Bad House (3 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Ian opened his eyes to sunlight streaming through the curtainless window and he groaned, pulling the duvet up over his head to block out the early winter sun. His head throbbed with the beginnings of a tolerably-bad hangover and his throat was parched.

He hauled himself into a sitting position when he realized that he was alone in the bed and he squinted in the bright light. The hiss of the shower coming from the en-suite told him where Holly was and he flopped backwards once more.

Only then did last night’s strange occurrences come back to him.

What was that shit? Phantom snorers? Ghostly figures leaning over Holly? Maybe I’m losing my mind
…

But now, in the cold light of day, he doubted that he had even been awake at all.

Just one, long nightmare
…

The memory of the first part of the nightmare came crashing down into his skull and he flinched at the disgusting imagery. Refusing to dwell on the sick aftereffects the move had apparently taken on his mind, he fumbled on the floor by his bed for the mobile-phone which he was using in lieu of his alarm clock he had yet to unpack.

That was strange. Why was the screen in camera mode? He stared dumbly at the riveting live feed on the screen of the beige duvet bunched up over his knees.

Frowning slightly, he swiped on the ‘back’ arrow to see what else had been inadvertently clicked on. When he saw the last photo that had been taken on his phone, his stomach and heart lurched, as if trying to swap places.

“What the,” he whispered, the phone shaking in his grip. He dropped the thing like it had scalded him and it landed silently on the duvet covering his lap.

“Daddy? Can I come in?”

The sound of Jacob’s voice made him jump. His gaze snapped over towards the doorway and he saw his son standing there dressed in his Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas, thumb in mouth with Fred Bear dangling by the ear from his fingers.

“Sure, kiddo, come on in.”

He scooted over and patted Holly’s vacated space next to him. Jacob clambered in next to him and lay down on his back with the duvet pulled up to his chin.

Ian regarded his son with a smidgen of irritation. It
had
to of been Jacob that had taken a picture of him as he slept. Who else would do such a thing? It was a child’s prank, he was sure of it.

But how does he know the code to the phone?

“Have you been playing with my phone, sport?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Jacob, I’ll ask you one more time, and if you tell me the truth I won’t be mad, I promise. Did you come into Mummy and Daddy’s bedroom last night and take a picture of Daddy while he was sleeping?”

“No, Daddy, I didn’t.”

“Jacob? Please? Don’t push it.”

“It wasn’t me, I swear it. I bet it was the house that did it.”

The stirring of irritation stepped into the territory of ‘Mightily Pissed Off’.

“Jacob, Daddy is going to get very angry if you keep on lying. You must not take Daddy’s phone, it’s
mine,
do you understand? You must never,
ever
take other people’s things without asking because that’s called
stealing
, even if you put it back afterwards.”

“But I didn’t do it. The house did it because the house doesn’t like you. The house says you’re a bad person and that you don’t love me and Mummy and want to hurt us.”

Jacob’s words stunned him. “
What?
”

“I didn’t say it Daddy,
the house
said it.”

Ian was simply at a loss. There were no words. His mouth hung open and he stared gormlessly at his son. Anger had been washed away by confusion. Confusion and something else.

Something like you’re actually scared of your own son right now
…

“What are my boys up to?”

Holly startled him as he had been staring so intently at Jacob, who remained firmly rooted beneath the duvet.

“Me and Jacob where just having a little chat,” Ian said slowly.

“Is that right? Well, would my little man mind leaving the premises while Mummy gets dressed?”

Ian focussed on her properly for the first time since she had entered the room. She wore nothing but a big white toy which was wrapped tightly around her tiny body, her dark hair wet and plastered to her shoulders.

How am I supposed to tell her that our son is sneaking into our room at night and taking pictures of me? She’s gonna freak.

Or not. Maybe it was her
…

Ian pushed aside that dark little voice in his head.

“Can’t I stay in here with you for a little while, Mummy? I don’t like my bedroom.”

“What do you mean you don’t like your bedroom? You picked it. We’ll discuss it when I’ve got dressed,” she said in that sharp, teacherly way of hers. “Now go on, vamoosh.”

Jacob sighed deeply and sat up, avoiding Ian’s gaze. Ian figured the kid knew when he was beat, and seeing as he was getting no support from either parent in that moment, he did as he was told.

“I didn’t do it, Daddy, I promise I didn’t,” he said, before disappearing through the bedroom door.

“Do what?” Holly asked when Jacob had gone and had shut the door behind him.

Ian dithered for a moment, unsure whether or not to show her the photo.

What if she took it?

Of course she didn’t bloody take it,
he thought, deciding in that moment he would show her the picture of himself sleeping.

Sighing deeply he picked up the phone. “Jacob took…”

His words trailed away into nothing when he stared at the screen on his phone.

What’s going on? Where’s it gone?

The picture he was looking at was the last picture he had taken on his phone – one of Holly in profile making coffee in the old house. She hated having her picture taken and he had promised her he would delete the photo, which of course he hadn’t. He flicked back and forth.

Definitely gone.

“Jacob took what, Ian?” she said in that stern classroom voice of hers.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to
me
. Jacob took
what
?”

His mind whirred with possibilities. What if Jacob took the picture, and programmed the picture to self-destruct after a certain period of time?

He’s six, for fuck’s sake. He’s not Bill Gates. And this isn’t Mission fucking Impossible
.

Or maybe he had accidently deleted it when he was talking to Jacob…

“Ian! I’m talking to you.”

“What? Yes, sorry. Jacob took some money from my jeans pocket, that’s all. It was just a couple of quid.”

Ian hated to lie, but what choice did he have?

Yeah, you could’ve dreamed the damn picture up…

No! It was definitely there. I
know
it was there
.

“Christ, that’s bad. I’ll have a word with him when I’ve got dressed.”

“No, don’t!” He cringed inside for raising his voice. “I mean, I said I would let it go if he promised never to do it again. I told him that next time he would feel the full force of his mother’s wrath.”

“Oh, great, so you get to be Mr Reasonable when he does something wrong, and I’m just the bitch who tells him off.”

“No, you’re just the one who keeps us all in line.” He went to her and pulled her into his arms, her hair instantly soaking his chest. “Just let it go? Please?”

He nuzzled her neck in the way he knew normally drove her wild, hoping she would just drop it. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, and Ian took that as good sign, lowering his head to press his mouth against hers. She yielded immediately, her lips parting and her little tongue darting forward. Soon they were kissing passionately, Ian walking her backwards towards the bed and throwing her down on it. She looked up at him with lust glazed eyes, her pupils dilated in the deep brown so that her eyes looked black.

Ian hesitated. He didn’t like the black eyes, they made him think of congealed blood. A soft smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she wound her fingers in his hair, tugging his head down on top of hers. Her features blurred and Ian’s stomach flipped.

But not in a good way. A knot of panic tightened in his guts, churning up the stale booze and last night’s half-digested pizza. Her lips felt cold on his, her fingers icy against the back of his neck. When her other cold hand trailed down to his crotch and cupped his flaccid penis through his boxers, he couldn’t stand it a second longer and he rolled off her.

Images from his dream re-ignited in his head and he couldn’t shake the idea that he was making out with a corpse.

“Ian? What’s the matter?”

He sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, flinching slightly when she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

But now her hand was hot, the heat from her palm radiating into his flesh.

“Don’t think that pizza is agreeing with me,” he mumbled.

“More like the two bottles of wine you had last night.”

“You had your fair share.”

“I had a glass.”

The nagging edge to her voice made daggers stab into his brain behind his eyes, and he squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

“I’m sorry, my guts are churning, that’s all.”

The bed bounced slightly when she stood up. “Whatever. We’ve got lots to do today, so I suggest you get in the shower and sort yourself out.”

“Holly, don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. We have less than a week to make the house habitable. Half-term is over in five days already.”

Nag, nag, nag. Doesn’t the bitch ever fucking stop?

As soon as he thought it, he felt sick at himself. Yes, he had a headache, but that was no excuse. He watched her as she bent over to rummage through a box for clothes, one hand clasping the towel tightly to her body.

That’s twice I’ve turned her down for sex. I’ll make it up to her tonight.

Yeah, if you can stop thinking your wife is a fucking corpse
…

Groaning, he stood up. “I’m going to take that shower. And Holly?”

“What?” she snapped, irritation causing her thin eyebrows to knot together.

“I love you.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, a look of vulnerability replacing the scowl.

“Yeah. Course I do.”

He smiled thinly, and it felt uncomfortable and stretched on his face.

Once in the bathroom, he shaved in the shower and managed not to look in the mirror so much as once.

CHAPTER FIVE

The morning passed in a blur of unpacking and lugging furniture around at Holly’s bidding. Jacob followed them around, getting in the way mostly.

“Why don’t you watch TV, sport?” Ian asked late morning when he had successfully rigged up the television.

Ian and Jacob were stood in the living room, and Ian was pleased to see that it was taking shape nicely. He had been busy putting away the books in the bookshelves while Holly attacked the kitchen, the idea being that Jacob had a place to hang out while they were putting the rest of the house together.

“Where are you going, Daddy?”

Ian looked at him, puzzled. “Where am I going? I’m not going anywhere. Only to the kitchen to help Mummy. Or upstairs to sort out our bedrooms.”

“Can I come with you?”

Ian wanted to crack on, the last thing he needed was a mopey six-year-old getting under his feet.

“You’ll only be bored, you’ll be much happier watching cbeebies.”

“Can I go and help Mummy?”

Ian thought of Holly. The last thing she had whispered to him before he left her putting away all the plates and glasses was ‘
keep Jacob out the kitchen.
’

“No, sport, it’s best you stay in here.”

“But I don’t like being alone. The house says bad things.”

Oh God, here we go again
… “We talked about this yesterday. A house is just a house.”

“This is a bad house, Daddy.”

Ian could feel the beginnings of a bitch of a headache. A sharp jolt of pain stabbed behind his eyes and didn’t let up. His heartrate raised and he felt a sudden rush of irritation at Jacob.

“I want you to stop talking crap about the house, you hear?  And stop playing stupid, attention seeking games, like taking pictures of me in the middle of the night,” he said through gritted teeth.

“But I didn’t do it…”

“Jesus Christ, Jacob! I do not need this
crap
.”

He was on his feet in a heartbeat, grabbing Jacob by his little shoulders and shaking him. As soon as he realised what he was doing, he let go like he had been scalded.

“Oh God, Jacob, I’m so sorry.”

What the fuck is wrong with me?
Apart from a few pub-brawls in his twenties, Ian was by no means violent. He had certainly never raised a hand to his family.

Jacob let out a sob. “The house was right, you
do
want to hurt me.”

“No! I’m sorry, you just made Daddy very cross…”

“Leave me alone!”

Jacob fled the room, and Ian stumbled after him. “Jacob! Come back!”

He got to the door in time to see Jacob hurtling down the hallway and up the stairs.

Leave him. Let him simmer down a bit
.

Christ, he could murder a fucking drink, even if it wasn’t yet noon.

Half an hour and five emptied boxes later, Ian figured it was time to dig out Jacob.

“Jacob? Sport? You up here?”

Up on the second landing, it was eerily quiet. He stood in the middle of the long hallway, his gaze inadvertently drifting to the family bathroom at the far end. The door was shut. He hadn’t used it since the reflection incident.

Shuddering, he looked away.

“Jacob?” he said again, pushing open the door to his room.

His room was empty. Puzzled, he looked in his and Holly’s room. That was empty too. There were three further bedrooms on the second floor, and of course the loft conversion up the second set of narrow stairs. He hadn’t even
thought
to look in the rooms downstairs.

Yeah. Because you heard him go
up
stairs
.

The other three rooms were also empty except for all the boxes piled high. That just left the bathroom and the attic.

Tentatively, he tapped on the bathroom door. “You in there, kiddo?”

No answer.  He placed his ear to the smooth wood of the door. Still nothing.

Just try the door. He could be sulking in there
,

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to push the damn thing open.

You stupid chicken-shit! Just open the bloody door
.

No, maybe he’s in the attic
.

Not quite believing that he was too scared to open the bathroom door, he made his way upstairs.

I’m not scared.

Yes, you are. Scared of your own reflection
…

“Jacob?” he called out to the empty attic, but even as he called his son’s name, he could see that the vast room was empty.

All his painting equipment had been lugged up here yesterday, the room was cluttered with canvasses and boxes of unpacked painting equipment. He sat down on his battered armchair, the one that had followed him through all his painting studios since the age of twenty-two.

I should be up here, putting my studio together,
he thought bitterly.
Holly’s so selfish, making me unpack the soft bloody furnishings
…

Sighing heavily, he got to his feet. Jacob obviously wasn’t up here.

That just leaves one place
…

The one place he didn’t want to go in.

Telling himself to stop being such a silly arse, he knocked assertively on the bathroom door:

“If you’re in there sport, you need to come out right now.” The silence stretched on. “Right, that’s it.”

The door swung inwards when he pushed it. He’d had no expectations either way of it being locked or not, but his heart still lurched painfully in his chest. A quick glance around the small room told him that Jacob obviously wasn’t in it. With some relief, he stepped backwards, aware of the mirror in his peripheral vision but refusing to look at it.

He was about to close the door when a tapping noise made him flinch.

What the hell was that?

It sounded like rats, a scraping sound like tiny claws scratching at a skirting-board. It stopped, then started again. Ian knew the chances of the house having rats were slim to none, but he clung on to the thin hope anyway.

Could be cockroaches
…

Whatever it was, it was coming from the wall to his left. From the
mirror.

B
ehind
the mirror.

Fuck this
.

He stepped out the room and slammed the door shut. Whatever it was, it could stay the fuck in the bathroom and he could stay
out here
. He felt shaky and lightheaded, blinking when a bead of sweat trickled into his eye.

If you even heard anything in the first place
…

Another noise made him jump, this one coming from down the hall. A dull
thump
that sounded like something heavy hitting the floorboards.

It’s coming from Jacob’s room
.

“Jacob?” he called softly, hating the tremor to his voice.

The door to his room stood ajar. Had he left it like that? He couldn’t remember.

“Jacob?” he repeated, entering the room.

The room was empty, the Paddington Bear duvet cover rumpled like it had been recently sat on.

Jacob sprang up from behind the bed.

“Jesus!” gasped Ian, clutching his chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I’m going to have a bloody heart-attack one of these days
…

Jacob looked at him, all wide-eyed innocence. “I was getting Fred Bear. He was under the bed.”

“Where have you been? I was looking for you.”

“I was in here.”

Another headache threatened like a storm cloud and he dry-washed his face with both hands, doing his best to steady his galloping heart and keep his wayward temper in check.

“No, Jacob, you weren’t in your room. I
looked
in here.”

“I know you did, Daddy. I was sitting on the bed but you didn’t see me.”

Jacob’s words made him shiver, and he pushed the bad feeling aside. He
just knew
it had been Jacob’s intention to stir up such feelings to try and
scare
him.

Yeah, well, the little shit has succeeded
…

Ian squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He
had
to stop thinking such fucking nasty thoughts. What the hell was wrong with him?

And what the hell’s wrong with Jacob?

Since when had his sweet, unassuming son become such a blatant attention seeker?

“Look, Jacob,” he said in his best, let’s-be-reasonable voice. “I’m really sorry I shouted at you earlier. Can we start again? No more games?”

“I’m not… Yes Daddy.”

“Come here,” Ian said, his arms outstretched towards him.

Jacob hesitated for a second, his gaze flicking nervously from side to side, as if he was expecting to
see
something. The gesture exasperated him, and he bit down yet another wave of irritation.

I have to knock his weird behaviour on the head
…

Because whatever the hell was going on with Jacob, it was apparently contagious. He had to take control before mass fucking hysteria took hold. He had to jolt Jacob out of it.

Yeah. And I suppose Jacob
forced
you to see your reflection wink at you
…

Paying no attention to that errant thought, he bundled Jacob into his arms.

“Are we good, little man?” he mumbled into his sweet-smelling hair. He closed his eyes and breathed deep; the smell always reminded him of a freshly mown lawn on a clean summer breeze. Tear prickled behind his eyes and he swallowed hard, forcing them back down.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Jacob. Now come on, let’s go and see if Mummy’s finished in the kitchen.”

Ian gently steered Jacob towards the bedroom door. Jacob exited the room first, and a movement danced in the corner of his eye.

Stopping dead, he snapped his head round. He was
sure
he had seen some kind of
shifting
movement over by the bed, like someone or
something
had jumped up behind it before disappearing from view again.

Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he shut the door behind him.