Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 24 - Harry

He jams the key into the rusty lock and jiggles the door until it gives and falls open.

Another late night, Harry thinks, Martha isn't going to like this.

He steps into the house and is greeted by the exaggerated bangs of saucepans and dishes. Martha is in the kitchen, fully aware he has entered but she refrains from paying him any attention.

After several moments of lurking in the kitchen doorway, watching her, Harry finally says, "Hey."

She stops immediately and shoots her scolding eyes in his direction. "Oh, hello. It's so nice of you to make an appearance. At half past ten."

"Babe, I'm sorry, it's just—"

"You know what I thought? I thought Harry must be having such a tough time at work. Wouldn't it be nice of me to make him a romantic dinner with all his favourites?" Martha's voice is shaky but Harry is not yet sure if it is from her withholding tears or withholding anger.

After she says this, Harry catches sight of the uneaten rib-eye resting on top of the rubbish in the open bin. Harry sighs and slaps his hand over his face.

"Darling, I'm sorry," he says, approaching her cautiously in order to analyse her response. He gets within a foot of her and reaches for her hands but Martha storms off in the other direction.

With his patience wearing thin, Harry goes after her in a similar manner. "Look, how was I supposed to know you were going to do all this?" he exclaims as he follows her into the lounge. "I don't focus how long I work for on the basis that you may or may not have made me dinner."

"You are supposed to be home at six! And you have the audacity to walk through the door three hours later? A one off – fine, I'm understanding. But near to every god-damn night? I have the right to get pissed off."

Harry's face is now flushed red. "In case you haven't noticed, there is a serial killer on the loose." With every word, his volume escalates. "This sick person has been terrorizing this town for fifteen years and I will stop at nothing to see them taken down!"

"You know what, I am sick to death of feeling sorry for you. You can't use that as an excuse every time you do something that upsets me." She turns from him and marches up the stairs but before she is out of sight, she adds, "oh and don't think I'm some ignorant, naïve little wife. I know that your Chief wouldn't keep you until dark every day for months on end. Maybe try coming up with a new lie."

Damn, Harry cusses himself, before wincing at the bellowing echo of the bedroom door.

Even though Martha was making a brass when Harry came home only ten minutes ago, the kitchen is a mess. Harry is tired and cares little for cleaning up, but he knows that if he doesn't make a dent in the dirt then this argument will just continue until morning.

After making the ground floor of the house marginally more presentable, he steps outside for a fag before grabbing a blanket from the cupboard under the stairs and setting up camp on the sofa.

He and Martha have been together long enough for Harry to know that when she slams the door in that way it might as well be bolted shut.

His phone projects a flashing light onto the ceiling and Harry is quick to snatch it off the coffee table and switch it off. He doesn't need to see who it's from, he already knows.

My back's really gonna feel this tomorrow, Harry complains, before rolling over with his face compressed into the corner of the arm rest. He focuses on the tick of the clock. It starts off as a drumming in his ears, but as his heartrate steadies and his breathing slows to a pace that might make one wonder if there was any air coming from his lungs at all, the tick softens and a few seconds later it mutes completely.

All Harry wants tonight is just a few hours of decent rest. That's it. That's all he wants. He yells this over and over to the darkness that is hurtling towards him, with its hands outstretched, ready to take him.

He's woken up by a crashing that resonates up his arms and back down his spine. He throws himself upright in bed, with his heart thumping against his fragile ribs, while his stomach somersaults. He's unsure of the source, but he's certain it isn't a friendly one.

His eyes are so wide, they feel as though they will pop out of his head. The room is pitch black, but somehow he can see everything as clear as day. Suddenly the room begins to shrink and the pirates on his wall that used to smile sweetly at him, now seem to bear a menacing grin. His parrot clock which used to give a soothing rhythm for him to fall asleep, now makes him tense all his muscles with every tick. The ticks now sound like they are counting down, creeping closer and closer to zero.

He hears a deep groan. His teeth are chattering now and his breath is so loud, it bounces of the walls and lashes at his eardrums. He hugs the matted blue teddy tight, with his eyes now squeezed shut. He doesn't want to see the eyes on him anymore. All the eyes staring right at him.

Hearing light footsteps press on the old wooden planks of the hallway and making them creak, leads him to leap out of bed. He knows he can't stay there. He has to go somewhere.

He's about to crawl under the bed, but something inside tells him not to and instead to jump into his laundry basket. He's still only small so it's an easy fit. He pulls a handful of clothes over his head to cover his trembling hair and he stares through the mesh fabric at his open door.

He's sure his eyes are playing tricks on him. It's as if everything in his room is now against him. The toys that used to comfort him at night are now the cause of his fear, the hallway light that he always kept on to scare all the monsters away now dims and flickers.

And then the light is blocked out of his bedroom completely.

He can't make out who it is. All he sees is a black silhouette. A demon. A monster with flaring nostrils and glowing eyes. Holding a peculiar object in its hand.

Harry is jolted awake and gasps. Beads of sweat run down his face and his blood pumping through his wrists is visible.

His throat is constricted and he struggles to take in air, causing his body to waver and his head to grow faint.

Calm down, he says to himself. Deep breaths. Inhale for three, exhale for five. He repeats this process until his muscles relax and his lungs can expand again.

This is the third time this week he has been woken up in this way. He thought he had taken control of it. He thought he had beaten it. But every time Harry is taken back there, he knows that no doctor can help him. There is only one way he can move on. He has to find them.

I don't understand the meaning of this phrase. Are you sure the word 'timber' is the one you mean, i.e. made of wood? I'm a bit confused!