The Red Slayer

When my bad feelings creep up, I see that frightened little girl who had to learn to run, fight and hide to avoid pain. She always runs past me, hides behind curtains or in cupboards, or curling up in dark corners, muffling her sobs. Her clothes are always too small or too big. Her face always sports some kind of bruise. Sometimes, she’s bleeding.

I see her now as Tara and I walk through the cemetery to get home. It’s the quickest route to Montgomery Road from Kensal Green Station. The path is well lit with LED bollards, guiding the way. She’s running down the path as fast as she can, too scared to look back.

‘Iorwen,’ Tara pants from behind. She stumbles to the side of the path where a stone wall makes a good rest spot. ‘I can’t…’

‘But we’re almost there.’

‘I’m so thirsty…my head is splitting…’ She grips her skull and curls up.

I blink hard, wiping away my tears with my sleeve, and drop my bags on the cobbled path beside her. ‘It’s okay. I’ll call Dad.’

My phone rings twice before he answers. ‘Iorwen. Are you on your way back yet?’

‘Yeah. Tara and I are in the cemetery, but she’s too dehydrated to go on. Could you come get us?’

‘Iorwen’s in the cemetery?’ I hear another voice say.

‘Luke?’

Dad puts the phone on loudspeaker so we can talk. ‘Whereabouts in the cemetery?’

‘Ten minutes from the gate. Tara’s exhausted and I can’t carry her’

‘I’ll come,’ says Luke. ‘I can run faster. See you soon.’

‘Bring water,’ I say, and quickly add, ‘By the way, Michael is Tara’s stepdad. We just escaped from him.’

There’s silence on the next line for a few minutes before Dad says, ‘We’ll discuss it when you get back.’

Once I put my phone away, I realise Tara is shivering. She didn’t have a chance to put a coat on when we left. On a clear night like this, a sweatshirt won’t cut it. I take off my jacket and drape it around her shoulders.

‘What about you?’ she asks.

‘I’m quarter-Scottish. I’ll be fine.’

She lets out a long sigh as she threads her arms through the sleeves. ‘I still can’t believe your uncle is my stepdad. How did neither of us realise?’

‘You never told me his name. If you said “oh, he’s called Michael Hughes”, I would have known.’

‘I didn’t know your uncle’s last name. Otherwise, I’d have warned you. To think, all those times he picked me up from school and you were so close.’

I sit up straight with the realisation. ‘Hang on. He’s not allowed to do that. His probation said he couldn’t come near me. If he did it once by accident, maybe, but day after day, he drove his car outside school and sat there watching me say goodbye to you.’

‘We can whistle-blow on him, can’t we?’

‘School CCTV surveillance, car registration—That’s it!’ I clap, rubbing my purple-gloved hands together. ‘That’s how we send him back to prison.’

Tara grins. ‘Mum won’t be too happy. But she’ll forget about him before Halloween.’

My relief eases the stiffness in my shoulders from carrying so much.

‘Iorwen,’ says Tara, catching my attention, ‘Do you think Michael may still be out looking for us?’

‘Don’t worry. If he comes storming up the path before Luke gets here, I’ll finish what I started and he’ll never hurt us again.’

She raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Finish what you started?’

I hesitate. ‘Did I ever tell you about the first time I stood up to the Hughes family? Not just my uncle, but the whole damn flock?’

Tara slowly shakes her head and rests her elbow on her knee to hear more.

***

It was the Easter holidays seven years ago. And, it was raining. The four Hughes siblings were easily bored, despite their TV and video games. And when they were bored, I had to hide.

The airing cupboard in the downstairs bathroom was my hidey-hole. I sat on a pile of hand towels for hours and read stories which took me away from that life. I could be in wonderful places like Narnia or Camp Half-Blood; or I’d be in giant country houses unlocking their history. I even liked Tracy Beaker and A Little Princess because I was convinced living in a care home or being an indentured servant was better than living in the Hughes’ house.

But the siblings always found me in the end. Ben, the eldest at twelve, liked to drag me by my hair to the living room and hit me around the head with the book I was reading. He’d have the twins, Mischa and Jake, who were a year younger than me, hold me down so I couldn’t fight back. Meanwhile, Cecelia, the large-foreheaded eleven-year-old, pulled my hair to make me reach up.

That day, I was completely fed up. I flew into a blind rage I couldn’t control. I kicked the twins across the room as hard as I could. Ben brought the book down to hit me but I grabbed it off him, smacking him around the head in turn which knocked him to the floor. Cecelia came at me, I grabbed a chunk of her hair and pulled. It was like pulling off a plaster.

Afterwards, I ran upstairs to my room. In desperation, I used the last of this newfound strength to push my narrow bookcase in front of the door. It was a good thing I did. My uncle was livid. He tried to get into my room, but the bookcase, taller than the room was wide, fell and got stuck between walls. He could only open the door a fraction and reach through the gap for me like a ravenous zombie.

Since he couldn’t touch me, Michael hurled insults at me instead. ‘You’re worthless’ and ‘No one will ever want you.’

I could finally talk back without consequences. ’You’re worthless! I hate you. I hate all of you. You’ll be sorry for everything you did to me. I’m sick of you hurting me all the time! What did I ever do to you?’

He could never answer that question. Instead, he made a tight fist and pointed at me. ‘The second you come out I’ll get my belt on you.’ Then he stormed off.

The rest of the day was a stalemate. They couldn’t get in, and I couldn’t go out. I was used to being starved though. They did it when I didn’t get good marks or I didn’t “share” the gifts Dad sent me. And when I did eat, Ben stole food off my plate.

When the evening came, the family went out for dinner, believing I couldn’t get out of my room. Once they were gone, I managed to push my bookcase upright. I took some money from Cecelia’s room (she stole it from me in the first place), ripped a page from my aunt’s address book, and ran from the house.

Only a couple of days earlier, I overheard my aunt and uncle discussing my dad. He was looking to regain custody of me and was applying for visitation rights. They were worried I would tell him what they did to me, but clearly didn’t want me around.

I put my trust in Dad and it paid off. Once I ran far enough, I found a phone box and called the number on the torn page. He was shocked to hear from me, but he told me to wait in a nearby shop for him and the owners let me wait behind the counter. It was the first time we saw each other in four years. Neither of us imagined this would be our reunion. I was starving so he took me to the nearest pizza restaurant, then we went to the police station.

***

‘Is that how he got arrested?’ asks Tara.

I take a deep breath through my nose. When it releases, a shiver runs down my spine, across the uneven scars on my back.

‘No,’ I whisper. ‘When the Hughes realised, I was gone, they called the police on Dad, claiming he kidnapped me. Thanks to CCTV in the shop I waited in, he wasn’t arrested. I was put in a foster home while they tried to sort out the custody argument, but the home was just around the corner from the Hughes’ house. And I had the bad luck to be alone in the garden one day.

‘Ben, Cecelia, Mischa and Jake snuck in and…pulled me into the bushes when no one was looking…’

***

They’d stolen their father’s belt and decided to carry out his threat to use it on me. I couldn’t see since they’d pulled my shirt over my head and held me face down, but I could hear it. All I knew was pain from then on. The buckle was sharp and both the frame and pin tore into my skin again and again, like a bird’s talons.

I screamed, but I was muffled from the coat, gradually suffocating. At some point, the pain stopped. My caretaker came looking for me and the siblings ran for it, dropping the belt on the ground next to me.

I don’t remember being found or going to hospital. I woke up face down in a paediatric ward with a nurse telling me to stay put. My back was covered in stitches and I was numb from painkillers. I’d had a transfusion, hundreds of stitches, and neurologists frequently examined me for nerve damage.

The Hughes’ siblings sparked the family’s downfall. The media tore them apart. Dad regained custody of me instantly, though I was in hospital for a month. My aunt and uncle were imprisoned for child abuse, child neglect, child endangerment, etc. Ben and Cecelia were old enough to be convicted for grievous bodily harm and attempted manslaughter. Prosecution tried to go for attempted murder, but the courts decided they wanted me hurt not dead. Because the twins were seven, they were placed into a care home for other child criminals. My aunt and uncle divorced before the trial. I think she was trying to look better by distancing herself, but she was still locked away.

***

Tara and I are sat parallel to each other, bracing our elbows on our knees and staring forward when Luke comes trotting up to us. I look up, noticing he’s in his Gold Slayer costume, sans mask and deerstalker. Tara thanks him for the bottle of water he offers while I’m still stuck in a thousand-yard stare.

‘Iorwen?’ Luke asks. ‘You okay?’

‘She told me,’ Tara whispers to him, ‘About the scars.’

‘Ah.’ Luke sits next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders. ‘You’ll be okay, Iorwen. If last night proved anything, it’s that you don’t have to be scared anymore.’

‘Are you still mad at me?’

Luke takes a second to answer. ‘Look, I can’t condone crushing someone’s chest to get information from them, even if that clue about testosterone was useful. You’ll see when we get back. Jason’s found out what Michael’s up to.’

I gasp, taken out of my pity-party. I jump up to my feet and pick up the shopping. Tara and Luke each lift a bag to help.

Just as I reach for a second, I hear footsteps. Slow, deliberately evading detection. I look down the path where we just came, something is sticking to the shadows. Luke notices me on high alert and puts on his mask, switching on night vision to see three people advancing.

Vampires.

© Alice of Sherwood, May 2020