THE BOY WHO WASN'T THERE_a supernatural short story Read online

  THE BOY WHO

  WASN’T THERE

  A Patrick McLaughlin Short Story

  By Emma Clapperton

  Copyright © 2018 by Emma Clapperton

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For permissions contact; [email protected]

  1992

  She sat on the floor, resting her arm on the empty bed. Relentless tears rolled down her cheeks as she sobbed. The bottle in her hand brought little comfort to her now. Staring down at it, she cursed the day she ever turned to alcohol. It had been the beginning of her fall. How could she have let any of this happen? Life had been just perfect, and now?

  The house was so empty, like death had crept in and swept up her previous life, leaving her with nothing but grief in its place. But death hadn’t come for her, not yet, anyway. Lifting the bottle to her lips, she shook her head at the thought that she hadn’t even bothered to attempt to refrain from drinking its contents. What would be the point in not drinking it? Everything was ruined, she had nothing left to lose.

  Pouring the last of the drops into her mouth, she threw the bottle down and got to her feet. She made the bed to her left and then to her right. The pillows looked odd without the familiar soft toys placed on top of them. Fixing the corners of the duvets, she staggered out of the bedroom and made her way to the kitchen. Switching on the gas from the cooker, she sat down at the kitchen table and opened another bottle of vodka. She hated the stuff, it was poison. But it was the only thing that came close to numbing the pain.

  The smell of the gas was beginning to make her feel sick, which meant almost enough had escaped for her to put an end to the suffering.

  She lifted the framed photograph from the table. The one that used to make her smile. But now, it only made her weep. Her heart ached for those days. But nothing would ever bring them back. Nothing would ever make the pain leave her, not really. The only way she could be free from everything was to leave this place, leave this world and become nothing but ash. The world didn’t need a person like her.

  Placing her lips on the cool glass in the frame, she kissed all of the faces except for her own. After everything, she hoped they knew that deep down, she still loved them all.

  Reaching into her pocket, she pulled the cigarette packet and lighter out at the same time. Lifting one from the pack, she placed it in her mouth and put the lighter to the end of the tobacco. Her hands were quivering with fear, but this was absolutely the way things had to end. There was no coming back from what had happened.

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she placed her thumb on the flint and took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Pulling her thumb down on the flint, the heat and sound of the explosion was quick and intense.

  Then, there was nothing.

  Chapter One

  PRESENT DAY

  Listening to the words, Patrick smiled as Lewis began talking to his imaginary friend for the hundredth time. Jodie wasn’t keen on the idea of said friend, but there was nothing either of them could do about it. It was a four year old’s prerogative to have an imagination, even one as vivid as Lewis’s.

  ‘What’s Tommy up to today then?’ Patrick asked his son.

  Lewis didn’t reply. Instead, he got up from the breakfast table and left the room. Patrick frowned. Lewis was never normally rude. Following him into the lounge, Patrick sat down on the floor beside Lewis as he played with his toy cars.

  ‘It’s rude not to answer someone when they ask you a question, you know.’

  ‘Sorry Dad. But Tommy said I’m not allowed to talk to you when he’s here.’

  Tommy had been a part of Lewis’s play for months. According to Lewis, he didn’t stray very far and always seemed to be hanging around, much to Jodie’s concern.

  ‘Well, I’m your dad and it’s kind to answer me when I speak to you. Is Tommy the boss?’ Patrick ruffled Lewis’s hair and offered a smile.

  ‘No, daddy.’ Lewis laughed. ‘He’s not the boss, he’s my big brother.’

  Patrick frowned. Was this Lewis’s way of asking for a sibling? Jodie hadn’t been too keen on the idea of having more children, but if it came from Lewis she could maybe be persuaded.

  Getting up and tidying the ever growing mess created by his son, Patrick began day dreaming about having more children in the house. It would be wonderful for Lewis to have someone to play with, the perfect way to extend their family.

  Jodie appeared in the lounge, her hair a sleepy mess with creases on her cheek from her pillow.

  ‘Morning Mrs McLaughlin,’ Patrick smiled as he clutched at a toy aeroplane, a fire engine and robot.

  Just as Jodie was about to reply, Lewis began talking again. ‘No, that’s my new mummy. She’s not your mummy.’

  Jodie glanced at Lewis and then at Patrick. ‘He’s been saying this kind of thing for weeks. Have you talked to him about it?’

  Patrick shook his head. ‘There is nothing to talk about, Jodie. It’s just his imaginary friend. It will pass when he goes to school and develops real friendships. Just relax.’

  Jodie sighed. ‘I just worry about him. I don’t want him having the burden of talking to the dead. It has been bad enough for us.’

  Patrick raised a brow. ‘I don’t think of it as a burden. There is nothing wrong with our gift. Yes, it’s been a struggle over the last few years but look at him, Jodie. He is perfectly healthy and happy.’ Dropping toys into the toy box in the corner of the room, Patrick continued to pick up random pieces of building bricks and toy cars.

  ‘I know he is, I just don’t want him to end up going through something horrific because he doesn’t have the understanding of what he is capable of.’

  ‘He’s a tough little guy.’ Patrick said quietly. ‘Look, Jodie, you’ve got to get it out of your head that he is in some kind of danger because of where he comes from. Just leave him to get on with being a kid, you’re reading too much into it.’ He didn’t meet her eye, instead he sat down on the couch and lifted the newspaper.

  Jodie sat down by Lewis and ruffled his hair. ‘Morning sweetie. Did you sleep well?’

  Lewis shook his head.

  ‘Why not?’ Jodie’s voice was soft as she ran her fingers through her son’s hair.

  ‘I was talking to Tommy about the games we used to play,’ he said, before throwing his toy aeroplane into the air and making a swooshing sound.

  ‘Used to play?’ Jodie asked.

  ‘Back then.’

  Patrick lowered the paper and eyed his son. ‘What games did you play?’

  ‘Tommy’s favourite was hopscotch but I loved hide and seek. I was good at counting.’ Another loud swoosh came as the toy aeroplane took off from the imaginary runway which was Lewis’s leg.

  Patrick glanced at Jodie, whose face was a mixture of confusion and worry. ‘When do you play hopscotch? At nursery?’

  ‘The teachers at nursery don’t play that game. I still like to play hide and seek.’

  ‘Do you play with Tommy at nursery?’ Jodie asked.

  Lewis no
dded.

  ‘Do you play with anyone else at nursery?’

  ‘No. Tommy doesn’t like the other children. They’re too noisy.’

  Patrick felt his heart ache at the thought of his son having no friends. ‘Do you want some breakfast, Lewis?’

  Patrick went to the kitchen and Jodie followed him.

  ‘He’s already at nursery, Patrick. He is surrounded by children five afternoons a week. He should be socialising and communicating with them. Not spending time on his own with an imaginary friend.’

  ‘Jodie, calm down.’

  ‘No, Patrick. Something’s not right. I’m his mum, I know when he’s acting strange. I want to speak to the nursery and see if they’re concerned about this too. And what’s with all this used too and back then, talk? He’s speaking in past tense. It’s freaking me out.’

  Patrick held his hands up in defeat. As much as Jodie could overreact in certain situations, he wondered if this time, her reaction was justified. ‘OK, if talking to the nursery will make you feel better, then make an appointment. I will come with you.’

  Jodie nodded whilst peering into the lounge at her son. His little voice flowed through to the kitchen as he continued to chat to the boy who wasn’t there.

  ‘Thank you. I might seem like a crazy mother but I just want what’s best for him. I remember what it was like being the different kid at school. It’s bloody hard.’

  Patrick hugged his wife. He faced into the lounge and was thankful that Jodie couldn’t see Lewis, who was now whispering to his non-existent friend.

  Chapter Two

  (1992)

  The scents coming from the kitchen told Rita tonight was going to be a good night. The children were fast asleep upstairs and the food was almost ready. Setting the table, she placed two bottles of red wine in the centre and lit the candle. The radio played softly in the background and she stood back, admiring the place settings.

  “Looks good.” Stewart’s voice came from the dining room door.

  “Thanks. They’ll be here any minute. Is dinner almost ready?”

  “Just you leave the food to the expert, if you get involved the main course will be coal with a side of ash.” Her husband’s smile widened as Rita gasped.

  “Cheeky bugger,” she approached him and playfully hit him on the arm. Stewart let out a sarcastic cry and returned to kitchen.

  Rita looked at her watch. It was almost 8pm and she hadn’t even finished getting ready. Stepping into the hallway, she called into the kitchen to let Stewart know that she was going upstairs and to listen out for the door. Taking them two at a time, she reached the top and opened the bedroom door to check on the children. As usual, little Louisa was snoring and Tommy was lying at the foot of the mattress. Rita smiled and closed the door, tiptoeing to her bedroom to get changed and put on her makeup.

  Sitting down at the dressing table and looking in the mirror, she noted just how tired she looked. The dark circles under her eyes could be covered with concealer, but it wouldn’t mean they weren’t there. Rita sighed as she pulled open the bottom drawer to retrieve her makeup bag. As she lifted it, the space revealed a half empty bottle of vodka. It stared up at her, the clear liquid swilling around inside the glass. Reaching in, her hand gripped around the neck, she pulled it out and unscrewed the lid.

  Pausing as she caught sight of herself in the mirror, the rim of the open neck bottle rested on her lips and she felt the alcohol burn her mouth and then her throat as she took a gulp. She shivered as she crewed the cap back on and placed it back in the drawer.

  Rita carefully applied her make-up and put on the dress she knew was Stewart’s favourite. She ran a comb through her hair and slipped on a pair of black heels. Wobbling slightly as she walked to the bedroom door, she remembered how much she hated wearing high shoes. At least she could blame the shoes for her poor balance if she got drunk.

  Rita sighed as she turned and stared at her reflection in the large mirror hanging on the wall. The drink was becoming more of a need than a pleasure. It was an effort not to swallow more than a mouthful of the bottle she had hid in her drawer. Of course, there would be wine at dinner. But it never really had the same effect as vodka, or whisky for that matter.

  She couldn’t remember when the need to drink had occurred. Things were fine in her marriage and with the boys, so she couldn’t understand what had happened. She and Stewart had always had a social drink when out with friends. Maybe that was it. Maybe all the years of drinking socially had caught up with her and now she was addicted. Rita shook her head. No, she was not addicted, she just liked a drink the same as everyone else, maybe just a little more often.

  Rita smoothed out her dress and noticed a quivering hand. She eyed the drawer and approached it. Just one to settle my nerves. She lifted the bottle from its hiding place and as it reached her lips, the bedroom door opened and Stewart appeared, watching her as she sank another gulp of what actually did taste like paint stripper.

  ‘What are you doing?’ He asked, his tone accusatory.

  Shit! Shit!

  “Nothing, I was just about to come down.’ Rita said, her heart pounding as Stewart stared through her.

  ‘What are you doing drinking vodka straight from the bottle?’

  ‘It’s just a little starter for the night.’ Rita tried to lighten her tone but all she could hear was the sound of blood rushing in her ears.

  ‘No, a starter for the night is a glass of wine, not guzzling from the bottle which you had hidden in the dressing table.’ Stewart walked towards her and snatched the bottle from her hand. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

  Rita shook her head. He was pissed off, understandably, but now wasn’t the time to start an argument.

  ‘How many more do you have stashed around the house?’ He spat.

  ‘Stewart, it’s just vodka.’ Rita sighed.

  ‘No, just vodka is when it’s mixed with something in a glass, not hiding in the bedroom, necking it on your own. How long is this going to go on for before you realise you have a problem?’

  Shock rippled through her as her husband spoke. How long had he thought she’d had a problem with alcohol for?

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The sneaky tipple before walking the kids to school? The half before dinner, after dinner, before bed? The half bottle hiding at the back of the washing machine? The quarter bottle at the bottom of the laundry basket?’

  Rita’s eyes widened as he revealed all of the places she had hidden her bottles. How the hell had he known?

  ‘Why haven’t you said anything before?’

  ‘I suppose I didn’t want to believe it. But now I come in here and I see you sinking that crap straight, before our friends even get here, I have to believe it. This has been going on for too long. I can’t watch you do this to yourself. I can’t watch you do it to the kids. Get help, Rita, or I’m leaving.’

  The front door bell rang in her ears and she watched her husband leave their bedroom to let their friends in, the bottle still in his hand. How could she have been so stupid? Of course he knew. He probably knew before she did. If he had noticed she was drinking, had found what he deemed as ‘hiding places’, and commented on the fact that she was having a drink at any possible moment, then something was wrong. She wanted to stop. She had to stop.

  Tomorrow would be a new day. She would go to the doctor and get some advice. She would even suggest that Stewart went with her. Rita had to prove she was serious about this. They just had to get through tonight first.

  ***

  The dinner Stewart had cooked had been delicious and the night was going well, all things considered. Andy and Maggie seemed to be enjoying the evening and hadn’t seemed to notice the frosty atmosphere between her and Stewart.

  ‘Who’d like more wine?’ I asked as I stood from my chair. Stewart began clearing the dishes from the table and left the dining room.

  ‘I won’t say no.’ Andy lifted his glass and I poured him some.

&
nbsp; ‘Maggie?’

  ‘Actually, do you mind if I get myself a glass of water?’ She said, massaging her temples. ‘The wine has gone straight to my head.’

  ‘Sure, help yourself.’ Rita replied.

  Maggie left the table and for a moment there was silence between Rita and Andy.

  ‘So, how’s things?’ Andy slurred.

  Rita paused for a moment before laughing.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you drunk?’ Rita asked him.

  Andy started to laugh too before drinking down the wine Rita had just poured for him. He held up his glass and Rita took it as a suggestion that he wanted more. She poured more wine into his glass and watched him as he knocked it back.

  ‘Bloody hell, Andy.’ Rita said.

  ‘I’ve learned from the best. All those drunken alkies in that pub would put me to shame.’ Andy replied.

  The word struck a nerve with Rita but she didn’t dare allow it to be seen. Instead, she poured herself another glass and knocked it back in one go, before pouring another and then another.

  Andy gazed at her from across the table and laughed so hard he almost chocked. Rita laughed with him. But deep down, she knew she wouldn’t be laughing in the morning when Stewart saw the state of her. But it was her last night on the booze. She might as well enjoy it.

  ***

  Opening her eyes, she felt the familiar and urgent need to go to the bathroom. But she knew she would have to get up slowly otherwise she would end up vomiting all over the place. She couldn’t remember much after dinner. Jesus, how much had she actually had?

  Rita glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. 04:36. Thank god, she had enough time to sleep the majority of it off before facing Stewart in the morning. She carefully rolled to the edge of the mattress and sat up slowly. Her head was spinning and her mouth felt like sandpaper. Getting to her feet, she padded out of the room quietly so as not to wake Stewart. She’d rather not feel his wrath at this time in the morning. The lamp at the top of the stairs glowed and she saw Andy completely comatose at the corner of the landing.