The Doll House Killer
1980s Slasher Flash Fiction: A quiet evening of babysitting in 1980s Berkshire turns into a bloody battle for survival.
Greetings, my wicked darlings,
A host of treats for you below.
I am currently laid up with a rotten cold, so expect many plague related stories in the future.
Newt xx
Contents
Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order
Review Reader Opportunity (TotM 2)
Horror Story Compilations
FREE eBook: The Doll House Killer
Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order
Available in eBook and Paperback, hardback coming soon.
Review Reader Opportunity
I’ve teamed up with BookSprout to offer review copies of Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2 if anyone is looking for a complimentary eBook.
Horror Story Compilations
The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza!: 81 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Spinster’, ‘The Wild Hunt’.
(These compilations have only one day left to go, so take advantage of them while you can.)
September Screams: 35 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Spinster’, ‘The Dead Man’s Trousers’, ‘The Silvergate Initiative’, ‘What Came Down’ and ‘Justice is Unlimited’.
Sales from the Pit: 24 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Festival of the Damned,’ ‘The Morrígan.’
FREE eBook: The Doll House Killer
A quiet evening of babysitting in 1980s Berkshire turns into a bloody battle for survival.
‘Police have confirmed the escape of a dangerous patient from Broadmoor Hospital in Berkshire.
Newspapers have dubbed the fugitive ‘The Doll House Killer,’ in reference to—’
Layla clicked off the radio. She hummed a jaunty tune as she waltzed around the kitchen with the kettle. She filled it at the sink, swaying her hips to a rhythm only she could hear.
Smiling, she rummaged through the Wilkinsons’ kitchen. “Not long now, my darlings.”
In the second cupboard, she found a corked ceramic jar labelled ‘TEA’.
“Ah,” she said, pulling it down. She found milk in the fridge and made three cups of tea in delicate porcelain mugs.
“My little beauties, have you got any biscuits?” She crossed her arms, disappointed. “No biscuits. Unbelievable. That’s criminal.”
The telephone rang, its shrill cry cutting through the quiet.
Layla stiffened. She looked down at the three steaming cups, her lips pursed. “Guess the tea will have to wait.”
Walking towards the hall, she paused. The front door stood open a few inches.
“That’s odd.” She hummed.
Ignoring the ringing phone, she walked to the front door and pushed it shut. The bolt slid home with a heavy clunk.
“I swear I shut that.”
The answerphone beeped. A tinny voice filled the silence. “Hello? Hello. Just checking in to see how the kids are doing. We heard the news—”
A floorboard creaked above her.
Layla’s head snapped up. She moved to the bottom of the staircase, her hand brushing against the wallpaper. The stairwell looked empty. She slowly peered around the corner, her gaze travelling up the crimson carpet runner.
An impact threw her against the wall. The back of her skull cracked against the plaster.
A man snarled at her. “Where are the children?”
She looked up into his frantic eyes.
“Where are they?” He repeated.
Layla drove a knee toward his groin. He twisted, blocking with his thigh, but the move left his face exposed. She slammed her forehead into his nose. Cartilage gave way with a crack. He shrieked and staggered back. Blood poured through his fingers.
“Bitch!” he howled, reeling back and clutching his face.
Layla scrambled, trying to run past him up the stairs. A hand gripped her ankle. her palms slapping against the carpet. Snarling, she kicked back, her heel connecting with his cheek. He grunted, his grip tightening. He hauled on her ankle, dragging her down one step, then another. The carpet fibres scraped her skin raw.
“Get. Off.” She struggled against his strength.
He pulled her the rest of the way down and leapt on top of her. “Where are the kids?” he screamed. Blood and spittle sprayed her face.
His weight was immense, crushing her. His hands found her throat. They squeezed. The world shrank to a dark tunnel. Her lungs burned. She stopped fighting his wrists. Instead, she drove her thumbs hard into his eyes.
He screamed, a high, panicked sound that sounded alien coming from a man’s throat. His hands flew to his face. The pressure on her throat vanished. Layla gasped, the air searing her throat. She drew her knees to her chest and bucked, throwing his weight off her. He stumbled sideways, clawing blindly for the banister, and missed. She surged to her feet and shoved the heels of both hands into the centre of his chest.
He fell backwards into the stairwell. There was a wet, heavy crack as his head hit the wall. He lay twitching.
Shaken, she stood up, her breath coming in ragged bursts. She stepped over his twitching body and went back towards the kitchen. He was already stirring, shaking his head as he followed her, one hand covering his ruined face.
Layla felt his hand on her shoulder as she entered through the kitchen door. Her eyes locked on the knife block. She squirmed free. He grabbed her again, pinning her against the worktop. Her fingers stretched, inches away from the chef’s knife.
She twisted her body. Her left hand snaked out and closed around the handle. She pulled the blade free for the briefest of seconds before his fist caught her on the jaw. The world went white for a second. The knife clattered to the lino floor.
Layla slid down the wall, her legs giving way.
He lunged at her prone form. “I won’t let you—”
She rolled onto her back. Her fingers found the fallen knife on the lino. As his weight descended, she drove the blade up with all her strength. She felt the point resist against his sternum, then punch through with a sickening give. The blade sank into his chest to the hilt.
“No, no,” he gurgled, a red foam blooming on his lips. “The children…”
She watched the light drain from his eyes, then shoved his body aside. Painfully, she lifted herself to her feet and stumbled away from the corpse.
The phone started ringing again.
Exhausted, she stared at it.
Chapter Two
Sam and Clara pulled into the driveway. Clara was out of the car before Sam had turned off the ignition.
The front door was ajar.
“Jo? Kim?” she called. Her voice trembled. She walked into the kitchen and cried out, her hand flying to her chest as she saw the blood smeared across the floor and cabinets. Sam joined her, pushing her gently behind him.
“David!” she cried, following Sam as he traced the bloody trail to the living room.
“Oh God,” Sam said, stepping back.
Clara moved around him. Their babysitter, David, was slumped in an armchair. A cold cup of tea sat on the table next to him. The radio beside him was on, blaring out a news report.
Ignoring it, Clara turned and ran up the stairs. “Jo! Kim!”
She collapsed to her knees in the doorway of the girls’ bedroom, a long, tearing scream ripping from her throat.
Downstairs, the sound of the radio filtered through the house.
‘Police have confirmed the escape of a dangerous patient from Broadmoor Hospital in Berkshire.
Newspapers have dubbed the fugitive ‘The Doll House Killer,’ in reference to the circumstances of four murders committed between 1979 and 1981.
The victims, all children under the age of ten, were discovered posed with toys and furniture arranged to resemble dolls’ play settings.
The individual detained for the crimes is a seventeen-year-old girl, who had been held at the hospital since her arrest last year.
Police are urging the public to remain vigilant and to contact them immediately with any information.’
Sweet screams, my dears!
Newt xx
Thank you for the eBook. Hope you feel better soon!