Alice was dropped off at her aunt and uncle’s house with barely a backward glance in her direction. She watched her parents excitedly climb back into the car with a face that was flat and expressionless.

Her aunt waved from the doorway as the car pulled away before ushering Alice inside. She followed her aunt in without comment, with her blanket in her arms and her backpack holding things that she deemed essential for surviving the night. Her plan was to make her excuses early and then spend the evening reading in bed. A torch, carefully hidden between the folds of her pyjamas, had been prepared earlier in the day for this purpose.

On entering the building, Alice realised that her uncle wasn’t currently home. His chair in the living room was empty and her aunt’s music was playing softly in the kitchen, something which she had learned to recognise early as being a positive sign. Alice wasn’t much of a Rod Stewart fan, but she couldn’t fathom having to live with someone so grouchy that they wouldn’t even let you play your own music every once in a while.

“Your uncle is going to be out for most of the evening,” her aunt said as she walked through the house. There was the smell of baking in the air and her aunt seemed more chipper than usual, even giving a little dancing wiggle as she headed towards the kitchen.

“I thought we might be able to watch a movie or something,” she added from the next room. “Have a little girl’s night in.”

Alice smiled. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Her aunt returned to the living room carrying a silver tray laden with biscuits and two generous slices of chocolate cake on individual plates. Alice eyed them suspiciously. She had been expecting a meal, but not one that was quite as sugary as this.

“Go on now. You get comfortable. That blanket of yours is ideal for a movie night,” her aunt said, fussing over the layout of the biscuits on the tray. She finally set the tray still on the coffee table before looking up at Alice’s bemused face. Her aunt blushed slightly.

“Don’t tell your mother,” she warned, then gave an impish smile.

Alice couldn’t help but giggle as she gladly leaned in for a slice of cake. She couldn’t recall ever seeing her aunt look so… girlish? She realised guiltily that as soon as her leg had healed sufficiently enough that she no longer needed daily supervision, she had stopped coming over entirely. Perhaps her aunt had enjoyed her quiet company more than she had realised.

“Now, you’re going to need something to wash that down with,” her aunt continued. “Tea or hot chocolate?”

Alice smiled nervously. Abashed, but emboldened by her aunt’s cheeriness, she asked, “Are there any marshmallows?”

“Hot chocolate it is,” her aunt answered in a gleeful tone. “Do you want cream too?” she asked over her shoulder as she headed towards the kitchen.

“Yes please!” Alice called out before settling onto the soft sofa. She carefully set aside her cake and pulled her blanket out from her bag. Once nestled comfortably in the many folds of fabric, she set her cake back upon her knee and tasted the frosting. The light airiness of the sugary cream melted deliciously on her tongue. As it did, the last of Alice’s nervous tension seemed to melt from her shoulders with it.

She wondered idly, which movie would her aunt have chosen for this evening? Had she even decided upon a film? Her aunt had a particular fondness for old black and white movies, especially romances. The various plots rarely interested Alice, but the novelty of them always piqued her interest. It always felt as though they were watching something otherworldly and uniquely special. Almost as though she were duty-bound to watch them in their entirely, lest they be lost in history forever.

She prodded once more at the frosting of her cake, scooping a little onto the end of her finger before sucking it clean. The cake tormented her, begging her to be eaten. Alice knew that her aunt wouldn’t be bothered if she did begin to eat before she returned, but it felt sacrilege to start without her.

Luckily, the softly playing music in the kitchen fell to silence shortly afterwards. Her aunt returned with a second tray with two cups upon it; one proudly topped with a generous amount of whipped cream and mini marshmallows, whilst the other was a more reserved cup of black tea.

“I’ve chosen a slightly different film this evening,” her aunt explained as she carefully placed the cups on wooden coasters that she retrieved from a drawer within the coffee table itself.

“Thank you, Auntie,” Alice said as the hot chocolate was placed before her.

“I know you’re not one for romances and whatnot, so I’ve chosen one that’s a bit more… exciting,” her aunt further explained.

Alice smiled. The last time that her aunt had said they would watch something more exciting, they had watched “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers”. A far cry from “Die Hard” and other action movies that her father preferred.

The pair settled in the living room to watch the movie which, unsurprisingly, turned out to be in black and white. The credits read as “Gaslights” and, despite herself, Alice was quickly engrossed. A shady ‘gentleman’ marrying a woman for her money and convincing her that she was going mad.

Each scene was punctuated by her aunt hissing her distaste. “Ohh, that dastardly man. He’s a wrong ‘un”.

It was only as the movie ended that Alice realised that she was still nursing a half-full cup of now cold chocolate. She guiltily gulped down a few mouthfuls, not wanting to appear wasteful. She caught her aunt’s eye and to her relief, her aunt merely laughed.

“Oh sweetheart, you don’t want to be drinking that. It’ll be like ice by now!” she gently chided Alice as she gathered up the used plates and her own cup onto the stacked trays. “You pass it over now, I’ll make us a fresh one,” she added.

“I can help,” said Alice, rising from her seat, “if that’s ok?”

“Oh, alright then”, replied her aunt with a mischievous smile. “Since you’re twisting my arm, you can wash the plates while I make the drinks. Deal?”

It was as Alice was drying the dishes that the night took a turn for the worst. The front door audibly slammed shut. The unexpected noise seemed to rattle the house and both Alice and her aunt startled like birds at the noise of a cat.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Where you at?” called out his gruff voice. His tone sounded accusatory, as though he were already disappointed that the pair of them were not ready and in awe of his arrival.

“We’re through in the kitchen,” called out Alice’s aunt pleasantly. She reached to retrieve an extra cup from the cupboard beside her as she called out, “I’m making tea, Dear. Would you like one?”

“No.”

Alice’s nose wrinkled at his abrupt response. A word came to mind that she wouldn’t dare utter in front of her mother; what an arsehole.

When the pair of them returned to the living room, this time each carefully cradling their own drinks, they found Alice’s uncle had taken control of the TV. Horse racing played on the screen but muted. The scenes playing seemed brutal and utterly unnecessary without the ecstatic sounds of the commentator overlaid. The whipping movements of the jockeys and foaming mouths of the horses conveyed no joy in Alice’s eyes.

Her uncle’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his head to view her. At first, Alice assumed that his ire was focused on her painted fingernails. It was impossible to hide them now without spilling the hot chocolate that she gingerly held.

“She’ll get fat,” he finally grunted, before turning his attention back to the moving screen.

“A bit of sugar will do her no harm as a treat,” her aunt offered as a soft rebuttal. Alice’s uncle offered no acknowledgement to show that he had even heard her.

Alice tiptoed as silently as she could around the back of the sofa to sit on the far end, leaving as much space between herself and her uncle as possible. She cursed her luck of being laden with a fresh drink, especially one that was still too hot to take more than tentative sips from. Her earlier plan of escaping to the guest room would simply have to wait a short while longer.

Oppressive silence descended on the room. Neither her aunt nor uncle spoke a word. The tense atmosphere made Alice want to curl up within herself. Her aunt simply sat with her usual blank smile upon her face. The smile that Alice hated. The smile that never seemed to reach her eyes.

It felt like an age had passed before Alice was finally able to finish the chocolate. It stuck in her throat and the sugary goodness that she had enjoyed before seemed sickly sweet now. She rose quietly from her seat and her aunt glanced over with a look that seemed full of concern. Her worried wrinkled quickly soothed when she realised that Alice had merely finished her drink.

“Pass that over, sweetheart,” Alice’s aunt asked as she began to rise from her seat. Her uncle grunted disdainfully.

“It’s alright, Auntie,” Alice reassured her. Her eyes flickered towards her uncle and she gave her aunt a brief smile in the form of a forced tug at the corners of her mouth. She wondered briefly if her smile looked as fake as her aunt’s did. The idea twisted her stomach and she turned away, heading towards the kitchen whilst trying to avoid any further eye contact.

Alice eyed the clock in the kitchen as she washed and dried her cup. It was almost nine o’clock. Easily late enough that she could make her excuses and escape to the peaceful sanctity of her designated room. She’d even have enough time to read before getting tired. She needed something to work the anxiety out of her system. The awkwardness of the living room had her feeling rattled.

She carefully returned the cup to the cupboard where it belonged and padded through to the living room. At the doorway, she paused, rehearsing the words in her head before clearing her throat.

“If it’s alright… I’m feeling a bit tired,” she asked quietly. Her aunt turned to face her, but her uncle seemingly remained indifferent. “Would it be OK if I headed up to bed?”

“Of course. The bed is all made up for you,” her aunt said with a nod.

Alice gingerly approached her uncle to grab her bag that lay nearby him and forced herself to walk at a sensible speed up the stairs. The urge to run, whipped into action by the callousness of her uncle was overwhelming and once more she felt a stab of pity for the horses that played on the screen.

The box room that she called hers was small, but sufficient for her needs. There was a wardrobe in the corner that was rarely used, and a small radiator squeezed by the foot of the single bed. The radiator sometimes clanked and groaned in the night. A condition that her aunt had described as ‘the old bones of the house resting’. Alice could overlook the noise for the small gift of heat that it offered her toes if she wiggled down into the bedcovers at night.

The duvet on the bed, patterned with lurid paisley that seemed to defy fading despite its age, was thrown back and replaced with her old thick blanket. Alice quickly changed from her day clothes into more comfortable shorts and tee that served as her pyjamas. The book, and torch, were pulled from their hiding place with reverence and Alice gleefully hit the light switch before curling up in the bedcovers.

She could have read for hours if undisturbed. Here and there, she would read the story aloud so that her nightly companion might also enjoy the story. The escapist and dramatic stories unfolding before her were better than any movies on a screen. Tonight, she cheered on Reepicheep the musketeer mouse whilst still straining her ears for the tell-tale sounds of feet ascending the stairs. Her aunt generally would not disturb her unless she caught sight of the torchlight beneath the door or overheard her words.

When, at last, the dreaded signal came, Alice turned off the torch and decided that she too would sleep. The book was good, but the hour was late. She was sure that she would be tired the next day and then there would be questions, if not a full-blown interrogation from her parents.

The torch and book were slid under her pillow, and she felt sheets being gently tucked in around her, sealing her from the outside world that lay beyond the covers.

Water in the bathroom flowed and the sounds of her aunt and uncle moving between their bedroom and the bathroom caused the floorboards to creak accusingly. They seemed to take an age and Alice lay quiet, waiting for the house to become still so that she might attempt to sleep.

When the house did finally silence, Alice was disappointed to find that sleep did not come as easily as she had hoped. She tossed and turned uncomfortably, as though she might find the answer in a different posture.

Eventually she decided to attempt to recite the words from songs that she knew, singing them in her head. If her mind didn’t want to switch off, she may as well think of something pleasant rather than stewing in her own annoyance. That was until a small noise outside her bedroom caught her attention.

She worried for a moment that perhaps her companion had gone to stretch their legs, or whatever appendages he might have. She still had not seen him, nor was she entirely sure whether it was indeed a ‘he’. She knew that he didn’t sleep, but the question of gender had perplexed him entirely.

The blanket twitched around her, confirming that she was not alone in the room.

So, who was outside at such an hour?

The muffled noise of the door handle turning seemed to echo around the room and Alice lay prone on the bed. She didn’t dare move. Who would enter? Was it a burglar?

Minutes ticked by and still, Alice remained statue like. The effort of keeping her breathing slow despite her panic was causing her to sweat. Her teeth were clamped, jaws tense, as was most of her body as she lay waiting for a noise or any indication of who the looming presence at her door was.

Was it another being like her friend?

The sound of a floorboard indignantly creaking at the door made her assume otherwise. The blanket tightened around her on the side nearest the door, causing an opening to appear on the side of her nearest the wall. This was new behaviour. The realisation alarmed her enough that she found no relief in the cool air that was now offered for her lungs.

More time passed. More than scant minutes. Perhaps more than fifteen minutes. Not a long time during the day, but impossibly long in the darkness. Too long to lay in fear.

“What on Earth are you doing?” quietly hissed an angry woman’s voice from beyond her room. A shouty whisper as Alice’s mother would call it.

“Checking on her,” whispered a man at the doorway. No, not just a man. Her Uncle. The realisation caused Alice to seethe with anger.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Close the door. Now.”

Alice realised now that it was her aunt that was hissing outside. She couldn’t remember ever hearing her aunt when she was angry.

The door slowly closed and although the whispered continued outside like insects chittering in the night, Alice was no longer able to make out the words. The anger refused to leave her, and it fizzed like an angry beast in her chest.

How dare he, it raged.

What right does he think he has? The words bubbled over and over in her mind.

The room was silent until her internal storm finally brewed and boiled over. With only the darkness to hear her, she uttered only three words.

“I hate him.”