In Current News

Water filled his boots, soaking his socks. Billy sighed as he looked down at the puddle, rain hammering his hood. Rolling his eyes, he headed in the direction of his house. He didn’t remember rain being due; in fact, he was pretty sure his wife was planning an outing. Wasn’t she?

Mind you, he didn’t remember his road being so long either. Ducking his head down, he trudged forward, passing car after car, watching as the water formed little streams against the curb.

If he had been paying more attention, he may have noticed the odd colour repetition of the parked cars in their shiny yellow, but he was more focused on getting home. He was late. Though for what, he couldn’t remember.

A whisper on the wind tickled his ear. Stopping briefly, he turned and scanned the street behind him but saw no one. He could have sworn he heard someone shout Dad. Billy shivered as a bright blue flash stung his eyes.

Oh shit, thunder must be on the way.

It was rapidly getting darker with the heavy clouds engulfing the sky.

Not far now.

He wasn’t sure when the storm had started, but it had already soaked through his waterproof coat, sticking the GORE-TEX material to his arms and chest. He was just relieved he wasn’t cold. In fact, he felt oddly warm. Billy dared a quick look upwards, leaving his face vulnerable to the lashings of rain. Relief washed over him as his house loomed into view. Its large brick stature looked impossibly tall against the darkening sky. Just as he imagined how lovely it would be to get out of the growing storm and into the comfort of shelter, lights flickered on inside, smoke billowing from the chimney, like magic.

Billy frowned. Oddly, he couldn’t remember owning a fireplace and wondered what room it was in.

He picked up his pace, longing for a hot cup of tea as he hunched over. The path looked somehow wrong as large puddles formed along the concrete. A swelling sense of dread was filling his chest, but he couldn’t put his finger on why.

Risking another glance, he gasped as rain stung his eyes; he was no closer. Frowning, he broke into a jog, his boots slapping the pavement. The street seemed to stretch out before him as he ran. Houses distorted and gardens grew longer and wider.

A car raced past him, an impossibly large cascade of water slapping into the side of him, plastering his hood to the side of his face. Shouting obscenities, he started sprinting as the roads began to flood, spilling over onto the pavement.

Billy’s chest swelled with relief as his front garden came into view. The roses his wife planted had grown quickly, overtaking the garden and spilling over the wall. Their thorns glinted in the rain.

Suddenly, the pavement seemed to bend and bow beneath him, sending him staggering from side to side. The concrete bounced as each footstep sunk slightly into the warped pavement. He tried desperately to keep his balance as he hurried forward like a child on a bouncy castle, slowing him significantly.

Water poured into every indent he made as the concrete seemed to shift and swell.

Was he drunk?

Lunging forward, he grabbed the wrought iron gate of his garden. With relief, he closed his fingers around the metal. Suddenly, a hot pain seared through his hand. Billy gasped, whipping his hand away. Did it burn him?

Billy raised his hand to his face and began to blow on it.

“You gonna stand there all day dripping on my carpet or are you gonna help me with the shopping?”

Billy looked away from his hand as his gaze followed his wife. She seemed flustered as she shuffled down the hallway, heaving heavy bags through the kitchen door. There was something different about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He bent down to remove his boots, but he wasn’t wearing any. Or socks, for that matter. He frowned at his bare feet as she shouted from deeper in the house.

Shrugging, he followed her voice down the hallway, but every step he took made a squelching noise. He looked back at the carpet; he’d left little wet footprints behind him.

“Billy!” His wife shouted. He hurried into the kitchen after her.

Billy gasped at the hundreds of bags precariously balanced on the kitchen table, swaying dangerously up to the ceiling.

“Blimey, love. How much did you buy?”

“I told you we need razors,” She scoffed as she ran around the room in a panic, throwing open cupboard doors. “I refuse to go to the beach without shaving my legs.”

“It’s tipping down, love. Think we have to call it off.”

“What are you talking about?” She quipped, heading over to the back door and pushing it open. “It’s a beautiful day out.”

Billy squinted against the sunlight as he walked closer. A ray of sun beat down on his face, comforting and warm. Faintly, his name carried across the breeze from somewhere in the distance.

“Sandra, honey. I have a terrible feeling we are forgetting something.” Billy informed her, puzzled.

“I didn’t forget anything. I purchased everything on the list, as always.” His wife answered, her tone clipped.

“That’s not what I mean…” He protested as she hurried over to the kitchen table.

Sandra grabbed a bag from the bottom of the pile, sending the others cascading, tumbling to the floor around her as she pulled the bag open and shrieked.

Billy jumped as she slowly raised her head, he eyes glaring at him. “What is this?” She hissed. Billy shook his head and shrugged.

“What is this?!” She repeated, thrusting her hand into the bag and pulling out roll after roll of toilet paper, launching them across the room. “What did you do with my shopping?!” She demanded, spittle flying from her mouth.

Billy froze; his bare feet, rooted to the floor, suddenly felt ice cold. “Sandra, I…”

“Forget it,” she growled, stomping across the kitchen.

“Well, if I have no razors, I will have to improvise,” Sandra informed him, though it didn’t sound like Sandra anymore; her voice was deep and guttural.

With her back turned, her shoulder dropped as she reached for something. A soft metallic scrape filled the room. Billy tried to move but couldn’t.

Sandra turned to face him as she ruffled her dress, pulling it up around her waist.

“I guess this will have to do,” she growled, waving a small, serrated knife around in front of her, the blade glinting in the sunlight.

Billy tried to shout, but he couldn’t speak, his throat suddenly closing as he tried desperately to swallow.

A spiteful smile spread across his wife’s face as she lowered the knife and began hacking at the skin of her leg, splattering the cupboards with chunks of flesh and blood before peeling away slivers of her skin.

Clawing at his neck, Billy tried to scream. Sandra lunged the knife back into the knotted, matted red mess.

His skin grew hot as his leg buckled. The colours of the room swooshed past him in a blur as he fell to his knees in what seemed like slow motion. His eyes watered, bulging out of his head as his chest burned.

Heaving violently, he vomited sand onto the kitchen tiles. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to drown out the squelching of the knife.

“Is it down there?”

Billy’s eyelid fluttered.

“Dad, did you find it?”

Billy opened his eyes. He was lying on his stomach in the dark, surrounded by dust. He wiped at his mouth and flinched at the pain. How did I get here?

His daughter’s voice came from somewhere behind him, where dim light was spilling in.

Bracing himself, he tried to sit up, smacking his head on wooden slats.

Billy groaned and pushed himself backwards, wiggling himself out from under the bed.

How did he get here?

“So?” Billy looked up at his daughter, Amy, who watched over him with hopeful eyes.

“Err… what was I looking for?” Billy stammered.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she whined, folding her arms across her chest. The irritation on her face was the expression of an older Amy, one wiser than her current six or seven years. One he hadn’t met yet.

“Don’t start with that; it’s not time yet,” Billy scolded her as she ducked down and clambered under the bed. He frowned, taking in the stuffed animals and toy-littered floor. Something’s different. Something isn’t right. His gaze fell upon the bunk beds in the corner.

Something tugged inside his stomach. Something’s wrong.

“Where’s your sister?”

“I don’t know. No one does.”

“Oh, okay,” answered Billy, nonchalantly.

“Ah ha. I found it. Don’t worry, Dad. Your dignity is under here.” Her muffled voice cried.

Billy began to protest, but for a split second, a bright blue light flashed before his eyes, stunning him into silence as he grimaced against the harsh light. This time it lingered for a second, just a wall of bright blue, before disappearing once more.

Billy was now standing in the upstairs bathroom. Every tap was on full blast, spraying him with icy water, the bath overflowing, drenching the floor and spilling out onto the landing carpet.

“Dammit!” he shouted, diving to grab the handle to the bath tap and pulling. It came off in his hand with a resounding clunk. “Oh fuck!” He clambered to his feet, scrambling for the towels hanging on the back of the bathroom door, pulling them off their hooks. He watched in a confused daze as they disintegrated in front of him. They turned into plumes of dust as they flittered to the floor. No, not dust. Sand! He watched as the water engulfed them, swirling them into bigger clumps of wet sand. Billy lifted his hand, suddenly aware he was holding a bucket.

“Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?”

Billy’s head snapped up at the direction of the voice. Amy stood in the doorway, seemingly unaware of the pool of water submerging her feet.

“What did you say?” He frowned.

“Mum said dinner’s ready.” She whispered fervently, before turning on her heels and throwing herself headfirst over the bannister and disappearing.

Billy was free-falling. He had wasted no time jumping from the bannister at the top of the stairs, and as air rushed past his face, chilling his body, he couldn’t remember why. He hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Billy’s gasped, grabbing his head. He lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs as the smell of his wife’s homemade fish pie filled his nostrils, bringing with it a welcomed comfort. Billy began to heave himself off the floor. His bones creaked and groaned as he snapped them back into place, righting himself. His left leg was mangled; splintered bone hung awkwardly from his ankle. Billy rolled his eyes as he looked down at his bloodied, torn clothing. Sandra would not be happy with his dinnertime apparel.

Slowly, he hobbled his way along the hallway towards the kitchen. The laughter grew louder as he limped on the exposed bone, dragging his floppy foot behind him, the shards of bone snagging on the shaggy rug.

He pushed the door open, and the laughter stopped dead. His wife and both his daughters sat motionless at the table, their heads down, a large platter of food waiting to be devoured. Billy breathed in hard, letting the strong smell of fish invade his body as he realised his family were sat around the dinner table on chairs made of toilet paper. Billy frowned, wondering where his wife acquired so much loo roll on such short notice.

You’re forgetting something, Billy…

He lumbered towards the table, leaving large red streaks in his wake.

“I hope you’re going to clean that up,” said his wife as he struggled to sit on the make-shift seat opposite her. The tissue was surprisingly bouncy, and it took a second to find his balance as he perched, swaying slightly.

Billy looked up with intent to assure his wife he would indeed clean up the pints of blood leaking from him. In fact, he could use the abundance of spare tissue to mop it up just after he had his fill of fish, but his breath caught in his throat at the sight of her.

Her face was smooth and blank. Her long blond hair framed her featureless face as he suddenly wondered how she managed to speak just now. What a neat trick; she should break that out at parties.

“Sandra, love. What happened?” He asked inquisitively, reaching for his glass.

“The neighbour came round,” said his eldest, as she piled pie onto his plate, its salty goodness making him drool. “Said they needed to borrow her face.”

Water began dripping onto the table from above. In unison, his daughters craned their heads to look up at the ceiling. A small damp patch had appeared. Billy frowned; that nagging feeling in the pIt of his stomach was worse than ever.

“Who left the tap on?” Asked Chloe, his eldest, moving a glass to place it underneath. The ceiling began to groan and creak.

“Potatoes?” asked Amy, passing him a bowl.

“Er... sure,” Billy gasped as he grasped the dish, the heat searing his skin. He dropped it on the table and watched as it cracked with a thud. He looked upon his hand transfixed as it blistered and peeled.

Suddenly, the table began to shake, a little at first and then violently, knocking glasses and dishes to the floor where they shattered. Billy’s eyes grew wide with terror as both of his daughters started to gag and choke. He watched horrified as the colour seemed to drain from their faces as they flailed and rocked. Their lips turned blue as their eyes clouded over.

Billy tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t move. He glanced down at his mangled ankle. The blood was pooling at a significant rate. He suddenly felt dizzy and hot as he tried to push himself up to no avail.

“Sandra!” He begged, but his wife’s shapeless face didn’t move. She just sat there motionless as their girls choked on air, foaming from their mouths. Their wretched noises turned slowly into a wheeze as they clawed at their necks, trailing deep red scratches across their throats.

After what seemed like an age, they suddenly stopped, crashing violently face first into the table. A thunderous crack filled the room as the ceiling split open, a mountain of water slamming into them, sending them all sprawling in different directions.

Another flash of blue contorted Billy’s vision, but this time it stayed.

*

Cold water engulfed Billie’s feet, offering a brief relief. Not fully aware he was awake, he wiggled his toes, letting its frigid comfort wash over him.

A wave hit his face, spraying his chapped lips with salty water. He grimaced, attempting to swallow, but his throat felt swollen and stiff. Billy shuddered, peeling his eyes open.

For a minute, he just lay there in his sleepy haze, bobbing up and down under the setting sun, watching it glisten and sparkle in the reflection of the endless shades of blue around him.

Another wave crashed into him, bringing with it a heavy dread. His eyes darted open as he attempted to sit up, his hand slipping against the curvature of the wet, yellow rubber.

His head throbbed as he tried to turn to take in his surroundings, this morning’s antics flooding back to him as his memory focused.

The kids.

The beach.

The beer.

The dingy.

Don’t fall asleep in that thing – his wife had told him...

He had closed his eyes, only for a moment, listening to his kids squealing and splashing on the sandy beach.

But he couldn’t hear them anymore.

His heart began to hammer painfully as he realised something was very, very wrong. He tried desperately to swallow, his throat scratching like sandpaper. Kicking his feet, he shifted his weight as his limbs, heavy and dehydrated, fought against him.

Craning his neck, he looked down at himself. His skin was red raw, and parts had begun to blister.

Fuck, how long have I been out here?

Another wave licked against his dingy, the salt scorching his peeling legs. He winced and cried out, but only a crackle escaped him. He tried again to shout, calling for his wife, but his voice was hoarse, causing him to cough violently. He shut his eyes tightly as pain coursed through his body. Even his eyelids screamed at him as they crumpled, the skin splitting slightly.

Billy whimpered.

Panicked, he forced himself to sit up, his head pounding louder and harder with every movement. Heaving himself up as his arm muscles screamed at him, he felt a relief wash over him as he managed to get vertical. His arms shook under his weight as his fingers gripped the rubber, quivering. A small victory, but a victory, nonetheless.

He groaned as he shifted his weight and turned and looked behind him. Squinting against the iridescent reflection of the rapidly descending sun, he scanned the horizon, but nothing but endless ocean stared back.

Fear flooded every fibre of his being as he screamed helplessly into the void.