The Stuff of Nightmares Read Online Free Page A

Anthony
was written on the envelope in Mum’s bold, upright writing. And that’s when the hollow feeling inside me first appeared, tiny and still, but definitely there. Anthony … Mum never called Dad Anthony. Our surname was Fitzwilliam so Mum always called Dad Fitz, or Tony if she was really annoyed with him. I pulled the envelope off the mirror. It was tucked in, not stuck down at the back, so I opened it. There was one sheet of plain, white A4 paper inside. I unfolded it and began to read
.
    Dear Anthony
,
    This is a hard letter for me to write but it’s been a long time coming. I’m going away. Please don’t try to find me. You’ve spent most of our marriage telling me that I’m nothing, I’m useless without you. Maybe you’re right. Maybe that’s true. But I need to find out for myself before I’m too old or too afraid to leave and have some kind of life of my own. You never listened to me when I tried to tell you how I felt, but hopefully you’ll listen to this. Don’t try to find me, Anthony. I don’t love you any more. I realize now that I stopped loving you a long time ago. It’s taken me too long to admit it. Kyle can stay with you until I sort myself out. I’m no good to him or anyone else the way I am now. I hope you can understand that if nothing else
.
    Yolanda
    I read the letter twice and then a third time, my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest. I folded up the letter and put it back in the envelope, exactly the way I’d found it. I opened the fitted wardrobe on Mum’s side. The emptiness within was only sporadically broken by a few bare hangers and the odd dress or two that would no longer fit. I opened up the chest of drawers, second drawer down. Empty. Just torn brown paper lining the bottom
.
    Mum …
    She didn’t love Dad any more
.
    She’d left Dad
.
    She’d left me
.
    I went to my room and pulled on my trainers and my sweats. Grabbing my keys out of my school trouser pocket, I walked out of the door and headed down the road. I had no idea where I was going. It didn’t matter. I didn’t want to be home when Dad came in from work. I didn’t want to be home when Dad found the letter. I started to run
.
    * * *
    … is this what it’s like? … how it feels? … stillness and silence after a world of noise and pain and panic? is this what it was like for him? did he gently slide or was it more of a screaming fall? why have I never considered the moments – the moments just before and during and just after? guess I was too busy considering the method to think about the manner. am I dead? this is no way to die, not like this … this isn’t fair … my head hurts … pain … that’s a good sign – right?
    The dead don’t feel pain … Do they?
    Open your eyes, Kyle.
    I can’t. Each eyelid weighs a ton.
    Open your eyes, Kyle. Open them now
.
    Slowly I opened my eyes. Train seats stood to attention on either side of me like oppressive sentinels. My heart was thundering.
    Now I was terrified of closing my eyes in case I never opened them again.
    You’re OK, Kyle
, I told myself.
You can still think, so you’re all right
.
    I had to force my eyes shut so I could focus on bedding down the panic ripping chunks out of me. Surely neither Heaven nor Hell nor any stage in between would be furnished with blue-clothed train seats? Or was it possible to be dead and not even know it? I opened my eyes again and this time it was a little easier. My hand flew to my head. No blood, surprisingly, but it hurt like hell.
    ‘Joe? Steve?’ Did I shout that out loud or was it just in my head? I couldn’t tell.
    Where was Steve? Was he OK? I tried to stand but it was hard to tell which way was up. The train lurched suddenly, to come to a juddering halt on its side. And the silence that followed was like nothing I’d ever heard before. Or wanted to hear again. A silence so deep it was as if all my senses had suddenly shut down and each thought rang clear and loud in my head like some