Bad House (4 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Ian was dreaming again. Almost every night for the past fortnight since they had moved into twenty-nine Aberdeen Road, his nights had been plagued by the most lurid of images. Some nightmares he didn’t remember, but most he did and wished he hadn’t.

This night, at two thirty-five on Tuesday morning, was without doubt the worst so far. Ian was dreaming he was in the kitchen with Holly and Jacob, eating dinner at their new and improved, country kitchen table.

In the dream, Ian seethed with barely constrained hatred. Holly was banging on about work – some boring, on-going saga about Mrs Wilkinson the Gym teacher who had bad-mouthed her to the head – when something inside him snapped.

I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, YOU BORING CUNT,
he screamed at her in his dream. He flew up from his seat and grabbed at the first thing that came to hand; a pair of kitchen scissors left on the draining-board. Holding them like a knife, he brought the scissors down into her eye.

She was so surprised by his outburst that she hadn’t moved from her seat. There was still a generous mouthful of spaghetti bolognaise twirled around her fork which her left hand continued to grip.

FUCKING WHORE! FUCKING CUNT..!

He pulled out the scissors and they made a wet, slurping sound, like a well-sucked dummy dragged from a baby’s mouth. Blood spurted in hard jets from her ruined eye, hitting him in the face. She stared up at him with her good eye, her mouth a startled ‘O’.

Again and again, he brought the scissors down, even when she flopped face-first into her dinner plate. Then he stabbed her repeatedly in the back of the neck. Her arms flailed comically with every thrust of the knife, and it made him smile.

When her arms stopped jerking like a spastic’s, he looked up. Jacob was gone.

COME BACK, YOU LITTLE FUCKING RAT. DADDY’S GOT SOMETHING FOR YOU
…

He lurched into the hallway, scissors held aloft. His head snapped towards the foot of the stairs just in time to see Jacob’s tiny form disappearing up them.

DADDY’S COMING!  I’LL HUFF AND I’LL PUFF AND I’LL SLICE YOU UP…

“Ian, Ian. Wake up.”

The downstairs hallway he was lurching along faded, and he felt a hand on his shoulder, rocking him back and forth. He opened his eyes to darkness and a soft pillow under his head.

A dream. It was just a dream
.

“You were thrashing in your sleep. It looked as though you were having a nightmare.”

No shit.

Groaning, he sat up. He was drenched in sweat and he kicked off the duvet which clung wetly to his shivering body.

Holly flopped back down on the bed, sighing heavily. “What’s bothering you, Ian? You’ve been doing this to me pretty much every night since we moved here. I’m so tired and I have work in the morning.”

I’ve been doing this to you? Well, I’m so very fucking sorry that my nightmares are interfering with your beauty-sleep, I’ll make sure to stop
.

Her question must have been rhetorical, seeing as her breathing had already turned slow and heavy. Ian swung his legs out the bed. He was badly shaken from the nightmare and he needed water.

I have to stop drinking so much wine.

After waking from the nightmares, it was always the same. The headache, dry mouth and churning guts that accompanied too much booze and a broken night’s sleep.

The sound of Jacob crying out startled him.

“Mummy,” came his wailing, thin little voice from across the hallway.

“I’ll go then, shall I?” he snapped when Holly showed no signs of moving.

“For God’s sake Ian, some of us have
to work
tomorrow,” she slurred before turning her back on him.

I earn ten times your wage, you ungrateful slag and
still
you won’t give up your job because you think you’re so fucking important
…

Annoyed that it was Holly he was calling for and not him, he got to his feet.

Why should I fucking go anyway? It’s not me he wants
…

Wearing just his boxers, he padded out the room and flicked on the hallway light. As always, his gaze was drawn to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. He
still
hadn’t been in there since the first day they had moved in. If his wife had noticed, she hadn’t said anything.

“Mummeeee,” came his son’s plaintive cry once more, snapping his attention away from the bathroom.

“Daddy’s coming,” he grumbled.

Just saying those words

(Daddy’s coming! I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll slice you up
)

stopped him dead in his tracks.

A trickle of sweat ran down his spin, despite the central heating being on low.

It was only a god-damn nightmare
…

“Mummeeee, pleeeease.”

He hastened his steps, and threw open Jacob’s bedroom door.

The room was empty. His blood ran cold in his veins and he swayed slightly on his feet.

“Jacob,” he gasped, flicking on the light-switch.

He sagged in relief when he saw Jacob in his bed. It had been a trick of the dark, nothing more.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” Jacob said, cuddling Fred Bear tight.

“What’s the matter, little man?” he asked, going over and sitting on the bed next to him.

Ian felt strange, he wondered if he was still dreaming, that this was some Freudian nightmare, a dream within a dream…

He pinched the skin of his other wrist, hard enough to make himself wince.

No, definitely not dreaming
.

“There’s a monster under my bed,” he whispered.

“There’s no such things as monsters, sport.”

As if on cue, the heavens opened and a flash of lightning momentarily bathed the big room in bright light. A few seconds later, thunder rumbled.

That’s just fucking perfect
...

“Will you look, Daddy? I’m scared.”

Ian looked at his son’s tear-streaked face, and found he was trembling.

There’s no such things as monsters, remember?

Stealing himself and trying to appear nonchalant, he leaned down to look under the single bed.

“See, I told you, there’s...”

His words abruptly died at the sight which greeted him. He was looking at Jacob, who was lying
under
the bed in his Thomas The Tank Engine pyjamas, clutching Fred Bear to his chest.

“
Daddy, there’s a monster on my bed.”

Ian’s paralysis, born of pure, adrenalin fuelled terror, broke.

“What the fuck,” he screamed, clutching his pained chest and jumping up.

He could hardly catch his breath as he staggered towards the door, panic threatening to overwhelm him. How could this be happening? Jacob was still there, sitting upright in his bed.

Then what the fuck was that under the bed?

Or should the question be,
who
is that
on
the bed?

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “This is a dream, this is a dream, this is dream…”

Another clap of thunder exploded and he snapped open his eyes.

“Daddy? What was under the bed?”

Ian could only stare at his son, mouth agape.

Fuck this
.

Before he was even fully aware of what he was doing, he was running. Running out of his son’s room and into his marital bedroom.

“Am I fucking awake?” he shouted at his wife as he switched on the overhead light.

She sat up, clutching the duvet cover to her naked body, her eyes wide but empty-looking.

“Ian what’s going on..?”

“Am I fucking awake?”

Her eyes seemed to clear a little. “Yes, you’re awake,” she said slowly and evenly, as if she couldn’t decide whether to go off it or not.

“Are you sure?”

“Ian? You’re scaring me.”

If Holly’s expression was anything to go by, Ian decided that he most definitely was awake.

I shouldn’t have left Jacob alone…

You were scared. You thought you were dreaming
…

“Fuck,” he said, running back into Jacob’s room. “Jacob?”

“Daddy?” I’m scared.”

Jacob was still in his bed.

If that
is
Jacob.

“Jacob, is that you?”

“Yes, Daddy it’s me. What
the fuck
was under my bed?”

“Don’t you dare use language like that, you little brat,” Ian said, striding over to him, his fear momentarily forgotten and his fists clenched.

He had the sudden urge to
slap
the little shit. In fact, he was furious. A black cloud of anger had settled over him from out of nowhere. All too clearly he could envision himself grabbing the little fucker by the neck and clouting him one round the side of the head. He reached out for his son with hell in his eyes.

“Ian? What’s going on?”

Holly was behind him. She had thrown on one of his t-shirts and it came down almost to her knees. Her presence snapped him back to himself, and the urge to hit Jacob passed, to be replaced by remorse.

“Holly! Don’t come in here, it might be dangerous.”

She ignored him and went straight to Jacob, sitting down next to him and bundling him up in her arms. The kid looked terrified, but whether that was because of ‘the monster’ under his bed, or the monster that what his father, Ian didn’t know.

“Sweetie, are you okay? What’s going on?” Holly said.

“There was a monster under my bed and Daddy got scared.”

Oh great. That just sounds fucking great
.

He walked over to the door and slumped against it, head in his hands. Oh God, he had handled this all so wrong. So fucking wrong.

“Ian? Is this true?”

“It’s not how it sounds.”

“And how
should
it sound?”

Her voice was pure ice and he shrivelled inside. Outside, the storm raged. Another crack of thunder made them all jump, and Jacob buried his face in his mother’s bosom.

Ian sunk onto all fours and stuck the side of his head to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Holly asked.

There was nothing under Jacob’s bed. But there
had
been. He
wasn’t
going crazy.

“Outside.
Now,
” she said with barely contained anger.

“Mummy, Daddy, don’t leave me.”

“We won’t be long, sweetie. Mummy just wants a quick word with Daddy, alright? It won’t take long, and then you can come and sleep with Mummy in Mummy and Daddy’s bed.”

“But the monster…”

“Sweetie, there’s no such things as monsters. We’ll just be outside your room. Two minutes, okay?”

Ian straightened up and allowed his wife to frogmarch him out into the hallway.

“What
the fuck
is going on,” she hissed once they were outside and Jacob’s door was shut.

“Holly, please, it’s not as bad as it seems.”

It sounded lame, even to his own ears. What was he
supposed
to say? I’m sorry love, but I saw a doppelganger of our son hiding under the bed because our nice new home is
haunted?

“Now you listen to me, you stupid bastard. Six-year-olds get night terrors. But thirty-eight-year-olds? I don’t understand what’s going on with you anymore. You need help, Ian. Tomorrow I want you to make an appointment with the doctor. When I came into the room, it looked as though you were about to
hit
our son.”

“I would never do that.”

“There’s something wrong with you, Ian.”

She was visibly shaking she was so mad.

“Holly…”

“I mean, what the fuck were you doing coming into our bedroom screaming like that? And what
the fuck
are you playing at, scaring our six-year-old son half to death? Are you going out of your way to scar him for life, or do you really believe that there is a
fucking monster
under the bed?”

Ian searched her face, truly at a loss for what to say. Part of him felt sorry for her, for the pain he was causing her. But mainly he was just cross. Couldn’t she trust him, even for a second? Did she really think that he would act like that unless there was a bloody good reason?

“I’m sorry, baby, but I definitely saw something under the bed…”