Tick, Tick, Tick
1/1
When she finally woke, it was as if her head had been struck with a lead pipe. The naked skin of her back was flush against the metal of the table she laid on, giving her that constant, unnaturally cold feeling. A single light flickered above her, dangling precariously on a thin cord from the ceiling.
She painfully turned her head to the side and surveyed that side of the room. Off-white painted brick walls, a large window revealing empty rows of seats and a door. Based on both intuition and evidence, she knew she was in an operating theatre. She just didn’t know why.
Then there was sound. It came from outside the theatre; the clack, clack, clack of high heels on stone floors. A door opened and the sound of multiple pairs of shoes on the floor resonated louder. Clack. Clack. Clack.
All of a sudden, there were voices. She wondered if she’d already been drugged; it wasn’t a language she recognised. However, the fact that there were other people calmed her already quick heartbeat. There was something just a bit odd about this situation.
Someone washed their hands. They didn’t turn the faucet off far enough when they were done. Drip, drip, drip went the water, thudding against the basin. The noise stirred the girl’s anxieties again. This was nothing compared to the next thing she heard though. A cold sweat formed over her bare body. Her breathing became just a bit erratic. Her fingers tensed, and flexed with restlessness. The people beyond the door were sharpening blades.
The door flew open and the girl craned her head to watch as seven female surgeons entered the room. A gloved hand suddenly grabbed her jaw painfully and twisted her head frontwards. The light was adjusted above her. Her eyes squinted as it ran over her face. She could just make out that all the women wore stark white surgical masks.
One of the seven was drumming her fingers against the wall, impatient. Thrum, thrum, thrum. The girl had the sudden urge to break her fingers. Another rolled a metal table near her head. An object was placed on top of it. A finger hit a part of the object then it started. Tick, tick, tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The women gathered around the table, dark eyes blazing as they surveyed the girl. There was a hunger within them; all predator.
“It’s time for the harvest,” one said definitively and six of the surgeons stepped away. One gave the girl a lingering stroke on the cheek.
“I get the lungs,” she said.
She breathed out. A cloud of white smoke billowed before her. Her surroundings were dingy, dirty and decrepit. The few windows in the old building had been smashed in. She raised the cigarette to her lips again and inhaled, coughing slightly when the drag went on longer than she meant to. She started walking around the empty room, taking note of the mouldy couch in the centre. It was perhaps the only thing that hadn’t been looted when the owners disappeared almost ten years ago.
The girl turned to the window, catching the eye of someone she recognised, and waved. She dropped her cigarette and started towards the exit. She didn’t get that far. Flames engulfed the building. Surely it hadn’t happened that quickly. She started to cough, feeling the even more toxic black smoke reach her lungs. But above the crackle of the flames was a persistent, tick, tick, tick.
She reached out with her hands, and pulled the front of her shirt above her nose and mouth. There was no way she could get out with flames covering the doors and windows. Suddenly, she could hear it from the next room; coughing. Someone else was in here. She ran for the doorframe leading to the kitchen, narrowly avoiding the burning beam that dropped behind her, sending embers across the floor. Desperately, she searched the old kitchen for the coughing source. It was getting louder and louder but no one was there.
“Hello!” she yelled. “Is anyone there?” she was certain she could hear it. She continued searching as the coughing continued. “Hello?!” she tried again. Nothing but the cough. She’d found the back door though. Take it or leave it; life or death. She wrenched it open and ran outside. She regretted it instantly. Bloodcurdling, mortifying, excruciating screaming came from within the house.
She started towards the door again but was thrown back as the old radiator exploded. The acrid smell reached her nose as she clawed at the grass; poisonous smoke and burning flesh. Her stomach heaved. Inside laughter sounded above that infernal tick, tick, tick.
“Aw, how are you doing, sweetie?” a surgeon asked. Her tone was sickly sweet and dripping with sarcastic mockery. The girl felt like her throat had been scorched. She could taste charred meat on her tongue. “I know I had fun watching you scream.”
The girl managed to choke out, “What do you want?”
“I get to pick two so…how about the liver and-”
“Don’t take the brain! That’s mine!” another surgeon called and the deliberating one frowned.
“Fine. The stomach then.” She lowered her knife to the girl’s midsection. The metronome continued to tick in her ear.
Hundreds of sweaty bodies moved around her. She grinned stupidly with a bottle in her hand. All that mattered were the flashing lights in the dark room and her drink. Bass-heavy music pulsed around her and in head. Then she felt it. She clutched a hand to her mouth then sprinted her way to the bathroom. Just in time, she got to a toilet and the contents of her stomach were retched up. It didn’t stop. Soon enough, there was blood everywhere. She could taste the iron in her mouth. Her skin had begun to yellow. The blood just kept coming.
Someone snatched her hair and tugged. They yanked at it till she could feel the follicles being ripped out of her scalp. Tiny cuts began to sting and she couldn’t stop throwing up to the blood to even attempt to stop whoever was pulling her hair. But they were laughing, laughing over the top of that tick, tick, tick.
Her eyes were wet with tears and blood trickled in streams down her chin. Why wasn’t anyone coming to help her? It was barely one o’clock and she was in the ladies’ room of a nightclub, one of the busiest places known to man. The door of the stall hadn’t even been closed. Any screams she made were muffled by more blood and she knew she was drawing close to passing out. The person kept pulling at her hair, laughing. Her beer bottle remained smashed on the floor by the bar in the next room. The sticky substance seeped into people’s shoes.
She came to, screaming. Her eyes were wide and frantic as she sat up bolt right on the table.
“What’s happening to me?!” she shrieked at unsympathetic half-faces. One of them rolled her eyes, strutted over to the table, placed her hand over the girl’s mouth then watched as the girl fell back into her former position, completely docile. The only sound as the surgeon worked continued to be that constant metronome.
There was a gag in her mouth. Nerves of excitement rather than fear ran through her though as he entered the room. Shiny black leather, whips and chains. He smirked as he looked at her scantily clad body, tied to the wall.
“Doesn’t my slave look lovely tonight?” He said then drew nearer. She wanted him. So badly. And he was going to give her exactly what she wanted all night long.
*
His lips were on her neck and she was hitching her skirt up. God, she loved drunken hook-ups. Sex behind dingy bars always made her feel so dirty yet so alive at the same time. Particularly considering her boyfriend was at home, totally oblivious to her antics. This guy she didn’t even know the name of was soon inside of her and her toes were curling at his surprisingly expert touch. Tick. Tick. Tick. A hand reached around and grabbed the guy, pulling him away from her. His neck cracked and broke as the figure behind him twisted his head. She screamed.
*
She brushed her teeth and got dressed in her nightgown. She hadn’t expected John to come to bed for another hour at least but the handle on the door soon turned. A chill ran down her spine as the man stepped into the room. She couldn’t see his face, concealed by a black mask but she knew. She clambered out of bed and reached for her phone. He had her restrained before she could even press the 9.
“Stop!” she yelled hysterically. “John?! John! Help me!” The man threw her onto the bed then straddled her.
“Doesn’t my slave look lovely tonight?” he taunted and slapped her across the face. And he laughed. She closed her eyes tight as he started touching her.
“Please, don’t do this,” she whispered, already knowing she wouldn’t get out of his grasp.
“I think you need to be punished.”
“Stop it!” she pleaded to the surgeons. “Whatever you’re doing to me, stop. I’ll do whatever else you want. Kill me even. Just…make it stop.” One of the women leaned over her, so close the surgical mask brushed against the tip of her nose.
“But you never stopped,” she told the girl and held up a saw.
She walked into the house. The keys went into the bowl on the side table by the door and her jacket on a free hook. She’d leaned down to unzip her boots then noticed him in the living room, face grave and accusing. She ignored the look and continued to take off her shoes. She walked into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of red wine then finally walked into the living room.
“What?” she snapped. John flinched as if she’d slapped him. She rolled her eyes then sat down in the armchair, one leg folded over the other. She took a sip from the glass. The cast iron clock was ticking on the wall behind her. Tick, tick, tick.
“I…Mike saw you the other night,” he told her, fumbling his words.
“So? Your idiot best friend saw me, big deal.”
“No. He saw you with another guy, behind the back of that bar near the airport.”
“Yes. What about it?” John gave her an incredulous look, blonde eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.
“What do you mean ‘what about it’? He saw you fucking him!”
“I know what I was doing.”
“You don’t even care.”
“No, I don’t. As far as I’m concerned, this relationship has been over for a very long time and I’d appreciate it if you’d get your whiny ass out of my house.”
With that, his face crumpled. His blue eyes flashed. Then he picked up his keys, his coat and left, slamming the front door in the process. The girl sighed, took a sip from her glass then realised her evening was now opened up. She picked up her phone and scrolled through her contact list. Eventually, she located a name belonging to someone who’d definitely be up for a screw.
“Hey, surprised you phoned so soon,” the voice on the other end said. She smirked.
“Oh really?” she replied flirtatiously.
“God, yeah.”
“So, how about you-” She stopped as the line went dead. She frowned and redialled the number. Nothing. Strange.
She picked up the TV remote and pressed the ‘on’ button. No response. She checked the batteries. She got up and tried pressing the button on the actual object. She checked that it was switched on at the wall. Nothing. Then the screen flickered. Curious, she took a step backwards to look at the screen. Dead centre was a metronome. Tick. Tick. Tick. She snatched the power cord out of the socket. The screen went blank once again.
Her heart was in her throat. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. She started pacing. Her glass was steadily becoming emptier. On the coffee table was a picture of her and John. She picked it up and stared into the happy faces of the college-bound couple in their graduation gear. Goosebumps riddled her body. Laughter again, coming from inside the house. A faucet was turned on and water began to gush.
She ran through the house, arming herself with a knife from the kitchen. Finally, she identified the upstairs bathroom as the source of the water. The light was on and the door slightly ajar. She could hear singing. Hesitantly, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. Dread rushed through her.
He was lying in the tub. The water had turned pink already. The vertical gashes running the length of his wrist to elbow were violent red and the dye was ebbing into the once pure liquid. She fell to her knees and picked up one of his wrists. He clearly had very little time left.
“John, why did you do this to yourself?” She asked. Funnily enough, her voice still contained very little tone. It made him chuckle.
“You broke my heart. I’ll take yours.”
Tears streaked her face and her chest was unbelievably sore – excruciatingly so. The surgeon’s hand was inside her exposed ribcage. The girl looked down in horror as the surgeon triumphantly lifted her heart out of her body. Another surgeon brought over some scales and her heart was dropped into it. All the other women in the room took notes as they read the numbers on the scales.
“You weren’t supposed to wake up yet, sweetie,” a voice said in her ear. A gloved finger traced her forehead then pushed into the centre.
Everything was white for a moment then the girl turned her gaze away from the sun in the pale blue sky. Her hands grazed the dry tops of the tall summer grass. Apple trees lined the field and a breeze whipped through her hair. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the little girl with her dishevelled brown hair, satin ribbon tangled amongst the mess, running towards the trees. Her blue dress was torn and covered in muck.
“Hey!” she called to the youngster, who turned around. Her eyes were red and puffy with tears and the smallest amount of snot dribbled out of her nose. “Where do you think you’re going?” The little girl looked afraid and pointed at the trees.
“Come back! You can’t run away from this!” The eleven-year-old gripped her dress in her small fists and whimpered, shaking her head.
The older of the two stalked towards other, hands on her hips.
She said, “Stop being such a baby. You’ve got to be a big girl. Stop being so pathetic! Go home!” The little girl’s expression was saturated in renewed hopelessness, shoulders drooped. She turned and ran into the shadows of the trees.
*
She was sitting in the kitchen of her mother’s house. The wooden chair was as uncomfortable as ever against her back. Her mother’s disapproving look was just as terrible as she remembered. Her mother’s mousey hair was pulled back into a bun, and her white shirt tucked into her flower-patterned skirt looked like it’d just been ironed.
“What on earth did you think you’d accomplish?” the woman asked her daughter.
“I don’t know,” was the only safe reply.
“Do you know what you’ve done?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand the impact this is going to have on our family?”
“Yes.”
“I never thought I’d have such a stupid daughter. It’s practically cruel.”
A needle was above her, stitching across her forehead. The surgeon’s eyes were intent and focussed on the task of sewing up the girl’s skull.
“I didn’t get the point of that one,” the girl said and the surgeon raised an eyebrow.
“Really? We thought you were smarter than that?” She reached behind her and tapped the scales. “But never mind, it’s all about to make sense.”
Another surgeon stepped forward and forced the girl’s mouth open.
“We’re just going to take a look at your soul,” she told her, then stuck her hand down her throat.
She sat on the porch with a glass of milk and a cookie. All the people on her street were getting their houses decorated for Halloween. Her step-father had carved the pumpkins himself the previous day. She shuddered as she looked at them. She hated their faces. She emptied her glass and went inside to put it in the kitchen. Then she heard the backdoor slam.
Her eyes widened. He wasn’t supposed to be home for another two hours. Once again, she frantically wished for her mom to come home early. Her fingers knotted together while she tried to think of a place to hide. Thump, thump, thump, shoes in the hallway. Why hadn’t she watched for his car today? Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her step-dad rounded the corner and leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. She inhaled sharply as he smirked at her.
“C’mon, baby girl. Time to play.” By the time she opened her mouth to scream, his hand was in her mouth, and he was carrying her to the basement. She squirmed in his arms, kicking her feet against him but all he did was laugh.
He flicked the light switch then placed her on the table, the metal unnaturally cold against her back. He clumsily fastened the leather straps around her limbs as she kicked out again, one foot catching his jaw. He grinned and pulled out the carving knife he’d used the day before on the pumpkins. Tears ran down her face and she closed her eyes tightly.
“Open your eyes, baby, or I’ll open them for you.” She obeyed but cringed as he started laughing again. As he leaned in to kiss her, she heard his watch. Tick, tick, tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Her hands pulled free of their loose bonds. They snatched the knife from his grasp then pushed the steel into his shoulder. And again. And again. He gasped and she raised the blade to his face, adrenaline coursing through her body was enough to push the man off her. He hit the floor with a thud.
Breathing rapidly, she started working at untying the straps on her ankles. There was a scuffle on the concrete floor but when she raised the knife again in terror, he was gone. Upstairs she heard his boots and once again, the slamming of a door. How many times did she stab him? More than she could remember. She leaned over to look at the floor. A dark pool of blood the size of a dinner plate glistened up at her.
Her clammy hands went to her face, knees pulled up against her chest. What if he died?
She sat there for what felt like hours. He’d be dead by now. Surely. He couldn’t drive to the hospital with all that blood. High heels on the stairs. Clack, clack, clack.
“Mom?” she croaked.
“Are you bleeding?” her mother asked as she strode into the room. The girl shook her head and her mother frowned.
“There’s blood upstairs and…” The woman looked down at the ground where the dark liquid was seeping into the soles of her shoes. “What happened?”
“I didn’t mean to, Mom,” she said and started crying again.
Realisation crossed her mother’s face. But not the kind where she’d noticed the leather straps on the table. She reached out and backhanded her daughter.
“What have you done?!” she shrieked. “Where is he?!” The girl gave her mother a look of distraught disbelief. She pulled her stained blue dress down over her legs then pushed past her mother on the way out of the house. She had to get out. She had to run.
Surprisingly, her eyes weren’t wet when she woke. Her face felt like it was made of stone. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the table. The surgeons all crowded around her. She looked at them blankly.
“Well?” she asked.
“We’ve decided you’re not worth totally destroying after all,” the surgeon in the middle told her.
“That’s nice.”
“We don’t think you quite understand. You’re not worth totally destroying.”
“Now I definitely don’t understand.”
“What’s important for you to realise it that you shouldn’t have blamed yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”
The girl looked down at her bare feet.
“However, the abuse you’ve put us through is…unforgivable.” She looked up with a frown.
“Excuse me?”
“The smoking, the drinking, the fucking around. We can’t let you do it anymore.”
“Just kill me then.”
“Oh honey, that’s why we’re here. You already tried. Remember the pills you took before you went to bed tonight? All those pretty coloured tablets...” She continued to frown at this.
The surgeons all looked at each other then pulled off their masks. She knew that face; that face on every one of them. It was the one she saw every day in the mirror after all.
“But don’t worry, we are killing you. In our own little way,” the main surgeon said, and then they rushed towards her.
*
She woke with a gasp. The covers of her bed were cast aside and her face was wet, with what she didn’t quite know. She blinked a couple of times to adjust to the light. A lit jack-o-lantern was a foot away from her face, on the nightstand. She sat up and noticed the glint of a knife next to the pumpkin. Blood stained its steel surface.
Her feet met the damp carpet of her bedroom. She looked down and cocked her head. He was there. On the ground, reaching for a gun only a couple of inches from his grasp. She kicked it away from him. His eyes met hers and he started laughing. His laugh was choked though, sputtering really as blood started to coagulate in his throat. On her dresser the distinct tick, tick, tick sounded from the metronome she usually used for music. She smirked, picked up the knife and got on her knees.
“You shouldn’t have come back on Halloween,” she told him. “We’re going to carve you like a pumpkin.”
She painfully turned her head to the side and surveyed that side of the room. Off-white painted brick walls, a large window revealing empty rows of seats and a door. Based on both intuition and evidence, she knew she was in an operating theatre. She just didn’t know why.
Then there was sound. It came from outside the theatre; the clack, clack, clack of high heels on stone floors. A door opened and the sound of multiple pairs of shoes on the floor resonated louder. Clack. Clack. Clack.
All of a sudden, there were voices. She wondered if she’d already been drugged; it wasn’t a language she recognised. However, the fact that there were other people calmed her already quick heartbeat. There was something just a bit odd about this situation.
Someone washed their hands. They didn’t turn the faucet off far enough when they were done. Drip, drip, drip went the water, thudding against the basin. The noise stirred the girl’s anxieties again. This was nothing compared to the next thing she heard though. A cold sweat formed over her bare body. Her breathing became just a bit erratic. Her fingers tensed, and flexed with restlessness. The people beyond the door were sharpening blades.
The door flew open and the girl craned her head to watch as seven female surgeons entered the room. A gloved hand suddenly grabbed her jaw painfully and twisted her head frontwards. The light was adjusted above her. Her eyes squinted as it ran over her face. She could just make out that all the women wore stark white surgical masks.
One of the seven was drumming her fingers against the wall, impatient. Thrum, thrum, thrum. The girl had the sudden urge to break her fingers. Another rolled a metal table near her head. An object was placed on top of it. A finger hit a part of the object then it started. Tick, tick, tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The women gathered around the table, dark eyes blazing as they surveyed the girl. There was a hunger within them; all predator.
“It’s time for the harvest,” one said definitively and six of the surgeons stepped away. One gave the girl a lingering stroke on the cheek.
“I get the lungs,” she said.
She breathed out. A cloud of white smoke billowed before her. Her surroundings were dingy, dirty and decrepit. The few windows in the old building had been smashed in. She raised the cigarette to her lips again and inhaled, coughing slightly when the drag went on longer than she meant to. She started walking around the empty room, taking note of the mouldy couch in the centre. It was perhaps the only thing that hadn’t been looted when the owners disappeared almost ten years ago.
The girl turned to the window, catching the eye of someone she recognised, and waved. She dropped her cigarette and started towards the exit. She didn’t get that far. Flames engulfed the building. Surely it hadn’t happened that quickly. She started to cough, feeling the even more toxic black smoke reach her lungs. But above the crackle of the flames was a persistent, tick, tick, tick.
She reached out with her hands, and pulled the front of her shirt above her nose and mouth. There was no way she could get out with flames covering the doors and windows. Suddenly, she could hear it from the next room; coughing. Someone else was in here. She ran for the doorframe leading to the kitchen, narrowly avoiding the burning beam that dropped behind her, sending embers across the floor. Desperately, she searched the old kitchen for the coughing source. It was getting louder and louder but no one was there.
“Hello!” she yelled. “Is anyone there?” she was certain she could hear it. She continued searching as the coughing continued. “Hello?!” she tried again. Nothing but the cough. She’d found the back door though. Take it or leave it; life or death. She wrenched it open and ran outside. She regretted it instantly. Bloodcurdling, mortifying, excruciating screaming came from within the house.
She started towards the door again but was thrown back as the old radiator exploded. The acrid smell reached her nose as she clawed at the grass; poisonous smoke and burning flesh. Her stomach heaved. Inside laughter sounded above that infernal tick, tick, tick.
“Aw, how are you doing, sweetie?” a surgeon asked. Her tone was sickly sweet and dripping with sarcastic mockery. The girl felt like her throat had been scorched. She could taste charred meat on her tongue. “I know I had fun watching you scream.”
The girl managed to choke out, “What do you want?”
“I get to pick two so…how about the liver and-”
“Don’t take the brain! That’s mine!” another surgeon called and the deliberating one frowned.
“Fine. The stomach then.” She lowered her knife to the girl’s midsection. The metronome continued to tick in her ear.
Hundreds of sweaty bodies moved around her. She grinned stupidly with a bottle in her hand. All that mattered were the flashing lights in the dark room and her drink. Bass-heavy music pulsed around her and in head. Then she felt it. She clutched a hand to her mouth then sprinted her way to the bathroom. Just in time, she got to a toilet and the contents of her stomach were retched up. It didn’t stop. Soon enough, there was blood everywhere. She could taste the iron in her mouth. Her skin had begun to yellow. The blood just kept coming.
Someone snatched her hair and tugged. They yanked at it till she could feel the follicles being ripped out of her scalp. Tiny cuts began to sting and she couldn’t stop throwing up to the blood to even attempt to stop whoever was pulling her hair. But they were laughing, laughing over the top of that tick, tick, tick.
Her eyes were wet with tears and blood trickled in streams down her chin. Why wasn’t anyone coming to help her? It was barely one o’clock and she was in the ladies’ room of a nightclub, one of the busiest places known to man. The door of the stall hadn’t even been closed. Any screams she made were muffled by more blood and she knew she was drawing close to passing out. The person kept pulling at her hair, laughing. Her beer bottle remained smashed on the floor by the bar in the next room. The sticky substance seeped into people’s shoes.
She came to, screaming. Her eyes were wide and frantic as she sat up bolt right on the table.
“What’s happening to me?!” she shrieked at unsympathetic half-faces. One of them rolled her eyes, strutted over to the table, placed her hand over the girl’s mouth then watched as the girl fell back into her former position, completely docile. The only sound as the surgeon worked continued to be that constant metronome.
There was a gag in her mouth. Nerves of excitement rather than fear ran through her though as he entered the room. Shiny black leather, whips and chains. He smirked as he looked at her scantily clad body, tied to the wall.
“Doesn’t my slave look lovely tonight?” He said then drew nearer. She wanted him. So badly. And he was going to give her exactly what she wanted all night long.
*
His lips were on her neck and she was hitching her skirt up. God, she loved drunken hook-ups. Sex behind dingy bars always made her feel so dirty yet so alive at the same time. Particularly considering her boyfriend was at home, totally oblivious to her antics. This guy she didn’t even know the name of was soon inside of her and her toes were curling at his surprisingly expert touch. Tick. Tick. Tick. A hand reached around and grabbed the guy, pulling him away from her. His neck cracked and broke as the figure behind him twisted his head. She screamed.
*
She brushed her teeth and got dressed in her nightgown. She hadn’t expected John to come to bed for another hour at least but the handle on the door soon turned. A chill ran down her spine as the man stepped into the room. She couldn’t see his face, concealed by a black mask but she knew. She clambered out of bed and reached for her phone. He had her restrained before she could even press the 9.
“Stop!” she yelled hysterically. “John?! John! Help me!” The man threw her onto the bed then straddled her.
“Doesn’t my slave look lovely tonight?” he taunted and slapped her across the face. And he laughed. She closed her eyes tight as he started touching her.
“Please, don’t do this,” she whispered, already knowing she wouldn’t get out of his grasp.
“I think you need to be punished.”
“Stop it!” she pleaded to the surgeons. “Whatever you’re doing to me, stop. I’ll do whatever else you want. Kill me even. Just…make it stop.” One of the women leaned over her, so close the surgical mask brushed against the tip of her nose.
“But you never stopped,” she told the girl and held up a saw.
She walked into the house. The keys went into the bowl on the side table by the door and her jacket on a free hook. She’d leaned down to unzip her boots then noticed him in the living room, face grave and accusing. She ignored the look and continued to take off her shoes. She walked into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of red wine then finally walked into the living room.
“What?” she snapped. John flinched as if she’d slapped him. She rolled her eyes then sat down in the armchair, one leg folded over the other. She took a sip from the glass. The cast iron clock was ticking on the wall behind her. Tick, tick, tick.
“I…Mike saw you the other night,” he told her, fumbling his words.
“So? Your idiot best friend saw me, big deal.”
“No. He saw you with another guy, behind the back of that bar near the airport.”
“Yes. What about it?” John gave her an incredulous look, blonde eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.
“What do you mean ‘what about it’? He saw you fucking him!”
“I know what I was doing.”
“You don’t even care.”
“No, I don’t. As far as I’m concerned, this relationship has been over for a very long time and I’d appreciate it if you’d get your whiny ass out of my house.”
With that, his face crumpled. His blue eyes flashed. Then he picked up his keys, his coat and left, slamming the front door in the process. The girl sighed, took a sip from her glass then realised her evening was now opened up. She picked up her phone and scrolled through her contact list. Eventually, she located a name belonging to someone who’d definitely be up for a screw.
“Hey, surprised you phoned so soon,” the voice on the other end said. She smirked.
“Oh really?” she replied flirtatiously.
“God, yeah.”
“So, how about you-” She stopped as the line went dead. She frowned and redialled the number. Nothing. Strange.
She picked up the TV remote and pressed the ‘on’ button. No response. She checked the batteries. She got up and tried pressing the button on the actual object. She checked that it was switched on at the wall. Nothing. Then the screen flickered. Curious, she took a step backwards to look at the screen. Dead centre was a metronome. Tick. Tick. Tick. She snatched the power cord out of the socket. The screen went blank once again.
Her heart was in her throat. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. She started pacing. Her glass was steadily becoming emptier. On the coffee table was a picture of her and John. She picked it up and stared into the happy faces of the college-bound couple in their graduation gear. Goosebumps riddled her body. Laughter again, coming from inside the house. A faucet was turned on and water began to gush.
She ran through the house, arming herself with a knife from the kitchen. Finally, she identified the upstairs bathroom as the source of the water. The light was on and the door slightly ajar. She could hear singing. Hesitantly, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. Dread rushed through her.
He was lying in the tub. The water had turned pink already. The vertical gashes running the length of his wrist to elbow were violent red and the dye was ebbing into the once pure liquid. She fell to her knees and picked up one of his wrists. He clearly had very little time left.
“John, why did you do this to yourself?” She asked. Funnily enough, her voice still contained very little tone. It made him chuckle.
“You broke my heart. I’ll take yours.”
Tears streaked her face and her chest was unbelievably sore – excruciatingly so. The surgeon’s hand was inside her exposed ribcage. The girl looked down in horror as the surgeon triumphantly lifted her heart out of her body. Another surgeon brought over some scales and her heart was dropped into it. All the other women in the room took notes as they read the numbers on the scales.
“You weren’t supposed to wake up yet, sweetie,” a voice said in her ear. A gloved finger traced her forehead then pushed into the centre.
Everything was white for a moment then the girl turned her gaze away from the sun in the pale blue sky. Her hands grazed the dry tops of the tall summer grass. Apple trees lined the field and a breeze whipped through her hair. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the little girl with her dishevelled brown hair, satin ribbon tangled amongst the mess, running towards the trees. Her blue dress was torn and covered in muck.
“Hey!” she called to the youngster, who turned around. Her eyes were red and puffy with tears and the smallest amount of snot dribbled out of her nose. “Where do you think you’re going?” The little girl looked afraid and pointed at the trees.
“Come back! You can’t run away from this!” The eleven-year-old gripped her dress in her small fists and whimpered, shaking her head.
The older of the two stalked towards other, hands on her hips.
She said, “Stop being such a baby. You’ve got to be a big girl. Stop being so pathetic! Go home!” The little girl’s expression was saturated in renewed hopelessness, shoulders drooped. She turned and ran into the shadows of the trees.
*
She was sitting in the kitchen of her mother’s house. The wooden chair was as uncomfortable as ever against her back. Her mother’s disapproving look was just as terrible as she remembered. Her mother’s mousey hair was pulled back into a bun, and her white shirt tucked into her flower-patterned skirt looked like it’d just been ironed.
“What on earth did you think you’d accomplish?” the woman asked her daughter.
“I don’t know,” was the only safe reply.
“Do you know what you’ve done?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand the impact this is going to have on our family?”
“Yes.”
“I never thought I’d have such a stupid daughter. It’s practically cruel.”
A needle was above her, stitching across her forehead. The surgeon’s eyes were intent and focussed on the task of sewing up the girl’s skull.
“I didn’t get the point of that one,” the girl said and the surgeon raised an eyebrow.
“Really? We thought you were smarter than that?” She reached behind her and tapped the scales. “But never mind, it’s all about to make sense.”
Another surgeon stepped forward and forced the girl’s mouth open.
“We’re just going to take a look at your soul,” she told her, then stuck her hand down her throat.
She sat on the porch with a glass of milk and a cookie. All the people on her street were getting their houses decorated for Halloween. Her step-father had carved the pumpkins himself the previous day. She shuddered as she looked at them. She hated their faces. She emptied her glass and went inside to put it in the kitchen. Then she heard the backdoor slam.
Her eyes widened. He wasn’t supposed to be home for another two hours. Once again, she frantically wished for her mom to come home early. Her fingers knotted together while she tried to think of a place to hide. Thump, thump, thump, shoes in the hallway. Why hadn’t she watched for his car today? Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her step-dad rounded the corner and leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. She inhaled sharply as he smirked at her.
“C’mon, baby girl. Time to play.” By the time she opened her mouth to scream, his hand was in her mouth, and he was carrying her to the basement. She squirmed in his arms, kicking her feet against him but all he did was laugh.
He flicked the light switch then placed her on the table, the metal unnaturally cold against her back. He clumsily fastened the leather straps around her limbs as she kicked out again, one foot catching his jaw. He grinned and pulled out the carving knife he’d used the day before on the pumpkins. Tears ran down her face and she closed her eyes tightly.
“Open your eyes, baby, or I’ll open them for you.” She obeyed but cringed as he started laughing again. As he leaned in to kiss her, she heard his watch. Tick, tick, tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Her hands pulled free of their loose bonds. They snatched the knife from his grasp then pushed the steel into his shoulder. And again. And again. He gasped and she raised the blade to his face, adrenaline coursing through her body was enough to push the man off her. He hit the floor with a thud.
Breathing rapidly, she started working at untying the straps on her ankles. There was a scuffle on the concrete floor but when she raised the knife again in terror, he was gone. Upstairs she heard his boots and once again, the slamming of a door. How many times did she stab him? More than she could remember. She leaned over to look at the floor. A dark pool of blood the size of a dinner plate glistened up at her.
Her clammy hands went to her face, knees pulled up against her chest. What if he died?
She sat there for what felt like hours. He’d be dead by now. Surely. He couldn’t drive to the hospital with all that blood. High heels on the stairs. Clack, clack, clack.
“Mom?” she croaked.
“Are you bleeding?” her mother asked as she strode into the room. The girl shook her head and her mother frowned.
“There’s blood upstairs and…” The woman looked down at the ground where the dark liquid was seeping into the soles of her shoes. “What happened?”
“I didn’t mean to, Mom,” she said and started crying again.
Realisation crossed her mother’s face. But not the kind where she’d noticed the leather straps on the table. She reached out and backhanded her daughter.
“What have you done?!” she shrieked. “Where is he?!” The girl gave her mother a look of distraught disbelief. She pulled her stained blue dress down over her legs then pushed past her mother on the way out of the house. She had to get out. She had to run.
Surprisingly, her eyes weren’t wet when she woke. Her face felt like it was made of stone. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the table. The surgeons all crowded around her. She looked at them blankly.
“Well?” she asked.
“We’ve decided you’re not worth totally destroying after all,” the surgeon in the middle told her.
“That’s nice.”
“We don’t think you quite understand. You’re not worth totally destroying.”
“Now I definitely don’t understand.”
“What’s important for you to realise it that you shouldn’t have blamed yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”
The girl looked down at her bare feet.
“However, the abuse you’ve put us through is…unforgivable.” She looked up with a frown.
“Excuse me?”
“The smoking, the drinking, the fucking around. We can’t let you do it anymore.”
“Just kill me then.”
“Oh honey, that’s why we’re here. You already tried. Remember the pills you took before you went to bed tonight? All those pretty coloured tablets...” She continued to frown at this.
The surgeons all looked at each other then pulled off their masks. She knew that face; that face on every one of them. It was the one she saw every day in the mirror after all.
“But don’t worry, we are killing you. In our own little way,” the main surgeon said, and then they rushed towards her.
*
She woke with a gasp. The covers of her bed were cast aside and her face was wet, with what she didn’t quite know. She blinked a couple of times to adjust to the light. A lit jack-o-lantern was a foot away from her face, on the nightstand. She sat up and noticed the glint of a knife next to the pumpkin. Blood stained its steel surface.
Her feet met the damp carpet of her bedroom. She looked down and cocked her head. He was there. On the ground, reaching for a gun only a couple of inches from his grasp. She kicked it away from him. His eyes met hers and he started laughing. His laugh was choked though, sputtering really as blood started to coagulate in his throat. On her dresser the distinct tick, tick, tick sounded from the metronome she usually used for music. She smirked, picked up the knife and got on her knees.
“You shouldn’t have come back on Halloween,” she told him. “We’re going to carve you like a pumpkin.”