TOADHEAD Chapter 2

Coming in 2 weeks!

I’m sharing the first 3 chapters of my new horror novella before it’s published on 25 July.

You can read Chapter 1 here

You can pre-order the eBook of TOADHEAD now and on 25 July it will be available in paperback, eBook and Kindle Unlimited through Amazon.

Amazon US order here

Amazon UK order here

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Chapter 2

Betty Scanlon stood on the creaking front porch of the Doucet house and stamped her feet against the unseasonal chill. She stooped to set down the crate of groceries she was carrying so that she could rub her hands together. Fall had most definitely arrived early. She tightened the belt around her coat and pulled her collar up. Each year the cold weather seeped a little deeper into her bones, especially in her knees and left hip.

She was sure she had seen movement inside the house a moment ago. Ted Doucet’s pickup was parked out front, so she was confident he was home. She wondered whether she should ring the bell again; maybe it had been a mistake to show up so early and unannounced. Her husband had been staunchly against this visit, saying, “He ain’t a child” in between forkfuls of egg and bacon.

There was a time when Teddy Doucet had been a regular face in town; nothing to make a song and dance over, but you’d see him around and about. Plainview was small enough that most people knew – or knew of – the Doucets, especially the two boys (God rest George's soul). Over the years those two had done odd jobs for most of the folks round here. They saw much less of Teddy by the time it was just him and his mother living out here, especially after she fell ill, but he would still come into the store from time to time. He had never been what you might call a gregarious man, but they would exchange pleasantries and Betty would always ask after his mother. Once Dorothea Doucet had died though… well, they didn’t see much of Teddy after that.

Betty began to feel a little awkward standing there. If she’d thought about it earlier she could have included a card of condolence and just left the groceries on the porch for him. She hadn’t brought anything fancy, only some essentials like bread, butter, soup and fruit. She'd also slipped in a bottle of beer, the kind Teddy sometimes used to buy. She was about to leave when she saw some definite movement through the frosted glass; a shape was coming towards the door. She stood a little straighter and fussed with her coat as the door opened tentatively and Teddy Doucet peered out.

He looks so drawn, she thought, and she worried that the shock showed on her face. His skin seemed grey and it was pulled thin around his mouth and eyes. He looked as if he had aged ten years in the last twelve months.

“Teddy,” she said in her most sympathetic voice, “I hope you’ll forgive me for stopping by like this.” He blinked slowly. There was a glaze over his eyes and he looked at her as if she was a stranger. “We haven’t seen you in the store for a long time,” she offered, and now the spark of recognition appeared in those dull eyes and it was as if he woke up.

“Mrs Scanlon,” he said. He opened the door a little wider and she saw that he was wearing a red and black checked hunting cap. It was perched strangely on the top of his head. “What’s this?” he said, noticing the crate on the ground.

“Oh, that’s just a little something I threw together for you,” she said.

“For me?”

“I know it’s a difficult day today, and I thought…” Teddy touched his cap self-consciously and she saw his bleeding fingertips. “Oh my, you’ve hurt yourself!”

Teddy looked at his hand and then slowly back at Betty. “Got distracted chopping onions,” he said. “Butterfingers.”

Back down the lane the horse neighed in its stable. Betty’s hands were feeling the cold something awful now and she scrunched her toes up inside her shoes, wanting to stamp her feet again. “You must look after yourself, Teddy,” she said. “I know anniversaries can be difficult and, well, I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.”

“Anniversaries?” Teddy said. For a few seconds he seemed to be lost in a light daze again, then he said, “Oh,” and then, “right.”

“I’m a firm believer that time is the great healer,” Betty gave a pinched smile, “but some days can be harder than others.”

“Do you know what Albert Einstein said about time, Mrs Scanlon?” Teddy leaned in conspiratorially.

“I… no, I don’t,” Betty said.

“He said that time and space are modes by which we think and not conditions in which we live.”

After a brief pause Betty said, “That’s nice.”

“And so is this,” Teddy said, gesturing towards the crate of food. “Very nice of you, Mrs Scanlon.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. From inside the house the grandfather clock started chiming the hour. “Goodness,” she said, “is that the time? I must get back and open up the store. You look after yourself and don’t be a stranger, Teddy Doucet, you hear me?” Teddy nodded and touched his cap again.

Betty rubbed her hands on the way back to her car to get the feeling back into her fingers. She would be late opening the store but coming out here had been the right thing to do. The Christian thing. The first anniversary of her own mother’s passing had been a difficult day to navigate, and while her husband had been no comfort, she had at least been able to call her sisters in the evening. Poor old Teddy was all alone up here, and oh my, he looked awful. She couldn’t abide the thought of being a sticky beak, but she did wonder whether she should speak to someone about his welfare. Perhaps Pastor Fitzroy could guide her on what would be the best thing to do.

She started her car and looked up to see Teddy standing in the doorway with the crate of groceries at his feet. She gave a weak wave through the windscreen but he didn’t reciprocate. He just stood and watched as she pulled away, turning a wide circle in the large, weed-strewn front yard. As she drove down the bumpy lane - really just ruts in the ground - she glanced in the rear-view mirror. He was still there in the doorway. Finally, just before the line of trees and a slight bend in the track took the house out of sight, she stole one more look in the mirror. He was only a pale shape against the dark house now, but he had not moved.

That was the last time Betty Scanlon saw Teddy Doucet in the flesh. The next time she saw his face was in the newspapers.

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Teddy sucked his fingertips as he watched Mrs Scanlon drive away. The toad wriggled underneath his hunting cap and he let go of the giggle he had been suppressing throughout their conversation.

She had no idea! No idea that this thing had been sitting on top of his head, twisting its tiny toes in his hair the whole time she was wittering on. He giggled again, a light and airy sound. It had been exciting to practically flaunt this weird thing in her oblivious face.

He lifted the cap from his head carefully, exposing the toad, and stood in the doorway for a minute more.

Imagine going into town like this, he thought. What fun it would be to pass the time of day with those pious fakes and have the toad under his hat the whole time. Or better yet, he could join them in church next Sunday. Take a pew right up front and remove his cap when the priest started sermonising. What a hoot that would be! They sure would shriek once the thing began nipping at their fingers!

He shuffled back inside and closed the door, leaving Mrs Scanlon’s goodwill offering forgotten on the porch. He paused in front of the oval mirror once more and the toad sent its bubble gum tongue upwards to lick one of its eyes. Its chin was thrust forwards and its mouth was permanently turned down.

“I might have to start calling you Il Duce,” Teddy said, and he giggled again. The warty thing reminded him of a puffed up Benito Mussolini. He’d seen pictures of the fascist Italian dictator in one of his books. The toad sent its pink tongue up the other side of its head and began to clean the other eye. Teddy’s stomach growled loudly. He was dog tired and suddenly ravenous, and that combination took the fight out of him as far as getting this damned creature off his head was concerned. He had no more wind in his sails, so to speak.

He traipsed back to the kitchen and stuck his head inside the refrigerator. He was too exhausted to think about preparing anything but thankfully there was a plate with four leftover sausages he had cooked the day before. He carried them over to the empty spot at the kitchen table and sat down like a dropped sack of manure. He munched thoughtlessly on the cold meat and, as if in a daze, he held the final bite of each sausage above his head to be snaffled up by the hungry toad, just as if he was a boy secretly feeding scraps to the family dog beneath the table.

He became even more sleepy with some food in his belly. He didn’t stop to consider that he had only been awake for a couple of hours, he could barely keep his eyes open and had just about enough energy to drag himself out of the kitchen, across the hall and into the old laundry room. There was a cot set up in there and this was where he usually slept. He rarely ventured into the downstairs reception room, that way he could keep it nice and tidy in case he had to entertain company. Similarly, he left the upstairs of the farmhouse as undisturbed as possible, especially the master bedroom, his mother’s room.

Manoeuvring in the dark around piles of books, clothes and boxes of accumulated junk, Teddy lowered himself onto his cot and let his head fall onto the mildewed pillow. For its part, the toad managed to remain balanced on his head with an impressive dexterity. It laid itself across his forehead as Teddy abandoned himself to sleep. To Teddy, the creature’s cold belly felt like a soothing hand on a fevered brow.

He was soon snoring, and his dreams were dark and broiling.

The wailing scream that eventually woke him could have come straight from one of those dreams.

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