Spare Key

well what were you expecting? Though he still winced as the hinges on the door creaked noisily.

He peered around as he locked the door behind him but the end of the driveway and the garden beds were swamped in shadows. Ben was painfully aware of how exposed he was beneath the glare of the outside fluorescents. She could be there now; crouched down beside the car…

She could also be turning into the driveway while you stand around just outside her door.

The thought was enough to get him moving, grinding his teeth as he eased the screen door closed and it unleashed another shuddering creak.

He quickly paced the steps to his door, unable to stop looking over his shoulder; back up the driveway, the photos playing over again in his mind. The ones of the cats. Then the old lady. Then the second album with the Polaroids of the goth-looking guy. The one that looked uncomfortably similar to the description of the previous tenant the estate agent had given him.

It was with some relief that he reached his own door, yanked open the screen and slotted the key into the lock.

* * * * *

He knew something was wrong even before he heard the door creak closed behind him and the burning fire ripped through his ankles.

He went down instantly; his legs just crumbling beneath him.

The latch clicked shut as he tried to rise but there was something wrong; there was no strength in his legs and he crashed back down, gritting his teeth as the pain hit. Sharp, stabbing pain that rocketed through his body.

He looked down and a choked, half-sob ripped from his lips as he saw the blood flowing; saw the two large gashes just above the line of his shoe; saw the exposed tendon through the cuts in his trousers.

Then he looked up and saw her and another sob ripped from his lips as she stood above him, naked beneath the clear, plastic poncho, her erect nipples taut against its surface; her pubic hair, clearly visible, forming a neat triangle between her thighs. And what was that behind her back?

Ben froze as he stared up at her; saw that look that he knew so well. The rage, disgust and hatred and it paralysed him because she knew. Mummy knew. She knew what he’d been going to do.

And it was her too. For the briefest of seconds she was there before him, reincarnated and Ben’s brain felt like it was shutting down. The hunting knife slid from his sleeve and hit the carpet with a soft thunk. He didn’t scream though, oh no, if he screamed the punishment just got worse.

Then the image disappeared; the features morphing into that of his neighbour, her face twisted with rage. She was making a soft, hissing noise as she stood above him, reminiscent of a cat with its hackles up.

Ben’s paralysis broke and he scrambled backwards as she swooped, the hand emerging from behind her back clasping the black handled kitchen knife. He grabbed for his own on the carpet but it was so hard to coordinate through the pain and he missed as she closed in. The blade sliced into his forearm as he raised it defensively. The pain was hot and immediate but he pushed it away. If there was one thing he was used to it was pain.

As she drew back for another slash, he reached out and grabbed her ankle. He yanked her feet from under her and she toppled backward. She hit the ground hard and Ben managed a tight-lipped smile as he heard the breath whoosh out of her. He tried to rise again but his legs just wouldn’t take his weight and crumpled beneath him.

She was still sprawled as he grabbed the hunting knife from the floor and starting inching towards her. Anger was pumping through him as he approached. He could clearly see her vulva between her splayed legs and he knew where he’d stab first.

It was okay; he’d fix this. In a way the pain would be even better before he took her… Just another link…

He reached for her but didn’t see her legs curl upward. He didn’t see them flying toward him, only heard a sickening crunch, had a brief taste of blood in his mouth and then slumped as the darkness seeped in.

* * * * *

The pain was everywhere as he came to. He was sitting on something cool and hard and if it wasn’t for that, he could have almost imagined he was back in his bedroom, waking after one of their sessions. The same question was playing over now as it did back then: oh God, how bad is it?

He coughed and spat as he felt the coppery taste of blood trickling down his throat but his lips were dry and swollen and it only dribbled down his front. He felt it on his skin and realised he was naked and he remembered the sickening crunch as the foot impacted and suddenly it made sense that his breathing was so harsh in his ears and that a slight whistling noise filled the air every time he inhaled.

His eyes snapped open as he tried to move and realised he was strapped down. He tried to yank himself free but that only caused more pain. And there was something wrong with his sight too. It was blurred and ringed with fuzzy darkness as though his eyes weren’t opening wide enough. He didn’t have time to dwell on it though. With a whirring click, the whole of his vision exploded into bright light, its dazzling intensity forcing his eyes shut again.

There was another whirr and then the light exploded again; bright even through his closed lids. Another whirr…

He waited, his eyes screwed tightly shut but the flash wasn’t repeated. After a minute he cautiously opened his eyes again. He saw her through the black spots that dotted his vision. She was standing in front of him, still in the plastic poncho, her head cocked to one side and the Polaroid camera held limply in a hand by her side.

As her stare pierced him it was hard to keep calm. Her face kept morphing. It was Rachel. It was her. It was Rachel. It was her. He couldn’t help it and a whimper escaped his lips as she started to move. It forced a smile to Rachel’s face that instantly twisted into her demented leer and he flinched back, instinctively trying to raise his hands for protection but they were pinned to the chair. He tried to speak but all that came out was unintelligible babble.

Rachel’s grin spread wider as she slowly stooped and placed the camera on the floor and Ben realised she hadn’t been going to attack him in the first place – despite what he’d read in that leer. Maybe he’d had all his punishment for tonight? That was often the case wasn’t it? Some nights it would be worse than others. Maybe this was one of them?

But it’s not her, he reminded himself even though the face was morphing before his eyes again and his mind flipped to the photo albums once more and he began to get really scared. His heart thumped as they flew through his head. The sheer violence of them: the mutilations, the old lady’s body torn to ribbons; the goth, his eyes wide, staring at the bloody crater between his legs. And she had done them…

But that couldn’t be right….

Mummy always stopped before she went too far…

But she’s not her, she’s not her, she’s not her. He forced the thought into a loop in his mind and the face before him morphed back to that of his neighbour. She was still standing in front of him, smiling. The bottom fell out of his stomach as he saw that the kitchen knife had somehow reappeared in her hand.

He could feel his eyes widening and his already ragged breathing getting rougher but he just couldn’t help it. Her face, despite his efforts, was wavering again and all he could seem to think was: don’t scream,