part0013

Hannah stared blankly at her kindle whilst lying alone in bed (this was becoming far-too normal now). She was still so angry with John, at how he had behaved the night before. It had taken ages to settle Lucy down and all the while, Hannah had to contend with her own growing fears, regarding the nightmares she was encountering - nightmares which she continued to hide away from John’s awareness.

“Let’s see if his worship is awake, yet...” Hannah flung her kindle upon the bed, without even turning it off, and then quickly made the short journey downstairs towards John. “He’s got some explaining to do, fuckin’ knob.” John was lying, face down, upon the living room’s carpet. His ‘Joy Division’ album was still playing quietly on repeat, something which Hannah soon turned off with a disgruntled whine. “John - JOHN!”

“The...fuck?” John jolted upright, then wiped at his sweaty brow with a confused expression. His hangover was well under-way, its infliction - excruciating. “Sorry, Han...”

“Aye. So, you should be!” Hannah kicked a crumbled (and luckily) empty can of lager towards her inebriated husband, with a precise aim directly at his groin. “Dickhead! You came in here, well after midnight, stinking of whiskey and rambling in some weird language!” John whimpered in agony from Hannah’s keen strike. Slowly, he began to regain some of his sense and then looked around the room in even more confusion.

“I...can’t remember.” John rubbed at his sore groin, and then at his equally sore forehead. “Sean got a few whiskeys in... ”

“Don’t go blaming Sean!” seethed Hannah. “You poured the drink down your throat – not him!” She looked down to the battered box of Mirtazapine strewn beside her and John’s TV set. “Did you take your medicine? Can you even remember a thing, from yesterday?”

“Aye – Doctor’s orders.” replied John, sheepishly. “They’re the ones I got from my doctor.” Hannah inspected the small box, then frowned even harsher. “Dr.Kain thinks they’ll work...”

“NO ALCOHOL... TIT!” She then threw the box at John, this time striking him upon his nose. “You’re not meant to drink and take this medicine at the same time! Bloody Hell, John...you’ll kill yourself!” She started to cry now, remorseful for her inflicting actions against John, as well as her understanding towards his obvious struggles. “Babe...I’m really starting to worry about you. You’ve turned into someone...else. I don’t like it.”

“Got a funny way of showing it,” chuckled John, as he cupped his throbbing testicles in both hands. “I only took one tablet...”

“So, what?” Gasped Hannah, in dismay. “It says: NO ALCOHOL...no means none at all, John.”

“Look, I’m sorry!” pleaded John, his eyes widening like a puppy’s. “The thing is, when I drink...I don’t have any nightmares – I don’t see...Sabina.”

“It’s not a good habit, John.” responded Hannah, her head tilting side-to-side. She didn’t acknowledge the witch’s mention, not even once in this moment. “Those tablets are meant to help you. I’d rather you take tablets, than rely on booze to help you...just think of our Lucy.” John’s guilty conscience quickly came into play again. “You need to think of your little girl – as well as me. Lucy won’t want to grow up with a piss-head as a father! I know, I wouldn’t! ”

“Shit!” John opened his mouth aghast. “I’m taking Lucy to see Grandpa and Grandma Murray today...I nearly forgot!” Hannah rolled her eyes in response, an action John should have been getting used to – at this point. “I’ll have a shower and then go over with her...is Lucy awake?”

“Aye.” Hannah slowed her breathing down, hoping this would also calm the rising anger inside. “She’s just playing upstairs and had breakfast over an hour ago.”

“Champion. I’ll get ready then.” John shrugged off the tingling pain in his groin and then made his way towards the bathroom upstairs, only after planting a kiss on Hannah’s left cheek. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“It’s okay, just get a shower...you reek of whiskey.” sniggered Hannah, despite the urge to scorn John further. “Go on, I’ll make you a coffee while you get washed.”

“Thanks, hun.” John peered into Lucy’s room as he passed by it. The strange symbol was gone, Hannah must have wiped it off. “Hi, Lucy.” He slowly stepped into his daughter’s room. She was singing the ‘family finger’ song again. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

“Hi, Daddy.” gleamed Lucy. “I’m just playing with Eliza...I can call her that now. She said so.”

“Oh, aye?” John searched around the room, once again finding no-one else there. Even with closing his eyes, John couldn’t sense another soul in the room, apart from himself and Lucy of course. “What’s...Eliza up to?”

“She’s teaching me magic spells.” Lucy lifted her palms into the air, then proceeded to swipe them across it in several directions. “She’s a good witch.”

“Right!” John knelt himself directly before Lucy with a stern expression. “I don’t want you playing with Eliza...her mammy is a very nasty woman. ”

“We know.” Lucy’s response gave John an even greater cause for concern. “Eliza’s mammy and the Goat-Man want to hurt you, so she’s going to teach me some magic spells...they will stop you getting hurt.”

“Balls to that!” John couldn’t help but curse in front of Lucy. His train of thought and emotions flurried into an anxious and dangerous cocktail – in regard to his reasoning. “You’re not playing with Eliza anymore ! Go downstairs, please.” John pointed towards the stairwell outside of Lucy’s room. The child obeyed her father’s command, though only after a few disgruntled murmurs aimed against him. “Less of your cheek as well, missy.”

“But, Eliza’s a good witch!” pleaded the child. “She wants to help you!”

“Do NOT mention Eliza to your mammy, understood?” implored John, his stare to Lucy both cold and fearful. “Be a good girl and do as you’re told.” Lucy grunted once more, then stormed downstairs like a well-rehearsed drama-queen. “God help me, when she’s a teenager.” laughed John. He ensured, this time, that the shower was at a colder setting. No more day-visits from Sabina , he prayed.

“John! Are you gonna be in that shower all day?” shouted Hannah, from the stairwell. Lucy soon joined in. “Hurry up!”

“Come on, Daddy! I want to see Granny and Grandpa Murray!” John flicked the shower off and hastily made his way downstairs, with only a small white towel on to hide his delicate parts. “Oh, Daddy!” sniggered Lucy, bashfully.

“Bloody Hell, John.” snorted Hannah, almost dropping the mug of hot coffee in her hands. “You could have gotten dressed first!”

“You said, come down .” John rolled his eyes sarcastically. “I’m gagging for that coffee. Cheers, hun.”

“It might take more than one cup, to sober you up.” Hannah made her way back into the kitchen, where she reignited the kettle into full boil. “Fancy another, before you go? ”

“Aye, please.” said John, as he slurped away at his bitter sustenance. “Tastes great.”

“I’m surprised you can taste anything at all, after what you drank last night.” stammered Hannah. Her face fell again into one of discourse. “I’m still not happy with you.”

“Look.” John leant towards Hannah for kiss, unwittingly allowing for his towel to fall away from him. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re not going to see your grandparents like that, are you?” Hannah’s smile rose again, her eyes fixated on John’s shrivelling privates. “...Perv.”

“It’s cold, y’know?” replied John. He looked down to his retreating manhood with a certain level of shame. “I’ll go and get dressed then.”

“Yes, please.” Hannah smirked as she tightened John’s towel, so as it wouldn’t come loose again. “There should be some clothes out ready for you...don’t be long.”

“Mammy,” interjected Lucy. She tugged at her mother’s cardigan with a dire sense of urgency. “I’m a good girl, aren’t I?”

“Sometimes,” said Hannah, whimsically, her frown now turning to a bemused expression. “Why ask? What have you done now, madam?”

“It’s just...Eliza is a good girl, but Daddy won’t let me play with her.” Lucy lowered her head, hiding it behind her long golden hair, knowing instantly from Hannah’s responding glare that she had said something to upset her. “Lucy is a good wit...”

“Having imaginary friends is fine, Lucy. I used to have one, and I bet Daddy did.” Hannah spoke in a deepened voice, her ‘authority’ tone. “But, this Eliza mustn’t be a good girl - if she is a witch?” Hannah clasped her hands against her mouth. “...Shit...” She whispered to herself .

“Hold on a sec!” John sprinted back downstairs, half-dressed, and in an angered state. “Did you say something about ‘Eliza’, and being a ‘good witch’ ?” It was John’s turn to glare inquisitively. “I’m sure, that’s what I heard, Han.”

“You heard wrong, limp-dick.” Hannah flicked her hair from one side to the other; a peculiar, though common, symbol for John to make his retreat. “Go and get dressed, before Lucy starts kicking off.” She laughed nervously, in a futile attempt to distract her husband’s attention. However, John easily saw through Hannah’s façade. “...And stop eavesdropping!”

“Okay, okay...” John rose his arms up in submission, thankfully not losing the towel around his waist this time. He was already in Hannah’s ‘Bad Books’, so the last thing he wanted was to add to this ever-growing list. “Howay, sweetheart. Let’s go and see Granny and Grandpa!”

“Yay!” screamed Lucy. Her frustration had dwindled, being swiftly replaced by an intense feeling of excitement. “I love them, so much! I love you and Mammy, so much!” she cheered, while clapping her hands.

“We love you too.” replied Hannah and John, perfectly in unison with one another. The small family huddled together, regardless of their haunted surroundings, and stayed that way for at least a minute in total harmony. It was only after a knock came from the kitchen door that this passionate embrace ceased.

“I wonder who it is?” said Hannah, with shifting eyes. Her first thought was that it could Barbara, of whom she had borrowed some clothes a few days back – maybe she came for them? “It’s probably Mam...”

“I’ll get the door, Han.” smirked John, with a sly wink. “Can you get Lucy ready?”

“You can’t go to the door dressed like THAT! Bloody Hell, John!” snorted Hannah – again. “If it’s Mam, you’ll give her a frickin’ heart attack !

“Fair point.” John hurried himself upstairs, laughing all the way to himself. “Get the door, then!”

“I will!” Hannah ushered Lucy into the living and then made for the kitchen door. Outside, stood a petite and elderly-looking woman – certainly not Barbara – from what Hannah could make out inside. “Who the...?” The door was clouded over by a thick layer of condensation, and the lingering fog surrounding Skipton Road didn’t help either in deciphering who this stranger was. “Won’t be a moment, sorry!” Hannah fumbled through her set of keys to find the correct one. As she finally opened the door, a noticeable sigh of relief left from Hannah – it was Pat, her and John’s ‘nicer’ neighbour. “Hiya, Pat. Sorry it took so long, I couldn’t find the right key.”

“Hello, dearie. It’s not a problem.” Pat replied with a patient and welcoming smile. She was enclosed within an oversized puffer jacket – it was cold, but this was something else to look at. “I haven’t seen you nor John for a while, just wanted to check everything is okay. I hope you don’t mind?” A dry outburst of laughter left from her shrivelled lips. “I’m not being nosey , by any means.”

“Of course not, it’s really kind of you.” said Hannah, politely, though she also pondered as to what the real reasons were for Pat being so intrusive. “John’s been doing a lot of overtime recently, and I’ve been around my mam’s helping her out. Lucy’s obviously been at school - most days.”

“Oh, you don’t have to justify anything to me, pettle.” quirked Pat, awkwardly. It was very difficult to see what her body language was doing underneath the several layers of plastic that smothered her. “How are you all settling in?”

“Great.” Hannah responded in a sharp tone, something which Pat instantly picked up on. “Honestly, we’re fine and dandy. ”

“I see.” Pat’s eyebrows lifted, infused with suspicion. “I presume, you mean that yourself and Lucy are fine?” Her eyes widened. “John, on the other hand, is a man. I’m more concerned about him.” The fuck does that have to do with anything, thought Hannah angrily in response.

“Yes...John is a man.” mumbled Hannah. “If you came a few seconds earlier, you would have seen that for yourself.”

“Pardon?” Pat’s face flushed, the heat from it beamed against Hannah instantly. “What was that you said?”

“Nothing. John’s...fine.” Hannah turned her head glumly towards the passageway. She could hear John singing along to ‘The Pogues’ upstairs, so the coast was clear to gossip. “To be honest, Pat, he has been acting different since we moved here. I’m getting a little worried about him.”

“Oh, dearie.” sighed Pat, as she rubbed at Hannah’s arms sympathetically. “She always such an effect on the men of this household...always has...always will.” She shuddered and then, for some strange reason, performed a crucifix gesture across her chest. “Evil, wicked creature...she is. I lived here for over twenty years and it’s been haunted all that time.” Hannah pleaded ignorance with her responding facial expression but inside, and to her utter dismay, she truly knew of what evil Pat was referring to.

“Who are you talking about, Pat?” Hannah checked the passageway again, then exhaled a lengthy breath of relief at John’s lacking presence. “What do you mean?”

“Skipton Road is a lovely place to live, don’t get me wrong.” Pat rubbed at Hannah’s arms again, this time in a reassuring manner. “But we, who’ve lived here the longest, know of the witch that haunts this place...and has done for countless years.” Pat inspected the steamy bathroom window from outside, hoping that John was still contained there. “Sid, the pisshead who lives next to you,” Hannah couldn’t help but chuckle at Pat’s use of a curse word, it seemed so wrong. “He told me about her...he’s a piss-kick, you know? ”

“Psychic?” chuckled Hannah, apprehensively. She was dyslexic, but even she knew the difference. “Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, yes...a psychic .” Pat frowned in embarrassment. “He calls her: The Red Ribbon Witch . He’s completely obsessed with her!” Hannah felt herself overwhelmed by shock, almost fainting at this statement from Pat. “Oh, my dear. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, cheers for that, Pat.” groaned Hannah, whilst trying not to vomit from her risen fear. “The Red Ribbon Witch?”

“Shhh! Don’t let Sid hear you say that!” Pat tapped a finger across her mouth frantically to emphasize this. “He’s like a fly around shit, if you mention her in front of him.” She leaned in closer to Hannah now. “Word has it, that the last tenant was driven barmy by her...he became totally catatonic in the end – a loony!”

“Thanks, Pat, that’s just what I need to hear.” Hannah initiated her ‘Mother’s Glare’. “John hasn’t gone completely mental yet, thanks for asking though.”

“Oh, pettle.” whimpered Pat. “You’re taking this the wrong way. I’m just trying to tell you, to keep a close eye on your husband – for both your sakes...not to mention the bairn’s.” Hannah slipped her fingertips across her keys again, now more familiar with which one locked the kitchen door.

“Thanks, Pat. See ya later!” grinned Hannah, forcibly.

“Don’t be mad at me!” retorted Pat, in shock. “Bloody Norah!”

“Bye.” Hannah slammed the door clean against Pat’s face, but this cruelty didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. “Cheeky bitch! Coming around here, telling me that my husband’s going mental...cheeky, fucking , bitch!”

“Hannah, what the Hell’s going on down there?” yelled John, from the bathroom upstairs. “Christ, I thought you were gonna take the hinges off there! ”

“It was just Pat from next-door!” replied Hannah, her voice weakened by anger and dread. “She just came around to see how we’re doing.” A couple of silent moments passed. “I said that we’re okay...”

“You didn’t tell her about the weird things going on, did you?” said John, with a hint of reluctance in his voice. “She’ll think we’ve lost the plot.” She already does , thought Hannah.

“Nah, I told her to do-one.”

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? She’s knocking on eighty, Hannah...you shouldn’t have sent her off like that!” You didn’t hear what she said, Hannah’s anger was growing steadier by the second.

“She’s a nosey cow, so I told her to sling it.” Hannah began to tap at the stairwell, loud enough for John to hear. “Anyway, hurry up! Lucy’s waiting for you!”

“Aye, I’m coming!” John was struggling to stretch his pair of skinny jeans over his knees at this point. The penetrating hangover wasn’t much help either. “It’s always a rush with you! My Grandpa’s not going anywhere, is he?”

“Your gran was expecting you half an hour ago, John!” Hannah took this moment to slip Lucy’s shoes and coat on, a miniscule though successful distraction away from Pat’s concerning words. “You take longer than me...and you haven’t got any hair! Hurry up, man!”

“I’m here, I’m here.” John gasped as he entered his living room, such was the impact of his whiskey-laced bloodstream. “I’m knackered!” He looked to the clock upon his living room wall. “Ah, I don’t think we’ll be long at Gran’s...it’ll be lunchtime soon.”

“You need to spend time with your grandparents...” Hannah rubbed wearily at her eyes, then reached down across the sofa for her kindle. “Grandpa Murray...doesn’t sound too good. ”

“Is Grandpa poorly?” whispered Lucy, cautiously, her expression both sad and inquisitive. “Will he be a star in the sky soon...like my Grandpa Richie?” Hannah kept her fingertips upon her eyes. It had been ten years, yet she still hadn’t gotten over the loss of her beloved grandfather. “No, Grandpa Murray is very poorly...but he hasn’t died, sweetheart.”

“Dying isn’t bad, Mammy.” said Lucy, in a jovial spurt of joy. “Eliza told me...”

“Lucy...” growled Hannah, her eyes glaring once again. “We’ve told you not to mention your imaginary friend anymore...be a good girl.”

“Eliza is real! She’s not dead!” Lucy repeated this a few times, until John appeared. “Daddy! Eliza is real!” She continued, to Hannah’s further dismay. John shrugged towards their daughter – agreeing with her to Hannah’s greater annoyance. “See, Mammy!”

“Don’t drag the bairn into this, John.” seethed Hannah. The kindle in her hands began to tremble erratically. “Don’t...you...dare!”

“What do you want me to say, Han?” John shrugged his shoulders again, though with more arrogance in their movement now. “I’ve seen her in the nightmares I keep having...doesn’t that say something?”

“Yeah, it means that Pat is right about you!” Hannah rubbed an opened palm aggressively across her scalp, tearing at it in frustration. “Just...go and see your grandparents.”

“Jesus! Calm down, man!” John edged towards Hannah with a pathetic, whiny look on his face. “Look, I’m sorry...”

“Aye. You keep saying,” said Hannah with an emotionless stare. “Send my love to Gran and Grandpa. ”

“I will.” John silently slipped on his trainers, not daring to kiss his beloved wife goodbye – he’d already done too much damage. Right now, John could have killed for another shot of scotch whiskey, his nerves increasingly wreaking havoc across his entire body. “Come on, Lucy. Let’s go.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Lucy held onto her father’s hand tightly along the short journey to their grandparents’ house. On leaving Skipton Road, the permeating fog seemed to lift, though ever-so slightly. Grandpa Murray’s garden, once so proudly adorned with various flowers and vegetables, now looked so bare with only a single yellow rose bush surviving his dementia’s impact.

“Here we are.” gleamed John, towards his excitable daughter. “Remember to give Granny and Grandpa a big hug when you see them.”

“I will!” replied Lucy, enthusiastically. “I love them, so much!”

“So, do I.” John hesitated with his initial steps into Grandpa Murray’s home. A raw sensation of dread and bitterness entered his entire being like a sickening disease; he knew that what lay inside, could only be an addition to his growing depression – relating to Grandpa Murray’s worsening health. “Poor Grandpa...Poor Gran.”

“Hello, my gorgeous girl!” grinned Grandma Marie, on seeing Lucy’s innocent smile. “We’ve missed you.” Lucy hugged into her great-grandmother without any question, though she looked to Grandpa Murray with a perplexed and startled expression. “Grandpa’s...not too well, flower.”

“Hi, Gran.” interjected John, almost formal in his pronouncement. “We’ve...missed you too.” Marie waved her hands dismissively against John, an obvious gesture to diminish his guilt. “Are you okay?”

“As good as can be, John.” Marie instantly turned sideways towards Grandpa Murray, who continued to lay lifeless in his nursing bed. “Grandpa has another chest infection – a really bad one, this time. ”

“Hello, Grandpa.” whispered John gently, in aim of his grandfather’s presence. Grandpa Murray was once as stocky and well-built as John. Though now, he looked so frail, so helpless. He had lost most of his muscle mass, not to mention his dignity...through aging and dementia. Due to Grandpa Murray’s recent outbursts of aggression, he had accumulated a mass of facial hair, from not tolerating a single shave, it looked so wrong. John couldn’t bear seeing his once proud grandfather like this – he couldn’t accept it at all. Imagine the cruellest thing you’ve ever seen and times it by a thousand and it still wouldn’t be close to how John felt, regarding his grandfather’s quality of life. “It’s John – your grandson. I’ve brought Lucy along to see you.” Not even a faint murmur left from Grandpa Murray’s lips, his dementia now seemingly reaching its final stage. “...Grandad?”

“Doctor Kain has prescribed some ‘anti-piss-appy’ drugs.” replied Marie, solemnly, however John chuckled at his grandmother’s incorrect terminology. He felt remorseful in an instant.

“Anticipatory drugs, Gran?” John quickly wiped the smirk off his face, realizing how cruel he had become. A by-product of Sabina’s influence, perhaps? “Sorry, Gran. I’m not taking to mickey out of you...poor, Grandad.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Marie just came out with this, leaving John little time to react. “Doctor Kain said, that it’s up to me when the nurses should give Grandpa his morphine...I don’t want to finish him off.”

“Gran.” sighed John, sympathetically. “You’re not Harold Shipman, man! The morphine is there, only if Grandpa is in any pain...is he?” To be fair, it was difficult to tell. “That’s what it’s for...not euthanasia. ”

“I’m not too sure, John.” Marie shook her head, portraying to John just how helpless she felt. “The last thing I want, is for your Grandpa to suffer. I can’t believe that it’s come to this.” John reached an arm around his grandmother, supporting her both physically and emotionally. “Oh, John.”

“Gran. You’re doing everything possible to make Grandpa comfortable...that’s all that matters now.” John struggled to hold back his pressing tears, Grandpa Murray meant so much to him. “If you think, for even one second, that Grandpa is in pain...phone the District Nurses, okay?”

“I will...” whispered Marie, her normally-gentle voice now sounding frailer than ever before. “My beautiful husband...he’s never hurt anyone...he’s done nothing but help others throughout his life...and this is the treatment our ‘Good Lord’ bestows on him. It makes me sick to the bone!” John nodded back in agreement - genuinely.

Grandpa Murray’s proclaimed spiritual stature mirrored his own, in John’s opinion: he’d never hurt a soul yet here he was, being hounded by a witch and a demon and for what? For being a man, for being a ‘Son of God’.

“It is wrong, Gran. But...” John stuttered, he’d began this statement but didn’t truthfully know how to finish it. “Life isn’t fair – it’s shit - at times. But there’s always a light in the darkness, even when it doesn’t feel that way.” He looked over to Lucy, who at this point had seated herself in front of Grandma Marie’s TV set to watch an episode of Peppa Pig . “Lucy is mine.”

“She’s ours .” said Marie, with a proud smirk. “Watching the bairn grow, seeing how happy you and Hannah are...that’s what helps me.” John bit at his lip, not wishing to grant Grandma Marie the painful truth. “You all keep me going...keep me fighting to make Grandpa’s life better.”

“You’re doing an amazing job, Gran.” interjected John, as he tightened his hold around Grandma Marie even more. “I’m only a few minutes away...if you ever need me. ”

“You’ve got enough to worry about, John - with the move an all.” sighed Marie, herself feeling a wrongful guilt. “Don’t you be getting yourself stressed – life’s too short.”

“Oh, I know, Gran.” John turned his glance again to Grandpa Murray. “I’m reminded of that often enough at work. Dementia is the cruellest illness.”

“How long does Grandpa have?” Marie’s piercing stare into John’s eyes haunted him more than any of Sabina’s taunts. How could he answer this and honestly? “Just...be frank. Does he have long?”

“It’s hard to say, Gran.” John then scrubbed away at his shaven scalp with both hands, somehow finding this to soothe his awkward and reserved response. “Dementia’s different with each person...could be days...could be months.”

“Oh, God.” Marie planted her hands firmly against her tremoring lips. “Don’t say it’ll be months ! Hasn’t he suffered enough?” Maybe not in Sabina’s eyes , pondered John instinctively. This train of thought soon wrought a disturbing sense of remorse in him. Without even being near Skipton Road, the Red Ribbon Witch still had a hold over his senses – his very soul.

“Seriously, Gran.” groaned John, enthusiastically, despite his strain not to. “Not a single person on Earth could give you that answer. Like I said: all that matters, is making Grandpa as comfortable and pain-free as possible...which I know, you above all else others, can do.”

“You’re such a good boy,” Marie tugged at John’s face endearingly, just as she did when he was a child. “I wish there were more people in this world like you.” This again? John’s guilty conscience was reaching its boiling point.

“I’m no angel, Gran.” chortled John, his immediate thoughts turning back again to Sabina’s scornful comments. “You do, what you think is right. ”

“Granny?” piped up Lucy, after managing to tear away her attention from the TV screen. “Is Grandpa going to be star?” John spread his fingertips angrily and then waved his hands towards Lucy in hoping to silence her. “My friend Eliza said that he will be soon.”

“Oh, my!” gasped Marie, her smile evidently forced and preceding a sense of utter concern. “Who is...Eliza?”

“She’s her imaginary friend, Gran.” interjected John, as quickly as he could. “Don’t take any notice...”

“Daddy!” scowled Lucy to John. “You’ve seen her...stop lying! Lying is very naughty!”

“She’s right, John.” remarked Marie, with a sly wink similar to John’s own mastery. “Don’t be making the bairn out to be a liar.”

“Lucy, we’ve talked about this...” John tried to keep himself calm – it was very difficult. “Don’t talk about Eliza, please.” He pleaded, desperately. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

“I’d love to hear more about your friend ...” grinned Marie. “I used to have an imaginary friend, when I was a little girl...”

“ENOUGH!” John not only startled himself with this declaration, but Marie and Lucy also with his sudden outburst. “No more talk about Eliza...and that’s FINAL, Lucy.”

“Now, John.” said Marie, with a judgemental nodding gesture. “There’s no need to talk to the bairn in that way.”

“Yes...there is.” replied John, his heart filled with an unnatural malice. “We don’t talk about Eliza – ever! She’s a big secret...isn’t she, Lucy?” he sneered. “Lucy...”

“I guess so...” Lucy shuffled herself back towards the TV screen. “She’s a good witch.” she mumbled under her breath. “...An Angel. ”

“What was that, missy?” hissed John, his aggressive sub-nature clearly evident. At this moment, Marie had heard enough and was standing between her grandson and great-grand daughter in a protective stance. “I’ve told her plenty of times, Gran. It’s not on.”

“I don’t care...” Marie widened her sapphire eyes against John’s own. “She’s only a bairn...behave yourself!” John immediately recoiled at being talked to in this way by his grandmother. The last time Marie had scolded John so, was when he hit a frisbee plainly across Katherine’s six-year old face – knocking out her two front teeth. It was as painful to bear now, as it was back then – twenty years ago. “Are you listening to me, bonny-lad?”

“Aye. Sorry, Gran.” grumbled John, ashamedly, his facial cheeks pulsating like a hamster hoarding their measly portions. “We’ll have to set off again soon, anyway.” He glanced back across to Lucy’s presently seated position. “Howay, Lucy. You’ve got homework to do.” He spoke so gently, as not to stir Grandpa Murray from his slumber. “Come and say goodbye to Granny and Grandpa Murray. Come on.”

“I love you, Granny!” Lucy threw herself against her great-grandmother with some force, arms opened wide, and grinning with a hint of pity towards her. “Don’t be sad about Grandpa.” John’s daughter stared blankly past him, aiming her sight solely upon Grandpa Murray’s shivering torso. “The angels will look after my Grandpa – Eliza told me so!”

“Lucy!” snarled John, the veins on his neck throbbing as if about to burst. “What did Mammy say to you, before we left? We don’t talk about...your friend. ”

“Really, John?” frowned Marie, with her piercing eyes. “Stop over-reacting. Let the bairn believe what she wants...what harm can possibly come from it?” Marie fleeted her sight across Grandpa Murray’s frail body, with tears now forming. “I think it’s a lovely thought...God’s angels watching over him. It’s what your Grandad deserves.”

“Aye. Sorry, Gran.” said John, his tone riddled with remorse. He wanted to believe this ‘so-called’ truth, though all he had encountered recently were demons and their sub-ordinates. God . Where was God at? Where were the divine powers, the Holy Trinity, to counter this persisting terror that John and his family struggled to endure? “It’s a nice notion, Gran. But...”

“Eeee, John.” Marie broke into a faint burst of laughter, removing her previous sorrow. “Can you remember, how you and your grandad would always sit on that same bench in Whitby – the one by those whale bones, staring out at the ocean for hours on end? I remember it like it was only yesterday...you haven’t changed much.” John gulped in response. It was his way of hiding the festering emotions that had built up inside of him. “You were always so happy together. We all were...back then.”

“I’ll never forget it, Gran.” smiled John, pausing only to take in a single, drawn-out breath. He wanted those memories to remain joyful, not shrouded in resentment by more recent events. “I loved sitting on that bench with Grandad, especially when he’d give me some of those lemon sherbet sweets; he used to hide them in his pocket from you, didn’t he?” Marie giggled again, though this time like a pubescent schoolgirl. “He’d always slip you one on the way home, wouldn’t he?”

“Aye. The cheeky begger!” Marie then scrubbed away playfully at Grandpa Murray’s knees; they were his only defining feature now, being that they stood most-prominently within the several layers of bedding sheets that kept his thin body warm. “He kept them just for you. The pair of you were always so...inseparable. ”

“Still are.” affirmed John. He wrapped an arm across his grandmother’s shoulders in the same way his grandfather would have once, to alleviate her distress. “Nothing can change that...not even dementia.” He stared into his grandmother’s glistening eyes, emphasizing the latter part to her. “You’d have thought, that in this day and age, there would be a cure by now. Dementia is the cruellest disease – by far.”

“You’re such a good boy.” Marie leant into John, sobbing slightly as she made contact with him. “I wish Grandpa could have seen our Lucy grow up. It’s not fair.”

“Grandad’s still here, Gran.” John could scarcely speak now and was in desperate need of intoxication – any form would have suited him. “He’s...still with us.”

“No, John...he isn’t. The man I fell in love with...” Marie looked again towards Grandpa Murray, still with love in her eyes, despite their hardship. “What kind of life is this for him? I don’t know how you do this for a living...”

“Work’s different,” said John, coldly. “I care about the people I look after, just not in the same way I do with Grandad. It’s not the same.”

“Am I doing a good job?” Marie slowly turned her gaze back into John’s eyes. As they met, an understanding of pity and resentment resonated between them. “I try my best to look after him. It’s not always easy.”

“It goes with saying, Gran.” John found himself patting at his grandfather’s knees in the same way as Grandma Marie – a strange, though settling gesture. “You’re the best carer Grandad could ever have. Don’t doubt yourself – not even for a moment.”

“He’s not a bad man...” Marie started to sob louder. She tried to muffle her voice from Lucy’s attention, but it was too difficult. “Why should he suffer like this? ”

“It’s shit.” John strained to inhale now, let alone speak. “But, that’s life. All we can do is cope with it the best way we can, and you’re amazing at it. Honestly, Gran.”

“Aye. I guess so.” Marie focused her attention back on Lucy, who was still happily lost in a world of her own. “For the bairn’s sake – at least.” She wheezed through exhaustion.

“Yeah. Lucy’s too young to understand.” John could remember sitting in the same position before his grandparents’ TV set, just as Lucy was, so naïve to all the horrors playing out around them. “Sometimes, ignorance is bliss – that’s what they say.”

“Grandpa Murray would have doted on her, just as he did with you and Katherine.” Marie shook her head in both disbelief and frustration. “Maybe, he’ll get better?” she grinned, with a hint of desperation. “Maybe, he’ll surprise us all one day and just spring out of his bed, like nothing is wrong?” John couldn’t take anymore. His emotional reserves were now fully drained, and the harrowing sensation of guilt was swiftly kicking in.

“Grandad’s wincing a bit there, Gran. When can he have some more pain relief?” John scoured along a set of drawers that were nestled beside Grandpa Murray’s bed. Many items covered its surface: wipes, barrier creams, clean incontinence pads, some glycerine mouth swabs and a small bottle of Paracetamol - which looked so miniscule amongst the other things .

“In about an hour, John.” Marie pulled back the bed sheets to reveal Grandpa Murray’s PEG tube. It seemed like a good idea at first, when Grandpa’s health was far better, for the surgeons in Darlington hospital to instil the plastic device. The PEG tube rested on Grandpa Murray’s chest, rocking up and down slowly in unison with his laboured breathing. John’s family had fed so much hope into this contraption, praying that it would resolve Grandpa’s failing health. Now it had become a hindrance - a means of stretching out his torment. “I’ll make sure he gets it. The doctor didn’t prescribe any antibiotics this time.” scowled Marie, snapping her words as she spoke the latter. “He’ll never get better.”

“Didn’t they?” replied John, trying to act surprised. “The thing is, Gran; if Grandpa keeps taking antibiotics, won’t that just prolong his suffering? I think, that’s what the doctors are trying to avoid.”

“I know...” sighed Marie, exhaling with a horrid sound of defeat. “I just don’t want to accept it.”

“Come on, Lucy. It’s time to go.” John pecked at his grandmother’s face with a subtle kiss, then hurriedly wrapped his coat around himself to make for a swift exit. John couldn’t bear seeing his once, out-going grandmother succumb to an existence of sadness like this. Though it pained him, he just had to leave. “I’ll call you, Gran. Love you.” He planted another kiss on Marie’s face, making sure this one lasted a little longer. “Take care, Gran.”

“Are you not going to say goodbye to your Grandpa?” Marie’s expression turned sourer, quickly shifting to a look of horror. “You said, that he can still hear us – even if he can’t talk. ”

“Aye. I did...didn’t I?” John leant over his grandfather to rub at his shoulders (their previous way of bidding one another farewell – before the dementia kicked in). “Just you rest, Grandad. Don’t get up to any mischief for poor Gran. You’ve been through worse...” The words came out before John had any time to consider their ill-placement. Been through worse? Even death itself wasn’t as cruel as this; it would have been far quicker and more dignified - what a stupid thing to say. “Bye, Grandad. Love you.”

“Love you, Granny!” gleamed Lucy, as she wrapped her arms around Marie’s waist. “Love you, Grandpa.” Lucy blew a kiss towards him and then waited patiently for Grandpa to return the same gesture. After a few seconds of silence, and having no response from her grandfather, Lucy kissed Marie goodbye and then clasped onto John’s hands. “Love YOU!” she squealed at Grandpa Murray. “Be a good boy for Granny.”

“Aww, petal.” Marie finally smiled, bringing a great sense of relief to John. “Grandpa is always a good boy. You be a good girl for Mammy and Daddy – do as you’re told.”

“I will.” assured Lucy, with a bashful smirk. “Come on, Daddy. Let’s go and see Mammy now.” John obliged without question.

As John and Lucy waved farewell to Grandma Murray, a single, yellow rosebud fell from Grandpa Murray’s prized (and only surviving) rosebush outside, in the garden. The delicate flower head landed directly before John’s muddy trainers – a stark contrast in beauty – and appeared to have several red dots strewn along its petals.

“That’s weird...” John retrieved the small flower, admiring its serenity, its connection to his grandfather’s days of better health. “I’ll be keeping you.” He tucked it inside one of his large coat pockets, hoping that the thick leather wouldn’t crush it along the way back to Skipton Road. “A nice, little keepsake. Isn’t it, Lucy? ”

“Daddy?” Lucy tugged at the pocket where John had placed his grandfather’s yellow rose. “I have something for you...I think you need it.” John’s eyes flickered erratically, barely able to respond to Lucy’s desperate tone. “Please, Daddy...I want you to have this.” She reached into her own coat pocket, retrieving from it a thin and red line of crimson silk. “Eliza helped me make this for you.”

“You...what?!” John immediately snapped out his spiritual trance. “Don’t be silly, Lucy.” He brushed aside the fragile cloth and carried on walking ahead, still transfixed on the demon’s words in his head. “Howay, Lucy. Hurry up.”

“It will stop Belly-Bob hurting you, Daddy!” Lucy said this in a voice well beyond her innocent years. “Eliza said, that you MUST wear it!” She stamped her feet stubbornly, then sprinted ahead to stand in front of her father’s trance-like presence. “Wear it!” She firmly commanded .

“A gift from The Red Ribbon Witch, is it?” John’s own voice was filtered with an undertone of malignance and hatred, a sign that the darker forces of this world were now having their desired effect on him. “I DO NOT want to wear it, Lucy.” John marched on, cursing away to himself, and faster in his pace. “Let’s go home.”

Skipton Road’s fog seeped steadily over the main road that separated it from Grandpa Murray’s street. Despite it being midday, not even the sun seemed to penetrate the fog’s dense and foreboding wave. A distant chorus of crows cackling echoed within the freezing mist, their sound as haunting as Sabina’s own vicious laughter.

“Why won’t you wear my ribbon, Daddy?” asked Lucy, her voice breaking through the frustration John’s ignorance wrought. “I made it for YOU.”

“No - you didn’t.” John was still lost in-between the physical and spiritual plain, his speech hoarse and disturbed. “I just want to go home...COME ON!” he froze, seemingly reawakened from his possession, guilt-ridden over the way he had just addressed his beautiful, little princess. “Lucy...I’m so sorry. Daddy’s not well.”

“I know!” emphasized Lucy. “It’s Belly-Bob ! He wants to make you into a bad man! He wants Sabina to be happy!”

“Please...don’t mention her name, Lucy. Be a good girl for Daddy.” John wiped at his clammy skin with tremoring fingers, then a horrific realisation crept in. “They want to justify their torture...they want me to be ‘sinner’. Those evil...” Both John and Lucy froze on the spot at exactly the same time, as a tall, skinny figure walked towards them through the fog. It was hard to make out their features at first, with the sun being directly behind them.

“He’s a bad man, Daddy.” whispered Lucy, cautiously into John’s back – where she now hid from view. “He loves...Sabina.”

“John-boy?” A piercing and distinct accent flew into John’s tender ears from the figure. “Is that you, pal?” they cackled .

“Sid...” John’s muscles relaxed, despite his increasing anxiety. “Aye, it’s me. I’ve got the bairn with me – so watch your language.”

“Hello, Lucy.” smirked Sid. His grin was truly perverse to behold, though now lacked its usual aroma of pungent alcohol. He was dressed in a navy-blue suit, with a cheesy bow-tie included. No wonder it was so difficult for John to initially distinguish him. “What’s that you’ve got there...in yer hands?”

“It’s not yours!” snarled Lucy, as she peeped around her father’s waist for a split-second to address the imposing stranger. How could Sid have known about the ribbon held protectively within her palms? “Leave my daddy alone.”

“Lucy!” corrected John, sharply. It hadn’t yet occurred to him how strange it was with Sid knowing about the secretive ribbon in Lucy’s hands – a foolish error. “Sorry, Sid. She’s been very naughty today. Haven’t you, Lucy?”

“Ah...” Sid’s grin widened, wreaking heavily with sadistic pleasure. “Do you know what happens to naughty girls, Lucy?”

“They get ‘trapped’...don’t they?” replied the child, in truth already knowing the answer. “Like...Sabina?”

“Oh, yes.” said Sid, his tone one of warning. “Exactly like Sabina. Exactly like the Red Ribbon Witch . You know all about her...don’t you?”

“Sid...” muttered John, reservedly. “Don’t talk about that around the bairn.”

“That?! Sabina , ya mean?” growled Sid, in anger and shock. “Why not talk about Sabina, John-Boy?” Sid’s temperament began to aggressively flinch, along with his tensing fists. “Your Lucy is a ‘sensitive’...like you.”

“What do you mean by that?!” John restrained his impulse to punch Sid square in the nose; what good would it possibly serve anyway, other than for him to lose his job? “Lucy’s a good girl... ”

“Aye. Lucy is a good girl.” Sid granted a knowing glance to Lucy, and then back to John. “She’s a white witch – a pure soul.” He now focused solely on the cowering child. “Lucy has been taught in the ancient ways – of Sabina’s lineage.”

“That’s enough, Sid!” John couldn’t help himself now. He was struggling to contain his urge to strike Sid clean-out. “You keep your witchcraft to yourself – don’t bring my little girl into this. It’s a load of crap!” John wrapped his arms protectively around Lucy, and then carried on towards Skipton Road, in silence.

“She’s already made a bond with the Red Ribbon Witch , haven’t ya?” Sid revealed his decaying teeth towards Lucy’s position, his manner now bolder and more stubborn. “You know how the ‘magic’ works don’t ya , darlin’?”

“Leave us alone!” John’s hatred against his neighbour intensified instantly. “Keep away from my daughter - unless you want trouble. I mean it, Sid!”

“Oh, John-Boy.” sighed Sid, dismissively. He noticed John’s clenched fists, yet this didn’t deter him. “What’s the offence? Lucy is a white-witch, there’s no doubt about it. I can sense it in her aura: the purity, the sanctity, the impulse to stop Sabina from fulfilling her vengeance. We can’t be having that...”

“I warned you!” John sprinted back and then nestled his forehead against Sid’s. The two shared in a moment of utter aggression and fear, though it fleeted by as quickly as it had arisen. “Keep away from her, you hear me?”

“Those incantations you made, Lucy.” cackled Sid towards the despondent child. “They’re not strong enough – not even close. You can’t hide from Sabina...she’s waiting for you.”

“You fuckin’...” John went to lash out against Sid, though he was immediately halted by Lucy’s calming touch against his raised arm. “Lucy?”

“Don’t hurt him, Daddy.” pleaded the child, her voice no longer sounding meek. “Don’t make Sabina or Belly-Bob angry... ”

“Why?” asked John, furiously. “Why shouldn’t I, Lucy? They’ve ruined our life...they’ve made your mam hate me!” Sid began to walk away at this point, laughing with a muffled grunt, satisfied by John’s obvious torment.

“No, they want her to....” responded Lucy, in a vacant and trance-like daze. “But, don’t let them. Eliza wants to help us.”

“Oh, does she?” countered Sid, almost fearful in his response. “Eliza, the whore of Escomb?”

“Yes!” screamed Lucy. “She won’t let them hurt my daddy!”

“For now...for now, darlin’.” taunted Sid. “Ya can’t keep them at bay forever, John-Boy. I can help ya. Only I can help ya. Don’t be a daft cunt.”

“No thanks, Sid.” John had managed to calm himself, it wasn’t worth the effort to entice his neighbour’s fury any further. “Howay, Lucy. We’re going home.” he stuttered, in a dreadful state of melancholy. “Sid doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Just ignore him.”

“Aye. You ignore me, John-Boy.” cackled Sid, louder. “Just you keep telling yourself that all will be well - you’ll see. You’ll be begging for my help...soon enough!”

“See you around, Sid.” said John, more politely in his mannerism now. He hated confrontation, in any way, shape of form. “Arsehole...”

“He’s a bad man...he loves Sabina!” implored Lucy, frantically, as she leant in closer to her father’s side. “I don’t like him.”

“A Dark Wizard ?!” John scratched at his head in beleaguerment. It still didn’t make any sense to him, how the demon’s words could now be understood. More foul play? More trickery, under Sabina’s will? He was beginning to not care. “Come on, Lucy.” As John held onto his daughter’s petite hands, he turned around once more to look upon Sid. “What’s with the suit?!”