Brenda cupped her hands around the mug of hot coffee, liking the little sting in her fingers it caused.

Marie was still chattering away.

Brenda blew on her coffee, not from a desire to cool it down but more for something to do until her friend paused for breath so that she could actually join in this one sided conversation.

“Anyway, how are you doing?”

The sudden change from a monologue into a question threw Branda for a second. How was she? Her brain misfired and she couldn’t think of a real answer.

“Oh, you must still be devastated. I’m sure you are. Look at you, you’re drawn, pale. Brenda, you really must get out into the sun more. I know there’s not a lot of sun with the rain right now, but when you see a break in the clouds, you should go out and grasp it.”

Brenda knew for a fact that Marie wasn’t speaking in a metaphor, she really did mean what she said literally. However, she wasn’t wrong, she was just talking about the wrong type of clouds.

“You’re right.” Brenda told her “I’m letting myself sit in the dark too much.”

Marie reached out a hand across her kitchen table and gently gripped Brenda’s forearm “You’re here, now. That’s a start.”

Brenda reconsidered her uncharitable thought about her friend.

“He’s been gone for two months now. He doesn’t have to occupy your every thought any more.”

Brenda glared at her, feeling the heat of rage flush her face “What do you mean by that?”

Marie jerked back, shocked by the venom Brenda had failed to keep out of her voice. She tried to laugh it off, “You know what I meant.”

“No, I don’t. Explain it to me.”

Now both of them were leaning back from the other, forcing space between them. What had been a nice moment was shattered by a stupid comment.

“Brenda, you’re still grieving. You’re upset. Let’s not argue, that’s not why I wanted to see you.” Marie’s voice was soft, conciliatory.

Brenda wasn’t having that, she knew exactly what Marie had meant. What they all meant every time they talked about him. Saying it behind coded words, always dancing around their real thoughts. Did they honestly think she was that stupid? That she hadn’t been aware of what they thought of her son?

“Isn’t it?” Brenda could find no kindness for her friend “You ask me round to chat and then you talk for half an hour without stopping. Only after trying to make me care about the boring things Sue and Lisa have got up to at the supermarket do you even think to ask how I am? Then you don’t even give me a chance to answer before you slander George’s name?”

“That’s not what I was doing at all.”

“So, you didn’t plan it? The stupidity just fell out of you?” In the back of her mind, Brenda knew she would apologise for this later, but that was later. Right now she wanted to be angry, to let it all out and poor Marie had just made herself a target.

“That’s deeply unkind.”

“But badmouthing my dead son barely two months after he passed isn’t? That’s kindness? Friendship? That’s the love for me you assured me you had? If that’s your kindness you can keep it. And keep your own company.”

Brenda stood and left, remembering to grab her coat on the way out.

Halfway home Brenda let out a sob of rage and sadness, unable to tell which one was in control right then. Had George been a perfect son? Of course not, who was perfect anyway. She had wanted so much more for him than he had achieved in his thirty two years of life. But that didn’t mean she had loved him any less. You couldn’t be disappointed in someone without caring for them, without loving them. Her disappointment had only come because she knew he was better than he had let himself be.

Stopping into the Co-op on the way home she grabbed a loaf of bread, some milk and some teabags. At the counter she asked for forty Rothman cigarettes.

It was only once she was outside and on her way home that she realised what she had done. Buying on autopilot because George would have wanted his ciggies. She didn’t smoke, never had. What to do with them now? Throwing them would be a waste of money and she hated to waste money.

She could decide what to do later, it wasn’t like they had an expiry date on. Maybe she could give a pack to one or two of the homeless people in town, if they smoked. A little act of charity of George’s behalf, that would be a nice thing.

Walking home, she could feel the cigarettes in her pocket, they seemed to weigh more than they should. Carrying not only the weight of her grief, but also that of Marie’s accusation. They were a reminder of George but not pleasant one.

“Just a bit of cash, Mum. Or a packet of fags. I’m a little short. Come on, Mum. Just a bit.” That old refrain. She had heard it, tickling away in her brain as she shopped. 

“I’m a silly woman.” She told the world, without being sure exactly which of her actions this morning she had been referring to.

Once home she put the milk and bread away before making herself a cup of tea. Streaming songs by The Carpenters through her bluetooth speaker, Brenda settled in her chair to read on her iPad.

She woke up to see it was dusk. The iPad asleep in her hand and the music finished. She hadn’t even felt tired when she sat down, and it had only been just before eleven in the morning. She looked at her mug, still full of tea but now stone cold. She didn’t think she had even drunk a sip of it.

Her phone rang and she was surprised to see she had five missed calls from Angelica, who was calling for a sixth time.

Brenda answered “Hello, Angel. Have you been trying to get hold of me?”

“Oh God, yes.” Angel sounded worried “I’ve been calling all day. You wouldn’t answer.”

“I fell asleep, love. What’s the matter?”

“Marie rang me.” Of course she had.

“Really? And what did she have to say for herself?”

“She said that she had upset you, but you had been really out of character. She thinks you don’t look well.”

“Oh does she?” Brenda could feel that anger building again. “What does she think is wrong with me?”

“She said you looked pale, drawn. She doesn’t think you’re getting enough sleep. So I wanted to see how you are. I know I don’t get to see you much at the moment, but I do still care about you. You would tell me if there was something wrong?” Brenda could feel the sisterly concern through the phone.

“Sleep hasn’t been exactly restful, if I’m honest.” Brenda confessed “I’m trying to find a new routine, you know? I used to have everything how I knew it. Now, there’s only me to cook and clean for. I keep getting his favourites in, I even bought ciggies today because I knew he’d want them. But he’s not here to smoke them.”

“Oh, Bren,” Angel cooed, “you can’t go on just the same as you did. You’ve got some freedom now. You can be you again. You’re not stuck there like you were.”

“Stuck? What do you mean stuck?” The anger was back “I was never stuck. I was with my boy, being a mother.” She knew that would cut Angel deeply, but she didn’t care. She ploughed on, driving that stake of anger through the phone “Not that you’d ever know what that was like.”

She heard the intake of breath of the other end of the line. She knew exactly how much she had just hurt her sister, knew that she had been deliberately cruel but couldn’t find it in herself to care. Even Angel was being disrespectful about George. Her son. Her dead son. No-one got to do that. Never. He was her perfect angel and she would not stand for it.

“Well, what do you have to say now? Any more pearls of wisdom? Anything else helpful you want to say?” She snarled at her sister.

“Just one thing.” Angel told her, in a quiet voice.

“And what’s that?”

“That it is entirely your fault he died the way he did.” Then Angel hung up on her.

Brenda stared at her phone in mute shock.

That was evil.

It was cruel.

It was a lie. A filthy, dirty lie.

How was it her fault? How could it have been?

How fucking dare she.

Brenda rang Angelica back.

No answer.

She rang again.

Ignored.

Again and again she rang.

Finally the call was answered.

Before she could speak, David, Angelica’s husband spoke “Don’t say a word. I will speak and when I am done you can talk. If you try to talk over me or through me, I will hang up and your number will be blocked. Do you understand?”

Controlling bastard, why did he have Angelica’s phone?

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good. You were deliberately cruel to your sister. She was cruel in return. Neither of you come out of that conversation covered in glory. Time will pass, you will most likely forgive, if not forget what was said.”

Not a chance, thought Brenda.

“I, on the other hand, don’t care if you forgive me, so here’s some truths you should have heard a long, long time ago. Your son was a leech. He was a wastrel and he sucked the life out of you. Now, before you start to scream and yell, actually use the brain Angel swears you have. Yes, it was terrible his father died while he was so young, but you made the worst possible choice for George after that. You invested everything in him, you made him this perfect child so much that you let him do whatever he wanted. He never had to learn how to do anything. For Christ’s sake, you were still tying his shoelaces when he was ten. You never made him learn to cook or clean or do the washing. You spent all of your money on him, never anything for yourself. Were you surprised that when he finished school with terrible results that he couldn’t get a job? He was a lazy little shit because you never taught him that there were consequences to his actions. Even then, you kept him fed, clothed, supplied with expensive toys and games. You gave him money when he asked for it but never asked what he wanted it for. What a surprise that he spent it on drugs and alcohol. What else was there for him? Everything else you bought for him anyway. You never let him grow up. He was a spoiled, entitled little shit and quite frankly if that crash hadn’t put someone else’s son in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, I’d have said there were no downsides to it happening.”

Brenda was silent, tears running down her cheeks. Rage, grief, confusion, all mixed together in a lump she couldn’t swallow.

“So, now that we’ve got that very clear. You should know that your friends hated George for how he treated you. They loved you and hated to see how you never had anything for yourself because that walking waste of flesh took everything for himself. He didn’t care about you, he cared only about himself. Your friends, your sister, all of us grieved for you when he died. We were distraught because we knew how much you had invested in him, how much of who you were was tied up in George. But you are no longer shackled to that dead weight. You can start to live again. You can have activities and friends and things that occupy you that you don’t need to schedule around making sure George has dinner. You are free to be a whole person again. That’s what they want for you, but they won’t say it this bluntly. Honestly, if you’d never have said that to Angel, I probably would have tried to gently prod you like they have too. But you crossed the line and you did it maliciously. Just so you understand the difference here, I know that me saying this will hurt you but I’m not saying it to hurt you.”

Brenda covered her mouth to hide the sobs from David.

“I’m done. Say what you’re going to say.”

“Fuck you!” Brenda screamed “Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you!”

“That’s what I thought. I understand. But actually try to think about who George really was before you waste the rest of your life on him.”

Brenda screamed wordlessly, a noise that was nothing but confused emotion.

David hung up.

Brenda tossed her phone to the floor and sobbed into her hands.

“Uncle David’s a right wanker.”

She snapped her head up and looked around for George. That had been his voice, the cheeky bite to the words, the tone of not caring what anyone thought. But George wasn’t there.

George was dead.

Brenda felt emotionally exhausted, and hungry. She realised that she hadn’t had anything to eat all day and she’d only had a couple of drinks before falling asleep earlier. No wonder she was so tired.

Walking into the kitchen, two things caught her attention. The first was the faint smell of cigarette smoke. The second was that one of the packets of cigarettes was on the table, open, with one missing.

Brenda picked up the open pack and stared at it. Had she smoked it? Had she, in her grief, come out here and smoked a cigarette to get a smell she associated with George back in the house? She couldn’t see a lit cigarette end anywhere, the ashtray was clean and still on the windowsill. Worried, she checked the back door to see if instead maybe someone had broken in and smoked a cigarette while she slept.

The door was locked and undamaged.

Confused, Brenda put the pack back into her coat pocket and decided to ignore them for now. She had plenty of practice at ignoring things she didn’t like, this was just another for the pile.

Opening the fridge, she thought about what to make for dinner. It was too late to get started on a shepherd’s pie, she needed something simple. There was nothing on the shelves that caught her fancy. Perhaps she still had a frozen pizza or a ready meal she could throw in, just to have something to eat.

She checked the freezer, finding that she did have some pizzas, but they were all the spicy ones that George had loved so much. She hadn’t enjoyed them, her stomach didn’t cope with spicy food so well, but she had always made sure they were in there in case he needed a snack. The ready meals were currys with a spice rating of three chillis, the really hot ones that George had eaten almost constantly. She decided to have one of the pizzas, they weren’t quite as spicy as the currys.

Ten minutes later, the pizza was ready and Brenda sat at the table, still with two places set on it.

“Smells good.” George’s voice again.

Brenda opened her eyes. It was pitch black outside. She had fallen asleep again and it had turned to full night while she had done so. Looking down she saw two of the slices of pizza had had a single bite taken out of them. It must have been so spicy that she couldn’t face eating a whole slice. She had probably tried the second one to see if the distribution of spice was less on it.

She was starving and thoroughly exhausted. Checking her watch, she saw that it was gone midnight. Unbelievable, how could she have slept for so long sitting at the table?

Sh stood up on unsteady legs and decided to just go to bed. Sleep through the hunger and start again tomorrow. She coul go to the supermarket and buy some food that she liked, get herself something that she really fancied.

It was then that she realised she didn’t know what she really wanted She hadn’t bought food for only herself in so long, hadn’t made a dinner that she really loved in years. What exactly was it that she really fancied? She couldn’t think. Every time a small idea crossed her mind it was followed by the sneaky, insidious thought that George wouldn’t like that.

Making her way up the stairs, she began to cry, softly. Was David really right? Were Angel and Marie correct? Had she committed so much of herself to George that without him, there wasn’t much left that was her?

Struggling up the stairs, she realised that they were right. That she had been blind to George’s faults, her own faults as well. She had friends and family that had stood by her, even when George had done such wicked things. Stealing her mother’s jewellery to sell, irreplaceable items that went for a fraction of their worth, just because he could. She had defended him against the accusations at first, then forgiven him and kept it secret when he told her years later.

She would do better. Tomorrow she would start by apologising to Angel and Marie. David too, maybe especially David. No, Angel deserved the biggest apology, she had been so cruel to her.

Then she could do what she had never done, not in decades. She could ask for help. There was no-one to judge her for it, to call her weak because she was alone and needed someone.

Brenda climbed into bed, fully clothed except for her shoes which she kicked off.

Tomorrow would be the day that she started to put George behind her. She was starting to see just how much she had given up for him.

Isn’t that what mother’s do, though? The sneaky, desperate voice at the back of her mind tried to keep her down again. They give up things for their children. They take on responsibility and cares so that the child doesn’t have to.

“But not so much that there’s nothing left for themselves!” She whispered to herself. “How could I have made George a whole person if I didn’t let myself be one too?”

“Who says you aren’t a real person, Mum?”

Brenda opened her eyes, George was there, translucent in the moonlight. His half smile still on his face. She wanted to hold him, to squeeze her baby boy. All those thoughts of just a moment ago, apart from those of the second voice, just flew away. 

The duvet was too heavy, she couldn’t move.

“George, you came back.”

“Of course I did. Where else was I going to go?”

“Come here, my baby boy. Give me a hug.”

George smiled again, but this one was a full smile and it looked strange, not one she had seen on him before.

“A hug? I want a bit more than that, Mum. Just a little bit though.”

Brenda was confused “What do you want then, baby? What can Mummy do for you?”

He shrugged “It’s not much, Mum. It’s just, that I’m cold and you’re warm. I’m thin and you’re solid. I just want a bit of your warmth and your thereness. Not much, no so you’d miss it. Just a bit.”

Mother’s give of themselves to their children. The voice said. The voice was right.

“Of course you can. Take what you need.”

George reached out and took her hands in his. He was so cold, he felt so strange, like a freezing steam.

“Thanks, Mum. You know I appreciate this.”

Brenda smiled at him.

“I appreciate it every time. I know I’ve done it a few times today, but I really needed a fag and then you brought some home and I just couldn’t help myself. Sorry about that.” He sounded so matter of fact. He didn’t actually sound sorry though.

Brenda tried to speak, but found she didn’t have the energy to form words.

“And yeah, maybe I should have left you alone to eat the pizza, but you know they’re my favourite and I know you don’t like them. I couldn’t stand to see them go to waste.”

She wanted to pull her hands back, feeling the cold seep deep into her bones, her brain was fogging up. It was hard to think. George felt solid now, his grip was unbreakable.

“See, the thing is, Mum, its really not fair I’m dead and you aren’t, is it?”

Parents shouldn’t outlive their children.

His face was scary now, something dark within him was visible in his eyes, Brenda felt terror beating futilely at her. Screaming for her to get away, but this was her baby boy. He’d never hurt her.

“So, I’ve decided, I don’t want to be dead any more and I think I can not be, if you’ll help. Will you help me, Mum?” He let go of her right hand and reached up to make her head nod like a puppeteer. “I thought you would.”

Parents will do anything for their kids.

“See, the way I’ve been thinking is, the more of you I’ve taken over the last few weeks, the more here I’ve been. So I reckon that if I take it all, right now, then I’ll get to stay. And if it doesn’t work, well, then you’ll be here to help me work out how to do it, won’t you, Mum?”

no I wont

Of course I will, my baby boy.

i want to live

You take what you need, my precious one.

dont kill me, please dont kill me

A real parent would die for their child.

George sucked in a breath of air “Oh, that felt good. Come on, Mum, nearly there.”

He gripped her tighter.

”Just a little bit more.”

© Robert Spalding 2020

Vicky kept her hands in her pockets and tucked her chin down into her thick coat to keep as much of her heat in as should could. The wind was sharp and cold, finding ways to suck warmth out from every inch of exposed skin. It was a cloudless night, every meagre degree of heat the sun had managed to push down during the day had escaped, leaving nothing but the cold.

Her path home led out of the centre of town, away from the crowded buildings that had provided some buffer.

The traffic thinned out as she walked, at this time of night most people had already gone home. The occasional car lit the path in front of her for moments, before driving on and leaving her with the paltry light from the widely spaced lampposts. She only lifted her eyes to glance up occasionally, to make sure the path in front of her was clear.

The few houses in this part of town dwindled away, leaving playing fields on her side, the river and wetlands the other side of the road. It would take her about fifteen minutes to reach the estate she lived in. She was already imagining the warmth inside, her housemates would no doubt have the heating on. She could almost taste the hot cup of tea she was going to make as soon as she got her coat off. Hot and sweet, four sugars tonight, she decided.

Then she realised that the last two lampposts had been out. The path was nearly pitch black and she cursed, fumbling her phone out of her pocket with fingers that were starting to numb. She didn’t like to walk out, alone in the dark, with her phone visible, but she was going to need the torch to light the path.

She looked up properly as she turned the torch on and saw she was nearly to the underpass. The major road out of town ran above the little road she was taking to get home. Three lampposts the other side of it were out as well, meaning the path underneath was in pitch blackness.

Vicky stopped walking and pointed her light towards the underpass. She was too far to illuminate anything. She didn’t like the fact that six lights were out and only the ones either side of it. That felt off, it would be easy for someone to hide in the darkness there, waiting for the unsuspecting or unprepared traveller. There had been an increasing number of mugging in and around town, if social media was to be believed, and she was going to have her phone in hand as she walked through there. It didn’t seem like a good idea.

However, the only other route back home took her all the way back into town and and around a loop that was going to take her at least another hour to do, maybe forty five minutes if she walked faster than usual. That would be safer, but it was very cold and she was craving some warmth.

She could feel her lips starting to go numb, her whole face in fact. The fingers holding her phone were already starting to burn in the cold.

She decided to risk it.

Walking at a carefully measured pace, holding her phone to her chest with the light pointing forward, she could at least maybe blind anyone coming towards them if she didn’t like the look of them.

Step by step, she approached the darkness that was the mouth of the underpass. The darkness outside felt grey compared to the clutching, pitch black of that underneath the road.

She could feel her breath coming faster, her heart rate increasing. Something in the back of her mind was starting to say this was a bad idea. Fighting with the thoughts of warmth and tea, it was slowly winning the argument.

She felt certain something was under there, waiting for her. Something? No, she meant someone. A person with ill intent. A mugger, a bored gang of kids looking to give someone a kicking. Going under there was a bad idea.

But warmth, tea, not having to walk for another hour. These were the other considerations. Was she really going to spend that much longer cold because she had the willies? 

She took another step forward and the light illuminated the shape of a man, standing in the path.

Before Vicky had fully realised what she had seen she was already running away from the underpass, slowing to a jog as she reached the first of the houses, but not stopping and definitely not looking back.

As the houses started to become shops and traffic began to pick up again, Vicky slowed to a walk.

What had she actually seen there? She couldn’t really picture it. Her lizard brain had made her turn and run before her rational mind had even started to process the image. Walking deeper into the bright lights of the town, now closed except for the numerous pubs and clubs which occasionally spilt patrons out into the street, she tried to bring the image to mind.

There had been darkness, deep, cold darkness. The light had barely lit up the edge of the sloping wall which held the road above up. Tiles had reflected the light, up just enough to see…

What was it? Why couldn’t she recall it?

There had been something there, because she wouldn’t have run from nothing. She trusted her instincts enough to know that she might take a little fright easily, she didn’t get that scared without good cause.

What had she seen?

She had seen, had seen…

A leg, and a foot. A shoe? She wasn’t sure. More the shape of a leg and foot, the barest glimpse.

But there had been something wrong with that image, that flash of vision. She just could not put her finger on it. She had seen enough to react instinctively, but not enough to process it.

The whole journey home she worried at the problem, what had she seen? Why had she been so scared? At no point did she doubt herself that there had been something to be scared of, that was not in question for her. Not knowing what it was, that was troubling. How could she recognise it if she saw it again?

Despite the walk taking nearly an hour, it didn’t feel that long in her mind, which was too occupied with the problem to note the ache in her feet or the chill settling in to her. It was only when she opened her front door and was hit with a wave of heat that made her face and fingers tingle she realised just how cold she had gotten. Vicky didn’t even take off her coat until she had made and consumed two hot cups of tea, the second being made by Rachel, the only one of her housemates still downstairs.

Rachel was worried about why she had taken such a long route home, but Vicky couldn’t make herself explain just how terrifying the underpass had been. Now that she was home and warm, it didn’t feel real. The memory of the experience was being clouded by the rational part of her mind that said she’d got spooked over nothing.

She ended up making a joke of it, about how she felt like she needed the exercise.

She could tell that Rachel didn’t really believe her.

The next day she left home at eleven in the morning, heading into work for the afternoon shift. She went her normal route, which took her back to the underpass again. In daylight it was completely unthreatening, but she took extra time to look at what was under there properly, to see if she could see what could have caused her so much fear last night.

There was nothing, just the usual lazy graffiti, tags and scrawls. It wasn’t a place where the better artists actually painted images. Maybe she had seen the edge of one of the tags in just the right light to make it look like something else? That was the most likely explanation, the only other was that she had seen a figure waiting underneath. But if they had meant to attack her, the street had been deserted enough that once she turned they could have easily chased her and caught up before she would have found help.

She rationalised the fear away as the cold and her tiredness playing tricks on her. Tonight she would come home this way and get back into the warm much faster than she had last night.

It was gone ten by the time she left, despite her shift ending at nine. Gary had been having some treble with the computer in the office and she had been drafted in to help. Which had turned into a chat about how the pub was going. She only realised how late it was when she got a text from Rachel asking if she was taking the long way home again.

She finished up the conversation with Gary and told him she’d see him tomorrow before leaving.

From the heat inside the pub to the cold of the winter night was a sharp and unpleasant shock. She tucked every bit of her she could manage into her coat and seriously considered getting a taxi home. But money was a little tight and although she could afford it, she might want that cash for something more fun than a ride home. Plus, there was a dress in H&M that she’d had her eye on and she would much rather spend the money on that than a taxi. Fully decided in her choice, Vicky picked up her pace, trying to use the exertion to warm her up. It helped a little. 

As she approached the underpass, she realised that another lamppost either side of it had now stopped working, casting even deeper shadows underneath. She would have to ring the council tomorrow, much more of this and the whole road would be dark, it was an accident waiting to happen.

Pulling out her phone for the light again, she walked briskly towards the underpass, determined to not let her mind trick her into a longer walk tonight. It wasn’t as cold as it had been the night before, a little bit of cloud cover helped there, but it was still unpleasant.

Her scalp prickled and she felt goosebumps forming on her arms and legs. The underpass felt like it had an electric charge that wired deep into her unconscious mind. Every step made her whole body feel uneasy. She tried to shake it off, there was nothing there. No homeless person’s camp, no gang of muggers. It was in her mind, just in her mind.

Her hand began to shake, the light from the phone waving wildly across the path and into the darkness. She tried to focus her mind but wasn’t sure if it was the cold causing it or the fear that was creeping up from the deepest recesses of her mind.

She called herself a chicken, reminded herself of just how cold she had been on returning home last night, trying to bully herself into just walking through the twenty metres or so of darkness under the road and then she would be nearly home. But despite herself, she was slowing down. Her feet unwilling to step faster.

She stopped away from the entrance, willing herself to go on, knowing that she wouldn’t. She could feel the tears of frustration staring to form in her eyes. This was stupid. She had developed a phobia about walking somewhere she had waked hundreds of times before in darkness and in daylight.

But not this dark, her mind whispered to her.

Yes, the lights were out and that wasn’t helping. Was probably causing most of this. But she didn’t want to walk all the way round to get home again. She wanted tea and heat and Love Island.

Lifting her right foot was like lifting a dead weight, but she managed a step forward, then her left felt even heavier. She forced herself on, but it did not get easier as she approached the entrance, instead each step took more effort. She could feel her whole body shaking, the light from her phone washing wildly, in unpredictable patterns over the pavement and road. She tried to tell herself it was just the cold making her shiver, but she didn’t believe it.

Frustrated, she stopped at the very entrance, listening to the sound of the traffic passing overhead, a deep rumble echoed through the underpass. That was a normal sound. Above her were normal people doing normal things and being entirely normal. She should be doing the normal thing too. She should step forward and go through. She could run through if she had to, there was no law that said she had to walk. People jogged along here all of the time. It wouldn’t be weird, it would be normal, all she had to do was start.

She couldn’t lift her foot.

Crying with anger and frustration at her mind and body’s betrayal, she turned around to start the long walk back.

Something brushed the back of her head, softly, a caress.

Vicky exploded from the spot, sprinting harder than she ever had before. Away from the underpass, through the darkness of the faulty lights and back into the illuminated part of the path. She kept going, she didn’t stop as the houses started to build up. She didn’t slow as she raced past shops. It was only when she reached the centre of town, surrounded by the sound and smells of humanity that she came to a halt.

Bent over double, trying to catch her breath. Her lungs burned from the cold air she had sucked into them. Her legs ached deeply. Her feet were sore, her shoes weren’t what she would have chosen to run in, they lacked padding.

No-one too much notice of her. A few people gave her glances and looked to where she had come from. But when they saw no danger behind her, they just moved on.

Vicky wanted to laugh, to cry, to explode with an emotion she couldn’t yet explain.

Instead she settled herself down, not wanting the attention she was drawing to herself. She stood upright and sucked in some deep breaths with her hand over her mouth to take some of the chill out of the air.

When she felt settled, she sent Rachel a quick text to let her know she was taking the long way home again, but didn’t offer any explanation as to why. That done, she stuck her freezing hands deep into her pockets, tucked her face down into her coat as far as it could go and started the long walk home.

The next day was her day off, so she spent most of it in bed, wrapped up in her thick duvet and catching up on the soaps and shows she had missed while at work.

Vicky did take the time to ring the council to report the lampposts being out. The woman who answered wasn’t very helpful, she tried to dismiss Vicky’s report by saying that no-one else had said anything. Vicky wasn’t sure how to respond to that other than to repeat that four of the lights either side of the underpass were not working, could they at least get someone to check.

The woman agreed to, but she sounded sceptical, telling Vicky that if so many lights had gone out, someone would normally have reported it by now.

Vicky ended the call feeling frustrated and a little worried. What if the woman was right and there was no problem with the lights? That would make it a problem with her. Given how she had reacted to the sight of the dark there, Vicky wasn’t altogether sure that she wasn’t the problem. There wasn’t a history of mental illness in her family, but there didn’t have to be, did there? It could strike from nowhere, she thought. For a while she gave serious consideration to googling about it, before deciding that it would most likely not be helpful right now. It had only happened twice, in the dark and she couldn’t be sure there wasn’t a valid reason for her to feel like that yet. Let the council look into the lights. If she found out there was nothing wrong with them, she would make a doctor’s appointment. There was no point in jumping the gun.

Buried under her warm duvet and watching fictional people get into outlandish situations, she stopped thinking about the underpass altogether.

After a day of resting and staying warm followed by a good night’s sleep, Vicky felt ready for the world. Today was going to be a late one, it was Saturday and she would be working until the the pub closed at midnight. With clearing up and her other duties, she’d be lucky to leave at half twelve.

She headed into town earlier than she needed to determined to buy herself that dress as a reward for not being afraid any more. She told herself that she definitely wasn’t afraid and so she could have the dress now. The logic felt sound to her.

The pub was busy all evening and night, she was constantly pouring drinks, collecting glasses, chatting the the regulars and finding time and space to wipe down tables and the bar. There was only one issue all night, a younger guy, didn’t look to be in his twenties yet, had kept pawing at her and trying to pinch her bum every time she walked past. After the third time she told Gary, and the guy was forcibly ejected, along with a lot of swearing on his part. By the time the last customer left, stumbling out of the door with his mates on their way to one of the clubs, Vicky was exhausted. She was now regretting buying the dress, she felt like she had earned a taxi home, but there were still bills to pay and food to buy. She dithered over whether to call one or not, before deciding to save the money. She wasn’t going to be afraid tonight anyway, so the journey home would be as fast as it should be. She definitely wasn’t going to be scared of the dark any more. She was a grown woman, there was nothing in the dark to scare her.

She kept repeating that to herself.

The lights were working either side of the underpass. Vicky let out a little sob of relief, despite all of her brave words and determined thoughts, the fear of the dark was still there. The underpass itself was still shrouded in shadows, as the road above blocked the light from fully penetrating, but that was how it should be.

Passing under the lampposts, Vicky tried to whistle a jaunty tune through her cold lips. The wind was staring to pick up again and it bit into her exposed skin.

The underpass was coming up, nothing to be afraid of. A few moments of brisk walking and she would be through. She could stop worrying about nothing.

The five lampposts on the far side of the underpass went out.

Vicky stopped.

The far side of the underpass and the path that led away from it weren’t visible any more.

This couldn’t be happening, lights don’t fail like that. Was it all in her head?

Had something moved under there? She thought she caught the barest glimpse of a figure, but it was too hard to distinguish in the dark.

She wasn’t doing this again, she wasn’t going to be cold and late home again. She was going to walk through the underpass and out the other side the same way she had this afternoon. The same way she had done hundreds of times. She was not going to let the dark scare her.

The lamppost nearest the underpass on her side went out.

Vicky shrieked, barely more than a gasp. Her voice wouldn’t come out.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned around. Another person, she could follow them though, not have to do it alone. It was the young guy from the pub, the one she’d had thrown out. He was walking directly at her, eyes fixed on her. Had he followed her?

Vicky took a step back, towards the underpass, the guy smiled. It was not a smile of humour, it was cruel and promised nothing good. He had his hand in his right jacket pocket, did he have a knife? He started to speed up now that she had seen him.

This was bad, the railings would stop her getting across the road and she didn’t dare try to run past him, not if he might have a knife. The cold didn’t bother her any more, instead she felt the heat of fear blossoming within her. The only choice she had left was to go through the underpass, to run into the darkness that scared her. Which was more of a threat? The real guy with what looked to be nasty thoughts on his mind or the thing in the underpass that was so terrifying her.

All of this flashed through her mind before he had taken two steps.

Vicky screamed and ran into the darkness of the underpass, not even taking the time to pull out her phone for the light.

Over her rapid breathing she could hear his heavy steps speed up, he was running after her!

The guy was yelling for her to stop and take her punishment. That she was a bitch and deserved it. His voice echoing around her.

The darkness swallowed her but she didn’t dare slow down, using her left hand to guide herself along the railing to keep going in a straight line.

He was faster than her and gaining.

How much further did she have to go to get out of here? With the street lights out, she couldn’t tell where the open end was.

“LEAVE HER ALONE!” A voice roared in the darkness.

She heard a screech of fear and pain from behind her.

She should keep running, just go.

She definitely shouldn’t look. She didn’t need to see what was happening.

Vicky stopped, pulling out her phone for its torch and turned around to see what had happened to the guy.

He was on the floor while a figure of pure darkness smashed his head into the ground, over and over.

Now he knew what had been wrong that first night, what she had seen.

The black figure was flat, a picture come to life on a page and escaped into the real world without gaining a third dimension.

“You leave her alone.” The voice was emotionless, as flat as the figure it came from. The figure turned to look at her, its face featureless except for two white circles for eyes.

“She’s not for you. She’s mine.”

Dropping the bloody, dead body of the young guy, the figure flowed towards her. Terror stole all of her strength and will. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The fear was all encompassing.

Expanding like a blanket, the figure wrapped itself around her, muffling the scream she finally managed to force out.

“Mine. Forever.”

© Robert Spalding 2020