Brett McBean - Tales of Sin and Madness

Julia was awoken by a soft rocking and somebody speaking her name. When she opened her eyes, she at first saw only darkness. Then a light, shining down upon her.

“Jules, hey Jules.”

It was Claire, crouching down beside her.

The stench hit her next — a disgusting, but familiar odor of beer, piss and dust. But most of all it was the stench of death and decay.

She sat up and saw she was in the abandoned house, surrounded by fairies and elves and wands. She was on the mattress, her body covered with a jacket, but she was naked underneath.

“What happened? Why did you come here?”

Julia was startled by the unfamiliar voice. “Who’s there?”

Two people stepped into the beam of the flashlight. Two very familiar people.

“Jules, this is Amanda Waters’s parents — Heather and Sebastian.”

Julia gazed up at the two people. They looked different than the picture — older, not as attractive.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you on the phone. The photo you found, it was of Amanda’s family. After I got home from our lunch, I dug through some old articles and came across the one I recognised them from. I knew I had seen them somewhere before. They live nearby, so I contacted them and told them about what you had found. They wanted to meet you, see the photo, but when we came by your house and you weren’t there, well, I figured you had come back here. Hoped, really. You had me scared hon.”

“Do you have the photo?” Heather said, tears in her eyes.

Julia looked down to her right hand. She nodded. She unfolded the photo and handed it to Heather. Wiping tears from her eyes, she grabbed the picture and held it up to the light.

“What’s this?” Sebastian said, his voice more baffled than angry.

“What do you mean?” Julia said.

“Is this the picture you found here?”

Julia nodded.

“I thought you said it was the one Amanda took of us a few weeks before she…” Heather bowed her head and cried.

Claire and Julia frowned at each other. “I don’t understand,” Julia said.

Sebastian handed her the photo.

Instead of a family smiling in front of a weatherboard house there was a man. A hairy man with evil, lustful eyes.

“It’s Geoff Campbell.”

Julia gazed into the wrecked face of Sebastian Waters. “Who?”

“Geoff Campbell. He’s the janitor at Amanda’s elementary school. Why do you have a picture of him?”

Julia opened the jacket and looked down at her chest. The growth was gone. Completely and utterly gone — not a hint of the photo remained. Her body was blemish free again.

Julia handed the photo back to Sebastian. “It’s a gift to you. From Amanda.”

Believe it or not, this story came about because of the movie 8 Mile . I was watching the movie one night, and there was a scene set at an abandoned house (or maybe it was a house after it had been gutted by a fire — it’s been a while since I’ve seen it).

As so often happens with stories, they just pop into your head seemingly out of nowhere. Sometimes it happens while you’re driving, or taking a shower… or watching a movie. Just seeing that one scene sparked something inside my head, and the idea of the ghost of a murdered girl came to me in that moment.

While I like to think that the story was in me and would’ve come out eventually, I still wonder — if I had never watched that movie at that time, would I have ever written the story? While you’re all dwelling on that little mind-bending idea, I’ll just thank Scott Silver, Curtis Hanson and Eminem for the inspiration behind the story.

“Who was on the phone?” Jerry said.

Ray, standing by the entrance to the lounge room didn’t speak. He merely gazed at his friend, who was watching the television, beer in one hand, scratching his crotch with the other.

After a notable silence, Jerry pried his eyes away from the football game and looked at Ray. “So? Who was it? Kim?”

Ray shook his head. “Not exactly.”

Kim, Ray’s wife and his sixteen-year-old daughter Rebecca, hadn’t been home when Ray and Jerry arrived almost an hour ago. Ray had been desperately waiting for his wife to call since then.

“What the hell’s the matter, man? You okay?” Jerry had a goofy smile on his face. “They’ve been kidnapped,” Ray said.

Jerry frowned and took a swig of his beer. “Who has?”

“Kim and Rebecca.”

Jerry shook his head, his long greasy hair swishing about his gaunt face. “You’re a fucking riot, Ray,” he sniggered. “Kidnapped.”

“I’m not kidding,” Ray said and started crying. It wasn’t often he cried. He hadn’t cried when his father died. Nor when his brother died. Nor when his first wife died. Not even when…

But he had to in this instance.

After a short but forceful bout of crying, Ray finally managed to gain some control. He wiped the tears and snot and looked over at Jerry.

Jerry looked shocked, probably from seeing his best mate weeping more than hearing the news of the kidnapping. He stood, placed his beer on the table and walked over to where Ray was standing. “Who was that on the phone?”

“The kidnapper,” Ray said.

“What did he say?”

“That he has my wife and daughter.”

“Well what does this fucker want? Money? Jesus, you’re not exactly rolling in cash. You’re only one step up from poverty. You live in a shit-hole of a place, just like the rest of us. What can he possibly want?”

Ray shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

Jerry ran a hand through his hair. “Oh man. This is fucked. I can’t believe this is happening. So that was really him on the phone? Just then?”

“For Christ’s sake yes!” Ray cried. Jerry was his best friend, had been for over twenty years, but he could be an incognizant idiot sometimes.

“Do ya think we should call the cops?”

“No way,” Ray said and made his way to the couch. He sat down and hung his head. “He’ll kill ‘em both if I call the cops.”

“How will he know if we’ve called them?”

“Because,” Ray said. “Hand me a beer, will ya?”

Jerry grabbed an unopened can of Melbourne Bitter and handed it to Ray. The can had lost its icy chill, but it was the last one. Ray had been just about to go to the bottle shop to pick up some more when the kidnapper called. He popped open the lukewarm can and took a long drink. It tasted horrible, but it hit the spot. “What’s the time?” he said to Jerry.

Ray’s watch was broken. Busted one night when he had fallen to the pavement, drunk. He was trying to save up to buy a new one.

“Nine-thirty-eight,” Jerry said.

“Okay, that gives me a little over twenty minutes to decide,” Ray muttered, taking another drink.

“Twenty minutes to decide what?” Jerry said. He sat down in the single chair adjacent to Ray.

Ray gulped down the rest of the beer then threw the can across the room. It hit the wall with a dull ting! He looked at Jerry. “He’s going to kill either Kim or Rebecca. I have to choose which one.” He put his head in his hands and shed more tears.

He gathered his composure again, quicker this time.

“We have to call the police, Ray,” Jerry said softly.

“He’s going to call back at ten o’clock. If I don’t answer, he’ll kill ‘em both. There’s not enough time for the police to do anything. That wouldn’t even be enough time for them to set up a tap on my phone.”

“Well what are you gonna do? We can’t sit here and do nothing. Fuck! He’s got your wife and daughter. We have to do something.”

“What can we do?” Ray said. “I don’t know who he is or where he’s taken them.”