In Darkness, Shadows Breathe Read online

  Carol sat up in bed, hunched, knees under her chin, staring at the impossible sight. Shadows moved within shadows. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, but there were no trees or shrubs outside tall enough to cast such shapes. Besides, where had the furniture gone?

  Silence.

  Only the sound of Carol’s own breathing punctured the heavy atmosphere.

  She wasn’t asleep. The shadows had momentarily unnerved her, but she had come to bed and almost immediately dropped off. Something had woken her, and now this….

  Carol reached for the lamp, her hands trembling. If she put it on, what would she see? Only one way to find out. She held her breath and pressed the switch.

  The bulb flashed once and then out.

  Damn it.

  Now she would have to get out of bed, go to the far wall by the door that she couldn’t even see anymore, and switch on the main light.

  Sweat broke out on her palms. She rubbed them on the duvet cover.

  Still the shadows swirled. Carol could make out figures. Women, dressed in Victorian clothes. Or could that be a trick of the light? Like sitting in front of an open fire and seeing angels dancing in the flames. Her imagination was playing tricks on her, making her brain create impossible images.

  An urgent sensation in her bladder. She needed the bathroom and would have to get up. Taking a deep breath, she thrust the duvet aside. Her feet found her slippers, she dashed across the room, and clicked on the light switch.

  The room flooded with the glow from a dozen halogen bulbs implanted in the ceiling, almost like fairy lights but far brighter.

  There were the fitted wardrobes, and the door, slightly ajar. Strange she couldn’t see it from the bed. Even in the gloom, with only pale moonlight, she should have been able to make it out. She reminded herself this was only her second night in this apartment and she had yet to become entirely familiar with all its aspects.

  Carol made her way to the en suite bathroom and used the toilet. As she switched off the light a sudden movement distracted her. The scurrying, yet indistinct, figure she had seen countless times all her life. Strangely familiar and always tantalizingly close, yet out of reach. But it had never hurt her before, so why should it now?

  She crossed the hall and went into the kitchen. Rummaging under the sink, she found a small box of bulbs. Most were only suitable for the overhead lights in the living room, bedrooms and hall but she finally located one to fit the bedside lamp, returned to her room – and stopped dead in her tracks.

  The lights were off.

  Had she switched them off and forgotten? Carol tentatively touched the switch and applied the slightest pressure. Once again, light flooded the room. No shadows. Nowhere for anything to hide. She realized she had been holding her breath and exhaled, moved swiftly over to the bedside table and changed the bulb, dropping the dead one into the wastebasket beside the bed. When she pressed the switch this time, it worked. By now though, Carol was wide awake.

  A mug of tea would be comforting. She returned to the kitchen and poured cold water into the kettle. A few minutes later, she carried her tea into the living room and stood by the glass doors that led out onto the driveway sweeping up from the main road. Dawn was on the horizon. Pink-tinged clouds and a pale, reluctant sun cast a faint, grayish light across the grounds of Waverley Court, where a patch of well-maintained and nurtured grass nudged up against a neatly trimmed hedge. Beyond that, another patch of grass – slightly less well maintained – led onto a car park belonging to the Royal and Waverley Hospital. Beyond that sprawling building stood the Gothic red brick of the university with its impressive, ornate clock tower. The agent had told her that, back in Victorian times, the whole area had comprised a couple of upmarket streets built in the eighteenth century, the hospital adjoining the old workhouse and asylum, and a large cemetery.

  Carol checked her watch. Quarter past six. No point going back to bed. She would have to be up in less than an hour anyway. Might as well start now.

  She took her mug back to the kitchen and rinsed it before making her way to the en suite for her shower. Her thoughts occupied, she wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted her in the bedroom.

  All the wardrobe doors were open and her clothes strewn across the floor. Carol stood and stared, not believing her eyes.

  “Who’s there?” she called, at the same time terrified someone might answer.

  Nothing.

  From the en suite came the unmistakable sound of running water. She dashed in to find the shower at full pelt, already filling the room with steam. But it couldn’t do that. For one thing, the flat wasn’t cold enough. The shower was thermostatically controlled at a constant temperature and the central heating had come on. Somehow, the thermostat had been changed, and quite dramatically at that.

  Carol reached into the shower, careful to avoid the scalding cascade. She turned it off and leaned back against the sink for a moment, trying to calm herself and steady her racing heartbeat. As she returned to the bedroom, a sudden sharp pain shot through her abdomen and she doubled over, gripping the bed for support.

  The pain subsided and stopped as fast as it had started. Carol concentrated on breathing steadily before she dared straighten up. When she did, she felt a presence behind her, a split second before she toppled over onto the floor.

  Someone had pushed her. Shoved her in the small of her back. A vicious, deliberate act, but she could see no one.

  Carol curled into a fetal position, scared to move off the floor.

  Footsteps. She could feel someone walking around on the soft pile of the carpet.

  Please don’t hurt me. Please….

  They seemed to be moving closer toward her.

  Go away. Just go…away….

  She caught her breath. The footsteps had stopped. She could smell tobacco. And spearmint.

  Something stirred in her memory.

  She looked out of her eyes as a child. Barely thirteen and newly fostered for the fourth time. She remembered the family. It wasn’t that the Sinclairs were bad people. They were unlucky. Unlucky to have a vile son like Jonah. She could hear his whiny voice now, feel his hot breath on her cheek, smell the mix of illicit tobacco and the spearmint chewing gum meant to conceal his smoking habit from his parents.

  “Come on, Carol. You know you want it. Little slut like you. You want it so bad.”

  “Get away from me. I’ll tell your parents.”

  But all that had achieved was to anger him. “What do you think they’ll do, bitch? Do you think they’ll believe you over their own son? Their own blue-eyed, perfect son?”

  His laugh was as cruel as his actions. He tore her dress, ripped her knickers and forced himself inside her. It had hurt. Hurt worse than anything. Anything…until that sudden pain a few minutes ago.

  Jonah had been right. His parents hadn’t believed her and it had only made things worse. They turned against her and she heard them whispering when they thought she couldn’t hear.

  “There’s bad blood there…a bad influence on Jonah…we need to send her back….”

  He raped her again and again over the next month. Carol kept quiet. She didn’t even scream or struggle anymore when he violated her. She just wept silent tears as she mopped herself up, cleaning his disgusting semen off and out of her body. She winced when she lowered herself gently into the hot bath water, watching the thin trail of blood turn the water a pale pink.

  Carol had run away from that foster home and pleaded not to be sent anywhere else. She refused to tell them why. And they had asked her. Time and again they had tried to get her to talk. Maybe they guessed. But she wouldn’t – couldn’t – tell them about Jonah. If she did she knew he would find a way to get at her, harm her. Maybe even worse…. He had said so.

  They kept her in the Children’s Home until she was sixteen – the only place she felt safe. The only
place she had ever felt safe.

  Tears flowed as she lay alone on the bedroom floor in the beautiful surroundings of Waverley Court. Why could she never rid herself of her past, and why did it always feel as if it had happened to someone else? Someone else who shared her body, mind and memories, but chose to hide in the shadows. And Jonah? What had happened to him?

  A series of flashing images rushed through her brain. A cold, rain-swept night and a damp, dirty cellar. In her raised hand, a carving knife dripped blood. Jonah’s terrified face as he cowered on the filthy floor. A rat crawled over his feet and scurried away into a dark corner.

  “Don’t…don’t….” His voice a whimper. A stupid, childish whimper, while anger raged within her.

  “Too late,” she had heard herself say before she brought the knife down again, again, again, obliterating his face until not even his own mother would recognize him. Slicing, chopping, scything out revenge for the pain and misery he had caused her. Strength she knew came from elsewhere drove her on. Pleasure overrode all other emotions. Blood. So much blood.

  And then it was over. She was free of him at last.

  Her mind jolted her back to the present. Had it really happened? Had she killed Jonah? She had no memory of getting out of that cellar. Surely she would have been covered in his blood – and worse. The police would have caught her. She racked her brains but could find nothing to draw on. So it was just a dream then. Out there, somewhere, he still lived and breathed, so she must keep one step ahead. But those images felt so real.

  Tears wet against her cheeks, she opened her eyes and slowly sat up. Her clothes still lay around her but she was alone. Using the bed to steady herself, she stood. Her legs wobbled and she half-staggered to the bathroom.

  She checked the shower. It was set for the correct temperature so whatever had altered it hadn’t meant to harm her, merely to scare the life out of her. Well, they had certainly succeeded in doing that. Carol slipped off her nightshirt and stepped into the cubicle, closing the glass door behind her.

  * * *

  “Your eyes are ever so red, Carol. Haven’t you been sleeping?” Sarah’s concerned look almost reduced Carol to tears again. She fought to control her voice.

  “I had a bad night. Just a silly nightmare, but a really vivid one. I’ll be all right.” Sarah nodded, smiled and moved on.

  Carol’s work day began. Nothing eventful. One customer insisted on holding up her line while he ranted about the price of apples. Carol said, “yes” and “no”, and hoped they were in the right places. Eventually the bombastic pensioner caught the frustrated glares of the other customers and shuffled off, still grumbling.

  “Honestly, some people.” A young mother with talon-like acrylic nails piled disposable diapers, pizzas and an assortment of tins of spaghetti hoops, baked beans and macaroni cheese onto the conveyor. “As if it’s your fault.”

  Carol smiled at her. “It takes all sorts, I suppose.”

  “Yes, I suppose.” The woman pushed back her bright blonde hair, enhanced with obvious extensions. The tot in the child’s seat of the trolley gurgled and dropped a small plush toy rabbit on the floor. Her mother retrieved it, her fluorescent-pink nails flashing. “Here you are, Ariana.” She handed the toy back to the child, who instantly started chewing its ear. “No, don’t do that. It’s been on the floor.” The child ignored her and carried on gnawing.

  With some difficulty, the woman extracted notes from her purse. Carol watched her and wondered how she could do anything with those nails in the way.

  Carol handed over the customer’s change, placing it in the palm of her hand so she wouldn’t have to struggle to pick it up. Was it really worth all the effort? The woman smiled with her Botoxed lips and blinked her false eyelashes. She would be attractive if it wasn’t for all the work she had had done.

  “Thanks. Have a good day.” The customer wheeled the child and her shopping away, teetering on six-inch heels. For the first time, the child caught Carol’s eye, screwed her eyes up, opened her mouth and bawled. The woman quickened her step, nearly tripping over in the process.

  “She’ll do herself a mischief in them shoes,” the next customer said.

  Carol smiled. Her thoughts exactly.

  * * *

  At the end of her shift, Carol could barely keep her eyes open. Lack of sleep, and crying, had made them sting as if she had bathed them in salt water. At least tomorrow was her day off. It didn’t matter what time she got up. But the thought of returning to the flat suddenly didn’t seem as appealing as it had before the events of the early morning. The first thing she would have to do was tidy all her clothes away. As she inserted her key in the door, she prayed she wasn’t coming home to anything worse than a messy bedroom.

  She breathed a sigh of relief at the peaceful warmth that greeted her and made her way to the kitchen, where she extracted a pizza from her carrier bag and placed it on the draining board.

  In the bedroom, the mess she had left behind awaited her and she spent the next few minutes folding, and hanging up her clothes. There weren’t too many. Carol had never had much spare cash or been particularly interested in fashion and she rarely wore makeup. Most of her clothes were practical and comfortable.

  Picking up her last sweater, she discovered an old leather-bound book she couldn’t remember seeing before. Yet there it was, lying in plain sight on the floor. Before her clothes had ended up all over the place, she would have been bound to see it, surely, so where had it come from? She flicked through the yellowing pages. Some sort of diary. Maybe it belonged to the people who owned this flat? It certainly wasn’t hers so she had no business reading it.

  She closed it and tucked it in the drawer with her sweaters.

  When she had finished sorting out her room, she switched on the oven to warm up ready for the pizza, which she later ate while watching the television news. Political infighting, a corruption scandal. Job losses. Enough to send anyone into a depression. She switched off the television and finished her meal.

  After she washed up, she put her phone on charge and booted up her tablet. Her email provided the usual junk and she had long since deleted her Facebook account. What was the point when she didn’t have any friends to connect with? Maybe that thought should have made her sad or lonely but it didn’t.

  A scratching noise disturbed her introspective thoughts. It came from the double glass doors that led outside.

  Carol felt a twinge of apprehension but she mustn’t give in to it. She forced herself to stand and pace steadily to the other side of the room. The reflection of the light inside made it almost impossible to see anything outside in the dark. Maybe it had been a cat. Pets weren’t allowed in the complex but that wouldn’t stop a determined feline from ambling across the grounds.

  On impulse, she unlocked the doors and opened them. Outside, the concrete felt cold through the thin soles of her slippers. Security lights illuminated the driveway. No sign of anyone – human or animal. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of some nearby shrubs. It had turned into a fine, chilly night and Carol felt the urge to stroll around the grounds. She hadn’t done so since she arrived and it was a fascinating place, given its history, even if the present building only dated from around twenty years earlier.

  She retreated into the warmth of the living room, locked the double doors and removed her slippers, reminding herself she must wash the soles or risk staining the oatmeal carpet. For now though, she left them on the kitchen floor and grabbed her coat and shoes from the hall cupboard.

  After locking her front door behind her, she tucked the key safely into her coat pocket, ready to explore her surroundings.

  She pulled open the communal front entrance door and stepped out. Skirting around a couple of neat flower beds where no weed would dare to make an appearance, she followed the line of security lights under an archway, hearing nothing but the echo of her footsteps.
A large wall plaque drew her attention, but the surrounding murkiness made it impossible to read. She reached for the phone in her pocket and switched on the flashlight.

  Waverley Workhouse and Asylum. For the benefit of the poor and the feeble of mind. This foundation stone was laid by Alderman Grover Warren, May 18th 1859.

  A rush of cold air ruffled her hair and she tucked a stray strand behind her ear before switching off the flash.

  So this was the older part of the complex. Where she now lived had been bombed to destruction during World War Two and subsequently rebuilt twice since, but this red brick Gothic edifice, which also housed luxury dwellings, had somehow escaped the attention of the Luftwaffe. Restoration at the same time the newer apartments were built had been carried out with some sensitivity and at least a nod to the architectural Gothic revival opulence of the nineteenth century.

  Carol continued her walk, emerging from the archway, seeing no one. The eerie silence seemed to her as if it was waiting for something to disturb it. Nothing did.

  Circumnavigating the quadrangle, within which shrubs, a Japanese-style water garden and wooden bridge had been constructed, Carol felt an inner peace mount inside her. This would be a truly lovely place to settle down, not that she would ever be able to do so. Once her six months were up she would be off to some measly one-bedroom flat above a backstreet convenience store or fast food outlet. Even then she would probably have to fork out more than she currently did.

  So much for inner peace.

  Carol pushed the unwelcome thoughts out of her mind. Arriving back at the archway, she retraced her steps through it, but as she entered, everything changed. She changed.

  In a second, she was looking at the world through someone else’s eyes. Except…. It was her, but not as she was now.

  She rubbed her eyes, trying to focus, and failing. Everything around her undulated and lost substance, stretching, contracting as if time itself was bending. The light grew brighter, then faded. She almost lost her balance and grabbed the wall for support. At first it seemed to resist her attempts to grasp it. She felt the cool bricks beneath her fingers and then she didn’t. It had all changed. Now she felt fabric. She was inside a building and clutching floor-length, dark blue velvet drapes and seeing the room through a mist. Old-fashioned, heavy Victorian furniture surrounded her. Dark wood. Mahogany perhaps.