Dark Corners - Twelve Tales of Terror (27 page)

8.

The bottle of Smirnoff was already three quarters empty,
and yet Terri still didn’t feel drunk enough. She was slouched
on the sofa, watching the news with glassy, half-closed eyes. They
had been circulating reports of Bob’s accident all evening. She
swigged from the bottle and looked at the T.V. images of the twisted
and blackened wreckage, shot from overhead by a helicopter. Every
time Bob’s picture came up on the screen a fresh flood of tears
would course from her sore and tired eyes, and she would take another
drink to numb the pain. She had never been much of a drinker, but
simply didn’t care at this point.

She glared at the box, still sitting on the coffee
table, and thought that if it were able, it would be smiling smugly
right now.

Don’t be stupid, Terri. It’s just a box.

The thought felt detached and alien, and even through
the alcohol induced haze, she was aware enough to feel a flash of
concern for her sanity.

“
This
is all your fault,” she whispered under her breath as she took
another long drink, unsure if she were referring to the box, herself,
or Mark. She turned her attention back to the television,
concentrating hard to bring it into focus. Now her picture was on
screen, the horrible publicity shot from her first book. Even though
she was watching without sound, she knew what the report was saying.
It had been the same for the last few hours, repeating and
re-repeating the same information as they waited for a more exciting
story to break.

“
Free
advertising. Thanks, Bob,” she slurred, taking another swig of
the vodka. She was tired now, but knew she wouldn’t be able to
sleep. She couldn’t even remember the last time she slept
soundly. She was tired of stalking around the apartment in the dark,
wandering from place to place, not quite knowing what to do with
herself. She had lost the two people closest to her in consecutive
days, and knew she couldn’t handle much more.

Push the damn button then.

She was in the habit of dismissing her ever-bolder inner
monologue, but on this occasion, she hesitated. What harm could it
do? It probably wouldn’t do anything anyway, and she would have
spent the last few days stressing over nothing. But something in her
wouldn’t let her go through with it. The box didn’t feel
like a cheap trick or a hoax. Although she still wasn’t sure
how or why, she felt there was some kind of power attached to it. She
decided it was a decision best saved for when she was sober.

“
There
I go again,” she whispered to the television screen as she saw
her smiling promo photo. She felt the drink starting to
take a comforting hold, and she finally fell asleep.

She dreamed.

Dreamed
of the end of the world. Of cities burning, the earth being wiped
clean. Buildings flattened, billions simply erased from existence.
The oceans were drained. In the end, all that remained was a barren
globe of brown rock, and her. Terri Browning—standing alone on
a barren plateau, the box in her hand, button depressed between her
thumbs. She could see faces. Faces of the dead. Jane with her
misshapen face, stitched together like a macabre jigsaw puzzle. She
saw her cancer-ridden mother, no more than a hollow, skin-covered
skull. And she saw Bob, now no more than a shapeless thing, blackened
and scorched. They were not alone. Countless other shadowy beings she
couldn’t make out lingered in the background. They were all
chanting to her.

Push the button, push the button, push the button…

She awoke with a jolt, a short yelp escaping her lips as
she knocked the almost empty vodka bottle to the floor, where it
spilled onto the rug. She was immediately aware of the searing
headache and dry feeling in her throat. Checking her watch, she saw
that it was just after four in the morning. The room was illuminated
by the flickering of the television, which was now showing the
weather for the coming day. She had hoped her dream would fade away
like nightmares often do, but this one stayed fresh in her mind, its
vividness even worse now that she was awake. Ignoring the Smirnoff
induced dizziness and headache, she dragged herself to her feet,
flashing the box a quick glare as she staggered to the bathroom, then
to her bed where she collapsed onto the welcoming covers. This time
her sleep was dreamless.

9.

Awoken by a steady pounding she thought was her
headache, she slowly realised there was someone at the door. Sunlight
streamed through the windows now, which only served to increase the
intensity of her hangover. Every time she moved, a fresh wave of
nausea would sweep over her, and as she dragged herself out of bed
she wondered what life would throw at her today. She unlocked the
door with clumsy hands, swung it open, finally silencing the
persistent knocking. It was Mark.

“
Jesus,
Terri. What the hell happened to you?”

She had no strength left to fight him, and motioned for
him to come in. He had his suitcase, the one she had bought him to
replace the tired old sports bag he used to carry. Striding into the
room he turned to look at her, an expression of genuine concern on
his face.

“
Talk
to me, tell me what’s wrong?”

As much as she hated to show him weakness, she couldn’t
help herself and began to sob hysterically. He held her in his arms
and although she initially tried to fight, she gave in, enjoying the
safety of the embrace.

“
I
just saw the news about Bob. I came right over.”

He was stroking her hair, and she hated herself for
being so weak. In the end, it came down to need. He was all she had
left— her cheating lowlife boyfriend.

“
Let’s
stop this nonsense, Terri. Let me come back and I’ll help you
through this. We can do it together.”

She was starting to believe his soothing words, and
realised she couldn’t last on her own; she had tried and failed
miserably. Burying herself deeper into his chest, she allowed him to
keep up the sweet talk.

“
We
don’t need to be like this with each other, baby. Come on.
Let’s finally put this behind us.”

She looked up at him then, and before she could stop
herself she was kissing him passionately. He responded, and the next
thing she knew they were in the bedroom, joined in frenzied
lovemaking. Later as she watched him dress, she felt deeply ashamed;
despite her best efforts to be strong, he had won.

“
I
have to run, or I’m going to miss my flight.”

“
Where
are you going, I thought you said you were staying with me?”
she said, unable to keep the panic out of her voice.

“
I
have a business trip to Rio—I can’t get out of it.”

She nodded, too drained to get into any kind of
argument. His shoes now tied, he picked up his jacket and shrugged
into it.

“
If
Mr. Mashima goes for the deal, then I stand a great chance of
becoming junior partner. I should be back tomorrow night if all goes
well.”

She didn’t care, and now felt even worse for
allowing him back into her life as well as her bed.

“
I’ll
see you tomorrow. Take care,” he said, and was gone without
another word. She waited for the sound of the door closing, and
feeling used and alone with her life in tatters, she wept.

10.

Jane’s funeral was held at Shady Oaks cemetery,
with a few close family and friends in attendance. Although she was
devastated by the loss, Terri found she had no tears left to cry. As
the casket was lowered into the ground , she couldn’t get the
Jane-ghost image out of her mind; the one with the put-back-together
jigsaw face. She had gone through the standard pleasantries at the
wake, making polite small-talk with people she didn’t know who
all wanted the author’s opinion, and in one awkward case, asked
for the details of Bob’s accident. As time dragged on, and the
childhood stories became too much to bear, she made her excuses and
went outside.

The air had taken a cold turn, and great rolling clouds
of lead grey threatened to unleash their fury. She pulled her jacket
around her, thrusting her hands into her pockets as she walked with
her head down. Even though it was supposed to be about her saying
goodbye to her oldest friend, all she could think about was the box.
The box with the button that could set everything right in the world.
As she approached her car, she was surprised to see a man standing
beside it waiting for her. He was dressed in a suit that looked as if
it cost more than the car itself. She put his age at around sixty,
and he had fine white hair that shimmered in the wind. His eyes were
pale green, and had hardness to them she immediately disliked. His
face had unmistakeable waxy look of having undergone too many
operations in the pursuit of youth. As she approached she noticed he
was leaning on an ornate walking stick and noted that even money
couldn’t buy good health.

“
Miss
Browning,” he said curtly as he held out a black gloved hand.

She shook it wearily.

“
Yes.
And you are?”

“
My
name is Sykes. I’m here on behalf of Webster & Fisher
Publishing in regard to your current contract.”

“
Mr. Sykes, this is hardly the
time.”

“
I
do apologise for the timing. However, due to Robert’s
unfortunate demise, we’re anxious to know if you’ve
finished the manuscript as agreed.”

Careful here, Terri.

She didn’t like the old man. His eyes were keen
and sharp, and he seemed poised like a coiled snake. She wasn’t
sure if she should lie or tell the truth.

“
Bob
had the pages. He saw them.”

“
My
apologies, Miss Browning. I should be more clear. I’m afraid my
reason for being here is to inform you that, due to the unacceptable
delays and resulting losses, we will not be renewing your contract,
and would ask that the remaining pages be turned in within
forty-eight hours as per our previous arrangement.”

He reached into his coat and handed her a copy of the
contract she had signed two years before.

“
Look,
this is completely unnecessary. Bob saw the pages, he took them with
him.”

The old man paused, and smiled awkwardly. “Miss
Browning, I apologise for my bluntness, but it is the only way I
know. We can no longer afford the hefty costs involved with the
irregular flow of your work.”

“
But
you just said you want the pages!”

“
Indeed,
but only so we might recoup some of the losses we have accrued.”

“
Fine, ill re-print them and
post them later today.”

“
We
would prefer it if you would e-mail them, Miss Browning. We wouldn’t
want them to
get
lost in transit
,
now would we?”

There was a condescending tone in his voice that made
her furious, but she somehow swallowed her rage. She couldn’t
handle another confrontation.

“
Fine.
I’ll email them later today.”

“
Very
good. I look forward to receiving them.”

He walked past her, leaving a smell of soap and
expensive aftershave.

“
Miss
Browning,” he said over his shoulder. “I would advise you
to make haste in delivering those pages. We would have no qualms
taking legal action against you for breach of contract.”

He left her standing there, furious and in shock. In her
head, she could hear the disembodied ghosts of Jane and Bob from her
dream.

Push the button, push the button, push the button…

11.

She
usually enjoyed driving. She used to do a lot of thinking in the car,
and many ideas had been born within its leather-seated confines.
Usually she would be listening to music, maybe something by Coldplay.
Or if she was feeling particularly nostalgic, she would whip out
Meatloaf’s greatest hits and croon along to those epic ballads,
even though her singing voice was atrocious. Today was different
however. The radio was off and she travelled in silence. She was on
the same stretch of road where Bob had been killed, and her mood was
sombre. Despite her best efforts to divert them, her thoughts kept
coming back to the Box. Although she couldn’t blame it entirely
for everything that had happened, things had certainly deteriorated
since it found its way to her door—she knew that much for
certain. She wondered about its origins: where it came from, and more
importantly, why it came to her. She moved the car into the outside
lane and noted she was about to pass the scene of Bob’s
accident. The wreckage had been removed, but the evidence was still
on the blacktop. Several sets of tire marks were still visible where
the vehicles had tried to stop. She stifled a yawn as she passed the
site, and although she didn’t want to, she couldn’t help
taking a quick glance in the rearview mirror as she rolled away from
it. The burned image of the Bob from her dream appeared in her mind.