The Murder House. Michael Wood

to keep her company.

      Gripping the bannister firmly, he looked down the stairs. This must be what mountain climbers see when they’re at the top of Everest; a long and treacherous way down. Each step seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body. Even his hair hurt. He decided, right now, he was never drinking ever again. Well, maybe a glass at New Year. And at Christmas. And on special occasions, but not to excess. Apart from that, he was never drinking ever again. Obviously, he’d have a pint on his birthday, too.

      He somehow made it to the bottom of the stairs. He felt a cold draught coming from somewhere and wondered if a window had been left open.

      ‘Jesus! You scared the life out of me. I thought everyone had gone home.’ Jeremy smiled. The figure in front of him was blurred. He tried to focus his vision, but he couldn’t make out who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, or even if there was someone there at all.

      The figure moved towards him. Jeremy felt a sharp pain in the side of his body. He placed a hand there, looked at it, and saw red. He staggered backwards and fell into the hall table and onto the floor. He looked around, but the figure had gone.

      What the hell had just happened?

      His T-shirt was turning red. His left hand was red. This didn’t make any sense. It took a while for his brain to make the connection. Then, the pain kicked in. He’d been stabbed.

      He heard the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs and the muffled yap of Pongo.

      ‘Rachel,’ Jeremy uttered.

      He scrambled along the hall to the stairs and tried to stand up, but he couldn’t. He reached the bottom of the stairs, put a red-stained hand on the first step, and dragged himself up. It was no use. The life was seeping out of him and he had no energy to pull himself up a whole flight of stairs.

      ‘Who are you?’ That was his father’s voice. ‘What do you—?’

      ‘Dad,’ Jeremy whimpered.

      His father was cut off from finishing his sentence, and all Jeremy could hear was the sound of gurgling and grunting followed by a heavy thud. Then, more heavy thuds as the figure ran up the next set of stairs to the attic bedroom. A loud piercing scream from two floors up was obviously from his mother.

      ‘Daddy?’ A pitiful cry from his daughter in the room next to his.

      ‘Fuck,’ Jeremy said to himself. He tried to stand up but the mixture of alcohol and heavy blood loss made him weak. ‘Rachel, sweetheart, it’s OK. Stay where you are. Don’t come out of your bedroom.’ His voice was slow and sounded like it was coming from someone else.

      There was another yap from Pongo.

      ‘Daddy. I’m scared. What’s happening?’

      ‘It’s all right. You’re going to be fine. Just stay where you are. I want you to be a big girl for daddy. Can you do that?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Rachel. The chair next to your bed, I want you to put it under the handle of your door so nobody can come in.’ His voice was full of urgency. Slumped at the bottom of the stairs, one hand holding onto his side to stem the blood flow, the other trying to pull himself up the stairs. It was futile.

      ‘Daddy,’ Rachel cried.

      ‘Rachel, you need to do this. Please.’ He tried to keep the fear out of his voice for his daughter’s sake, but it was no good. He was petrified at what was happening. He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. ‘Let me know when you’ve done it.’

      He listened intently but he couldn’t hear any sounds apart from the grandfather clock in the living room.

      ‘Rachel?’

      There was no reply.

      ‘Rachel?’ He shouted louder.

      ‘I’ve done it, Daddy,’ Rachel wept.

      ‘Good girl. Now, get back in bed and Pongo will look after you.’

      ‘Will you come and look after me, Daddy?’

      ‘I won’t be long sweetheart. I’m just …’

      The figure stood at the top of the stairs looking down at Jeremy. His vision was still slightly blurred but there was no mistaking the amount of blood he was covered in. Jeremy tried to focus, tried to make a mental picture of his image, but it was no use. He had a balaclava covering his face.

      ‘What have you done?’ Jeremy asked.

      The figure disappeared from view.

      ‘Not my daughter,’ he whimpered. ‘No. Not Rachel. Please. Kill me but leave her alone. Please. She’s only seven.’

      The sound of yapping grew louder as the bedroom door was forced open, then a yelp and a whine as Pongo had obviously come to harm.

      ‘Daddy!’ Rachel screamed.

      ‘You bastard,’ Jeremy tried to shout. He was struggling to breathe, and tears were streaming down his face. ‘I’m going to kill you,’ he screamed. ‘Fucking kill you!’

      With what little energy he had left in his body, Jeremy tried to pull himself up the stairs. It was no use. He had lost so much blood, he was weakening by the minute. He looked around him. The cream-coloured carpet was saturated with his blood.

      The figure reappeared at the top of the stairs and slowly began to descend. There was a large knife in his right hand.

      ‘If you’ve done anything to my daughter. If you’ve hurt her, I promise your life won’t be worth living.’

      He looked up and saw the glint from the bloodstained knife. He didn’t feel it enter his neck, but he could taste blood and his breathing became erratic. He looked down and saw his T-shirt turn red as the blood from a ruptured vein pumped out of his rapidly dying body. He tried to speak but he couldn’t. He choked as the knife was slowly pulled out of his neck and let out a small groan of pain as it was plunged into him once again.

      As he lay at the bottom of the stairs, he looked up and saw the one-year-old Dalmatian puppy staring down at him. Jeremy smiled. Pongo was Rachel’s best friend. She loved him from the second he brought him home. She often tried to count the spots on his chubby little body, but Pongo was a wriggler, so she never managed to count them all. It wasn’t only black spots Pongo now had; some were red. Blood.

      The last thing Jeremy thought of before he died was how do you get blood out of dog fur. He laughed at the implausibility of his thought as he slumped on the stairs and closed his eyes.

       Chapter Two

      Monday, 15 January 2018

       09.30

      Sally Meagan stood in the middle of the living room and looked around her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had used this room, sat on the sofa, snuggled up to her husband and watched television with her feet up. The family room. That was a joke. They were no longer a family. How could they be when their only child was still missing?

      The life had been drained out of Sally when Carl was taken on the 25th of March 2015. She no longer lived, she could merely exist, until the fate of her son was known. After that … who knew?

      The house was empty. As usual, Philip was at one of their restaurants. He’d left before she’d even woken up. He seemed to be leaving the house earlier and getting home later each day. He only used the house to shower, change his clothes and sleep. She hardly saw him anymore. A few weeks before Christmas, when the restaurants were at their busiest, she followed him to one and stood outside, watching him, seeing how he was at work. It was like looking at a total stranger. He was laughing and joking, schmoozing with the customers, smiling, engaging in pointless small talk, dealing with any issues that cropped up,