Stalker

124

Nelly switches on a torch and puts it down haphazardly on the worktop. The light shines at the layers of cobwebs on the venetian blinds.

Erik stands still and tries to take in what he’s seeing. A large fly buzzes around the kitchen and lands on the door to the cellar. From one door-post hangs an iron bar that seems to function as a barrier across the door.

‘A woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised,’ Nelly whispers.

‘Nelly, I don’t really understand what all this is about.’

There are two knives lying on the floor next to a rolled-up rag-rug, the gearbox of a car and a dirty hymnbook.

‘You’re home,’ she says with a smile.

‘Thanks, but I-’

‘There’s the door,’ she points.

‘There’s the door?’ he repeats, uncomprehendingly.

‘It’s better if you go down on your own,’ she says, holding out the glass of water.

‘Down where?’ Erik asks.

‘Now don’t argue,’ she giggles.

‘You think I ought to hide in the cellar?’

She nods eagerly.

‘Isn’t that a bit over the top? I don’t think-’

‘Be quiet!’ she yells, and throws the glass of water at him.

The glass hits the wall behind him, falls to the floor and shatters. He feels the water splash his legs and feet.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Sorry, I’m just a bit stressed,’ she says, rubbing her forehead.

He nods and walks over to the door to the hall and pulls the handle, but the powerful spring-loaded mechanism has locked the door. There’s no key in the hole. Adrenalin floods his body as he hears her approach from behind. He yanks at the door but it doesn’t move a millimetre.

‘I just want you to do as I say,’ Nelly explains.

‘Well, I’m not thinking of going down into some fucking-’

Erik can’t understand what’s happening, but something hits him hard across the back and all the air goes out of him as his forehead hits the door. He stumbles sideways. It feels like he’s got cramp in his left shoulder, then realises that warm liquid is running down his back.

He looks down and sees splashes of blood in the filth on the linoleum floor, turns to face Nelly and realises that she has hit him with a lump of wood, which is now lying on the floor by her feet.

‘Sorry, Erik,’ she all but laughs. ‘I didn’t mean…’

‘Nelly?’ he gasps. ‘You hurt me.’

‘Yes, I know, it’s not easy, but I’m helping you. Nothing to worry about,’ she says.

‘I didn’t do what they’re saying about me,’ he tries to explain.

‘Didn’t you?’

He moves sideways then turns back towards Nelly again, and sees that she’s picked up a heavy crowbar from the worktop.

‘Don’t you understand…? I’m innocent!’

Erik backs away and bumps into the table, on top of which is a full washing-up bowl. The dirty water slops over the side and splashes on to the floor.

Nelly moves quickly towards him and strikes. He blocks the blow with his lower arm, it hurts so much he almost passes out, and he stumbles backwards into the pale blue door of the pantry.

She swings again but misses his head. Splinters fly from the edge of the door. He lurches to the side and manages to knock over a tray of empty jam-jars. They roll across the worktop and fall to the floor, scattering shards of broken glass.

‘Nelly, stop it!’ he gasps.

His arm is probably broken, he’s having to support it with his other hand.

Nelly has a look of intense concentration on her face as she pursues him. He throws his head back and she turns her body and strikes again. The crowbar misses his face and brushes past the tip of his nose. The back of his head hits an open cupboard door. He tries to get away but puts his foot down on a piece of broken glass just as she lashes out again.

He blocks the powerful blow with his broken arm and shrieks with pain. His vision goes black for a moment and his legs give way. Erik falls to his knees. He stares at the filthy floor and the blood running down his injured arm.

‘Stop, just stop,’ he pleads, and tries to get up, but the next blow hits him on the temple.

His head is knocked sideways. Everything goes quiet inside him, as though he had simply come to a stop.

He fumbles for support with his hand.

His field of vision contracts to a narrow tunnel, he sees the kitchen shrink as Nelly leans forward and smiles at him.

Erik tries to stand up. He realises he must have trodden on more glass, because he feels the pain like a distant itch, far away, under his foot, down in the ground somewhere.

He falls backwards, rolls on to his side, and lies there panting with his cheek against the floor.

‘Oh, God…’

‘And the just, upright man is laughed to scorn,’ she mutters. ‘But ask now the beasts…’

Through his limited field of vision he sees Nelly open the door to the cellar and stick a wedge under it with her foot.

He smells her perfume as she bends over, takes hold of him under his arms and drags him across the floor. He’s completely powerless, his feet just hang limp, leaving a trail of blood across the floor.

‘Don’t do it,’ Erik pants.

She pulls him towards the staircase, he tries to cling on to a cupboard but can’t hold on. Blood is trickling over his cheek and down his throat and neck. He tries to grab hold of the door frame but is too weak to resist.

Nelly walks backwards down the stairs, dragging him into the darkness. His feet fall heavily with each step.

He can barely see anything, just feels the pain shooting from his arm with each step down. Far above he can make out the glow of the torch. Then he loses consciousness.