Flash Fiction Spooktacular

Lego & Lies - May Clarke

LEGO AND LIES

Splashes of red light pump into the bedroom as the six AM alarm shrieks with intermittent cries. Heavy rain drops lash against the window with an angry force, as Liza bangs her hand down on the stop button. The radio splutters out incoherent songs that are disturbed by the extreme storms, until it fades into the white noise that grates against her nerves.

“It should have been your day today”. Liza thought, before trying to forget the sadness of yesteryears.

The chill makes her clench unconsciously, and she reaches for her house coat to save her from the painful cold that bites into her skin. The stairs groan under the disturbance of her arrival, and before she has the chance to switch the light on, she steps on something sharp, cursing at the painful sensation. It’s a piece of Lego. Taylor, her son, was playing with them last night. Picking up the small cube, she takes it over to his toy box, and drops it inside. Surveying the ground for more potential Lego landmines, she’s startled by her son’s arrangement of his other toys. Sitting on the edge of the fireplace are four mini-figures. She can easily identify her family in the first three. Her husband is wearing a hard hat, she has brown hair and an apron, and her son is sitting in a Lego car. To the side of the three figures is another woman waving. It seems as if Taylor has arranged his toys to look like they are posing for a family picture, but she has no idea who the mysterious woman is.

Thinking about it, she goes into the kitchen and flicks on the kettle, the bubbling water instantly making her feel calmer as it contrasts with the furious rain. The smell of toast and cooking eggs, helps alleviate the discomfort that has weighted her down all morning. It was to be expected though, it was that date again. Every year the guilt would feel a little heavier, but she promised herself she wouldn’t buckle under the weight.

“Taylor, breakfast is nearly ready. Come down stairs”. She calls to her son, laughing as he races down the creaky stairs.

“I’m cold, mum”. He calls out, and she agrees with him, instantly turning up the thermostat.

In his batman pyjamas, Taylor sits facing the fire and staring at his mini-figures, but in his hands are his two toy cars that he continues to make crash into each other. They make a terrible bang. The anxiety from before returns, as she watches the repeated destruction of the two cars.

“Play nicely with your toys, Taylor. Make them race with each other. Accidents aren’t a good thing to act out, my darling”. Liza says as she places his breakfast on the floor next to him.

Instantly, he dunks the corner of his toast into the orange yolk and nibbles it slowly.

“Who is the extra Lego woman, Taylor? I don’t think I know her”. Liza asks, unsure why it bothers her so much.

He shrugs, fixated on his food.

“Is it our neighbour?” Liza tried again, having only recently moved into the house. She hadn’t introduced herself to the street yet.

Taylor shakes his head.

“A new teacher, or the lollipop lady?” he only shrugs again.

“Well, who is it, Taylor? Answer me!” She shouts at him, feeling guilty immediately after.

“It’s just a friend”.

“A new friend at school?” She clarifies, feeling relieved.

“Not my friend mummy. Your friend”. He insists.

Losing his attention, Taylor finishes his breakfast, while Liza takes the Lego people and throws them into the toy box. Priding herself on being as unapproachable as possible, she knew she didn’t have any friends that her son would know about. Not anymore. She was still unsure of who Taylor was talking about, but remained feeling uncomfortable about it nonetheless.

Instructing Taylor to bring his plate to the sink when he is finished, she returns to the kitchen and cleans the worktop. Her husband likes a tidy house, and the morning is the best time to get the chores done. He wouldn’t be home until five pm, so she would have everything prepared by then. Deciding to make the most of the early start, Liza goes into the utility, and pulls the dirty washing from the basket. The back of her hands start to itch, and she looks down to see small vertical pink lines, covering her skin. Checking the detergent to make sure it isn’t different from the usual brand, she assures herself that everything is the same. Digging deeper into the laundry pile, she pulls out a black top. She drops it. It’s simply not possible. It’s that top, from that night. Unable to control her reaction, she squeezes it into a tight ball and throws it back into the basket, as if it is a contagious cloth with the power to spread misery in her household.

“How did it get in here?” She wonders.

She lifts the lid off the basket, hoping that it will be empty, praying her mind is fragile again, but the black top lies there like a shroud. Lifting the family washing, she throws it into the drum, desperate to pretend that her mind is playing tricks on her. Surely, if she ignores it, her mind will right itself, and the offending garment will disappear. The washing machine fills with water, and once more she looks back at the basket. It’s empty. Uncomfortable, she looks at the irritation that decorates her knuckles. Marks on her hands become darker, and the skin becomes raised like tiny scars. It looks like red rain drops, and the need to scratch at them is overwhelming. Turning on the cold water, she waits for some relief, but it evades her. Looking at her reflection in the window, which is marred by the slashes of water across the glass, she focusses on the scar hidden by her hairline.

“I wish you would go away!” She recalls her words from that night, and they haunt her.

The bright white lights blinded her. The almighty crash pulls her into her macabre memories, and she fights to leave them in her past.

Storming into the kitchen, her nerves are wrought, Taylor’s plate hasn’t been brought in. She could hear her son crashing his cars with excited gusto.

“Taylor, I told you not to…” She stops.

He isn’t there. His plate isn’t there either, yet still the toy cars are crashing together.

“Taylor!” She shouts.

No answer.

She’s alone. There was no logical explanation for how she knew this. The feeling of emptiness contributed to her certainty, but without needing to question it, she knew she was alone in the new house. Thinking back to only an hour ago, she remembered making eggs and toast, her son’s favourite, but she wasn’t sure if she had handed him the plate. Had he been there? Or was that a wish, her mind had fabricated all the details into a false memory? She didn’t have the answers, but she knew she was alone. She walked over to the bin and looked inside. There were the untouched eggs and buttered toast, cut into small triangles, as her son, who wasn’t there, liked them.

Kneeling on the carpet, she picks up one of the cars. Inside there is a driver and a passenger figure. She'd never noticed this detail about the toys before. Nor had she ever realised the toy car looked so much like the one from all those years ago. If she had, she never would have bought the model for him.

“I wish you would just go away”.

That night, nearly five years ago now, launched itself into the front of her memory. They were driving home after sharing an ice-cream at a diner. It had been cookies and cream, that was Lottie’s favourite, and they always had to have what she wanted. That was just the unmentioned compromise of their friendship: Lottie always got what she wanted. In return, Liza could be her friend, and at the time, that seemed a fair trade off. Lottie was wearing that black top, the one that showed enough cleavage to make her feel good.

“Peter has proposed. We will be getting married on the sixteenth of October. I’d love for you to be my bridesmaid”. She gushed with joy, while Liza’s world slipped through her fingers.

“Don’t I let you have everything? We always go to the places you want, we eat the food you want to eat, and we watch the films you want to watch. Everything you have ever asked of me I’ve gone along with. I told you that I wanted Peter, and two months later you’re dating him. God knows I tried to be happy for you, but he was the one person I wanted for myself, and you took that opportunity from me. Sometimes I wonder if you did it just to prove to me that you could, just to show me that you’ll always be the better option”.

Lottie laughed, hysterically.

“You are being ridiculous, you’ve never even spoken to him. You think you have a crush on him, but Peter and I love each other. If you can’t accept this and get over your childishness, then we can’t be friends anymore”. Lottie replied.

“I’m not sure if we ever were friends”. Liza snaps.

“He sees you as a little sister, Liza. He’ll never feel that way about you”. Lottie insists, pretending to be sympathetic, while she took the only life she’d ever wanted away from her.

“How would you know? Do you laugh about it all the time? He would have been mine if you hadn’t stolen him. I wish you would go away!” Liza screamed at her.

Bright, white lights pause their row, and a high pitched whistle is the last sound they heard before the collision.

Panting, Liza looked at her shaking hands. The rash on her skin has blood pouring from the wounds. She stares at them, watching the drips of blood drop onto the carpet. She was so alone.

“Taylor!” She screams, pretending that she can wish him into being again.

Rushing upstairs, she looked at every bedroom. Her furniture is gone. The house is bare. The bed she woke up on that morning is just a rectangle of clean carpet on the floor with imprints of what it used to be. The rain is furious, the alarm spurts red light across the wall, and an entire day seems to have passed.

Bang!

Running to the utility, she worries that Taylor has fallen over, but there’s still no sign of her son. The wash basket had fallen over and Lottie’s black top is on the floor. Picking it up, she examined it again. She never had the black top, and she didn’t keep anything of Lottie’s in the house. Just as she remembered it after the accident, the blood stain and rip were in the centre of her top. The dry crust cracks as she attempts to fold it, but the black blouse suddenly feels sticky. Almost as if Lottie’s body was in the top, like it was on that night. The smell of spoiled meat effuses in the air, and slimy blood covers her hands, mixing with her own. The errant thought crossed Liza’s mind, soon they would all be able to see the blood on her hands. In horror, she throws the shirt at the wall, it instantly falls on the floor, but the scarlet imprint of Lottie’s face is left dripping down the paintwork.

Needing some air, she tries to open the back door, but it is immovable. Moving into the living room, she repeats the process with the front door, but it is clear that she is trapped in the house. Her husband would be home soon. She waited for their car to pull up. The window that gives the view of the empty driveway is sealed shut, and the panic is stomach churning.

“Where is my son?” She screams into the empty house, but only the knocking from his toy chest responds.

Flicking it open, she is relieved to see that only his toys are inside, but the unnamed mini-Lego figure from earlier smiles at her from its prostrate position. Lifting it to her face, she was shocked she didn’t recognise it before. The blond hair, the black top, and the smirk from knowing that everything would go her way stared at her examination. Looking around, she comes to the conclusion that she isn’t as alone in the house as she initially thought.

“Lottie, are you here?” She calls out, feeling equally foolish and terrified.

No reply.

She took a deep breath.

How silly.

Crash. A photo frame dives off the wall and the smash breaks the eerie silence of the house. Crouching down to pick up the glass, she realises it’s her wedding photo. Peter was looking at her adoringly, and other than the day their son was born, it was the happiest day of her life. The pain from the old scar on her head started to sting, the one that was caused by the accident. Retrieving ice from the freezer to place on her head, she notices that the skin on her hands looks like ribbons flapping in the air. Turning on the cold tap to wash the blood away, she tries to look through the window, but the condensation makes visibility difficult. There is one word that is clearly formed in the steam that clouds the glass.

TRUTH.

Blood from her cut hands ran down the sink, but Liza could only think about that night. The details she had kept secret for nearly five years rushed to the front of her mind in terrifying detail. It had been a distraction that had caused the accident, that’s what she had said. It was a lie. That night, in pure frustration, she had reached for Lottie’s hand that had the engagement ring on it. She pulled at it, but Lottie wouldn’t let go of the wheel. They swerved. The white lights hurt her eyes. There was a strange whistle, then an almighty crash. No. It wasn’t a whistle. It was Lottie’s screams, just before the other car collided with them.

“Why were you on the wrong side of the road, Liza?” The officer asked her.

“Lottie was distracted, she was staring at her engagement ring. She must have drifted into the on-coming traffic”. Liza had replied, while the blood from her cut was dripping down her cheek like a traitorous, scarlet, tear drop.

Lies.

After the funeral, Peter’s mourning was frightening to watch. He blamed himself for allowing her to drive that night, knowing that she was excited and unfocussed. Lottie’s parents shunned him, so the town followed their lead and distanced themselves from the love of Lottie’s life. Liza was the only person who defended him, and soon their friendship evolved into love, into a marriage, into parenthood. With each happy memory pulled to the front of her mind, she could hear the corresponding photo, denoting their joy, crashing to the floor in the living room. Exactly like the shattered glass that glittered across the tarmac on the night that Lottie died.

Screaming from pure frustration, Liza returns to the living room. If she is being haunted, let it be done, so that she can find her family. Let the day of horror be over. With the crunch of glass beneath her feet, she bends down to pick up the toy cars off the floor. The one that had the passengers in it is crushed into a small dice shape, but the black car feels wet in her palm. Screaming, she throws it at the mirror, equally as enraged as the spirit that was hiding her family from her. Headlights shined into the living room, and Liza rushed to the window in hope that it was her Peter. When the lights dim, their family car is on the driveway, but the bonnet is missing and water seeps on to the flags from the inside of the vehicle. She looks down at her hands once again, and remembers covering her face. It was the glass shards that had cut into the back of her hands, before she had crashed into the water. Peter and Taylor were screaming from their seats.

She hadn’t been paying attention to the road. Taylor had told her he was cold, and she had reached back for just a second to tuck his blanket around him. Peter was asleep, exhausted from lifting the moving boxes into the van all day.

“It should have been your day today”. Liza thought again. “My day. Our day!” She realised, as the events from the past suddenly aligned.

It was the day they had moved out of the town that had caused them so much pain, and started a new life in another town. It had taken her a long time to convince Peter to leave the memory of Lottie behind, but she had finally managed it, and they would be free from her shadow. It was the 30th October, and Taylor was excited about putting up Halloween decorations for the next day.

The car was full of boxes that wouldn’t fit in the removal van. Taylor’s toy box was taking up the most room. It had rained the night before, and the ground had been slippery. She had been driving, she could remember that. A branch had swooped down and slapped their window screen with such force that it crumbled into tiny, bloody diamonds. She had covered her face then. They had skidded and dived into the lake that she had described as being so picturesque. Peter had woken up, he was screaming. So was Taylor. The reality dawns on her like the icy water that drowned her.

“Are my family dead too?” She calls out.

Silence.

Lost in her morbid memory trying to visualise what had happened, Liza looked up to see the piece of Lego at the bottom of the stairs where she had moved it from that morning. The four mini-figures were staring at her from the fireplace. She was adamant she had put everything away. The basket of washing was full to the brim, even though she was sure she had started the wash. Fearful of closing her eyes, she suddenly didn’t want to sleep. Laughter came from the garden that she couldn’t access, but she smiled to see Taylor jumping in the puddles. Resisting sleep, she wanted to see her son’s face, praying that he would turn.

Was he really here? Had he died with her? Or worse, was she alive and trapped in the new house that was built on lies and Lego, and her son and husband were in heaven where she knew she wasn’t welcome yet. Yet, despite all these unanswered questions, she couldn’t ignore the awful feeling of déjà vu that she had been trying to work these questions out for a long time.

The clock struck ten pm. The entire day had passed by. She didn’t want to rest. She was fighting the heavy weight of her eyes. Purgatory had a deceptive way of resetting the world. She had come so close to the truth today.

“Just rest now Liza, you’ve had a fretful day. We will try to find your husband and son tomorrow,” A voice rings out through the Alexa she didn’t remember installing.

A patient man stands at the window, holding his clipboard and peering into her home. The wreckage of her past life is parked on the driveway, the water still dripping out of the seats like mournful tears.

“Leave me alone Lottie, haven’t you punished me enough yet? Where am I?” She screams into the emptiness.

TITLE: LEGO AND LIES

PEN NAME: Author May Clarke

PREVIOUS WORKS (All Available on Dreame):

The Birth of the Beta (Complete)

The Last Pack (Complete)

The First Wolves (Complete)

Scribble Nook Stories

ENDLESS ADVENTURE: The Quest of Wisdom and Worth

MAGIC, MYTHS AND MYSTERIES: If We Had Forever

BE MY VALENTINE: Blooming Flowers

FB GROUP: May Clarke Romance Author