I went to SJB’s old house today to look for any clues Brendan (my missing friend) might’ve left, stupid – I know – as the new family were already moved in and probably threw anything left behind away, but I just had this unshakeable feeling that there was something that could give me any clue. When I got there, I couldn’t see anything at all, not in the driveway, or in the part of the garden that was visible from where I was standing. I felt like a fool, when suddenly I heard a voice that startled me.
‘Hey there!’ a voice, soft and sweet came from behind me, ‘What are you doing?’ she said, I could hear the friendly smile in her voice, and knew I could easily resolve this situation, after all, I probably looked weird as a stranger poking around her property.
I turned around to face her, she was a small woman, with long blonde hair, she had unstriking features, except for the huge toothy smile plastered on her pale, pasty face.
‘I’m so sorry – I must look like I’m trying to rob you or something,’ I stuck my hand out, channelling my small amount of charisma ‘I’m Lucy, my friend used to live here and he asked me to come look around to see if he left anything, he’s so forgetful.’. I felt embarrassed to lie, but I couldn’t exactly tell the whole story to this random person I’d only just met.
My bullshit clearly worked, though, because the next words out of her mouth were ‘That’s very sweet of you, come in for a cup of tea and I’ll show you what the previous owners left.’
And so, I followed the random person I’d only just met into her home. It was strange to see Brendan’s house decorated so differently, his cabinets by the door filled with unfamiliar belongings, other people’s shoes neatly lined up on the floor, alien rugs and lamps littering the entry hallway. The new dark green wallpaper imposed upon me from the rigid walls it was shoddily adhered to. ‘A shame’ I thought to myself, ‘It’s so ugly in here now’.
After we’d finished chatting and drinking our teas, she disappeared into the house and came back what felt like hours later with a cardboard box. Inside lay random things, akin to a charity shop jumble sale; I felt disappointed as I rummaged through, finding only items worthless to my endeavour – a cricket ball, a huge gimmicky spoon, toy after toy – presumably thrown into a hedge somewhere by young Brendan or one of his brothers, and never retrieved, until at the very bottom I saw a brown piece of paper – except it wasn’t paper – I couldn’t tell what it was until I touched it and felt the cold leather on my finger tips, and the paper pages bound between. A book. Some hope. I shakily lifted the book onto my lap and pulled open the cover; inside it read: ‘Clair’s Diary – Do not touch’.
Clair’s POV:
June 1999
I think the man I married is a psychopath.
I had a baby at 15 and my parent made me give it up for adoption. My parents raised me to be silent and humble, to speak only when spoken to, to be less than them, but I just couldn’t; they trampled on my dreams of becoming a teacher and told me to do something ‘better’, to ‘rise above’ the bullying I faced from my sisters and at school. They tried to crush every ounce of spirit out of me, but were unsuccessful. Through every screaming argument and punishment I received in that home, I silently promised myself I would escape, and become something greater than what my family could even hope for themselves, and that I did. I packed my bags the second I turned 18 and got into my little blue Ford Fiesta and drove off into the big scary world. The day was cold, wintery, dark - I felt my world crumbling as my car bumbled away from that place, inch by inch, mile by mile, hour by hour; and instead of the relief I expected to feel, I felt my heart get crushed by a different type of darkness – feelings like vulnerability, uncertainty, anxiety, but much worse, much more terrifying. At first I slept in my car, battling the freezing cold of the UK’s weather, printing off my resume at internet cafes, handing them in, only to never hear back, or get rejected - living on the little savings I had, scared, and lonely, until one day I was passing through a small town and I saw an advert tacked onto a corkboard in a quaint grocery shop – it read ‘CHILDMINDER WANTED’. ‘Childminder wanted?’ I thought to myself ‘It’s not a teaching job but it’s definitely a way to get my foot in the proverbial door of working with kids. And… I really need the money’.
That very afternoon I decided to charm my way into the job and called the number on the piece of paper.
‘Hello?’ a man answered, almost… Slyly? I felt a horrible, black chill go down my spine, and wondered if it was the wind. Of course it was the wind, I didn’t know anything about this man, I couldn’t have possibly got that feeling from one word, I was imagining things.
‘Hello?’ his voice was demanding, and I felt that same chill, I needed the job though. So I persevered.
Through the rest of the call I tried to numb myself towards his tone of voice – or rather - what I could feel behind his voice. Although nothing he said was overtly unsavoury, every word he spoke dripped with phlegm, annoyance, and almost hatred. I had no idea why – I was friendly and respectful the whole conversation, but alas alack, I chose to forget about it and hope he was nicer in person. I found out his name was ‘Simon’ and I told him my name, and then we arranged a trial childminding session.
A few days later I arrived at the house, a huge house, with a modern walkway and neat garden. Bordering the property were big evergreen hedges and trees, blocking the house from being viewed at any angle except the front. I saw a shape moving in the front window, just for a split second, before disappearing from view. With discomfort building in my chest, I lurched forward toward the front door, noting the 3 security cameras pointed at different areas in front of the house. I knocked, and inside I could hear a child crying, then some shuffling, before a figure emerged behind the frosted window and instructed me to go round to the back entrance of the house. As I walked around the building I almost panicked, my mind racing with stories of young women going to informal jobs like this and getting murdered before turning the corner and being suddenly greeted with a barking ball of fur.
‘That’s Barli…’ a small voice said from the half open doorway.
I knelt down to stroke Barli’s fur and looked up to see a girl who couldn’t have been older than 9 or 10 standing above me with a tennis ball. The girl had a tear stained face and red cheeks, and I wondered what it was that made her cry.
‘I’m looking for Simon, is that your dad?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, I think he’s inside…’ she trailed off and half gestured to the door behind her.
‘Ah, you must be Clair.’ Said the dark figure now standing in the doorway ‘Come on in’.
And then… Black.
I’m in a dark room and I’m writing this on a pad of paper, it’s so cold. I don’t know where I am. The door is locked.