Baylea Hart

Baylea Hart is an IT Technician by day, horror writer by night and a reader everywhere in between. In 2013 she wrote, directed and edited the short film Behind the Door, which won a Top 50 spot in the Bloody Cuts “Who’s There?” competition and as of 2015 has over 410,000 views on YouTube.

In October 2015 she won the Bristol Horror Writing Competition with her short story Jack in the Box, and her short story Eyes Open was published in the 12th issue of 9Tales Told in the Dark.

Baylea’s debut novel The Log House was published by Unbound in 2018.



It’s twelve roads to Becky’s house – eight minutes, six thousand nine hundred and thirty two steps, seven thousand if I wanna walk slow and really savour it. It will take me three minutes, forty seconds today because I’m too excited to walk, so I have to use my car. It never used to be my car, it belonged to Dad. But it’s my car now. Dad stays in the back watching. There’s not a lot of room back there but I fixed him and now he fits good.

I need to see Becky because the news lady says there’s a killer on the loose. Poor Becky will be scared, so scared, and I will comfort her and she will love me, finally love me. Becky is mine you see. She doesn’t love me properly at the moment, but that’s not her fault. Nobody ever loves me. I’ve been practising with other girls though, getting them to love me. It didn’t work, even after I fixed them, but that’s because they aren’t Becky. Becky is special, so it will definitely work this time. I know it.

And if it doesn’t work, I’ll just have to fix her too.

Oh, just thinking about it makes me wants to dance and shout and bounce. I start bouncing and bouncing in the car and Dad must be excited because he starts bouncing and bouncing too. I can hear him slamming against the side of the trunk. It makes a wet smushing noise that makes me giggle. Dad’s so funny now that he’s been fixed. He doesn’t shout at all anymore.

I turn the last corner and can finally see Becky’s house. The windows are dark but I know she’s home. She always finishes work at six, goes for coffee, and then heads straight home. It’s eight now, so she is most definitely home. She must be too scared to turn on the lights. Oh, I knew it was a good idea to see her today. Poor, poor Becky.

“I’m gonna go get her now, Dad,” I whisper to him as I stop the car, “Then we’ll bring her home with us. You’ll like her lots. I like her so I’m sure that you will.”

Dad doesn’t say anything, but I know he’s happy because I’m happy, and he’s always happy when I’m happy.

I don’t wanna ruin the surprise by parking outside so I step out of the car and walk quietly quietly to the house instead. I want to knock at the door right away, to make sure that she’s safe, to comfort her, but instead I shuffle to the window and sit in my normal spot behind the holly tree.

I’m kind of nervous I think, so I’ll wait a little while to calm myself. Just a little while.

It won’t be long now.

The lights come on inside the house, and there she is, entering the room like a bride. Beautiful and glowy. I wish Dad could see her. Her hair is brown in the dark, like when she’s lying in bed with her hair swirling against her face, but it’s almost gold in light like this. She smiles shyly as she walks, the two little dimples I love so much appearing on her cheeks. Why is she smiling? Has she seen me? I crouch down more, deeper into the dark, the mud. I can’t let her see me yet, I want to surprise her.

She moves to the armchair and settles down to watch telly, as she always does in the evening. It’s a Monday, so she’ll probably watch the news. She’ll find out about the killer, oh she’ll be so scared. Should I go to her now?


No, I’ll wait. Just a bit longer. She won’t be scared for much longer. I can protect her, even if it means I have to fix her. A tiny little part of me, the itchy bit of my brain, thinks that I should fix her anyway. That it will be easier that way.

Me and Dad used to argue a lot, even though he loved me and I loved him. I don’t want to argue with Becky, so maybe I should just fix her now. Maybe then she’ll let me bring her presents.

I tried to bring her a present last week, a shiny black kitty I found and fixed just for her. While she was sleeping I put it at the bottom of her bed, just like Santa does! Then I snuck out of the window and watched and waited until she woke up. I almost woke her up myself by giggling too loud, but I managed to stop, I didn’t want to ruin it after all. But when she woke, she didn’t look happy. Not one little bit. Her skin turned grey, almost like Dad’s, and then she ran to the phone. A few minutes later the police turned up. There were so many of them, and it was so loud and bright, I had to sneak away. I didn’t even get to tell her the present was from me.

I don’t think she likes kitties, maybe she likes dogs more? It’s silly not to like kitties. I love them! She’ll love kitties when she loves me, though. I can fix that.

Still, it seems a little silly to be so upset about a present. I would never do that. If people acted like that at Christmas, then there would be police everywhere and nobody would have a nice day! Silly Becky.

Now that I think about it… it makes me really mad.

It was really mean of her to do that. It was only a present, I was only trying to be nice. I think… I think she deserves to be fixed. In fact, I’ll go do it right now!

I stomp over to the door and raise my fist to knock. From here I can still see her through the window but she’s not looking at me at all. She’s ignoring me! How rude. I hate her. She’s just like the others. I won’t let her see my Dad. I won’t take her home. Not until she’s fixed. I’ll fix her and then she’ll love me and I will brush her hair and we will be happy, and never argue or shout or be sad. I don’t want horrible, mean Becky. I want fixed Becky.

The light from the telly gets brighter and suddenly her whole face starts to shine. She’s so pretty, my Becky. Dad… Dad wasn’t so pretty once I’d fixed him. Maybe Becky wouldn’t be as pretty either. That would make me sad. Even fixed Becky wouldn’t be my Becky if she wasn’t pretty.
I slide slowly back into the shadows.

I’ll fix her… but I think I’ll wait a little while longer first. I want to watch her a little more, so that I don’t forget her pretty face.

Maybe tomorrow. Yes, I think I’ll fix her tomorrow.

One response to “Becky”

  1. GracefulWriters Avatar

    Interesting story

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