Charlotte

Charlotte

By

Stuart Keane

Copyright © Stuart Keane 2014

Cover art copyright © Mark Kelly 2014

Published: 31 October 2014

Publisher: Stuart Keane

The right of Stuart Keane to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement or the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

‘Charlotte’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For more information about the author, please visit
www.stuartkeane.com

For more information about the artist, please visit
www.zgrimv.com

I want to thank Julia Gibbs who provided the final proofing to ensure that everything was in tip-top shape. Without you, this story wouldn’t be where it is now. Thank you for bringing my words to life and providing useful guidance, as always.

Thank you to Mark Kelly for providing a phenomenal cover. You nailed it first time and really brought some significant interest to this book. You also captured the only official image of Charlotte…one that is sure to haunt for some time.

Thank you to Jenna, Brenda, Angel, Donna, Sarah, and Valerie for reading an ARC copy of this book and providing some useful feedback.

Thanks also to Jack and Kyle for reading an ARC too. You guys have been a rock for me since we met. Getting to know you has been an honour and I can't wait until Carnage: Extreme Horror – along with Angel – to combine our horrid little imaginations.

I want to thank my family as always. You have shaped me into the person I am today and inspired me every day as I was growing up.

To Stephen King, James Herbert, Richard Laymon and Shaun Hutson. For so many memories and adventures and for inspiring me to do this in the first place.

And finally…to my readers. If you are reading this, then my job is complete.

For all the neglected, the ignored and the bullied.

"What is it?"

"What does it look like?"

Ted Fox didn’t reply straight away. The boy rolled his tongue in his mouth, slapping the inside of his cheek, contemplating his answer. "Metal?" He gulped, his sweaty jowls wobbling. His eyes widened in absolute terror.

Why was she doing this? Why him?

Pretty obvious, isn't it? You picked on her. This is payback.

Don't pee yourself in front of a girl. That'd be the worst.

Ted's eyes followed Amy Brunswick, a nine-year-old girl with a chip on her shoulder and a small sliver of metal between her dirty fingers.

"Nothing gets by you, well done. Yes, Ted, it's metal. A razor blade, to be precise. You know, my dad keeps a pile of these in his bedroom drawer. I've seen him shave with them before. I've seen him cut himself and brush it off as it were nothing. My dad is the bravest and most selfish man I know."

Her eyes brimmed with an innocent anger, one born of several months of abuse at Ted's hands. However, Ted noticed more. He could see something not entirely…normal. Amy was a sack of shit, a sad-case, a geek. She didn’t have the balls to pull crap like this.

Right now, she had more balls than Ted. 

Amy Brunswick slid the blunt end of the blade along Ted's cheek. The blade angled down, the dull edge imprinting a small scratch on the chubby boy's blemished skin. He shivered and a drop of sweat rolled down his burning cheek. Amy spoke. "Now. Put it in your mouth."

"Why?"

"Because I told you to. Are you disobeying me?"

"No but…"

"So
do
it. Now."

"I don’t want to."

"It doesn’t matter what you want. I'm in charge here and this is my game. It's my turn, finally. Now, put it in your mouth."

Ted hesitated. She held the small blade out to him between two fingers, the sun glinting on its sharp, menacing edge. A white spot speckled off to the side, hitting the pavement below. After a second, his chubby fingers took the blade and held it in front of his belly. Amy laughed and slapped his stomach, his flabby flesh jostled and shook beneath his sweater. "In your mouth. Now.
C'mon
, I thought you liked shoving stuff in your mouth, you fat prick."

The curse word shocked Ted. He gasped. Amy's eyebrow raised and she smiled. "Strike a nerve, did I?" She crossed her arms, the smile fading.

He only heard those words on late night TV or from his parents' room. He knew they didn’t bonk anymore, they just argued. He knew the f-word; it was his father's favourite remark.
Fucking fat fuck, fucking whore, fuck you
. He'd heard them and barely understood the various meanings; it was a horrible word. He'd used it once or twice himself, but always regretted it. Curse words scared him, made him nervous.

Fat prick
? His mother called him that. He always wondered if it was spoken with affection or hatred. Now, looking at his tormentor, her menacing eyes and dominant pose, he knew the truth. A bottomless pit of sadness opened up beneath the knotted ball of fear in his stomach.

He almost toppled to the floor.

Ted tried swallowing but his throat was too dry. He coughed.

Keep it together, be brave
. 

Brave? What a joke. His toughness was a façade, the false mask he put on to look tough in front of his friends. Now, here he was, reduced to a gibbering wreck by Amy, a nine-year-old girl. He threw the blade down on the ground and backed away, foolishly defiant.

"No, I'm not doing it."

Amy stepped forward and punched Ted in the face. He screamed and fell backwards, stumbling over his feet and landing on his sizeable rump. Snow crunched and the breath shot out of him. Amy bent down, collected the blade, and walked back to Ted. She did it slowly, methodically. With Ted still on his rump, and breathing heavily, she leant down and held the blade in front of his face. "Now, put it in your mouth."

Ted looked around. He desperately wanted Mark or Jason to appear, his friends, to save him from this mental case. It didn’t happen. Finally, his sodden gaze settled on Amy. Her eyes brimmed with an innocent menace—as if she knew what she was doing but wasn’t aware of the consequences. Ted couldn’t put his finger on it but she was acting way out of character. Just three weeks ago, she'd been a quiet, stupid nerd who gave him her lunch money every day. She tried to avoid him at all costs. He'd made her life hell for quite some time.

No one changed this quickly, not in such a rapid fashion. Amy was in his face, threatening him and goading him. It wasn't the Amy Brunswick he knew.

This
Amy Brunswick scared the shit out of him.

"Do I need to tell you again?" She held the blade up.

Ted started to cry. His bladder released and his trousers darkened. The smell of urine alerted Amy but she didn’t move, didn’t falter. Her eyes were alight, boiling with pent up rage and anger.

Yet, she smiled, the smile more a leer, a grimace stretched into a signal of utter comeuppance. She was getting her revenge and Ted had no choice but to comply.

He took the blade and glanced at Amy. She tilted her head to the side and stared into his soul, sending a shiver up his spine. Despite his warm, heavyset frame, his body was shaking. He felt warm sweat dribbling down his flabby sides and back.

He placed the blade on his tongue and closed his mouth.
Don’t swallow; it'll rip your guts up, just like one of those horror movies on Cinemax
. Not swallowing was the most important thing in Ted's life right now. He focused on it like a tricky maths question in a test. He leaned forward, leaning on his hands, letting gravity help him push the blade away from his throat, just in case.

Amy laughed. The sound sent ripples of terror up Ted's yellow spine. "Not like that."

"Huh?"

"Sideways."

Ted frowned, confused.

"Take it out, place the blade between your front teeth and bite down." Ted's eyes widened and he felt his entire body freeze, then shake, at the prospect of Amy's request. More urine splashed his leg. She gazed at him, blankly and vehemently. She tilted her head again.

"Do it.
Now
."

Ted whimpered, terrified at the thought of his dental torture. He slipped the wet blade from his tongue, between his fingers, and held it inches from his mouth. He glanced at Amy. She said nothing as she stared right through him. Her eyes were black and emotionless.

He could swear her skin was shimmering slightly.

Then, his hand moved. The blade inched towards his mouth. His fingers turned sideways, twisting the blade upright and Ted could only scream as the blade pushed between his teeth and sliced into his soft gums, spraying blood all over his chubby fingers. He tried to resist, but he couldn't—his hand was being forced, pushed, and willed. The blade ripped deeper, slicing straight between his front teeth, and the razor split the top of his mouth. Ted screamed, the sound muffled and gargled by the warm blood sluicing down his throat. It dribbled from his mouth, down his chin, spattering the cold snow and concrete below.

The pain shot to his brain and he screamed, then a spasm snapped his mouth shut.

It stayed shut, clamped by an unseen force.

Amy Brunswick smiled. She looked to her left and smiled, nodding.

As Ted closed his eyes, blood coursing down his throat, choking him to death, he swore he could hear Amy talking to someone…

"Do you want peanut butter or jam in your sandwich?"

"Erm…"

"I don’t have all morning, Amy." Patricia Brunswick checked her watch and sighed. She unwrapped the whole wheat bread and pulled out two slices, throwing them onto the worktop. Her daughter remained silent. She sighed again, picking up a knife. "Just pick one."

"Can I have both?"

"Peanut butter and jam? That's disgusting. What sort of food do they serve you at school?"

"They don’t. I normally have a packed lunch." Amy smiled and quickly looked down.

Patricia didn’t say anything. She half-smiled.
Smart kid
.

"Please, Mummy?" Amy looked at the ground and rubbed her hands together. She didn’t dare look at her mother.

Patricia paused, leant down and placed a finger under Amy's chin. Her eyes met those of her daughter. The tranquil blue eyes radiated life and purpose, overshadowed by lack of confidence or social ability. She brushed the hair from her daughter's face. "Of course you can have both, honey. We just need to hurry, you'll miss your bus and Mummy has an important meeting."

Amy grabbed her pink rucksack and hoisted it onto her shoulder. The strap knocked the jam jar off the table. It rolled through the air and shattered on the tiles below, spraying blackcurrant jam and sticky glass everywhere. Patricia jumped. It splattered the back of her legs and the worktops. "For fuc…Christ's sake, Amy. Look at the mess you've made. Don’t move or you'll cut yourself."

Amy stood still, looking at the mess she'd made. The jam had completely missed her feet and her white socks. There was a small circle of clear tiles around her. She brushed her brown hair away from her face and glanced up. The bread was smothered in peanut butter. She tried reaching for it, but couldn’t, her arms were too short. She contemplated treading through the mess. Patricia turned and walked over. "Don't do that. Come here."

Amy turned to face her mother. Patricia reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of change. She counted four pounds. "Here, take this money and buy some lunch. I need to change these clothes and you need to catch the bus." She pushed the money into her daughter's tiny palm.

Patricia placed her hands beneath Amy's arms and lifted her away from the jam and glass. She placed her in the dining room and brushed her coat down. "Get your shoes on. And what do we say about school dinners?"

"No chips and no doughnuts." Amy adjusted her rucksack and put her shoes on. She spun around to look in the mirror and checked her outfit. "And no fizzy."

"That’s a good girl. Now, go catch your bus. See you after school, darling."

The school bus was a blue and white monstrosity that towered over the passengers. Its early arrival would always cause the kids to lapse into silence and watch in awe as the vehicle pulled to the side of the road. The hissing of the brakes always made several jump, drowning out and killing conversation in the process. Every time.

This morning was no exception. Amy jolted at the sudden hissing, looking up at the beast. It idled and waited for her to board. The doors opened like mechanical jaws. Three kids, all seniors, two boys and a chubby girl, climbed onto the bus. Amy waited and stepped up behind them. She pulled the plastic laminated ticket from her coat and showed the driver. With a single nod, access was granted.

The kids before her ran to the back of the bus, screeching and hollering as they went. Amy shuddered.
That’s where the cool kids sit
, she thought. Moving a few steps forward, she took a seat nearer to the front. She hated buses. Getting off as soon as possible appealed to her.

For the first time this morning, Amy smiled.

The bus rolled away from the stop and weaved into traffic.

The bell rang, filling the playground with a shrill, clanging noise. Amy was already by the entrance, eagerly waiting for the front doors to open. She shivered in the cool, December breeze, her eyes twitched, urging the door to open.

It didn’t. 

Her eyes roamed across the playground and she noticed several of her classmates. Gemma, the prettiest girl in school, was sitting on a bench, playing with her flowing blonde hair. A tablet device sat poised on her knees. Her mouth moved silently. Amy assumed she was face-timing someone, chatting via the hidden camera in the device. Cameron and Nick were sitting beside her, reading some comic books. Further back, on the climbing frame, sat Mark, Jason and Stacey, a handful of the cool kids. They were chatting amongst themselves, probably discussing their eventful weekend.

Amy looked around for Ted, her enemy, the boy who bullied her every day. Thus far, he hadn't arrived. Avoiding contact with Ted created an urgency, one that fuelled her need to have the door open as soon as possible.

Just for one day.

One day, it's not too much to ask, is it?

Amy trembled at the thought of running into Ted. A second later, the school doors opened and Ted shifted to the back of her mind. Relief washed over her in a wave.

For now.

"Well, well, if it isn't Amy Brunswick."

Amy spun around. Moments earlier, the bell for lunch had sounded. Eager for some sustenance, she'd walked quickly to the canteen and slipped into the queue. The smell of chips and greasy pizza filled her nostrils. Heavenly for any nine-year-old child. As per her mother's request, she would obey the rules. The spaghetti Bolognese was her lunch choice for today. That and a green cola Panda Pop. Okay, so she was breaking one of the rules. Fizzy or water? No contest.

Now, as she queued for food, her attention diverted to Ted.

Her fear had taken four hours to materialise. 

"Well, well, if it isn't Amy Brunswick."

Amy's heart sunk.

Her fingers touched the change in her pocket. Four pounds. Enough for a small feast. Amy was planning to keep some of it for the trip home. She'd jump off the bus two stops early and pop into Kambo's. They sold the best penny sweets in the town. For a pound, she could get a hundred sweets and they'd last a week. Amy half smiled, practically tasting the sweet, sugary confectionary.

Until it was cruelly ripped away.

She took the money out of her pocket and placed it in Ted's chubby paw.

"Thank you."

Ted pushed her. Off balance and caught off guard, she toppled and fell to the canteen floor. Her palms and knees slapped the floor loudly. Three kids stepped away from her and grimaced, as if her very touch would infect them. They turned back to their food. A few kids laughed and pointed. Ted took a step forward. Jason and Mark, the cool kids from earlier, flanked him. Amy rolled onto her rump and stared up at her attackers.

"You stay there. Worthless geek. Only fitting that a whore lay on her back, just like her slut mom."

Amy blushed, uncomfortable with such words. Ted, an overweight blubber of a boy, leered down at her. She quickly closed her legs, worried he was peeking at her. They were only kids but she knew what men did to women. She'd seen Mum and Dad do it on a regular basis. They didn’t know this, of course, but it happened. Thinking about it, why should age be a factor? She wouldn’t put it past Ted to leer. Looking at his sweaty, doughy skin made her feel ill. As he leaned in, his brown, greasy hair flopped onto his forehead.

"See you tomorrow."

Ted turned and walked away. After a second, Jason and Mark fell in line and followed.

The canteen returned to normal, ignoring Amy. She climbed to her feet, retrieved her fallen backpack and hurried out of the room.

Amy emerged in the playground, the noise and smell of the canteen disappearing behind her. Taking a sharp left, she walked between two tall oak trees and climbed a small, grassy incline to her secret spot. The incline took over a small hill and into a group of trees, which were hidden from sight, dipped behind the steep grass. To an onlooker, it was just trees in a small copse, nothing more. Many wouldn’t know of the secret, unknown hideaway below.

Amy ducked underneath a huge root and emerged in her space, a huge hollowed out tree trunk. She sat down on a broken log and opened the pocket on her bag. Removing a Wham bar, she started to unwrap it. The smell of damp bark filled the cool air.

Then the tears came.

Amy Brunswick cried.