The Rusalka

“Did you really think I’d fall for that old chestnut, Mila?” Stewart Crow said, his jaws clenched in disgust as he advanced on Mila Sokolova, herding her deeper into the overgrown garden at the rear of the property with his physicality and contempt. “Did you really think I would be so gullible?”

“Stewart,” Mila pleaded, backing up in fright, stumbling, as the long grass wrapped around her feet and threatened to trip her. “I don’t understand. I thought you would be happy.”

“Happy?” Stewart said, incredulous at Mila’s naivety. “Why would I be happy about you trying to trap me?”

“I... trap you? I would never....”

“Oh, give me a break, you dumb bitch,” Stewart snapped, cutting Mila off. “You must think I’m fucking stupid. What ever possessed you to imagine I’d ever want a baby with you?”

Tears ran down Mila’s face. “I thought you loved me,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I thought you —”

“Oh, please, as if,” Stewart said. He stopped and shook his head. “Grow up Mila.”

“But you told me —”

“What? And you believed me?” Stewart laughed. “Jesus, I just wanted in your pants, Mila. I thought you knew that?”

“I love you,” Mila said.

“Too bad,” Stewart said, as he moved towards Mila and gripped her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. “That’s your problem, not mine.”

He squeezed. “Now get out.”

Mila winced. “Why are you saying these things?”

“You really don’t know, do you? Are you really that blind?”

“I love you,” Mila repeated, feeling stupid for saying it again, but it was the truth: the whole truth. There was nothing else. No tricks or traps.

“You make me sick. You women are all the same.”

“It was an accident.”

Stewart Crow thrust Mila away from him. “I want you out of here.”

He had backed Mila towards the unkempt pond at the farthest point of the garden. It was hidden and lost amongst the tall grasses, dense bushes and rampant weeds. Mila staggered and, as the ground disappeared from beneath her feet, fell. The water closed over her, stagnant and cold, and the back of her head struck the rocks at edge with a thud.

Stunned, Mila sank beneath the gelid water. She could see Stewart above: the dark shadow of his silhouetted form distorted by the sediment in the water. He leant towards her. Reached out. Her breath burst free of her locked lungs; bubbles streamed past her face. She began to panic and thrash. The pain in her head was disorientating. It looked and felt like Stewart was holding her down. Mila fought to sit up. Her lungs burned. She needed air, but there was a weight on her chest and her arms and legs were mired in the waterweeds.

The water began to darken around Mila. She was going to drown if Stewart didn’t help her. She could feel his hand. It felt warm on her throat. Why didn’t he lift her head? Why wasn’t he helping her?

With realisation came a rush of hate.

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“Did you get the keys?” Rebecca Doyle asked, as Alex Root climbed out of his car and walked towards her. She had been scarcely able to contain her excitement all day and now, as Alex tossed the keys to the house into the air and caught them, Becky felt it escape from her with a whoop of joy. She jumped up and clapped her hands: her smile brighter than the sun.

Alex grinned and wrapped Becky in an embrace, spinning her around and kissing her. “It’s all ours,” he said putting her down. “A house of our own.”

“ It’s not just a house,” Becky said, her face beaming. “It’s our home.”

Inside, as they wandered hand in hand around the huge property, Becky was once again amazed how they had managed to snap up such a fantastic place. “I love it,” she said, snuggling into Alex’s arms, as they both looked out of the upstairs bedroom window at their jungle of a garden. “And I love you.”

Alex kissed her. “Likewise.”

By the time they had unloaded the van and carried their few possessions into the house it was dark. Alex had gone off to pick up a takeaway, whilst Becky made up the bed, and the house was deathly quiet. For the first time Becky felt a little nervous to be on her own. She glanced up from her task and jumped in fright as she caught sight of herself in the curtainless windows. The stark illumination cast by the bare-bulb light fitting had turned the glass into a black-backed mirror.

“ Idiot,” she said, annoyed and embarrassed.

She shook her head, but found she was still unnerved at the thought of being so on display: anyone could be watching and she’d never know.

On the landing, Becky felt a presence behind her. She whirled around, heart pounding, but found the bedroom and landing deserted. She sniffed. There was a lingering, alluring scent of perfume in the air. She frowned. It was an unusual, distinct scent, musky and warm, and somehow haunting.

She shuddered.

By the time Alex arrived home with a bag full of Indian takeout, Becky had managed to put unease behind her, satisfied she had imagined it all. It was only when she was getting ready for bed was she suddenly reminded of her earlier apprehension.

“ Hey,” Alex said, shouting from somewhere downstairs. “What the hell are you doing?”

Becky heard a door bang and footsteps.

“Alex?” she called out, running to the top of the stairs. “Alex, what is it?”

Downstairs the backdoor stood wide open. There was no sign of Alex. Becky stopped at the door, her hand gripping wooden frame, and peered out into the darkness. The kitchen held the faintest hint of musk.

“ Alex!” she yelled.

“I’m here,” he said, materialising out of the darkness and wrapping his arms around her. “It’s okay.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” Becky said, her fear masquerading as anger. “What was all the shouting about?”

“ We had an intruder,” Alex said. “There was a woman in the house.”

*

The next morning, after the police had been and gone, Alex changed the locks on the front and back doors. “All done,” he said, straightening up and accepting a cup of coffee from Becky. “That should keep any weirdo neighbours out.”

“You think she was a neighbour?” Becky asked, leaning back against the kitchen unit, sipping her tea. “You didn’t say anything about that to the police.”

“ I know, but...” his voice trailed away.

“But what?”

Frowning, Alex shook his head. “It was just a feeling,” he said. “Nothing concrete. I just had the impression she knew the house.”

The rest of the day passed without incident. Becky put up some temporary curtains in the bedroom, whilst Alex checked the boiler and radiators.

“ We’ve certainly got our work cut out for us,” he said that evening, as they ate yet another takeaway. He was looking over the list of repairs and renovations that they’d compiled.

“ Tell me about it,” Becky said, taking a swig of lager from the bottle, “but it’ll all be worth it when we’ve finished.”

“I hope so,” Alex said, yawning. “God, I’m bushed. Let’s leave this and head up to bed.”

“ You go on up,” Becky said, picking up the plates. “I’ll tidy up while you’re in the shower.”

She dumped the plates in the sink and washed up. From overhead Becky heard the drumming of water as Alex turned on the shower. She finished her beer and checked the doors were locked.

On the landing, Becky paused. She could hear voices.

Was that Alex?

She crossed to the bathroom door and listened.

“You okay in there?” she called, knocking on the door. “Alex?”

The water cut off: the sudden quiet ominous.

“Alex?”

“What? I’m fine. I’ll be out in a bit.”

Becky frowned at Alex’s brusque tone, momentarily piqued; then shook it off and left him to it. She would grab a shower in the morning.

The room was dark when Becky awoke. Alex was in bed next to her. At first she couldn’t place what had disturbed her sleep, she had been dead to the world, then she realised it was Alex. His breathing was too loud. He sounded suffocative, as if he was fighting for each breath.

Worried, Becky reached out and clicked on her bedside lamp, sitting up and turning towards Alex in same instance, his name on her lips.

She stopped, her hand hovering above Alex’s shoulder, almost, but not quite, touching.

He was fast asleep.

He also had an erection.

Becky grinned.

“You better be dreaming about me, Alex Root, or else,” she said in a whisper, as she switched off the light and snuggled down, the smell of perfume unnoticed.

Sunday morning dawned bright and cheerful. Sunlight poured through the thin material of the cheap curtains. She had overslept. Becky blinked at the alarm clock and rubbed her eyes, stretching languidly out across the bed and arching her back: luxuriating in her new home. From downstairs came the smell of bacon frying and Becky smiled. Alex never cooked breakfast. He was a Multi Cheerios addict.

“Me thinks someone has a guilty conscience,” she said, as she glanced over at the hamper by the door and saw his shorts wadded up on the top of yesterday’s dirty clothes.

“Did you have a little accident last night?” Becky teased as she sat down at the breakfast counter and bit into her bacon sandwich.

“What do you mean?”

The grin dropped from Becky’s face at his tone.

“Nothing. I was just –”

“Just what, Beck?” he said, snapping and turning away to pour more coffee, avoiding eye contact and clearly flustered and embarrassed.

“Nothing, love,” she said, confused by Alex’s reaction.

“No,” he said, still not looking at her, “You must have meant something.”

“It’s not important. Forget it. It was a joke.”

“Fine,” Alex said.

By lunchtime Becky was beginning to worry about Alex. He had studiously avoided her all morning by working in the garden. The last time she had seen him he had been wandering towards the shed at the rear of the property.

The garden was an unexplored, overgrown nightmare. It would take months to begin taming it. She brushed aside the overhanging branches of a willow and skirted the edge of an immense patch of nettles.

Becky thought they might even have a pond back here somewhere. Maybe they could have a wildlife garden?

As she closed in on the shed, she saw the two side windows were covered with something like hessian, although the amount of cobwebs and dead flies on the glass made the rotten coverings redundant. They reminded Becky of the blind, filmy, cataract covered eyes of a corpse and the unexpected image made she shiver and hesitate, suddenly unnerved.

From inside the shed she heard whispering.

“Alex?”

“ So beautiful. You’re so beautiful.”

Becky stood stock-still: her mind reeling. She reached out a tentative hand and eased open the door.

Alex had his back to her, his trousers around his ankles, his shoulders hunched forward, as he worked on himself. His breathing was rhythmic and heavy. He panted and shuddered as his climax approached. The muscles and tendons in his neck stood out as his movements became faster and uncoordinated.

“Oh Jesus fuck,” he cried out and Becky ran for the house with tears blinding her.

The atmosphere in the house that evening was strained, though Becky refused to acknowledge it. She would not give in and rise to the bait, no matter how much Alex sulked and acted like it was her fault.

Initially, all Becky had wanted was to forget it, to believe it was nothing more than an aberration brought on by the stress of the move, but, as her initial shock became anger and her mind replayed the scene over and over against her will, it had begun to feel more and more like betrayal.

Now, as they lay in bed, Becky was convinced she had seen the shape of a woman hidden amongst the shadows of the shed; that the air had been redolent with musk.

“Alex,” Becky said at last, unable to hold her tongue any longer. “What’s going on?”

“Huh?” Alex said, obviously beginning to drift off. “What’s that?”

“I asked you what’s going on?”

“With what?”

“With you. You’ve been like a bear with a sore head all day, either ignoring me or giving me the cold shoulder. Is it to do with that woman last night?”

“Last night?” Alex said. He switched on his bedside lamp. “No. Beck. No. I don’t —” He looked genuine in his confusion.

“So what is it?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I didn’t sleep too well last night and,” he shrugged. “Maybe it’s stress?”

“Was that what I saw in the shed: stress relief?”

“The shed?” he asked, his confusion deepening. “What are you on about?”

Becky sighed. “Forget it,” she said.

“Look, Beck, if I’ve pissed you off, I’m sorry. I don’t want us to be like this.”

“I want us to be happy in our new home,” she said, relenting.

Alex reached over and kissed her on the forehead. “We will be,” he said. “I promise.”

Heavy breathing once more woke Becky. She sat up and clicked on the light. Alex was bathed in sweat as he tossed and turned beside her, his respiration strained, wheezy and in distress. It sounded as if he was having an asthma attack, although she knew there was no history of the disease in his family.

“Alex,” she said and touched his arm. He was burning up; his nightclothes sodden. She sat up and gripped his shoulders, “Alex, wake up,” she said, shaking him. “Wake up.”

Alex surfaced from his nightmare like a swimmer gasping for air. Becky watched as he sat up and swung his legs out of bed, dropped his head into his hands and sobbed.

Becky shuffled over and sat next to him, her arm around his shoulders. “Hey,” she whispered, rubbing his back. “Come on, Alex, it’s just a dream.”

“I couldn’t breathe,” he said, shuddering. “It felt like someone was sitting on my chest; pressing down, sucking the air from my lungs, and all the while I was...”

“ What?” Becky asked, as Alex’s voice trailed away.

“ Aroused,” he said and looked up at her, his face filled with shame. “I could feel a woman moving on me. I could smell her perfume; feel her heat. She kept whispering to me, telling me how much she loved me.”

Becky didn’t know what to say.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind, Beck.”

Becky opened her mouth, but still no words came.

Alex looked away. “Ever since the break in, all I can think about, all I can....” He exhaled; couldn’t carry on. He was in agony. “I’m sorry, Beck,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Who is she?” Becky asked, stiffening and pulling back from him.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

When morning came around, Alex looked drained. His face was grey and drawn. His eyes looked bruised: the bags were so pronounced beneath them. Becky couldn’t deny she was worried about him, hurt, but worried. Alex looked ill.

“ I’ll be fine,” he said.

At midday Becky grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, straightening the kinks from her spine as she did so, and went in search of him.

Becky crossed the hall and headed up the stairs. As she reached the landing she realised how quiet the house was; she also smelt the same exotic scent as before, only this time the perfume brought more than a sense of apprehension.

Heart pounding, Becky slammed into the dressing room and stopped dead: shocked immobile by what she saw.

Alex was slumped in the corner, his eyes rolled back in his head, his clothes strewn about him, as a spectral shape bobbed in his lap.

“Oh my God,” Becky said, as he groaned and bucked, his hips lifting, as he ejaculated. “Oh my God.”

The lissom, unearthly woman arose with an ethereal grace and looked at Becky, head tilted on one side, as if puzzled by Becky’s presence in the house. Becky saw a look of torment and despair: a fleeting, unbearable sadness cross the woman’s face; then she vanished into thin air.

Becky felt her legs buckle and used the wall as a support until the weakness had past.

Alex was unconscious, unmoving and limp. She felt tears fill her eyes, distorting her vision, as she took in his gaunt face. Over the last few days he had lost weight. He looked exhausted and frail: old.

Becky also realised she had seen the woman before.

*

“ I know who she is,” Becky said.

Alex was propped up in bed. She had carried him through from the dressing room and covered him with the quilt.

“ Beck, I’m so —”

“ Don’t Alex.” She wiped her face, which was wet from tears she didn’t remember shedding. “I don’t want apologies, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“I don’t know. I wish I did.”

“ I recognised her from when we viewed the house. The guy we bought it from, Crow, he had a picture of her on the wall. I remember looking at it.”

“Who is she?” Alex asked in a small, scared voice.

“That’s what I’m going to find out.”

Downstairs, Becky called up Stewart Crow’s contact number from her mobile.

Crow answered upon the third ring.

“Mr. Crow? This is Rebecca Doyle, I hope you don’t mind me calling, but I need to ask you a question.”

“ It’s no trouble at all, Rebecca. I’m glad you called. Hope you’re settling in okay.”

“Well, that’s kind of it,” Becky said, walking around the living room as she spoke. “We seem to have a bit of a problem.”

“A problem? With the house?”

“Not exactly, but,” Becky paused. Started again. “This is going to sound a little strange, but do you remember me asking you about the woman in the photograph on your wall? I think you said she was an old girlfriend?”

Crow was silent.

“Mr. Crow?”

“What about her?” Crow asked.

All the warmth had gone from his voice and Becky shivered at the sudden change. “Well,” she said, “as I said, this will sound a little stra —”

“What. About. Her?” Crow repeated, cutting Becky off.

“She broke into the house.”

“Impossible,” Crow said. “Who put you up to this?”

“What? No one.”

“I suggest you tell me the truth, Miss Doyle, or you may live to regret it.”

“I beg your pardon,” she said, but Crow had already hung up.

“What the hell?” Becky said and looked at her mobile, stunned by what had just happened. She had a good mind to ring Crow straight back and give him a piece of her mind.

She was still fuming when, fifty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

“Hold on a sec,” she called out, wiping her hands. She had decided to let Crow cool off before trying him again and was in the process of washing up after a late lunch.

She opened the door and was shocked to see Crow.

“What do you know about Mila Sokolova?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Becky said, startled. “Who?”

“Don’t play games with me, bitch,” Crow said. “I’m not fucking stupid.”

The venom in his voice startled Becky; made her take an involuntary step back. “I think you better go,” she said, using her own anger to bolster her courage.

She began to close door.

“I don’t think so,” Crow said, barging inside and pushing Becky aside. “You women are all the same. Always trying to trap us with some bullshit. Mila was the same. She thought she could trick me. Get my money. Thought a baby would be all it took to get her claws into me. Well,” he said, “I sure fixed her.”

Becky cowered back from Crow. He looked crazed. His jaw was bunching as he ground his teeth.

“What...” Becky asked, backing up. “What did you do?”

“What do you think?” Crow said, grinning, advancing on her.

“Oh my God,” Becky said in sudden realisation. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

Crow smiled.

Becky ran.

She wanted a weapon, a knife from the kitchen drawer, but Crow was on her heels and she didn’t dare stop. She would have shouted for Alex, but in his present state she didn’t want to alert Crow to his presence.

The garden snagged at her flesh, snaked around her ankles and tried to trip her with its tangles. It was a living green thing of nettles, weeds, thorns and brambles. They lashed at her; whipped at her skin.

Becky staggered; risked a glance back.

Crow was gaining.

“Bitch,” he snarled and lunged for her. She felt his spittle flecking the nape of her neck. She swerved; ran through a mass of weeds towards a glimpse of pond. Her breath burned in her lungs.

A shove sent her sprawling.

Becky cried out.

Crow grabbed her blouse and belt and dragged her, screaming, towards the pool.

He dropped her; flipped her.

“ I did Mila here,” he said, pinning Becky’s arms, straddling her, his hand covering her face and pushing her head backwards towards the algae and weed-choked water. “I held her under and watched her drown.”

Water flooded Becky’s ears.

In moments her face would be under the surface and it would be all over.

Crow paused and held her immobile above the water.

“Tell me how you knew?” he said. “Who told you about Mil—”

A sudden impact knocked Crow flying.

Becky whipped her head out of the water and saw Alex wrestling with the man. The two of them rolled through the weeds and long grass. Alex landed a couple of good, solid blows, but in his weakened state he was no match for Crow. Within moments Crow had him pinned down, his hands around Alex’s throat.

“Stop it,” Becky said, crawling forward, her hair hanging in her eyes. “Leave him alone.”

Crow looked up and grinned.

“I don’t think – ”

He didn’t finish.

His eyes flicked past Becky and the colour drained from his face, as his words choked off.

Becky turned, following his gaze, and she saw the woman he had called Mila, the woman who had been seducing Alex, ascend from the water.

Horrified, Becky stared, as the willowy, dark haired woman crossed the pond and stepped onto the bank and walked towards Crow.

Water poured from her, cascaded around her feet, as she cut through the weeds and nettles. There was nothing spectral or ethereal about her now. She looked complete, tangible and fully in the world. She still had the look of torment and despair: that transitory, intolerable sadness Becky had seen before, but now there was also a glare of anger, of rage, smouldering like green fire behind her eyes.

“I loved you,” Mila said.

Crow scrambled to his feet. “This is impossible,” he said backing away. “You’re dead.”

“Why Stewart? Why did you do it? I loved you.”

“This is a trick,” he said, his eyes frantic.

“You hurt me. You hurt our baby.”

“No, he said. “This is a trick,”

Crow ran at Mila. Slammed into her. Knocked her down; rained punches down upon her face and torso. “You’re dead,” he said. “You’re dead. You’re dead. You’re dead.”

“Stop it,” Becky said, yelling at Crow. “For God’s sake. Stop it.”

Blind to everything but his rage, Crow ignored Becky’s plea. He sat astride Mila with his thumbs locked tight against her windpipe.

Becky stood, her hand closing around a jagged triangle of rock, and crossed to him.

“ Stop it,” she said, as she lifted the rock from pond’s edge above her head and brought it down with all her might.

Blood sprayed her face.

It was over.

Mila was gone.

Becky crawled past Crow to Alex’s still form. She wrapped her arms around him; laid her head on his chest and cried. Alex’s heart beat against her ear, reassuring and steady.

“ I love you,” Alex said, his voice little more than a whisper. “I love you so much.”

“ I know,” Becky said, lifting her head. “I love you t—”

Alex was looking at the pond.