Terry had always been terrified of bats, ever since he’d climbed into the loft as a teenager, disturbing a roost.
His parents had found him much later, curled up in a corner, wedged into the eaves, shaking and sobbing. It had taken him weeks to get over the trauma, and even now he instinctively flinched when a bird passed overhead.
I was up in the bedroom, sorting out my undies drawers - something I’d been meaning to do for a long time - when I heard Terry shout.
Well it was more of a strangled scream really.
Instantly my heart was thumping and I was running for the stairs.
“What is it. What’s happened?” I shouted, thumping down to the hall.
“Get it off me, get it off me!” Terry’s voice carried the edge of panic.
I heard a door slam in the kitchen and ran in, looking around.
There was a noise from behind the cellar door - somebody tumbling down the wooden stairs.
Then silence.
Pulling the door open, I tugged on the cord, cursing when I remembered that I hadn’t told Terry that the light-bulb had blown.
He lay sprawled at the bottom of the staircase.
Running down, I stooped at his side, helping him sit up. He looked at me for a moment and I saw the panic in his eyes.
“Where is it? Where’s it gone?” he whispered, looking around the cellar.
“Where’s what gone Terry?”
Struggling to his feet, he hung onto my shoulders, turning his head back and forth, eyes wide with fear.
“The bat. Where is it? It flew down here after me. I’m sure it did.”
“Terry you’re not making any sense. What bat?”
“A bat. Flew in the window. Upstairs. I was watching telly.”
His words were choppy and quick, as though he were out of breath.
Something made a scratchy sound deeper in the cellar and Terry backed away from me, arm extended, finger pointing into the darkness.
“It’s there. I can hear it.”
Then I suddenly found myself in pitch black.
Terry had run up the stairs and slammed the cellar door shut.
I distinctly heard the key click in the lock.
The bastard had locked me in the cellar. In the dark. He knew how frightened I was of the dark!
“Terry,” I shouted, fumbling my way up the stairs. “Open this door at once.”
His muffled voice sounded through the thick panels.
“I can’t,” he said. “You have to kill it first. There’s a torch hanging on a nail by the door. Shout me when it’s dead and I’ll let you out. I’m sorry —” His voice faded off into a soft sob.
If I could have got my hands on him right then —
Picking up the torch, I turned it on, making the mistake of looking at the beam and nearly blinding myself. Motes of light flickered back and forth across my eyes.
I turned back to the door.
“Terry! Terry!”
“It’s no good. He isn’t going to answer you,” a soft voice said from behind me.
The cold feeling running down my back hurt and I hunched my shoulders.
I couldn’t bring myself to move, trying instead to look over my shoulder without turning my head.
If I don’t look, nothing will happen, I thought over and over, not really believing it.
“Who’s there?” I whispered, frightened that if I talked any louder, whoever it was might strike me down.
“Just me.”
The voice was pleasant, not frightening at all.
I turned, slowly, the torch beam picking out the cobwebs hanging from the cellar ceiling.
A tall man stood at the foot of the stairs.
His sallow skin was darkened around eyes so black that they failed to reflect the torch light.
The man smiled widely and I felt my buttocks tighten. I stopped breathing for a long moment, staring at his long canines.
My hand scrambled for the door knob, rattling it in desperation.
“Terry,” I squeaked.
The man walked up the stairs and lent over me. Even from one step down he was far taller than I was.
His breath smelt of garlic and bad meat.
“Tell your husband you’ve killed the bat,” he said, trailing a long fingernail from under my ear to my shoulder.
I shivered in reaction and he smiled.
“Tell him you’ve killed the bat and he’ll open the door.”
“Terry,” I squeaked again.
The man raised my face towards his with a crooked finger. His tongue stuck out between his incisors like a thin wet roll of meat. He flicked the end of my nose with it, then pulled it back into his mouth.
“His blood will be far more suitable for my needs than yours. But at a push, yours would do I suppose,” he whispered, staring at my neck.
I suddenly found some energy and turned away, pounding on the door with both fists.
“Terry, Terry, I’ve killed it. The stupid bat is dead. I killed it.”
The door rattled, then slowly opened as Terry stuck his head around it.
“You sure?”
Before I could answer, a long arm shot over my shoulder and the man grabbed a handful of Terry’s hair, pulling him into the cellar.
I was unceremoniously shoved into the kitchen and heard the door slam behind me with a finality marking a new beginning to my life.
“Terry,” I croaked, sitting down at the kitchen table, trying to ignore the gurgling sounds coming from the cellar.