Read Online Nails In A Coffin (Demi Reynolds Book 1) by Luis Samways - Free Book Online
Authors: Luis Samways
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total. Three of them filled with what sounded like nine-inch nails. Obviously, one cannot hear what size nails they may be, but to Demi, nine-inch nails were the only plausible way to go. Especially with the drilling. Needing a hole that big and deep could only mean big iron nails. And the fact that they were drilling the holes and then hammering the nails in meant that they didn’t want the coffin opened again. The nails wouldn’t be coming out easily. They wouldn’t be coming out at all.
The drilling stopped. Another sliver of light. It was likely the last bit of light she’d see. She hung on to it for a long while. It illuminated her left trainer. It shone bright white. She could feel the slight heat coming through the tiny beam. But then it was gone, and darkness returned. Another lot of hammering. She could hear the nail going in. The walls beside her were creaking and moaning, but then silence was all that followed.
No more hammering. No more drilling. No more creaking.
The final nail in the coffin was in.
Fourteen
The alarm clock read 8:15 a.m. Hamish got up and stretched. He was a big man. He had big arms and a big head. So getting out of bed in his small bedroom was a challenging experience. The challenge in it was attempting to leave the room without knocking anything over. On many an occasion, Hamish managed to do just that. But today was different. Today, Hamish found himself knocking into almost everything. The bedside table. The dresser drawer. The mirror and the pile of clothes his mother put out for him a week ago.
As he stumbled out of his small and cosy bedroom into the hallway, he even managed to knock one of his mother’s owl paintings off the wall. It slipped out of the bracket and rattled on the floor. Luckily for him, the fall was broken by a pile of towels outside the bathroom. He held his breath and waited for the inevitable cry from his mother.
“Hamish! Stop bumbling around up there and come down for your breakfast!” he heard his mother say. She must have been in the kitchen. He would always find her there. Cooking. Listening to the radio. Usually BBC Radio 2. She wasn’t into the more catchy and poppy stations.
“I’ll be there in a jiffy, Mother,” he found himself saying, forcing the words out in tiredness. He was always like that in the morning. Hard to communicate with. He was the sort of fellow that enjoyed waking up at two o’clock in the afternoon. But unfortunately for him, today was a work day, and his boss, Donny the Hat, wouldn’t appreciate him strolling in at two in the afternoon. He touched his face as he walked into the bathroom and started to pee. The sound of his urine hitting the water always made him smile. He was a gentle beast, although when provoked could be as mean as the rest of them. But Hamish differed from the rest. He was a forgiving soul. Too forgiving, as his boss would usually tell him. Maybe they were right. Hamish caught himself looking at his reflection in the mirror. He had flushed the water and was now washing his hands. But his reflection was what he was most interested in. The scar on his face was still there. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he wished it away, it would only get more purple and foreboding as the days went on.
He forgave his boss for hurting him. His mother didn’t. But he understood that sometimes he was clumsy and needed a telling-off. He was a big buffoon, at least that’s what he was used to hearing.
He stopped staring at himself in the mirror and got to drying his hands. He made his way out of the bathroom and back into the hallway. He noticed that he was in his pyjamas, so he was safe to go downstairs and confront his mother. He once forgot and went down in his boxers. No top, just boxers. His mother didn’t find it acceptable, and made him go upstairs and change into something more befitting a breakfast occasion with his elderly mother.
Hamish’s big hands caressed the wooden banisters as he made his way
The drilling stopped. Another sliver of light. It was likely the last bit of light she’d see. She hung on to it for a long while. It illuminated her left trainer. It shone bright white. She could feel the slight heat coming through the tiny beam. But then it was gone, and darkness returned. Another lot of hammering. She could hear the nail going in. The walls beside her were creaking and moaning, but then silence was all that followed.
No more hammering. No more drilling. No more creaking.
The final nail in the coffin was in.
Fourteen
The alarm clock read 8:15 a.m. Hamish got up and stretched. He was a big man. He had big arms and a big head. So getting out of bed in his small bedroom was a challenging experience. The challenge in it was attempting to leave the room without knocking anything over. On many an occasion, Hamish managed to do just that. But today was different. Today, Hamish found himself knocking into almost everything. The bedside table. The dresser drawer. The mirror and the pile of clothes his mother put out for him a week ago.
As he stumbled out of his small and cosy bedroom into the hallway, he even managed to knock one of his mother’s owl paintings off the wall. It slipped out of the bracket and rattled on the floor. Luckily for him, the fall was broken by a pile of towels outside the bathroom. He held his breath and waited for the inevitable cry from his mother.
“Hamish! Stop bumbling around up there and come down for your breakfast!” he heard his mother say. She must have been in the kitchen. He would always find her there. Cooking. Listening to the radio. Usually BBC Radio 2. She wasn’t into the more catchy and poppy stations.
“I’ll be there in a jiffy, Mother,” he found himself saying, forcing the words out in tiredness. He was always like that in the morning. Hard to communicate with. He was the sort of fellow that enjoyed waking up at two o’clock in the afternoon. But unfortunately for him, today was a work day, and his boss, Donny the Hat, wouldn’t appreciate him strolling in at two in the afternoon. He touched his face as he walked into the bathroom and started to pee. The sound of his urine hitting the water always made him smile. He was a gentle beast, although when provoked could be as mean as the rest of them. But Hamish differed from the rest. He was a forgiving soul. Too forgiving, as his boss would usually tell him. Maybe they were right. Hamish caught himself looking at his reflection in the mirror. He had flushed the water and was now washing his hands. But his reflection was what he was most interested in. The scar on his face was still there. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he wished it away, it would only get more purple and foreboding as the days went on.
He forgave his boss for hurting him. His mother didn’t. But he understood that sometimes he was clumsy and needed a telling-off. He was a big buffoon, at least that’s what he was used to hearing.
He stopped staring at himself in the mirror and got to drying his hands. He made his way out of the bathroom and back into the hallway. He noticed that he was in his pyjamas, so he was safe to go downstairs and confront his mother. He once forgot and went down in his boxers. No top, just boxers. His mother didn’t find it acceptable, and made him go upstairs and change into something more befitting a breakfast occasion with his elderly mother.
Hamish’s big hands caressed the wooden banisters as he made his way
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