Frightful Tales #1: Rose's Thorn Read online

  Home used to be a safety point, an evacuation area, a shield against any physical, mental or emotional harm, with the exception of his loathsome father. But now he dreaded it. As he walked home from school the sun was beating down, and a gentle breeze licked his ears like a dog, whilst his heart raced at the image of entering his house, in specific, his bedroom. Every passing car concocted a panicked reaction from him, every yelp of a neighbour's dog made his heart flutter into a frenzy of fright, every jogger pounding pavement caused his shoulders to jolt. He was a boy on the edge, feeling helpless, confused, and trapped. Normally, on any given walk home, relief and excitement were the only forces thriving within him, relief from leaving school, and excitement to be at home, and play with Rose. But now the very thought of that porcelain piece portrayed a haunting and emotional pain.

  The image rotted his mind. Her blonde deceptively angelic hair stroking the paleness of her immaculately sculpted features. Her lashes like tiny spider legs scratching black lines around those insidious eyes. The lips tilted slightly upwards painted with a light red colour. The plump cheeks dabbed with a thin layer of more redness for a healthy glow, to give the pottery panic-initiator a coating of irony, given that her presence does not evoke anything healthy, but a feeling of trembling terror. Her eyebrows small brown streaks interrupting the clear whiteness of her forehead, they appeared to be raised giving the impression she was shocked. This; with the combination of a delicate smile, was sure to spread a rash of goosebumps on the most brave and fearless person on the planet and inject dire despair into them.

  Declan had noticed that even though several times she had moved, or been moved, her exquisite ensemble appeared unperturbed and remained perfectly in its place on Rose's minuscule body; there was not a speck of dust, dirt or grime anywhere to be seen. This thought, along with the accompaniment of several others, had invaded his thoughts, how she appeared brand new each time he had found her standing on the shelf. Declan had a terrible feeling that he needed to rid himself of this doll, but at the exact same moment doubted he would be able to eradicate her from his life. He worried it may be like chipping away at the grand canyon for a smooth, flat surface; an exhausting task that would take millenniums to achieve. He prayed this deadly thought bared no semblance to the truth. Just as he wretched the door handle to his house, and his knuckles became pure white, he exhaled his nerves and insecurities. But he was mortified to discover his fear ran so much deeper this time, that this usual method of removing anxieties did nothing. This was not helped by the fact that Rose was at the bottom of the stairs, seemingly awaiting Declan's return from school.

  All hope had forsaken him, and dismal predictions as to his near future were abducting his thoughts. Likelihood was abolishing his vain wishes of a pleasant future, and transforming it with a very possible morbid outcome. As he stood there for a short instance his whole world was on pause, the static lines of a VHS scrolled in his mind and catapulted wanderings, leaving a blank space in his head. He quite literally did not know where to begin. Words failed a description of how she had not only escaped from under the secured floorboard, but was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Were his parents out? He prayed to God they were! As he stood gawking at her, a sourness dispersed into his central nervous system. Then in his moment of sheer urgency he sped to the doll, snatched her from the stairs and raced up the staircase into his bedroom. He threw Rose on the bed and paused, briefly watching her fall into the deep creases of his quilt, with his back to the now closed bedroom door.

  He simply stared at the doll, mesmerized and horrified at the same time. He stared down at the floor near the post that Declan had sneakily put on the entry way to Rose's modest apartment and saw no marks. This could only mean one thing. Somehow she had escaped of her own capabilities. He had no idea what to do; all exit routes eluded him from this vivid nightmare. He was once again in a trance. He felt as if he was polishing a coffee table hoping that underneath the dust and coffee rings would be an answer. He needed a clear cut way out of this, something to do, anything. He had been very scared in his life, felt frightened beyond belief thanks to his father's brutal beatings, but this was so much worse.

  He knew eventually, however horrific and emotional the punches and kicks could be, that they would come to a halt. But this, how was he to endure this? He had no idea what he was dealing with, he was just a kid! A kid with a defective toy, but the fault wasn't something a shop assistant or technician could fix; in this particular circle of problems he would need an exorcist.

  He had only been allowed to watch a few horror flicks as he was very young, but he knew about possession and that in order to cleanse the spirit and rid the evil, an exorcism was needed. He also knew about voodoo dolls, but he doubted Rose was one, as those types of dolls were used to inflict pain on someone you knew by jabbing the dolls with needles. As Rose was of a porcelain construction, needles and such would prove pointless. Research! The thought sparked inside his psyche like a firework hissing at the beginning of its journey of continuous explosions. He just needed to get online and find an answer to ignite these explosions!

  Maybe there would be a blog where people who have dealt with this situation before have advised of ways to rid the doll or dolls from their existence. He could only hope at this point. As his body was loosening and heart rate was slowing, he began to feel more optimistic that he would be able to find some useful information to help this situation. Maybe he was acting rash or perhaps a little melodramatically, but someone would no doubt see this inanimate object if it kept randomly appearing at various points in the house, and if his father saw it, a demonic fury would crawl up from the pits of hell. He could not just simply smash it, as it was his best friends and he felt that would be disrespectful, even if she had given it to him. He had considered for short lived instances of telling Emily about the doll that seems to be alive, if it was acting in this absurd way when it was in her possession. Is that the reason she gave me it? No, she would never do that! But if it was a normal doll in her presence then he didn't want to worry or alarm her, so as usual Declan suffered in silence. Just when he was building brick by brick the confidence to walk over to his desk and research on his ancient computer, he noticed that Rose was not laid on the bed after he'd thrown her there, she was somehow stood, on the uneven crumpled quilts.

  Had she landed stood? Not a chance, Declan thought. There was no way, or an incredibly low percentage of a chance that she would land standing, balanced, and stay that way. Rose was stood as if being held by an invisible force, or by puppet strings of someone much more fearsome. He envisioned a spirit holding her, which sent chills up his arms. Although technically Rose's expression had not been altered or changed, as how could it, she was a doll. But he could swear that her eyes were staring with such hatred and fury attempting to pierce him and breakdown the last slivering slice of bravery that he had. Step by step, breath by breath, tremble by tremble he walked over to his desk, incredibly cautious and aware of this porcelain peeping tom.

  This journey was only a few steps, but it felt like a lifetime's supply of courage and gall was needed to reach the final destination. The desk was like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, a finish line at the end of a race, but unlike those two, the computer was not the conclusion to a race or treasure hunt, it was the beginning of a voyage of abhorrence. Was he ready for this? Not that it mattered, he had no choice.

  He loaded up this technological definition of failure, it took many hums, buzzes and clacks, but soon the green logo flashed across the computer screen signalling that soon the programmes would start to load. Whilst he sat waiting for this electrical deficiency to start, he was incredibly aware of Rose's tingling company. He could see her reflection in the darkness of the computer screen while it chucked up the screensaver. He could feel metaphorical bugs crawling on his shoulders, shivering his skin, and pricking the hairs to stand hard, protruding from his pores.

  How she was able to stand on the uneven surface of a bed
quilt after launching through the air was beyond his comprehensions, it both baffled and unnerved him. Then through the nightmarish thoughts his brain produced, the sound of footsteps shattered his racing thoughts. Someone was coming upstairs.

  Judging by the slow and heavy steps, he knew instantly it was his wretched father. The doll! He hadn't locked the door! He jumped from his chair, grabbed Rose and flung her under his bed, letting her skid on the wood until she clunked the skirting board at the bottom of his wall, then frantically concealing her with his rucksack. He would have locked the door but this would have appeared more suspicious and he wanted to remain inconspicuous. If his father heard the click of a metal contraption he was sure to be curious like a creeping cat, only his reaction would contrast greatly to that of a cat, his ogreish reaction would be a wave of knocks and punches on the door, demanding he unlocked it and let him in. Paranoia was just one of the side effects of this raging alcoholic, along with violent outbursts and a lazy attitude. So Declan simply sat back down at his desk and pretended to do school work, this would bore his father and if he did come inside controlled by his meddling impulses, he would leave almost immediately at this vision.

  Most dads would be bursting with pride at this sight, feeling honoured to have such an industrious and intelligent son, but not him, he left such chores to his wife. Just as the steps slowed outside his door Declan stopped breathing to heighten his ability to hear and anticipate his father's next move.

  Each second dragged on like a Sunday shopping trip, each second appearing to last an hour. His nerves were being sliced with a blade and his lack of breathing was causing dizziness and a throbbing migraine. He daren't take a breath and risk being caught off guard. But soon the steps continued and went past the outside of his door, and his drunk of a dad went into his bedroom to sleep off a hangover no doubt.

  Once he had calmed down and recovered, Declan spent the next few hours researching online. His fingers tapped the keypad like a psychopath repeatedly stabbing his victim. His eyes skimmed text on the luminous screen. His rump soon began to go numb at the bone of his butt squashing down on the skin and trapping nerves, creating a tickling sensation on his cheeks. Most information had been useless: rants of crazed individuals, blogs of disturbed people, incredibly intellectual and pompous explorations of the history of dolls and their symbolism. Some of which were fascinating, but never the less, it would not help his situation. Then out of the pages of pointless considerings came a website that stuck out from the rest. The words were informative, and very useful. Including everything about dolls, and the insertion of first hand accounts of people that have experienced hauntings and strange phenomenon.

  One man whose screen name was 'I.knw.my.sh*t' which made Declan chuckle, had posted his own real experience of dealing with a doll which he had bought on holiday. He had taken a trip to Spain and explored the entirety of the place, and found a shop that sold strange occult items and antiques, a doll caught his attention. He wasn't usually one to be drawn to that kind of thing, but for some peculiar reason this doll had captivated him so much that he purchased it, taking it back to his home in England. Weeks had gone by and nothing strange had occurred, but then after a month of having the doll in his possession an avalanche of mishaps began to happen.

  He had explained away so many strange situations, his denial had overpowered his logic, at first. But eventually his logic sneaked in a devastating blow and blew his denial out of the water, giving him no choice but to face the facts, something was very wrong with his Spanish souvenir. So he took to the internet just as Declan had, and found a very easy ritual that could be done. Some dolls can be 'active' as the man called it, meaning spirits can become trapped inside them, or some intentionally use the pottery bodies as a vessel they can occupy. Most spirits are nocturnal, during the day they usually remain dormant, but at night come alive and explode like volcanoes spurting out lava. The ritual he was referring to was the resting of a spirit. The doll had to be placed in a bag, and buried in the garden of its current residence of more than a month, after midnight. Declan assumed the home was the place it resided, which would be his house, as it had been given to him as a gift and been living with him for over a month.

  So that night when his parents slept blissfully unaware, he would creep out of the house, dig a small hole and put Rose to rest. This task in itself was so scary it was beyond any depictions, just the mere concept of taking a creepy doll out into the darkness and burying her in the garden. But this heart racing mission came with one huge risk. If he was caught by his father, with a doll, sneaking around the house in the middle of the night, he had no disbelief in his mind that he himself would be the one that would end up under the soil.

  Chapter 3

  Declan lay in bed, anxious, holding Rose tightly under the covers. His heart hammered away, as a result his breathing became insanely fast. He heard pulses on his temples, tapping each side of his head. He had waited patiently for many hours until he was absolutely certain his parents had drifted off. He himself, tried passionately to stay awake, he had used the last remains from his candy collection under his bed. His sugary treats were scattered around his bedroom, hidden in various places like children playing hide and seek. They were plotted at the driest and cleanest of areas, packaged in protective bags to hold onto their flavour. He had eaten several jelly babies, enjoying the fruit juice painting his mouth and the chewy soft texture popping beneath his teeth. Declan had also swallowed several bonbons, exploding with sugar and sending his drowsiness to the back of his mind, and bringing forward an eager, awake, and agile young boy readying himself for the scariest voyage he had ever taken.

  He kept glimpsing at his watch, to a yellow and blue one his mother had bought him last Christmas. Head restlessly twitching back and forth every few minutes.

  Every present his mother got him was saved in a small wooden box underneath his bed. Everything from toys, books, novelty gifts, DVDs, and stationery. A gift from his mother was heartfelt and thoughtful, she paid very close attention to her son, in specific, his interests, in order to purchase the present of a lifetime, and each year, she somehow managed to outdo herself. Except for this year, when his disgusting and reprehensible father had gotten him no presents, none of the main presents anyway. He could only imagine how guilty his mother no doubt still felt, such a warm, generous and caring person. She works herself to the bone, so left the present buying to her husband for a change. Regardless of Deirdra reminding her oaf of a husband several times a week, he still forgot. And even worse, David expressed no remorse whatsoever. Declan often scrutinized how his mother and father had met, they could not contrast more if they made it their life's goal, but he remembered hearing an old expression from one of the teachers at school, 'opposites attract'. This was factual in science, and often believed was the truth when it came to matters of the heart. The marriage of David and Deirdra was proof enough of this in Declan's eyes.

  His mind, in turmoil over the details of his parents' first meeting, he noticed his small watch read 1:02. Past midnight, they were both sure to be in a meeting with the sandman by now. So, using all the tips and tricks he'd acquired from spy movies, he quietly, but quickly got out of bed dressed in his blue and white striped pyjamas, kept hold of Rose, and headed to the door. The key turned, the bolt slammed back into the door, and it then swung open. He left the door ajar until his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hallway whilst he surveyed it for any sign of his parents, but could find none. He could however hear his father's oafish snores, echoing through the house, and vibrating every wall like an earthquake. However annoying this sound was, it was a guarantee that his father was definitely asleep. This would act as a warning alarm, if the snoring stopped, his father was awake, and that meant trouble.

  He had closed his bedroom door, and fluffed his pillow very quickly to act as a Declan duplicate. While the decoy lay in bed, the actual Declan would be ripping and tearing at the grass in the garden to build a new home for Rose. He h
eld her in the bag, just as the web page had recommended, and it was after midnight, also as the man had advised, and was headed to the soon to be burial ground, to lay Rose to rest.

  ***

  The air was bitter, so sharp he was afraid it may cut his skin, and the grass was soggy from an epic downpour of rain earlier in the night, which made his feet feel like they were submersed in an ice cold lake loaded with seaweed. The intimidating glow of the moon gave the garden a feel of a graveyard, where a hungry zombie craving flesh may break free from a coffin at any moment. Or a blood starved vampire was waiting in the shadows to puncture, drain and devour Declan. He dreaded kneeling in the green moisture of the garden to start digging, but he dreaded being caught by the devil's most recent reincarnation even more: his father.

  He had grabbed a large soup spoon from the kitchen in his trek downstairs and held it tightly in one hand, with Rose in the other. Every few minutes he would peer back to look upstairs and see if there were any lights on, or if he could see any shadows moving around. All clear. So plucking up his inner warrior he drudged his knees into the grass, feeling their wet embrace, tickling and slapping residual rain onto his thin pale legs. He began clawing to unearth a new home for Rose, he could feel the mud building underneath his nails and the damp grass stroking his hands.

  After a few minutes he hadn't been able to make much of a hole, so he grabbed the spoon from his side and used it to lift up more dirt and grass; this proved a lot more productive. It was like an incredibly small construction site, only the main power tool was the spoon in the hands of a young boy, the lighting was minimal, and the pay was slave labour, with the risk assessment being short, but deadly, the only risk being a devilish man discovering the work site. The moon glided through the sky, Owls whooped, and the electrical buzz of lamps could be heard from every direction as Declan dug relentlessly.