Monday

Monday

Part one

         Ella Noel took a long sip of coffee and savoured the taste as she changed the slide on her laptop screen and began skimming through the bullet points she’d written. She frowned as she repeated one of the sentences in her head, then changed a word to a shorter, but more jagged-sounding synonym. After reading through the rest of the presentation, she glanced at the clock on her laptop screen and got up with a slight start, downing the rest of her coffee, then pacing out of her bedroom and briskly descending the stairs. Passing the lounge, she glanced in on her husband, who was re-sizing a large, violet teardrop shape on the screen of his tablet, designing a new logo for a cybersecurity company she’d forgotten the name of. Her sixth-month-old daughter was sitting in a bouncer on the floor, looking up at the toys hanging above her, clapping her palms together with outstretched fingers and drooling.

         She went into the kitchen, approached the sink, and filled her mug with warm water, squeezing a drop of washing-up liquid into it and then scrubbing the dark residue around the base with a dish brush. As she washed, she looked through the window in front of her at the branches of a tree in her neighbour’s garden. The few remaining leaves were curled and orange, burning as they caught the low October sun. She went upstairs, shut down her laptop, and put it in her suitcase on top of her folded clothes. After checking that she’d remembered to pack a few essentials, she closed the suitcase and carried it downstairs, standing it by the front door and putting her coat on. She went into the lounge and crouched over her daughter, cooing her goodbye through a broad smile, squeezing her tiny hand, then kissing her on the forehead. She stood up and moved behind her husband, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him on the cheek. He squeezed her hand and grumbled about his work with a weak smile, and she said that she’d call him once she arrived at the hotel. As she turned away, her husband spun around in his chair and held her wrist, pulling her towards him for a longer, more tender kiss. He told her that he’d miss her, that he didn’t deserve her, and that he loved her. Ella said that she loved him too, and they kissed again. She walked into the hall, picked up her suitcase, and set out through the door.

         Minutes later she was driving down a long, sloping road towards the edge of Hillstead lined by narrow, Victorian houses. After passing through a tunnel of trees with low-hanging branches, she came to a T-junction onto a B-road. She waited as the traffic passed her, and looked at a bus stop a short way down the road. Three people were sat on its bench, engrossed in their phones. A man in a large, black coat was standing apart from them, turned towards Ella’s car and staring at her. He was tall, thin, and bald. He had a sickly, pale complexion and his cheeks were gaunt. His eyes were dark, and seemed slightly too large for his face. He held his empty hand palm-up near his waist, as if he were holding a phone. Ella looked up and down the road again and twitched the steering wheel to the left. As she let the clutch up and the nose of her car crept out into the road, she glanced back at the bus stop. The bald man was still staring at her.

A black saloon slammed into her door at eighty miles per hour. The window shattered inwards and the door crumpled as her body lurched to the side and bounced sharply against the seatbelt. An excruciating pressure burrowed into her chest as her aorta ruptured and her skin went cold as her blood pressure rapidly dropped. The people who’d been sitting at the bus stop were gathering around the wreck. One of them was speaking frantically into his phone and looking at her with wide, horrified eyes. The bald man had stayed where he was. He watched her impartially for a moment before turning away and walking towards the woods behind the bus stop. Ella’s rapid, panicking thoughts became a disjointed nonsense as the electrical signals in her brain started to fail, and her vision faded to a screen of pure, untainted white.

Part Two

Ella Noel drained the last of her coffee and savoured the taste as she changed the slide on her laptop screen and began skimming through the bullet points she’d written. She chewed her lip as she repeated one of the sentences in her head, then tapped a key to bring up the next slide. After reading through the rest of the presentation, she glanced at the clock on her wall and stood up, stretching her arms over her head and closing her eyes. She picked up her empty mug, walked slowly out of her bedroom and descended the stairs. Passing the lounge, she glanced in on her husband, who was re-sizing a large, blue teardrop shape on the screen of his tablet, designing a new logo for a cybersecurity company she’d forgotten the name of. Her sixth-month-old daughter was sitting in a bouncer on the floor, looking up at the toys hanging above her, holding her foot in one hand and clutching at the fabric of the bouncer with the other.

         She went into the kitchen, approached the sink, and filled her mug with warm water, squeezing a drop of washing-up liquid into it and then scrubbing the dark residue around the base with a dish brush. As she washed, she looked through the window in front of her at a robin sitting in a tree in her neighbour’s garden. The few remaining leaves were curled and orange, burning as they caught the low October sun. The robin hopped from one branch to another, and let out a high whistle, twitching its head and looking at Ella with one of its tiny, black eyes. She smiled at the bird, putting her mug on the draining board and reaching to her left for a tea towel. Her hand brushed a wine glass standing near the edge of the counter. It toppled and shattered on the floor. She turned away from the sink and muttered an irritable ‘shit’ as she crouched and opened a cupboard, taking out a dustpan and brush. As she swept up the broken glass, her husband called to her from the lounge, asking what the noise was. She called back that it was a glass. He called back asking which one. She shouted that it was one of the old wine glasses.

When she was done, she went upstairs, shut down her laptop, and put it in her suitcase on top of her folded clothes. She closed the suitcase and carried it downstairs, standing it by the front door and putting her coat on. She went into the lounge and crouched over her daughter, cooing her goodbye through a broad smile, gently tickling her belly with a finger, then kissing her on the forehead. She stood up and moved behind her husband, laying a hand on his shoulder and pecking him on the cheek. He groaned something about his work and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, and she said that she’d call him once she checked into the hotel. As she turned away, her husband spun around in his chair and held her wrist. She pulled it away with an apologetic smile, saying that she really had to get going. He told her that he’d miss her and that he loved her. Ella said that she’d miss him too as she walked into the hall. She picked up her suitcase and set out through the door.

         Minutes later she was driving down a long, sloping road towards the edge of Hillstead lined by narrow, Victorian houses. After passing through a tunnel of trees with low-hanging branches, she came to a T-junction onto a B-road. A speeding black saloon tore past her and disappeared around the curve of the road. She waited as more traffic passed her, and looked at a bus stop a short way down the road. Two people were sat on its bench, engrossed in their phones. A man in a large, black coat was standing apart from them, turned towards Ella’s car and staring at her. He was tall, thin, and bald. He had a sickly, pale complexion and his cheeks were gaunt. His eyes were dark, and seemed slightly too large for his face. He held his empty hand palm-up near his waist, as if he were holding a phone. Ella looked up and down the road again and twitched the steering wheel to the left. As she let the clutch up and the nose of her car crept out into the road, she glanced back at the bus stop. The bald man was still staring at her.

         Six hours later, she was lying on the bed in her hotel room, reading a thriller with an interesting plot but dull, unrealistic characters. The ring of lights on the Radio City Tower’s revolving restaurant glared outside her window, suspended in the blackness above the synthetic orange haze of Liverpool. A few foil containers from a disappointing Thai takeaway jutted out of a wastepaper basket across the room. She caught herself scanning the words of her book without taking anything in, then placed her bookmark, closed it, and dropped it on the bedside table. She let her head sink back against the pillows, closed her eyes, and lay her forearm across them. She began thinking about her husband and daughter, then drifted into sleep.

She dreamt that she was standing in front of her car, which was surrounded by people wearing black coats, talking over each other in frantic, shrieking voices. One of them was speaking into his phone, giving someone directions in the same feverish tone. Suddenly she found herself in a room that looked like her kitchen, though the kettle, microwave, and various pieces of décor were missing. A robin was standing motionless in the centre of the table. It tipped its head up, opened its beak, and let out a long, unbroken note like an irksome ringing in her ears. Next, she was looking into a bright, round light, and a piercing, mechanical whir was sounding in her ears.

         The sensation of falling woke her up with a start. The city outside seemed much darker than she’d remembered. She unlocked her phone and saw to her surprise that she’d been asleep for five hours. Muttering a swear under her breath, she sat up and rubbed one of her eyes, suddenly aware of a mild, pulsating headache. She got out of bed and went into the bathroom, where she turned on the shower, took her shirt off, and threw it to the floor. Pulling the scrunchie from her hair, she picked up a miniature bottle of shampoo from the edge of the bathtub and squinted to read the ingredients. She looked up at the mirror and frowned. There was a tiny, equilateral triangle of white scar tissue on her belly that had never been there before.

Part Three

Ella Noel took a short sip of coffee and savoured the taste as she changed the slide on her laptop screen and began skimming through the bullet points she’d written. She played with her hair as she repeated one of the sentences in her head, then changed a word to its longer, but less jagged-sounding synonym. After reading through the rest of the presentation, she glanced at the clock on the wall and got up, pacing out of her bedroom and briskly descending the stairs. Passing the lounge, she glanced in on her husband, who was comparing two shades of green on the screen of his tablet, designing a new logo for a cybersecurity company she’d forgotten the name of. Her sixth-month-old daughter was sitting in a bouncer on the floor, looking up at the toys hanging above her, gnawing on her tiny fist with her toothless mouth.

         She went into the kitchen, approached the sink, and filled her mug with warm water, squeezing a drop of washing-up liquid into it and then scrubbing the dark residue around the base with a dish brush. As she washed, she looked through the window in front of her at the branches of a tree in her neighbour’s garden. The few remaining leaves were curled and orange, burning as they caught the low October sun. She went upstairs and into her bedroom to shut down her laptop. Her cursor hovered over the power icon, and she let out an irritable sigh as she opened the presentation again. She read the last bullet-point she’d edited, and after a few seconds of deliberation, changed the longer word back to her original choice. She read the sentence once more to judge its rhythm, then shut down her laptop and put it in her suitcase on top of her folded clothes. After checking that she’d remembered to pack a few essentials, she closed the suitcase and carried it downstairs, standing it by the front door and putting her coat on. She went into her husband’s office and crouched over her daughter, cooing her goodbye through a broad smile, stroking her sparse layer of hair, then kissing her on the forehead. She stood up and moved behind her husband, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him on the cheek. He ran his fingers over her arm and complained about his work with a weak smile, and she said that she’d call him once she checked into the hotel. As she turned away, her husband spun around in his chair and held her wrist, pulling her towards him for a longer, more tender kiss. He told her that he’d miss her, that he didn’t deserve her, and that he loved her. Ella said that she loved him too, and they kissed again. She walked into the hall, picked up her suitcase, and set out through the door.

         Minutes later she was driving down a long, sloping road towards the edge of Hillstead lined by narrow, Victorian houses. After passing through a tunnel of trees with low-hanging branches, she came to a T-junction onto a B-road. She waited as the traffic passed her, and looked at a bus stop a short way down the road. Five people were sat on its bench, engrossed in their phones. A man in a large, black coat was standing apart from them, turned towards Ella’s car and staring at her. He was tall, thin, and bald. He had a sickly, pale complexion and his cheeks were gaunt. His eyes were dark, and seemed slightly too large for his face. He held his empty hand palm-up near his waist, as if he were holding a phone. Ella looked up and down the road again and twitched the steering wheel to the left. As she let the clutch up and the nose of her car crept out into the road, she glanced back at the bus stop. The bald man was still staring at her.

A black saloon skimmed the nose of her car at eighty miles per hour, sending it skidding into a depression in the earth at the side of the road. Her body had lurched to the left then snapped back again, slamming her head into the window. The black saloon was further down the road on its side. Its driver was unconscious, and its bonnet was crumpled and smoking. Some of the people who had been at the bus stop were running towards the saloon, and one was speaking frantically into his phone. The bald man had stayed where he was. He was still staring at Ella with his dark, abnormally large eyes. He lowered his hand slowly, turned, and began walking towards the woods behind the bus stop.

         Ella turned her throbbing head to look at the crashed saloon, then back to watch the man in the grey coat walk into the amber-leaved trees. Following a strange pang of instinct, she got out of her car, looked both ways, and jogged over the B-road to follow him. She entered the woods and called after the man, who ignored her and carried on pacing briskly away. She sped up, shouting angrily at him to stop. Again, there was no reply. Ella jogged the last few steps towards him and tugged sharply on his jacket, turning him around. The man fixed her with his bulbous eyes and opened his mouth, his bottom jaw seeming to dislocate as it fell to his chest, showing a black, aberrantly wide maw with no teeth or tongue. A rasping, inhuman scream pierced her ears, and the man began to raise his hand.