The Shady Corner

By Matthew Williams

A shady corner in life can be a dark and mysterious place, but in the shady corners of the mind, the mystery and darkness know no bounds!

In a struggle with his conscience and haunted by images of murder, David is given a choice to right the wrongs of his past.

Can he cheat fate and avoid his future? Or is the evil that dwells within him more than it seems?

Only one thing is certain . . .

Fate can be cruel, but true evil can be brutal!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477214763

Matthew Williams

In 1999 Matthew Williams began writing a novel; at the time it was no more than an exercise in developing his language and communication skills as he stepped into management in the field of Engineering.It wasn't until 2006 when he found and re-read the pages he had written, that he felt a deep desire to complete the story. The 4 chapters became 25 and after many months of editing and gaining feedback from his friends and family he finally had a manuscript worthy of publication.Writing has become his passion, and The Shady Corner is the first in what he hopes will be many!

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The Corpse in the Kitchen—Part I

AUGUST 6th 1999

David, normally a very calm and rational man, sat in a shaded kitchen corner, drops of perspiration dripping down the imperfections of his face, briefly clinging to each bristle as they slid towards his chin. A sense of fear hung in the close stagnant air. It pertained to his own fear, a fear of himself, unable to comprehend his actions.

He sat, his eyes squeezed shut, his body still, almost statuesque except for the odd involuntary shudder and the shallow but rapid chest expansion. His hands were clammy and sore, and tightly gripped within them was an object that seemed somehow familiar to him. It was a large, heavy, metal object, a statue perhaps, but very square and not too detailed. He ran his hands along its polished length, without lending a thought to what it was that he was touching; too preoccupied thinking about what he’d done, and why he had done it.

A cold shudder of remorse rattled through his body and his eyes began to open. Squinting at first, he saw a flash of brilliant white light that seemed to pierce his eyeballs, as they emerged from behind their swollen lids. As the light faded, his brow began to buckle and the image of horror was unveiled. Jesus, he cried out, squirming further into the corner. Did I really do this? Am I dreaming? This can’t be real! He thought, shutting his eyes in disbelief.

David began muttering to himself. Wake up David. Please wake up! His desperate words, a whisper amid the tense atmosphere. This has to be real, he thought, and that smell; it’s so strong, it’s making me sick. He tried to stand, but remained still; cemented in place by his terror. His pulse quickened with every breath that he took, and his heart was trying to break free from his body as it pounded. His pores were now free flowing like open wounds, soaking his clothes, and then he let out a sound, not a scream or a profanity, just a pathetic, tearful whimper. His tear ducts began to swell, prying open his eyelids, forcing him to gaze upon the horrendous eyesore again. As he looked his entire body tensed, every muscle contracted ready to rive, the pain was unbearable; but he was awash with helplessness, there was nothing he could do.

Unable to stomach the sight before him, he looked down at the object in his hands. It was a sculpture, a brass sculpture wet with blood, similar to a totem pole, but square in section and plainly decorated with five granite-like faces, spiralling from top to base. Every edge was either sharp or pointed, its razor-like form had torn his hands to shreds. Noticing these wounds made him aware of the pain they were causing him. The sculpture dropped on to the blood soaked tiles, shattering them as it hit, and he raised his hands to his face. A sea of red covered his palms, but oddly this seemed to relax him a little, focusing his attention away from the horror within the room on to the agonising sensation that was biting his nerves.

As he watched the blood ooze from his fingers, he flexed them back and forth, his tendons writhing in the blood, like worms in soil. The sight made him feel dizzy and nauseous, and he slumped down into the shady corner once again, his body now limp and weak. After a moment’s stillness he noticed a ray of sunshine cast its light upon his boot, he raised his head and peered across the room. The horror that had earlier repulsed him was now far clearer than before, shards of light ensnared it with crosshatched shadows from the windowpane.

A scarlet corpse lay on the tiles, still twitching in the sunlight, blood soaked flesh hung loosely from the bones, in small ragged pieces. David figured it was a woman’s body, but otherwise unidentifiable. Her lower limbs the only part of her not beaten beyond recognition. Oh God! What have I done? he sobbed, I couldn’t have done this, I don’t even know who she is? David raised his hands to cover his mouth, he could taste the blood as it seeped past his lips, wetting his dry palate. The woman’s torso was a mass of torn flesh and fabric engulfed with blood, her rib cage was smashed open exposing her lungs to the sun, slowly cooking them, steaming them with its heat. Her skull was shattered, its splintered fragments protruded through the torn flesh on her face and one of her eyeballs lay ruptured on her cheek, still attached by the optic nerve, the clear bloodstained jelly running down towards the floor. Several flies buzzed and hovered about her pulverised corpse, homing in on its stink. A couple of the flies fed in her cranial cavity, like desert vultures on a carcass.

The image David could see caused him to heave bile up into his mouth, washing against the back of his teeth, only to be swallowed again, along with the blood, leaving him with a burning sensation the length of his throat. Still sitting, his throat aflame, he scanned the room for an exit, to find only one—the doorway blocked by the corpse.

I’ve got to get out of here, but how? I can’t go near the body, he thought, petrified by its presence, denying the fact that he had killed her. The window, he said quietly, as he picked himself up from the floor, and stood gently swaying in a daze. David saw himself reflected in the stainless steel cooker hood, this isn’t right, he whispered as he stared at his reflection, this isn’t me! He saw an older man in his reflection, older by at least twenty years, maybe more. The man in the reflection had a blood-stained face, with beads of sweat cascading towards his sagging jowls, baggy sacs beneath his eyes and grey hair, far longer than his own. David blinked very deliberately, trying to adjust his focus, but the same man stared back at him from the reflected image. He lifted his hands to his neck and tugged at the loose skin, the reflection did likewise. What’s happening? What the fuck is going on? he screamed before dropping to his knees in dismay.

The corpse in the doorway was at the back of his mind for now, David had a new focal point for his thoughts; the man in the reflection, who was he? And why had he replaced David’s image?

David continued to kneel on the hard, stony surface of the tiles; it hurt his knees to do so, but he didn’t care, not with his sanity teetering on the edge. His mind was full of so many questions, with no hope of any answers. His thoughts were swimming frantically around making his head throb and pound as if it were a football on match day. He couldn’t pin down a logical notion of what was going on in this Hadean room, he only knew he had to get out, get free, if only to preserve his state of mind. The window, he thought, it re-emerged from the scrambled mess in his mind, making itself heard. David sprang to his feet, his knees cracked, and he turned to the sunlit release, stepping towards it with a desperate hope.

Reaching out he grabbed the window latch, but his attempts to turn it were foiled by its lock. The key, he muttered, his voice stricken with panic, where the fuck is the key? He glanced around the vicinity of the window, running his hands feverishly along the sill and around the frame, then he realised, he knew where it was kept, he didn’t know why, but he knew. He turned around and there it was, hanging on a silver hook the room’s length away, by the door, by the corpse. No! He screamed, turning back to the window, thumping it with his disfigured fists, leaving bloody marks on the glass and the lead beading. Minutes passed as he continued to pound the window, the pain in his hands numb from his panic. Then he stopped, and just gazed through the glass; his hope had gone, and a feeling of exhaustion began to caress his tired limbs.

Outside there was lush green grass that seemed to stretch on forever, broken only by trees and plants. The view was not dissimilar to that of a wildlife preserve, small scurrying animals busied themselves and no human interference seemed evident. David continued to gaze through bloody marks on the windowpane, the warmth from the sun on his face was refreshing, a pleasant, dry heat, not close and sticky like the room in which he stood. He looked up into the sky and sighed, exhaling his fears and his confusion. The new rays from the summer sun washed over him like a waterfall, invigorating and clean.

He placed his hands in the sink and ran the cold tap; the water stung him as it patted his tattered palms. He withdrew them sharply from the flow, and then eased them back in and out very carefully, rinsing away the blood. David stopped staring through the window and began scanning the worktops for something with which he could dress his wounds. Perfect, he thought, noticing a tatty old tea towel before reaching across to grab it. The towel quickly became red with blood as he tore it into strips and tightly wrapped it around his hands and fingers. Wincing with pain, he managed to slow the circulation and reduce the blood flow to a drip.

David’s head was clearer now, his heart still pounded with a fierce intensity, but he was a little more controlled than before.

Knowing that the only way out was the doorway left him with a sense of dread; he’d have to get passed the corpse to escape. The woman who lay brutally murdered by his own hands was there, behind him, he could smell her, her severed tissue sweating in the torrid sunlight, bringing forth a fetid aroma, not unlike burning flesh.

Right, now just turn around and go, he said to himself, don’t stop, just keep on going! His voice grew a little louder. At that he pivoted on his heels and strode towards the door, looking straight ahead into the next room, beyond the doorway. Click, click, click, the noise his boots made on the tiles was clear and crisp as he marched forward, nearing the corpse. He tried to refrain from looking down, but he heard the sound change from one of footsteps on a tiled floor to that of splashing in puddles, he knew exactly what it was, yet could not prevent himself, he tilted his head and stared straight at her face.

David now stood a foot away from her, a foot from this stomach-churning vision and he felt a wave of fear rip through him, his body quivered uncontrollably. Yet he remained standing over her, staring at her, terrified. Against his better judgement he began to study her, study her wounds, as if he were an art critic. He was scared yet excited, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He pictured himself astride her, mercilessly beating her in cold blood with the brass sculpture, savagely pounding at her face and chest while she cried out in agony and begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t, he continued until finally, silence. At that moment David retched from the pit of his stomach, spraying vomit into the mix of blood and bone. A feeling of guilt shot through him shattering every nerve in his body, and he fled from the room, sick with compunction.

David now lay face down on the floor, the carpet cushioning his cheek. While running from the kitchen he had tumbled over, landing on a glass coffee table, shattering it. He was relieved to be out of the room, a massive weight had been lifted from him and for a moment he felt free. This feeling, however, was short lived as he soon began replaying recent events in his mind and a conflict began to rise, why did I look at her? Why even stop? he questioned himself. Shit! I nearly fucking enjoyed it! His words echoed around the room. Who the hell is she? Do I even know her? He wept, his bandaged hands pressing his temples.

He felt a dull ache in his right leg as he lay still, trying to figure things out, for that brief moment while he looked at her, he had felt pleased with himself, but why? Why take that moment to admire his work? It made no sense to him, I am, I’m going nuts! He wept.

The pain in his leg grew from dull and faint, to sharp and excruciating, as he rolled himself over from his belly to his back screaming several vulgarities. Looking at his leg he found the source of his pain, a large fragment of smoky brown glass was embedded deep in his thigh, so deep that it had cut right through his flesh to emerge the other side. His footprints had formed a trail from the kitchen, and spots of blood followed that trail, growing larger as the footprints faded. Giddy from exertion, yet still painfully conscious, David’s life seemed to be dripping away through his wounds, without sound his essence was soaking into the floor beneath him.

All he could do as he lay there was loll his head from side to side and clench his teeth in pain; he looked around the room for a focal point, something to scrutinise. He noticed a calendar on the wall, a beautiful calendar made from strips of wicker bound together with ribbon, giving it a scroll-like appearance. Painted on it was a picturesque landscape, with a wooden oriental type building overlooking a waterfall. Fresh clear water gracefully flowed over the edge into a sea of tropical blue. Above the picture in bold black figures, was the year, ‘2024’ and at the bottom of the calendar there were yellow tear-off strips with the days and months on. Scribbled in, as today’s date, was June 12th. That’s wrong, David muttered to himself, shaking his head, and it’s nineteen ninety-nine, at that he passed out into a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER 2

The First Signs of Violence

I. FRIDAY MORNING AUGUST 6th 1999

Dave, a soft gentle voice whispered in his ear; he was being rocked slowly, Julie’s hand on his shoulder was moving him effortlessly up and down on the mattress. Wake up Dave, the calm tone in her voice, a melody to his ears. David reached up to his shoulder, groping for the hand that held a firm yet tender grip on him. He stroked her long slender fingers as he turned to kiss them. Her touch was welcome as he stirred from his sleep and he gave a soft groan as she rubbed his tired muscles, easing them around in a tight circle.

Morning love, David yawned, did you sleep well? he asked as he stretched, sending ripples of pleasure the length of his naked body.

Not really, you’ve been tossing and turning all night, she said, playfully slapping his back as she spoke.

Was I? I’m sorry love.

I think you were dreaming, well more like a nightmare really, it was like trying to sleep with an over-excited puppy in the bed.

Was it now? And you’d know what that was like would you? He said turning to look at her, a smirk on his face. She just stared back at him, her head cocked to one side.

No! She giggled, as a wry smile crept across her lips, but seriously you’ve been wriggling around all night, and you were talking.

David lit a cigarette, a tiny wisp of smoke danced in the air as Julie pulled back the covers and slipped out of bed, what was I saying then? Did it sound like I was having a good time? He joked, Oh yes baby, yes! He laughed, gesturing with his pelvis, all the time admiring Julie’s slender figure. He allowed his thoughts to become quite sexual as he watched her stretching her arms into the air, the way her negligee hugged her curves always heightened his desire for her.

Don’t be rude; can’t you ever be serious Dave? She looked back over her shoulder before stepping towards the en-suite.

Tch!

And don’t tut, you sound like one of the kids.

Well go on then. What was I saying? David enquired, his voice just a little more stern than before.

Oh, I dunno, things like ‘what have I done’ and ‘this isn’t me’, it was kinda strange y’know? You sounded really scared; it was weird to see you like that.

I don’t even remember having a dream. David pondered, almost quizzical as he sat still for a moment, alone with his thoughts.

Minutes seemed to flash by in an instant, before the sound of running water broke his concentration, and he found his cigarette had almost burnt down to his fingers. Shall I wake the kids? he called, as he stubbed his cigarette and got out of bed.

No it’s a bit early yet, I’ll wake them later, Julie replied, re-emerging from the en-suite, dabbing her face with a towel. David smiled in acknowledgement and put on his dressing gown, before heading downstairs. Julie got back in bed and switched on the television, what a load of crap, she sighed to herself as she flicked through the channels. Dave. She called downstairs as she scanned the tops of the bedside cupboards. He didn’t hear her voice over the sound of the rolling boil inside the kettle. Have you got the lighter down there? She added. David’s thoughts were elsewhere, he was focussed on the images that were now re-appearing in his mind. Julie called out again before she heard his footsteps creaking on the stairs. The bedroom door swung open and David shuffled in, spotting the carpet with drops of tea and coffee.

Here you are love, he blindly passed her a mug of coffee, allowing it to slosh over the rim, before she could take it from his hand.

Have you got the lighter Dave? she asked for a third time. He seemed to ignore her as he made his way around the bed. David, she clicked her fingers as she spoke, keen to awaken him from his trance.

Sorry love, what? he replied, I was miles away then!

Lighter? She said. Her eyes wide open as she struggled to catch the drips from the coffee mug. David reached into his pocket and tossed her the lighter, before getting back in bed. Are you ok Dave? she asked, as much irritated as she was concerned. David smiled at her with his eyes.

Yeah I’m fine, he replied; his words were tentative, as if he didn’t really believe them himself.

You seem a bit distant that’s all. Julie reached out and squeezed David’s hand, the immediate comfort of her touch was like stepping into a warm bath after a long day at work. Tell me what you’re thinking love.

I’ve just remembered part of my dream. It was really weird!

Weird, how? she asked, the minor irritation about the fresh coffee stains on her satin bed covers somehow faded into insignificance, merely trivial details.

I was in this room, David spoke very slowly, full of thought as he relayed the sketchy recollection of his nightmare. A kitchen I think it was, and there was a dead body blocking the door. He paused, a slight air of tension seemed to enter the room and he shivered before he spoke again. It was a woman I think? It was all so familiar, and there was so much blood!

How do you mean familiar? Julie asked, unperturbed by the morbid imagery.

I dunno; it’s probably nothing. David looked down, chewing on his lip.

So why . . . Julie began. David blinked, and as if it were imprinted on his eyelids he saw the calendar from his dream.

Two thousand and twenty four, he interrupted, It was written on the calendar. Julie looked at him, her brow creased in puzzlement.

It was only a dream Dave, don’t let it worry you. Her way of bringing reassurance, whatever the mood, had an immediate calming influence. He just sighed and gave her a knowing smile, accompanied by the slightest caress of hands.

I know love, he cuddled in beside her and kissed her upper arm, his hand resting on her stomach; Julie moved down the bed in response to his touch and softly kissed his lips. I wish I had dreams more like this, he joked as they gazed into one another’s eyes. Julie’s fingertips slid down David’s chest.

Who needs dreams. She smiled, opening his robe. David’s eyes closed as he felt her lips and hands teasing his senses.

Shit! David shouted, her blood soaked face was all he could see; for a second he was back in his nightmare. He pushed Julie away in disgust, seeing only the corpse in his arms; that brief moment seemed as real as anything that had gone before. The feeling of repulsion and fear sent his heart racing, and he leapt up from the bed.

David! Julie yelled, watching him brush himself off, almost like his body was covered with leggy, crawling insects; completely invisible to her eyes. What’s wrong? Her concern masking her sense of hurt; offended as she was by her husband’s apparent rejection. David! she yelled again, he failed to acknowledge her at all, instead just hurrying away into the en-suite, slamming the door shut after him.

Before Julie had time to act on her muddle of anger and compassion, the handle on the bedroom door squeaked downwards and then banged back up, announcing the arrival of a rather sleepy looking child. Sebastian’s pyjamas hung like rags, the hem of his trouser leg trapped under his foot, skewing his waistline as he stood rubbing his eyes. His presence was a well timed intervention, it stopped his mother pursuing a course of action that in hindsight would only inflame a situation that was somehow more delicate and disturbing than she could possibly know.

While David listened to his wife and son in the next room, playing together as the television droned in the background, a slight sense of guilt about his demeanour formed a lump in his throat. Droplets of water rolled down his face as he stared at himself in the mirror, shaking his head just a fraction. It was just a nightmare Dave, he heard himself whisper, too apprehensive to blink, fearful of what images might appear next. After several deep breaths he finally closed his eyes and splashed a second scoop of cold water from the sink to his face, this time his fingertips resting on his eyelids as he exhaled air through the pool in his palms, dispersing the freshness about his skin. With one hand on either side of the sink he slowly raised his head and opened his eyes, a few seconds ticked away as he regained his focus, and as his reflection became clearer, his mind did likewise.

The drone of the television in the next room ended abruptly, and the sound of his family’s frivolity became muffled as it appeared to move further away. David allowed his robe to drop around his feet, before stepping into the shower; the rising steam that made the cool glass door sweat and the patter of water against his skin helped to inject a meaningful sense of normality to what had started out as a less than normal day. Such a brief passage in time had changed his entire perception about his nightmare, and he couldn’t help but smile as he soaped himself over. It seemed funny that he had been led into such panic by nothing more than a dream, in fact the more he thought about it, the more like idiocy his behaviour appeared. All he wanted now was to apologise to his wife and make amends for the way he had acted, and he nodded to himself, in recognition of his idea to do something special with his family tonight.

His ablutions complete, he went downstairs to find the house was empty, only evidence of an outing to the shops remained. Pyjamas that looked like the wearer had simply been teleported away while wearing them, a half empty mug of cold coffee stood firmly stuck in its own stain on the mantelpiece, abandoned and forgotten in the midst of dressing a young child. The under-stair cupboard was held ajar by the miscellaneous items that always seemed to be dragged forward in the hunt for the children’s footwear. It was only the absence of a called out, but lovingly delivered, proclamation about the visit to the shops that was missing from this scene, an absence that David knew meant he had definitely upset Julie, caught up as he was in the silliness of his early morning thoughts.

II. SORRY!

Hello, the Swan at Frodsley, Anna speaking, how may I be of assistance?

Hello Anna, I’d like to book a table for dinner this evening please.

Certainly sir, could you please hold the line? He could hear the tapping of her fingers on a keyboard.

Dave, Julie called from the kitchen, he didn’t answer, David. She called again.

Hang on love; I’m on the phone.

What time would you like your table sir?

Oh, erm? Seven-thirty please, for err . . . four people.

Of course sir, and the name please?

It’s Wilcox.

Thank you sir, goodbye.

Bye. The handset clicked back in place. What did you want love? David called to the kitchen.

This bloody washing machine still won’t work properly! David sensed from her tone that he was still very much in the doghouse, I’ve been going on at you for ages about it, but you never listen! Julie’s tendency to throw trivial grievances about when she was irate, simply confirmed what David already knew.

Armed with plans of a relaxing evening out with the family, he moved towards the kitchen, sure that he could soon smooth away the slight friction between them.

It’s ok love; leave that to me, and go get yourself ready for tonight, he said. Calmly placing his hand on her shoulder, while she continued to try to wind the setting control like a clockwork toy, cursing its inability to react instantly to her frustration. David put his other hand on Julie’s, silencing the constant ‘clickety-click’ noise it was causing. Come on, he whispered in her ear, I’ve booked us a table at the Swan tonight. Julie said nothing, choosing instead to show no interest and return to her clockwork washing machine antics. David couldn’t stop himself from sniggering at her reaction, fully aware that Julie had been implying her desire to eat there since it had opened just a few months earlier. The amount of rave reviews it had received from both patrons and press had caught Julie’s eye, and her stubbornness, although expected was somewhat entertaining.

Fine, you go then, she snapped, now desperately trying to hide the smirk that was born out of embarrassment, after hearing her husband’s reaction.

I’m sorry darling, David’s snigger became a full belly laugh, yet his apology still yielded the sincerity to make it humble, almost demanding forgiveness.

Bastard! Julie laughed as she stood up, grabbing a wet cloth that David found himself wearing just seconds later as he lay defenceless on the kitchen floor.

What? He proclaimed his innocence, before half-heartedly tossing it back in Julie’s direction, missing his target by several feet with his limp-wristed throw. For a moment Julie tried to continue her façade, but the look on her face clearly gave away her true feelings. Her teeth tightly clenched and her lips puckered, as if to express rage, while her inner desire to burst out laughing was apparent in every slight crease on her face.

I’m not going David! Her words sounded false, riding atop a wave of laughter that was so anxious to burst free as the sound crashed against David’s ear drums. Now in stitches, David was left totally at Julie’s mercy as she picked up the cloth and sat astride him, wringing the cold, faintly fragrant water down his neck, causing him to shriek like a small child who’d had his lollipop snatched away. The sound was deliciously satisfying for Julie, payback for exposing her stubbornness, in what had been a successful bid for her forgiveness. After a brief shudder and a mutual smile, David threw the cloth to one side and began kissing his wife, muffling his words as he spoke.

So you’re definitely not coming then? he teased, not quite rubbing her nose in it, but certainly fishing for a bite.

You have to do it don’t you. Julie pointed out, you can’t just let me be angry with you for a while, you always have to . . . She gestured in the air, searching for an end to that sentence.

Apologise? David offered her a possible ending.

Well, I was going to say; be an arse! But you might be right I suppose, she replied, it wasn’t quite an admission of her stubbornness, but she had almost managed to acknowledge its existence.

Well? David asked again.

Well what?

Are you coming to the Swan or not? David was still laughing.