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He peered around as he locked the door behind him but the end of the driveway and the garden beds were swamped in shadows. Ben was painfully aware of how exposed he was beneath the glare of the outside fluorescents.
She
could be there now; crouched down beside the car…

She could also be turning into the driveway while you stand around just outside her door.

The thought was enough to get him moving, grinding his teeth as he eased the screen door closed and it unleashed another shuddering creak.

He quickly paced the steps to his door, unable to stop looking over his shoulder; back up the driveway, the photos playing over again in his mind. The ones of the cats. Then the old lady. Then the second album with the Polaroids of the goth-looking guy. The one that looked uncomfortably similar to the description of the previous tenant the estate agent had given him.

It was with some relief that he reached his own door, yanked open the screen and slotted the key into the lock.

* * * * *

He knew something was wrong even before he heard the door creak closed behind him and the burning fire ripped through his ankles.

He went down instantly; his legs just crumbling beneath him.

The latch clicked shut as he tried to rise but there was something wrong; there was no strength in his legs and he crashed back down, gritting his teeth as the pain hit. Sharp, stabbing pain that rocketed through his body.

He looked down and a choked, half-sob ripped from his lips as he saw the blood flowing; saw the two large gashes just above the line of his shoe; saw the exposed tendon through the cuts in his trousers.

Then he looked up and saw
her
and another sob ripped from his lips as
she
stood above him, naked beneath the clear, plastic poncho,
her
erect nipples taut against its surface;
her
pubic hair, clearly visible, forming a neat triangle between her thighs.
And what was that behind her back?

Ben froze as he stared up at
her
; saw that look that he knew so well. The rage, disgust and hatred and it paralysed him because
she
knew.
Mummy knew. She
knew what he’d been going to do.

And it was her too
. For the briefest of seconds
she
was there before him, reincarnated and Ben’s brain felt like it was shutting down. The hunting knife slid from his sleeve and hit the carpet with a soft thunk. He didn’t scream though, oh no, if he screamed the punishment just got worse.

Then the image disappeared; the features morphing into that of his neighbour, her face twisted with rage. She was making a soft, hissing noise as she stood above him, reminiscent of a cat with its hackles up.

Ben’s paralysis broke and he scrambled backwards as she swooped, the hand emerging from behind her back clasping the black handled kitchen knife. He grabbed for his own on the carpet but it was so hard to coordinate through the pain and he missed as she closed in. The blade sliced into his forearm as he raised it defensively. The pain was hot and immediate but he pushed it away. If there was one thing he was used to it was pain.

As she drew back for another slash, he reached out and grabbed her ankle. He yanked her feet from under her and she toppled backward. She hit the ground hard and Ben managed a tight-lipped smile as he heard the breath whoosh out of her. He tried to rise again but his legs just wouldn’t take his weight and crumpled beneath him.

She was still sprawled as he grabbed the hunting knife from the floor and starting inching towards her. Anger was pumping through him as he approached. He could clearly see her vulva between her splayed legs and he knew where he’d stab first.

It was okay; he’d fix this
. In a way the pain would be even better before he took her…
Just another link…

He reached for her but didn’t see her legs curl upward. He didn’t see them flying toward him, only heard a sickening crunch, had a brief taste of blood in his mouth and then slumped as the darkness seeped in.

* * * * *

The pain was everywhere as he came to. He was sitting on something cool and hard and if it wasn’t for that, he could have almost imagined he was back in his bedroom, waking after one of their sessions. The same question was playing over now as it did back then:
oh God, how bad is it?

He coughed and spat as he felt the coppery taste of blood trickling down his throat but his lips were dry and swollen and it only dribbled down his front. He felt it on his skin and realised he was naked and he remembered the sickening crunch as the foot impacted and suddenly it made sense that his breathing was so harsh in his ears and that a slight whistling noise filled the air every time he inhaled.

His eyes snapped open as he tried to move and realised he was strapped down. He tried to yank himself free but that only caused more pain. And there was something wrong with his sight too. It was blurred and ringed with fuzzy darkness as though his eyes weren’t opening wide enough. He didn’t have time to dwell on it though. With a whirring click, the whole of his vision exploded into bright light, its dazzling intensity forcing his eyes shut again.

There was another whirr and then the light exploded again; bright even through his closed lids. Another whirr…

He waited, his eyes screwed tightly shut but the flash wasn’t repeated. After a minute he cautiously opened his eyes again. He saw
her
through the black spots that dotted his vision.
She
was standing in front of him, still in the plastic poncho,
her
head cocked to one side and the Polaroid camera held limply in a hand by her side.

As her stare pierced him it was hard to keep calm. Her face kept morphing. It was Rachel. It was
her
. It was Rachel. It was
her
. He couldn’t help it and a whimper escaped his lips as
she
started to move. It forced a smile to Rachel’s face that instantly twisted into
her
demented leer and he flinched back, instinctively trying to raise his hands for protection but they were pinned to the chair. He tried to speak but all that came out was unintelligible babble.

Rachel’s grin spread wider as she slowly stooped and placed the camera on the floor and Ben realised she hadn’t been going to attack him in the first place – despite what he’d read in that leer.
Maybe he’d had all his punishment for tonight? That was often the case wasn’t it? Some nights it would be worse than others. Maybe this was one of them?

But it’s not her
, he reminded himself even though the face was morphing before his eyes again and his mind flipped to the photo albums once more and he began to get really scared. His heart thumped as they flew through his head. The sheer violence of them: the mutilations, the old lady’s body torn to ribbons; the goth, his eyes wide, staring at the bloody crater between his legs.
And she had done them…

But that couldn’t be right….

Mummy always stopped before she went too far…

But she’s not her, she’s not her, she’s not her
. He forced the thought into a loop in his mind and the face before him morphed back to that of his neighbour. She was still standing in front of him, smiling. The bottom fell out of his stomach as he saw that the kitchen knife had somehow reappeared in her hand.

He could feel his eyes widening and his already ragged breathing getting rougher but he just couldn’t help it. Her face, despite his efforts, was wavering again and all he could seem to think was:
don’t scream, don’t scream, it’ll be worse if you scream.

‘How do you like it, huh?’

There was such anger in her voice as she spat it out that Ben was unable to speak. He was back in his bedroom cowering as
she
stood above him. He knew he was helpless; that he couldn’t stop
her; how could he stop her?
He could see his blood on the blade still, glistening under the lights as she raised it up and pointed it at him accusingly.

‘You know I just thought you were some sort of pervert.’ The voice was so reminiscent of the tone
she
had used and the words in his head overlapped the ones Rachel was saying, only confusing him further as they layered. ‘But I’ve just been through your little bag and I now see you’re something far worse.’

Ben could see her eyes were just as focused on the blade’s red tip as his were.

‘You just have no fucking respect,’ she spat. ‘What the fuck have I ever done that would make you think I deserve to be treated like this? What fucking makes you think you have the right to be so fucking inconsiderate?’

She paused and glared at him but Ben didn’t reply. Even if he could have, he wouldn’t dare. He knew only too well that you didn’t talk back. Talking back just made
her
angrier.

‘You fucking steal my clothes; my fucking underwear. You fucking peep through my window. You fucking stand outside my window and wank. You fucking wank and cum on my window. But are you satisfied with that? Noooo… Then you fucking invade my home. You go through my stuff. That’s right I’ve been back while you were out. I had to get the chair since you have no fucking furniture. I saw what you did. You ate my food. You went through my clothes. You fucking ashed on my fucking carpet. I ask you again. What fucking right do you have?’

Ben stared at her his heart thumping.

‘Huh?’

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t reply. Even breathing was getting more and more difficult.

‘I said what fucking right?’ Her voice rose in intensity but not too far, not loud enough to alert the neighbours. Ben could only stare dumbly, the images, the voice. All of it tumbling head over heels through his mind, mixing with the pain until he didn’t know who he was anymore; didn’t know who
she
was anymore.

Even the familiar surrounds of the kitchen were beginning to blur and shift, the colours and shapes morphing until one moment he was in the flat, the next he was back in his bedroom; then in the kitchen; then in
her
room and the air was thick with the sound of buzzing and the smell of eggs.

There wasn’t even time to flinch as she suddenly leapt at him. Not that it mattered. He had nowhere to go anyway. The knife embedded in his shoulder, just below the collarbone and pain erupted through him as she twisted it and yanked it down. He opened his mouth to scream but clamped it shut –
don’t scream; it’s always worse if you scream
– instead he stared with wide eyes and trembled as the muscle of his pectoral split apart beneath the blade.

With her free hand, she raked his face, her nails carving furrows while the knife continued downwards, bisecting his right nipple. The agony was so blinding that Ben couldn’t help it. Despite his resolve, he opened his mouth to scream long and loud.

‘Oh no you don’t.’ Her voice was calmer now and suddenly Ben was choking as she rammed something into his mouth. He tasted the salty, metallic tang and realised it was the cum soaked panties he’d stuffed in his pocket earlier.

She stepped back, apparently momentarily sated by the violence. Ben’s pain dissipated in the sudden struggle to breathe. He could feel the fuzzy borders at the edge of his vision growing as he tried to suck air around the fabric in his mouth, his ruined nose, seemingly unable to compensate.

‘You’re not the only one with a spare key you know.’

Her outline was blurry as he struggled for air but Ben could see enough to know that the poncho was now bunched up around her waist and that her hand was working between her legs. His sight was rapidly diminishing as he frantically tried to suck oxygen into his lungs but even so, he clearly saw it as she morphed and she was there before him, spreading the lips so he could clearly see the glistening insides and even though he knew that there would be pain. That she’d be angry. His response was instantaneous.

Even as he blacked out, his penis was stiffening

DAY 6

The flash brought him back and as his eyes flew open, the pain hit him like a freight train and Ben screamed from the very depths of his being. It was like all those sessions he’d had with
her
rolled into one. The panties were gone from his mouth but something was still covering it. By its feel and shape he suspected it was his duct tape. His screams were only muffled groans but he still knew he’d made a mistake. That he’d screamed and that now it would be worse.

The dread flowed through him but then he looked down and before the hysteria overcame him, he had time to clearly think:
how could it get any worse?

The camera flashed again as he saw the ruined organ, the skin flayed and peeled until it looked like little more than bloody gristle. The head of it was cross-hatched with cuts, reducing it to a mass of fleshy slivers.

The blood was everywhere. His thighs were coated in a sheen of it. It soaked through the fabric of the chair and he could just glimpse the puddle of it, spreading around his feet.

He couldn’t quite describe the feeling as he stared at all the blood and at the ruined mess of his penis. The pain was immense but he’d experienced immense pain before and, after the initial shock of the first hit, it was beginning to become bearable again. It was more the enormity of what she’d done. The sheer irreversibility of it all. Even if she stopped now he was ruined for life. There was no way to come back from the totality of this and it was that thought, that idea, that was forcing the screams as he thought back over all the times
she’d
threatened him.