A Sting in the Tale: A Collection of Short Stories

I

“What’s wrong with you?” Steve asked between mouthfuls of his dinner, lovingly prepared by his wife Anne. He was talking to Frankie, his eldest daughter at nineteen years old. Steve had noticed she had been quiet all day. It was hard not to. They worked together in a vape/e cig shop and usually it has hard to get her to quieten down. But today she had hardly said a word. She had just kept staring at her phone whenever the shop was empty of customers.

“Nothing,” Frankie said.

The family was sitting at the dining room table; Anne and Steve — the parents — and the two children, Frankie and her younger sister, Billie-Jo. Frankie had been pushing her food around her plate for the last ten minutes; actions which hadn’t gone unnoticed by Anne or Steve.

Steve had had enough. She had been miserable in front of the customers and now she was creating a bad atmosphere at the dinner table.

“Nothing?” he pushed her. “You have a face like a badger’s arse and you’re saying there’s nothing wrong?”

“What does that even mean?” Frankie asked, irritated she was even having this conversation in the first place. She just wanted to be left alone to her own private thoughts. It was only because her mum insisted she ate something that she had even bothered to come down from her room.

“Shaun’s ignoring her texts,” Billie-Jo said with a smirk on her face.

“Shut up!” Frankie hissed. Billie-Jo stuck her tongue out at her, happy to have one up on her sister. Billie-Jo was your typical teenager. She hardly ever left her room, she hated school, was definitely mouthy but also had a good sense of humour — when she wasn’t being a wind-up merchant.

“His phone’s probably out of charge,” said Anne.

Just as Billie-Jo was your typical teenager, Anne and Steve were your typical parents. Steve was the big burly bloke who liked to take the piss out of everyone — usually with many explicits involved — and Anne was the calming parent who went out of her way to be nice to everyone. They were like chalk and cheese yet — somehow — as a couple, they just worked.

“Or he doesn’t want to talk to you,” Steve laughed. Frankie gave him a ‘fuck you’ look without actually saying the words. Her dad’s language was sometimes described as colourful but he still probably wouldn’t have been very appreciative if his daughter had sworn at him. He gave her a playful smile.

They had been dating a while now — Frankie and Shaun — and, although they might not have been able to talk every day, they at least shared text messages. She couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been in touch with her throughout the day. Even if he hadn’t been able to use his phone — for whatever reason — he still would have somehow got word to her, explaining his silence.

“Maybe he’s practising for a gig?” Anne offered another — kinder — suggestion than her husband’s.

Shaun was the singer of a band called ‘The Always’ — a band struggling to find their way in the world of mainstream music despite performing as many gigs as they could. By day his life was slightly less glamorous as he paid the bills by painting and decorating. The single thought keeping him going that — one day — his music would take off; an optimistic quality that Frankie both loved and respected.

“He’s not normally this quiet,” Frankie said.

“Well have you tried calling him?” Anne asked.

“Yes. It goes straight to voice-mail.” She paused for a split second before continuing with, “And yes I left a message!” She knew it would have been the next question from her mum’s mouth. Frankie put her knife and fork down. She pushed herself away from the table and stood up.

“You’ve hardly eaten anything,” Anne said.

“I’m not hungry,” Frankie replied.

“Leave her be. Won’t go to waste — dogs can eat it,” Steve said unsympathetically. He knew she’d eat when she was hungry. She wasn’t stupid after all. And if she wasn’t wanting to eat now — then he wasn’t going to force her. It would have only led to arguments which he couldn’t be bothered with. He also knew that Mia, their Siberian husky, and Alfie, their German Shepherd, would be only too happy to help polish the scraps off.

Frankie left the room, pulling her mobile from her jeans pocket; still no message, or missed call. As she walked through the bungalow, back towards her bedroom, she pressed through her contacts to find his number again. With it selected, she pressed the call button and held the phone to her ear.

It was ringing, and ringing, and ringing… ‘Click’. The phone went through to the voicemail service once more.

“Hey! It’s me! Just trying to get hold of you still,” she said, “call me when you can. Love you!” She hung up, a feeling of disappointment rushing through her once more at not being able to speak to him. In her mind — all sorts of bad things had happened to him. That was the problem with people like Frankie. Those people with active imaginations who loved nothing more than to get lost in a good book, especially a horror. See — to most people — Shaun was just busy, hence his lack of contact. To Frankie though — something terrible had happened to him. She didn’t know what. She just knew something had happened and kept imagining his body broken, and twisted, in different angles; bones poking through his ripped skin and his eyes staring up; lifeless.

Frankie felt nauseous as all the different, varied ways Shaun’s body could have been broken flew through her mind at an alarming speed. She knew she was being stupid. He was absolutely fine. He was just busy. Or he had lost his phone and couldn’t remember her number. That was it; he’d lost his phone — or it had got broken at work? He had accidentally dropped it in a pot of paint?

She walked into her bedroom and sat down on the bed, putting the phone down next to her with a casual glance — still no missed calls or text messages. She pulled her laptop from the small table next to her bed and opened the screen up. The page loaded instantly to Facebook, her preferred social media site. A few notifications — nothing of any importance — but no messages to speak of. She sighed and put the computer down next to her phone.

“Where is he Gizmo?”

Gizmo was Frankie’s pet cat; a little black and white ball of fluff who always seemed to gravitate towards Frankie — even when she didn’t want him to. She’d be working on her laptop — laying on the floor — and he’d come up and start rubbing the side of his neck against the machine’s flimsy lid. Cute? Yes. Irritating at those particular moments in time? No. Never.

It dawned on her that there was one thing she hadn’t thought to do yet. A status update. Hopefully one of his bandmates would see, and answer. At least that way she’d be able to go to bed and not worry as much; although it was still unusual for him to be so quiet.

As she reached for the computer, she started to cast her mind back to the last time they had spoken. It had only been yesterday and — try as she might — she wasn’t able to think of anything that had happened between the two of them which could have pissed him off. If anything, she should have been upset with him. She loved him — a lot — but there were times when he really annoyed her; little things that he did for the sole purpose of winding her up like repeating everything she said by singing it back to her.

Anyone heard from Shaun today? Getting worried.

She put the computer down, next to her, but left the lid up. She hoped that some notifications would come through sooner rather than later. Anything to put her out of misery.

She actually felt stupid. She wasn’t normally like this. She wasn’t usually so possessive. She loved him. He loved her. That was enough for her. She didn’t need to be in his pocket all the time. She had her life, he had his life. They liked sharing times together but were also more than capable of doing their own thing too. But — during the times when they were occupying themselves — they still stayed in contact with one another. They’d both know what the other was doing. And it was that — the not knowing — that was stressing her out.

II

I love you and a second message that said I’m sorry.

That’s what Frankie had woken up to. Two separate text messages sent within minutes of each other. Nothing else whatsoever; no mention of where he was, no answers to yesterday’s many text messages. Nothing. Just ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m sorry’. Had she received the first message only — the one claiming his love for her — she might have felt better but… What did he have to be sorry for?

Looking at the screen — the text had come through a little after one in the morning. She had no idea what time she’d dozed off but wished she’d been there when the messages had come through. That way she could have called him back straight away and stood more chance of him answering. Now though. Now the stupid phone was just ringing right up until the voicemail service interrupted again.

She hung up and tried calling again.

In her mind she started thinking about his cock being inside someone else. His cum trickling from between her pussy lips. Was that what he had to be sorry about? He had got drunk and met someone else? He had had sex with her? He had sent a text through yesterday because he had felt guilty? Was that it? Had he been with this mystery woman all day? What was it? Was it a case of the grass being greener on the other side? A part of him thought this other woman would be a better girlfriend than Frankie? Is that what had happened?

Fucking voicemail again.

She hung up and called back.

Voicemail.

Enough was enough. She looked at the time. Half seven in the morning. He wouldn’t be leaving for work for another hour yet and she had an hour and a half before she had to be at her place of work so — looking at it like that — there was plenty of time to get to his house.

Having fallen asleep in her clothes the previous night, she didn’t need to worry about what she was wearing. A quick spray of perfume would mask the fact she’d dozed off fully dressed. Mints would detract from the fact she’d not brushed her teeth; something she’d worry about after getting round to Shaun’s place.

She hurried from the bedroom and up to the front door. Her father — Steve — called out from the kitchen.

“Oi!”

She turned to see him. He was looking out, down the hallway to where she was standing.

“Did you go out last night and leave the front door open?” he asked.

“What? No.” Frankie said.

“Well if it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t your sister — who was it?”

“I guess it would have had to have been mum,” Frankie said — a cocky know-it-all look upon her face.

“Don’t get lippy!” he warned her. “I’ve already spoken to your mother.”

“Well I don’t know!” Frankie said. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t even know it was open.” She stood there a moment as the two stared at each other, waiting for either one to crack first. “Can I go?” she asked eventually.

“Where are you going?” Anne stepped into the doorway.

“I’m going to see Shaun,” she replied.

“Well drive carefully,” Anne smiled. Frankie smiled back — if only to keep her happy — and stepped from the house.

“Don’t be late for work!” her dad shouted after her.

The door slammed behind her as she hurried towards her little red Renault Clio. Her mind had gone from imagining him dead to wondering what she’d do if she caught him with someone else. What if she got round to his place and the mystery woman was still there, in bed with him?

As she sped down the road, she felt the adrenaline rushing through her body. An uncomfortable feeling that she tried to shake but — the more she tried to get rid of it — the more she kept seeing Shaun with another woman.

Why would he do this to her? They had been getting on great recently. They hardly ever argued and — if they did — it was never anything serious and often ‘fixed’ within a couple of hours at most. What had she done to drive him into the arms of another woman?

She felt her eyes start to well up.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” she told herself.

With one hand on the wheel, she used the back of the other to wipe her eyes dry. Her mind not posing the question as to whether she would find it in her heart to forgive him if there was anyone else involved. Part of her wanted to say ‘not a chance’ but another part — was it the bigger part? — told her that she would. Of course she would. She loved him.

That bastard part of her brain spoke up again, “But what if he doesn’t love you?”

There it was again — that sickness in the pit of her belly once more. The same feeling she’d felt when she first thought of him as dead and then — again — thought of him as cheating on her. A horrible feeling hinting that her world was soon to be coming crashing down around her and there was nothing she could do about it.

Just turn around, she thought to herself.

The thought was loud and clear in her head but she ignored it, pressing her foot down harder on the accelerator. If he was cheating on her, she had to know.

“You’re being stupid,” she said to her rear-view mirror. “He was busy yesterday. That’s why he didn’t reply. He didn’t reply to your text messages and that’s why he was sorry. Stop reading so much into this,” she finished.

What she said made sense and — yet — she still found herself speeding to his house.

Nearly there now. Only a few more turnings away…

III

Frankie’s car bumped up onto the pavement as she pulled up outside his house. His own vehicle was parked in the driveway; a good sign that she hadn’t yet missed him. She switched the engine off and opened the door; her heart in the back of her throat as her nerves continued to play with her mind.

She hadn’t made it halfway up the drive — heading towards the house — when the door suddenly opened and Shaun came running out wearing nothing but blue jeans splattered in the odd globule of paint.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, panic in his voice.

“I came to see you. I was worried,” said Frankie. She didn’t say what she was worried about — the fact she needed to see if he had been cheating on her.

“Worried about me? I’m fine. I’m just running late for work…” he said. He put his arm around her and started walking her back towards her car. Looking down, as they walked, she noticed he didn’t have any shoes on. When they got to her car, Shaun leaned forward and opened the door for her. “We’ll talk later, okay?” He tried to usher her back into her car.

Frankie froze.

This wasn’t like Shaun. He didn’t care about running late for work. There had been times when they had been in bed together and he knew they were both running late for work yet, every time Frankie had tried to get up, he had pulled her back — keeping her there longer.

“Can I at least have a drink of water?” Frankie asked him. Any excuse to get into the house so she could have a look into his room; a desperation to see if he was hiding anything within there. As soon as she’d asked the question — and saw the look on his face — she knew he was hiding something. She changed the subject, “Why did you tell me you were sorry?” she asked.

“What? When?”

“You sent a text to me last night. You told me you loved me and then you sent a text saying that you were sorry. Why are you sorry?”

Shaun looked over his shoulder, back towards the house, and then turned his attention back to Frankie, “Look — I’m sorry — I’m really late. I have to go.”

“You’re lying!”

“I’m not…”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Frankie was getting desperate. She knew he was up to no good. If he didn’t love her, or if he was seeing someone else… She just wanted to know. If this was the end of their relationship she felt she deserved to know at least, instead of being kept in the dark about it. “Are you seeing someone else?”

“What? No. I’m not!”

His face flushed. Frankie’s eyes welled up once more as she started to realise her worst fears were starting to come true; her man, this guy she loved, was most likely seeing someone else.

“Where were you yesterday?” Frankie pushed for an answer.

“Please — can we talk about this later?”

“Answer me! Where were you?”

No one had answered her Facebook status yesterday so — unless they were hiding it too — not even his friends had known where he was.

“I was busy,” he said. “I was working.”

“All through the night?” She pushed him again, “Who were you with?”

“Please. Just go. You can’t be here!” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re done. We’re over,” he suddenly snapped.

“What?” Frankie burst into tears. She had suspected something was wrong but she hadn’t expected him to be so cold about it. One minute he was trying to hide it, still saying he loved her and then the next — it was over. Just like that. She didn’t move. She just stood there, in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. A tear spilled from his eye too. “Please — you have to go.”

Frankie just stood there a moment unsure of what to say. Her mind felt split into a million bits. Part of her wanted to slap him in the face, part of her wanted to rant and rave at him and then there was another part which just wanted to keep standing there — crying.

“So that’s it?” she said eventually.

“Yes. Just go. We’re done,” he said — another tear spilling from his eye.

Frankie went to say something but realised there was little point. She didn’t even know what was going to come from her mouth; whether she was going to start shouting at him or even begging. She turned to the car and climbed in — slamming the door shut. She slid the key into the ignition and fired the engine up before giving Shaun a final look.

He mouthed, I love you, to her.

Frankie couldn’t help but feel confused. One minute he was telling her to go and the next — he was standing there mouthing that. She wound down her window to see if he’d say it out loud — as opposed to just mouthing it to her. She looked up at him, desperation in her eyes to hear him say the words — even if it were to be for the last time.

She froze.

There, standing in the doorway of his home, was a woman who looked a few years older than both Shaun and Frankie. She was wearing nothing but one of his tee-shirts.

“Who the fuck is that?” Frankie hissed.

“Please. You need to go. Now!”

Frankie went to open the car door but Shaun kept it shut, pushing his body against it.

“Let me out of the fucking car!” Frankie screamed. Her tears now tears of anger instead of heartache and sadness.

“I can’t do that. Just go already. Take the hint and fuck off!” he yelled at her.

Frankie crawled across to the passenger side of the car and climbed out via that door. She ran around the front of the car and was blocked from going further by Shaun wrapping his arms around her. The woman — the stranger — in the doorway was laughing at her, revelling in the pain she was causing.

“I’m sorry,” Shaun kept saying, “I didn’t want you finding out like this. You have to go.”

“Not until you tell me who she is!” Frankie screamed.

Shaun man-handled Frankie back into her car and slammed the door shut again — despite her screams. Neighbours were poking their heads out of their own homes now, looking to see what the commotion was all about.

“Just believe me when I say I love you. I can’t be with you though. I’m sorry. Just go.”

“Fuck you!” Frankie shouted through the car window as she threw her car into first gear and released the handbrake. She spun the vehicle around at the end of the road and headed home with tears streaming, uncontrollably, down her face. Shaun was standing in the middle of the road, watching her leave his life and wishing he could tell her the truth. The woman came out of the house and put her arm around Shaun. Had Frankie looked in the rear view mirror, she’d have seen him push her away.

IV

The woman hadn’t had a chance meeting with Shaun. It wasn’t a corny story of a man meeting another woman and falling head over heels in love with her. It was far more sinister than that. It was the story of a woman — obsessed with a lead singer in a band — who’d do anything to be with that person.

She had met him in a car park after a gig and had seemed nice enough to start off with. She was complimentary about the music. She had said he had a great voice. She explained how she was surprised he hadn’t hit the big time already and that she could see big things in his future.

“And that’s not all I can see in your future,” she had told him.

“Oh? What else is there?” he asked. He had expected an answer of ‘money’ or ‘fame’ not…

“I see me in your future.”

The woman had said it with a cheeky grin on her face and a wink of an eye. Shaun knew instantly what she was talking about and was quick to dismiss it.

“I have a girlfriend,” he had told the woman.

“Frankie Yates.”

The woman knew everything about Frankie. She knew where she lived. She knew where she worked. She knew the names of her family. She knew the names of her pets and — more particularly — she knew which pet was her favourite.

“Of course she’s not good enough for you,” the woman had continued. “Someone like you,” she explained, “can do so much better for themselves.”

Shaun walked away from the woman but she followed. He knew she was nuts. His first nutter, he actually felt a little proud. That is… Proud until he realised she was following him.

“Look,” the woman had said. She had reached into her bag and pulled a photograph out. She handed it to Shaun.

“What’s this?”

“My pussy,” she had said with a wink.

It wasn’t a rude picture that he had been shown. It was a picture of a black and white cat. It was a picture of Gizmo. Shaun would recognise that cat anywhere.

The woman explained that she had never found a pet she’d been able to get that attached to. She explained how she’d watched Frankie and seen how much she loved that cat. And then — her tone changed. She’d gone from friendly, to creepy… To nasty.

“I want you and I’m going to have you,” she had said.

“I love Frankie,” he had argued.

“And you’ll learn to love me just as much, if not more…” the woman had said. “Because if you don’t…” It was at that point the woman showed him a second photograph. It was a picture of an oven and — through the glass door — you could see Frankie’s pet cat. The woman explained that — if she couldn’t have Shaun — then Frankie couldn’t have her favourite pet, unless it was served up with some roast potatoes and side dish of vegetables… If the woman got Shaun, Frankie got to keep her pet. But — under no circumstances could she have both her pet and Shaun.

“If you go to the police, her cat will die. If you tell her about any of this — her pet will die… What happens is up to you and I’ll give you a couple of minutes to mull it over,” the woman had explained, “but if you love her — like you say you do — you wouldn’t want to see her crushed at the sight of her pet cat cooking in the oven…”

“You’re sick,” Shaun had spat at her.

“But I’m also a great fuck,” and — with that — the woman had kissed him.

That night Shaun slept with the woman. Around midnight, she got out of his bed and she disappeared into the night. He thought that was it. He thought she’d be out of his life and all she would be was a dirty little secret he’d have to bury from Frankie. But that wasn’t it. She had merely popped out and — a couple of hours later — she had returned. Cradled in her arms was a pet carrier. Inside that — Gizmo.

“Just in case you doubt me,” she had told him when she woke him up. “Tell her it’s over or I’ll cook the cat…”

* * * * *

“You’ll give the cat back now?” Shaun called over to the woman standing in the doorway as Frankie’s car disappeared over the horizon.

“Of course but — remember — you try telling her and I’ll get it back.”

The woman walked up behind Shaun and put her arms around him. She kissed his neck.

“So — fancy coming back to bed before you shoot off for work? Might as well start the day with a smile, yeah?”

The woman laughed as Shaun felt his heart break; already missing Frankie. He suddenly turned to the woman and pushed her away.

“Fuck you!” he yelled. “I’m not being blackmailed to be with you, you fucking nut!”

“Oh? Really?”

“You can’t stop me from telling Frankie. And — what’s more — you can’t stop us from being together. You honestly think you’ll get away with hurting her cat? You’re insane.”

He pushed past her, back into the house. The woman following quickly behind.

“Is that it then?” she called out.

“I’m phoning Frankie now,” Shaun said, storming through to his room. He picked up his mobile and started searching for Frankie in his contacts.

“And that’s your choice?” the woman asked. Shaun turned his back on the woman as he listened to the phone, waiting for Frankie to answer.

“Hello?” Frankie’s shaking voice came down the end of the line.

“It’s me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything I said. Come back and I’ll explain everything… I was being blackmailed. Please… I’m sorry… Look, I can’t talk now but if you come back… I’ll tell you everything. Just come back.” He didn’t wait for her to answer him back. He knew he couldn’t keep her talking and that it would be easier face to face. He turned back to the woman.

She wasn’t in the room.

“Where are you?” he called out.

She appeared in the doorway again. A look of hatred on her face.

“Well?” she asked. “Is your precious Frankie coming back then?”

“Hopefully,” he said.

“Should be interesting…” the woman said with a wry smile on her face.

“And you’ll give her her fucking cat back now too. That way we won’t have to phone the police. You can just leave…”

“If that’s what you want.”

“You’re insane. You know that, right?”

“Me? You’re the insane one. Turning this down? I could have taken your band so far…”

Shaun heard the sound of a car pull up outside. He looked out of the window and saw Frankie’s car.

“I could have made you famous.”

“Just leave us alone, you’ve had your fun…” Shaun pushed past her and hurried outside. The woman didn’t follow.

“Who is she?” Frankie asked as she climbed out of the car.

“Just come into the house and I’ll explain… You have to believe me — I didn’t want any of this. It’s you I’ve only ever wanted. You know that, yeah?”

“Just tell me who the Hell she is!” Frankie shouted. It didn’t matter what Shaun had to say — at the moment, all she knew was that there was a near naked girl in one of his tee shirts.

“You have to trust me,” Shaun took her by the hand and stepped back into the house.

Frankie gagged, “What the fuck is that smell?” she asked.

Shaun’s heart skipped a beat and he hurried through to the kitchen. The back door was wide open. The oven was on full. A stink of fur hanging in the air…

T H E E N D