The Dark Corner

South London – 1^st December, 1947 

David stood shivering, shielding from the rain as best he could on the cobbled doorstep, his duffle over-coat soaked while his shirt and trousers stuck saturated to his body. He pulled a single crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and studied the address that had been written down for him; 88 Blythe Crescent, London – Mrs Van Der Hagen. He double checked the front door he was stood in front of – the plaque said 88 and he was fairly certain he had made his way to the right street from the underground station. A large dollop of rain landed on the note in his hand, and the ink immediately started to blot as the drop soaked in. David placed the now damp crinkled paper back into his pocket, and knocked on the door of the Victorian property.  

After a short while he heard shuffling from inside, followed by the sound of someone fumbling with the lock. Eventually the door opened slightly, and an aging lady with glasses perched on the end of her nose peered through the gap, studying her visitor, a small cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth.  

“Can I help you, young man?”  

She had a strong accent which David presumed was Dutch given her name, and her voice matched the one he had heard on the phone the previous day.  

“Um, yes, hello. We spoke yesterday, about the room? I’m David.”  

The lady took a moment and continued to look the stranger on her doorstep up and down, before eventually smiling in recognition. She fully opened the door for him.  

“Ah, yes. David, it is a pleasure to meet you. Come in, quickly now, out of the rain.”  

David was relieved he had made it to the right guesthouse and stepped into the dry. Once inside the hallway he stood and waited for further direction. He was aware that he was dripping wet onto the floor, both from himself and from the sodden small brown suitcase he was holding. The pitiful case with absolutely everything he owned inside. He looked at his host, feeling anxious that she would be unhappy he was soiling her carpet with his wet shoes, and waited for her to speak once again. 

“Look at you, you’re wet through dear. Like a drowned rat … Now come with me into the pantry where you can remove your coat and place your satchel onto the table.” As she continued to smile at him, David couldn’t help but notice her crooked teeth, stained yellow which he guessed was from years of smoking. Dentistry had not been easy to come by during the war, and she had a look about her that suggested she had experienced some tough times.    

She shook her head and tutted to herself. “Your poor damned soul …”   

This took David by surprise. “Excuse me, but what did you just say?” 

“Beg your pardon dear?” 

“You said something to me, just then?” 

“Oh, I said you poor soul, you must be damn cold. Now come with me.”  

She beckoned him to follow her. As he walked the short distance through the dimly lit hallway to the kitchen, he looked around to acclimatise to new his surroundings. Mrs Van Der Hagen’s home was certainly old fashioned, decorated sometime long before the war. Both wars. Floral patterned wallpaper adorned the walls and was peeling off in almost every corner. The ceiling was tinted a dull yellow colour, cigarette stained no doubt as suggested by the dank smoky scent which hung within the house. When he arrived in the kitchen the landlady was already at the stove lighting the hob with a match. David had a strange feeling of unease, as he was almost certainly only a couple of steps behind her a moment ago. He felt a familiar and unwanted surge of anxiety.  

How long was I standing in the hallway?  

Time seemed to have skipped a beat, and a wave of panic washed over him. He became increasingly aware of his heightened breathing, and his right hand darted instinctively into his pocket. His fingers agitated as they caressed the bottle of pills he had left the hospital within the early hours of the morning. Mrs Van Der Hagen looked up from the stove across the room at him and blew out the match in her hand.  

“Everything alright dear? You look very pale.” 

“I …. I … just feel a little …” 

“Oh dear, sit down now. You’ve obviously had a long journey today and the rain has probably chilled you to your bones.”  

She walked across to him and pulled a stool out from underneath a rickety looking wooden table which sat in the middle of the kitchen. David stepped forward and sat down as he was commanded, placing his wet suitcase on the tabletop. He took a deep breath and began to calm himself, something which was becoming easier now he was off his feet. He remembered the circular breathing technique drilled into him in the hospital to help steady his nerves. A deep breath in through your nose, and then a slow release from your mouth while counting down from ten in your mind.  

Relax David, nice and calm …  

Mrs Van Der Hagen walked over to the sink and filled a large rusty looking grey kettle with water, before placing it onto the now burning stove.  

“So dear, a boy of your age, I presume you were a fighting man? A war hero?” 

David nodded his head as the word she had pronounced “Vaar” rang repeating through his mind, like an air raid siren. 

 “Yes Miss, I fought in the war. I had just turned eighteen in ‘39 before conscription was called.”   

She nodded her head at him. “You saw a lot of action I would bet? You have the troubled look of a young man who has witnessed far too much death in his short life so far. But you’re lucky to have come out the other side, no?”  

David closed his eyes momentarily and begrudgingly allowed images of the battlefields to flash through his mind. The same images that haunted him each night, or whenever he tried to sleep. He could almost smell the slippery bog of mud under his feet from the dozens of seemingly endless marches he had embarked on, and he could almost taste the sulphur of gunfire in the air around him. He quickly opened them, not wishing to appear crazy to his new host.  

But I’m cured now!? 

“I saw more than enough death for one hundred lifetimes,” he eventually replied. Trying to smile, trying to appear as normal as possible. He wanted to answer her questions as best he could so as not to displease her, but remembering the past was painful.  

“I’m sure you did dear. And don’t you worry. I’ve had many a war hero come through my door these last few years, while they find their feet and look for some work in the city. I’ll help you find your feet too.” She smiled back at him, baring her teeth once again which to David made her look many years older than she probably was.  

We all look older now though …  

“And what of these last couple of years dear? What have you been doing with yourself since Europe was liberated?”  

David struggled to find the words to honestly answer her and instead sat in silence. 

“Your call yesterday dear, it came from a hospital on the south-coast did it not?”  

David had known these questions would come, and he had tried to prepare himself to answer them on the train journey up. Even though he knew he was going to struggle to keep his emotions in check.  

“Yes, it did. I’m afraid I’ve been in and out of the hospital since I came back. Although my mother looked after me too when I was well enough to be at home.” He bowed his head and his eyes sunk low. “But she died this last time I was in there.” David looked at his wet shoes as he spoke, no longer able to maintain eye contact with his host as he began to choke up, his throat felt like it contracting.  

Breathe David, breathe … slow deep breaths.  

His fingers squeezed the small glass bottle of pills in his pocket like it was some kind of comforter. It’s not time for more medication yet David. He thought of his poor mother, widowed since the First World War, then subjected to watching her only son endure fits of madness following his return from the Second. David felt he was the one responsible for her death … the worry and shame I must have caused you mother. I’m sorry …  

“Oh, I am sad to hear that dear. There must be nothing worse for a young man than to lose the mother he suckled when a babe. I myself unfortunately bore no children, and it’s a regret I must live with now my husband is no longer with us.” The landlady paused for a short while, seemingly lost in her thoughts. “Perhaps this is why I open up my house for those who need to stay a while and find some comfort.” 

David tried to compose himself. “And for that I thank you Mrs Van Der Hagen. In fact, a mate of mine gave me your address and telephone number. He had been fighting out in Europe as well and was on the hospital ward with me until a few months ago.” When he spoke of his friend, David’s mood lifted a little. “He was planning on coming here after he was discharged. He said he’d been passed your name from another friend of his who had also been in the hospital before I arrived there. His name was Kenneth Mason. Did he stay here? Is he still here?” 

Mrs Van Der Hagen appeared to ponder his question for a short while before answering. “Ah yes, Kenneth Mason. A nice young man he was. I do recall he stayed here for a couple of weeks back in August, before he found work at the factory in Battersea and moved onto their digs. I can put you in touch with one of the foremen there tomorrow dear if you’re seeking employment? And perhaps you’ll see your friend there too.” 

David’s eyes lit up at the thought, “Yes, thank you so much. That really would be great.”  

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from behind David’s head. The unexpected noise sent a jolt of colour across his vision as he winced, and his eyes closed again. And as they closed, he was back on the battlefield once more. The rain pouring down on him as he stood ankle deep in the mud, barely able to lift his feet from the bog. He was surrounded by bodies on the floor while soldiers fired their weapons around him for as far as the eye could see. Above, dozens of planes were illuminating the sky with their own gunfire, and bombs were dropping. Exploding and firing deadly shrapnel into the air from the earth around him.  

David toppled forwards from the stool he was sat on, landing in a heap on the floor. He began to convulse; a fine foam began frothing from the corners of his mouth. He opened his eyes to find that Mrs Van Der Hagen had rushed forwards to him with her arms out.  

“David, are you ok?” 

His body stopped involuntarily shaking, and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He sat himself up and pulled out the bottle from his pocket, popping the lid and holding it to his mouth until two pills fell out. He crunched down on them, swallowing them dry.  

The landlady placed her hands on David’s shoulders. “There there, my dear. It’s only my cat. Soot’s knocked his bowl off the side again. Look.” 

David turned his head to see a large and rather ugly looking black cat purring on a side-table which was pressed up against the wall. On the floor a silver bowl lay upturned, milk spilled all around it. 

“I really should keep his bowl on the floor, but Soot loves sleeping up on the side there and I can’t help myself placing it by his nose for him to wake up to.” 

David pulled himself up and sat back down on the stool. He was ashamed, and sure that she would now see through his facade and order him to leave her house immediately. But instead, he was surprised to find her concerned and somewhat comforting.  

“You must have been involved in some horrible fighting while you were away. It still haunts you doesn’t it dear? Tell me, when did you come home? You were brought home early, weren’t you?”   

How does she know? 

David was taken aback but started recounting his story for her as if on autopilot. “I was captured by the Germans in France back in ’44. Held prisoner for many weeks … tortured for many weeks. When I was found by the Allies my mind was not what it was, the Nazis had slowly broken me. I was discharged and sent home to the psychiatric hospital in Gosport, close to where my mother lived.” 

The landlady tutted once again. “It must have been terrible for you dear. Tell me, what did they do to you? These Nazis?” 

David shook his head, “I can’t … I’m sorry.” 

“Never you mind dear, you’ll tell me when you’re good and ready.”  

David realised that he was choking up, his eyes welling with tears. 

Am I really ready to be out in the world again? 

“Now dear, the kettle will soon be boiled. Why don’t you take those wet shoes off, go into the living room and sit down next to my fire. Get yourself warm and dry on the outside and I’ll bring in a nice cup of tea to warm you inside.” 

David tried to smile at the kindness of his host, still fighting back tears, his throat heavy once again. “Thank you,” is all he could bring himself to say. 

“Now come dear, follow me.”  

*** 

Mrs Van Der Hagen grabbed David’s arm and pulled him from the stool, he couldn’t help thinking how strong she was for such a small lady. She led him through the kitchen and down a short flight of steps into the living area of her home. David surveyed the room. On the internal wall sat an impressively grand Inglenook fireplace, with a fire roaring inside. At the end of the room was a window which David assumed looked out into the rear garden. A rather tatty looking rug covered the middle of the floor, while a number of mis-matched armchairs faced towards the fire. At the far end of the fireplace sat a man reading a newspaper and smoking a pipe. He was much older than David, perhaps around the same age as Mrs Van Der Hagen – early fifties maybe with greying hair and a full beard. A smartly presented man wearing a suit, with medals pinned on his chest. He looked up when they entered the room and seemed to study David as he peered over the top of his paper.   

“Take a seat dear, any one you like. Get yourself nice and close to the fireplace which will have you dry in no time at all. I’ll bring your tea shortly.” And with that, Mrs Van Der Hagen turned and walked back up the steps to her kitchen, leaving David in the company of the man without offering any introduction.  

David watched her walk away, then turned. The man in the chair had now placed the newspaper on his lap and was studying David more intently. On a small table next to him sat a glass with what looked like scotch or brandy inside. David walked over to the chair closest to the fire, acknowledging the man as he did so with a nod of his head. He made himself as comfortable as he could, then turned back to the man whose eyes had not left him the whole time he had been settling into the armchair.  

“Um, hello sir. I’m David, I’ve just arrived here.” 

“Well, it’s my pleasure to meet you David, I’m Colonel Joseph Shaw. You look like you need to dry yourself off young man, you resemble a drowned rat …” 

David’s eyes widened. “That’s what she said. Mrs Van Der Hagen, the landlady.” 

“Did she now? Yes, the landlady indeed. Well, you sit nice and close to the fire and those clothes of yours will soon dry. Don’t get too close though …” The older man laughed to himself as he said this.  

David turned in his chair to face the fireplace, leant forward and began rubbing his hands together. He could feel the eyes of the man in the back of his head still. The momentary air of silence was only broken by the crackling in the hearth, along with the intermittent sound of the Colonel drawing on his pipe. Eventually he spoke again.  

“You have the look of a disturbed young man to me David. The war did not treat you well, did it?”  

David looked up at him. “Did it treat anyone well sir?”  

The Colonel took a long suck on his pipe, exhaling the smoke in David’s direction. “I’ve seen many a troubled young man come through this house,” he said. “Your kind are drawn to her, the landlady as you called her. Like moths to a flame.” He tipped his head to the fire as he said this and took another long draw on his pipe, this time swirling the smoke around in his mouth before exhaling.  

The Colonel’s eyes then darted to the bottom of the stairs at the entrance to the room. He placed the pipe down next to his glass before raising the newspaper to cover his face, as if to commence reading again. David turned his head to see Mrs Van Der Hagen standing there, a tray in her hand with a cup and saucer. Steam bellowed from the top of the cup. She smiled yet again, the smile that now somewhat troubled David each time he saw her. She walked across to where he was sitting and placed the tray down on a table beside him.  

“There you go dear, a nice cup of tea to warm you through. This will make everything feel better, trust me. I’ll leave you to drink that and I will come back when you’ve dried off. Then I’ll show you up to your room.” She glanced over to where the Colonel was sitting, twitching slightly as she did so. Then she turned away and left the room once more.  

The Colonel remained sitting, reading his paper. David picked up the cup of tea from the saucer and cradled it in both hands. The warmth felt comforting on his palms. Like the wallpaper in the hallway, the cup was floral patterned, and it reminded David of his mother. He brought it up to his mouth and inhaled the fumes as they rose into his nostrils. He placed his mouth to take a sip, and recoiled slightly as the liquid first touched his lips. It was boiling hot, despite the splash of milk that had been added to the brew. He lightly blew into the top and tried another sip, this time managing to take a small mouthful before placing the cup back down onto the saucer. All the while the fire continued crackling away in the hearth, emitting smoke into the chimney which coiled its way upwards like a snake.  

He turned back to the Colonel. “Have you been here long sir? I mean staying in Mrs Van Der Hagen’s house?” 

The Colonel lowered his paper so that he could see David over the top once again.  

“Oh yes David, I’ve been here for quite some time.”  

“You might have met my friend Kenneth then? He came here back in the summer. It was him that told me about this place.” 

The Colonel dropped his paper to his lap in a motion that startled David. The sound of machine gun fire flashed through his mind before disappearing as quickly as it had come.  

Ratatattat …  

He reached for the cup by his side; this time his hand was shaking and the cup clinked against the saucer a few times as he tried to lift it without spilling any tea. He once again blew on the top before taking another sip, this time able to take a larger mouthful.  

“Young Kenneth eh. You say he told you about this place?” 

David tried to compose himself once again, a constant battle. Breathe … “Yes sir.” 

“Yes, I do remember him in fact. And it certainly was a terrible shame what happened to your friend. My sincerest condolences to you.” 

David took a larger gulp of his tea, downing half of what was left in the cup. “What do you mean sir? You must be thinking about someone else perhaps? Kenneth works in the factory, in Battersea.”  

“Oh, does he now?” The Colonel replied. “Is that what she told you? I don’t believe we’ve ever had more than one Kenneth come through the door. I don’t think I’m mistaken at all young man. It’s utterly horrible what happened to him. What happens to us all.” 

David’s eyebrows raised and he interrupted the Colonel. “Look here sir, exactly what did happen to him? What do you mean?”  

The Colonel smiled and took a long draw on the pipe he had picked back up. He blew the smoke back out towards David once again. Watching as it drifted, floating through the air before being sucked towards the fire.  

“It was in this very room David. A terrible accident for such a young man. They say he tripped and fell into the fireplace, knocked out cold on the stone. His head burned to a crisp as it lay within the flames.” The Colonel tutted twice and shook his head. “Awful way to go.” 

David stared at the Colonel, his breathing steadily growing heavy. “It can’t be? He left the hospital to come here and start a new life in the city. He works at the factory. In Battersea. The landlady said so …” 

“Oh, does he now? And just what factory would that be young David?”   

David was close to hyperventilating, the cup shaking in his hand. He raised it to his mouth once more, spilling tea onto his chin as he tried to drink what was remaining. “The one in Battersea? She’s going to help me find work there tomorrow.”  

The cup was now empty, but still David poured it to his mouth, his tongue licking the inside of the rim … and then he froze.  

The cup dropped from his hand, hitting the floor in front of his chair. The handle immediately came off, and the cup shattered, spreading shards of china in every direction. David remained frozen to the spot, paralysed with anxiety, his eyes fixated on the Colonel. He wanted to speak, to tell the Colonel that he had it all wrong. It wasn’t his friend Kenneth that he was speaking about. But his lips would not part.  

“Your friend Kenneth’s head turned to ash in this very room. And do you know what she did next? She pushed the rest of his body into the fire and cremated him, just like she did to the rest of us. She watched us all burn. Look David. Look to the window and you’ll see your friend. He’s always at the window looking in, and I am always in my chair. Noone ever leaves David. Your landlady makes sure of that.” 

David could not turn his head, but his eyes were able to move towards the window. On the other side of the windowpane a sea of lifeless faces stared back in at him. Watching him. Burned, scarred faces full of sorrow and fear. And in the middle of the desperate faces was Kenneth, just as the Colonel said he would be. His nose pressed against the window as rain poured down the glass. David’s eyes rolled back towards the Colonel who started howling with laughter.  

The Colonel stood up and began walking. As he passed between David and the fireplace, a bellow of what seemed like cold air blew the fire out as easy as if it were a birthday candle. David’s eyes could only watch as he walked by. And as he passed, David saw that the back of his head was beaten into a bloody pulp, the flesh horribly cauterised. David wanted to shut his eyes, but his eyelids would not move. He was completely paralysed. The Colonel made his way up the stairs until he was out of David’s sight. His eyeballs darted around the room before looking back towards the steps … and there, stood Mrs Ven Der Hagen. She walked down towards David, the light reflecting off a strange object in her hand that he couldn’t quite make out.  

David could only watch her, nothing apart from his eyeballs would move. The landlady approached him, and he saw clearly now that the object in her hand was a hammer. She stood in front of him, and looked at the recently extinguished fire, tutting to herself as she did so.  

“Now, what on this Earth could have put that out? It was nicely stoked just before you arrived and blazing beautifully.” She turned to David, leant forward and studied his eyes. “Now then dear, you’re not going to be able to talk to me anymore. But you can hear me, and you will listen.” She looked at the remnants of the teacup on the floor. “I hope you drank that all up before you dropped my best china?” Then she smiled, baring her rotten teeth once again as she stared back at David. “In fact, I’m sure you did dear.” She flicked his cheek with her one free hand, causing David’s eyes to flicker from side to side. It was the only motion he could muster. “Oh, there was just a little drop of an anaesthetic in there, a little home remedy if you will. Something that works quite fast on seizing your muscles but keeps you nice and awake at the same time. My husband, my late husband, used it on many subjects during the war. In fact, I used to make it for him.”  

The landlady began pacing up and down in front of the fireplace. Seemingly lost in her memories for a moment. “You see young man, young English man. I’m not quite who you think I am. Oh, it was so easy to make a new life out of a lie when I arrived in London two years ago. You British are so stupid. A Dutch lady sounds just the same as a German lady to you, doesn’t she? Mrs Van Der Hagen was a person concocted many years ago should I need her, and sadly I did. We planned for the day when you Tommies might storm the concentration camp my husband worked in. The concentration camp my husband ran, and our home during the latter part of the war. You are all so stupid. We knew you were coming days before you arrived. He made me leave. He made me come to this god forsaken place … and I never saw him again.”  

She turned to David with venomous rage, spitting as she spoke. “But your lot never got him, he saw to that.” She put her hand up to her head and made the shape of gun. Pressing her fingers against her temple she motioned pulling the trigger. “Oh no, my name is not Van Der Hagen. You will know me now as Frau Eisfeld, loving wife to the Commandant who served his party well. Right until the end.” She put her face close to David’s and spat in his. “He burned more degenerates for the Fuhrer than anybody else during the Third Reich. Our Thousand Year Reich. My husband is a legend, and now I continue his work, one pathetic Englishman at a time!”  

She started laughing, but it was not a pleasant laugh. She placed the hammer on the side table next to David and pulled out the box of matches she had used in the kitchen to light the stove. She lit one and threw it into the fire. “Now then, let us get this burning once more.” She looked at David. “You wouldn’t want to catch your death now … would you?” 

She then walked behind the helpless former soldier as he sat motionless in the armchair, picking up the hammer as she did so. The fire was flaming once more, raging before David’s eyes. Inside of his eyes. Calling to him … as it had always done.  

Growing up, Mark immersed himself in a cocktail of stories written by Stephen King, Clive Barker and James Herbert. While diving deep into the movies of John Carpenter, David Cronenberg and Guillermo Del Toro, gaining a life-long love of Horror, Fantasy and Sci-Fi. This has naturally transcended into a passion for writing his own tales. His novella – ‘The Curse of Six’ – will be released towards the end of 2025 with RDG Books Press, while Mark also engages in a passion for writing non-fiction. Creating regular music and movie related content for his web-page; www.kult-zilla.com.