Short fiction

Laura

Laura heard the dull thud of the post hitting the doormat. She abandoned her half-buttered toast and rushed out to the hallway. Her bare feet slapped against the wooden floor, echoing the quickened pace of her heart. She grabbed the heap of letters on the floor. A leaflet for the local takeaway, an electricity bill, junk mail for ‘the occupier’ and then, lying in wait at the bottom of the pile was the blue envelope with its familiar handwriting. She dropped the rest of the post to the floor and ripped open the envelope:

   You shouldn’t have to use the launderette, it’s too far. New washing machine will be here by Tuesday. X

   Laura felt sick; she always did when the blue envelope arrived. Conflicting emotions of fear and disgust mingled uncomfortably with intense curiosity. This letter came direct from her guardian angel. An anonymous figure who had sent a token of good fortune every single month for the past year. The first was a pile of cash. Then came a new bike, vouchers for the supermarket, a laptop. Gifts beyond expectation. At first Laura was scared. She lived alone. Could it be a stalker? A psycho murderer wooing his prey? The police didn’t take her seriously, and she had started to feel stupid for complaining about such generosity. Soon she began to look forward to the beginning of the month when the blue envelope arrived, perversely anticipating its glorious and undeserved reward.

   This time the feeling of sickness was even worse. This was going too far. He knew she used the laundrette. How? Someone was following her. Her mind ran through faces of strangers she had encountered at the launderette and she began doubting the reliability of her memories. She could no longer stand the confusion and the fear. She resolved to keep watch until the new gift appeared. Tuesday was only three days away and she needed to speak to him—if it was a him. She needed to speak to someone. Even if he had the machine delivered at least she could speak to someone: a driver, anyone who might know who this man was. She would call in sick from work and wait to catch this person who had meticulously provided for her over the last year.

   She didn’t leave the bedroom window for two days, except to run to the bathroom. She forced herself to stay awake even though her eyelids were heavy and she drank uncountable cans of Red Bull to fight the onset of sleep. On Monday evening she was jolted upright by the sound of footsteps outside her window. She peered around the curtain and saw the outline of a man wheeling a large box along her drive. She held her breath, scared to make a sound. She watched him heave the box onto her doorstep and then begin to walk away. For a split second she sat and contemplated letting the man leave undisturbed. What was the alternative? The alternative was to know. She needed to know. She ran down the stairs and flung open her front door.

   “Wait!” she shouted into the night, running down her drive towards him. The man flinched and turned around slowly. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

   The man stared at her. She did not recognize him. He was old with grey hair and a haunted, haggard face. “Who are you?” she pleaded. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. Laura stared at the man for what felt like minutes. He stood deathly still, staring at the floor. She began to cry, and as exhaustion and nerves overpowered her limbs, she sat on the curb, holding her head in her trembling hands.  

    “Who are you… and… and... why? Why me? All these things you have given me…”

   More silent seconds passed, and Laura lifted her head, peering at the man through tear-soaked eyes. The man cautiously took a step forward and sat down on the curb beside her, maintaining some distance. Street lamps pierced the night sky, and covered the area in a dim glow.

   She stared at him pleadingly. The fear was beginning to wear away and now she just needed answers.

   “I knew your father,” he mumbled.

   “My father?”

   He nodded in response.

   “My father died when I was three. In an accident. I don’t remember him,” she muttered. She twisted the bracelet on her left wrist. Her father had brought it for her mother after Laura’s birth. She tried to imagine her father’s hands as he fixed the clasp around his wife’s wrist. She couldn’t. After her mother’s death two years ago it was the only thing that she wanted to take from the house. It was part of both of them. She could still remember her mother’s smell. She couldn’t even remember her father’s laugh.

   She turned towards the still man, “How did you know him?”

   “We had mutual friends. I knew him from the village. He was a great man, a good laugh.”

   Laura wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion. “I have never seen you.”

   “I moved away. A long time ago now.” Laura noticed that he couldn’t make eye contact with her.

   Laura desperately wanted to know more. She loved stories about her father. She craved knowledge of those normal stories; stories from the pub, from the football field, from the village fête. She wanted to feel she knew him. But she halted these questions before they spilled out. There were more important questions to ask tonight.

   “But why the presents?” She crossed her legs on the road in front of her, feeling suddenly calm, yet overwhelmingly curious.

   “You deserved them,” he replied quickly.

   “Why?” She stared at him. He was old, older than her father would be. He was nervous. He was silent… He was lying. “Who are you?” she asked forcefully.

   He suddenly found his voice, and stared directly into her eyes. “I can’t do this. I can’t lie anymore… I can’t. I want to make peace, and now I am just lying. I can’t do it!” The old man spoke quickly, almost eloquently. “I knew your father. Not well, but I know that he was a good bloke…” He trailed off, the words beginning to choke in his throat.” Your father died because of me Laura. I killed him. I ran him over.”

   Laura froze. Silence once again filled the air. She began to cry, heavy silent sobs which sent tears running down her cheeks.

   “Last year I found out I have terminal cancer. I have to make my peace with God… I have to make my peace with your family. I took your father away. I know no other way to make up for that.” Laura dug her nails into her hands, trying to take in his words. She needed to be away from this man. She stood up unsteadily and backed away.

   “It was an accident. We had been at the same party. I had been drinking. He came from nowhere. I drove away. I didn’t know what else to do.” The man stood up and began to approach her.

   “S-s-stay away from me!” she screamed. “You murdered my father? Is that what you are telling me? Oh god...” She felt bile rise in her throat. “Leave me alone. I don’t want any more presents. You should’ve died… I… I wish you were dead.”

   She stumbled backwards, aching to be as far away from this monster as she could. Her foot caught on the curb and she fell backwards. She heard a car horn, and felt herself being pushed, being thrown to the ground. The sound of impact resonated in the air.

   Laura felt blood soak her dressing gown. It took her a moment to realise it wasn’t her’s. She heard screams. She curled into a ball and sobbed as voices crowded the street, as the lights and sounds of ambulances filled the night.

Danielle Appleton