The Girl in the Rug
Read The Girl in the Rug Online
Authors: K Leitch
The Girl in the Rug
A Witches of Glory Woods Novel
By K. Leitch
Copyright ©Kay Leitch
2014
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any written,
electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the
author.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are
the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First published 2014, updated January 2016
New cover March 2016
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Through the crack in the bathroom door, Frank watched as the
huge shadowy figure circled the high metal hospital bed where Clive Tutt lay,
recovering from an operation to mend the arteries in his neck, attached to
bleeping machines and drips filled with fluids. Although he had checked the
corridor and quietly closed the door to the room snapping the blinds shut as he
did so, the intruder, it seemed, was completely unaware of Frank watching him
from the shadows.
Frank knew who he was though, he was easily recognizable
with his mean scarred face and his huge body…he was the stuff that nightmares
were made of.
The creature limped round to the locker at the side of the
bed and began frantically searching through it, throwing clothes and toiletries
to one side impatiently. Frank could hear his low growl of frustration when he
didn’t find what he was looking for.
His attention then turned to the man in the bed and Frank
pulled back further into the shadows, his heart beating hard in his chest, as
he got a proper look at him for the first time. He swallowed down a gasp of
revulsion as the moonlight revealed a mass of weeping yellow pustules on top of
angry red burnt flesh that once was this man’s face…his injuries making him as
hideous as any creature from a gothic horror.
Frank watched him move with slow menace towards the bed; he
saw the glint of a blade in his hand and the look of sadistic cruelty on his
monstrous face. He knew what awful brutality this man was capable of. Now was
the time to make his presence known…now before Clive Tutt was screaming in
agony and begging for his life.
Frank stayed where he was. He kept quiet…watching with an
almost malicious pleasure as the monster circled his victim. He watched as
Clive Tutt opened his eyes, he saw his expression turn from dazed bewilderment
to all consuming terror as he realised who was standing over him…still Frank
hesitated. ‘Clive Tutt deserves to be gutted alive,’ he thought viciously, ‘the
slimy bastard deserves everything he gets.’
‘Move!…Now!...you have to stop this,’ another voice in
Frank’s head screamed at him. ‘You are better than this…you must stop this from
happening, no matter how much you hate and despise the man in the bed.’
Frank angrily trampled down that thought…after all who would
ever know if he just stayed where he was and let the intruder do his worst…who
would ever know…some might even say that justice had been done.
‘No no…shut up…shut up,’ the little boy whispered
desperately into his bedcovers, ‘shut up…don’t shout at him…no don’t say
that…he won’t like that…please, please shut up.’
He was listening, trembling and afraid as he heard the
argument downstairs taking on an all too familiar path. He put his head under
his pillows, maybe this time he could block out the noise.
But no matter how hard he squeezed the pillow round his
head, he could still hear Mum’s voice getting louder and louder, shriller and
shriller, shouting, taunting, as she called him all the names under the sun.
His little body started to tremble when all too soon the
inevitable sounds of breaking crockery followed the shouting, and then a deeper
growl, threatening, aggressive, was mixed in with the screaming insults….
‘Come ‘ere you slag…whatcha call me eh…slag...come
‘ere…don’t make me come and get you…’
Tables and chairs being overturned; his mother being
pursued around the house by this latest monster that she had let into their
home. He burrowed further under his quilt and put his fingers in his ears,
while hot tears streamed down his face.
A loud scream and a wail and then the terrifying, but all
too familiar, sounds of fists hitting flesh…grunts and moans as his mum is
being pulled up and then punched back down, animal groaning as his boots are
connecting with her thighs, her stomach…then quiet except for soft whimpering
sounds.
A few moments later the front door slams…the boy slips
out of his bed and creeps downstairs.
His mother is curled up on the kitchen floor, she is
bloody and beaten.
He reaches out and stokes her hair and she turns puffed
up blackened eyes towards him, lifts a hand and pulls him close.
‘I’m sorry Frankie baby,’ she whispered through split
lips, ‘I’m so sorry.’
Andy walked home slowly, four year old Lucy following on
behind as usual. It was not even four o’clock yet, but the night was drawing in
and he could feel the cold air seeping through his threadbare coat, he felt
chilled to the very core of his skinny eight year old body. He turned and
waited for Lucy to catch up; she seemed oblivious to the cold, despite the fact
that her coat was just as inadequate as his. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes
sparkled as she ran up to where he was waiting.
‘Did you see me Andy…I jumped right over that puddle, right
over it. Shall I do it again so you can see?’ she gushed, turning to run back
again.
Andy stopped her with a laugh. ‘Nah Lucy, I don’t need to
see it…you showed me this morning, remember.’
Lucy looked deflated, ‘Come on then, see if you can beat me
to that next lamppost,’ Andy said knowing that she wouldn’t be able to resist
the challenge, and sure enough she was off charging as fast as her little legs
could carry her. Andy jogged slowly after her making sure she beat him.
‘Haha…beat you slowcoach,’ Lucy shouted triumphantly.
Andy just laughed and high fived her.
Their footsteps started to drag as they turned the corner
into the street where they lived; they climbed the dark and filthy staircase to
the flats above in silence, oblivious to the piles of rubbish and the discarded
needles that littered the stairwells. They both unconsciously braced themselves
for whatever they might find when they got home.
Would Mum be awake, would she have found some money from
somewhere and bought enough vodka to drink herself insensible…or would she be
growling and spiteful because she hadn’t?
The mean little flat looked exactly the same as it had this
morning, when Andy and Lucy had crept around hunting for clean clothes and
school books. Breakfast had been a dry slice of toast and they had shared a mug
of tea. Thank goodness for free school dinners, even if they did have to suffer
the teasing and scorn of some of the other kids…at least they had both eaten
today.
The living room door was shut and both Andy and Lucy knew
from bitter experience that they shouldn’t open it. It meant mum had someone in
there…which meant that she would have some money for food at least…once she had
bought herself a little something of course.
So the two children sat in the filthy kitchen, Andy had
found an old copy of the Beano, which he read to Lucy, always with one ear on
the door waiting for whoever it was to emerge and herald the arrival of his
mum.
Sure enough fifteen minutes later the living room door
opened and an enormously fat old man shuffled out hitching up his trousers as
he did so. He looked into the kitchen at the two children and then back into
the living room sniffing in disgust, then he left slamming the door behind him.
Andy and Lucy looked at each other with a mixture of fear
and anticipation, after a couple of minutes mum appeared pulling a grubby
dressing gown round her thin shoulders. She came unsteadily into the kitchen,
she had obviously managed to find a drink from somewhere, she was already half
drunk.
‘Yer home then?’ she slurred falling into the chair next to
Lucy, staring at the little girl for a minute as trying to focus, ‘whatcha got
there Luce…what is that…Beano? Where d’you get that…fucking shit that is, give
us a look,’ she snatched the old comic from out of Lucy’s hand and started to
read one of the comic strips.
‘Fucking Lord Snooty…what a tosser,’ she laughed throwing
the comic down onto the table, before stumbling over to the fridge. ‘What we
got to eat then?’ she said to herself as she looked into the empty fridge.
‘Bloody ‘ell there’s nothing ‘ear…you two are fucking eating me out of house
and home you are, there’s no bread or nothing…bloody selfish you are. Well you
can just go and get me something you lazy little git…’ she shouted at Andy,
‘there’s a fiver on the coffee table, get some chips or something, and take
this tenner as well and get me a bottle of voddy…Amish will serve you ‘e knows
it’s for me. Go on then, what’s keeping you…and take ‘er wiv you…bloody little
pain in the arse…well go on then get going!’ she finished with a swipe at his
head.
Andy didn’t need telling twice, he helped Lucy struggle back
into her coat, grabbed the money from the living room and went back out into
the cold and dark.
The scruffy little row of shops that served this end of the
estate, were about a hundred yards from the block of flats that housed Andy and
his family. Only the ‘open all hours grocery store and off licence’ and ‘Get
Battered’ the fish and chip shop now remained. The rest had closed one by one
as either the recession had hit, or they had been forced to close because of
constant vandalism and robberies. Boarded up windows covered in graffiti being
all that was left of the launderette, hairdressers and chemist. Here in the
heart of the unlikely named ‘Buttercup’ estate only the most resilient
survived.
Andy went to the mini market first, picking up a loaf of
bread and some milk, he added a box of cereal that he knew Lucy liked and then
went to the counter to buy the vodka.
Amish Patel the owner knew Andy, and served him without
question, he knew the boy had been sent by his drunken mother to buy alcohol.
He also knew that the boy would be punished if he didn’t deliver. Kathy Hunt
was a nasty drunk well known on the estate, and many was the time that little
Andy would come into his shop covered in bruises, keeping his head down so he
didn’t attract attention. Amish felt sorry for the lad, ‘Life must be pretty
shit living with that old prossie,’ he thought.
He grabbed a couple of lollies that were always kept by the
counter, ‘There you go kids, special prizes for being the 100
th
customers,’ he joked as he handed them the sweets. Lucy grabbed hers greedily
and immediately began to unwrap the treat, Andy on the other hand smiled his
thanks and then carefully hid his in his pocket for later, ushering Lucy out of
the shop and into the ‘chippy’ next door. He bought three bags of steaming
chips…his stomach was growling with hunger at the delicious smell of them all
the way home.
He knew something was wrong before he even got home. He
could hear his mum’s raised voice and that of a man halfway up the stairs…some
sort of argument was going on, and that was never good.
The children tried to get into the house as quietly as they
could. Andy thought if they could just get into the bedroom without being
noticed, then they could eat their chips and keep out of the way of what ever
had Mum screaming and shouting. They walked in through the hall, Andy left
Mum’s chips and the vodka on the kitchen table and then they both crept towards
their little room.
The living room door flew open; Mum came storming out in a
rage. ‘Where the bloody hell do you think you are creeping off to you little bastard,’
she screamed at Andy. ‘Where’s my fucking money, you little thief!’
‘No,’ stammered Andy desperately, ‘you told me to take it…to
get food and chips…and vodka, look Mum I got you your vodka.’ He was silenced
by a slap round his head that sent him reeling.
‘Don’t lie to me you little shit,’ his mum continued to
scream at him, ‘I said to take the fiver, I never said anything about the
rest…you are a thieving,’ slap, ‘little,’ slap, ‘thief!’
Andy’s ears were ringing, but he could hear Lucy sobbing
behind him. She was pulling at his sleeve trying to get him into the bedroom as
if they would be safe from his mother’s onslaught there.
Andy knew better than to continue to protest his innocence.
He put up his hands to protect himself as best he could from his mother’s slaps
until at last her anger began to subside.
She grabbed the chips from him and shoved him hard through
his bedroom door so that he went reeling and landed with a thump next to his
bed. Lucy scrambled in after him and scuttled under the bed.
‘Well you can go without your chips you little toe rag, and
stop ‘er making that fucking noise will ya…snivelling little wimp,’ said his
mum as she slammed the door shut leaving the two children sobbing in the
darkness.
Andy listened as his mother’s footsteps retreated back down
the hall and into the kitchen. He could hear her laughing at something the man
was saying, he heard the clink of glasses as they consumed the bottle of vodka
that he had brought home. Soon the laughter became more loud and raucous until
finally, the living room door closed and it went quiet.
Lucy had sobbed herself to sleep in her hiding place under
the bed. Andy gently coaxed her out and settled her in her bed holding her hand
until she drifted off again. Then he went to his own bed, his stomach was
rumbling and he was cold as he lay there in the dark looking out through the
grimy window at the moon above. He closed his eyes and prayed to anyone that
would listen.
‘Please,’ he begged hot tears rolling down his face and onto
his grubby pillow, ‘please help us…please.’