Frederick Hamilton - Spare Key

Ben’s drooping head was forced back up, his chin clenched tightly in her hand, her fingers digging painfully into his cheeks. He tried to blubber a response but only succeeded in unleashing a flood of blood-filled saliva down his front. She stared piercingly at him for a moment and the fires blazed behind her eyes and her face began to waver around the edges again. He waited for it to come and embrace him, come and release him from all the pain, but the fire died back abruptly and Ben only became aware of the knife pressed to his throat when it dropped away.

‘But that’s beside the point. I was talking about the key. The key. The spare key.’ Rachel said it slowly to herself as she released her grip and let Ben’s head droop again. She walked off a few paces and stood with her back to him. He blinked again and she was back under his nose, a second key dangling next to the first one. Ben started and stared at her in disbelief until he realised that the most likely explanation was that he’d just passed out for a second. That was it. He’d just passed out. There was no way anyone could move that quick. Not even Mummy.

‘Thea. How many times have I heard and cursed that fucking name?’ It was Rachel’s voice but the blurry face belonged to her and Ben began to blubber as she leaned in closer and closer and he could smell the cigarettes on her breath. She didn’t even appear to notice his tears. ‘Thea never minded. It wasn’t any bother for Thea. Thea was fucking Ghandi, the Dali Lama and God Almighty all rolled into one. Not that I can hold that against her. I never knew her. She died a few months before I moved in.’

The slap came completely out of nowhere and Ben reeled as it knocked his head sideways and fireworks exploded in his brain. Rachel continued as though nothing had happened. ‘But every fucking argument I had with the bitch next door always winded its way back to her. Probably a couple of lesbians or something. Fucking hell, the bitch was certainly in love with her. They had a bit of an arrangement. The bitch was a nurse or something. Thea was an old lady. They swapped keys in case she needed some help in the dead of night or something, I don’t fucking know. All I know is it turned out to be a good idea. The fucking bitch even got a commendation or some sort of shit for saving her life. But it also turned out to be a blessing for me.’

She stood up again and the knife flicked through the air. Ben heard it but if it had cut him, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t feel anything.

‘Every fucking time I saw the bitch she asked about the key. Every fucking time. Apparently it hadn’t been with Thea’s effects after she passed on and the family packed up. Probably should have kept her fucking mouth shut. I hadn’t found the key when she fucking mentioned it the first time but I certainly began looking for it. The bitch never said anything about still having a copy of the key here when I returned it though. Lucky I made a copy too huh? What a blessing it’s been since then. Two headaches so far and you’ll be the third that it’s helped me sort out.’

Rachel paused and looked down at the key in her hand. Ben was startled by the true sadness in her voice when she continued. ‘She was just so fond of saying it. To quote her, it’s not something you could do these days: give a spare key to your neighbour. It was like she wasn’t even fucking aware of how insulting that was to me.’

Rachel shook her head and the sadness disappeared, replaced by a bitter smile.

‘But that’s all by the fucking by isn’t it? I think this flat might be cursed or something. I’ve never had a problem with the tenants in number six. Three different sets. All of them kind and keep to themselves. No it only seems to be this flat that attracts the pains. In a way I suppose that’s good because in this flat I can do something about them. I don’t have to put up with it. I don’t have to just tolerate it. There’s really something of a perfect symmetry to it all really. Not that I imagine you’ll appreciate it at the moment. I know the last prick didn’t. I did a similar thing to his penis before I told him all this. And there I was at the time thinking that he was the worst. That it wouldn’t be possible to get a worse neighbour than him and then you came along to prove me wrong.’

Suddenly she was right back in his face, pressing closer and closer until Ben was certain she was going to kiss him. Somehow it was even more horrifying than the pain; that foetid cigarette breath on his face as she smiled at him. Smiled at him long and hard as the buzzing filled the air once more.

Rachel reached out slowly and Ben saw what she was going to do a second before she did it. The no that was on his lips transformed into a muffled roar of agony as she held her hand above his crotch and almost daintily flicked the ruined mess of his penis. The pain that flew through him was beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. Even when he saw fresh blood spurt from the tip there was no alarm. There wasn’t room for it. All his brain could comprehend was the mind-blowing pain. The pain. The pain. The pain…

* * * * *

He opened his eyes and the scream died on his lips as he was bathed in the comforting red hue and his eyes saw the roof and the wall, the red pulsing warmly at him. He breathed in relief, feeling the familiar rub of the leather apron against his skin as he blinked to clear the strange grogginess he felt. Slowly it dawned on him that he was lying on the table and confusion descended to replace the grogginess. He must have laid down. Why would he have done that?

The confusion turned to alarm as he tried to rise and realised he was strapped down. That something wet and hot, something that felt familiarly sticky, was seeping down his thighs beneath the apron. He began to blubber as the realisation crept in that something was very wrong.

He could hear a strange scraping over by the bench but no matter how hard he craned his head he couldn’t see in that direction. The buzz of mummy’s vibrator sounded briefly in his head until he realised that what he was in fact hearing was the rattling of metal. He turned to them hanging on the meat hooks and his earlier scream came back, this time ripping from his lips as he saw them convulsing up there, their limbs flailing as they tried to get free. Their eyes wide with hatred. He could see his murder in them as he screamed, the desire to tear at him. To rip him to ribbons.

They saw him looking and they began to screech. A tone that wasn’t really loud but cut through him to the bone. The multitude of voices, far more than there should have been, all joining in unison on the one line: Mummy needs you, Mummy needs you, Mummy needs you and all Ben could do was stare in disbelief as they flailed in front of him, dancing away like out of control marionettes.

His eyes ran over the row of them and then stopped dead as he saw the last empty meathook and his dread spiked tenfold as he heard the scraping over by the bench again and he knew, he just knew, that she was here now. That she had invaded the last sanctuary he had and he screamed again as he heard the footstep’s behind him, each booming like a drum as she approached but he wouldn’t look; no he wouldn’t look. She shouldn’t be here. She couldn’t be here. But the footsteps kept approaching and the struggling ones on the meat hooks kept screaming: Mummy needs you and he could see that blood was flowing down their backs and forming puddles beneath their feet as their struggles to get loose tore their flesh. Ben could feel their hatred coming at him in waves and he was so fucking scared because they all wore her face and they would get free, they would get free and tear him to pieces…