Crossword

She wanted to call her sister at once to tell her that she was wrong, and she didn’t feel at all better when she was in the air. When she landed and her sister arrived to collect her, she would tell her what a liar she really was.

Her sister had said her hands would stop shaking once they'd taken off, but they didn’t. She’d said her palpations would subside. They didn’t. Her sister had even told her that she would be so calm, she’d even be able to gaze out of the window. But since Malorie had kept her eyes clamped shut since sitting in her seat, the only thing she’d seen thus far was blackness.

The plane hit a small pocket of clouds and lurched stiffly upwards. Malorie yelped and bounced in her seat, and shock opened her eyes for her. She heard an unfamiliar male voice on an intercom telling her all was well, but it didn’t feel like all was well at all.

“Apologies folks. Just a little turbulence in the air tonight, but the seat belt signs are now off, and we are cruising at around thirty-two thousand feet.”

“Apologies?” Malorie said to herself spitefully. “He’ll be apologising when he crashes the damn thing.”

Outside her window, they cruised through the endless dark. No stars could be seen. Below, Malorie made out the muddy marmalade glow of some non-descript city. It didn’t interest her. She slid the shutter down and once she had control of her breathing, Malorie finally let herself look around the plane.

It was incredibly quiet.

She’d never seen a flight so quiet, even at midnight. However, she wasn’t really the one to judge.

She planted her feet firmly in front of her to try and stabilize the shaking in her legs. She took a deep breath, held it for ten seconds, and then let it out with a hollow whistle. She wondered why the flight was so empty. She hoped the rest of the travelers didn’t know something she didn’t. Was something wrong with the plane? Was London a hot spot for something? A target or an attack? She felt her hand shake again as she opened her bottle of water and took her sleeping pill quickly. Her hand shook a little more. Before she could think any more about it, she decided another sleeping pill would take the edge off. She swallowed it fast and washed it down before she had time to second-guess herself.

She sat back and reclined her seat, confident she wouldn’t upset another passenger; there was no one behind her after all, or in front of her for that matter. She took out her crossword book and waited for the pills to work their familiar artificial magic.

As she began to doze, someone made a noise behind her.

She heard it clearly through the thrum of the engine. Like a cough, or a gasp. She looked behind at the rows of empty seats. There was no one there. She watched over the rows for a moment. Then came the noise again. Like a wheeze or a sneer.

“Hello?” she called.

There came no reply. She turned back to her seat with a grimace. She settled back and shut her eyes and tried to calm herself.

"Hello." Someone said back from behind her.

Malorie sat forward quickly. She turned again and surveyed the empty rows. Her neck prickled with goosebumps.

"Who is that?" She snapped, "picking on an old woman."

Her heart fluttered dully in her chest and her arm pulsed quickly. She became hot with worry. A heart attack, she thought, it has to be. Just my luck. Her sister had told her that blood clots are customary on long-haul flights, especially in women of a certain age. That was all she needed. She sat down again to calm herself and rolled her arm around a little and the fluttering subsided.

“This won’t do,” she said to herself. “What am I even paying for?”

She pressed a button above her that was stamped with a little drink.

Her seat was far too big. Malorie looked at the off-purple leather that tipped the headrest. It curved around her like giant wings, and she was stuck in the belly of it like it were some gaudy, pastel-colored coffin. Behind her, Malorie thought she heard something rustling, but the seat was so deep she struggled to turn and look.

No wonder the damn thing is empty, she thought.

She opened her crossword book. She smelt acrid plastic and cursed herself for buying the cheapest magazine. She started to read over the prompts, but the words began to shift and sway on the page. She looked at her hand. Her thin, old skin rippled in a similar way. She sighed, perhaps even smiled and as the world oozed and wobbled around her, she closed her eyes.

Before she could finally find sleep a voice came from beside her. “Evening ma’am. Can I get you anything, ma’am?”

Malorie opened her eyes, coldly. “You took your time. A pillow, please. This chair is far too big for me. How will I sleep?”

The stewardess smiled and her perfect white teeth shone in the dim. “Sure. Anything else? Blanket perhaps?”

“Pillow first,” Malorie said. “I don’t want to wake up in London with a neck that’s half-broke.”

The Stewardess kept smiling.

“Is your phone on that 'airplane mode'?” Malorie asked suspiciously. “It better be. You could fry the whole engine.”

The Stewardess nodded politely. “It is, ma’am.”

Malorie nodded staunchly. “There’s some slob coughing his guts up behind me. You should see to that while you're at it. They keep shouting things.”

The Stewardess kept smiling. Her eyes didn’t move. “Certainly ma’am. I’ll be right on it. Anything else-”

“The pillow. Please,” Malorie said and the fluttering in her chest grew a little more prominent. “I’ll break my neck sleeping like this. I really don’t want my sister collecting me from Heathrow in a coffin.”

“She won’t,” said the Stewardess, “And ma’am? I really hope you enjoy London.”

Malorie nodded in approval. “Quite. I’m going to see my sister. Hence why I need to rest. I hate to fly. But I will for her. I’m to be her guest for a while.”

“Lucky her,” said the Stewardess plainly.

Malorie looked at her sternly. The Stewardess’s smile had changed slightly, but Malorie couldn’t pinpoint what was different.

“My pillow,” Malorie said.

“Certainly ma’am.”

“I hate flying, girl. Perhaps be a little more accommodating to someone who doesn’t fly well, hmm?”

“I’ll be right back, and we’ll make sure you’re comfortable," the Stewardess said.

“Thank you. Wasn’t hard, was it?”

The Stewardess stood with another perfect smile and made her way along the aisle and out of sight. Malorie shook her head and looked back at her crossword.

Finally, a small, warm calm washed over her. Her body felt a little lighter. Her pills were working and soon a gentle weight came over her body. She took up her pen and turned the first white glossy page whilst she waited for sleep to fully take hold. It reminded her of the Stewardess’s perfect teeth.

She read the first clue.

UK’s capital city. Six letters.

Malorie half-smiled at the irony. She thought abstractly about red buses and Big Ben and men in red coats with long fluffy hats and her sister waiting for her at the terminal. Eventually, she wrote LONDON with solitary pride. She scanned over to the next clue and felt her pride abate.

She frowned.

“Centre for storing bodies awaiting autopsy," she said to herself with disgust, "6 letters. How crass.” With an indignant scoff, she made to write her answer.

“Morgue.” A voice said, behind her.

Malorie jumped.

She swung round, red-faced, and peered about the gloomy rows behind her. Malorie turned back to her crossword and wondered if it was her sleeping pills. Her heart fluttered in her chest again. She didn’t write the answer. Instead, she turned again, curiously scanning the empty seats, looking for something.

She saw no one. She went back to her book.

“Grating or rough. Irritating in manner. Eight letters.”

She smiled in victory as she took up her pen.

“Abrasive,” came a shout from behind her.

It was certainly a man. The voice was weak and stilted. Malorie turned again, and her eyes crackled with quiet fury.

"Why don't you mind your own business?" She said curtly, "I'll have the girl over to see you when she gets back."

She scanned row after row of identical purple chairs. They were all empty.

Apart from one.

Finally, she saw him. A Man, looking at her through the gloomy crack of one of the empty seats, about ten rows away. He was crouched on the floor, his face level with the armrests. She could hardly make him out. His face was long and smooth and his eyes glistened like wet stones.

Malorie turned away and felt her face blush. She wriggled down into the chair nervously so he wouldn’t see her. She felt her hand begin to tremor.

“Stupid,” Malorie said to herself. “Doing that to a woman on her own.”

Malorie went back to her book, patting away the rising heat on her cheeks, and looked for the next clue. She grimaced.

“Short-handed axe,” she said gently. “Seven letters.”

Before she could lift her pen, there came the same stilted voice from behind her.

“Hatchet.” It was more of a whisper. Much closer.

Malorie didn’t turn. She couldn’t. Behind her, she heard fumbling and rustling as if someone were standing. Malorie reached up and pressed the button above her. She pressed it and pressed it and pressed it. She looked ahead, along the walkway that eventually disappeared into darkness at the front of the plane, and wished that the Stewardess would return sometime soon.

She heard footsteps behind her.

Then, she heard the odd wheezing noise. It sounded again, only closer this time.

Malorie didn’t look. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She made to get up. If the silly girl won’t come, I’ll just have to find her, she thought, someone needs to know about this tramp harassing me.

She held the armrests, but her body was so sedated with artificial immobility that she didn’t even manage to lift herself. She fell back into the deep chair. Her eyes suddenly drifted closed. She fought back and tried to hold them open, but they were heavy with sleep.

“Where is that girl?” Malorie muttered.

She looked around again and spied where she’d seen the Man. The spot was empty. Just rows and rows of identical seating. She let herself sigh in a small show of relief, but it was short-lived. Almost by accident, as she was turning away, she spotted that cold face again, much closer, peering through the slit in the seats a few rows behind her.

She turned and took a few controlled breaths. Her lungs throbbed and her throat wobbled.

“Where is that girl?” She whispered. She jabbed the service button, hard.

To distract herself, she took up her crossword again with shaking hands and choosing carefully not to re-tread those horrid questions, chose a row at the bottom of the grid.

She squinted against the page, which was starting to warp in and out of focus and read the clue.

It was after she’d read it that she began to feel something was wrong.

"Act of cutting the limbs off a human (or animal). 9 letters." She could hardly believe what she was reading. She suddenly felt ill and tried to sit up, but her body was held on the precipice of sleep. She was too heavy. She couldn't work herself as she normally would.

She wobbled on the edge of her seat. She held the armrest weakly. She slowly reached up and pressed the service button. It glowed back at her. The stewardess didn’t come. She pressed it again.

She felt her pen shaking in her hand. She didn’t dare write an answer. Instead, she listened to the ambient humming of the plane and waited. She heard only the low whirring of the aircraft. She heard her own breathing start to quieten. Another few minutes passed. Nothing came but the whirring and whistling of the aircraft mid-flight.

Her eyes were unbearably heavy and finally she let her eyelids slide closed. Her breathing began to fall into the rhythm of natural automation. It was rather peaceful for a moment.

She thought it must have been the new brand of pills.

I'm hallucinating like a junkie, she thought. She heard footsteps grow nearer and groggily readied herself to tell that young girl how to do her job.

“Dismember.”

It was the same voice, behind her. She felt breath on her neck.

She opened her eyes with great difficulty, it was all she could do, and tried to turn her head. Someone moved into one of the rows behind her. Her chest began to flutter. Her throat grew tight.

“Dismember,” whispered the voice.

Malorie felt her throat burn and tears welled in her eyes.

“Help,” she said weakly.

She tried to press the button again, but her arms were leaden, and she couldn’t raise them. She felt the world begin to swim around her. For the first time in her life, she fought against the pull of sleep. The edges of her vision began to arc and melt.

She tried to sit forward. Her body wouldn’t comply. She was sinking into the seat. Darkness was snapping at her eyes. She heard someone moving behind her.

“Girl,” she spat, feebly, but her voice was nothing but a whisper, “help me, girl. He's...” Her tongue gave out.

She looked at the service button above her. It glowed yellow, waiting to be answered.

In front of her, from the long dark channel between the seats, came no Stewardess. She called out to her sister, but she was in London. If she could have regained control of her hands, she would have turned off airplane mode and called her. But her hands only twitched and swayed limply on her lap.

“Help,” she said.

Her eyes began to seal themselves shut. She slowly sat forward and took a drink of water to bring about some vigor, but it did very little but spill down her front. She tried to stand again, but she was so weighted that she felt numb and not in control of herself.

She heard someone breathing, and her hair moved gently. She thought perhaps that the breathing had been there for longer than she’d noticed, covered up by the roar of the engine. She clutched her pen in her hand.

That was the final defence.

A shape moved in the aisle beside her.

"There you are," she mumbled, half-conscious, "girl, help me."

Her eyes floated open and closed and the world before her was askew and distorted. She couldn't quite make out the form beside her. Her head wobbled. She could just about see the crossword, splayed open before her.

London. She thought.

Her eye’s closed and there were soft footsteps somewhere and a clink of something metallic. She felt herself sinking into the chair, gently.

More footsteps. She hoped it was the Stewardess.

Hatchet, she thought.

She heard a Man breathing beside her. She heard someone unzip something.

Her eye’s flashed open and shut. She groaned. Her head became thick and weightless.

"Girl," she whispered, "my sister is expecting me at the terminal."

Between her laboured blinks she glimpsed the magazine, splayed across her knee, and through the whirwind of blurred vision, she caught sight of another prompt.

Person who kills three or more people in a similar style or way. (Two words).

She didn’t know the answer to that one.

Her head began to roll on her shoulders, and she fought it as best she could. From her fading vision she saw a shape pass her and settle beside her. She strained her eyes open one final time and saw a Man sat on her row, across the aisle from her.

He had a thin, smooth face. His eyes glinted in the dark. He held his hands on his knees in perfect stillness. There was a small bag at his feet, and something poked out of it. She couldn't see what.

He didn’t move. She felt for her pen, but she couldn’t find it.

“I don’t know this one.” She said to him. The Man didn’t move. "What is it?"

She couldn’t see much anymore. She reached to press the button above her but couldn’t find it. She laid back and the world began to go dark. The Man opposite her began to move.

London.

Her eye’s closed, finally. She thought about her sister waiting for her at the terminal. She felt her body give in and become totally weightless. She half-dreamed of red buses. Her arm fell across her knee, and she heard her pen fall to the floor. The sound reminded her of spindles of wood.

Hatchet. She thought.

A red hatchet painted on the side of a red bus. In London.

“I don’t know that one,” she whispered to no one.

She heard footsteps coming towards her.

Dismember, she thought finally. She didn’t know why. What a funny word, she thought.

Dismember, she thought, and couldn’t even remember why she thought it. Everything turned into nothing, and she felt light as air. She felt like she was flying. In a way she was. She grinned drunkenly at the irony.

Someone sat beside her, but she didn't react. She was so comfortable in that big deep chair. London was the only thing she thought about as she fell asleep and waited for her sister at the terminal.