In Spite: A terrifying psychological thriller with a shocking twist you won't see coming by Collette Heather

Author:Collette Heather [Heather, Collette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-18T22:00:00+00:00

*

My first port of call is the kitchen. Stomach pains aside, I am feeling decidedly out of sorts, the horrible feeling that my mind is somehow untethered, and I need a good dose of reality to ground me. That, and I want to make some noise. Creeping around in the dark is only making me feel even more dreamlike and strange.

In the kitchen, I switch on all the lights, including the hidden spotlights on the underside of the cupboards above the countertops. The hum of electricity coming from the lights and all the electrical appliances goes a long way in soothing me.

Maybe a cup of peppermint tea will help ease my cramps. It’s not going to stop any impending diarrhoea, but maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe things won’t progress to that stage. Besides, I really want to hear that kettle boiling – such a normal and lovely sound.

I go through the motions of making tea, concentrating on the normality of it, centring myself. I am almost feeling myself again when my bare foot presses down on the foot pedal of the bin and the silver lid pops up.

I don’t know why the smallest corner of a plastic packet I can spy in the bin – the rest of it hidden by clumpy coffee dregs, too many wine bottles and vegetable peelings from Shane’s soup effort – has my heart beating so fast.

I drop the teabag to the side of the damp, clumpy pile, and gently pinch the box edge between thumb and forefinger, waggling it around a bit to dislodge the assortment of crud stuck to it.

I gasp in horror and drop the soggy packet, the kitchen tilting, then spinning at an alarming speed around me. I stagger backwards away from the bin, stomach in knots, heart pounding.

Why is there a packet of rat poison in the bin? I stare at it in disbelief, noting how it is almost empty. There are a few bright blue lumps of poison left in the bottom of the plastic packaging, the same size and texture as porridge oats.

My stomach performs its most dramatic clench yet, and now the base of my tongue is floating in a pool of mouth water.

“Oh God,” I groan, my hand flying up to my mouth as I leg it out the kitchen to the bathroom down the hallway.

I only just make it in time. Bright orange vomit erupts out of me with force, leaving me hugging the rim of the toilet for dear life. Wave after wave of nausea washes through me until there is nothing left inside me to expel.

But still I continue sicking up stomach acid and bile. I spasm and tremble in their wake, bathed in the coldest sweat. To my horror, I see tiny specks of bright-red blood in with the mucus-like bile, and my skin crawls, my brain feeling like it is being shrink-wrapped inside my skull.

A small moan of terror escapes my lips as I gaze down into the depths of the toilet bowl.

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