Happy Ever After - Volume 1: A Novel of Horror and Suspense Read online

  © Matt Shaw 2008

  The right of Matt Shaw to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.

  The characters, and story, in this book are purely fictitious. Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  From the same author

  Scribblings From A Dark Place

  Desmodus Rotundus

  Love Life

  Writer’s Block

  im fine

  Wasting Stamps

  9 Months - Book One

  I Hate Fruit & Veg!

  WRITING THE TRILOGY

  Happy Ever After is, by far, my most successful Trilogy. Mainly because it's my only trilogy. But, we'll consider that a mute point. It's a great story. The reviews speak for themselves. Well, they don't.... you have to read them yourself but... well.... they're pretty good.

  Anyway, finally have the final part back in my inbox - the mistakes are fixed and it's looking all sparkly and good, ready to release. And I have to say, I feel a little bit sad - I've been writing these characters since 2008 and now, 4 years later, it's finally time to say goodbye to them.

  It’s always scary, as an author, to let go of characters you know so well, and love (even though I do put them all through Hell). You panic - what if I don’t find characters like them again? What if other people I create aren’t as interesting or fun to write? What if this is it....

  I suppose I should just be grateful I've had them this long; it wasn't actually supposed to be a trilogy. People, though, were hassling me for more of the story. Reviews also said they wanted more.

  Again, it wasn't the reviews that said they wanted more. It was actually the people who wrote them.... but, even so.... people wanted more.

  The thing is, I liked the ending for Happy Ever After (I won't ruin it incase you haven't read it yet). I didn't really want to add to it and, even so, I kind of wrote the characters into a corner from which they couldn't really squirm their way back out. With that in mind, I guess all I could do was to write a prequel...

  There was plenty of scope for a prequel - to tell more of the story from Peter's point of view. And the perfect storyline seemed to fit nicely around Young Susie, the girl commented upon in Happy Ever After.

  Job's a good 'un.

  Thankfully the book wrote itself (not literally, that would be stupid) and it wasn't long before it was released. I won't lie, I was nervous. So many good comments around Happy Ever After and so many people wanting the story - I didn't want to ruin the story for anyone.

  And it was through chatting to one person (Stephanie Lock, I thank you) I even had the door opened for a sequel to Happy Ever After.

  Won't lie - I felt a little bit like Tarantino the way I mixed the timelines up, you know, writing part 2 and then part 1 and finally ending on part 3 but I think it works.

  Within a couple of months of the initial chat (and finishing G.S.O.H Essential - the prequel) I had already finished A Fresh Start. It was shorter than the other two but I felt that making the story longer would just dilute what I was trying to create and that, I felt, was a bad thing to do.

  Authors are always wittering on about the word count but.... I don't believe in a word count. Don't make the story overly long. Don't let too many characters and descriptive narratives destroy the ambience of the story. Yes, in some circumstances it can add to the stories but not in the case of this series. See, these books are all written through the eyes of the people living the stories; it's all dialogue or thought processes.

  How many times have you thought long descriptive bits and bobs to sum up what you're thinking or what you're looking at? You don't. Our brains work in quick thought processes and that's how I wrote the book. I couldn't change the way in which I wrote them - not without taking away from the previous books so.... yeah.... book 3 is shorter.

  As for the ending.... Without giving anything away. I like it.

  One response said words along the lines of, 'Fucking Hell..... You bastard.'

  I'm quite proud of that response.

  And, as I sit back, gearing up for the release of book 3.... I can't help but feel the nerves beginning to set in again, wondering what people will think of the final part.

  Fingers crossed.

  ~ Taken from Matt Shaw’s blog “The Writing’s of a Nobody”

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  HAPPY EVER AFTER

  PROLOGUE

  CCTV camera one is on. The hallway needs decorating, looks like a throwback to the seventies. I might get some paint, another thing for the shopping list? I suppose I could live with the décor.

  CCTV camera two is on. Fuzzy picture. Why? A mental note to self, hit the camera. Maybe the last time I hit it made it worse? Perhaps it will be easier to just buy another camera and another set of connections? Did I really get the best stuff to begin with? I must have done. It was expensive enough and I’m sure the salesman that helped me pick it out wouldn’t have sold me the cheapest. It doesn’t matter. I need to get it fixed; I’ll go back to the shop this afternoon. I best scribble that down before I forget, so much to remember, ‘spare bedroom camera not working again.’

  CCTV camera three is off. My fault. I unplugged it yesterday to plug in the vacuum cleaner. All the drilling in the wall had made mess of dust and brick. I couldn’t leave that for her to see. It’s not too important yet though; she won’t see this room for a while. I’ll get around to it next time I need the vacuum cleaner.

  CCTV camera four is on. There’s the lounge. Looking good. There she is at the dinner table. She’s looking good. So is the lounge. I think this room is ready now. Thank God, something I can scribble from my list.

  She’s moving. It looks like she is getting agitated. I best get down there and see her again before she gets angry with me. I hate it when they shout. I’ll check the other cameras later this afternoon. I best write that down too or I might forget and think I’ve already checked them.

  I think everything is going well but, even so, I never knew it would all be so complicated.

  Date One

  She smells so good. I don’t know what her perfume is and I don’t think she’d actually tell me yet. As far as dates go – I’ve had livelier. She hasn’t even touched her meal, I’m glad I only served up the supermarket’s own brand of roast meal today. Christ, imagine if I gave her a Birdseye meal and she just wasted that? That’d upset me.

  “Do I know you?”

  Does she know me? It just goes to show that shop assistants, bank workers, basically anyone working with the public... It just goes to show that they don’t really like you, as they pretend they do. They just want to be your friend whilst they wait on you – getting you to spend more of your money. Bastards. Of course she knows me! For the last four weeks she has seen me in the bank, where she worked, as I’ve been trying to sort out Internet banking. Ha! Internet banking, they say it’s a simple way to pay your bills. That all depends on what computers you use. Before I upgraded, my computer crashed constantly making any online payments a nightmare.

  She looks as though she has a headache, “Does your head hurt?”

  “Please, what do you want with me?”

  I want her to tr
y and be civil and at least pretend to eat her meal. It’s a shame to waste any food, even more so as we’ll be wishing we still had the food to waste one day.

  “WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT WITH ME?”

  Oh God, the shouting has started. Why do they always have to shout at me? I don’t shout at them. Perhaps I should. A mental- note to myself, get nasty with them.

  “Your meal’s getting cold.”

  “Please... just let me go....”

  She’s the same as the others. They all go the same way starting with confusion, then to anger, to fear and finally begging me for their life.

  I really don’t want to have to kill her. She’s prettier than the others and the garage is getting full. That reminds me; I need to buy more air freshener.

  “Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you. I’ll do it for you. Please, tell me what you want and let me go.”

  I think this date is over, “Here, take these pills, they’ll help with your headache.” The pills are always kept in the same place on the dinner table, a small little mat next to their plastic cup of water. They always have plastic cups and plastic cutlery so they can’t hurt themselves. Or me.

  It makes me laugh when I give them these pills. At first they carry on jabbering away, trying to find out what is going on and then they all seem to go boss-eyed and fall face first into their dinner. They should be grateful they are unconscious so they don’t see how stupid they look when they fall into their uneaten meals. I really should get a digital camera to take a picture of them, it could make for a funny conversation months down the line when things are cool between us.

  Speaking of the ‘Kodak moment’ here it comes now. Her eyes are rolling to the back of her head and a little bit of dribble is starting to form at the corner of her pretty mouth. Actually, this seems more immediate than before. Did I give her the right dosage? Maybe I should have force-fed her a little food first so they weren’t taken on an empty stomach. Black market drugs or not, these things should come with an instruction pamphlet.

  “I don’t feel so good,” she said. Well, actually, she’s not looking so good either... “What, what.... What have...?”

  Other side effects, confusion and drowsiness, it’s coming now – the classic face first into the dinner moment they each go through. It nearly takes the sting off wasting the food they never touch. Nearly.

  Three, two, fuck. Her head went backwards! That never happens, I feel cheated! I wonder, is it malicious to paste her face with the food anyway? Restrain yourself; it’s just something else that needs to be cleaned up for her bedtime. Speaking of which, I best move her now, her throat is making a funny gargling noise with the way her head is tilted right back. I can’t believe the noise her neck made when it fell back like that.

  That was sick.

  Preparations

  The tatty bed, with the uncomfortable foam mattress, looks much more appealing with her laying there, so peaceful, begging to be cuddled. I’d love nothing more than to snuggle in next to her and hold her close, breathing in that sweet scented perfume that lingers around her peachy, kissable skin. She looks like an angel lying there, even with the handcuffs that bind her wrists to the bed’s headboard. They are a necessity but, in time, I hope we’ll be able to lose them. Not entirely though. I’m sure the handcuffs could still come in useful from time to time when the mood takes us. Don’t think about that now. There’s too much to get through still and she’ll be awake in a couple of hours.

  Bedtime.

  When I got her ready for bed, I dressed her in a cute, pink pyjama set that’s got a cartoon character mouse design on the front. It’s not Mickey or Minnie Mouse; I got this from the market, a cheap knock-off that in no way reflects my feelings for her. It’s just that I don’t think she’ll be wearing it much after the initial few days whilst she settles in. They are a comfortable pair of pyjamas to make her feel more at home. Once she is “at home” I’m hoping that she’ll choose one of the other outfits in the wardrobe that I filled for her.

  I didn’t want her to want for anything so I got as many different styles of clothes that I could think of. At least, the ones that I thought would suit her petit frame anyway, keeping the colours to mainly blues and blacks because they are the colours that I like. The exception is the red PVC dress that I ordered online, too embarrassed to buy from a normal store. I really hope she likes this one as much as I do.

  She’s got jumpers, cardigans, a business suit that may have been a waste of money for I can’t think of a time where she would wear it when it’s just the two of us, trousers, jeans, skirts, dresses, one of which being a pretty floral little number that I made her wear for our first date. I regret that choice as it made her look a little ’mumsy’ but I was running out of time to change her again – God knows it is pretty hard getting them ready in the first place, especially with time being of the essence.

  I went just as silly with the shoes and purchased more pairs than she could ever wish for. I know, for a fact, that she’ll fall in love with them. I’m hoping that there will be enough love for me, after the love for the shoes.

  The only downer being that they are all flat soled. There are no sharp heels on these shoes, apart from one pair, for I dread to think of the damage that she could do with spikes. The only pair with the heel being a pair of black, leather thigh high boots; my personal favourite, a pair that will only be brought out for special occasions – like my birthday perhaps? The mere thought of her dressed in these, with the dress, arouses me. I could just fuck her now but I won’t.

  I’m not a rapist.

  I’m not a monster.

  The rest of the spare bedroom is pretty much bare. I doubt we’ll use it much once she has moved into the main room with me. There’s no need. If anything it will probably only be used if we ever argue and I’m going to do everything that I can to stop this from occurring. I love her too much to argue with her. And I can do without the headaches.

  The last room I have to work on, other than rechecking the cameras (did I make a note of that already?) is the kitchen. I’m halfway through filling it with food. The food has been the hardest bit to organise for I don’t know what she likes and if I don’t manage to get things she will like, she’ll starve quicker.

  Once I’ve bought the food I’ve had to empty the contents from the cans and place them in easy-to-open, plastic containers. The plastic containers then needed small notes written on them telling me, for it will only be me that cooks, what’s in each one. Along with the names of the food, I have also written the best before dates. Given time, though, the dates won’t matter – we’ll have to eat them regardless. The last task for the food is the cutting of the meat – I need to cut it into different slices and then put them in the fridge freezers in the garage before getting rid of the sharp knife that’s needed for the job. As useful as the sharp knife is – I don’t dare leave it around the house.

  What time is it? She’ll be waking in a couple of hours and I really want to be here for her, so she’s not scared. There are only a couple of hours, so much to do and so little time. I need more food. Even with the cupboards all filled and the sides stacked up to the ceiling, there isn’t enough food there. I can still fill the floor space.

  The drive to the shop is nice. There is nothing but empty, quiet roads all the way. These roads are nothing like the roads I was used to when I didn’t live on my foster mum’s old farm, a farm that she stayed in after the death of my foster father. Mum didn’t do anything with the farm apart from worrying about the interior whilst watching the exterior of the building rot. She loved to clean but, as she began to rot, the interior also deteriorated. By the time the building got handed down to me it was practically beyond repair – looking abandoned I could see that it would be the perfect love nest for my partner and I. I’m hoping she can also see the potential. I suppose I’ll know soon enough.

  Driving to the store normally took about thirty minutes. It was further away than thirty minutes worth of driving but wit
h no other cars around to cause traffic, I could always break the speed limits. The only witnesses to my lawbreaking were normally the badgers that meet an untimely demise on the front bumper. They are a cheap source of meat. With that in mind I often drove, at night, with no lights shining, in a hope to catch them unaware. The only flaw of this plan was when I caught the cyclist unaware too. I would just like to go on record now and say, ‘this was not intentional’. I wonder, though, if he had a light on, so that he was visible to me, would I still have hit him? Part of me hopes that I wouldn’t hit them but another part of me can’t help but think of all the meat that it frees up whilst saving money.

  The local supermarket ladies know me by name, “Good evening, Mr Jenkins,” they’d often say. I give them a polite nod and smile and leave it to that. I was never any good with the small talk. Crowds of people, queues, shops, they all make me feel uncomfortable. That’s not a problem tonight.