Chris spoke to Fiona on April 28th; after hearing about the recent turmoil. He felt bad for the family and couldn't find any words of comfort when he spoke to her on the phone.
Fiona was curious about how Chris knew about the girls taken into care and wanted to know that.
'Steven mentioned it.'
'To tell you the truth, he phoned me. He's worried about you. He said you haven't eaten, and you're always cleaning the house.'
'I have to do something to take my mind off everything.' Fiona said, and then she thought, why was she explaining herself to someone who didn't have children?
'You know the police spoke to us like we were criminals, kept asking us the same questions. How did Harmony get the bruises? What were we doing on the night when she almost drowned? Why didn't we hear anything?'
Chris, as Fiona told him about the police, was under the impression. The police had questioned Fiona and Steven in the same room.
'Wait a minute, they spoke to you; at the same time?'
'No, on different days. I think they wanted to trip us up, you know, well, your husband said this; now, you're saying this. Which one is it? That kind of thing.'
'I'll see.' Chris replied back.'
'And here is what pisses me off. I've never been in trouble with the police before, but that made no difference to them; they took our fingerprints and asked if our names were on any police records. Steven mentioned his police caution for shoplifting when he was fourteen.'
'Do you have any inkling when the children are coming home?' Chris asked.
'The social services haven't said anything. Angela is coming round tomorrow afternoon to see if we got food in the house and to look in the girl's bedroom. I'm a little concerned with that because, as you know, Harmony hasn't slept in her room for ages.'
'Why are you worried?'
'Because Harmony might have mentioned something about the old man; Angela might think it's Steven.'
'I see; maybe I should speak to her and explain the situation.'
'What to Angela?'
'Yeah, explain what you and your family are going through.'
Fiona wasn't keen on that idea.
'We mention ghosts and demons; she's gonna think we're crazy.'
'I see what you mean,' Chris said. 'The last thing you need is me showing my ugly mug, especially when you got the welfare people on your back.'
'Exactly, so what's happening with the church? Are they willing to help us yet?' Fiona asked, changing the conversation and leaving Chris wondering if the police had charged her and Steven.
He would find out later on; they hadn't.
'At the moment, not too good. I think the best solution is spending a few days at your house and see if we can get anything that might get the church off their arses.'
'Steven and I did that, and you told us it wasn't enough.' Fiona said. 'What about that priest who tried blessing the house? Surely he must have spoken to the church.'
'He's left the parish.'
'Scared the priest that bad, did it?'
'Kinda off, yeah.'
Fiona then asked Chris if the church would listen to their pleas if she and Steven had any witnesses - apart from those living here.
'I can't say, but anything is worth a try.'
'I hope it does work because I don't know how much more I can take off this.'
'I know, and the best thing you and Steven can do at the moment is try not to lose hope.'
'I wish I could hold on to that. I really do.'
Chris heard something in Fiona's voice when she spoke. A dialect of pain and hurt; he couldn't blame the poor woman.
She and Steven had lost the most precious things in their lives. Their children.
And Chris feared the old man didn't want to kill the family — but wanted to make them suffer. A terrible question hung over his head.
Why?
The question lingered until Fiona broke it.
'So when you coming round?'
'I can make it this weekend if nothing goes wrong.'
'Let's hope it doesn't.'
Later on, wanting to keep herself busy, Fiona did the house from top to bottom. Mopping the kitchen floor, wiping down the worktops, brushing down the stairs. Doing the girl's bedroom.
Fiona wished she could hear Harmony and Katrina. But nothing, only silence.
What she wouldn't give to hear them again; Katrina moaning because Harmony had stolen her favourite top. She hadn't cleaned the bathroom. Non-stop whinging, but not always. Sometimes the girls would do each other's hair and makeup. Would speak for hours on end about this and that.
What the fuck?
A foul stench suddenly came from the wardrobe, a mixture of stale vomit and cat piss.
Fiona could taste it, and she found it difficult to breathe and began to gag. Heaving her stomach, wanting to come up and rain onto the carpet.
Quickly, she flashed a hand over her mouth, pushing back the vomit.
'Fiona.' A voice spoke from somewhere in the room.
It was the old man, playing one again, and without a second thought, she made a run to the bedroom door. The door slammed shut.
And she tried to open it, only to hear a male voice laughing, the old man.
She could feel his arms around her waist, pulling her away from the door.
She struggled to break free and felt something hard behind her.
Knowing what the old man had in mind, she began to scream.
Steven heard the scream. But he couldn't move away from the chair fast enough.
Yet before that happened, he had been sleeping, woken up by somebody shouting in his face, 'MINE.' The voice filled with so much anger it had left a ringing sound in his ears. That's when he saw the old man leave the front room. Closing the door behind him.
Seeing this, Steven went for the door, but he couldn't open it. It felt locked from the outside.
'Fucking let go of it!' He yelled, a sensation prickling on his skin like new hairs starting to grow. He looked behind him.
Had to because here on a Sunday afternoon, the day — shining brightly was starting to fade away.
Steven could see it. And a part of him couldn't believe it.
A dark wondering hand, turning everything dimmer.
He felt the walls for guidance, working his hands across them. Something fell to the floor. What? Steven couldn't see. It was too dark, and from the black mist, he could hear voices.
They swayed around him like the wind blowing.
'Kill the toys, kill the toys.'
He had to escape and make his way upstairs quickly, but the door. It still wouldn't open, and now he could feel fat fingers pinching him, dancing across his face. People around him.
They were surrounding him, grabbing at his clothes. One face stood out from the rest, a bloated woman with a cream face. Her head, using his shoulder as a pillowcase.
Pushing the ghost woman away. Steven tried to open the door. But still nothing.
Only Fiona, screaming - who upstairs fought to break free from the old man's grip.
The old demon rubbing himself against her.
'Please, no.' she cried out. Only to be thrown onto the bed, her face squashed into the pillowcase.
She could feel the old man holding her head down. Her muffled screams bit into the pillowcase.
She was losing air; she couldn't breathe, and the only sound she could hear was the old man croaking and laughing. Fiona prayed to sweet Jesus - the old man would leave her be.
But the long crooning sound from the old monster told her - that miracle would never come.
She could only fight, and that's what she did, flared up in terror, knowing what was about to happen as she felt his tongue slide across her face. Something hard pressing against her.
Instantly, she threw back her elbow, hitting that old monster. But where? She didn't know; the old man was gone.
Running out of the bedroom, she saw Steven halfway up the stairs.
'Steven!' she cried out, only to have somebody click their fingers, and now she couldn't move, Steven as well.
For three hours, Fiona and Steven couldn't move. When they finally could, they both fell to the floor, exhausted, hurting themselves. Their muscles screaming with pain. They could barely walk.
Each one took a bath to relieve the aches and pain.
And one might think the terror was over for that night, but at three in the morning, Fiona woke up to see the bedroom door open. The hallway light gleamed, and what she could hear in the hallway wasn't her imagination. Those days were gone.
Something was moving, grunting, a constant snorting sound. Fiona sat up in bed, curious by the noise.
'No more, please.'
But the sound came closer, ignoring her pleas, grunting, searching for something.
The noise made itself visible, a fully grown pig, pot-belly almost touching the hallway carpet. The sow poked its head around the bedroom door, looking at Fiona.
'Toy.' It spoke.