Chapter 4 of Tears For The Wicked

 

Chapter Four

It was a dull and dreary afternoon. Rain poured down from the black clouds above, blocking out the beautiful yellow sun. Rain drops snaked down the windows in thin streaks and the water poured loudly from the gutters. Cars drove noisily passed the house, spraying the contents of a newly formed large puddle up the now dirty front door.

Jack was at work again. I felt terrible knowing how drenched he would have gotten this morning; the rain had hardly taken a break all through the night and the early hours. Jack worked as a personal shopper in a well-known supermarket in our old town. Luckily we had only moved to the next town so he didn’t have much farther to travel which was good because he rode his bike to work most days.

It was just mum and I in the house once again.  We had finished sorting the kitchen earlier; it had taken a good few hours due to Mum’s obsessive organising and cleaning and we were just finishing cleaning the living room.

Thankfully the last room, I thought to myself.

I was bent over near the corner where the large television sat on a glass stand. Mum was hovering over me with an annoyed look on her face, her blue eyes narrow as she scrutinised the T.V. I was trying to convince her that the screen was free from fingerprints but she was having none of it.

“I can see one right there!” She said, snatching the cloth from my hand and dabbing at the screen.

I sighed, “No mum, honestly there isn’t anything there.”

“Ella, I’m not imagining things.”

I sighed loudly, “Fine. Whatever you say.”

A loud clatter from behind, made us jump up quickly.  Mum let out a little yelp in surprise, dropping the cloth on her foot.

“What was that?” I asked as we both spun around towards where the sound had come from.

In front of the sofa lay a large picture frame that had fallen, face down, on the floor. It usually belonged to the wall above the fire place but today, it must have decided that it preferred to lie on the floor in front of the sofa.

“Aaargh! Bloody thing!” Mum cussed. She stood it up and turned it over to check the painting that was held inside the glass. All was fine, the picture wasn’t damaged and the glass was still perfect. I was quite surprised about that, seeing as it had landed hard on the glass side with such a loud crash. I stood there watching my mother as she looked at it, my heart still pounding in my chest. She shuddered involuntarily, as she stared at the painting. It was of a little boy in a blue outfit, it looked like a sailor suit. Ash blonde hair peeked out from beneath the matching cap that sat on his head. A single tear rested on his little rosy cheek and his blue eyes seemed to stare right into my soul. I knew it gave mum the creeps and she hadn’t liked it in the first place when I had found it amongst some other bits and bobs in the attic of this house. I liked it. It was eerie and a little bit disturbing but it was almost as if it had called to me. I felt sorry for the little boy and I couldn’t bear to throw him out with the trash so I persuaded mum to keep it. Mum had always been a soft touch and gave in eventually.

She laid the framed painting carefully onto the brown leather sofa and went over to the fireplace to inspect the wall where it normally hung.

“Well the nails fine,” She tried to wiggle it, “It isn’t loose at all.” She ran her hand through her cropped red hair.

“We probably didn’t hang it on properly,” I suggested. I didn’t think so, with mum being so particular about things but there wasn’t really any other explanation.

She shrugged, “Ah well let’s just pop it back up.”

She carried it back over to the fireplace and I helped her hang it onto the nail. We were just straightening it up when there was a knock at the back door.

I smiled excitedly and ran through the kitchen to the door; I knew who this would be and I couldn’t wait. Mum followed close behind, her own smile beaming on her pale face.

I opened the door. A small woman with short, blonde hair stood there smiling at me; it was Barbara. I had never met her before but I knew why she was here. She was holding a red leather leash, a black and white collie dog attached to the end of it who was bouncing around excitedly nearly pulling the poor woman over. The dog’s tail wagged back and forth like a big, furry windscreen wiper.

“Oh Troy!” I cried, I had missed the big beast so much and it was so good to see him.

I got down on to my knees and the dog leapt forward into me, smothering my face with sloppy wet kisses. I laughed at him, while mum bent over us and stroked the top of Troy’s head.

She looked up at the blonde haired woman. “Thanks for looking after him Barbara, you coming in for a coffee?”

“Soz Jan I can’t stop,” The woman responded, “I’ll take a rain check though?.”

“Sure, see you soon and thanks again!”

The woman waved as she left the garden. Mum waved back before walking back into the house. I took the leash off of Troy and we walked into the house behind her. The dog barked loudly before rushing into the living room, sniffing all around and then clambering up the stairs, investigating the new house and its smells.

In the kitchen, the cockatiel, which had been silent since the move, screeched loudly when he realised his canine companion was home. The bird and the dog had always been a little bit in love with each other. If the cockatiel was let out to stretch his wings, he would spend most of that time curled up with Troy in the dog bed. 

The bird couldn’t contain his happiness at having Troy back and neither could I. It would now start feeling like home with him around. He had been in the boarding kennels ever since we had begun the moving process and the whole family had missed him. He had originally been my father’s faithful friend and had been so close to him. Dad had bought him as a pup about five years before he died. He had gone to a farm to view some chickens because he wanted to build a hen house and collect his own fresh eggs in the mornings, just like he did with his mother on the small holding his parents had owned when he was a young boy. He didn’t come back with any chickens, or eggs for that matter. He had arrived home with a large cardboard box, a little black and white fur ball poking its head out of the top. Troy and dad were so attached to each other; they went everywhere together and did everything together, including having a drink at the pub. An hour before dad got home from work, the dog would sit on the chair by the window and watch, waiting for him to come home. On the day of my father’s passing, Troy sat on the chair and howled for hours, we thought he was ill. It wasn’t until we had the phone call to say that dad had died that we realised what was wrong. For weeks afterwards Troy would sit on that chair and stare out of the window, waiting for his master’s return. I always felt a stronger connection to my father whenever I was around the dog.

Mum and I were still laughing at Troy as we walked back into the living room but we both stopped dead upon entering.

The wall above the fireplace was bare.

Mum frowned, “What the hell?”

The painting of the crying boy was, once more, face down on the floor. I watched as mum once again picked it up and placed it back onto the nail on the fireplace wall. Confusion etched across her face.

 

Jack came home from work a little late as his bike had gotten a puncture. It was nothing new and happened at least once every month. Mum and I kept telling him that he should get a car or a little moped but he wouldn’t listen to either of us.

His eyes lit up when he spotted Troy and he greeted the dog with a big bear hug then sat at his usual seat at the head of the dining table in the kitchen while mum and I prepared tea.

We were in the middle of eating the home made Shepard’s pie that mum was so good at making when there was a loud bark from the living room followed by a ferocious growl that sent a shiver up my spine. Mum shouted at him to be quiet but he ignored her.

“What’s got into him?” Jack asked.

I shrugged my shoulders at him. “I don’t know.”

The dog continued to bark, letting out little growls now and then all through our meal, it sounded like he meant business. By the time we had eaten he was still making a lot of noise.

Jack got up. “Better go and see what the problem is.”

I was just starting the horrible task of washing up; I preferred drying the dishes but it was mum’s turn tonight. We put down whatever we were holding and followed Jack through to the living room.

Troy was sat at the bottom of the stairs; his hackles stood up tall on his hairy back, his head was down low but he stared up towards the landing, teeth and pink gums showing as he growled. He didn’t look angry; he seemed terrified with his tail right between his legs.

The hairs stood up on my neck, goose bumps sprung up all over my body as I watched the dog. To see him that frightened of something got my heart thumping against my ribs, he was never like that. If Troy was scared of something, maybe we should be scared too.

Jack looked up the stairs frowning.

“There’s nothing there lad, don’t be a fool now.”

He called the dog to him, patting his knees but it would not move.

Jack sighed, “Let’s take him for a walk guys; it’s probably a bit overwhelming for him with the new house and all.”

“I’ll get our coats,” Mum called out as she went off into the kitchen to retrieve them from the hook behind the door.

 

Later on that night, Troy was back to his usual self.  He sat on the sofa with mum, his tail beating slowly as she scratched his head. Jack and I sat, hand in hand, on the floor in front of them as we all watched a film together. It was an old film, a black and white comedy. It was quite funny and had us laughing through most of it. It was nice for us all to be able to relax and have a giggle after the stress of the move.

The lights suddenly flickered on and off……and again on and off. On and off.

“Power cut.” Mum told us.

“It can’t be,” I said. “The TV’s still on.”

Jack sat up with a start, the colour draining from his olive skin; his eyes wide, staring at the wall above the fireplace.

“That painting just moved!” He yelled excitedly.

I sat up quickly, my eyes wide, my heart beating a frantic rhythm against my chest. This was getting a tad bit freaky now.

“What?” I asked him, hoping I had misheard.

“The painting. It just swung right over to the side.”

I stared at the painting not wanting to take my eyes off it in case I missed something.  We all sat staring at it for what seemed like minutes.

The painting moved to the side, then back again. Everyone’s eyes went wide; our mouths all fell open in surprise.

It swung to the other side, then over to the opposite side and back like a pendulum a few times before coming to a stop back in the middle, falling forwards and landing on the floor with a loud crash, narrowly missing my legs by inches.

Mum cried out and leapt away from the sofa, I would have cried out too if it hadn’t been for mum’s foot accidently smacking me in the head as she shot passed. I pulled myself up then ran over to where mum was standing by the door, rubbing my head. The dog yipped as he followed in hot pursuit.

“Forget that!” Jack yelled as he shot up to join us.

Troy edged slowly towards the fallen art work; he sniffed it letting out a low whine then looked up at the wall. He moved over to the fireplace and started to scratch at a part of the wall next to the fire. He started to whine loudly and dig at it frantically, scratching faster and faster until Jack dragged him away by his collar.