Behind the Locked Door Read online

  Behind the Locked Door

  A re-write of a classic tale

  By Lisa Procter

  Digital Edition

  Copyright © 2013 by Lisa Procter

  All rights reserved

  I was given the name Goldilocks when I was a little girl because my hair fell in long waves of golden threads down to my waist. Coupled with bright blue eyes and a permanent blush on my otherwise pale face, I made quite the impression.

  Of course that soon got very tiresome, constantly being told how sweet and angelic you look isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. When I was fourteen, I took my mother’s sewing scissors and chopped it all off. I ended up with uneven lengths and ratted ends. But as I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.

  I looked a mess, but I couldn’t give a shit.

  Of course, when my mother found me still sat in front of the mirror, the fallen strands of my hair surrounding me, she went ballistic. I was marched to the hairdresser, who struggled to right my hair while keeping it as long as possible – as per my mother’s request. What was considered my best feature was gone and man was she pissed, but I was only getting started.

  About a year later, my hair hadn’t gained much length. I would never admit I was secretly trimming it - that would just cause more trouble than it was worth. Mother swore that I had cursed myself and I found myself tuning out when she went on her rants. When I came home from school on my sixteenth birthday with freshly dyed black hair with pink and blue highlights I had gone too far. From that moment on, my relationship with my mother deteriorated to the point that we barely spoke.

  All because of hair!

  Of course she told all her friends I was a wild child, that I couldn’t be controlled – the ultimate teenage rebel, but the truth was I just hated a nickname given to me as a child. But I digress.

  It was around this point the Bere’s moved in to the village. And that is where my story really begins.

  They had caused quite the stir, The Bere’s. There were three of them. A middle aged couple and a kid. My age I think but with twelve year olds looking like adults these days, there really was no telling. It was privacy that caused the air of mystery about them. We live in a small village, everyone knew everyone else’s business – the Wisteria Lane of Britain. The Bere’s had shunned every single offer of hospitality that the mother hens had offered.

  They were pretty pissed.

  I on the other hand found it quite amusing. So they liked privacy. The way the gossip was spreading though you’d think they were keeping a deep dark secret, something terrible, something nightmares were made of. But that was just the environment I lived in.

  I had only seen a glimpse of them - the older man retrieving the paper in the morning, the son mowing the lawn, the woman arranging the flowers in the window. They seemed like a normal family, reserved maybe, but respectable enough. To be honest, they seemed like they had it together, more so than most of the families in the village.

  My own family for example – from the outside looking in, we represented the perfect family, aside from my own wild streak of course. No one would know from my parents gentle kisses as they bid each other farewell each morning that their marriage was a sham and my father was screwing a girl a little older than me. No one would realise from his bright smile and straight A’s that my brother was actually out dealing drugs during his pizza delivery job. No one would guess that with her gentle laughter and sickening kindness that my sister was actually an evil bitch.

  But that’s appearances for you and I’m getting side tracked again. The point is, their privacy wasn’t an issue and to me, they posed no threat.

  But I have been wrong before.

  Now let me fast forward to the main story. It had happened on what would have otherwise been a normal day, but isn’t that always the case? Mother and father made their daily show of affection and then got in their separate cars, leaving for work.

  Only five minutes previously, my mother was calling me out for wearing too much make up and I’m presuming she didn’t appreciate my eye roll as I walked out of the door – without dramatics of course, appearances remember? I walked through the village with no real purpose, I had a day off college and although there was a small pile of work that needed doing, I knew in this mood I had no chance of concentrating properly.

  And so I walked, aimlessly meandering through the village, ignoring the faces I passed as I kicked at a stone. As I passed the Bere’s I looked up for the first time, my curiosity spiking. I checked the driveway for cars, watched the windows for any sign of life and then before I knew what I was doing, I climbed the wall to the back yard and crept towards the door.

  Okay, I know what you’re thinking – I had a reputation as a rebel and I wasn’t helping the case but I couldn’t help myself. Maybe the Stepford wives were rubbing off on me but I felt an overwhelming urge to go explore the house and find out more about my mysterious neighbours.

  I tried the backdoor, quite surprised to find it unlocked. As I entered the large kitchen, not much different from my own, the smell of porridge greeted me and my stomach growled appreciatively. I crept to the table and saw three bowls laid out in a family arrangement – the biggest bowl at the head of the table and two smaller bowls at either side. An unexpected rush of affection for the Bere’s washed over me as I looked at the setting – I couldn’t remember the last time I had sat down for breakfast with my family, or any meal for that matter.

  I walked over to the table, running my finger over the rim of the bowl as I sat on the head chair. All rational thought left me as I dipped my finger in to the remnants of the porridge, quickly spooning it in to my mouth and immediately regretting it. The salty taste hit my taste buds and I cringed. Curiosity got the better of me, and I repeated the process on the second bowl, tasting the overly sweet oats and pulling a face. An insight to the family, a strange one, but an insight all the same.

  With some trepidation, I dipped my finger in to the third bowl and hesitated before sucking the porridge from my finger. With an appreciative moan as my mouth watered, I went back for another taste. This was perfect, just right. I smiled as I realised I had something in common with one of them. Somehow I knew it was the youngest, the son. Instinct perhaps.

  Feeling emboldened, I pushed back from the table and left the kitchen, finding myself in a beautifully decorated living room. Smaller than my own, it was cluttered with various ornaments and knick knacks but each one looked as though it belonged there. I walked along the mantelpiece, completely devoid of any dust and looked at each of the object there, placed in-between various framed photographs. The Bere’s smiled at me from behind the glass, at various points during the years and I smiled back.

  The room was dominated by three chairs, one for each of them – clearly they never entertained guest. The first chair was a typical lazy boy style, brown leather covering with the television remote on the arm. I sat on it, and made a disgruntled noise as my ass met a hard seat.

  I stood and looked at the second chair. This was not to my taste but I could tell it was Mrs Bere’s. With a floral covering, and deep plushy cushions, it looked as though it would swallow you and as I sat in chair, immediately sinking in to the softness I was proven right. I struggled to stand, my legs kicking in the air as I tried to free myself from the chair.

  The third chair beckoned me and I knew I would love it. It wasn’t remarkable in any sense, just a normal cream armchair with a battered brown cushion squished in to the corner but as I sat on it, feeling the perfect balance between firm and soft, I sighed in relief. This was a good chair, a perfect chair, just right.

  I felt like I was pushing my luck but as I glanced to the wooden
staircase, I felt a pull and I reluctantly rose from the armchair and crept to the stairs slowly, inspecting each of the photos as I went. The smiling faces of the Bere’s looked down on me, watching me as I explored their house.

  As I stepped on to the first step of the stairs it creaked loudly and my heart leapt as I froze. Suddenly every sound I had previously missed seemed magnified. A clock ticked somewhere, each one measuring how long it took for my heart to slow, the pipes under the flooring gushed and groaned and a tap slowly dripped in to the bowl of a sink. I listened to each one, the hairs on my arms standing on their ends as I finally started to relax, letting out a nervous chuckle which seemed unnatural in the empty house

  I climbed the stairs slowly, prepared for any more creaking steps, sighing in relief when I got to the landing without any more mishaps. The light streaming through the small window gave everything an almost surreal glow, small dust particles flying through the air only adding to the effect. A door was open directly to my right and I popped my head in, finding a very clean bathroom. Like the living room it seemed cluttered, but everything appeared to have its own place and even the toilet paper was folded into a triangular point. My mother prided herself on our ‘show home’ but even she didn’t go that far.

  As I left the bathroom, I tried the handle of the door opposite the stairs, frowning when I found it locked. I rattled the handle as though it would magically open but with a sigh, I gave up. Just another mystery of the Bere’s. I walked down the landing and tried another handle, smiling as the door opened easily and walking in to what could only be Mr and Mrs Bere’s room.

  A huge bed stood in the centre of the room, each side reflecting a personality. Judging by what I had seen so far, the left side belonged to Mrs Bere. Plush pillows and cushions littered her space, an extra comfort blanket folded neatly on top of the bed sheets. Her bedside table had a beautiful vase with an arrangement of flowers, a pair of reading glasses and a book. I walked over to see what she was reading, a small smile playing about my lips as I saw the familiar figures of Romeo and Juliet smiling at each other.

  Mr Bere’s side was another matter entirely. He had one pillow and I could tell by looking that it wasn’t something I would like to lay on, I could see a perfect rectangle in its shape rather than the softer curves of his wife’s pillows. His own bedside table was devoid of any objects, save for an old fashioned alarm clock.

  I glanced around the rest of the room, but nothing really popped out at me, more family pictures, and the same cluttered theme. I left the room untouched and walked back in to the hallway, facing the last door. With a nervousness I didn’t expect, I slowly pushed down the handle and exhaled as I entered the room.

  The Bere’s son certainly had his own style, completely different to the rest of the house. The walls were a pale blue, the upholstery a darker blue. There were no posters on the walls, no family portraits. The only insight to his personality was a cooking book on the bedside table. The room was devoid of clutter, in fact it was completely neat and tidy, unexpectedly so.

  What really had my interest was the bed.

  Not quite a double, I was itching to know if it was as perfect as all his other choices and without waiting for my brain to catch up with my body, I was across the room, my fingertips brushing over the bed covers. I sat down on the mattress and was not disappointed.

  The sheets had been warmed from the sunshine burning through the window, the mattress, like the armchair, had the perfect amount of softness while still supporting my weight. I laid back and felt my head sink deliciously in to the pillow. Oh this was heaven, just right. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of the sun warming my skin.

  As I became too comfortable, I could feel myself falling in to darkness, feel my body surrender to tiredness as my mind shut down and I slept. Completely unaware of things happening around me, I slept soundly, my mind alight with images inspired by the Bere’s.

  I didn’t hear the click of the lock as the Bere’s let themselves in to their house. I didn’t hear the creak of the first step of the stairs as the son rushed upstairs to void his bladder. I didn’t hear the flush of the toilet chain, nor the running water of the tap as he washed his hands. I didn’t hear his heavy footsteps as he walked in to his room. I didn’t hear his shout to his parents, telling them to hurry.

  I did hear his breathing in my ear. I did feel his hand poke the skin under my clothes. I did hear his chuckle as he pinched the soft flesh of my stomach. I did hear him as he spoke to me.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  *

  The Bere family woke up the next morning and began the day as normal. Mr Bere kissed his wife good morning and left her in bed while he showered. Mrs Bere, stretched and dressed, heading to the kitchen to make breakfast. Young Bere lounged in bed, pushing his luck for an extra five minutes.

  They all ignored the newly unlocked door next to the bathroom although the smell emitting from it was quite foul. As they met at the breakfast table, as they had done every morning since their family had begun, the smell of cooking filled the kitchen. Mrs Bere placed the plates in front of her men and smiled as they made appreciative noises.

  Porridge was not on the menu this morning. No, today was a rare treat, something they didn’t get to sample all too often. As Mr Bere took the first bite and groaned with pleasure, both his wife and son followed his example, the three of them making small talk as they enjoyed their first, and most important meal of the day.

  As the clock ticked, and the pipes groaned, and the tap dripped in to the bowl of a sink, Goldilocks lay perfectly still, her naked body warmed by the sun light streaming through the window. The cold and sterile room behind the locked door didn’t faze her as she stared glossy eyed at the ceiling. On a small table beside her, a slice of missed flesh clung to the metal. Later Mrs Bere would come back to the room to continue the butchering of Goldilocks’ body and she would tut to herself as she noticed the remains that her son had carelessly left behind.

  They couldn’t afford a mistake this time.

  Down the street and round the corner, a mother would wake to her child’s bed not being slept in. She would curse as she complained about the rebellious nature of her teenage daughter while she made herself immaculate for her day.

  As she gave her husband his daily peck, looking over his shoulder to see if they were being observed, she got in her car and drove to work. As she drove past the Bere’s her lip curled in contempt, looking up at the newly opened window. Had she had the car windows open and been listening carefully enough, she would have heard the gentle humming of Mrs Bere and the thud of a butchers knife as her daughter’s body vanished from the world.

  Coming Soon!

  Secrets of a Little Crush

  Rules are made to be broken, that’s how the old saying goes right? At least that’s what I told myself as I sat in his car, repeating it over and over in my head.

  I studied him from the corner of my eye and wondered if he was as affected by me as I was him. I wondered if it would matter. He wasn’t for me, and I certainly wasn’t for him. But the temptation was there.

  “Could I turn on the radio?” I asked in a small voice desperate to break the silence. He glanced over at me and nodded once. I leaned forward, my hair cascading between us in a wave of red. I fiddled with the stereo, all the while completely aware of his hands on the wheel, inches away from my head.

  As music filled the car, I sighed in relief, leaning back in my seat watching the world go by. The silence between us had been pressing down on me, making my breathing difficult. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly concentrating on my breathing, letting the music fill my ears and course through my body until finally I started to relax.

  I lay like that for what could have been hours, but judging by the radio station, no more than ten minutes could have passed. Much too soon for the car to be rolling to a stop. As the engine cut off, he finally spoke.

  “I do hope you haven‘t taken a funny turn in my care Lyssa
. The paperwork would be horrendous.” My eyes flew open and I sat up. Three things struck me.

  One – I had no idea where I was. The moonlight was reflected across the bay, the skies dark with night.

  Two- He was too close. Having shifted in his seat, his body had turned towards me, leaning forward slightly so he was inches away from me.

  Three - The silence was back, the radio having cut out along with the engine. Only this time it was different. This time it seemed to hug against my body instead of crushing it.

  It crackled with excitement and anticipation. I looked up slowly meeting his eyes and it was my undoing. I was caught.

  But rules are made to be broken right?

  Find out more at

  https://www.facebook.com/SecretsofaLittleCrushLisaProcter

  https://www.facebook.com/LProcterAuthor

 

 

  Lisa Procter, Behind the Locked Door

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