H is for Hell (A-Z of Horror Book 8) Page 2

  She needed to call Tom, tell him she was going to be late, but her phone had been in her bag, and her bag had gone into the canal with her. It had remained around her shoulder the entire time, but the contents were waterlogged. Her phone was destroyed.

  When she finally pulled into her road, she was more than an hour late, but just in time to catch Tom walking out of her house and towards his car. She quickly pulled up to the curb and limped towards him.

  He was pissed off.

  Looking in her direction, Tom shook his head with a disgusted look on his face. “Couldn’t even call me,” he muttered, then unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel.

  “Hey,” Barbara called out to him. “Tom, I’m sorry. I had an accident. I fell down the-”

  The sound of the engine cut her off. Before she could make it to the driver’s side window, Tom took off at speed, screeching down the road and disappearing around the corner.

  “You asshole!” Barbara couldn’t believe it. Tom had not taken a good enough look at her to see that she was banged up, so she could forgive him for that, but how petulant to not even speak to her about what had happened. She had an explanation. He had only needed to give her a chance.

  An explanation? Yeah, sure. I fell down the steps after fleeing a crime scene.

  A murder.

  Barbara shook her head. She had not murdered anybody. It had all been an accident. If anything, she was the victim. That stinking wretch, Jim, had foisted himself upon her and caused everything that had happened.

  If only she’d been able to call Tom and let him know what had happened. The sooner she went to bed and put an end to this day, the better.

  She headed into her house, annoyed that Tom had not locked her front door on his way out, and then went directly into the kitchen. She poured herself the biggest glass of wine and took it into the lounge. By the time she sat down and switched on the television, she had already drained half of it.

  Jim’s face appeared in front of her and made her spit a mouthful of wine back into her glass.

  What the hell?

  It was the news.

  “A homeless man was mown down today in traffic after seemingly being pushed by a woman. The driver involved in the accident was deeply in shock when the police arrived on the scene and was unable to describe the woman in detail. Police are appealing for witnesses.

  The victim, James Jones, was a suffering schizophrenic who had fallen on hard times. His mother identified his body early this evening and expressed deep remorse after having not seen her son for several years, after his illness forced him to leave his job as a primary school teacher.

  Barbara checked her watch. It was five-past-ten. Jesus, I left work three hours ago. Where did all the time go?

  Jim’s face disappeared from the television screen and the news went on with the next story, as if his death was already forgotten.

  If only.

  The police were looking for a woman.

  No details, though. The van driver had not been able to describe her.

  What should she do?

  She decided to go to bed.

  ***

  She had fallen asleep with ease yet woke in agony. Her knee was even more swollen now and the back of her head was badly bruised. It felt like she was recovering from a killer workout and a massive hangover at the same time.

  Her first thought was to stay in bed and not go to work, but she quickly dispelled that notion. Missing work was something she never did and would only raise suspicions. If the police started asking around, she would rather be there to give them answers herself, rather than have her staff answering on her behalf. Not to mention that she could ill afford allowing her business to suffer more after the Fiona fiasco. Nope, she was going into work as normal. Had to act naturally.

  She went into the bathroom and did her best to sort herself out. She had massive bags under her eyes, but fortunately all of her wounds could be hidden beneath clothing. To facilitate that, she wore a grey trouser suit and thick black heels instead of the stilettos and designer dresses she usually wore this time of year. Hopefully it wasn’t enough of an anomaly for anybody to take notice.

  She still couldn’t stomach any food, so she forwent breakfast and just made herself a coffee. She drank it down as quickly as she could and then hopped in her car and got going.

  Driving was still painful, even more so as she obeyed the speed limit obsessively and took just shy of forty minutes to arrive back at the car park beside the canal. It was still early, so only a few cars currently sat on the tarmac, but one or two belonged to her staff. Margaret, her receptionist had arrived before her.

  Barbara immediately felt guilty when she stepped out of her car and remembered fleeing the night before. It was like returning to the scene of the crime.

  “Excuse me, lady? Could you spare some change?”

  Barbara froze. The car park was deserted, but the voice had come from right behind her.

  “Lady?”

  She spun around to see a man emerging from the hedge. He had messy hair, full of twigs, and a beard that looked like it could nest birds. For a split second she thought it was Jim.

  “I…I, no, sorry, I don’t have any cash on me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “I’m sure. What is with you people?”

  The man tilted his head and frowned at her. “You people?”

  Barbara swallowed. What was she getting herself into? “Sorry,” she said. “That was rude. Look, if I had any change I would give it to you. Perhaps later.”

  The man smiled. “Thank you. Have a good day now.”

  “You too.”

  She hurried across the car park, limping on her bad knee, towards the canal, eager to get away from the homeless man. What were the odds? Another man begging her for change? Where were they all coming from? Until yesterday she hadn’t seen a homeless person in town for as long as she could remember.

  She shivered when she reached the canal, a light breeze coming off the surface of the water. This morning was not as bright as yesterday, which was good. It would make her trouser suit less conspicuous. She would have to do her best to hide her limp once inside the office, though. People would ask questions.

  Barbara crossed the bridge to the other side and made her way to the stone steps that had hurt her so badly. She gritted her teeth when she started up them, the pain in her left knee exploding like a white-hot firework.

  By the time she eventually reached the top, her teeth ached and her forehead was soaked with sweat.

  She stood still for a moment and looked around. It was still early, the town not yet fully awake. It gave her time to take a few breaths and collect herself without anybody noticing.

  She eventually continued towards her office, and as she prepared to go inside, she glanced down the road towards town. There she saw the police cordon, the bright yellow tape forming a square over the road where Jim had been hit. It was too far away to see the blood on the tarmac, but Barbara was able to spot the wreath of flowers that now lay there.

  Had Jim’s mother put them there, she asked herself, feeling a twinge of guilt in her stomach.

  She took her eyes away from the crime scene and hurried into her office. The front doors were already unlocked and Margaret, her receptionist, was already there, sipping a cup of tea and reading the paper at her desk.

  Barbara knew she must look a state, so she didn’t hang around to chat. She hurried past, without making eye-contact. “Morning, Barbara. I need to make a phone call so I’ll catch up with you in a little while. If anybody calls, please take a message.”

  She hurried into her office and threw herself down in her seat. She noticed the light was blinking on her answer machine so she pressed the PLAY button.

  “Hey, Barbara, it’s me, Tom. I’ve tried your mobile a few times but it’s going straight to voicemail. Are you still in the office? If you are then pick up. I’m at your place and the food is getting cold.” There was
a pause, a sigh, then, “For God’s sake. Just call me or something, okay? I’m worried.”

  Barbara moaned. If only she had been able to speak to Tom last night. She needed him so badly after what had happened. He was an asshole for the way he acted last night, but all it really boiled down to was a misunderstanding.

  She picked up the phone and selected Tom’s number from the address list. She waited while it rang, thinking about what she was going to say to him. That she loved him and that she was sorry. That something terrible had happened last night and she needed to talk about it. That she needed him to come and hold her right now.

  “Hi, this is Tom. Leave a message.”

  Barbara sighed. “Hi, it’s Babs. I’m sorry about last night. I can explain, so, just… call me, okay? Please.”

  She replaced the receiver and leaned back in her chair. “Shit,” she said out loud. “What the hell is happening to my life?”

  She pressed the intercom for reception. “Margaret, I won’t be taking any calls today. I have a lot of paperwork to do. Tell Mike he’s in charge.”

  There was no way she could face anybody today. She had hoped she would be able to, but one moment alone with anybody would make it obvious that she was frazzled. She just prayed to God that the police didn’t come to speak with her. If they did, she was screwed.

  -3-

  Thankfully, nobody bothered Barbara all day. No calls, no appointments, and most importantly, no police.

  She waited in her office until every last member of staff had left. Even now, she couldn’t stomach the thought of small talk. Except with Tom.

  She had called Tom a dozen times throughout the day but he had not answered. Nor had he called back. She was now in a full-blown panic as to the state of their relationship and as soon as she got back in her car she was going straight to his place to sort things out. They had not told each other they loved each other yet, but after what had happened, Barbara realised that was how she felt. She needed to tell Tom that she loved him and that she needed his support right now.

  She switched off her computer and got up from her chair. Walking over to her office door she peered out of the window, double-checking that the coast was clear. It was. Margaret had closed down the reception area and had just headed out.

  It was time to get out of there.

  The front doors were locked so she had to grab her keys from her trouser pocket and let herself out. She flinched when the alarm bleeped.

  Stupid Margaret. Why had she set the alarm when she knew Barbara hadn’t left yet?

  She leapt back inside and disarmed the alarm, before rearming it again and locking back up. When she turned around to head home, there was a man standing behind her.

  “Hey, lady,” he said. “You said to try you later.”

  It was the homeless man she had met in the car park. The one with the birds nest beard

  Barbara recoiled back towards the door. “What?”

  “When I asked you for some change, you said ‘maybe later’.”

  Barbara just wanted the man to go away so she nodded. “Okay, let me take a look.” She pulled her purse from her pocket and searched inside. There were only a bunch of coppers and some notes, not enough change to buy a packet of crisps.

  The homeless man looked at her pleadingly.

  Barbara sighed and tugged a fiver free and shoved it at him. Despite her obvious disgust, he thanked her profusely.

  “Thank you, lady. My name is Jim by the way.”

  Barbara felt her lips part and air rush in. “What did you just say?”

  “I said thank you.”

  “No, your name.”

  “Oh, it’s Jim. Pleased to meet you.”

  Barbara took a step towards the man, tolerating his stench as she moved right up close to him. “Is this some kind of sick joke? Who are you?”

  “I’m Jim.”

  “Where are you people all coming from?”

  “You people?”

  “Yes! You fucking people. You stinking, begging layabouts? Where are you all coming from? Why are you here?”

  Jim grinned at her in a way she didn’t like at all. “I’m just here for your change, lady. You have a good night.”

  Jim turned and walked down the road, towards the spot where the other ‘Jim’ had been mown down by a van less than twenty-four hours before.

  After Barbara had pushed him.

  She shuddered, her throat thickening as the taste of dread filled her mouth, then hurried towards the stone steps down to the canal. When she reached them she was careful, a flashback of her terrible fall coming back to her. Her knee hurt less now but had become stiff. It led to her taking the steps downwards in an awkward, sideways hop.

  Her foot slipped.

  She wobbled and caught her balance.

  Her heart was battering her ribcage but she let out a relieved sigh. No way was she falling down these goddamn steps again.

  She took the rest of them at a snail’s pace.

  Why had she let herself become so rattled? Disgusting homeless men making her feel afraid. Ridiculous. She would make a complaint to the Mayor. The town council had a duty to keep its streets clear of vagrants.

  “Hey, lady?”

  Barbara hopped off the bottom step onto the path beside the canal. When she saw the homeless man she could hardly believe it. She didn’t wait to be accosted for her change.

  “Leave me alone,” she bellowed. “What do people want from me?”

  “We just want your change, lady.”

  The comment did not pass Barbara by. She seized on it immediately. “You said we, so you admit that you’re all working together? Why are you targeting me?”

  The man looked confused. “You have a good night, lady. Sorry for bothering you.”

  “No, you stay right there. I want answers. I suppose your name is Jim as well, huh?”

  The homeless man shook his head sadly. “Jim’s dead. Some lady threw him under a van.”

  The anger drained out of Barbara in an instant and uncertainty took its place. Did this man know she had pushed Jim? Was he Jim’s friend?

  Suddenly she became very aware of how alone she was beside the canal. Everyone had left work and gone home. It was just her and this homeless man. The third homeless man she had encountered since leaving work last night.

  “I-I need to get home. Excuse me,” she said, irritated by how meek and afraid she sounded.

  The homeless man chuckled. “You are home, lady.”

  He tried to stand in her way.

  “Move!” She shoved the homeless man out of her way and hurried for the bridge.

  But there was no bridge.

  Ahead of her was only the pathway and canal; both seeming to stretch on for eternity. The bridge should have been right up ahead, the car park on the other side.

  But there was nothing.

  “We wanted your change, lady. Now nothing is ever gonna change for you.”

  Barbara spun around to face the homeless man.

  But he was gone.

  Someone more familiar now stood in his place.

  It was Jim. The original Jim. The one who she had pushed in front of a van. His face was sunken and disfigured, like a deflated football. The fingers on his right hand were all snapped and pointing at odd angles. His left foot was backwards.

  “I wanted you to help me,” he croaked at her, “but you killed me.”

  Barbara tried to swallow, but there was lump in her throat. She tasted the dirty water of the canal. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. Please…”

  “Please what? You want me to help you, lady?”

  “I just want to go home.”

  “You are home.”

  The voice was not Jim’s but somebody else’s. Barbara spun around to face them.

  The path beside the canal was lined with homeless people, an entire legion of them. They looked at her pleadingly, some reaching out their hands. “We just want your change,” they all moaned in chorus.
r />   Barbara felt her bladder loosen, a warmth spreading down her leg. Her mouth opened and closed, opened and closed.

  “How is this happening?” she eventually asked.

  “They say charity is good for the soul,” Jim replied, making her turn back around to face him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “Just let me make it right. I’d had a bad day. It was an accident.”

  “You ran.”

  “Yes, I was scared.”

  “Selfish.”

  Barbara whimpered. “Yes, selfish. But scared too. I ended up falling down the steps. I almost died, I hit my head so hard.”

  Jim tilted his head. “Almost?”

  Barbara frowned at first, but then her entire body shivered. She felt a sudden throbbing in her head and lifted her fingertips to the back of her skull.

  It was missing.

  Where the firmness of bone should have been was only soft, wet tissue. Her brain seemed to pulse and vibrate beneath her probing touch.

  Barbara’s eyes filled with tears. She looked at the broken, bleeding homeless man in front of her and begged. “Help me, please.”

  “I can’t help you,” he said. “I’m dead. And so are you.” He pointed towards the canal.

  Barbara turned her head slowly towards the water. There was something floating amongst the slime and leaves.

  She moved to the edge of the canal and stared down at her own face. Pale and lifeless – dead. Her body floated beneath the surface of the water, gazing at the sky. She had not survived that fall. Had slipped into the canal, unconscious, and drowned.

  Barbara recoiled.

  Hands grabbed her.

  “Get off me!”

  Dirty nails scratched at her and grubby palms snatched at her. She gagged at their stench and kicked out at them, but there were too many. A whole army enveloping her.

  “Now you’re one of us,” Jim said. “Just a lost soul without a home.”

  “No,” Barbara screamed as Jim pulled her in for a hug. Squeezing her tightly against his festering stink. He smelt of death.

  Then he shoved her.

  Barbara lost her footing and tumbled down the bank, plummeting into the canal and colliding with her own dead body.