Hush

HUSH

Marcie’s eyes flicked open but the darkness rendered it impossible to work out where she was. Exposed limbs and the cold wall behind her aching back forced her to acknowledge it definitely wasn’t at home in bed. The stillness of the air confirmed she was not outside, but a penetrating chill added force to the tremors she was having difficulty controlling. Not a flicker of light from any direction convinced her she must be in a basement, attic, cellar or a room with no windows. Either that or she was blind. The disjointed jigsaw pieces of her brain struggled to recall how she came to be here, wherever it was, but no flashbacks or memories could fight their way through the swirling mass of confusion. A tight, sick feeling lifted into her mouth as she tried to swallow the metallic taste of fear. She had no idea whether it was day or night; even if her wristwatch had been on her arm she still wouldn’t have known. But she could have put it to her ear, listened to it ticking; the deathly quiet was unnerving her more than the darkness. Marcie had never felt comfortable with silence.


         Even in a safe environment, the sound of the wind, birdsong, the familiar hum of the refrigerator were not enough; her first automatic action of the day to turn on the radio; drown silence with friendly voices and distracting music. Here, the silence roared; Marcie wanted to fill it with loud screaming but her voice was paralysed by the same terror that pinned her motionless to the wall. The only thing she could hear was the manic rhythm of the pulse in her ears. She must move.


         Crawling, Marcie inched forward over the cold, stone floor, recoiling as her fingers brushed over something warm and sticky. A small part of her felt grateful the darkness prevented her from seeing what it might be but her ears would have welcomed even the sound of a rat scampering over the floor rather than this unearthly silence. Finally, her hands discovered steps, but the tiny glimmer of hope evaporated like morning dew as a heavy wooden door opened and a flood of light illuminated a silhouette. Marcie’s memory returned; she wished it hadn’t.

         The corners and sides of the jigsaw fell into place but as yet she couldn’t see the whole picture. Shielding her eyes from the sudden glare, she rose to face the woman she had not known existed until yesterday.

         “Please,” she begged, her voice barely a whisper, “Can we talk about this?”

         “Shut it,” was the only reply she received. “Make one sound and there’ll be much worse than this in store. Understand?” The door slammed shut as swiftly as it had opened, plunging Marcie back into darkness. Muffled conversation between a male and female faded away leaving Marcie alone once more with her thoughts, her anger and the deafening silence. She recognised the man’s voice but knew now he was not the man she’d believed him to be. If she could only turn back time twenty-four hours; a year would be even better.


Almost twelve months ago Marcie met Ben at a party and thought at long last she’d found the man of her dreams. Generous, charming and attentive, with an air of mystery which kept Marcie interested, Ben had swept her off her feet almost instantly. Their relationship blossomed and intensified, convincing Marcie her future was secure. But then a few weeks ago she’d discovered she was pregnant. Ben’s reaction had disappointed and shocked her.

         “You have to get rid of it,” he’d stated firmly. “I’ll fix you an appointment as soon as possible.”

         “But Ben…”

         “No buts, Marcie. I’m not ready to be saddled with kids yet and I don’t want anything spoiling our relationship.” Marcie had sensed desperation behind his calm, measured reasoning but also a distinct feeling that should she not comply, she may never see him again. And that thought was one she couldn’t handle.

         Reluctantly she agreed; within days Ben escorted her to a private clinic, paying the bill for a termination. Kissing her tearful, frightened face before leaving he promised he’d be in touch once she was home.


The abortion affected Marcie more severely than she could ever have imagined. Emotionally, she wasn’t coping; waking each morning to dark thoughts, bitter resentment and a deep longing for her lost baby. Nights of disturbed, fitful sleep left her exhausted and weepy; not wanting to face the day ahead. As time dragged by and there was still no word from Ben, her disturbed mental state deteriorated. The heartache for the baby she now longed to hear crying for the first time and the constant nagging voices in her head could be obliterated by the radio no longer. Then, last Monday she’d received a letter.

‘Darling Marcie,
I need to see you. Please come to the above address at three ‘o clock on Wednesday. There’s something I want to show you.
All my love, Ben.’


         Although angered by his lack of concern for her ordeal, she was relieved to hear from him at last; optimistic they could pick up the pieces and everything would be fine.

         But when she arrived at the address, it wasn’t Ben who answered the door but an unfamiliar, enraged woman who obviously knew of Marcie. It didn’t need the brain of Britain to work out it wasn’t Ben who’d written the letter but his wife, whose existence Marcie had never suspected. Shocked and stunned, she was given no time to offer an explanation.

         “Bitch,” the woman spat. “Husbands aren’t safe with women like you around.”

         Marcie opened her mouth to defend herself but before she could utter a word she was hauled into the house and none too gently pushed down the steps into the windowless, silent room she was now confined in. She could try screaming, make Ben aware of her presence but no longer had any idea how he’d react or what lengths his scorned wife would go to. Sweating and shaking, adrenalin pumping like a mountain spring, Marcie brought her trembling knees to her chin, rocking rhythmically. Fear paralysed her to the spot; traumatised eyes gazed blankly into the still pitch of the room and in the eerie silence she had no control over her rampaging mind.

         An eternity seemed to pass in the black void before the door opened once more. Marcie’s vacant expression barely altered as the figure descended the stairs brandishing a glistening carving knife.

         “Get up.” The hissing wife yanked Marcie on to her unsteady feet before prodding her forwards up the steps with the point of the blade piercing her back. Once out of the gloom, malicious eyes bored into Marcie’s expressionless face.

         “You’ve been warned,” the voice continued, the knife hovering dangerously close to Marcie’s throat. “Go anywhere near Ben and I’ll make sure you never see or hear anything again. Now get out.” Blinding sunlight assaulted Marcie as she was propelled at speed through the front door, but not before she’d heard a familiar noise from the bedroom at the top of the deeply carpeted stairs; a sound which tightened still further every muscle in her body and forced her empty womb to contract painfully.

         Her captor, satisfied the vicious threats would send Marcie running like a gazelle pursued by a hungry lion, failed to notice the shadowy figure creeping around to the rear of the house or the click of the back door as a deranged Marcie tiptoed past the lounge and ascended the stairs.

         “Hush,” she whispered to the gurgling occupant of the wooden cot as she placed a pillow firmly over its face. Ben’s wife wasn’t the only one who could prove hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and if Ben preferred to be childless Marcie was perfectly willing to oblige.

         Never before had the sound of silence felt so deeply satisfying.