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

Chapter 35 - Harry

Harry propels his engine. It wheezes, trying desperately to regain its energy, which was drained by the lights being left on for the entire night.

Please, please, Harry begs the engine to turn over. He pictures the soothing sound of it waking up. It doesn't obey. He hears it yawn and fade back to sleep.

Flat battery. Great. He moans as he hurls himself from the car and starts the twenty-minute walk to the train station.

Fortunately, Martha is away for the week, visiting her mum and sister in Norfolk. This means Harry won't have to explain his late arrival home – again.

Harry knows Martha isn't stupid. He knows that she is choosing to turn a blind eye to his secret ventures. Harry also knows that she won't keep it up for much longer. Every morning he promises himself he'll stop. He promises he'll be better to Martha and better to himself. He'll stop being so self-destructive. But every night he says he'll start tomorrow.

Although it's summer, the nights in Southhurst are hostile all year round. As soon as the sun checks out for the day and the darkness rolls over the horizon, the wind chases after you, warning you to go back inside where it's safe. Where the night can't reach you.

Harry brushes his hands together and exhales sharply into them. He even adds a spring to his step to try and get the blood pumping around his body faster. His ears are completely numb, yet at the same time they burn.

The train station is finally in sight. Harry subtly skips towards it, excited to reach the poorly heated waiting room. At least it will be marginally warmer than the cruel night air.

It's not long until the rusty early bird train pulls up. Harry steps onto a carriage and the entire body creaks towards him, unable to take the unbalanced weight.

Harry found himself on the other side of town tonight, so it's going to be a good forty-minute train journey to get home.

After scanning the carriage for the best seat, he positions himself on one of the three-seat rows, kicks his feet up onto the farthest seat and rests his head on the uncomfortable, make-do glass pillow.

There's one other person on the carriage. He continuously flicks his eyes onto Harry, unsettled by his presence. He is dressed in torn-up, navy tracksuit bottoms, a khaki pea coat and an old woollen hat that bears the ghost of a grey tint.

Making an educated snap judgement, Harry guesses that he is the tramp of the train and that he is so cautious of Harry's presence because he doesn't think anyone should be on his train at such a peculiar hour.

After examining him mindlessly for a few minutes, Harry turns his attention to the ceiling, fearing he is making the poor guy nervous.

The grimy ceiling is covered with graffiti and scribblings engraved into the metal work. Harry studies them.

The most of them are some derivation of I wuz 'ere, and R+L 4eva. But some have more to them. Some of them are poems, some of them are suicide notes and some of them are genuinely impressive sketches.

There is only one that catches Harry's eye, though.

The letters GR followed by the silhouette of a scythe and below this are the words not so happily ever after.

The headline flashes across Harry's vision. COUPLE BRUTALLY MURDERD BY KILLER - DUBBED THE GRIMM REAPER. The couple who lived not so happily ever after.

He smashes the image from his eyes with his hand and shakes any remnants of it throughout the carriage.

Harry's head is thrown back and forth onto the glass window by the train's un-serviced wheels meeting the bumpy metal tracks, shaking the foundations of the carriage with every cycle of the wheels.

The train's chuffing irritates Harry at first, but as time chugs on, it becomes soothing. He feels like he is in his mother's arms being rocked to sleep.

Within the confines of the carriage, Harry almost feels safe. He almost feels at peace. He takes advantage of this and gives in to his heavy eyelids.

His head jerks from side to side and his eyelids flutter as the images flash through his mind. Although he's asleep, his consciousness knows that these are not welcome images. He wants to wake up, he wants to escape the nightmare before it overcomes him.

But he is paralysed by his sleeping limbs and he is dragged, kicking and screaming back into that room.

The demon creeps around the room with a wide grimace. He squeezes his eyes shut, begging the nightmare to go away. Begging to wake up.

His wish isn't granted. The silhouette prowls closer to the laundry basket. He's scared it might be able to pick up his scent. His lashes are now clumping together and a salty fluid sticks his mop hair to his cheeks. The demon is close now. He realises that as his heartbeat quickens his breath grows louder, so he blows air into his cheeks and prevents his lungs from sucking in any more.

The figure twirls the object in its fingers, using it to look through the clothes in his wardrobe. He hears it growl, frustrated that it fails to seek out his hiding place. His entire body crumbles with the growl. He lets out a soft whimper, unable to contain the sobs.

He immediately freezes, petrified his location has been given away. But, slowly, it creeps past him and approaches the exit.

Thinking that he is now safe, Harry lets out the air he was holding hostage and draws in new molecules to keep his heart from halting in fear.

The figure stops abruptly as he does this. Turning its shadowed face back towards the room, it paces towards him. Harry thinks that this is it, he's been found. His heart no longer races, in fact, it is alarmingly calm. Perhaps it's because he knows there is no hope now.

Just before the demon reaches the laundry basket and he prepares for what is to come, it spins away from him, falls to the ground and shoves its head under the bed.

Harry's breath is fragile, but it is no longer as loud as before and he is no longer scared it will give him away.

When the figure is greeted by some old trainers, odd socks and tatty soft toys, it huffs and flings itself back upright before marching back out of the room.

Harry doesn't move for hours. Even when he hears the door slam shut, and silence echo throughout the bungalow, he stays cradling his bear – frozen.

It is not until the birds sing outside his window and the warm sun welcomes him, that he stiffly stands himself up.

Being in that laundry basket for hours and refusing to sleep has left Harry's mind to wander – imagining every scenario – the best through to the worst.

But nothing prepared him for this.

That's a strange word in this context – why is the station exhausted? Do you mean something else?