To Splinter A Soul

Chapter 13- Paralysis

Thursday 5th November 1992- Becca

Becca's eyes shot open and she scanned the room. How had she let herself fall asleep? How she wished she could call out to her father and ask him to come and check under the bed for monsters like she'd done when she was little. But those monsters were just the conjuring of a small child's mind, her father was gone and what really lurked nearby was infinitely more real and terrifying.

Barely able to breathe, she searched the room again. Something foul was close by. She couldn't see it or smell it, but she knew it was there, watching her, toying with her. Her heartbeat pulsed loudly in her ears.

She reached into the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out her father's St. Christopher necklace. The patron saint of travelers wasn't likely to be of any use, and neither was she catholic, but she'd have clasped a jellybean to herself if she thought it had any religious symbolism, so desperate was she for something good to hold on to.

Watching and waiting, her fear was draining. No matter how hard she fought the tiredness, she knew she couldn't win, and as her eyelids became too heavy, she fell back to sleep.

"Rebecca. You have twenty minutes before we set off."

She jumped up in fright, disorientated, her heart hammering. With a crick in her neck from having slept sitting up, she looked around the room. Nothing. A glance at the alarm clock told her it was six o'clock.

"Must I shout for you again?" It was her uncle calling to her again.

What on earth was he wanting at this time of the morning? It all rushed back to her - the Diamond Over 60s' day out.

Damn! How did he expect her to deal with a geriatric coach trip when she was in such danger? But he doesn't know about it does he, you haven't told him?

The last thing she wanted to do was go on an old people's day out, but what other option did she have? Stay in the house, alone? No way!

While she wasn't her uncle's number one fan, she felt safer near him, and not having the faintest idea what to do about her situation, was motivation enough. Dressed into warm clothes, her hair a mess, she rushed into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She avoided looking at herself in the mirror - she'd seen enough scary movies to know that mirrors weren't a good idea - and made her way downstairs, not before taking a long last look in at her bedroom. She saw nothing out of the ordinary and yet... Taking two steps at a time, she fled downstairs.

"Would you like some tea? We have a few minutes to spare."

She jumped backward, colliding with the kitchen bin, knocking it over and sending the lid flying. She turned to see him in the corner of the room. He'd been hidden by the door.

With her heart almost in her mouth, she managed to squeak a reply. "You made me jump, sorry." She picked up the lid and righted the bin.

His beady eyes peered at her. "I've made some porridge."

"I'm not hungry."

"Eat it anyway."

She slouched over the table and sat down in a huff, picking up the spoon. The hot milk smell sent her stomach reeling. Milk. He'd made it with milk! Not only that, but it had a drizzle of maple syrup on top. The extra, unexpected effort he'd obviously put into her breakfast took her by surprise; a lump formed in her throat. All she really wanted to do was cry.

"You didn't eat last night, so make sure you eat that all up."

She picked at the surface with the spoon and lifted a small amount to her mouth. It was sweet and cloying and it took every effort to swallow.