Writelink Arena

It’s that man again and I need some feedback on a short excerpt from Voices.

I need to know whether the following piece (about 800 words) works.

Here’s the background to the scene.

[More:]

It’s almost 3 months since the bombing. Chris has his hearing back but he suffers tinnitus and hears indistinct voices muttering. He still cannot speak and communicates via a palmtop computer. He has been plagued by two phantoms; a soldier and a grotesque dwarf. He has christened them Big P (Big Pistol) and Little D (Little Demon). Jan, too, has seen Little D, but she was drunk and does not remember it. He has logged all the sightings in a computer file called James after M.R. James the writer of ghost stories. Chris has met with two other survivors, Steve and Zoë. Steve has committed suicide and Chris has had a nightmare in which Little D drives Zoë to jump from her 13th floor flat. Chris wakes in terror.

This tale has undergone considerable changes since I first asked for readers and for anyone who wishes to read more I have 25,000 words written. I can drip-feed it 5-10,000 words at a time. Feedback so far has been accurate, honest and encouraging.

Now here's the scene

Chapter 11

Jan found me cowering in the corner near the wardrobe. I was shaking, weeping, my arms covering my eyes. The speed with which I leapt out of bed had woken her. When she saw me, she rushed across the room, placed her hands on my shoulders, compelled me to lower my arm and look at her.

“Whatever is the matter?”

“She’s dead,” I mouthed. “Zoë is dead. He killed her and I’m next.”

No sound escaped me. She crossed back to the bedside, collected the palmtop and coming back, she handed it over. I spent a minute typing up my words.

“Chris, you’ve had a nightmare. That’s all. Come on. Let’s get you a cup of tea.”

She put her arm under mind to help me up, but I shrugged her off and began typing again.

“It’s not a dream. I saw him. Little D. He killed her. Forced her to jump out her window. He killed Steve, now he’s killed Zoë. I’m next. I’ve seen him too. He’ll kill me next.”

I trembled and tried to shrink further into the corner while she read it.

“You’re not making sense, love,” Jan said. “Who’s Little D and when have you seen him? And Steve committed suicide. Zoë is fine. It’s just a nightmare.”

I snatched the palmtop back. “No. You’re not listening. Steve saw him. He told me. His mother told the press. Then he died. Zoë saw him. She told me and now she’s dead. I’ve seen him, too. I’m next.”

Jan reached under my arm to help me up. This time I did not resist. “You’re talking about this hallucination Steve’s mother mentioned in the press report?” She waited until I nodded. “Chris, he was stressed out, and you have not seen this … this creature.”

“You’re wrong,” I typed. “I’ve been seeing him for months. And not just him. I see a soldier too. They’re going to kill me.”

“Chris, stop this nonsense, now.” Her chin jutted forward; a woman taking control. “You’ve had a nightmare. Steve’s death is preying on your mind. Zoë is fine. Now come on, let’s get downstairs and get a cup of tea.”

She led me from the bedroom and down the stairs. Again I felt like a child and the feeling was exacerbated by the way I kept looking around, trembling, half expecting to see Little D materialise on the stairs, ready to trip me and send me screaming to my death. Visions of Zoë’s shattered body returned and I began to weep again.

Jan guided me to the settee but I refused. Instead, while she went to the kitchen to make tea, I switched on the PC. By the time she returned with a beaker of sweet tea, I had opened James.

“Read that,” I typed on the palmtop.

Clasping her own cup between her hands, she began reading.

I sat at the dining room table, fearful eyes darting everywhere, memories of Zoë’s terrible fall and smashed body haunting me. The tinnitus zinged in my ears and the Voices babbled away just below the threshold of hearing. It seemed to me that there was a new excitement about them. Several minutes later, Jan turned from the computer to look at me. The set of her face told me all I needed to know about her mood.

“You’ve been seeing these … these phantoms for two months now and you never said anything. When I read the report of Steve’s suicide I asked you if you had seen anything like the hallucination his mother described, and you said you hadn’t and yet here you are seeing these things almost daily. And you’ve seen them several times in the house, haven’t you?”

“I didn’t want you fretting,” I wrote on the palmtop. “Until I met Zoë and Steve, I thought they were symptoms of my anxiety. But they’re not. They’re real and they’ve killed Steve, now Zoë. I am next.”

“Chris, they are not real.” Her words were bitten off. “They are hallucinations.”

Her anger provoked the real me from somewhere deep inside. “How is it possible for three people who had never met, to hallucinate the same thing?” I demanded on screen. “You’ve seen Little D yourself. The night of Lambert’s Halloween party.”

“I was drunk,” she retorted. “We see all sorts of things when we’re drunk. And I don’t believe you three saw the same thing. I believe you persuaded each other of it.” Her face mellowed and she came to me, crouching on her haunches, taking my hands. “Chris, you’re ill. The bombing has made you afraid to even go out. You’ve cooped yourself up in this house for so long that the isolation is getting to you. These ghosts are nothing more than that. Ghosts from your mind, threatening you. They’re a symptom of how close you came to being killed. Zoë is all right. You’ll see. We’ll ring her in the morning and she will be fine. Now please, I’m begging you, get some help. Go to the doctor. Tell him everything. You’re not insane, just frightened. And I’m frightened too. Scared that if you don’t get help, you will end up seriously ill.”