Paul Conners opened his eyes and blinked in the harsh white light. The room came into focus. He was on a hospital ward, his mother at his bedside.

At the realisation he was in hospital, the flash of memory and a wave of pain wracked his body.

‘You’re awake, finally. Thank goodness.’ His mother said, smiling with relief.

‘What happened? What am I doing here? he asked.

‘You fell off the ladder while fixing the guttering. The doctors say they will need to do tests. Here, drink this.’ 

She handed him a cup of water. As he sipped the water, he tried to recall the accident. He had been repairing the guttering at the house he shared with his parents. That sounded vaguely familiar but everything was hazy. Everything felt fuzzy. He felt drunk and yet hung-over at the same time. 

He was still trying to put his memory in order a few minutes later, when his father came on to the ward, carrying two cups of vending-machine tea. He placed the cups down on the bedside cabinet and swallowed back the lump in his throat. The joy at his son gaining consciousness was all over his face.

‘You’ve decided to wake up then? We never could get you out of bed in a morning.’ His father laughed.

Paul winced as he laughed along.

‘And don’t worry, my ladders were not damaged in the fall.’ His dad added with a grin.

A couple of days later, Paul was discharged from hospital. The doctor told him to book an appointment with this G.P, and gave him a course of pills to help with the headaches. 

When he returned to work a week later, he was presented with a Get Well Soon card and a box of fancy chocolates. For Paul, it was just nice to get back to normal. He was still getting these awful headaches. They would only last for a few moments, but he found them terrifying. When the attacks would come on, he would see flashing colours and lights, the world would spin sickeningly around him. The doctors assured him this was all perfectly normal, and would pass in time. Paul hoped that would be soon.

A few weeks later Paul met up with his work-mates for a night out. He joined them in a city-centre bar. There was a good crowd of them and Paul knew it would be a good night. They started off in a nice little pub. They would no doubt end the evening in a busy bar with club music blaring out. 

The pub was just the perfect place. It had a decent selection of beer, and Irish music playing at a volume the punters could actually hear each other talk. Paul never really took to those bars where the music was so loud that it could be heard on the street outside, and where conversation was impossible. 

Paul headed to the bar for another drink. He leaned on the bar, waiting to be served by the busy barman. He sang along with the Irish song as he waited. The woman next to him rolled her eyes in disapproval. She was around the same age as him, somewhere in her mid-twenties, and had shoulder-length dark hair. Paul gave her a grin.

‘You don’t like the music?’ he asked.

‘I hate it.’ 

‘Irish music is the best.’ Paul replied.

‘I just can’t abide it.’ she said.

‘Really?’

‘My family is Irish. I’ve had this music in my ears all my life.’ she said.

‘I hear you.’

When he asked if he could buy her a drink, she agreed, but insisted she bought the next round.

‘That’s a deal.’ Paul said.

‘I’m Sinead.’ she said.

In the weeks that followed, Paul and Sinead met up regularly. He had never hit it off with anyone like this before. They had the same sense of humour and seemed to be as smitten with him. She was disinterested in her Irish roots, but Paul found it all fascinating, revelling in his new girlfriend’s heritage. And, as much as Sinead disagreed, he would insist that the Irish had the best music in the world. 

The headaches would still come on, and Sinead would take care of him until they passed. He saw the doctor regularly and his medication dosage was increased.

At their wedding two years later, a lot of Irish music was played. Paul picked his favourite Irish tunes, which went down very well with Sinead’s family, especially the relatives who had come over to the wedding from the old country. Sinead’s mother Esther, had been delighted when she found out her new son-in-law had an affection for their heritage. 

After the wedding, Paul and Sinead moved into a small rented flat in inner-city Salford. The tiny flat was cramped and was basic, but it was theirs. 

Just over six-months later, Sinead announced she was pregnant. Paul was delighted. And when their little girl was born, it just made their lives and their family complete. Paul and Sinead worked hard for their young family. Life wasn’t always easy, trying to juggle money, time, and family and work commitments, but they did the best they could. They had each other, and it was their family unit against the world. 

Sure enough, they were rewarded with another little girl.

Their two young daughters were a handful, neither of them seemed to sleep through the night. Paul and Sinead would function on little or no sleep. There was more chance of winning the lottery than either of them having a lie-in. But it was all worth it. The family life was worth every sacrifice they made.

When their eldest daughter was about to turn six years old, Sinead spotted a terraced house up for sale. The home was in a more pleasant part of town, and the garden at the back would be perfect for the kids to play in. 

Having done the sums and checked what the local schools were life, Paul agreed. They went to the bank, filled in all the forms, contacted estate agents and did all the other complicated bits so that the move would happen.

They moved into the creaking old, terraced house, the kids enjoying exploring the high-ceilinged rooms. Their younger daughter declared it was a mansion. Paul laughed saying it was hardly that. Sinead insisted it would be a mansion by the time they were done with the place. 

As they were carrying the last of the boxes containing their belongings into the narrow hallway, Paul was hit by one of his headaches. As the pain hit, he crumpled to the carpet, hands over his eyes. He hadn’t had an attack for almost eighteen months.

Sinead told the girls to get daddy a glass of water. As he sipped the cold water and swallowed back the pills, he took deep breaths and tried to clear his head. 

‘It must be the stress of the move.’ Paul said. 

Paul, Sinead and the girls settled quickly into their new home. The old terraced house became theirs and they soon filled the house with memories and routine. The girls were even asking if they could get a dog. Paul simply shrugged, saying with a grin that they would have to talk their mother round on that one.

When they were stashing some boxes in the loft, Paul and Sinead discovered that the old occupants, a couple in their late sixties, had left some junk of their own, boxed up and tucked away in the attic. 

Paul rummaged through the boxes and boxes of stuff the Carters had left behind. The estate agent had mentioned something about having to clear out the loft.

‘Look at all this stuff.’ Sinead said. ‘We might need to hire a skip.’

‘If we do, we’ll be passing the bill on to them.’ Paul grumbled.

With the kids helping in the way that only children can, they set about going through the boxes left behind. There was all sorts of stuff, a lot of tatt, old newspapers and magazines, dog-eared yellow-paged paperback books. Most of the stuff would be thrown out. They would have to clear the space to make room for their own things. A family had to have space to store their own junk. 

The next few weeks were spent sorting through the Carters’ unwanted items and taking to the rubbish dump what they did not want to keep.

The girls enjoyed mucking in, taking boxes and bags out to the car, loading it up, and then the satisfaction of throwing the rubbish in the tip, and it crashed and clanked, joining the rest of the junk. 

There were some rarities in amongst all the rubbish. Paul and Sinead would be hanging on to some of the items. They would keep a selection of Beatles LPs from the 1960s and a tea-pot set emblazoned with an ornate Oriental dragon pattern.

After a trip to the tip with a car-full of rubbish, Paul called to Sinead asking if she would like a cup of tea. She called down from the loft-space, saying she would love a brew. 

‘Come on down, I’ll put the kettle on.’ He replied.

Wiping the dirt from his hands on the edge of his t-shirt, he went through to the kitchen. What he was next stopped him in his tracks. He reeled in shock. 

There was something on the work-top, next to the kettle. The item made his blood run cold. The thing just filled him with dread. 

It was a plastic water jug with a blue lid. 

Sinead appeared beside him, wondering what he was doing, simply standing in the doorway. 

‘Are you okay, hun? Is it another head-ache?’ she asked.

Paul shook his head, pointing with trembling fingers to the water jug.

‘Where did you get that?’ he asked.

‘The jug? It was in a box in the loft. I thought we could use it for the girls’ juice or something.’ she said.

‘I don’t like it.’ Paul said.

He took a seat at the kitchen table, staring at the jug, unable to take his eyes from it. There was something captivating, yet utterly terrifying about the jug. He couldn’t explain it.

There was something so sinister, malevolent somehow, about the plastic jug with the blue lid.

Sinead gently took the seat next to him.

‘It’s just a jug, love. If you don’t like it, we will throw it away.’ She said.

Paul said nothing, eyes fixed on the jug. 

‘I think you need to go back to the doctors. Maybe they can change your medication.’ Sinead said.

While Paul went for a lie-down, Sinead took the next load of rubbish to the tip, including, she insisted, the water jug.

Paul lay in bed, eyes closed, trying to relax, trying not to dwell on the strange jug, and the hold it seemed to have over him.

Sinead softly woke him up, smiling, asking if he felt any better. Paul sat up and took a deep breath. Yes, he did feel better. Maybe he had just been tired. Maybe trying to get the house sorted had taken more of a toll than he had realised. Maybe that was why something so random had weirded him out.

‘I’m sorry about all this. You must think I’m crazy, being spooked by something as random as a jug. I just can’t explain it.’ Paul said.

‘Don’t worry about it. Things are strange in a new house, and a loft full of other people’s stuff. Anyway, I’ve thrown the jug away so we’re good now. Are you getting up and I’ll make you a cup of tea?’ Sinead replied.

‘You’re making me a brew? That’s a rare occasion. Do you need the recipe?’ Paul said.

‘Very funny. Get yourself downstairs before I change my mind.’ she said.

Paul joined Sinead in the kitchen. As she poured the tea, she pointed to the cupboard.

‘I’m making the tea, you can grab the biscuits.’

He nodded and opened the cupboard. He stared in shock and confusion. Crammed in the cupboard next to the packets of biscuits, was the water jug. Sinead had assured him she had taken it to the tip.  

He turned to ask her how the jug could have ended up in the cupboard if she had thrown it out, as promised. His vision was suddenly blurry. The world spun around him as though he was on a fairground ride. He reached out to the worktop in front of him to steady himself but it faded away to nothing.

Then everything went black.

He opened his eyes, blinking as the harsh light startled his eyes. He looked around in confusion. He was in a hospital bed, his mother at his bedside.

‘You’re awake, finally. Thank goodness.’ She said.

‘What happened? Was it the headaches?’ Paul asked.

‘You were fixing the guttering. You had a fall. The doctors say you may be concussed.’ his mother replied.

‘Where are Sinead and the girls? He asked. Do they know I’m in hospital?’ asked Paul.

‘I don’t know who you are talking about. Are you feeling okay, love?’ she replied.

‘My wife and kids.’ He insisted, feeling himself start to panic.

‘You’re not married, and I don’t have any grandchildren. I think I’d remember a detail like that.’ His mother said.

‘Here, drink this.’ She said, handing him a cup of water.

As he reached for the cup, he saw it.

On the bedside cabinet was a plastic water jug with a blue lid.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom