Eager to depart the commotion of Oxford Road, she strolled down several stone steps onto a towpath beside a canal. A light spring entered her step. Her earlier fears of limbo’s entrapment on her child eroded like the gravelled pathway she now walked upon. A full moon reflected within the water providing natural light for her quiet stroll home. She skidded across the black ice as winter spat its fatal attraction on a picturesque Castlefield. The rustic limestone of abandoned factories provided a glimpse into Manchester’s industrial past as she stumbled across the towpath.
She walked deeper into the picture-perfect scene, suitable for a festive card. It was just two weeks until Christmas but she had few plans. The previous year they refused all invitations to dinner and enjoyed the company of Jack Daniels and Jim Beam instead. This would be the second Christmas without Jason and she was determined to make it a better one.
The twinkle of stars above gave her hope for the future as she reminisced over a story from her past. Following the death of her grandmother, her mum encouraged her to look up to the skies.
‘Every time a person dies, a new star appears in the sky.’
Suzanne glanced up at the dusting of light across the dim sky and winked at the brightest one.
Her enthusiasm dampened as she reached the entrance of a tunnel which took her underneath the bustling traffic and on to her apartment. The tunnel acted as a vacuum, eliminating all light from under the bridge. Passing through the tunnel she struggled to see her own hands as she erratically waved for obstructions ahead. Suzanne found herself in a black hole; quantum physicists claimed the holes tunnelled through to alternative universes. But Suzanne had discovered her own entry into another universe earlier in the evening at the Sleep Tight Hotel; the amazing Jackie Wallace.
Unlocking her mobile phone, she used the small glimmer of light to guide her way through the tunnel. The stone beside her was tarnished with multi-coloured graffiti, sprayed on by the youths who spent their evenings beside the canal downing their cheap beer, hiding away from their parents, the authorities and their own troubles. Declarations of love and telephone numbers offering no-strings sex filled the rock which she now gripped on to for support. Urine tickled her nostrils; remnants from the homeless and midnight drunks caught short along the towpath. The cold bite of a whaling wind nipped at her dry skin, whistling as it passed.
A heavy splash shook Suzanne. She turned around and aimed her tiny speckle of light from her phone towards the echo. A patter of footsteps followed; she turned but the dim torch failed to detect any activity.
‘Hello?’ she called, her timid voice bouncing across the walls.
Silence followed the reverberating dance of her call. She shook her head in embarrassment.
‘I’m losing it.’
The growing light at the end of the tunnel brought some relief. The patter of footsteps behind didn’t. She turned around and found a silhouette. Shining the light from her phone towards the figure, she struggled to determine the features of the following shadow as it stood still, staring at the vulnerable walker.
‘Hello?’ she shouted again but her calls went unanswered. ‘Screw you then.’
The petrified pedestrian paced towards the light, eager to get into her secure apartment which required a key-fob to enter. As she picked up her pace, she heard the racing patter of soles behind her. Suzanne ran out of the tunnel and turned around, pausing as the shadow became increasingly familiar with every step into the light.
‘What are you doing here?’
The dark fiend stared at Suzanne but did not speak. Suzanne broadened her shoulders and made her approach.
‘Why are you following me?’
The figure pulled out a gloved hand from a black overcoat; in it, the rusty handle of a crowbar was juggled. Suzanne’s eyes widened but she didn’t have time to scream as the metal penetrated her temple, taking her into unmeasurable darkness.
Blood ran down from her head, staining the snow like a sprouting amaryllis. Standing over her, the figure glanced around, searching for witnesses to the crime. They were alone. Stepping out of the blood, the fiend moved any evidence of Suzanne’s ventures along the towpath and returned to the bright lights of Manchester.
The Medium by David Hatton
Available on Amazon
A sample of The Return by David Hatton
The crackles from an old black and white movie and the clink of a bottle of brandy meeting a crystal glass were the only dissonance in an almost silent room. Beverly sat alone with her legs up resting on the couch, sipping the spirit she had just poured herself.
It was the first time she had managed to sit in her new apartment alone. It was spacious, modern and in the heart of Manhattan, with a view over Central Park.
The gala dinner for the 9/11 victims and their families was due to commence the following day. Beverly looked at the speech she had recited earlier, requested by the organisers. Doubt overcame her as she considered whether it was appropriate for her to be there after all that had happened. It had been just three weeks since her son returned home and he was still healing. She’d have cancelled had he not insisted that they attended. This was a special year. Not only had she received a benefit from the victims fund, it was also the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks.
The movie finished and she turned off the television. The apartment was as silent as a graveyard at night. Amelia had since moved
