Evila - An Inspector Calls

The Morning After

Wiping away the sleep that encrusted my eye, I sat up in my bed - if you could call it that. It could be more accurately described as a dejected mattress, partially stuffed with tattered and sharp goose feathers. The diamond patterned wallpaper peeled back to reveal the grey brick wall hidden underneath. I huddled under the single blanket barely big enough to cover myself; it was made of such a material that scratched when you moved and provided very little warmth anyway. My vision was blurry but I could see the small window, protected with no curtain or even a cloth; it cascaded a pattern of light into the floor.

If I hadn't been dangerously tired last night, it would have been impossible to sleep like this. Yet again, the thought flickered inside my head, it was an earworm that I couldn't get rid of, not until I had done what I had to do.

At that moment, I had no other thoughts.

Almost as if I was in a trance, I stood up, walked out of my room and down those rickety steps I had stumbled up the previous night, in search of a telephone.

In the back of my mind, I knew that I couldn't afford a call but I was fixated upon the idea that I needed to speak to her, to tell her I was okay.

The stairs of the inn led to the bar, a stuffy room - home to five small round tables, none of which were occupied. In fact, the only customer in the pub sat in the corner on a barstool. He was barely visible through the mass of rising smoke throughout the pub which was clearly coming from discarded cigarettes, carelessly thrown to the floor.

A door behind the bar that lead to the kitchen swung open abruptly. I recognised the face that had kindly let me the room for cheap last night, his mouth curved into a wide smile as he greeted me with a thick Brumley accent.

'Mornin' sunshine, how'd you sleep last night?' He slurred.

I glanced at him with disgust; his gaze twisting into a leer. No, I could not stay here again. I glanced at my stomach. Were we ever going to be safe?

I flicked my eyes back up at him and forced the corners of my lips up.

'I slept great. Could I borrow your telephone please?' I murmured.

'I s'pose.' He stated, letting me through to the back of the bar. The smell of rancid scraps of meat made my stomach churn. With a shaking hand I dialled the number welded into my mind. My heart stopped when I heard the crackling in the phone line and the fuzzy ringing in the receiver. With each second, it seemed to ring slower and my breath seemed to get louder.

The phone was answered.

'He...hello...' I said in almost a whisper

'Hello? Who's there? ...Eva?'