A brief note: This is a horror story. It’s not supernatural horror, but rather entirely real and horrible horror. It contains a few profanities, and if you’ve been enjoying the Scarlet stories, please be warned, this is quite different. 

There was something strange about the train. She was going home, just as she’d done before, only not. She laid her head back against the train seat and took deep breaths. She felt worse this morning; her headache was constant, however still she remained, and she hadn’t managed to keep breakfast down. Buying the right ticket had been a task requiring supreme concentration, and even then she’d dropped the twenty three times before getting it into the slot.

She’d done the trip just enough for the familiar fields, and pylons, and rows of gardens, to bring up that nostalgic feeling really crappy, manipulative movies gave you. Only, in the movies, every garden didn’t have one of those outdoor trampolines in. She giggled, and felt warmth on her lip. She touched it, and her finger came away with blood on it. The woman opposite, who’d spent the first five minutes staring until Natasha glared at her, pulled a packet of tissues from her pocket and offered her one.

She took it, nodding and trying a smile. The lady smiled back, one of those ‘well, well, isn’t it a shame’ sort of looks that made Natasha want to pull the knife out of her bag and have at her. She bit her lip instead, and scrubbed the blood off, before holding it to her nose. She never got nosebleeds, and neither did Sally.

‘Are you alright, deary?’

Oh god, she actually wanted to talk. Apart from her momentary career as a non-hooker, she hadn’t spoken in over a week. She wasn’t sure she still knew how. ‘Uh, uh, fine, yes, fine, uh.’

Turned out she did, sort of. The woman narrowed her eyes, but nodded, and came again with the smile. Natasha slipped her free hand into her bag and felt the knife, stroking the thick handle, the roughness of the string she’d wound around it. They never used string in murder movies, but why not? Worried about finger prints? Easy, wrap it in string, then burn it off.

She shook her head, and giggled again. The tissue was soaked, and the lady offered her another one, but she should probably go to the loo and have a look. God, the train’s bloody wobbling all over the place. She bumped her way down the aisle, hips cushioning most of the blows, hand still cupped over her nose.

© Marc Johnson | Dreamstime Stock Photos

What was wrong with her eyes? The mirror was one of those tiny, thin things, you couldn’t see you whole face in, but she could see her eyes, sunken and bloodshot. She looked like a druggy, which wasn’t a bad idea, way she was feeling. She bowed her head, staring in wonder at the short tufts of hair. They wouldn’t recognise her now, even if she did show up. And hey, she’d got two hundred pounds and it was a snip at the price. Hah, that was good.

She looked at her nose, taking her hand away, and blood seeped down and dripped into the sink. Natasha hauled reams of loo roll out and smothered her nose, then dropped it into the toilet and grabbed more. She stood, head tipped back, leaning against the door, until a knock on the other side made her jump, and shriek in pain as her head pounded and thumped.

She opened the lock, grabbed more loo roll, then staggered back down the carriage. The woman opposite was gone. She slumped in her seat, and tipped her head back, smelling smoke and charred flesh, and screaming. No, she heard the charred flesh, surely, you don’t smell flesh.

They were here, wherever here was. Home, not home, just another place. Only dad was here. She fingered the knife as she stepped down from the train. The bleeding had stopped, but now the world was spinning, and she had to sit on a bench for a while.

It was night time, which was strange, because she’d caught the morning train. ‘Come on, love, out you go?’

She peered up at the man in the uniform, and nodded absently. She stood, and saw the sign, and went cold. She was in Stevenage, why was she in Stevenage, he was here, she had to get back to London, where were the bloody trains? She grabbed her bag, feeling the hardness within, and her heart slowed. Of course, that’s why she was here. Just a flying visit, to pay respects. Heh.

The guy was doing everything except shoving her, so she concentrated on walking a straight line out of the station, and onto the wet pavement. When had it rained? The taxis were waiting and she flagged one, dropping into the back like a sack of potatoes. She mumbled her postcode and watched the same old streets amble by. The driver could probably have gone slower, but only if he got out and pushed.

Where was her money? She needed to pay for the taxi. She shoved her hand into the bag and found the knife. Of course, she didn’t have to pay for anything now, she was dead. She giggled, making faces into the rear view mirror. He couldn’t see her, you can’t see ghosts, everyone knew that. She patted her jacket pocket and felt the wallet and opened her mouth as wide as it would go, moving it from side to side, staring at her reflection with wide eyes.

‘Sorry, love, any chance you stop doing that please, can’t see the road?’

Her mouth snapped shut, and she put her finger to her lips, shaking her head vigorously. She giggled, rocking back and forth.

‘Eer, love, you alright? You want me to drop you at the hospital?’

She felt her nose, and the blood that had just erupted from it. She shook her head, and he shrugged and kept going. He might have mumbled, ‘well, keep it off me bloody seats then,’ but probably not. He definitely did mumble. ‘Bloody ghosts, can’t trust em with nothing, these days.’

They entered her street and she piled out, shoving some money across the front seats. She almost left her bag, but he grabbed it and handed it to her. She snatched it from him, cradling it to her chest like a baby, and smiling. The blood was dripping from her lip, and she scrubbed it off with one hand, and stomped down the street.

She could smell smoke again, and hear noises, the crash of the glass and the screams. The hedge in front of her old house was made of huge fir trees and she crawled beneath them and closed her eyes.

Next Instalment: Monday 27th January