Twisted Imaginings: Vol 3

  Garry Charles

  Published: 2010

  Tag(s): Greenhouse Kidnap Murder Insane Messiah Future Healer

  Twisted Imaginings: Vol 3

  Garry Charles

  Cover art and layout by Garry Charles

  Feedbooks Edition

  Published by Garry Charles at Feedbooks

  License Notes

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  THE GREENHOUSE EFFECT

  Sixteen, in love and, at any other time, without a worry in her life. But this wasn’t any other time; this was now and she had more than one worry on her mind. In fact she had quite few.

  Melissa Howard was late; late home which would get her into a whole world of trouble with her parents. She was also late in another way; a way that would make that whole world of trouble seem like an insignificant spot in a universe of grief. The latter was the reason for the former, both late occurrences linked together by an outside source.

  His name was Will and he was the love of Melissa’s life. He was also half the cause of her main worry. She couldn’t shoulder all the blame on him; after all, she’d been more than willing to take him in her adolescent embrace of passion.

  It had been no more than a few minutes of entwined bodies, throaty moans and mashed together lips, but in that short space of unadulterated sex they’d done so much more. She hadn’t realised at first, but after two months of no show in the monthly department she’d begun to panic.

  “Are you sure?” He’d asked when they’d met less than half an hour ago.

  “Pretty much,” she’d answered sheepishly, scared that he’d turn and walk away.

  “Really sure?”

  “As sure as I can be.” She’d tried to read the look in his eyes, but his face had been a blank.

  “Do you think it’ll be a boy?” He’d asked, his eyes finally jumping to life at the prospect of fatherhood. “Come here,” he’d cried, pulling her off her feet and spinning her around.

  “I love you.” She’d leant in and kissed his neck.

  “You too,” Will yelled as he continued to spin on the spot.

  “But I’m scared,” she’d whispered in his ear and the spin slowed as he came down to earth.

  Melissa pulled her thoughts away from the end of the conversation; she couldn’t bear to think of how her parents would react. It was bad enough that she was out after dark; especially now. She shuddered as the wind picked up and she realised that dusk was slowly becoming the full blown shroud of night.

  She’d promised them she’d be home before dark, not just for their peace of mind, but for her own. The small town of Westow wasn’t the safest place to be after dark; especially if you were a young girl. Melissa suddenly wanted to think about the life growing within her and the coming confrontation when she announced it, but it was too late. Her mind was already moving on, picturing the photo of the first missing girl.

  Elizabeth Mounten; Lizzie to her friends had gone missing two years ago. At the time it was thought to be one of those horrible things that happen. A sad disappearance that would never be explained. But that was two years ago and, in the intervening time, another five had gone missing.

  “Stop it,” Melissa told herself off and increased her space. “Not now,” she spoke aloud, but her mind refused to listen to the good advice on offer.

  Heather Chapman, daughter of the Reverend Chapman had been the second. All they had found was her bible sitting on the swing in the playground, a sad reminder of what everyone said had been such a sweet girl. Like the first her body was never found, another unexplained missing girl.

  “I said no,” her voice rose a few octaves as a new fear began to creep into her stomach.It was then that she heard the footsteps behind her.

  “Now look what you’ve done.” She blamed her overactive mind for the imagined sound.

  It was then that she heard the cough.

  “Fuck,” the curse escaped as a high pitched squeal as imagination was replaced with reality.

  A reality that was following her.

  ***

  The knock at the door was quiet, almost unheard by the occupant of the house as she switched the dishwasher to eco-wash. She stood still for a moment, unsure if she had really heard the announcement of visitors or not. Then it came again, a feeble tapping of knuckles against wood.

  Maureen smiled, smoothed her dress and approached the front door at a quick walk. She was always happy to receive guests, especially on the evenings her husband was out. As she reached the door the tapping came once more and Maureen’s smile grew as she reached out, turned the handle and opened the door wide.

  “Maureen,” a pale faced Betty Norgate cried.

  “Whatever is it, my dear?” The smile fell from Maureen’s face, replaced with concern for her friend. “Is it bad again?” She knew why Betty was there and readied herself for bad memories to resurface before the visit was over.

  “It’s always bad, Maureen,” Betty shuddered as she was ushered into the hallway. “It’s just worse than usual.”

  “Well you get inside and I’ll put on a brew,” Maureen spoke softly as she led Betty to the kitchen.

  “I think I need something stronger than tea tonight.” Tears stained Betty’s face.

  “Just sit yourself down and tell me everything,” Maureen urged, but in truth she had listened to Betty so many times that she knew what was coming.

  She knew her friend had never recovered from the disappearance of her daughter just over a year ago and from personal experience she knew it was hard to do. They had been friends before and Betty had comforted Maureen when her little angel had been taken away, only for the favour to be returned. But, unlike Maureen, Betty had never come to terms with the loss of Josie. The pain, even after so much time still ate away at her soul, destroying her on a daily basis.

  Maureen hated these meetings, but she could never turn Betty away. It wasn’t in her nature, but each meeting reminded her of her own loss, her own sacrifice, and she had to fight hard to suppress the cancerous emptiness that threatened to engulf her.

  “I visited her grave today.”

  Despite no body having been found the Norgate family had insisted on a service. It had been meant to give Betty closure, but the charade hadn’t worked.

  “You know it only upsets you,” Maureen cooed as the kettle boiled.

  “I know, but I just wanted to feel close to my baby.” Betty knotted a damp handkerchief between her fingers. “I sat for hours, but she’s not really there.”

  “So why torment yourself so?” Maureen filled the two cups with boiled water.

  “Because she was my little girl,” Betty sobbed. “That grey headstone is all I have left.”

  Leaving the cups to steep, Maureen made her way across the kitchen and wrapped her arms tightly around the friend she was so firmly linked to. Tears of her own sprang forth and she silently cursed herself for the sign of weakness. Her baby had gone because God had seen fit to take her. She had to hold onto that belief or all was lost. Without that belief she would become nothing more than the shivering wreck she held in her arms.

  ***

  Melissa’s head hurt and she felt groggy as her eyes slowly opened. She was disorientated and it took her long moments to realise she was no longer on her feet. She felt a wave of dizzy nausea rip through her at the realisation she was hanging up side down, her feet already numb because of the tightness of the bonds at her ankles.

  With her eyes fully open the sense of unbalance was made worse by the lack of light. She could make out shadows, varying shades of black, but none of them had any correct form or shape. She tried to make out the blurred outlines of objects that appeared darker than their surroundings, but it didn’t help the situation.

  And then, as her vision lost its blurriness and began to grow accustomed to the gloom she wished she had kept them shut. The confusion of hanging upside down was lost as it dawned on her what she was looking at and her stomach tried to escape through her throat at the vista of death around her.

  She could she the sky which was now fully night and no longer dusk. Grey clouds floated above in a sky of black that held a shining ball of silver. A shining ball that allowed her to see the bodies in a monotone hue that increased the nightmarish scenario she found herself trapped in.

  She tried to ignore the bodies that shared the unusual room with her, the room that appeared to be made of transparent walls.

  Glass walls.

  A greenhouse.

  The small deductive task only momentarily took her mind off the situation before she felt her mind forcing her back to those on either side of her.

  Five; she counted five and not all of them were dead. Not yet anyway. At least three of them were passed the need for help, the wrinkled corpses partly buried in split open compost bags that sprouted twisted, underdeveloped vine-like plants. One of them could have been sleeping or dead, from her disadvantaged position Melissa just couldn’t tell.

  The remaining two were definitely alive. One of them was wheezing as they exhaled long yet shallow breaths and the second was gently stroking the palm of Melissa’s dangling hand.

  “Where am I?” Melissa asked in a whisper.

  “Bes t not to ask.” The reply was weak.

  “Why not?”

  “He doesn’t like us to question.”

  ***

  “Betty,” Maureen soothed. “You should visit the church with me more.”

  “Why?” Betty pushed her friend away and looked at her accusingly. “So I can pray to a God that let my little girl be taken away,” the statement was said harshly, with hatred.

  “His reasons are not ours to question,” Maureen defended the one who kept her sane at moments like these, but deep down she had already begun to doubt.

  “What possible reason could he have for taking a twelve year old girl?” Betty snapped. “I don’t question him. I don’t even believe in him anymore.”

  Maureen didn’t reply. What could she possibly say to take away the pain inside her friend? Nothing; not when she knew in her heart that the woman was right.

  “Do not doubt,” the tiny voice in her mind cried out. “God is right.”

  ***

  Melissa had hung quietly for what felt like an eternity, her ankles having passed the pain margin. Now they were numb, cold from the lack of blood that had seemed to fill her head and made the thinking process hard.

  Earlier she had tried to swing around in an attempt to get a better look around her windowed prison, but her view had been limited and dulled by the poor moonlight that continued to shift behind moving cloud.

  “Who are you?” She finally asked her fellow inmate; the one who continued to stroke her palm.

  “Heather. Heather Chapman,” the girl answered sadly.

  Melissa gasped in shock. She had known Heather before she went missing. They hadn’t been close, but they had spoken on more than one occasion. She’d been missing for so long yet she was still alive. Melissa held onto this knowledge with hope for herself.

  “I’m Melissa,” she wiggled her fingers in introduction. “We went to school together.”

  “I’ve almost forgotten that life,” Heather wasn’t crying, but her words held an indescribable sadness. “How long have I been away?”

  “Nearly a year and a half,” Melissa answered, surprised at how long it had been.

  “It feels like longer.”

  “Are they all here?” Melissa took over the questions. She wanted to know as much as she could and as quickly as she could.

  “These ones are all from the village,” Heather explained in a whisper. “They kept me company for a while.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “He punished them,” Heather choked back a sob. “He punishes them all, but he gets rid of the strangers when he is done with them.”

  “There was more?” Melissa’s slice of hope dwindled fast.

  “Yes, but they didn’t stay long.”

  “Does he punish you?” Melissa asked the question gently.

  “In more ways than one.”

  “Who is he? Have you seen him?”

  Before Heather could answer the door to the green house squealed open, fresh night air seeping in before it was quickly shut again.

  “Good evening my dears,” the voice was deep, resonant and vaguely familiar. “I hate to have kept you waiting, but I had work to do before returning.”

  The shadow draped figure raised his arm, lifting his hand and what it held in front of Melissa’s face. At the same moment the moon was released from its curtain of cloud and vomit filled Melissa’s throat at the object he dangled before her.

  “Will!” Her mind screamed out as liquid acid filled her nose and mouth.

  “Yet another sinner I was forced to punish,” he snarled, tossing the severed head onto the compost pile of death. “Fornicators must answer to the almighty.”

  Melissa heard his words as she drowned in her own bile. Thanking God she would not suffer at the hands of the voice she finally recognised.

  ***

  “You’re so lucky to have faith Maureen,” Betty had finally calmed and was sat sipping delicately at her tea. “The Reverend is a good man and you’re blessed to have him as a husband.

  “I suppose I am.” Maureen Chapman smiled sourly.

  “Where is he tonight?” Betty asked innocently.

  “Oh, he’s out in the green house,” she replied, the grin fixed firmly on his face. “He says the peace and quiet helps him with God’s work.

  ***

  MESSIAH

  “I wasn’t born in the natural way. I wasn’t created like most babies. My parents broke every taboo and possibly most of the laws about childbirth and the conception of new life. Science played no part in my unique life and, unlike other children; I did not come in to this life from a tube in a lab. I was an abomination. I was the first one to enter the world via the fleshy lips of my mother’s vagina.

  My conception was kept a close guarded secret by all of those involved. My part in their bigger plan was something that could never be uncovered. The close circle that did know the truth were all family members, sworn by oath to keep the knowledge of my creation a secret. The family could always be trusted and they knew that their children’s future rested on my, as yet, unborn shoulders. If I had known the weight I was expected to carry would I have remained in the womb, clinging tightly to the safety of the umbilical cord? I don’t know; much has happened in that time and it is a question I am unwilling (or is that unable) to answer.

  I have been told that my birth was not the easiest of matters. The family may have been close, but no one had the knowledge to bring a child into the world. It was beyond their simple existence. They had hoped it would be an easy affair, nothing more than a push and out I would come. This is not the way it came to pass. Unfortunately outsiders had to be brought in.

  They brought two of them back to the valley, a doctor and a nurse. It has all been documented and it can be found in the Third Bible. The Book of Sacrifices. Matthew 2.1. I understand that this won’t be something you know of, this heathen world you call society has no such history. Religion is a concept that was stripped away many moons ago, after the fire burned the sky and the sea. But I can assure you that the message I bring is the only truth left. It saddens me to see how you all live your lives with blinkered vision. If only you would open your eyes and accept the words I offer you.” The long haired man paused.

  He looked around the crowded room and smiled at them. The smile was obscured by the ragged beard that covered his lower face, but many were comforted by the softness in his expression. They would never be able to explain the feelings this stranger aroused deep in their being. This was a culture unused to emotions and the very ideas of happiness, sadness and fear were alien to them. They knew that the programme kept them in a state of normalcy, but they could never understand what it was to have fun. Yes, they cheered when they were ordered, but why they did this was something they couldn’t grasp. It was how things were meant to be.

  But now he had arrived and was asking them to question the way of the world. They didn’t want to listen; they wanted the programme to continue so they could complete their task.

  “Who the fuck is he?” Malcolm Hendrix asked as he barged his way into the control centre. “And what the fuck is he doing in my station?”

  Unlike the masses Hendrix had full control of his emotions, something that made him better than the commoners who filled his studios everyday. He was put on this Earth to control and pacify, a job handed to him by the man at the top. He could still remember the day, all those years ago, when the president had called him into the sanctum and passed on the role. It was the day he had waited for all of his life, hell, it was the reason he had been cultivated. It had said so on the test tube.

  “PRESIDENT”

  He still had the glass receptacle that had been his birth womb. The words were now old and faded, but it was all the proof he needed. That, and the signature of the man himself. He was taken from the President’s stem cells and the next President had been taken from his. It was the way things worked. And it worked well. Order was kept and everyone knew their place.

  Everyone, that is, except the man sat centre stage in the main studio. The man with the long hair and the beard. The man who kept the audience in place and unable to leave.

  “Is anybody gonna answer my fucking question?” He glared at the unmoving workers sat motionless at their screens.

 

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