Authors: Shaun Jeffrey
New Title 1 (25 page)
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“But you asked ...”
“To the village,” the Raggedy man interrupted, pre-empting her.
“It’s too late to tell me that now.”
“Always the fool.”
“Pardon?” She wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. Where was he? Movement in the next room caught her eye, a shadow among shadows, almost imperceptible.
“There’s a disease. Can’t you smell it? The winds of change are blowing, and it’s a storm that can’t be stopped.”
“Storm, that’s who brought me here. A competition, run by Storm Enterprises.” Was there a connection?
The Raggedy man laughed, a chilling, hollow sound. “No, I brought you here.”
“You? What do you mean?”
“I’m the magic man.” He chuckled.
Chase started to stand up.
“
I said sit
,” the Raggedy man hissed.
A shadow danced in the next room, as though prepared to take flight. She sat back down. There was something about the voice, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“It’s an apt word.”
“What is?” She frowned.
“Storm. The vicar tried to weather the storm, but it destroyed him.”
“Is he really dead?” She swallowed, not knowing whether she really wanted to hear the answer. Madness or death?
“Is who dead?”
“The vicar.”
He hesitated. “Ah, yes, I remember the vicar. Is he dead?”
“That’s what I’m asking you! Who killed him?”
“Who did? We did. They did.
I
did.”
Chase flinched. The words reminded her of a sentence in the diary.
The Raggedy man laughed. “And so
endeth
today’s lesson.”
“Wait, you can’t just leave it like that.” She stood up and walked toward the next room. A shadow moved. Flitted away. Was gone.
Chase clenched her fists and ran after the shadow. A door opened and closed with a bang. Running through to the next room, she found she was too late. The Raggedy man had flown away. She took a deep breath, tried to calm herself, noticed animal bones scattered like runes on the floor by the camping stove, meaning the Raggedy man probably ate the animals he had hung up to cure. She felt a momentary pang of disgust and her nausea returned.
She ran outside, retched, but was unable to be physically sick. Stomach acids still burnt her throat and she spat out a small amount of bile.
Overhead, a black bird circled and swooped, another witch searching for her head.
Chase hurried away from the old farmhouse. Who could she trust? Questions without answers, like a crossword without clues.
All around her the trees harboured flickering shadows, and Chase tried to keep her gaze on the path, tried to ignore the feeling that she was being followed. She wondered if it was the Raggedy man, or perhaps someone else, someone worse.
When she reached High Top Cottage, she quickly unlocked the door and slipped inside, troubled to see another note on the mat. She hesitated before picking it up, now associating them with bad omens. Perhaps she should just burn it.
Curiosity got the better of her and she opened it with shaking hands.
It was from Adam, regretting he had missed her and thanking her for a wonderful night. He also asked her to meet him in the Slaughtered Dog at
for a drink.
Unsure what to do, she decided to lie down and sleep on it, hoping answers would come in her dreams ...
But all she had were nightmares.
CHAPTER 17
Ratty didn’t know how long they had been locked in the dark room.
Izzy
had cried for ages, the tears eventually subsiding to sniffles. A man brought them food and water, nothing special, just ham sandwiches. They hadn’t even been allowed out to use the toilet, having to face the indignity of using a bucket in the corner, both of them turning away when the other used it. The smell in the room was understandably rank, although the man who brought the food, also emptied the bucket and sprayed the air with something claiming to be the smell of summer meadows. He also provided fresh cleaning water, so at least they could have a wash.
Ratty thought they were being treated no better than animals. Worse even. From the sealed room, they had no indication whether it was night or day. Time a meaningless concept for those chained to a celestial timetable.
When Ratty tried to speak to the man, he got no response. It was as if
Izzy
and himself didn’t exist, as if they were invisible.
He still couldn’t believe his mother had signed him over to a bogus welfare company. What had she been thinking? He knew she was under a lot of strain, what with his father, but to do this ...
Izzy
sat up and spoke, bringing him out of his rumination.
“Do you really think they’ll let us go?”
Ratty nodded. “Of course they will.” He hoped
Izzy
couldn’t tell he didn’t believe it himself.
“I got the impression these people are above the law.”
“No one’s above the law.”
Izzy
took the cigarette packet from her pocket, looked inside and scrunched it up. She threw it on the floor. “I could do with a cigarette.”
Even though Ratty didn’t smoke, he knew how she felt. Cigarettes were a crutch, just like religion – he wondered whether it was too late to start praying.
As he contemplated their predicament, Ratty put his hands in his pockets, surprised to feel the penknife. He had forgotten it was there and no one had bothered searching them. Taking it out, he looked at it, turning it over in his fingers. He stood and approached the door, felt around the edge. There was a metal plate about six inches square to the left of the door and using the knife’s screwdriver, he began to undo the retaining screws, more through boredom and frustration than with real purpose. It gave him a sense of doing something.
“What are you doing?”
Izzy
walked over and peered over his shoulder.
“Just trying to find a way out of here.”
“You can’t do that.” Alarm flashed across her face.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to stay here.”
Izzy
grabbed his hand. “Stop it. You’ll only make things worse.”
Shrugging her off, Ratty continued to turn the screws. “How can they get any worse?”
“These people are dangerous.”
“I thrive on danger.” He gave a half-hearted grin.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Stupid is my middle name.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” She shook her head and sat back down on the bed. “Well, I’m not having anything to do with it.”
Ratty shrugged and turned his concentration back to the task of turning the screws. There were eight of them in all, and when seven of them had been removed, the plate swung clear of the hole to reveal a series of plastic air pipes worming through the wall like intestines. Ratty frowned, deep in concentration. He didn’t know a lot about pneumatics, just that compressed air was used to push pistons. He recalled the sound of escaping air when the door opened and closed, and a vague idea took seed in his mind.
Grabbing one of the pipes he pulled on it. The pipe didn’t move. From somewhere in the hole came the faraway sound of escaping air, like a snake hissing a warning. Without heeding it, he pulled on another pipe but it was also too tight to move. Exhaling an anxious sigh, he looked at the pipes, looked at the knife in his hand and then began stabbing the sharp point into the plastic pipes. Angry air hissed out, spitting condensation into his eyes like venom. But he didn’t stop.
When all of the pipes were punctured, he approached the door, placed his hands on the flat surface and pushed. The door slid to the side and Ratty almost fell down in shock. He hadn’t really expected it to work. Cautiously he peered out into the fog.
“Are you coming?” he asked, looking back at
Izzy
.
Izzy
shook her head.
He felt as if his heart was breaking. “Okay, I’ll go and get help then.” He walked out of the room and into the fog. Before he had walked five feet away a hand grabbed his shoulder and he jumped, suppressing a scream.
“Okay, you win,”
Izzy
said, her lower lip trembling.
Ratty let out a sigh of relief and smiled to himself. He wouldn’t really have left her there on her own. “Come on then,” he said, marching into the fog.
***
Chase woke with a start. Monsters had pursued her out of her sleep. She trembled, gooseflesh mottling her arms. Looking at her watch, she saw it was
, couldn’t believe she had slept so long. Still full of doubt, she decided to meet Adam at the pub. At least then she could surreptitiously question him about the vicar and about
Paradise
to see if he knew more than he was letting on.
As she put her make-up on, she heard a distant scream. Rushing to the window, she looked outside, watching for any sign of movement. But there was nothing to see. She wondered whether she had imagined it, or perhaps in her insecure state, had mistaken the call of a bird for something more sinister.
Checking all the windows and doors were secure, she slipped a serrated kitchen knife into her shoulder bag and left the house. She doubted she would use the knife to hurt someone, but knowing it was there made her feel more secure.
This time she had opted for a more conservative manner of dress: jeans, jumper and her green parka.
As she walked down the lane, her gaze darted from the hedgerows to the trees to the houses, alert for any sign of movement. Clutching her shoulder bag more tightly, she felt comforted by the knowledge of its contents.
The sign outside the Slaughtered Dog swung to and fro, squealing for want of oil. The sound grated on Chase and she entered the dingy pub with her nerves set on edge.
The dark interior still held its secrets; the hint of people sat huddled in unlit corners. She couldn’t believe a place could be so dark and dismal and wished she had a torch, if only to prove that the only monsters were in her imagination.
George was in his usual place behind the bar. He eyed Chase with his usual disdain and walked down to serve her.
“Yes?” George grunted.
“
Orange
juice, please.”
George bent down and took a bottle from the fridge beneath the optics.
“And how are you then, George?” she asked, trying to get more than a monosyllabic response from him.
George grunted in reply.
“And how’s your leg?”
