The 14th Pan Book of Horror Stories

CHANGE OF HEART John Snellings

Staring down at the ashtray, Paula Roberts crushed her cigarette out and immediately reached for another. She watched her hands as she lit it, aware of their unsteady trembling. She wondered if they would ever stop.

Slowly, she lowered them to the table, then gazed up at her husband.

It was quiet in the small kitchen. Only the dull humming of the refrigerator and the occasional clinking of Mike’s fork interrupted the intense silence.

Looking across the table at him, Paula wondered how he could just sit there, stuffing himself, and acting as if nothing were happening. He always seemed so calm and so unconcerned. The least he could do, she thought, was act as if he half believed her, instead of making her feel as though she should be locked away somewhere.

Paula sighed.

She didn’t know how much longer she could go on this way. Being afraid day after day, night after night. Watching, waiting, listening to every little sound, jumping at the slightest movement. It was enough to drive anyone insane.

She was afraid to go out of the flat, afraid to go to sleep, even afraid to move from one room to another. If only she had someone to talk to, she told herself, things wouldn’t be so bad. But she had no one. Not even her husband.

Suddenly she noticed he had finished eating.

‘You want me to make some fresh coffee?’ she asked, surprised at the weakness in her voice.

Mike looked up at her without expression.

‘What did you say?’ he asked.

‘I said—do you want me to make you some more coffee?’

‘No,’ he mumbled, glancing at his watch. ‘I’m running late now.’

He gulped the last of his coffee, then rose slowly to his feet. He was a tall man with thick, dusty brown hair and a longish, good-looking face. His eyes were blue and alert and he looked much younger than his thirty-eight years. He retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair and pulled it on. He glanced around the kitchen, slapping his hands against his pockets.

‘Have you seen my pipe?’ he asked.

‘It’s on the coffee table,’ Paula answered coldly.

‘Well—I guess I’d better be going.’

Paula gazed down at the table. Nervously, she began twisting her wedding ring around her finger. It was a wide, gold band with a single diamond in its centre.

‘Can’t you stay home tonight?’ she asked, almost in a whisper.

‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘You know I can’t. Mr Dunninger wants those house plans finished by Friday. If I don’t have them ready by then, I’m out.’

There was a long pause.

‘Listen,’ Mike said, ‘you’ll be all right. Just try to get some rest and try not to think about . . . anything.’

‘You mean, try to keep my imagination from running away with me, don’t you?’

Mike sighed heavily.

‘Don’t worry,’ Paula said bitterly, ‘I’m not going to say anything else. It wouldn’t do me any good, anyway.’

Mike checked his watch again.

‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow,’ he said.

Paula looked up at him, tears forming in her eyes.

‘You don’t believe me now—why should it be any different tomorrow?’

Mike dug a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. He drew the smoke deep into his lungs and tried to control the anger building up inside him.

‘Look, Paula,’—he tried to speak calmly—‘I’m getting sick and tired of all this. You’ve been moping around here for three weeks now, like some brainless zombie. I hardly even know you any more. When are you going to straighten up and forget all this nonsense?’

‘Nonsense!’ Paula cried. ‘I tell you that a man is going to kill me, and you call it nonsense!’

‘Why should anyone want to kill you? There’s no reason—’ Mike stopped abruptly and threw his hand up, like a policeman holding back the traffic. ‘Wait, I forgot—you said he was a cannibal, and a cannibal does need fresh meat—’

‘Stop it!’ Paula broke in. ‘You make it sound as if it’s all a big joke. Something to laugh over with the boys at the office. But everything I told you is true. I saw it with my own eyes. You should be the one person that would believe me!’

Mike began pacing the floor. ‘Don’t start getting hateful,’ he said.

‘Well, I’m tired of you avoiding me all the time. You sit around here giving me those looks of yours, as if I’m out of my mind or something. Do you think I’m making all this up?’

‘No, of course not. I just think you need a good rest. You’ve been cooped up in this flat too long and you’ve been watching too many of those film-of-the-week things on television. Like that one—what was it—a vampire loose in Las Vegas?’

‘Oh, Mike—don’t be ridiculous!’

‘Well, what you’re asking me to believe is just as preposterous.’

Mike crushed his cigarette into the ashtray and stood there, shaking his head slowly. ‘A cannibal next door. A man that kills dogs and cats, then eats them raw. It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘It’s not just animals!’ Paula snapped. ‘It was at first, but now it’s humans too. I saw him kill that poor little boy—and then he—’ Paula dropped her face into her hands and shuddered. ‘It was horrible. I’ll never forget it—never!’

Mike looked at her for a moment, then pulled his chair out and sat down. He rested his elbows on the table and massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

‘Paula,’ he said wearily, ‘the police have searched the entire building, and they found nothing. There wasn’t a hint that anyone had been over there. That block of flats has been condemned for years, and with all that dust there would have been footprints or something. But there weren’t any.’

Paula stared across the table at him, her bright green eyes filling with anger. She said nothing.

‘About this boy you keep talking about,’ Mike continued. ‘The police have no reports of any boy missing in the neighbourhood, or even close by. And they don’t think there’ll be one, either. Don’t you see—nothing you’ve said checks out. There’s nothing to back up your story.’

Paula bit her lower lip. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to squeeze back her tears. She tried to understand Mike’s attitude, but couldn’t. She had never seen him so short-tempered before, or so distant.

‘Look, Paula,’ he said, ‘why don’t you call Doctor Palmer tomorrow morning and make an appointment to—’

‘No!’ Paula shouted. ‘I won’t call him—or anyone else. I—I don’t need that kind of help. If you won’t believe me, neither will anyone else. And I won’t be locked away like some wild animal.’

Mike shrugged and stood up. ‘Have it your own way,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go.’

Paula calmed herself long enough to light another cigarette. She looked up, gazing past him towards the window.

Mike drew a deep breath and headed for the living-room.

‘Wait!’ Paula said suddenly.

Mike stopped and stood with his back to her.

‘What is it now?’

Paula took a long breath, then turned to face him.

‘Would you go over there and check—just once more?’ Her voice was a little calmer.

Mike turned round slowly.

‘Paula, can’t you get it through—’

‘Please, just once more. I won’t ask you again, I promise.’

Mike was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘All right. But this is it.’

He crossed the kitchen, jerked the cabinet door open and brought out his flashlight. He checked it, then walked round the table and, without looking back, went out of the back door. On the way down the narrow staircase he thought about the way he’d been acting. He felt confused, and back there in the kitchen he’d felt a fleeting moment of compassion for Paula. Pangs of guilt began gnawing slowly at his mind. He suddenly found himself wondering if he could go through with it.

When he reached the foot of the stairs he opened the door and stepped out into the alley. He shivered suddenly, as a gust of icy wind licked at his face. It blew steadily for a few long moments, then stopped abruptly as if it had been shut off by a controlled switch.

Mike drew his shoulders up and, pursing his lips, he crossed the alley. He paused at the door of the old building then, turning his head, he glanced up at his kitchen window. Paula, as he had guessed, was standing there watching him.

He waved to her with his flashlight then, frowning, he pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside. He grimaced as the stale, musty air filled his nostrils. He switched on his flashlight and kicked the door shut with his foot.

He stood in the hallway for a moment, shining his light through the murky darkness around him. The place was even worse than he’d imagined. Old clothes, shoes, tin cans, glass and broken pieces of furniture lay scattered from one end of the hall to the other.

The ceiling was a river of cracks and the thin, drab walls were full of jagged holes, some small, some large enough for a man to crawl through. Every corner held a thick network of dusty grey cobwebs.

Mike aimed the light ahead of him and inched his way forward, carefully stepping over the debris. He wondered what Paula would say if she knew he’d lied about coming over here the first time. And that he had convinced the police there was no need to search the place. That Paula was ill, and just imagining things.

Mike shook the thoughts from his mind and climbed the stairs, shivering in the cold, damp air. He reached the first floor and moved slowly down the corridor. After a few feet, he stopped abruptly and stood rigid, listening.

Something moved ahead of him. He flashed the light at the floor and caught a glimpse of a huge rat as it scurried across the floor and disappeared behind an overturned chair. He released a long breath and stood still for several moments, listening to it scratching at the wall.

He knew now where all the holes came from. Uneasily he moved on, his light darting back and forth across the hall. There were several flats on each side, their doors standing open, a thin blanket of cobwebs covering their entrance. Except for one.

With reluctance, Mike moved forward and stepped through the door.

‘Hey!’ he called out, flashing the light around the room.

He listened, but there was only the deathlike silence.

Moving to the centre of the room, he called again.

‘Mr Jordan! It’s me—Mike Roberts—where are you?’

Silence.

Mike started to shout again, then he heard a faint rustling sound behind him. He whirled round, startled.

‘What the hell—’ He flashed the light into Jordan’s face. ‘Do you have to sneak up on me like that?’

Harvey Jordan stood in the beam of the flashlight, squinting up at him with cold, black eyes. He was an extremely short man with matted grey hair and grimy, tattered clothing. The light made his face look almost skeletal.

‘I wasn’t sneaking up on you,’ Jordan said hoarsely, ‘I was merely walking the way I always walk. I’m sorry if I scared you.’ The old man’s thin lips wrinkled into a grin, revealing large yellowing teeth. ‘Would you mind taking that light off me.’

Mike lowered the light. ‘What do you do, live in the dark all the time?’

‘I have some lanterns,’ the old man said. ‘But, I don’t think it’d be wise to use them. Your wife is probably looking over here right now.’

Mike turned the light off and glanced out of the curtainless window. From where he stood he could see his living-room window clearly, but there was no sign of Paula. He turned his attention back into the room. It was so dark he could barely make out the stunted form of the old man in front of him.

‘Did you wish to see me about something?’ Jordan asked.

Grimacing, Mike backed a couple of steps. The old man’s breath was as repulsive as his appearance.

‘No,’ Mike said, ‘not really. My wife asked me to come over and look around again.’

‘Again? Were you here before?’

‘As far as my wife’s concerned, I was. She thinks I’ve searched this place from top to bottom.’

‘How is she taking things?’ Jordan asked.

Mike fished a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it, his eyes closing at the sudden glare of the fighter. ‘Just as I hoped she would,’ he said, snapping the lighter shut.

‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic about it. You’re not getting cold feet, are you?’

‘I gave you the money, didn’t I?’

The old man chuckled softly. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But that still doesn’t answer my question.’

Mike sighed. ‘No, I’m not getting cold feet. I’m just a little tired—that’s all.’

A long moment of silence followed. Outside, the wind tore at a loose shutter and rattled the window.

‘What made you come up with such a wild idea?’ Mike asked suddenly. ‘Why didn’t you use ghosts or something like that?’

Jordan laughed. ‘Ghosts? No—no. If you’re trying to drive someone insane, don’t use the old ghost routine. It’s too worn out. Seems like nowadays, everyone has seen a ghost or two. But how many people have seen a real live cannibal?’

Mike dropped his cigarette on the floor and crushed it out with the heel of his shoe.

‘I guess you’re right,’ he said. ‘It just sounds so ridiculous.’

‘Precisely.’

Slowly, Mike began pacing the floor, the boards creaking and moaning under his feet. ‘I guess the crazier it sounds, the better it is,’ he said.

The old man shuffled across the room and sat down on the dust-choked sofa. ‘I don’t think your wife could get anyone to believe her, do you?’

‘No. All the neighbours avoid her as if she has the plague or something, and the police practically laughed in her face. What really gets her, though, is thinking that I don’t believe her.’

The old man chuckled again. ‘It won’t be long now,’ he said.

Mike shivered and stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘How the hell do you stand it in this ice box?’

‘I’m used to places like this,’ Jordan mumbled. ‘I don’t think I’d feel at home anywhere else.’

‘I don’t see how you could feel at home here.’

The old man didn’t reply.

‘How much longer will this have to go on?’ Mike asked impatiently.

‘You should know the answer to that better than I.’

‘Well,’ Mike said, ‘she’s in pretty bad shape, I can tell you that.’

The old man coughed and cleared his throat. ‘Well then, one more night should do it. You’ll be rid of her by morning, I promise you.’

Mike stopped pacing. ‘You think they’ll commit her that soon?’ he asked.

‘They won’t have any choice,’ Jordan replied.

Wearily, Mike crossed the room to the door and stood there, staring out into the gloomy corridor. He had expected things to be different, as far as his feelings were concerned. He was sad and depressed, when he should be feeling happy and relieved. Things were going just as he planned. Tomorrow he’d be free. Free to live his life the way he wanted to without having to answer to anyone for it. He could do what he wanted, go where he wanted, and see anyone he wanted without feeling like a criminal. But yet, he felt miserable.

Mike turned slowly and gazed down at the dim silhouette of the old man. ‘I guess I’d better go,’ he said.

Jordan stood up, yawning. ‘Is there anything else on your mind?’ he asked.

‘No, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘I’ll be here.’

Mike pulled his flashlight from his back pocket and went slowly down the corridor, his feet numbed by the coldness. He moved down the stairs and stepped outside, the huge door slamming behind him.

The air was sharp and cold, but it smelled good. Mike breathed deeply for several minutes, then stood there wondering whether to go back to his flat. No, there would be too many questions Paula would ask, he told himself. And he just wasn’t up to answering them. Frowning, he turned and walked down the alley towards his car.

Mike made it to the office as fast as the traffic would allow. He went in, removed his jacket and walked immediately to the huge filing cabinet against the wall. He took out the drawings, then turned and unrolled them across the drafting table behind him.

He stared down at them for a moment, then slowly shook his head. He’d never finish them by Friday, he told himself. There were too many mistakes to be corrected, and all the dimensions had yet to be added. Frowning, he pulled the stool out and sat down heavily. He placed his elbows on the table and dropped his chin into his hands.

He wished now he’d never started this crazy scheme. He was beginning to feel more and more guilty as the days went by. There were times when he felt unbearably ashamed and disgusted with himself.

He wished there were some other way out. If only she would give him a divorce, he thought. But she’d never do that. She wouldn’t even consider it. How many times had she told him that she’d never let him go. A hundred? A thousand?

He could just walk out, but that wouldn’t solve anything. She’d follow him wherever he went, so she could go on making him miserable.

Mike sighed and picked up his pencil. He bent and scribbled a few numbers on the drawing, his pencil moving in slow, laggard strokes. After a moment he stopped and looked up.

Damn her! If only she’d kept off his back. She was always nagging, always complaining about something, and always getting upset at the least little thing. And jealous. According to her he had a woman hidden in every closet in the house. If he had had all the women she accused him of having, he’d be dead and in his grave already.

Mike put his pencil down and lit a cigarette. Of course, he thought, she hadn’t always been like this. The past seemed a long way off, but there had been times when she had been wonderful to be with. When they were first married, he reflected, things were great. They laughed together, played together, and made love as if there wasn’t a tomorrow. He wished things could be like that again, but those days were gone, buried.

He hated doing this to Paula, though. He hadn’t expected to feel so damned awful about it. He had underestimated his feelings. He couldn’t even stand looking at her any more.

When he did he visualized her cowering in a corner of a small room, just sitting there, staring at nothing with red, swollen eyes. Her lips moving, but emitting no words. He could just see her rocking back and forth, day after day, not knowing or caring about anything.

Mike tried desperately to force her out of his mind, but the harder he tried, the more he thought about her. He even thought of things that he’d long forgotten.

He lifted his eyes and regarded the dark panelled walls of his office. Sadly, he remembered how Paula had helped him choose the colour and type of wood. He glanced down at the deep, rich carpet. That, too, had been her idea. She knew what he liked better than he did.

Mike forgot about his cigarette until it burned down to his fingers. He dropped it into the ashtray and lit up another. He was going to have to cut down, he told himself. This was the second packet today, or was it the third?

He shrugged and turned his attention back to the drawings. He picked up his pencil once again and tried to get back to work. He pressed too hard and the lead broke, tearing a long hole in the tracing paper. Mike cursed aloud and threw the pencil across the room. With a trembling hand he brought his cigarette up and drew a long puff, then crushed it into the ashtray.

If only he could concentrate, he told himself. If he could only get Paula off his mind. Suddenly, he thought of something that he had never considered. Was it possible that he was still in love with her? Maybe that was the reason for his guilty feelings, and the hate and contempt he’d built up for himself.

Mike stood up and paced slowly across the room, mulling things over in his mind. Maybe he was the reason for Paula’s behaviour. He hadn’t been much of a husband to her, he was never home long enough. He’d been working at night for a long time now and all the weekends were spent out of town. Even when he was home he—

Mike stopped pacing and stood at the window, staring out into the darkness. He felt sick and disgusted as he began thinking of things he should have considered long ago.

He wondered how long it had been since he had told Paula that he loved her, or wanted her, or even needed her. She was still a very attractive woman, but how long had it been since he’d told her so? When was the last time he had held her and kissed her the way a husband should? It had been so long that Mike found himself wondering if he’d done those things at all.

Wearily, he dug another cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. He gazed past the end of it and caught his reflection in the window. He saw a man that he no longer recognized as himself. It was the reflection of an over-ambitious man, so wrapped up in his work that he’d forgotten he had another kind of life. That is, he used to have another kind of life.

Mike snapped his lighter shut and returned it to his pocket. He decided, suddenly, not to go through with it. Deep inside him, he knew he couldn’t have done it. A part of him had always known.

But he couldn’t just call it off and leave it at that. He’d have to try and get Paula away from the flat for a while and try to make her forget that this had ever happened, if that was possible. He could never tell her the truth. He’d just have to try his best to make it up to her.

Mike walked over to his desk and sat down. He crushed his cigarette out and sat there, pulling thoughtfully at his lower lip. He could take her to Florida, he told himself. She’s always talked about going to Clearwater for a couple of weeks. Yes, that’s exactly what she needs.

Let’s see now—he’d have to get rid of Jordan, which shouldn’t be too much of a problem. He’d let him keep the money, just to keep his mouth shut. He’d take the old bum back to the alley where he had found him. Mike laughed. A cannibal. What a stupid idea. Trust an old drunkard to come up with something like that.

Mike stood up and pulled on his jacket. If he was going to call it off, he thought, he’d better do it before Jordan started on her again. She couldn’t take much more, that was for sure.

Mike walked to the door, stopped, then looked back over his shoulder. He wouldn’t be back, he knew that, and he wasn’t sorry. Somehow he felt free, like a man just released from prison. He felt relieved, as if a heavy burden had just been lifted from his shoulders. Smiling, he switched off the lights and opened the door, then walked out and closed it, for ever, behind him.

When he got back to his block of flats, Mike parked his car near the alley and walked immediately to the building where Jordan was staying. He pushed the door open and stopped abruptly, remembering he’d left his flashlight in the car. He thought for a moment then, deciding not to go back for it, he drew a deep breath and stepped inside.

He stretched his arm out and moved sideways until he touched the wall. With his fingertips slightly touching the wall, to guide him, he walked carefully down the black corridor.

Broken glass crunched under his feet and once he felt something brush against his foot. Something alive. Mike shuddered as he thought of the huge rat he had seen earlier. He found the stairs and climbed them slowly, then went down the hall, counting the doors until he reached Jordan’s room. He stepped through and called out to him.

‘Jordan!’

He stood still, listening for the sounds of the old man’s footsteps.

Nothing.

‘Mr Jordan!’ he called again. ‘I’ve got to talk to you!’

Mike held his breath and listened, but the room remained utterly silent. He held his arms out in front of him and moved slowly across the room. He banged his knee against a small table and almost fell. ‘Damn it!’ he swore. ‘Jordan, where the hell are you?’

Suddenly, it flashed into his mind. He remembered the last thing Jordan had said: ‘You’ll be rid of her by morning, I promise you.’

Mike rushed out of the room and ran blindly down the hall. He took the stairs two and three at a time and stumbled wildly along the corridor until he reached the door. He jerked it open and dashed across the alley, sweat running cold down his back.

He opened the small door leading up to his flat and climbed the narrow stairway, his heart pounding violently against his chest. There was a strange odour in the air, something like the smell of stewed beer.

Mike reached his kitchen door and tried to open it.

It was locked!

‘Paula!’ Mike pounded on the door. ‘Paula, answer me!’

Silence.

‘Paula!’ he cried. ‘For God’s sake, open the door!’

There was no answer.

Mike took a firm hold on the doorknob and with all his strength slammed his body against the door. It splintered open and Mike stood there, frozen to the floor. His heart seemed to stop as his eyes took in the scene before him. There was blood everywhere, all over the sink, the floor—even the walls were splashed with it.

Mike’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened in horror as he gaped down at Harvey Jordan. The old man was sitting at the table behind a pile of bones, chewing grotesquely on a severed, half-cooked arm. A woman’s arm.

Mike didn’t scream until the ring slid from its shrivelled finger and dropped on to the table. It was a wide gold band with a single diamond in its centre.