just wanted to make my Father proud. It had been my only dream since he was taken away from me, and with Brendan, I could tell that I was finally close.

I let him think he had control of me. If you want control, you have to give it up, or at least convince someone that you have. I’d fawn over him, flutter my eyelashes, make a show of him in my very best baby voice.

“Oh Daddy, you’re so strong.” I’d coo, at the very littlest things he’d do, and he couldn’t get enough of it. “Oh Daddy, I can’t live without you.” He was addicted. It’s all about getting them hooked, you know? Everyone has a vice and the trick is to become that vice.

He thought that he was lucky to meet me, but I leave nothing to chance. He was always going to meet me, I made sure of that. I’d watched him for months, making notes on the downtrodden frown he’d wear, how it worsened with each day, with the storm clouds that followed him growing heavier each time he left the house. He liked to drink in the same pub every night, and he’d rant and rave about all the things that bothered him, but he could tell that nobody was really listening.

It was all too easy. You take a lonely, bitter man, bring a little sunshine into his life, and he’ll die for you, if you ask him too, kill for you without a second thought. I shone above him, like the sun, smiling across the bar from him, watching him smile for the first time in weeks as he realised I was looking at him.

It didn’t take long to wrap him around my little finger. All I had to do was listen, nod and smile. Pretty soon, he would die for me, if I asked him too, kill for me without a second thought, but I didn’t ask him to do either. I asked him to keep hold of something for me.

It was just a little thing. Just a little favour for Daddy’s little sunbeam. I knew that he would do it, but frankly, I enjoyed watching him want to do it. I liked to watch him beg when I’d say “I don’t know Daddy, maybe it’s too much…” He’d plead with me to let him help, and it was divine. I’d um and ah, watching the man twist himself in knots with his desperation to prove himself and please me, and just when I could see him close to breaking, I’d relent, knowing that with each moment, his will was breaking, and there would be no going back.

I asked him to keep the pendant at first, around his neck, all the time. He swore to me that he would, and I watched as it dug deep inside of his mind. He didn’t know what it was, of course, so he had no way to prepare for what it would do, and that was half the fun (for me, anyway).

I’d stay up and watch him writhing in the bed, tormented and tortured by the terror of the visions I was planting in his head. Some might say I was being cruel, but it builds character.

My Father used to do this for a few nights, but I kept Brendan under the pendant’s spell for two whole weeks, and by the end, he was terrified to sleep, and a blubbering mess when he was awake, but one coy glance from me and he’d do his best to fake a smile. He wanted to impress me, make a show of himself, but both of us knew that he was falling apart inside, and I was only just getting started.

I put up my Father’s old mirror in the bedroom, high above the bed on the ceiling, and as he tried to get to sleep, I’d stare up into it, knowing that he’d stare too. It made a madman of him. He’d stare up at our reflection, his eyes heavy as the night wore on, and just as he was on the cusp of sleep, a ghostly hand would creep onto his reflected shoulder, or grip around the neck of his reflection, and he’d jump, suddenly wide awake as he searched the bed for what he was so sure he’d seen. That would go on for a few hours every night before his weak, little human body just gave in, and it was very entertaining.

I didn’t just want to freak him out a little, or even just break him. I needed him to be totally destroyed, mine to toy with entirely, and so, it was necessary to play with my food a little.

I would whisper to him as night fell.

“Astaroth.” He’d stare up at our reflection, his eyes wide and frightened, but he didn’t want me to stop, I could tell. “Come home to me Astaroth.” He didn’t know what it meant but the more I said it, the more he’d see in the mirror. I would watch the reflection with him, whispering, dropping kisses softly on his neck as I spoke, skeletal fingers wrapping around the throat of his reflection, and all he could do was whimper and cry.

I left the pendant around his neck, watching him weep every night as the nightmares chased him wherever he went, and as morning came, I would kiss his tear stained cheek, and ask him if he thought he was ready. He would always tell me that he was, despite me not even explaining what I needed him to be ready for. It didn’t matter to him, I suppose. He adored me, I’d made sure of that, but it wasn’t enough. There was something more I needed from him, and I needed him to really beg for it.

I told him to go off into the village and show me that he was worthy, and he came back with the head of a local police officer. I told him to find me somewhere safe, and we went on the run, making a little home in a new hotel room every few days, watching his face flash across the news broadcasts as the population began to panic. I told him to amuse me and he robbed a bank, bringing me home piles of bank notes and a handful of coins. I kissed him, letting him push me up against the thin walls of the hotel bedroom, hearing a little sob escape his lips as he sighed in ecstasy.

There’s always a part of them left, you see. I can take them to the edge, make them do things they wouldn’t believe, and they can’t stop themselves, but there is always a tiny little sliver of them left inside, a little part that doesn’t lose their mind, that is terrified of what they’ve become. If I ever loved him, that was the part I loved the most.

Last night, he came home, his hood low over his eyes, blood dripping slowly down his nails onto the hotel carpet, and he dropped to his knees before me. I rolled my eyes but held him close, listening as he sobbed against my knees, shaking, as he tried to swallow the few seconds where that small part of him would question what he’d done.

“Are you ready, Daddy?” I whispered, watching him look up at me with tear filled eyes and nod repeatedly. He clung to my dress, big puppy dog eyes pleading with me as the sky grew dark outside.

I couldn’t tell whether he agreed because he thought it would bring him relief from my torment, or because he truly craved the power I promised he would have if he didn’t deny me, but either way, I had played with him enough, and I was ready to take things to the next level.

I had tried with other men before, and I’d always got close, but never quite made it, but Brendan was something special, I was sure of it. In the end, I didn’t tell him how things would end. He didn’t need to know, and he’d be happier not knowing. Why couldn’t his last moments be a little joyful?

I placed the mirror before us, propping it up on the dresser and laughing to myself at the trouble he’d had carrying it to each of our secret hideaways. He held onto me, his arms tightly gripped around my legs as he sat, defeated by my side, staring into the mirror with me.

I had promised him power would pulse from his fingertips, and it wasn’t a lie. I promised him that he’d have control, and that was a lie, but it didn’t matter. He was too weak to stop me, and too weak to stop him. My Father grinned from behind our reflections, pulling Brendan towards him and prising his jaw open. I smiled back at my Father, watching him tear the pendant from his own throat and force it down the throat of the helpless, sobbing man in the mirror, while Brendan knelt silently beside me, clinging weakly to my waist.

His grip weakened as I watched him weaken in the mirror, blood splattered across the glass as my Father’s jaws closed around the last of his body, swallowing the last few bites with a smile.

“Hello Astaroth.” I whispered, looking away from the mirror and down to the man by my side with a hopeful smile.

“Hello my darling.” Brendan snarled, standing with a grin and pulling the pendant from his neck. He threw it against the mirror, watching the glass shatter as the pendant fell to the ground with a clatter. A low growl left his lips, and his green eyes were now red. At last, my little puppy dog was a great man, or, to be more specific, a great demon in a weak man’s body.

My Daddy was home, at last.

Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Deadman’s Island

Posted on January 9, 2023 by MissJSquared

Hi Mum, it’s me, Michelle. I’ve done something really stupid. If you’re hearing this, then I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Mum. I love you, and I’m sorry. I don’t know if this voice note will send, the signal isn’t great over here, but I hope it does.

I really fucked up. It was so stupid. I’m sorry.

We did something bad to Hannah.

It’s all out of control Mum. I don’t know what to do. It was just supposed to be a joke, I guess. A prank. We didn’t even think she would go through with it but now we’re in such a mess and I don’t know what to do. It was just a joke, you know? We just wanted to show her… well, I don’t know. She was just annoying and… Oh God. Mum, I’m so sorry.

Lorraine and I were just messing with her and now something awful has happened. Oh God. What have we done? There’s something here, and it did something bad to Hannah…

Hannah, you know the new girl? She just moved here with her parents, and she was… weird. I know that isn’t a reason for what we did, but…

I’ve learned my lesson, okay? I get it now. Yes, she was weird and kind of annoying but we shouldn’t have done this. There was never a reason to do this. I get it. I get it! I could say that I’m sorry, but nothing will change. I just want to come home, but what did this to her is still here, somewhere, and now, the boat is gone.

Hannah didn’t deserve this.

She was weird. She’d cling to us all the time, always wanting to hang out with us, and following us everywhere. We just wanted to freak her out a little, scare her maybe, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. We could have just said that we didn’t want to be friends, I guess, but we thought we’d teach her a lesson, and now…

Will you tell Hannah’s parents that we’re sorry? It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Neither of us could have predicted it. Nobody could, but now… Look, the reasons don’t matter. If you hear this, you have to come to Deadman’s Island.

Mum, We took Hannah to Deadman’s Island.

I know. I know. You told me never to go there, and Dad will be furious when he finds out I took the boat, especially as I’ve also lost it, but I just got caught up in the moment. I know it’s stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.

Everyone knows you shouldn’t go there, but we all go to the beach to look at it from across the water, some of us even swim out, daring each other to go closer and closer, but nobody ever goes onto the island. I know that you know we do that, because you and Dad probably did, and everyone who grew up in this boring old town did before us too. That’s the problem with growing up here, there’s nothing to do.

We tried to explain that to Hannah. Lorraine and I weren’t doing anything exciting. Just getting milkshakes at the cafe or hanging out at the beach. There was nothing exciting going on, so there was no need to be so insistent on being our friend… I suppose she was lonely. She hasn’t exactly made friends since she got here, but then again, she IS weird, so who is really at fault for that?

It doesn’t matter at all anyway. I suppose I’m just thinking, remembering everything from before, because it’s all I will have now. You’re not going to get here on time. I know that, and you might not ever hear this, and even if you do, it really was my fault. Hannah was weird and annoying, but she didn’t deserve this.

We took her to Deadman’s Island. Lorraine and I picked her up, telling her that she could come and hang out with us for the day, and she looked overjoyed. As we left her garden, her mum mouthed a quick “Thank you” with a smile as Hannah linked arms with us and we ran down towards the beach.

She was stunned when I showed her Dad’s boat, so excited, and when I told her that we would be going to explore Deadman’s Island, she started to look a little anxious.

We told her all about it. An abandoned island out in the sea, with no people, barely any animals, and a ton of dead bodies. Our own little spooky urban legend, ready to be explored, the resting place of the damned. She bit her lip, swallowing nervously, but she agreed to go. I think she wanted to seem cool.

The plan was to convince her to stay the night there by herself, to prove herself cool enough to be friends with us. We knew she couldn’t stay the whole night, but we kept encouraging her as if she could, and she seemed to believe in herself too.

We swapped numbers, so she could call us if she wanted to quit, but she promised that she wouldn’t. Lorraine and I both smiled sweetly as we left the island, waving at Hannah as she began setting the tent we’d left her, and as soon as we got out of sight, we collapsed into laughter, wondering how long it would be before she called to quit.

I know it was cruel, dangerous even, but we couldn’t have known what would have happened. Deadman’s Island is creepy, sure, but nobody is there. No dangerous animals live there, the air is safe, there are no people to run afoul of, and she had a pretty sturdy tent. We thought that she’d be fine…

Hannah didn’t call all night. Lorraine and I stayed over at her house, watching movies and waiting, but we heard nothing from Hannah. We were impressed, I suppose. She was tougher than we thought. We set off early in the morning, sneaking back into the boat down at the shore and across to the island.

As we stepped off the boat, I noticed how quiet it was, which isn’t unusual for an uninhabited island, but even with that in mind, there was an eerie silence, and Hannah’s tent wasn’t where it had been the night before.

The island isn’t big, but it’s hard to navigate, with all the bones and uneven ground, so Hannah couldn’t have gone far… except, she was nowhere to be found.

Mum, she’s missing. We’ve looked everywhere, and she isn’t here. We found her tent, floating by the shore of the island. It was torn up, ripped at the door, and inside… Oh God… Inside, there was blood sloshing around in the lining with the seawater. There was no other sign of Hannah. She’s gone, and whatever took her, or did this to her… It could still be out there. We dropped the tent when we saw the blood and ran back across the island, tripping and falling on the bones that jutted from the ground, until we reached the side where we’d left the boat, except… it wasn’t there.

We’re trapped on this island Mum. Hannah has vanished. Something really bad has happened to her, I just know it, and it’s all my fault. Please, if you hear this, please help us. We have to find her, and you have to find us. Please!

I keep hearing these weird noises, but whenever we turn around, there’s nobody there. It’s so dark, and we can hardly see a thing.

We’re on Deadman’s Island. I know that you’ll be angry, and you can ground me for life when I get back, but please just get here!

-x-

Hi Michelle’s Mum, it’s me, Hannah. Michelle’s done something really stupid.

I just wanted to be her friend. I’ve been so lonely, you know? Moving from town to town, never settling long enough to really connect with anyone. That’s all I ever wanted, but no, Michelle and Lorraine couldn’t let me have that.

I knew that they wouldn’t have been my friends, even if I stayed on this island all night. I’m not stupid. I’d seen the way they rolled their eyes when I sat next to them at school, how they’d cross the street to avoid me, like I was diseased, some kind of pariah.

They’re all diseased here, Mrs Harrison. All the boys that died on this island were terribly ill, battling the blue death until the end, their skin, a sickly shade of sapphire as they sank into the waiting arms of death. They used to take them off of the ships and dump them here, right where I stand. They told me, last night, all the boys, they gathered around the fire and told me all about what they’d been through, and my heart went out to them.

I suppose you think I must have been frightened, but I wasn’t. I knew how they’d felt, because I’d been dumped on the island too, and they weren’t my first friends from beyond the grave.

Mummy and Daddy don’t like it. They always move me away when they find out about a new friend I’ve made. At first, they thought it was a game, a phase I was going through, something I’d made up, but then, they saw her, little Mary-Ann, seven hundred and four years old, but not a day over twelve, if you ignored the cobwebs and earthworms.

After that, they just kept moving me round and round. They’d look for towns without graveyards, but it didn’t make a difference, because I always have a way of finding new friends. It’s not hard, I just give them a little incentive to come back, and… they do, but like I said, Mummy and Daddy don’t like it.

I promised I’d try and quit when we moved here, and I would have, if Michelle and Lorraine had been my friends. It’s their fault, Mrs Harrison, because of them, I had to go looking elsewhere, and now, after being dumped, by strange coincidence on a whole island full of potential friends, I’m back to my old habits. Mummy and Daddy will be furious.

I had to hide from Michelle and Lorraine, because my friends needed a little something to keep them going. I give them a little of my blood when they arise, but they needed a proper meal. You don’t mind, do you? I wouldn’t worry, because I can bring your girls back home to you. They’ll be hungry, though. I’ve sent my boys to fetch the boat, and we’ll be over right away.

Just don’t tell my parents anything about this, alright? Or tell them, I suppose, it doesn’t matter. They could drag me away when I only had one friend to protect me, but now, I’ve got a whole island full, so we’ll see who’s really in charge now…

See you soon!