Spare Key Read online

  Spare Key

  Frederick R. Hamilton

  ...This was the way it always started. First he would see them and the air would thicken. Then the image of them bound. Then came the screaming and the Red Room would appear with the glittering, new meathook waiting just for them. And there in the Red Room he could play for as long as he wanted...

  This volume also contains the short ­stories 'The Filmmakers' & 'Writer's Block'.

  Review

  Graphic and gruesome, Hamilton's novel explores voyeurism, sexual predators, child abuse, murder, torture - things I wasn't expecting in a horror novel from Australia. It's not that they don't have horror novels Down Under. It's just that this one is so lean and mean. Spare Key is actually only 170 pages - there are two short stories, The Filmmakers and Writer's Block included (nasty little stories they are as well). But Spare Key is the eye-opener. Think if Edward Lee had a child who grew up Down Under and you might get the general idea of just how horrifying this book is - sexually explicit and violent with an ending I really didn't see coming. --Fatally Yours, September 16th, 2009

  But don't be fooled. Hamilton sets out to shock and disgust, making this material limited to a tailored horror audience. The violent sexual nature of many events throughout these stories may see readers placing Spare Key in the "too nasty" basket. So what realm of disgusting and shocking are we talking here? Probably somewhere between Stephen King's darker moments and Bret Easton Ellis's least shocking, and I'm not surprised to find these two authors on Hamilton's list of influences. --[As if!], July 1st, 2009

  R. Frederick Hamilton is a young writer going at it hard and heavy in a competitive market. There's a lot of promise in this, his first book. Mark the name down, Hamilton is going to be a voice to be reckoned with in the coming years. --Scary Minds, January 15th, 2010

  SPARE KEY

  and other stories

  by

  R. Frederick Hamilton

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY

  LegumeMan Books

  Copyright © 2008 by R. Frederick Hamilton

  Cover Photograph © 2008 by Jennifer Wilson

  Design © 2008 by The Spatchcock

  CONTENTS:

  SPARE KEY

  THE FILMMAKERS

  WRITER'S BLOCK

  Thanks go out to the Brothers Gunther for all their hard work. To Kat and Jen for their proofreading chops. And to the Minx for everything.

  SPARE KEY

  THE BRUNSWICK BULLETIN

  Monday, 17 May 1982

  Quick Action Saves Elderly Neighbour's Life

  A local lady is today being hailed as a hero by the close-knit community of flats at 578 Albion St for her swift actions that saved the life of her elderly neighbour, Thea Toso, 76.

  Nurse Jennifer Morton was returning from a late shift at work when she heard a commotion from the flat next door. What she heard was a shattering lamp as Ms Toso, who is unmarried and lives alone, suffered a major coronary at approximately 1:30 am.

  After unsuccessfully trying to rouse Ms Toso, and finding the door to the premises locked, Miss Morton raced next door to her flat to retrieve the spare key Thea had entrusted to her care.

  Miss Morton performed CPR on the scene and managed to revive the unconscious pensioner.

  Although the paramedics who attended stated 'without a doubt she (Miss Morton) saved this woman's life,' Miss Morton is playing down the situation saying much of the credit must go to her elderly neighbour for her forward planning. 'She knew something like this might happen and was prepared for the eventuality. There wouldn't have been much I could do if we hadn't swapped spare keys.'

  Despite her modesty, other residents of the flats are already pushing for her nomination in the next Community Service Awards to be held in September.

  THE BRUNSWICK BULLETIN

  Sunday, 21 August, 2005

  Brutal Murder Rocks Community

  The local community is today reeling at the news of a brutal murder that has occurred in its midst.

  Police responding to a call to a block of flats in Brunswick West, at approximately 5:30 pm last night, discovered the grisly remains of Jennifer Morton, 56, in the lounge room of the two bedroom flat she owned and lived in for nearly thirty years.

  Maria Horne, a concerned workmate and close friend of the decease, began to worry when Miss Morton, a nurse at the West Brunswick Aged Care Clinic, failed to show up for work. Unable to contact her by phone, Mrs Horne visited her flat at approximately 4:45 pm.

  When she received no answer to her repeated knocking, she contacted Police who entered the premises with the landlord to find what has been dubbed 'a slaughterhouse'.

  Although Police are not yet releasing details, in a statement, Detective Inspector Douglas Green, the lead investigator on the case, has described the crime as 'horrendous in its brutality'.

  Described by her neighbours as an 'all around good person', who would, 'go out of her way to do you a favour', the stunned residents are unable to comprehend who would do this to 'such a sweet lady'.

  Her next door neighbour of ten years, Kosta Tsiakis, described her as a 'gentle soul who kept to herself a lot. Loved her cats. Neve hurt no one'. He couldn't think of anyone who would hold a grudge against her. 'I don't think I've ever heard a bad word said about her'.

  Police have no leads as yet while stunned neighbours struggle to cope with the tragedy that has unfurled in their midst.

  APRIL 2008

  DAY 1

  The estate agent was beginning to look a little flustered as he struggled with the lock but Ben’s eyes weren’t on him. As the fat, balding man cursed under his breath, Ben Fowler’s attention was all focused on the shapely woman attempting to unlock the door of the next flat while juggling four overloaded bags of shopping.

  He could feel his penis stirring to life at the jiggle of her buttocks as she shifted her weight and managed to lodge her key in the lock. His gaze stripped away her black skirt revealing the flesh underneath and a shortness of breath hit him as he scanned upwards, peeling the black T-shirt away to reveal the slope of her breast with just a hint of nipple visible beneath the cascade of red hair that hung over her face like a curtain.

  ‘You, my friend, are a godsend.’

  Ben started. The image of her flesh banished in an instant as he shot a glance back at the estate agent. The man smiled toothily at him, obviously unaware of how his flop sweat glinted beneath the fluorescents that lined the stretch of brown-brick flats. He was still jiggling the key in the lock and seemed to be trying to cover his difficulty with what he no doubt thought was slick and charming small talk. Ben wasn’t impressed but kept silent. It wouldn’t do to get off on the wrong foot. Not when he was trying to start over again; start over and leave the past behind.

  ‘The last tenants left us in a pretty big lurch,’ the agent continued, ‘gambling debts apparently. Legged it pretty damn sprightly.’ Ben snorted before he could stop himself but the agent seemed to take it as agreement. ‘That’s what I thought. Left owing about four months…’

  The agent’s voice drained away as Ben turned his gaze back to the lady. She’d managed to open her door but had paused on the threshold. Ben gaped when he saw her smiling at him and the air seemed to press in too close, thickening until it felt like he was gulping mouthfuls of sticky soup. The angular features were there. Just like what he used to look for. The hair colour was right. The eye colour too. And the figure…The figure was perfect.

  As he watched he could see those luscious lips ripping open in a rictus-scream, the eyes widening with realisation and his mind jumped to the jar of pills that Slavia had given him.

  Where were they? In the car still? Stuffed in the duffel bag with the other things? The other things that he sti
ll wasn’t certain why he’d retrieved from their hidey-hole. It was stupid of him to leave them there. Even if he was currently having doubts about their effectiveness. Who cared what his brother’s girlfriend had said, surely they wouldn’t have released him without proper medication. Surely not...

  …Maybe he should have brought the whole bag with him… Shit, no, that wasn’t right. He was starting over. He couldn’t afford to get caught again. He’d been lucky last time. If the boyfriend had been ten minutes later…

  Ben was uncomfortably aware of the full-blown erection that was tenting the front of his trousers. The smile had dropped from the lady’s face and she was now peering oddly at him. He attempted to mould his features into a smile but had no idea whether he succeeded or not; whether his muscles were obeying him. Maybe he should go and say hello? No that would just make it worse… He should really stop staring. Ben tried but he couldn’t take his eyes away. Thankfully, before even the faintest glimmer of red walls could appear in the background, the lady disappeared behind her slamming door and the air thinned again. Ben gulped it down as he peered across the weed-choked gardens that pathetically bordered the front car-parks.

  ‘Used to be prime rental property here but then the murder happened and suddenly no-one wanted to stay anymore.’ The agent was still focused on the lock and apparently blissfully unaware of the moment that had transpired between Ben and the lady. A fact Ben was immensely grateful for. He had to be much more careful. Dr Slavia had told him how difficult it was going to be. He’d said you have to want it to work. And he did want it to work… Didn’t he?

  …But that was part of the problem wasn’t it? The fact he had to want it to work. Exactly what did that mean? Maybe Mandy had been right. Maybe the pills were nothing but placebos… No that was ridiculous; they never would have released him… Surely not…

  …Of course not…

  ‘Only the really desperate folks stay here now…’ The estate agent looked up sharply from the lock. ‘Not that I’m saying you’re desperate or anything like that. Don’t take it the wrong way or anything.’

  Ben dismissed his comment with a shake of the head that was more directed at the rapidly spreading stains that were dyeing the man’s voluminous and immaculately pressed white shirt yellow.

  ‘Are you having some trouble there?’ Ben coughed and muttered when he saw that the agent was expecting some sort of verbal response. His voice came out all cracked and croaky though as just briefly, flitting across the mental equivalent of his peripheral vision came a glimmer of red. It was only a hint. The briefest suggestion of a hue but it was enough to start Ben’s heart pounding. He needed his pills…

  ‘Nah, there’s just a bit of a knack to it you know.’ The agent paused and looked up at the rapidly darkening sky as he mopped up some of his brow-sweat with his sleeve. ‘Don’t worry,’ he continued, renewing his struggle, ‘nothing to worry about. It just sticks a little… Ah there we go.’

  The agent sounded ridiculously triumphant as the tumblers clicked and the door swung open.

  ‘After you good sir.’

  Ben took a last, lingering look at the closed door of the flat next door, focusing on the tarnished number seven screwed to its front, and then allowed the agent to usher him over the threshold.

  The erection was still hot against his thigh.

  * * * * *

  ‘As you can see, quite a bit of work has been done to fix the place up. The landlords sunk a fair wad of cash into it, getting it back up to scratch after the last tenant legged it,’ the agent called from the living room as Ben stood surveying the kitchen. Yeah right, Ben thought as he ran his finger over the bumpy laminate of the bench, his mind transforming its cool surface into the warm flesh of her body beneath his touch. He tried hard not to think of the flash of red and when he realised his touch had become a caress, he removed his hand and shook his head to clear the image. Looks more like a weekend’s work from a couple of mates.

  He wished that the estate agent would just fuck off so he could take his pills. Although he’d only seen the lounge and kitchen so far, it was enough for him to know that a professional had not set foot in the flat. The revolting, lime-green walls were patchy and lumpy from shoddy plasterwork and the joins in the cornices were almost shapeless blobs, giving the impression they had melted. The paint must have been on sale because everything was lime-green: the walls, the trimmings, the doors, the light-switches. The only thing breaking it up was the off-white ceiling that sported a rather large water-stain across its middle.

  Even the carpet – a deep, burgundy colour that clashed horribly with the walls – was thin and cheap-looking and, judging by the way it was lifting in the corners, poorly tacked down too.

  ‘Ah, admiring the kitchen I see.’ The agent poked his head around the door. ‘That oven’s brand new, so are the bench-tops.’ Although poorly fitted, the bench-tops did look new but judging by the grime encrusted on its front pane of glass, the oven had been in place for a good many years.

  Why the fuck was the agent still giving him the spiel? Ben had already signed the lease back at the man’s dingy office. If anything the man’s continued rabbiting was just going to lead him to say fuck off, I don’t want it anymore. Ben rubbed at his temples as he watched the agent’s mouth flap. He’s probably just a lonely old guy. Doesn’t get much of a chance to talk to anyone. Wife’s probably dead, kids moved away, probably going home to an empty house…

  No matter how much he tried to justify the man’s behaviour, Ben still wished he’d just leave him in peace. He needed time to relax. To take his pills; stop the thoughts before they could coalesce; before the glimmer of red could solidify and spread. Because the lady next door was not her. He forced the thought forward strongly, just as Slavia had taught him to. It’s not her.

  ‘So are you happy or what? Such a bargain too.’ The agent was now resting on the bench, balanced on the crook of one arm in a manner that suggested he was settling in for the long haul. ‘The only place you’ll find in Brunswick for under two hundred a week.’

  Ben bit back his irritation and forced a smile as he thought about just abruptly punching the man. Feeling the gristle of his nose crunch beneath his fist. It was only the absurd image of the man crumbling then rebounding immediately like a bop bag, still chattering away, that stopped him. With some people it was just futile trying to stop them once they were in the swing.

  ‘Anyway,’ the agent made an exaggerated show of checking his chunky, plastic watch and hope bloomed in Ben’s chest. ‘I should be letting you settle in.’ He held out the keys for a moment but then gently placed them on the bench when Ben made no effort to take them.

  ‘I’m just so glad to finally rent this place out you know. The landlords are a nice old couple. Good people. Sort of got suckered into buying this place by another firm. Lot of bastards out there you know. Didn’t tell them the history. They had no idea how hard it would be to rent.’ The agent paused and leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Also as a quiet aside, there was a bit of a bet back at the office. You my friend have just won me two hundred bucks. The boys thought it would be impossible to rent this place again after the last guy legged it. Been empty a couple of months now, even with the rental crisis…’

  The agent beamed at Ben but then looked embarrassed when he merely stared back stone-faced.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Blathering away again. I’ll leave you to it. Just remember six-fifty a month. Cheque or money-order. None of that fancy bank-transfer stuff. Just drop it into the office.’

  Ben nodded and gratefully trailed the agent to the door. It doesn’t matter, I won’t be here in a month anyway. The thought formed automatically and Ben had to remind himself that it wouldn’t be like that this time. That he would be settling down. Looking for work. He wouldn’t need to be gone this time, he thought as he watched the agent waddling down the driveway past the flickering light outside number three.

  He tried his best not to glance at the strip of light visibl
e through the chink in the curtains next door but his eyes drifted to it of their own accord.

  * * * * *

  Sam Tramontano glanced back over his shoulder as he shuffled across the road towards his immaculately polished Kingswood. The guilt was heavy in his stomach, making him feel all gassy and bloated. He knew his indigestion would be acting up again tonight.

  Shit, almost spilt the beans a couple of times there, he thought as he unlocked the door and heaved himself into the seat. And maybe I should have…

  Yeah but then what? He’d probably want to go to the police or at the very least not want to stay there anymore and he really needed his commission on this one. Not to mention that extra two hundred. He needed to get that fucking bookie off his back. The smug prick was sending final demand letters and Christ, friggin’ Maria had almost got the last one.

  And then the landlords would find out too. Sam shook his head as he slotted the key into the ignition. It was just lucky he’d got there first. Got to scope it out a little. Had a chance to clean up before they’d dropped by.

  As he started the engine, Sam tried hard to convince himself he’d done the right thing but didn’t quite succeed. Shit, what could he have done, huh? He needed the money and the landlords would have just freaked out. Besides, he didn’t really know what had happened to the last tenant. The man was a fucking nutcase and with that friggin’ ridiculous get-up he used to go around in… There could have been any number of explanations for the stains. Guy was probably holding some sort of satanic rituals in there or some shit.

  Despite his justifications, as he shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb, Sam still couldn’t help feeling guilty. Maybe he should have said something. Given the new guy a heads-up. The guy had seemed nice enough, a little spacey maybe, didn’t say much, but still…