The Packed Suitcase

Part 1

This story was written over several weeks, each break point signifies the change of writer, beginning with Kirsty.

He threw his keys down on the sideboard and kicked the front door closed behind him. It slammed. Today was no different to any other day, he thought this as he wrenched his shoes off his feet and left them casually strewn in the hallway.
The routine was well ingrained, too well. He woke at 7, snoozed for 5 minutes, crawled to the shower, put on more or less the same outfit as the day before, battled into work, kept his head down, got through to 5pm, made a swift exit and a beeline home via Tesco Express to pick up a beer (or two) and something to eat in front of Netflix.

But there was a new addition to the monotony today. Instead of heading straight for the kitchen in search of a bottle opener, he went to the bedroom. Peering under the bed he spotted what he hoped he’d find.

Covered in a thick layer of dust was a leather suitcase, cracked with age and covered in labels that told a story of adventures past.
He reached out for the handle and roughly removed the case from it’s lonesome hiding place. Wiping the dust away without a thought, he coughed and found tears springing to his eyes. He clicked open the brass catches and opened the bag. It was empty.

From his pocket he retrieved a small brand new notebook that he’d purchased on a whim on his way home. He’d flicked through the blank pages in the shop, holding them close to his face so that he could smell the fresh untouched paper. It had brought a pang of nostalgia.

He slowly placed the book in the bag and closed it up again.

Sliding the bag back under he ventured downstairs, via the fridge to drop off the second beer, to see what would come up next in Stranger things. He’d grown content with his shabby sofa in the mildew covered walls. It might not be much but it was home. Much warmer than the bitter cold he’d endured last winter. The fewer memories from then the better, he thought to himself. With a visible shake off his head he reached for the remote and the dim glow was soon much brightened as his recent indulgence of a smart TV sprung to life. The dark shadow it cast on the wall behind him it almost looked like it had been painted black.

A few satisfying button clicks later and he was back to reminiscing the 80’s. He missed the simpler times where you’d pick up a phone or meet someone in person. Things had now gone from advanced planning to spur of the moment, which made his anxiety play an ugly role in every conversation. He just couldn’t let himself relax around others. The right throat, racing heartbeat and seemingly unable to sit still. Fight or flight mode was something he just couldn’t shake. It just left him feeling exhausted and helpless.

It would have taken someone paying a lot of attention to notice a movement of the shadow. Part of it seemed to melt away when he got up to fetch another beer from the fridge. Which is what anyone would expect to see. Only this was slightly after the movements. Almost like a dancer a beat behind their partner. Back to normal by the time he reached the kitchen in the half light all was normal. The beer let off a satisfying crunch as the can opened. But he hadn’t seen the person in Tesco before him knock it to the floor. Beer sprayed all over the worktop and his shirt. He muttered under his breath while he fumbled for a dishcloth to mop up the worst. Finding the bright side he could see the pattern on the worktop again.

He poured out a glass of the remaining beer, now head. But after five minutes of waiting for it to settle it was clear he had barely two mouthfuls left. Today of all days he couldn’t just go with that. This caused for another beer run. This time to his local off licence. Bitterly cold wind raced up to meet him as he opened the door. With a shudder he reached back inside for his coat and swung it over his shoulders and plucked up the collar before continuing at a brisk walk towards his source of escape.

Out of the darkness the small convenience store was blindingly bright. What could have appeared inviting to others felt soulless to him. He made a beeline for the chiller cabinet and pulled out a 6 pack — it could last him, in theory.

“Celebrating something?” asked the shopkeeper cheerily. He flicked a weak smile in response and blinked heavily. His heart sunk.

Back home, keys dropped and shoes strewn once again his stomach led him to the kitchen. The macaroni cheese was one of the better budget ready meals, but far from satisfying. He shoved it in the oven (the microwave having ceased to function long ago), cracked open a fresh beer and returned to the TV.

The beer was icy cold, but somehow lacking the refreshment he so craved. He sipped on nevertheless. This room was sucking the life from him, he knew it. The dim light from the screen flickered rhythmically, lulling him into the beginnings of a light sleep. It was warm and bright then. She was there, they were all there together and he could see what he had been before everything changed, he could feel it.

He coughed, he was choking as he jolted to, engulfed in smoke. The oven! How long had he been asleep?! He jumped up to open the windows and remove his charred dinner from the oven.

Enough was enough, he was going to swallow his pride and make the journey.

In the twilight of the small hours the air felt crisp and a thick fog began to form along the riverbank. It had been quite some time since he’d last walked here. She’d always been so keen to walk with him. Nagging him with her beautiful face and wagging tail. He’d picked her up in a shivering bundle of clothes nearby, several years back. The longing for a good master had been clear to him from the moment he unwrapped her.

She was desperately disheveled and hungry when he’d found her. It looked like she’d been in a fight with a cat and come off worse for wear. He’d taken her in and poured out some fresh mineral water, knowing dogs were more likely to gulp fresh water than the chlorinated tap water. Extremely timidly, tail tucked away she had approached and sniffed at the bowl. Taking a few tentative laps. Even the sound of the water seemed to startle her. She was still shivering then, the sight had melted his heart in the spot. Without thinking he was taking off his hoodie and wrapping her up like a baby.

Whimpering she seemed to be content with laying fully wrapped in his lap as he had sat with her rocking gently back and forth until she fell asleep. It was some months before the tail picked up and wagged for the first time. But he’ll never forget the determined face licking he received waking up the next day. How he’d run to the corner shop in search of dog food. He was under no illusion that the dog was hungry. He’d bought a small bag of crumbs to begin with. Just to make sure he could build her up.

She’d crunched through the first bowl so quickly that she couldn’t keep it down. The mess made was dotted throughout the house later that afternoon. Like a breadcrumb trail, leading to a very sad and sorry looking Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy tucked in the corner whimpering. He had set about laying another bowl down, sensing just how hungry the boney dog was it became his priority to see her to full health.

The memories came flooding, bittersweet, as he walked along the riverbank. Stronger than ever now as he approached the place.

Peering ahead down the towpath he could make out smoke softly drifting from the chimney of a compact narrow boat moored against the bank. The milky morning mist was illuminated by a warming glow from a window at the rear of the boat. It cast patterns across the path where the light passed through an intricate net curtain. She must be in.

He paused by the cabin door, his mind racing as the reality hit him. He glanced warily along the length of the vessel. The jolly planters on the roof were all muted colours in this light and he noticed that the floral paintwork had started to peel. He caught himself tutting subconsciously and immediately felt a pang of guilt.

He placed the suitcase down with a weighty thud. In his haste he had stuffed most of his belongings on top of the notebook, not entirely certain how this would pan out and how long he’d be away.
He stepped aboard with one foot and tapped on the cabin door. There was a scrabbling from inside, a patter of small feet and a surprisingly cheerful “Hold on!” for this time in the morning. His heart sunk.

The latch rattled and the wooden hatch flipped open. First he was struck by the shock of white hair and the deep wrinkles, enhanced up the uplighting. She squinted at him. He couldn’t be sure if her expression was of anger, surprise or confusion. She gasped as her eyes adjusted. Before she could say anything a furry head peeped up at the door opening. He couldn’t help but grin, feeling full of guilt and joy simultaneously.

His beloved dog, and she knew it was him! He’d been so torn at the time, but knew that he had to leave them together, they needed each other. He’d left in a whirl of anger and resentment, but with the promise of chasing a brighter future. How was he going to play this?
“You managed to get the furnace working, Mum?!”

He could only see their happy faces and inside the cabin now; in the half light the gas lamp was dazzling. He heard Lotti’s tail thumping rhythmically on the kitchen cupboard. As he made to kneel down and encourage her out a the thudding became more erratic. Swiftly followed by a metallic clang and a splat.

His Mum tutted but it was so difficult to show any sign of anger after Lotti nearly jumped out of her skin into the canal in shock. Landing in a heap on the grass she nearly knocked him over with her boisterous, fear ridden greeting. She thought he was in particular need of a good clean. It wasn’t long before his face was soaked in slobber and beginning to feel chilly in the wind.
“Hello you!” He said, muffled by the snout, now almost pushed into his mouth.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect her reaction to be. He was so pleased that her recovery had gone as well as it had. The fear of loud and sudden noises was something she couldn’t shake off. Previous bonfire nights and new year’s celebrations had her whimpering in the bath. Seeing her jump without running away was fantastic. Tears were starting to form in his mother’s eyes. She just about managed “Come in.” Before succumbing to sobs. He’d been away for so long. After the argument she wasn’t sure she would ever see him again. Let alone him coming to seek her out.

With such raw emotion in show his love for his mother took over and he embraced her, shuddering with relief and cold himself. Lotti he noted has seized the opportunity and was happily chomping away at the conveniently placed floor porridge laid out on her favourite place to sleep. She’d of course discovered that the kitchen was the best spot from the potential for food offerings, and fuss from being quite so in the way.

She knew better than to ask how things had been, him being here said it all. He looked gaunt and disheveled again, his threadbare clothes hanging off him. She filled the kettle and left it to warm on the small stove. She noted that the kitchen floor was spotless once again, and her previous hunger had vanished.

She removed a stack of books from the armchair and motioned for him to take a seat. Lotti was immediately by his side gently nosing his hand to encourage stroking. He obliged and she leant into his leg.

Presented with a cup of tea he gratefully sipped and felt the cold leaving his body. Having disappeared off into the bedroom his mother returned holding two worn notebooks. He recognised one of them and felt a sudden pang of anxiety. It was the diary he’d been keeping when he was last here. It had been his grounding, something that he’d lost since.

He narrowed his eyes as he tried to work out what was happening. Had she read it? As if he’d spoken his thoughts she answered “I never opened it, but I knew what it was”.
She nervously handed both books to him “I wrote some things down myself, I’d like you to have it”.
He took them warily.
She knew that he’d had dark times and at times had seemed to float like a haunted shell of a man — although she could only see him as her boy.

Not knowing how to respond and not wanting to open the books he decided to play on his tiredness. “The journey was long Mum, I need sleep”.
Hiding the hurt she smiled warmly “You know where your room is”.

It hadn’t changed, the tiny room with a few much loved toys. He placed the books in the bedside nook, opened his suitcase and retrieved the newly acquired notebook to add to the collection.
He flopped on the bed, without stopping to undress and gave a low sharp whistle. In an instant Lotti had deftly pounced onto the bed, taking up far too much room and squeezing him to the edge of the mattress.
This was just as he wanted it to be, as he drifted off to sleep with childhood ease.

But the clutches of slumber didn’t last long before the nightmares began again. It started the same as before. Breathless, tired, and cold he was running down the same alleyway. It was one he’d never seen apart from in his dreams, or rather nightmares. But he knew the fear and uncertainty. Chased again by the creature. Sucking all light from around it. The shape difficult to make out. The edges were constantly swirling and changing shape. Streetlights further away seemed to shimmer. Before flaring and warping into the body of the creature as it approached.

The more it consumed the larger it seemed to become. He was aware he was struggling to see the ground beneath his feet in the creature induced twilight. He was losing steam. Out of breath and ready to give up. When something darted between them roaring with such ferocity the creature cowered and began to convulse. Throbbing and in visible pain the creature began to shrink. Light began to return to the view and regular night was slowly restored. His shadow too was becoming visible as the light returned. He was unable to make out where the shadow had actually come from. It took far keener eyes than a human to see that.

Focusing his attention to his saviour he began to feel warm and damp. Particularly around the face. As if in waves like the moment before passing out when taking a dizzy turn.
He woke with a start. In his daze he could swear the creature was stood over him. As his consciousness returned it was clear what the warm, damp feeling was. Lotti, either through concern or in aid of keeping clean, had taken it upon herself to give him a good hard licking.

A smile crept over his face instinctively as he looped his arms around Lotti’s neck forcing her snout into the crook of his neck. He held her there for a moment comforted by the familiar scent of her coat and the warmth of her bulk. She didn’t struggle to get away, leaning in as his breathing calmed. Despite returning to the supposed safety of waking life he was hit with overwhelming feelings of frustration and unease. Releasing Lotti and leaning to the bedside he fumbled in the darkness for the notebooks, suddenly determined and focused. His hand found the small torch that lived in the corner of the shelf. Pressing the switch a faint flicker grew into a soft light — the batteries still had life.

Picking out the new notebook he turned to the first page, closed his eyes and started drawing. He was sure he could recall some of the forms of the dream, although he was reluctant to venture back there. With tentative marks he softly scraped at the surface of the paper with feathered marks, but as his mental image clarified the movements became wilder, filling in the paper with ink that bled through to the pages below.

Once before, when he was perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old, he had come close to capturing the image of the creature in just this way. When he’d opened his eyes to see his creation the terror had been so powerful that he had ripped the page from the book, torn it into several pieces and burned the evidence. As he had watched the paper curl and singe at the edges before bursting into flames, he regretted his reflex to destroy the pain and fear in the image. He had been trying to recapture and face it ever since.

Any time he had got close, he found that a force would stop him completing the likeness. The ink would run dry, the paper would rip, there would be a knock at the door. If he could recreate the beast he felt he could harness it somehow.

Heart racing once more as he relived the running. Chest heaving as he gulped mighty breaths of air. And yet to anyone else who could have seen, he was sat in a small wood panelled room lit by the narrow beam of a torch, protected by his trusty hound, safe and cosy. But he felt close this time, surprisingly strong and clear headed, the pen in his hand felt like an extension of his vision, the ink flowing as if from his veins. He didn’t want to think about what he would see this time or what he would do when he had to face his demon.

The wild rhythm subsided and he felt the strokes slowing. He had drawn all he could. He tentatively opened his eyes, fearing the image that greeted him.

To the unaware observer it just looked like an angry toddlers squiggle but on closer inspection you would see the flow of the shape. Being fed from the edges. He had somehow managed to illustrate how time affected the creature. Growing as it consumed the surrounding paper. Lotti took a nosey glance, which left her reeling and barking. Clearly shaken by the picture. She could see what even his eyes couldn’t. Particular colours of light were being absorbed and the drawing was darkening. These wavelengths weren’t visible to the eye. But if he were to touch it he’d have felt it growing colder too.

He quickly shut it to comfort Lotti. She was visibly calmer now, reduced to yelps rather than the aggressive barking. In between the outbursts she began to slobber on his face once again. Coating him in a significant amount of the stuff, which soon chilled in the cold air.

His Mother came to lean at the side of the bed with a smile on her face. In her mind the pair had been play fighting and the barks were excited. The smile wiped from her face as she saw how pale he had become. Even through the slobber she should make out the cold sweat of fear. His wide eyes were her biggest giveaway, even from a child his eyes had been a dead giveaway for his emotion.

So as not to concern her further he wiped his face on his sleeve and gave a decent attempt at a smile. She could see straight through it. This time she couldn’t take chances. She’d lost him for two long the last time. “Come on please” she pleaded. “Tell me what’s wrong. I can see you’re rattled. Just like the last time you used your notebook…”. Her voice trailed off. At that he began to openly sob. At last there was someone in his life again who gave a damn about him. The one person he wasn’t sure he’d have ever had the courage to meet again.

She moved towards him to take him into her arms once again. His shuddering back firmly safe again in her arms. Overwhelmed now the shudders became deeper, and his breathing rattled. You’d have to be Mother to work out what was said, broken by sobs, but she knew well enough. “I… Love… You… So… Scared”

She held him close, her child, the frightened boy who had always tried to be brave and stand alone. She breathed words of comfort, soothing him in a way that only a mother could. His jerking breaths settled as the tears dried and set on his cheeks.

It was a closeness they hadn’t had for a long time. The last time had swept his world from under his feet, losing his father with no warning had been beyond comprehension. In that moment he felt he’d lost everything, as did she — leaving the life she had created to run away, or seek a new beginning, he’d never been able to distinguish. The abandonment had hit him twofold, sending him spiralling back into a routine of nighttime terrors and daylight numbness.

She loosened her grip and smoothed his hair, glancing down at his bowed head. Still so vulnerable as a grown man. Noticing the book she had handed him only hours before, and instinctively knowing that he hadn’t looked at it, she took her moment and placed it on his lap. The book opened to the centre fold, almost springing to life of its own accord.

The page was awash with colour, all shades bleeding into one another harmoniously, curling into a fusion of swirls where the inks had met and danced around one another. Threads had been woven through the textured paper like veins feeding the very substance of the book. He focused on the playful strokes, feeling a warmth rising from within. It was in direct contrast to his own horrifying creation, an antidote to his darkness. He could sense the love it held.

She had rarely been able to find words in moments of raw emotion, but somehow this said more than a voice ever could. Just in this moment he felt loved.

The sun’s rays shone through the net curtains. The motes of dust visible as the light caught them. Swirling in their own happy dance. Stirred slightly by the gentle wagging of Lotti’s tail. She blinked, signed, licked her lips and settled down to nap on her rug at the back of the boat. A rumbling in his stomach snapped him back to consciousness. He’d been lost staring at her, so peaceful in her sleep. It was time to sort something to eat.

He called out to his mother. “I’m just going to pop to the shop for some food. Would you like anything?”
Not wishing to burden her with his appetite too, and knowing she never really had quite what he wanted; a fry up, he set off to the shop.
He hadn’t noticed Lotti spark back into life at the mention of food. He’d just stepped out of the door before she came stumbling, running and half flying towards him. Crashing into his legs and knocking him off balance. Huffing and stamping her feet impatiently. “Oh it’s like that is it? I suppose you’d better come along too then missy!”

She’d made a quick thinking move and had her lead in her month and kept a fierce hold of it in the commotion she’d caused. But he wasn’t allowed it yet. Nope. She was quite capable of taking herself on a walk. In fact. Today she would take him. He’d just managed a grip on the lead. Hunched over her and struggling to walk along side but defiant in his need to be in some seeming control. He just managed to free the clip and attached it to her collar. She trotted happily with her tail held high with her hero in tow.

It took some time walking awkwardly like this; one time the lead slipping from his grasp followed by a game of “Chase me! Chase me!”. But they reached the express supermarket. What luck! There was bacon, sausage and baked beans in the reduced section. With his hunger and a quick glance at Lotti, now tied outside, he was confident he could eat it all. He got his Mum a scratch card too. She always got them when he was a kid. He wanted to get her something despite the polite refusals.

He paid and walked out with a bag rather more full than just a fry-up would be. Lotti almost desperate now would not stand still long enough to untie her easily and he had to plop the bag onto the floor. Orange juice making a sloshing sound. Lotti’s head was straight into it giving it a good sniff; enabling her release. He heard a soft pat behind him and glanced to see the notebook his mother had reunited with him had fallen onto the slightly damp pavement. Open to the blast of colour. Only this time, out in the daylight it seemed brighter. It was so bright that his fingers cast a shadow on the shop glass behind him. Lotti barked playfully as he scooped it up into his hand.

He struggled with the shopping bag and lead, whilst quickly stuffing the soggy notebook back into his pocket. He hadn’t realised that he’d brought it out with him and couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, as he tended to think was its way. Distracted by his thoughts and the damp sensation spreading through his trouser pocket, his grip loosened, which Lotti took as a sign of freedom. She lurched forward excitedly with enough force to release herself entirely. In one swift movement the shopping was flung into the air and Lotti was away.

She darted uncharacteristically back towards the tow path in apparent panic, showing no concern for the traffic around — albeit light. In a split second he was chasing after her, yelling her name. The contents of the shopping bag strewn across the pavement and juice trickling through the cracks in the tarmac and dripping into the roadside gutters.

Reaching the tow path he had lost sight of her, but instinctively felt that he knew where to run. The path was quiet and still, so he was all the more aware of his heavy breathing and the weight of each footstep, as it sent stinging shocks up to his knees. He could feel the blood pumping through his lungs, so much so he could taste iron when he swallowed. Darting off the main path he was on familiar territory.

He hadn’t ventured into the leafy glade since he was a child. It was where he used to play and make dens. He’d created characters and stories in the safety of his own imaginary world; a place where he had felt more alive than in his assigned reality.

He slowed his pace as he approached a collection of fallen branches that had once formed a rudimentary shelter. Slowly he peered around the small structure. There she was, calmly looking up at him with a softly wagging tail, as if she knew something he didn’t.

It was still relatively dry inside despite the dew on the ground around. Inside was scraped clean of vegetation and a roll mat was propped up in a loose roll. The string that used to tie it lay on the ground nearby, snapped.

A mud smeared photo caught his eye. A family gathering at Christmas was barely possible to make out. He carefully picked it up and wiped away the dirt with his thumb. Through the fresh smudge he could now see all the smiling faces and what used to be bright Christmas jumpers. A once treasured possession now discarded. He popped it back where he found it. Well, almost; he’d propped it up on end to keep it from soaking up any more water.

He could see by how Lotti settled here she had been her several times before. Perhaps in nights she’d run off. He saw her nuzzling in the corner. But with a deft flick of her head she dislodged a black bobble hat. Ruined by the dirt and leaves it’d been dragged through over time. But it was unmistakably HIS hat. From those years ago. He’d forgotten how often she’d stolen her trophy and hidden it in her bed when she’s been with him. He was wearing it when he found her.

He didn’t have long to reminisce as a game of Chase me was commencing. Lotti stood in a pounce position. Hind legs straight with her chest almost on the floor between two wide front legs. Her tail began to sway from side to side. He gently reached fit the hat. Which was met with a brief huff and a blur of dog hair as she charged out of the shelter and past him. The game was on! A few lunges and ring runs later Lotti sniffed into the wind; sneezing. This set her off tail between her legs as she bottom scoot ran through the long dew covered grass. Charging all around in a wide circle. Dropping and picking up the hat as if it was alive. Panting later she sidled up alongside him and dropped her prize at his feet, and set about chomping on some of the fresh grass. Uh-oh!