part0007

“Sunny - my arse!” roared John at his T.V screen, his head held lowly within his hands. “It would piss down with snow on the exact same day we’re moving home, wouldn’t it?”

“Calm down, John. Just...calm down.” pleaded Hannah, with rolling eyes. “There’s not that much to take over.” She quickly ushered for Lucy to go and play out in the garden, away at least from her father’s increasing despair. “I’ll put some old newspapers in the boxes to stop our stuff from getting wet. Stop worrying.”

“Thanks, Han.” replied John, in a guilty tone. “I’m sorry for getting so wound up.” He nestled himself into Hannah’s side and, to his relief, she kindly accepted the companionship being offered. “Dad’s van should have been here by now. I hope he hasn’t forgotten about today?”

“Dennis won’t let us down, hun. You said so, yourself.” Hannah stroked at her husband’s hands tenderly. She found that this would usually calm John’s unpredictable bouts of anxiety. “What time did your dad say he was coming over?”

“I....I can’t remember. Oh, shit!” John reached down for his phone which, to his greater frustration, had slid in-between the sofa’s heavy cushions. “Three missed calls...bollocks!” He frantically swiped across the phone’s greasy screen to retrieve his father’s contact details. “I’ll try phoning him.”

“You’re as bad as each other!” chuckled Hannah, increasing John’s annoyance further. “I don’t see why he didn’t just turn up? You’re terrible for answering calls. ”

“Shhh, it’s ringing.” John raised a tremoring finger to rest upon his lips. “Come on, Dad...answer!” A few tense seconds passed, before the monotonous ringing tone burst into Dennis’s familiar voice. “Dad, can you hear me?” John tutted towards Hannah. His father was using a hands-free kit again and, as usual, could barely be heard. “I’m Sorry that I missed your call, are you alright?”

“It’s okay, Son – no worries.” replied Dennis, with a sporadic outburst of laughter. “I was about to send a carrier pigeon...would have heard back sooner!”

“The cheeky git...” whispered John to Hannah, his mouth opened wide aghast. He was about to correct his father but thought it unwise, given the desperate circumstances they were in. “I’m really sorry, Dad. I’ve been busy sorting things out for the move.” No response. “Are you on your way now?”

“Aye!” Dennis’s response was sharp and hinted to John that his father was not impressed. “It’s a good job that one of us is on the ball, isn’t it? I’m outside now, Son.” John slowly moved his eyes away from Hannah towards their living room window; it was badly clouded with condensation, though John could still make out that his father was not where he said he was.

“I can’t see you, Dad...” grumbled John, whilst scratching at his shaven head in confusion. “Are you sure?"

“I’m in the Sprinter van, how the fuck can you not see that?” laughed Dennis again, but with a mocking undertone this time. “The big, silver one. Howay, Son, pull yourself together!”

“Hold on...” interjected Hannah, with a knowing smirk. “Is Dennis saying that he’s outside?” John nodded silently in agreement. “Ask him what street...”

“Dad, what street are you in?” stammered John, his voice burdened with apprehension. “Are you in Bourbon Close, because we can’t see the van anywhere! ”

“Bourbon Close ?!” Dennis’s arrogant streak swiftly diminished. “No, I’m in Ladybrown Street, and I’ve been sat here for over half an hour! My cock’s shrivelling away to nothing now in this icy weather! I hope you’re happy?” John reacted with an instant face-palm, much to Hannah’s amusement. “Bloody freezation!”

“Dad, we haven’t lived there for ages, man!” John would have normally humoured over his father’s lapsed memory, though today had already driven him towards a breaking point. “We’re at Eleven Bourbon Close now. I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?” John lifted his phone to cut the call, hoping this would hasten Dennis’s arrival.

“Ta-ra, Son...” Dennis cut the conversation between himself and John before his son even had chance to. Ten more minutes followed with no sign of John’s dad, or his elusive van.

“Is everything ready just to go, Han?” questioned John, as he paced back-and-forth along their living room. “Shit, where’s my guitar at?”

“Your guitar is still in our bedroom, exactly where you left it after playing...this morning.” responded Hannah, softly. “Please, stop worrying so much. Everything’s going to be alright. Lucy is really excited, why don’t you go and spend some time with her before Dennis arrives?”

“Yeah, that’s a good plan.” John smiled for the first time that morning. “Lucy always knows how to cheer me up.” He turned to observe his daughter playing happily outside in the snow. “Can you keep an eye out for Dad?” Hannah took in a deep breath and then grunted indecipherably to John, as she moved away from him towards their window. “Keep an eye out for dad’s van.”

“Why don’t you play on the swing with her, we can’t exactly take it to Skipton Road, can we?” ushered Hannah, almost sorrowfully. “The gardens there are all paved over or concreted...from what Mum said. It’s such a shame. ”

“Oh, I forgot about that,” sighed John. “It is a shame...Lucy’s barely had chance to use it.” He continued to watch his daughter skip around the large lawn they had, endeared beyond words by how her wellingtons left small imprints in the falling snow. A great sense of regret now entered John’s thoughts for a fleeting second, then went away after being replaced by his lust to provide Lucy with a ‘better life’. “Give me a shout when Dad turns up, Han.”

“I will,” Hannah responded forcefully, while ushering John outside into the cold winter’s air. “Go and spend some time with Lucy. Today is a big deal for her...she needs her daddy.”

John slowly slid open his patio doors. The freezing breeze instantly hit hard at his face, forcing him to clench his eyes together to shield them from it. The snow had also begun to lay heavier now and was at least four inches thick. Moving in this weather was going to be a nightmare.

“Lucy!” shouted John, from the fading warmth of his living room. “Should we build a snowman, before Grandad Dennis comes?” Lucy clapped her woollen mittens together excitedly.

“Daddy! I love the snow!” screamed the child, in ecstasy. “I want to build a snowman! A big one!” John slipped on his old work boots and prepared himself for the arctic conditions lain ahead.

“We can only make a small one, sweetheart.” explained John, glumly. He placed his feet into the crumpling snow and then sighed. “Grandad won’t be long.” In response, Lucy playfully clasped a ball of snow together within her petite hands to throw right into her father’s face. “Lucy, man!” berated John, on swiping the remnants of Lucy’s snowball away from his reddened cheeks. “Less of that, now. We don’t have long to build our snowman.” Lucy chuckled to herself, before grabbing some more snow into her shivering palms. Together, John and his daughter rolled a small bundle of snow around the lawn to form a boulder, no bigger than a soccer ball. It was a perfect match to their petite size .

“Looks great,” grinned John, proudly. “Now, make a little one for the head, then we’re done.” Lucy happily followed her father’s instructions. She placed another bundle of snow upon the figure’s torso to form a disturbing, humanoid creature. “It’s a bit wonky, but it’ll do.” John used a finger to create two eye sockets and a crude-looking mouth. “We’ve made worse.”

“Daddy, why have you made our snowman look sad?” frowned Lucy, as she tried to correct her father’s lacking skill with a pristine thumb swipe. “I wish, I had that pretty ribbon to put on it...”

“What pretty ribbon?” questioned John, with an instant look of confusion. “That one you found last week in the mud?”

“Yeah,” whimpered Lucy. “It was so pretty.” Before John had any time to react, Hannah called out from behind the patio doors.

“John, your dad’s here!” The patio doors briskly opened again. “Come on, Lucy! You’re coming with me to Nanna’s house, while Daddy and Grandad Dennis move our things.”

“Tell Dad that I won’t be long, Han.” John lifted Lucy into the air, brushing the snow from her wellingtons as he did so. “Go on, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon, okay?” Lucy tightly clasped onto John with both arms, before leaving him to follow Hannah into the passageway. “I’ll phone you when we finish.”

“Be quick about it, John.” emphasized Hannah, before leaning into him for a parting kiss. “I don’t want you catching a cold, either.”

“I won’t,” sneered John in dismissal. “I’ll be sweating my tits off from lifting – if anything. Send my love to Barb and Ivan.” Hannah granted John another kiss and then left with Lucy, without saying any word to Dennis.

“Alright, Dad?” shuddered John, whilst his father came forward to greet him. The air outside seemed to be getting colder now, perhaps this was only in John’s weakened mind. “Sorry about the mix-up. I’ve had such a busy morning, sorting things out. My head’s bouncing, man. ”

“You’re telling me, Son. Fucking...nightmare!” snorted Dennis, as he gestured aggressively back towards his overheating van. “It’s been a struggle to get through the snow in this old thing...having no load in the back of it. At least, Skipton Road isn’t too far from here and your fat arse might help keep some traction on the tyres.”

“Ha-ha-ha...” remarked John, sarcastically. “Howay, Dad. I’m bloody frozen, plus I want to be finished by lunchtime.” Dennis rolled his eyes and quickly reached down to place a nearby cardboard box into John’s hands. “We’ll be finished in no-time, Son. We’re on a mission – let’s get cracking!”

After loading John’s meagre belongings into Dennis’ van, the drive to Skipton Road was expectedly precarious in the worsening road conditions. The lightweight van swerved in an uncontrolled manner along the whole journey, and John could swear that he heard a few fragile items clash against one another in the back of it.

“Of all the days you choose to move, Son!” sniggered Dennis. He quickly turned the radio up, only to blare out some retro trance tunes, most of which were from the late nineties. “Ah, I remember this one from Ibiza...fuckin’ class sketch that was!” John’s eyes glared in fear, his father’s attention was swiftly falling away from the snow-laden road. “I was dancing to this one when my mate, Titchy-Tom, got sucked off by some lass from Barnsley next to me...proper mong she was. She stunk of fish...”

“Jesus! Dad!” squealed John. “Can you watch where you’re driving? We nearly clipped the curb there!” Dennis rubbed at his eyes and tutted back. “Bloody Hell, Dad! ”

“Calm down, Son, I know what I’m doing!” The van swerved again to miss some fallen branches, every yard taken was having a great impact on John’s faltering nerves. “You worry too much, Son. Be like your Dad here!” Dennis slammed a fist several times into his chest like an Alpha Gorilla, supposedly to signify his masculine prowess. “Don’t give a shit and live each day as it comes – Carpe Diet.”

“It’s Carpe Diem, Dad, and I’d like to see Hannah and Lucy again...that’s all.” mumbled John, in utter dread. “We’re nearly there now, thank the Lord.” Dennis turned up the music to a deafening volume, quenching his son’s persistent whines. John strangely welcomed this, as the pain being inflicted on his ears was somehow distracting him away from Dennis’s casual, albeit dangerous, driving abilities.

“Here we are!” gleamed Dennis. He suddenly slid up the hand brake and turned sideways towards a row of black houses nearby. “Skipton Road...home-sweet-home!” Without the lurking fog, Skipton Road seemed far-more inviting (from a certain point of view). On what would be the grassy area in better weather conditions, and laying just before John’s new house, a group of children were out playing. They had made a large snowman together, impressive in comparison to John’s earlier attempt. “Looks like a nice area, Son. You’ve done well getting a house here.” John smiled and laughed to himself at the same time. It was such a relief to have someone commend him for choosing Skipton Road as his new abode, given all the grief he had previously received from countless others. “It’s a canny, little street.”

“Thanks, Dad. Apparently, it has a bad reputation...but I don’t see why.” John leapt from Dennis’s van and immediately reached for a set of keys stored within his back pocket. “It’ll be the first time I’ve had a proper look around inside today...should be interesting.” He chuntered. “It’s hard to tell, online. ”

“What...you haven’t had a look around yet?” gasped Dennis, in total disbelief. “Has Hannah not had a look either?” John angrily kicked at the thick layer of snow beneath his feet. He had been at work over the last few days or so, leaving no time for any such inspection. “Seems a bit daft?”

“No, Dad. I thought that it would be a surprise for Hannah and Lucy.” he said in a pitiful tone. “We saw some pictures on the letting agent’s website...it looks canny enough inside.”

“Look, Son, you go ahead and have a look around. I’ll start unloading the small things. Don’t take all day, though.” Dennis clambered towards the back of his van with a vacant expression of joy. He was proud of his son, though he didn’t really know how to show it.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll be back in a minute.” John slowly walked up to his new address, his heart beating fast, his lips parched further from the draining anxiety inside. “I hope Hannah and Lucy do like it.” He pondered, with a worrisome frown. “Here goes nothing...”

John gradually unlatched the lock on his new home’s gate, savouring this anticipated moment. The garden had noticeably been neglected for some time and was strewn with a varying array of weeds that peaked through the lain snow. The first door that John came to, led into a kitchen area that had been painted with a hideous, lime-green colour.

“Shit, it’s going to take a few coats to cover this.” sighed John. “What’s that...smell?!” A distinctive stench of rotten meat lingered within the stale air; it was an aroma that John instantly recognized from working in the care home – death. “Phwoar! I’ll have to get rid of that before Hannah comes in.” The passageway proved no better. Its wallpaper looked to be from the early sixties and stunk of a foist, stale tobacco. “It just gets better...” whined John, during another face-palm. “For fuck’s sake, man. The photos did a good job in covering this up! ”

Things only deteriorated thereafter: the living room was a nauseating orange colour, upstairs was a blinding yellow and the room which should have been Lucy’s was covered in black mould. “Bollocks!” John succumbed to his disbelief, sitting on the staircase with his phone ready in hand to inform Hannah of the disappointing news. “Shit...Hannah’s gonna kill me.”

“John?” cried out Dennis, from his van. “Are you helping me, or what, Son?”

“Coming, Dad!” replied John, in a defeated manner. “It stinks in there, mind. I’ll have to sort it out before Hannah and Lucy come.”

“New homes always have teething problems,” replied Dennis, whimsically. “You’ll be alright, just keep your chin up and everything will be okay.” Dennis hastily threw a small box into John’s waiting arms. “Now, shift some of this crap before I freeze to death. I’ve got a date tonight and need a certain extremity to work...get what I mean?” He nudged into John’s arms, though his son gave no response in return. “Cheer up, Son, it could be worse.”

It took two hours for John and Dennis to complete the move. During this time, Hannah had sent numerous messages to John on his phone, most asking how long it would take and also if the house was a great as he had recently deemed it. John responded each time with a smiling emoji and several kisses, all a ruse to hide his hidden shame and growing guilt.

“Right, John, we’re done.” concluded Dennis, rubbing his cold hands together in satisfaction. “I’ll catch up with you soon for a few pints. The Tin Donkey pub is just around the corner, isn’t it?”

“Aye, Dad.” replied John, wearily. “I’ll give you a text when I’m free. I’ve got a lot on this week.” Dennis rolled his eyes again. John’s promises were not always well-kept, especially to him .

“No worries, Son, send my love to the girls....” Within moments, John was left alone to dwell on his hasty decision. A deep sense of regret soon set in. He couldn’t face the putrid stench inside, not without visiting the local corner shop first for some super-strength bleach (and a few cans of nine-percent lager to ease the present headache).

“She’s going to hate it, I know she is.” trembled John, on contemplating his wife’s predictable reaction. “What a mess I’ve landed myself in now.” He took the short walk to Skipton Road’s local corner shop. Inside, John purchased some strong bleach, four cans of stomach-rendering lager and a packet of cigarettes (which he believed, would not be detectable within the nicotine-soaked house). On the journey back, John tried to think positively, despite the unnerving revelations encountered. “I’d best phone Hannah, she’ll be getting pissed off with me now.” John lit up and then took in a quick draw from his cigarette, just before activating the phone in his other hand. “What should I say? What can I say?”

“Hi, John.” said Hannah, apprehensively, on answering her husband’s long-awaited call. “What’s it like, then?” John took in another discreet draw, pretending that as he exhaled all his worries left with it. “Is it...nice inside?”

“It’s like a palace, Han, absolutely gorgeous.” John could barely believe his own words and was also deeply ashamed at having to lie in such a way. “You’ll love it, babe. Only thing is...we’ll need to do some decorating.” A couple of silent seconds passed. “Han?”

“That’s fine.” Hannah didn’t seem at all phased. “Mum and Dad said, that they would help us decorate anyway.” Her mother’s laughter was now evident in the background. “We’ll come over now, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, sure, that’s not a problem.” John gulped in a nervous fashion. “Come over in about an hour, though. I want to clean up first.” He could hear Hannah’s enthusiasm dwindle through her audible grunts. “Honestly, it’s lovely. ”

“Aye, it better be!” shouted Ivan, Hannah’s step-father, down his daughter’s phone. “If it’s a shit-hole...”

“Tell Ivan that it’s great and send him my love, Han.” Stuttered John. He instinctively reached for his syrupy lager, hoping that it would cease his increasing nerves. “Just, maybe give me an hour or so to sort things out. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“One hour, and then we’re coming over!” Hannah abruptly ended the call. John slurped away at his can and drew several puffs from his cigarette along the way home to Skipton Road. As he re-entered, the smell within his house had deteriorated further. John frantically sprayed the contents of his bleach bottle around the many rooms and passageways, praying this would shield any harrowing smells before Hannah and Lucy arrived.

“For fuck’s sake!” John used the last drops of bleach in his kitchen, where the strongest stench of death lingered. His attempts were in vain, however, as the bleach only intensified the pungent fumes of rotten carcasses. “Why me? Why can’t something just go right for me...just once!”

“John?” Several knocks rattled against the kitchen window – it was Hannah and Lucy. “Are you finished?”

“Come in!” commanded John, reluctantly. “I’ll be in the living room!” The steady sound of increasing footsteps moved closer towards him, like a predator ready to pounce on their prey. To his surprise, Hannah had a radiant smile on her face and on seeing him lunged forward with a forcible kiss. “Alright, Han?!”

“I love it, John!” declared Hannah, with a widened smirk. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Can you not...smell anything funny?” asked John, with a fearful frown. “Especially in the kitchen?”

“No, all I can smell is bleach...have you farted or something?” replied Hannah, with a jubilant grin. “I can’t believe that you’ve actually done some cleaning...that’s the biggest shock. ”

“Cheeky bitch.” laughed John, in a discreet burst of relief. “I’m well domesticated me, you know?” Lucy’s expression, however, was not showing any similar appeal to her new surroundings. “Do you like our new home, sweetheart?”

“It’s the one next to the bathroom,” replied John. “Why don’t you go and have a look?” Lucy quickly left her father’s company to wander upstairs by herself. Hannah inspected the hideous colours, scowling all the while as she did so to John.

“We’ve got a lot of painting to do,” she muttered. “It’s like being on a fucking acid trip. What kind of person would choose these shitty colours?” John couldn’t help but laugh at his wife’s keen observations. “They’re vile! It’ll take a few coats to cover.”

“I know, we’ll soon sort it out in no-time, hun.” He glanced across lovingly to Hannah; her smile always managed to rekindle his hope. “Why don’t you choose what colours you want, then I can go into town and get some paint?” Hannah winked back in turn. “Will that make up for things?”

“Sounds good to me. How about, we go for black and white...they’re neutral and modern, aren’t they?” John scratched at his head, though reasoned that it would be unwise to unsettle Hannah any more.

“Okay, I’ll go into town and get some paint.” Before John had a chance to leave, Hannah shouted upstairs for their daughter’s attention. “Lucy! You’re going into town with Daddy to get some paint!”

“I want some Barbie dolls!” screeched Lucy, reaching the capacity of her small lungs. “Can I get two...for me and my new friend?” John and Hannah looked to one another with a confounded expression .

“Which ‘new friend’ are you on about, sweetheart?” questioned John. Hannah was still distracted by the abhorrent colours surrounding her and stayed silent. “You’ve only been here a few minutes.”

“The little girl...upstairs,” said Lucy innocently, as she tumbled down the staircase. “She likes playing with dollies – just like me!”

“Okay...” replied Hannah, in a drawn-out voice. “If you’re a good girl, Daddy will buy you a new doll.” Lucy nodded back enthusiastically. “What is your friend’s name?”

“It’s a secret!” Lucy’s reply was both disturbing and mysterious. “She wants to be my friend and wants to play with me, but her name is a big, big secret!”

“Lucy’s at a funny age,” assured John to Hannah. “It’ll be strange for her to move home. I’ll get her some dolls to keep her happy.”

“Don’t go spoiling her, John.” countered Hannah, in a stern and bitter manner. “I know it’s a huge change, but don’t go mad. Just get Lucy one doll...we don’t have much money left.”

John quietly sauntered up the staircase to meet with Lucy. With each step taken, he could hear his daughter singing her favourite song: ‘The family fingers’. Lucy’s voice was truly angelic, and her words perfectly formed, yet a peculiar undertone ran alongside that sounded more like an elderly woman than a young child.

“Lucy, who’s up there with you?” enquired John, fearfully. He cautiously turned towards his daughter’s room, reasoning that perhaps his ears were playing tricks on him. “Lucy?”

“Howay, Lucy!” roared John, his patience thin as always. “We’re going into town now, me and you. I’m going to buy you a new dolly!” The haunting chorus merely continued.

John instantly froze, his body fully paralysed with terror. It wasn’t Lucy’s voice singing, and the feeling of being watched quickly surrounded the darkening atmosphere. “Lucy, who are you playing with?” he questioned, in safety from the passageway.

“I’m playing with my new friend...her mammy doesn’t like you, Daddy.” responded Lucy in a frank tone. “She doesn’t like you...not at all.”

“Get your tiny buns out here, right now, missy!” shouted John, still not daring to venture into Lucy’s room, in fear of what he may find. “I don’t care what your friend’s mammy says...hurry up!”

“Okay, Daddy.” Lucy suddenly appeared before John and in her hands rested a small, red ribbon; from where she had retrieved it – John could only ponder. “She gave me a present...see?”

“That...is going straight in the bin!” John snatched the worn garment from Lucy’s hands and, with tremoring hands, placed it into his back pocket – away from sight. “This friend of yours isn’t very nice, Lucy. I don’t think you should play with her anymore.” Lucy wailed with a piercing shriek at her father’s judgment.

“That’s not fair! I like her, and she likes me.” whimpered the child, pitifully. “That ribbon is mine – not yours, Daddy! ”

“Now, listen here, young lady.” scorned John, though gently as not to upset his ‘perfect princess’. “You do not talk to Daddy like that, you haven’t before and won’t do again – understand?” Lucy slowly nodded in agreement to her father’s wishes. “Good girl. Now, go downstairs and get your wellies on.”

“What’s going on up there?” Shouted Hannah from the kitchen. “John?!”

“We’re alright, hun, Lucy’s just mucking about.” The silent response from Hannah spoke louder than any words could to John. “Can you put Lucy’s coat and wellies on for her, please? I’m just going to check around the rooms again...for damp.”

“Be quick!” snapped Hannah. “It’s going to snow again later this afternoon. All I need, is for you and Lucy to catch a fever.” John slapped at his forehead, he had to vent his frustration somehow.

“I’ll only be a minute...” John peered back into Lucy’s room, at first with is eyes closed. “Who-ever you are...you’re not welcome.” he muttered, cautiously, into the empty space. “My Lucy is good girl, and I’m not having her play with some...freak !” John chuckled to himself despondently. He was a keen sceptic of anything supernatural; the sheer fact he was speaking to some disembodied presence, now felt so foreign to him, yet somehow necessary. “I’m throwing away this ribbon...that’ll be the end of it.”

“Fuck...off.” spat John, in defence against the ethereal voice now lingering in his head. It should be noted, that this voice wasn’t child-like, nor did it sound human in any other way; it was guttural, hoarse and truly menacing – wholly unnatural. “Whatever you are, leave this house and my family alone.”

“I’m coming, babe. I’ve just been checking how bad the mould is in Lucy’s room.” John latched an ear against the neighbouring wall, reasoning that perhaps it could be someone from next-door he was hearing. “Strange...” Only a strong silence greeted him.

“Get some remover when you go into town...” groaned Hannah, her own patience wavering greater than John’s. “The snow is getting worse.”

“The...fuck?!” pondered John to himself, in utter terror. The whispering voice in his head was becoming louder and clearer; it was more like a beast’s roar than human. “What kind of language is that?!” A malicious cackle echoed in his ears and, no matter how hard he tried, John could not find a way to deafen himself from it.

“I’m coming...I’m coming, Han.” John struggled to catch his breath. The voice that resounded, without any physical presence, seemed to be that of an old woman; their voice was gravelly, though still powerful and foreboding. John knew in his heart that he had not imagined this strange encounter, yet he chose to dismiss it as merely being a side-effect of the intense stress he was presently under. “All’s well, Han – I won’t be sec!” he stuttered, bravely.

“Daddy took away my present!” grieved Lucy to her mother. “Can I have it back please, Mummy? ”

“What present?” snapped Hannah with a confused glance, as she continued to peer up the narrow staircase in search of John. “What on earth are you on about, Lucy?”

“The pretty ribbon...my friend gave me it.” whispered the child, in not wanting for her father to overhear. “It’s mine - not Daddy’s!” Hannah peered down towards her daughter, initially disturbed, though her frustration with John had grown far stronger. “John...get your arse down here – RIGHT NOW!”

“I’m coming, man! Fuck’s sake...” John stumbled down the stairs in a cocktail of fear and disbelief. “I’m losing the plot, me...”

“Too right you are,” Jibed Hannah. “Did you take something from Lucy?” John halted his steps, looking back up the stairs once more to ensure that he wasn’t being followed (because it certainly felt that way). “She’s rambling on about some...ribbon .”

“Aye, the last tenants must have left it.” responded John, his eyes glazed as if lost in a vacant stare. He carefully removed the crimson cloth from his back pocket to inspect it closer. “I’m getting you a new doll today, Lucy. Isn’t that better than some old piece of manky ribbon?”

“No, Daddy!” screeched Lucy, while stomping her feet. “It is very special...I want it back!” Hannah gasped at her daughter’s unusual behaviour. “It’s mine...MINE!”

“Who do you think you are talking to, missy?” Hannah placed her hands upon her hips, just like the headmaster at her junior school used to do when annoyed. “You never talk to Mummy or Daddy like that. We love you...show some respect.”

Lucy latched onto her mother’s side, sobbing greatly at this apparent loss. As John entered the kitchen, he was met with an icy reception from both his wife and child; neither one showed any endearment, only a rising hint of detest .

“This is what all the fuss is about!” remarked John, with a snide smirk. He quickly reached into his pocket to retrieve the secretive ribbon again; it felt like a greater burden to bear than any other now. “It’s going in the bin, okay?” Silence. “I don’t know what has gotten into you, Lucy, but I am not very happy at all, with how you’re talking to me. I’m your daddy and I love you.”

“It’s mine...MINE!” wailed the disheartened child once more. “Give it back to me, Daddy!” John bundled the crimson cloth into a dense ball and then, without further thought or guilty conscience, threw it into the nearby trash can. “No!!”

“It’s gone now. Gone.” John’s delivery was cold and littered with dread. “We’re going into town now and you’re never going to mention that ribbon, or your new friend , again...understood?” Lucy nestled herself more firmly into Hannah’s side, her only immediate comfort. It was as if John had torn the child apart from something truly beloved. Lucy’s genuine tears proved to confirm this. “Howay, sweetheart.” John tried to be more sympathetic, seeing the reaction given from Lucy. “I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart.” he assured. “I promise. Daddy doesn’t break his promises.”

“Don’t take too long, John. Mam and Dad are coming over soon to help decorate.” smiled Hannah, herself relieved by not having to decorate. John reached out his arms in response for Lucy’s embrace, though was only to be met with a look of scorn from the grief-stricken child. “Lucy...”

“I can’t do anything right, can I?” mourned John to Hannah. “I’ll be as quick as I can. God forbid, I piss anyone else off today.”

“I’m not angry with you, John.” Hannah leant in to kiss John again on his lips. “Moving home is stressful; it’s bound to take some getting used to.” John kissed Hannah back in the same way, softly and long enough to satisfy both their needs. “Try relax. ”

“See you in a bit, babe.” John then clasped onto Lucy’s petite hands and braced himself for the freezing conditions outside. “Should I just get some white emulsion...white-wash the whole place?”

“Yeah.” agreed Hannah, through gritted teeth. “Anything, to get rid of the nicotine stains and mingin’ colours.” She chuckled.

The short distance into town involved having to walk back through Bourbon Close. Lucy and John stared upon their previous home together as they passed by it, both sharing in a moment of silent reflection at the familiar comfort which had now been lost to both.

“We don’t live there anymore, darling.” spoke John, with a remorseful undertone. “Someone else probably lives there now.”

“I know, Daddy.” responded Lucy, her saddened smile instantly struck a heavy guilt in John’s heart. “I don’t really miss that house, I have a new friend now!” John took in a deep, laboured breath. He had hoped that Lucy’s new imaginary friend had been just a passing phase.

“Your ‘new’ friend...what’s her name?” questioned John, his voice wavering with reluctance. “By the way, why is she such a big secret?”

“You’re a man, so you’re not allowed to know her name.” Lucy’s remark was firm and hardly coincidental. “All men are nasty, and they should all be punished ...that’s what my friend’s mammy said.” John froze, unable to physically take another step. His chest tightened, a sickening convulsion then lifted from his stomach, and the regular pain of anxiety swiftly coursed throughout him; it was an infliction which John had fought against for many years .

“You don’t need to keep secrets from me, Lucy.” stammered John, during his struggle to calm each passing breath. “I’m your daddy. No matter what happens, or how old you get, you can always talk to me.” Lucy swayed her arms quite playfully, totally innocent to what dark power was having its influence on her young mind. “I mean it.”

“I love you, Daddy...I really do.” smiled Lucy, her pale-blue eyes shone even brighter against the fallen snow’s reflection. “But my friend’s mummy said that men are nasty, horrible people. I’m not allowed to talk to you about them.” Despite the freezing climate, John stilled his and Lucy’s progress for a few moments longer, wishing to divulge into her disturbing claims.

“Is that right?” seethed John. He was on the brink of a severe panic attack, though he thankfully managed to keep this at bay – only just. “I think that you’ve been watching too many YouTube videos, especially when me and Mummy aren’t around. Never-mind what your friend says to you. I’m your Daddy, and I say that you are not allowed to talk to them – ever again. Okay?”

“No!!” cried out the child, despairingly. “They were hurt by nasty men...you’re a nasty man and she wants to hurt you!”

“That’s enough, Lucy!” commanded John, even taking himself by surprise; he’d never had to shout at his daughter like this before.

Just then, an elderly couple walking by shook their heads in a unified disgust at John’s parenting skills. John grinned back coyly to them and rolled his eyes in a dismissive way. “You have to firm sometimes with bairns these days.” he attempted to reason, yet the couple only continued to shake their heads disapprovingly as they passed by. “Says a generation that used the cane against kids...” thought John to himself, angrily. “Whatever. ”

“I want to play with my new friend, Daddy.” pleaded Lucy, in a sorrowful whimper. “If you stop me playing with her, then the nasty lady will hurt you.” John rubbed at his face, coarsely, almost drawing blood from his blistered lips.

“I’m telling you, Lucy...” John tried to be more diplomatic this time in his tone with the impressionable child. He couldn’t bear to attract anymore unwanted attention to neither himself or his daughter. “You do not talk to them again in any shape, way or form. They are nasty...not me.” Lucy kept her eyes fixed upon the ground, as she and John continued their journey into town. Along the way, John (to his relief) came across a familiar and close friend – Donnie.

“Alright, Donnie-lad...how’s tricks?” gleamed John, showing no sign of his previous anger. “We’ve finally moved, mate.” Donnie winked to Lucy and then smiled back to his oldest friend.

“That was quick, pal.” smirked Donnie. “You only got the keys a few days ago, didn’t you?”

“Aye. No fuss – straight in.” replied John, proud in his stance. “It stinks of smoke, and the walls look like something Picasso himself mastered...easy sorted, though.” A unified burst of laugher followed between both. “You couldn’t help me and Hannah out with some decorating, could you?”

“I can’t, mate.” sighed Donnie. “I need to learn a few songs for this weekend...got a gig up the Tin Donkey pub on Saturday.”

“No worries,” said John with a sympathetic shrug. “Anything I’d recognize?” Donnie swayed to-and-thro, signalling without any words that the set list was not to his liking. “That bad?”

“Just some cheesy cock-rock from the eighties...nothin’ special. It’s for a workmate’s wedding reception – I barely know the guy. ”

“Money is money, mate. Beggars can’t be choosers.” sniggered John. Lucy continued to stare down at the ground. “Anyway, when you get chance, have a look over to our new house...it’s Seventy-One Skipton Road.” Donnie’s jovial expression instantly fell.

“My Mam lived at Skipton Road when I was little,” whispered Donnie, his evident mannerism filled with one of dread. “It’s haunted that street. You’re mental, you are, moving into that road.”

“Load of shite...don’t you friggin’ start!” laughed John, to hide his feeling of nuisance. “This town’s full of ghost stories...I’ve not seen anything yet.” Donnie persisted to stare at John anxiously, though he tried not to show this fear towards Lucy. “Don’t tell me, you’re into all that mumbo-jumbo?”

“Mam swore that she used to see an old man sitting at the end of her bed; a monk or something like that...just ask her.” said Donnie, almost pleading in his words to John. “If I were you, I’d Google a good exorcist, mate.”

“Nah,” jeered John, with a dismissive swipe of his free hand, the other still firmly attached to Lucy’s. “A good painter is what I need – not a priest! Anyhow, I’ll catch up with you next week, if you’re free? I could do with a laugh.”

“Sure thing, bud.” grinned Donnie. He tickled at Lucy’s chin and then, whilst walking away, gave to John a knowing wink. “Take care of yourselves...don’t let the demons get ya!”

“Demons...” tutted John, again held in dismissal. “Have fun at your gig, don’t get snatched up by any cougars after some young meat, hey?” Donnie lifted a sly middle finger to John on parting from him. The journey into town had suddenly grown sourer. “Is there not one person happy for us moving into that street? ”

“My friend is happy, but you won’t let me play with her.” scowled Lucy. John knelt to directly face his daughter. He slowly licked again at his dry lips and glanced to the penetrating sun rays now falling through the dense snow clouds above.

“I don’t want us to fall out, sweetheart.” John gently placed his hands upon Lucy’s, much to her disapproval at this time. “There’s no harm in having imaginary friends, but when you’re telling me that they want to hurt us...it makes me very worried.”

“They don’t want to hurt me or Mummy,” explained Lucy, reservedly. The clarity in her response concerned John, so much so that he fell into a silent stupor. “Just you , Daddy. That is, if you won’t let me play with her.” John exhaled into his chest and clenched at it with Lucy’s hands.

“Guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” John rose his arms into the air, accepting this humiliating defeat. “Howay, Lucy. Let’s get this paint, before Mummy wanders where we’ve gotten to.”

“Mummy is okay, Daddy, they’re looking after her.” Lucy whispered again, enduring the secretive nature of her newly-founded friendship. John diverted any further talk of Lucy’s phantom protectors on their journey back home. He kept glancing down to his unusually quiet daughter, desperate to laugh with her as they always did (prior to the recent move).

“How about some Pizza, tonight?” asked John to Lucy, as she skipped ahead of him. “I’ll order your favourite...”

“Yes, please, Daddy.” chuckled Lucy. Any tensions between herself and John had seemingly vanished, or so John hoped. “I want lots of cheese!”

“Aye, alright.” laughed John. “Not too much though, or you’ll have nightmares!” Lucy carried on with her skipping, and then started to sing to herself on nearing Skipton Road .

“Daddy finger, Daddy finger, where are you ?” blared the child, far-too happily. John’s anxiety quickly began to rise again. “There you are...there you are...” The words echoed relentlessly in John’s mind. However, it was not his daughter’s voice performing the innocent nursery rhyme.