I didn't know how long I'd been laying on the staircase.
Maybe a lifetime. Maybe just a few moments.I remembered getting in the cab, but not the journey home. I remembered fumbling with the key in the lock and walking into the house, although walking was a stretch of the truth to be fair. Shuffling would have been more apt. I'd gotten as far as the staircase and collapsed, half-twisted on my back, staring up at the ceiling. There was a cobweb right above my head, a thin wispy strand that danced on the breeze blowing through the still-open doorway.I couldn't move. I wanted to, I think I wanted to, I knew I probably should have moved. The front door was open, after all. The keys were still in the lock. But I'd been falling since I'd reached home, falling as I lay on my back staring upwards at the cobweb, falling even though I wasn't falling at all. I was dimly aware that my leg was bent at an angle that was uncomfortable and that there was a dull pain building in the base oThe others moved into the space behind Davey, spreading out cautiously, but they were rattled, tense, all tooled up. Addi's eyes met mine and I silently willed him to run.Please. Just fucking run .Across the room, Juliette sighed. 'See how tiresome these creatures are, Ethan?''Bitch, shut the fuck up!' Davey shouted at her. 'You shut up right now or I swear I will take out your fucking kneecaps.'Juliette just smiled in response, but by her side, she rubbed her thumb and fingertips together and I thought she's getting ready, she's going to do it ,she's going to strike .'Case, you hurt, babe? These fuckers hurt you?'I saw it, that territorial streak in Davey's eyes, but there was something else there too, a warmth that hit me hard because it reminded me of when we'd first met and of the way he'd looked at me during that first summer in Ibiza. Like I was everything. Like I was his whole world. And I had been for a while, even if I hadn't wanted
There's a monster at my door.I hear it all the time. This hissing of its breath. The scratching of its claws. Rapping its knuckles on wood.Knock, knock, knock.There's a monster at my door.It wears the face of my mother. It wears the face of many. It smiles to deceive, to trick, but its teeth are needles, razor-sharp and tipped with poison. I see them.I see.There's a monster at my door.No shadow can hide me. Darkness cannot conceal me. I'm a flickering light, I'm warm flesh, I'm a beating heart.Knock, knock, knock .There's a monster at my door and it won't go away.It won't ever go away.*******The faint scent of cigarette smoke filtered through the gap in the partly-open doorway.The voice of a newsreader I couldn't stand, drifted in with the smoke, serving as nothing but background noise to the crack of bone and screams I could still hear.
I didn't want to think about that, about how the way he said people made it sound like they weren't people at all. They were... something else. Something other.' Lift a stone and you shall find me ,' Ethan continued, dropping the blinds and barring the city outside from my view.'And that's not a bloody riddle?'He laughed as he walked back over to the table, pouring himself another drink. A large drink.'I'm just fucking with you,' he grinned. 'Actually, it's apparently from the Gospel of Thomas. Made famous in that film Stigmata . Did you ever watch that? Cracking movie. Great cast. The message behind it was all a load of shit obviously, but still a damn good watch.''You're mad,' I whispered, staring at him. 'Here I am, thinking I'm the one going insane, but it's you.''Wouldn't that be easier?' he said, taking a swig of whiskey. 'Easier to accept madness than the truth. It's okay, I understand that. Insanity has often seemed the better option to me, but unfort
I'd never been special. Not once.I'd been told I was, but only by those who couldn't look me in the eye as they hurt me. They stroked my hair and told me I was special, that I was a good girl, that I was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen and then they covered my eyes from it all, as if covering my eyes would make a difference. As if covering my eyes numbed the pain. As if covering my eyes would make me believe them.But I never did, because I knew I wasn't special. I knew .Being Davey's top girl had made other people think I was special, but I'd never believed that either. I just took another pill, snorted another line and smiled as I covered my own eyes.That Ethan could believe there was anything remotely remarkable about me was insane. I was a nobody. Nothing. But he was looking at me like no one ever had, like he was seeing beyond the façade, beyond the Casey Brogan that everyone else saw and he wasn't just seeing the layers of dirt and filth underneath.
With my hands braced against the side of the sink unit, I knew Ethan was behind me without even looking around. I wasn't going to turn, even though every hair on my neck was practically begging me to.'You forgot my bowl,' he said.'Wash it yourself.' I turned off the hot tap and gave it a blast of cold water. 'You must be used to it by now.'I stiffened as he appeared at my side and dropped his bowl into the water. Turning off the tap, he grabbed my wrist before I could plunge my hands into the sink and pulled me out of the way, taking my place at the basin. I took a step back, folding my arms across my chest and leant against the wall, watching as he scrubbed at the bowls and cutlery with a sponge.Struggling to equate this idea of him as a demon with someone who also washed his own dishes, I let my eyes wander, taking in the dingy, narrow room. It reminded me of the same type of kitchen often found in social housing, something I was quite used to having grown up in a
When the laughter burst out I couldn't stop it and weirdly, I didn't even want to try.I laughed so bloody hard that I ended up with a stitch in my side and had to sit down, as the pain jabbed at my ribs and made it difficult to breathe, but I didn't care. If it was madness to laugh, it was a good kind of madness and one that I needed. It was a brief descent into an insanity that felt like cutting up a storm on the dancefloor, experiencing those first moments of hedonistic pleasure as the buzz fired sparks of heat into your veins.'Okay, now I know you're high,' I said, as I struggled to compose myself. 'Or maybe I still am. Is that it? Am I on one big fuck-off never-ending trip? I need to know what the Hell was in that fix I got from Leon, because this is the freakiest, most insane, completely unreal thing I've ever heard, and you know what, I've heard some proper crazy things recently.'Ethan's stony glare didn't waiver and I wondered if he practiced that convincing-as-fu
'Why is that even funny?''Because, humans wouldn't know the truth if it hit them in the face like a tsunami,' he said. 'Truth is nothing but fiction, told by the greatest storytellers this world has ever known. Of course, they were also the best liars, but that's the real secret to great story-telling, isn't it? Possessing the ability to make people believe you. Stories become truths so powerful that people forget that the tale itself was so fantastical, it couldn't possibly have been real. Serpents and apples. Building a massive boat full to the brim with every species of animal known to man. Five thousand people turning up to your dinner party when you only have five loaves of bread and two fish. And you want me to tell you the truth? I wouldn't even know where to start. I gave up believing in any kind of truth this world has to offer a long time ago.''Then tell me the real truth. Your truth, not the fiction.'He snorted, nostrils flaring. 'I've already told you far mor
When I was eight years old, my mother, Maggie Brogan, gave me a gift.I found out later that it had actually belonged to Claire and she'd left it behind when her Dad had gained custody of her, but to me, it didn't matter that it was a second-hand gift. My Mum had given me a present. An actual present. It was the only one she ever gave to me.It was a small, cream-coloured hardback book called Tropical Birds by Clive Roots . It was an ex-library book, the official stamp of Hackney Central Library just inside the front cover and a SOLD stamp underneath it in faded red. A clearly unloved book from the very few date stamps on the borrowing record, it had been sold for just twenty pence, whether to Claire or to someone else who then gifted it to her, I never knew. All I knew is that I loved it for two reasons.The first reason was because when Mum had given it to me, she'd been sober. One brief, totally coherent conversation where she'd awarded me a ghost of a smile and touched