Time to Leave

Time to Leave

Today, it was plastic tubs. There were no elements of surprise for Ann, after two years of finding random objects scattered all over the pub. Ann and her kitchen assistant had stacked them on the work-top the night before, after closing time, ready for Spaghetti Bolognese and Cottage Pie for the freezer. Six piles of ten counted out methodically and placed in a nice neat row. This morning, they were strewn around the kitchen, as if someone had made a real effort to throw them as far as they could! Ann was furious.
‘Oh! For the love of God, I am getting tired of this.’ She sighed through clenched jaws and stooped to pick them up, knees creaking like old door hinges. She had placed the second pile of ten back on the work-top as her daughter Jenny came stomping down the stairs. Tiredness, coupled with an all too familiar hangover, made her look like a zombie in an eighties horror movie. Yet, when she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes were suddenly bright.
‘Oh wow, it’s happened again hasn’t it?! … Wait there, leave ‘em alone, I’m going to get Dad, he has to see. He must believe us now.’ She turned on her heels and flew back up the stairs two at a time, shouting; ‘Don’t touch ‘em, leave ‘em there!’ as she went. Ann sat back on her feet and sighed again. Jenny was excited about what had happened and it annoyed her. She had ranted about other weird experiences they’d shared like they were gripping TV dramas and she couldn’t wait for the next episode. Lately, she had changed. She stopped seeing her friends, her boyfriend, just stayed in her room talking to him. She was the only one who actually conversed with him.
Ann hadn’t slept properly in months, lying in bed at night, listening for the next bizarre noise, wondering what state she would find the place in the next day. Her once flawless skin and deep-blue eyes had both suffered from the anxiety of it all. She felt ten, twenty years older. Her dark circles had become like deep-rooted contusions and an increasingly patchy and furrowed skin tone meant that a worn-down old woman looked back at her from the mirror.
Jenny was thriving on the whole thing, her face glowing with an unusual vitality when she returned with Daniel in tow.
‘See, Dad! Now do you see? It’s him. He’s trying to get our attention. Don’t you understand? It’s Bert … he’s here, and he wants us to know!’ She was panting; her eyes grew wide, and seemed to darken from brown to black. ‘Look Dad!’
The sun came up then; beaming through the kitchen window. Jenny’s shadow flung itself across the room as she spoke, her voice; amplified and more powerful than ever before.
‘YOU SEE IT DON’T YOU?!’ she boomed.
From her position on the floor Ann observed Jenny’s shadow, eerily, disconnect from her completely. It appeared to have a totally independent personality. Jenny’s actual arm, was pointing at Ann and the tubs - her shadow had both arms outstretched and was greedily, snatching and grappling toward Daniel in a hideously threatening way. Ann was a depiction of amazement; mouth gaping, eyes huge - not like Jenny’s – but awash with pure unadulterated terror. Whatever colour there had been in her cheeks; turned as white as the tubs she held in her quivering hands.
Daniel stood at the foot of the stairs, oblivious; one hand on his hip, the other scratching his back-side. He was scowling at Jenny with a ‘why did you disturb me?’ expression on his un-shaven, yawn-anticipating face. As he opened his mouth to speak, a sigh was emitted instead. His back-side-scratching hand dismissed them with a pathetic swoop and he proceeded to trudge back upstairs.
‘Get that cleared up Jen, it’s not funny ya know. Sort her out Ann’, were his only comments. Ann stood and nervously approached Jenny.
‘Jenny? Are you ok love?’ Jenny gazed invasively into her mother’s face with dark, dark eyes. Ann felt an intense, horrifying shudder travel down her spine. As she turned away, vainly attempting to stifle her horror, Jenny grasped her shoulder. Her grip, like lead, was heavy and cold on Ann’s tremulous body. She was completely unable to move.
‘LEAVE IT’
Ann knew this voice. The deep, monotonous hiss she had heard a few nights ago whilst lying in bed, now materialized from her daughter’s mouth. Ann wanted to run, to shout out. But she couldn’t. Paralysed with fear, she dropped the tubs. Jenny used both hands now to grasp her mother’s neck. Ann was lifted off the floor in a frozen standing position by this thing that was her daughter. Terrified, unable to breath, she felt Jenny’s choke-hold strengthen crushing her windpipe. Her tongue was expanding, bulging out of her mouth. Then, just as she thought she was going to pass out - Jenny relaxed her grip. Her face returned to the one she had worn when she first came down the stairs. She looked down at her mother with a frown.
‘Mum?’
Ann - fighting for breath, watched the brown gradually come back to her daughter’s eyes.

Over the next few weeks, Jenny became vicious and inhuman. Daniel disappeared to Portsmouth to see his parents. Heartbroken and desperate, Ann made the decision to lock Jenny away. With help from two of Daniel’s mates in the bar, they overcame Jenny’s extraordinary new strength and got her safely entrapped like a feral animal. She had hissed and sworn at them, kicking and flailing like child having a temper-tantrum. Afterwards, Ann ensured the men were sworn to secrecy and promised them ‘a few beers’.
‘Another night though fellas. It’s locking up time and I’m knackered. Thanks for everything, appreciate it.’ The men left, bewildered. As Ann followed them out, she noticed a man standing across the road, looking towards the pub. He crossed over, holding out his hand. Ann ignored him and anxiously continued her lock-up routine. He reached the door and spoke;
‘Don’t be alarmed. I’m Frank. I really think we need to have a chat. Can I come in?’
‘It’s late. We’re closed.’ Ann scowled at him and tried to close the door. The man put his foot in the way and pushed with gentle, yet forceful pressure.
‘It’s important Mrs. – sorry I don’t know your name. I feel ... I think I can help you.’ Ann was frightened; she leant against the door.
‘What? We’re closed. Go away.’
His foot still blocking the door, he spoke again, calmly.
‘It’s about Jenny, and what’s happening to her. Please, just let me talk to you. I truly believe I can help.’
Ann had relaxed her hold on the door when he’d mentioned Jenny. The man peered around the frame and smiled. Under light, he didn’t look so alarming. He was tall, with stunning sky-blue eyes.
‘It’s, er, Barnes ... my name. What was that about my Jenny?’ Ann desperately needed someone to trust. She was intrigued by what he’d said.
‘I can explain. I’ve been led here. I’ve sensed what’s happening. Your daughter is in danger. We must act soon.’ Ann yielded to his kind face and stood aside to let him in.
In her bedroom turned prison; Jenny was crouching, staring at the ceiling with cold, dark, visionless eyes, mumbling to someone only she could see. Frank strode across the room determinedly, his right arm outstretched, the palm of his hand held flat like an over-enthusiastic American evangelical priest. When he reached Jenny, he clasped his palm to her forehead and shouted into her face,
‘Be gone from this woman!’ His voice was stern and masculine. Jenny hissed back at him, saliva spraying through her teeth. She lunged forward. Her hands found his face, scratching both cheeks with razor-sharp, spirit-possessed fingernails. Frank bellowed into her face this time;
‘BE GONE! ... IN THE NAAAME OF CHRIST ... LEEEAVE THIS WOMAN!’ His chest heaved with the words, each one mounting in volume. Jenny ... cowered with every sound, appearing smaller and more taciturn with each breath discharged from Frank. Her menacing, hollow eyes gradually reformed their natural brown. They blinked, slowly. Ann almost recognised her daughter, thought she saw her coming back. Frank still clasped Jenny’s head, her neck, straining against the power of his grip. She gave a howl of pain, similar to one she might have given as a child. Ann’s maternal instinct wanted to rescue her. She made a protesting move towards them. Jenny; mechanically, turned her head to face her mother and screamed,
‘This is MY HOUSE! You go BITCH!’
‘YOU GO NOW!’ Frank wailed.
A final hiss emitted from Jenny’s snapping, drooling mouth and she collapsed, convulsing on the torn, stained Persian rug she had destroyed during her ordeal. Frank slumped, exhausted, spit-sodden, holding his own forehead. His hair flattened with sweat.
Through the window, Ann watched the clouds cover the moon.