The Hours of Creeping Night - a Collection of Dark Speculative Short Fiction by Sophie Playle

Author:Sophie Playle
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Sophie Playle
Published: 2011-11-28T05:00:00+00:00

Bump in the Night

Cynthia poured the imaginary tea from the plastic teapot. First for Mister Spears, then for Grobble, then Lucy-Loo. Baby Bub was too little to drink tea. Mister Spears sat stiff-backed, waiting for Cynthia to add the milk for him.

‘Not too much, girl!’ he snapped. The thin line of his mouth did not move as he spoke. He polished his monocle on his white cotton handkerchief before picking up the teacup and sipping, sticking out his little finger.

Grobble didn’t drink. He just sat there, like he did most of the time. Limp and covered in bandages. He didn’t move much when the others were around. But unlike the others, he stayed through the night. When Cynthia was on her own, he lay under her bed, scratching his long nails across the floorboards. Otherwise, he crouched in the cupboard, and Cynthia could see the pin-pricks of light reflecting from his eyes through the crack in the door. Grobble liked to watch.

Lucy-Loo was busying herself dipping Baby Bub’s chubby plastic fingers into the scalding tea, cooing at him as he cried. Cynthia couldn’t stand to look at Baby Bub. He had big pools of black ink for eyes, and his head was swollen and blue.

‘Cynthia!’ Mister Spears boomed. The girl jumped, nearly spilling her tea. ‘Let me see those hands of yours!’

Cynthia set down her teacup, trying hard not to clatter it with her shaking hands. She stretched her arms out across the table. Mister Spears grabbed her hands. His bony fingers dug into her flesh. ‘You disgusting child. Your fingertips are filthy. How dare you serve me tea with hands as disgusting as these!’ He took the ring finger of Cynthia’s left hand and snapped it backwards.

She cried out and recoiled into her chair.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

Baby Bub started to cry even louder. Lucy-Loo slapped Cynthia across the face. ‘Look what you’ve done to the baby!’

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry...’

‘Go and wash your hands,’ said Mister Spears.

Cynthia got up, and as she reached the door, dipped her good hand into the pocket of her dress. She pulled out a small box of matches. Before the others even noticed what she was doing, Cynthia had thrown a lit match into her waste paper basket, which began to smoke. Then she threw two more onto her bed and another at the net curtains. The flames began to spread.

‘What are you doing? You stupid girl!’

Cynthia stepped into the hall and slammed her bedroom door shut. She slid the bolt across.

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