Household Devils

By A.C. Hutchinson

On Halloween night, five young people are standing before a strange old building. It’s the epitome of a haunted house. It’s nestled between trees that arch towards it with branches like spindly fingers. It looks uninviting. It looks . . . evil. But that’s just fine. It’s what they wanted. It’s why they answered the advert — the one offering thrill-seekers the chance to spend All Hallows’ Eve in a haunted house. But there’s no reason for them to be scared, right? It’s all pretence, like a cheap fairground ghost train ride. Well, the Devil is in the detail, or so they say. Come inside . . . if you dare.

“Aside from this being a solid horror read, fans of Hutchinson’s short stories will find their thirst well and truly quenched as in the frame of this dark tale are woven six shorts in the same vein as the author’s much-read 'Be Careful What You Wish For'. A unique novel, darker than anything Hutchinson has published previously.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.C. Hutchinson
• Release date: Oct 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005278984

A.C. Hutchinson

A.C. Hutchinson is a British novelist and short story author of horror, fantasy and supernatural thrillers. In the past he has worked as a freelance music journalist and has also written for the local press. Since the late nineties his services have been employed by the publishing industry in such sectors as sport and entertainment. He is also a keen rock music fan and has played guitar in various local bands.Born in Kingston-upon-Hull in the county of East Yorkshire, he moved to North Lincolnshire in 2011 to be with his then future wife, Lindsay. He has four children and two stepchildren.

Book preview

HOUSEHOLD DEVILS

By A.C. Hutchinson

Copyright 2020 A.C. Hutchinson

Published by Moonlight Cottage Publishing

www.achutchinson.com

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission of the copyright owner.

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This book is dedicated to you, the reader.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Household Devils

Also by A.C. Hutchinson

Author’s Note & Acknowledgements

Social Media Links

PROLOGUE ONE: THE GIRL IN THE RAIN

The sky opened and down poured rain, each darting drop as sharp as the pointed tip of a freshly made nail. Above, the storm clouds swirled, reaching down with inky black hands to embrace the darkness of the land below. Through the mire, a girl was dragged, her head hung, her arms spread wide. Her perpetrators clenched her upper arms with powerful fingers as the relentless rain wet her blonde hair, matting it to her face. Her white blouse, sodden, stuck to her skin, revealing the curve of her breasts below. The trees, bare of leaf, branches twisted, visible only as the lightening flashed its stark light, were sinister onlookers to the evil doings of those who dragged their victim. The girl’s captors, tall and thin, clad in black gowns, their hoods stretching skywards like the steeples of gothic churches, surrounded her. In one of their hands a knife gleamed.

PROLOGUE TWO: JOHN AND SALLY

Wold Dale, Saturday, 2nd November 1963:

John Shawcross was standing on the cracked pavement waiting patiently for the bus from London to turn into the quiet street. The date of Saturday 2nd November had been imprinted on his brain since the last week of August. He had scribbled the date on every scrap of writing paper he could lay his hands on — including the back of his school exercise books. Each time he had written down the date he had circled it decisively with a pencil. He was feeling overjoyed, and a little nervous, now that the day had finally arrived.

With the cold November air biting at his cheeks, he glanced up the street, searching for the blue and cream bus. On this day, it would be carrying a special passenger — his friend Sally Dunswell. It had been two years since John had last seen Sally. They had written letters to each other during that time, but seeing Sally in person was what John longed for and it was the reason why this day was so important to him.

John glimpsed metal shimmering on the horizon. His heart began to flutter as he adjusted his stance and swept back his hair, nerves tying his stomach into knots.

As the bus trundled closer his mouth dried up like one of the crisp autumn leaves at his feet. Despite the brisk day, he longed for an ice-cold drink to quench his thirst. He recalled with joy the taste of the homemade lemonade Sally’s mum used to make and serve on hot summer days when Sally lived but a mere few streets away. He allowed himself a smile at the memory, but that joy faded at the thought of the 200-plus miles that now lay between them. But not today, he thought. Today she is here to visit. For the whole weekend!

As the bus pulled to the kerb, he took a deep breath. He adjusted his stance once more, feeling increasingly self-conscious and awkward with the passing of every second. For John, puberty had arrived in late spring and he felt lost somewhere between a boy and a man. The result of his body’s change meant his voice was apt to break at the most inconvenient of times and spots paid regular visits to his face; on this day, to his embarrassment, a delightful red bulge had appeared on his chin.

John stepped forward as the bus door slid back with a clunk. People emerged from within, stepping down onto the pavement, pulling up their collars and breathing mist into the morning air. The previous winter had been so cold it had paralysed the town and John wondered if the coming one would be as bad. He knew, if it were to be as severe, there would be positives to take from it — last winter’s weather had closed the school for a whole month.

When Sally Dunswell stepped from the bus, John tried to swallow, but he couldn’t find enough saliva in his mouth to perform such a simple task. He observed that Sally had grown since her last visit. She was perhaps a foot taller and her legs seemed twice as long as they were before. And she’s thinner, too. Her pink coat was open revealing below a white dress with black spots and a frilly collar; the dress finished a fair distance above her knee, John observed. He also couldn’t help but notice that her chest had filled out. He diverted his eyes away and hoped she hadn’t seen him looking.

She smiled as she walked to him, with her blue eyes ablaze and her blonde hair in ringlets.

Hello, John, she said, standing before him, a small brown leather suitcase in one hand.

Hello, Sally, John said. Then, remembering his manners: Let me take that. He reached forward and took the suitcase from her right hand.

It’s good to see you, John.

Before John could say another word Sally stepped forward and embraced him in a tight hug. John tensed, his arms remaining outstretched like a scarecrow.

When she released him she took a step backwards and smiled. He realised she was growing into a woman, and a beautiful one at that.

Shall we walk? John said, tilting his head in the direction of home.

Let’s.

How was the journey?

They began to walk up the street as the bus pulled away in a cloud of fumes.

Long.

John observed Sally looking around at the shops on the street. They passed a greengrocer’s and a shop selling bikes and prams.

This place never changes, Sally said. To John, it sounded as if Sally was despairing at Wold Dale’s unwillingness to move with the times.

It suits me.

Tell me, John, have you ever listened to The Beatles? Does this town even know they exist?

I think they’ve got copies of their album at the record shop. John had heard the melodic sound of From Me to You coming from his older brother’s bedroom for much of the past two weeks.

They reached the top of North Road and rounded the corner.

It’s nice of your mum to let me stay, Sally said.

John thought it was better than nice. He was overjoyed that Sally had arrived, but he also felt a tinge of sadness knowing that the weekend with his friend would be over all too quickly.

How’s school? Sally said.

Awful.

They stopped at the front gate of John’s house.

Have you made friends? You never mention them in your letters.

Some, John lied. His best friend had been Stanley, until he was struck and killed by a train on the local railway line in the summer of ‘59.

John opened the front gate and motioned Sally through.

Before they were able to reach the front door, John’s mum flung it open.

Sally! Martha Shawcross said. So good to see you again. Johnny has been beside himself all week.

Mum! John snapped. He could feel his cheeks burning red.

Come in, come in, Martha urged.

Thank you, Mrs Shawcross.

Did you have a good journey?

It was long.

Oh dear. I’ll make you both a nice drink.

***

I’m sorry you have to sleep on Roy’s floor, Sally said, sitting on the edge of John’s bed. But it’s good of you to give up your room for me.

Roy was John’s older brother. John didn’t relish the thought of sleeping in the same room as Roy, and he knew Roy wouldn’t like the idea either.

John shrugged. That’s okay.

I won’t touch anything.

Sally looked around John’s room. John was a little embarrassed. Many of his childhood toys, those he should have long-since grown out of, were still on display.

What’s your house like in London? John asked.

Nice. It’s three storeys.

Oh.

But it’s busy there, all the time. Not quiet, like it is here. And I do miss the fields. Hey, we should go on an adventure.

Now?

Yes, why not?

Well, my mum will be making tea . . .

It’s two o’clock, John. We’ve got, what, three hours?

Something like that.

Come on then.

Sally jumped to her feet.

Okay, I guess we could go and do something.

John shouted goodbye to his mum and then he and Sally left via the front door.

It’s so cold today, Sally said as she stood on the pavement looking up and then down the street. Which way shall we go?

John shrugged.

What about the place where we first met? What did you and Stanley call it? The Den?

John shook his head. I don’t go there anymore.

Sally’s smile faded, but then brightened again.

Hey, I heard on the radio that a girl went missing on Halloween. Did you know? Maybe we could search for her.

Tania Haines? I think she ran away. She was a bit of a delinquent.

The radio said she didn’t pack any clothes. It said she just seemed to disappear into thin air. Maybe we could be detectives.

I don’t know. I mean, where would we start?

Where did she live?

Not far from here, actually. John looked up the street.

Well, that’s a good place to start then. Come on—Sally took John’s hand—show me where she lived.

John was happy to have his hand held by Sally; she didn’t let go of it until they reached the top of the street.

She lived up there, John pointed. A big house, on its own.

Let’s take a look.

Sally strode off, her long blonde hair moving like waves out at sea. Then she stopped and turned. The autumn sun cast her in its perfect light and John’s heart was truly lost.

What are you waiting for? she called.

I’m coming.

They walked up the street side by side. A car ambled by; a blue Vauxhall Victor. The driver waved to them as it passed. John returned the gesture, as did Sally.

It’s this one, I think, John said, stopping.

The house was set back from the road. It was detached, with white walls.

I don’t see how this is going to help us, John said. It’s not like we can knock and ask the family if their daughter has turned up, is it?

Sally was studying the house. Maybe we can knock and pretend we’re her friends or something.

If we were friends of Tania’s then we’d know she was still missing. Besides, she was sixteen. Two years older than us. What business would we have knowing her?

As they continued to stare at the house, a voice made them jump: What do you two want?

They turned to see a woman standing on the pavement next to them, a shopping bag in her hand. She wore a heavy winter coat.

Don’t you think I’ve got enough to deal with without children sticking their nebs in? Why don’t you go right on inside and make yourselves comfortable? Perhaps take a peek around her room and see where she used to sleep. Have a little rummage in her drawers while you’re at it, eh?

Really? John said, innocently.

Sally nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.

Clear off, the woman shouted, raising her arm to them.

John backed away, hoping his mother wouldn’t hear about this. He and Sally turned and walked back up the street. They didn’t talk until they reached the corner. John dared a glance over his shoulder. The woman was still standing there, watching them go. They went around the corner quickly, concealing themselves behind a row of conifer trees.

What the hell was all that about? Sally said.

John shrugged. Her daughter’s missing, she was bound to be a bit touchy.

Touchy? She was psychotic.

Maybe we should give up on this. I have some money if you want to go to the sweet shop?

Before Sally could reply, a girl of about sixteen came around the corner. She stopped and studied John and Sally for a moment while chewing gum.

I see you got a telling off from Mrs Haines, the girl said.

John and Sally exchanged glances.

We were just looking at the house, that’s all, John said.

A lot of people have been doing the same, that’s why she chased you off.

Well, we’re on our way home now, John said, turning to walk away.

Sally didn’t move, though. Instead she said to the girl: Did you know Tania?

The girl blew a large pink bubble. Once it had popped, she peeled strips of stringy gum from her rosy cheeks and stuffed them one strand at a time back into her mouth.

The name’s Jane Sancton. She held out her hand.

Sally took it tentatively, perhaps concerned it would be sticky with gum.

I was her friend, Jane said.

John just wanted to go to the sweet shop and then return home with a bag of wine gums in his hand. He expected to see Mrs Haines step out from between the conifers at any moment, scolding them for talking about her poor missing daughter.

Do you know where she was going before she went missing? Sally persisted.

Up onto the wolds. A place called Sugarloaf Hill. Do you know where that is?

Sally turned to John.

John nodded. There’s not much there.

No, Jane said. She said she’d been invited to a party, though.

On Sugarloaf Hill? John said. But there’s nothing up there. Just fields and a wood.

That’s what she told me and that’s what I told the police.

We should probably be going, John said.

Well, nice to meet you. Jane blew one last pink bubble and then crossed the road.

John waited until she was out of ear shot and then turned to Sally. Please tell me you don’t want to go up to Sugarloaf Hill.

I feel like it’s our duty to go take a look.

John sighed. He looked up at the sky. What time do you think it is?

Sally put a hand over her eyes to shade them from the autumn sunshine and then looked off into the distance. John looked too. He could just about make out the clock face on the church tower way off in the distance.

Half past two? Sally said, her voice full of doubt.

John narrowed his eyes. Then the church bells chimed, confirming it, the sound carrying on the wind.

We’ve got enough time, haven’t we? Sally said.

John paused for a moment, taking in her deep-blue eyes. She seemed to notice and smiled her appreciation. She could make me do anything she wanted, John thought.

If we’re quick, John said, I guess we could be back before tea.

We should get moving, then.

They walked around the corner, back onto the street where Tania’s mother lived.

Maybe we should cross the road, Sally said, slowing her walk.

I think that’s a good idea.

They crossed, giving Tania’s house a wide berth. As they passed the neatly trimmed privet hedge, John fixed his eyes ahead, not daring a glance at the house in case Mrs Haines was watching from the window or perhaps standing on the garden path ready to chase them off. When they were a safe distance away, John looked over his shoulder and was relieved to see the pavement empty.

They walked on, chatting about Sally’s life in London, school and the latest trends in music. Sally was passionate about everything modern and the exciting changes to social culture, as she put it. John was a tad jealous of Sally’s life, but a bigger part of him was relieved that the small town of Wold Dale would march on unchanged.

They reached the edge of town and walked into the fields beyond. In front of them, the land rose to a hill where trees had all but shed their auburn leaves.

It’s up there — somewhere, John said pointing.

They climbed over a wooden gate and then walked through a field where sheep stared back at them with intrigue.

What would you do if we found her body? Sally said. They were walking side by side.

Probably throw up, John said.

As they walked, they passed a crudely constructed scarecrow, which leaned precariously on a wooden post, before arriving at a drystone wall.

We’ll have to climb over it, Sally said.

I’ll give you a leg up, John said, lacing his hands together and stooping.

Sally put a hand on his shoulder and one foot in his laced-together hands. She perched her knee on the top of the wall and clumsily scaled it, landing on the other side in a heap.

Come on, she shouted to John. Your turn.

John put his hands on top of the wall and slotted the toe of his right foot into a hole between two stones. He was determined to make the climb look easy, but as he swung his leg over, he was caught off balance by a loose stone. He tumbled over the wall landing more heavily on the ground than Sally had done. Sally giggled loudly, pointing.

John stood, brushing himself down, feeling his cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

Anyone would think that you are the one from the city, Sally said, still laughing.

John’s knee throbbed, but he pretended it didn’t. As they walked on, he fell behind and checked it. When he looked up Sally had stopped. She was looking at him with her head cocked slightly to one side.

It’s not going to fall off, you know, she said with mirth.

I know. I was just assessing the damage.

Beyond Sally was a wood. Branches, bare of leaf, snaked skywards.

There’s supposed to be a house in there? John said pointing.

Sally turned to look. How do you know?

I’ve heard people say.

Let’s go take a look.

As they approached the small wood a sense of foreboding enveloped John. A cold wind whipped up sending a shiver across the knee-high grass. John looked around uneasily.

Sally slowed her walk allowing John to catch up with her.

I’m not sure I like it here, she said.

John knew that Sally was far braver than he was and so hearing her say what she had said unsettled him.

Shall we turn back? John said, hoping she would say that they should.

No. We’ve come this far.

Sally walked on. John remained by her side.

When they stepped into the trees it felt to John like it was a different day. The air turned colder and it became as dark as dusk. The earth beneath their feet was devoid of greenery — all that grew was the gnarled trunks of trees. Somewhere distant a crow hollered. After that, they didn’t hear the tweet of a single bird.

They didn’t speak as they walked, but Sally reached for John’s hand and he gladly gave it to her. They walked on, looking left and right, stepping over roots that wanted to trip them up. Behind them the bright autumn day was a distant memory.

John broke the silence first: How much further shall we go?

Sally didn’t answer his question, but instead said: Do you think the police searched here?

Of course, John said. This is where Jane said Tania was going on the night she disappeared.

John imagined tripping over a half-decomposed body and wanted nothing more than to flee the place.

Look, Sally said, pointing.

John looked ahead and saw a clearing where no trees grew.

They walked to it and stood in its centre.

That’s weird, Sally said, looking up at the sky. I thought it would be sunny here.

There was blue sky above, but the sun was absent, as if it had already begun to set.

John looked down at his feet and realised that the clearing was just as lifeless as the forest floor had been in the shade of the trees.

You would think weeds would grow here, John said.

Sally squeezed his hand tighter.

Shall we go? she said. The sound of her voice, quiet and shaky, told John she didn’t like this place at all.

John nodded, eager to be away.

They had been walking for ten minutes when they realised they were lost.

We must have set off back in the wrong direction, John said.

How did we manage that?

They both stopped to take in their surroundings. The faceless forest spanned off in all directions. There was no hint of sunshine anywhere.

This wood isn’t that big, John said. If we just keep walking in a straight line . . .

Come on, then, Sally said.

As they walked their pace became more urgent. John was desperate to see an end to the trees that stood in the gloom like gravestones. He looked around. Then something caught his eye. At his feet was a gold-coloured pocket watch. John bent and picked it up.

Does it work? Sally said, peering at it over his shoulder.

John inspected the casing. There was an intricate pattern engraved into it. A chain was attached to a loop at the top. John fumbled with the watch and managed to flip it open. Beneath was a magnificent clock face that brought a gasp of astonishment from Sally. There were no numbers, only a series of grey and cream squares, circles and triangles, forming complex patterns. A gold hour hand and matching minute hand were the only splash of colour. In an arch across the bottom of the watch face was the name Winston Robertson. Perhaps the watch maker, John thought.

The watch didn’t appear to be working. John held it to his ear.

It’s broken, he confirmed to Sally.

It’s beautiful, though, Sally said.

We should take it home. Someone must have dropped it.

Maybe we should take it to the police. It could be a clue to Tania’s disappearance.

John put the watch in his trouser pocket.

I think we should turn around, he said. This must be the wrong direction.

Sally looked up at the sky, which was hidden by spindly branches.

If only we could see the sun, she said.

John looked upwards too. Even if we could see the sun I don’t think I’d know which way to go.

Well, you’ve made a decision, that’s more than I’ve done. We’ll turn around and walk back the way we came.

They walked fast. Sally took John’s hand once more. From time to time John looked nervously over his shoulder.

There are no birds here, Sally said in a hushed voice.

The forest was incredibly still and unnervingly quiet.

Nothing grows here, that’s why, John said. There’s nothing for them.

They had walked for perhaps five minutes when they both stopped sharply. Before them was a brick house.

Where the hell did that come from? Sally said.

John felt fear in his throat. He didn’t want to talk in case his voice revealed how scared he was.

Sally said the words he was thinking: It’s in the clearing, where we were standing just a short while ago.

John shivered. He then felt something moving in his trouser pocket. He slipped his hand inside and found the watch — it was ticking. His hand trembled as he lifted the object out of his pocket. Sally gave him a worried look, but said nothing.

With the pocket watch still in his hand, they skirted around the house, keeping a distance. John dared a glance into its dark windows only once, scared to look again in case he saw a face there staring back at him.

Once they had passed the house, they walked on with urgency. When John felt like they were at a safe distance, he glanced over his shoulder. The house was still there, an ominous shape in the bleak woods.

I can’t help but feel that the watch and the house are connected somehow, Sally said.

I know what you mean.

He returned the watch to his trouser pocket.

They walked on, stepping around trees, being careful not to trip on the roots that weaved through the soil like snakes.

John had begun to despair again when he saw a glimmer of daylight through the trees up ahead.

Come on, he said, pulling on Sally’s hand.

They ran the rest of the way. As they stepped out into the sunshine