Jack

                                                        Jack

As he lay on his bed, the sunlight filling his small bedroom and pleasantly caressing his skin with warmth, Jack remembered that day when his life had been saved. The sound of her voice had brought the colour back to the world and rekindled the last of his hope. Jessica had saved him, and brightened his life, bringing meaning back into his world.
 

  That incident had been the year before, since then Christmas had passed, which he spent with Jessica and together they had welcomed the start of a new year. A new beginning.
 

  Jack once belonged to a family. Jack once had a mother, a father… a brother. It was ten years ago that he lost two-thirds of his family. A collision with another car had killed his father instantly - his body crushed by the speeding vehicle. His poor brother’s agony was prolonged, however, and Michael had died not long after entering Accident and Emergency from severe damage to his skull and internal bleeding. Jack could never forget that day, when he had come home from school to find Mr and Mrs Grisham waiting for him, to take him to the hospital. When he arrived he had thrown himself into his mothers arms and they had cried and cried, holding onto each other as if afraid that their remaining loved one would be cruelly snatched from them as had the other two most important people in their lives. Jack had only his mother left, and she only him. That was the day his mother had died. Her withered body died ten years later: lung cancer had rotted her from inside. With his mother by his side, Jack had survived. The light inside him had not completely died at the same time his brother and father had. The news of his mother’s killer, that had been there for longer than he had, had put out that light, swiftly and mercilessly. He never could find an answer as to why life had been so cruel to him. Had took everything he had at such a young age.
 

  But that was the past and one as bad as his shouldn’t be dwelt on. Besides, the day ahead was promising: he and Jessica had arranged to see each other. He smiled at the thought of her. The day’s fantastic light on her long, dark hair. Her deep green eyes like clear pools, glistening in the sun. He smiled again as he gazed at the plain, cream ceiling.
 

  He turned his head from the ceiling, to the small mahogany table on his right, that served as a stand for his clock and a small beaker. He turned his thoughts from Jessica to why he had woken two hours earlier than usual and why there was no water in the previously full beaker. He couldn’t quite remember what had woken him so prematurely. Why had he the need to drink so much water? Then it came to him. That horrid dream.
 

  Come on Jack, don’t kid yourself. That was a bloody nightmare.
 

  Yes, a nightmare. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one. Probably the time of  Michael’s - no. No need to think of that now. The nightmare must have woken him, and, hell, if you didn’t need a long drink of something after that - Jack would’ve preferred a few shots of whiskey -  then you weren’t human. Jack’s brow furrowed and his eyes closed as he tried to recall the events of his nightmare. They wouldn’t come and he decided that there was no use trying to get a couple of hours extra now that he was awake.
 

  He turned his head away from the clock and beaker, to the window next to him. From it, he could see his back garden: a small garage sat at the top of the steep, tarmac drive, filled with useless items: tins of dried paint, shelves that were home only to cobwebs, a lawn mower, more garden equipment that, judging by the state of the overgrown, weed ridden garden, had not been used in a very long time. To the right of the garage, steps led up to a small concrete circle, that, in it’s centre, held a rusty clothes line; a few of Jack’s clothes hung from these metal branches. Weeds surrounded the clothes line and some even ventured into the stone circle, creeping up from the many cracks in the concrete. Just past the circle and a patch of weeds, was a tall hedge that had engulfed the fence.
 

  On the other side of this fence was a large field that sloped up towards a small wood. Jack could see the sun peeping over the line of trees at the top of the field and could feel the warmth of it’s rays on his almost naked body. He stared at the line of trees, half expecting to see something there and not sure why. Only shadows.
 

  Only shadows. Just what were you looking for?
 

  He couldn’t answer the question. Instead he got out of bed and went downstairs for a shower.


                                                    * * *

The water felt good. Refreshing. Warm droplets ran down his body. The air was strangely  humid despite it being the middle of January. The weather-man on the small blue radio next to him, promised Jack a day that would be bright with little cloud coverage.
 

  Good weather for meeting Jessica. It meant they didn’t have to stay holed up in a small café; instead they could take a pleasant stroll and talk things over. He intended to ask her something that would change their lives for the better. He would ask her to -
 

  A loud bang shattered his thoughts. Another followed it.
 

  Jack twisted the knob on the radio as far as it would go until there was just the sound of the water bouncing off his body and splashing on the floor of the cubicle. The bang came again only quieter. It continued, getting quieter, until he had to strain his ears to hear it.
 

  Must be the builders next door, he told himself as he turned the radio back up. The weather man was still talking, telling him that tomorrow there would be heavy rainfall all through the day and -
 

  There it was again. That banging - like a sledgehammer smashing into a wall. He turned the knob until the sound of the radio drowned out the splashing of the water. No. it couldn’t be, could it? The noises were getting louder. And quicker, following directly after the last bang. He turned up the volume of the radio, but the banging seemed to get louder, and louder. He turned the knob as far as it would go but still the banging overcame the sound of the radio, getting louder as he increased the volume as if the thing causing the banging wanted Jack to hear it.
 

  What the fuck are they doing next door!? He thought angrily. Knocking the bastard place down!?
 

  No, not next door he thought. Jack tilted his head back, the water in his face, and looked at the ceiling.
 

  Your not seriously suggesting there’s someone up there?
 

  Absurd, yes. But where else would it be coming from? The bathroom was directly below his small bedroom. Jack hit the power button on his radio, turned off the shower and stepped out of the cubicle, releasing a cloud of steam. The banging changed from a random slamming to a rhythmic thudding. The thuds came in pairs, like the beating of some huge hideous heart.
 

  Jack wrapped a towel around his waist and fumbled with the lock on the door, his wet hands slipping every time he tried to grip it. The thuds were closer now. Something was falling down the stairs on the other side of the door. A different thud interrupted the rhythm, where the object must have hit the wall in one of the two bends in the staircase.
 

  He finally released the lock and grabbed the door handle. The sound was on the other side of the door - a few more steps and whatever was crashing down the bare, wooden stairs would be at his feet when he opened the bathroom door.
 

  He swung the door wide open and was hit by a blast of cold air and utter silence. Nothing.
 

  He raced up the stairs, his wet feet slipping on the wood, discarded the towel on the landing at the top and burst into his room.
 

  Inside he found his bed upturned, sheets and pillows scattered across the carpet and his shelves had fell, littering the floor with books. He also noticed something that chilled his very soul. As he looked out of the window, the sunlight hurting his eyes, he thought he saw something melt into the shadows of the wood.