Andrew Cull is an award-winning writer and horror director. He wrote and directed the horror hit The Possession of David O'Reilly. His story collection Bones was released to acclaim in 2018. It has been described as 'a masterclass in emotional cinematic horror fiction.' Andrew lives in Melbourne, Australia. He loves horror and Hitchcock, and, like you, he's not easily scared. Remains was Andrew's debut novel.
Grief is a black house.
How far would you go? What horrors would you endure if it meant you might see the son you thought you'd lost forever?
Driven to a breakdown by the brutal murder of her young son, Lucy Campbell had locked herself away, fallen deep inside herself, become a ghost haunting room 23b of the William Tuke Psychiatric Hospital.
There she'd remained, until the whispering pulled her back, until she found herself once more sitting in her car, calling to the son she had lost, staring into the black panes of the now abandoned house where Alex had died.
Tonight, someone is watching her back.
Andrew Cull's Remains is a chilling tale of grief, specifically around the loss of a child. It captures the emotion in a way that is not quickly forgotten. Lucy's son was murdered and she leaves the mental hospital to return to their home to call back the spirit of her lost son. – Tricia Reeks
"Remains wastes no time in grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you along like a child at play (only this is not a game you want to share in the "fun")"
– Kendall Reviews"I'm delighted to reveal that this brutal and heart-breaking story does not disappoint and had me dangling on a string from the first to last page. Remains is undoubtedly one of the stand-out novels of 2019 which is drenched in bleakness with an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness until its final tragic moments. I rarely give books five stars but this stunner fully deserves that accolade and is one of the most distinct and original haunted house novels I have read in a while."
– Tony Jones, Ginger Nuts of Horror"Remains is everything you look for in a novel, and definitely one that should be going straight into everyone's book pile. 5 out of 5."
– The Horror ClubChapter 1
No one talked openly about the space, the empty corner of Lucy Campbell's room. The way it would draw your attention, like a stranger quietly whispering your name. The way it was filled with a cold that felt as if it moved over you, pulling the warmth from your body, like someone pulling in a breath before a scream. In the day, the nurses would make their rounds, spending as little time in Lucy's room as possible. At night they left her alone, her muffled sobbing not reason enough to brave that room after dark.
For six months, the remains of Lucy Campbell had occupied Room 23b at the William Tuke Psychiatric Hospital, just a freeze-frame of the person she'd been nine months before.
This morning, the ghost of Lucy Campbell stood looking into the thin mirror in her room. Like the rest of Lucy's room, the mirror was old but functional, from the bed that she didn't sleep in, through to the painted white table and chair set by the window that she didn't look out of. This morning Lucy looked into the mirror, but she didn't see herself. Nor did she hear the shrill laugh of the woman in 23a, or the wheelchair clack-clacking across the tiled floor outside her room. A long time ago, Lucy had muted the world around her, fallen deep into herself in an attempt to escape her pain.
At 6:00am, a nurse had left a trolley outside Lucy's room for her luggage. Three of its wheels touched the ground. On to it, Lucy had loaded her two suitcases, one containing her clothes and the other, smaller, the size you might give to a child. The fourth wheel spun in the air as she wheeled her luggage through the maze of corridors towards Reception. The sounds of the busy hospital were dim to Lucy, like a radio playing in another room. Someone said "Goodbye" and wished her luck. She didn't notice.
The light streaming in through the large glass reception doors was blinding. Lucy stopped. She hung back on the edge of the room, the last refuge of shadows, her dark eyes squinting, searching her mind for something to distract her. She remembered how Doctor Bachman had once complained to her that the board of directors had wasted all the hospital's funding on this flashy reception area.
"We're a hospital, not a bank!" he'd fumed.
Truth was, most of the patients' families didn't want to look any further than the highly polished chrome and glass. They didn't want to know what happened any deeper into the building, and the appearance of affluence afforded them some comfort: they'd made the right decision, their loved ones were in good hands, they could go home with a clear conscience.
Lucy wasn't going home.
The light hurt her eyes. It seemed to be growing brighter all the time, burning away the shadows that sheltered her. She stepped back—with a loud gasp the glass entrance doors slid open, jolting Lucy from her thoughts. A taxi driver had been waiting outside. He tried to take the trolley for Lucy but she held it tight. Pushing it awkwardly between them, they made their way across Reception. Lucy knew she had to do this, had to force herself to do this, it was time; but she couldn't concentrate, couldn't find another memory, another thought to protect herself, and when the automatic doors burst open once more she was defenceless.
"Mommy!" The little boy yelled. Lucy spun to the voice. For a moment she was alive again. The boy laughed, dodging in and out of the trees in the park across from the hospital. His mother sprang from behind a large pine, growling, the monster in their game, and the little boy squealed with glee and raced away. Lucy watched the two playing.
Hold on, Lucy, hold on. She closed her eyes.
Doctor Bachman watched Lucy from the hospital steps. She seemed to physically shrink. Hold on, Lucy, he thought, hold on.
When Lucy opened her eyes again, the boy and his mother had gone, the taxi driver had loaded her clothes into the trunk and she was gripping the child's size case with white knuckles. Gently, she placed it next to her case.
"Are you sure I can't change your mind?" Doctor Bachman smiled warmly. He polished his thick glasses on his shirt. That was his tell. He always did that when he was worried. He would have made a terrible poker player.
"It's too soon, Lucy. After what you've been through, you need to give yourself more time." Lucy could hear the quiet, fatherly concern in his voice. "We've made good progress, but you should give it another month, or two."
For six months, Doctor Bachman had held Lucy back from the brink, but now she couldn't explain to him why, without warning, yesterday she'd discharged herself from his care. Lucy got into the cab.
"At least do me a favour then…" Doctor Bachman fumbled in his shirt pocket and pulled out a crumpled business card. "Here… Call me with your details, where you're staying, a phone number. And call me if you need to talk about it. Please. You know you can come back at any time."
Lucy took Doctor Bachman's card. The taxi began to pull away.
"Take care, Lucy." Doctor Bachman followed the cab as it made its way up the hospital's drive towards the main gates.
Don't go back to that house, Lucy. Whatever you do, don't go back to that house.
