Authors: Gayle Eileen Curtis
Several visions flashed across Chrissie’s mind and a familiar scent of Fisherman’s Friend floated up to her nostrils.
“I don’t like this Sarah. This is really freaking me out. I’m going back.”
Chrissie turned and made her way up the track, leaving Sarah behind. She said hello to a man in his garden who she hadn’t noticed before.
As she stomped along the track a thought suddenly occurred to her. She turned back, meeting Sarah a little way down the path.
“Excuse me? Sorry to bother you, but could you tell me who used to live in the cottage at the end of this row?”
The man looked up from his rake and regarded her oddly as he took in her dressing gown and Wellingtons.
“Well now my beauty. No one really.”
Chrissie stared at the weathered old man, waiting for him to continue.
He pulled his cap forward and leaned back as if to stretch.
“Well someone must have at some point?” Chrissie was becoming impatient.
“No, no, no! That’s a holiday home, love, has been for donkey’s years.”
“Oh…well thanks.”
Chrissie and Sarah turned to leave.
“What business is it of yours anyway?”
Chrissie pushed her hands into her dressing gown pockets.
“No business really. I’ve just moved into the house a few hundred yards through there,” Chrissie nodded towards the direction of her cottage, “just getting to know the village a bit better.”
“Oh ah, the detached place with the stream at the bottom?”
“Yes that’s right. I’m Chrissie, by the way, and this is my friend Sarah.”
“Oh, right.”
“And you are?” Chrissie extended her hand over the old man’s fence.
The man just stared at it and for a second Chrissie thought he was going to carry on raking his garden.
“The name’s Redvers. Reddy.” He shook her hand firmly.
“Nice to meet you, Reddy.”
“You want a know anythin’ about the village you’re welcome to pop in on me ’n the wife anytime.”
“Thank you very much. I’ll bear that in mind.”
Reddy dibbed his cap and continued with his gardening. Chrissie and Sarah took this as their cue to leave and made their way down the path.
“The people here are friendly in an odd kind of way. Bit abrupt but they seem sincere.”
“You’ve only met a couple of people!” Chrissie laughed.
“He wasn’t the chattiest of men.”
“No. but I’m sure his heart’s in the right place. He’s a local so he’s bound to be suspicious.”
“Right. Well. I need to digest all this weird information and I’m gasping for a cup of tea and some breakfast.”
“Yes, absolutely. Come on.” Chrissie linked Sarah’s arm.
“Are you alright?”
“I think so. I’m getting used to the creepy goings on and I suppose I don’t find them as shocking as I did when I first moved here. Either that, or I’m still in shock.”
“You can become slightly desensitized when you have recurring shocks. I think in this case it’s not a bad thing.”
They wound their way around the shed, both shivering at the same time, even though the sun had emerged from the greyness and drunk up the dew, which in turn had warmed the mist away. It was promising to be a better day than it had started out to be.
“What’s that?” Sarah stopped in her tracks pulling Chrissie up with her.
“What’s what?”
“That. Look over there!” Sarah pointed and then began to move towards the stream.
Chrissie looked to where Sarah was pointing. She could see something pale sticking up in the grass.
Chrissie’s hand flew to her throat.
“Oh my god, Sarah! Don’t go any closer it’s a….oh god no!”
Sarah didn’t take any notice and carried on towards the stream.
She let out a scream and turned to Chrissie with a look of horror on her face.
Chrissie ran over to her, glancing down the emba
nkment.
“Oh shit! I thought….it was…”
“I know, me too.” Sarah said, taking deep breaths and holding onto Chrissie’s dressing gown. After they’d calmed themselves, Chrissie leant down and picked up the battered doll that was laying half in the stream.
It had looked an awful sight and at first glance they’d thought it was a baby’s body. It was so grim, tangled in the long grass with its head floating in the water. One eye was missing and the other turned into its head and the reflection of the water had magnified it, making it look quite a sight to any passer by.
“I really do think you ought to call the police. This doesn’t appear to have anything to do with the supernatural at all. This is a prank being played by someone. Somebody who knows you’re new here.” Sarah shivered, wrapping her dressing tighter around her body.
“I’m not phoning the police just yet, I need to think about it all. I can’t shake off the feeling that it’s a message, as bizarre as it seems.”
Chrissie and Sarah collected the doll, the book and the clothes and made their way back to the house.
“I’ve had enough for one day. Can we lock the doors and stay in?” said Sarah, looking rather pale and ill.
“I think that’s a brilliant idea.” Chrissie linked her arm through Sarah’s as they wandered up the garden, glad of each other’s company.
“I still think you ought to inform the police, Chrissie.”
“I’ll think about it.”
*
Tim found himself standing in the stream at the bottom of Chrissie’s garden. He was exhausted, having walked around the village several times. He was unshaven with bruised rings around his tired eyes. The bottle of rum he was carrying was almost empty and he was in a complete drunken oblivion. Whenever he turned around the little girl in the pinafore was behind him. She sobbed and sobbed, occasionally tugging at the back of his coat to try and gain his attention. But she had his full attention, only he didn’t want to face her. He had tried all night since he’d scrambled out of the shed to get away from her. He’d even gone home and locked all the doors but she was still there. Crying, crying, crying.
He thought the only way to escape it was to go out of the house with his bottle of rum. He’d walked up and down the beach several times, but she’d persisted almost as if she’d stepped into his conscience. Like a reflection in the mirror, she would never leave.
As the sun was coming up he’d staggered his way over to the stream. To her resting place, to see if that would break the spell.
But she stood on the bank sobbing, managing the odd words he could just make out, which were “want” and ”Mummy”.
He screamed to the pink streaked skies for help, a pathetic sight. And for the first time since he was a child he experienced the feeling of how small and insignificant he was. Just how his mother had made him feel. The realisation hit him like a door slamming in a strong wind; there was a much larger force than him to be reckoned with.
Looking skyward made everything spin and he staggered, almost losing his footing. As he looked down to steady himself he stared at a pair of hands, which he didn’t recognise as his own at first. They were dripping in thick, cloying blood.
The s
cream from his mouth woke him.
He sat up abruptly, unsure of where he was at first. Sweat was pouring over his body. He scrambled for the light while he tried to swallow and dampen his dry mouth.
Just a dream, he kept telling himself as the flick of the switch lit up the room. He moved to lie back down and compose himself but there she was again, the girl in the pinafore, sobbing at the bottom of his bed. One eye blackened and cut, the other completely red where he’d pushed his fingers so hard into her tiny face.
NORFOLK 1987
Karen had had a lovely time with her grandparents. She’d stayed with them overnight for the first time in her short life. Her parents lived only a few miles along the coast, but it had seemed too daunting to stay overnight before. Her grandparent’s house was so big and imposing, especially to a child.
She’d woken up earlier than she normally did and had decided to get herself dressed. Her grandparents were still in bed and the house was much too quiet for a five year old. Boredom got the better of her and she decided to go outside and finish playing the game she’d been busy inventing the day before.
It was a tea party for monkey and rabbit. The table and chairs were at the bottom of the garden near the stream, just as she’d left them. Her plastic tea set and her picture books lay out on the table.
Karen placed monkey and rabbit on the chairs and began to play her game.
She hadn’t been expecting a fourth person for tea and she hadn’t laid the table accordingly for her unexpected visitor.
*
Norfolk 1998
Grace pushed her way through the front door, her bags catching on the frame, causing her to back track. She swore as she sidled in and dropped her luggage on the hall floor. Looking up she noticed how dark it was in the house and there was a strange smell emanating towards her. Registering that it was brilliant sunshine outside, it dawned on her there was something wrong.
Wandering through the rooms, she opened all the curtains. The house was a mess. Dirty crockery in the sink and the dishwasher looked like it hadn’t been turned on since she’d left, five days ago.
She sighed, desperately trying to stifle the anger bubbling up inside her. On opening the lounge curtains and turning to face the room she was sharply confronted by Tim’s presence.
“What the bloody hell is going on here?”
There was a grunt from the sofa as Tim tried to prize open his bloodshot eyes.
“Couldn’t you have tried to keep the place tidy in the short time I was away? Obviously it was too much to ask!”
Grace stormed out of the lounge, unable to discuss it with him for fear of caving his skull in with the empty rum bottle that lay on the floor beside a congealed plate of food.
“Lazy bastard!” She spat at him as she left the room.
It hadn’t passed her by that he looked an absolute mess. It was out of character for him not to tidy up after himself; he was so obsessed with cleanliness that it drove Grace to distraction. But after seeing how devastated her sister was over the last few days, she was past caring. Maybe he was finally going round the twist. Perhaps his conscience had paid him a visit after all these years.
“Grace! Grace….come on!” Tim staggered into the kitchen and almost fell onto her.
“Oh my god, you stink! Go and have a shower.”
“Grace…I’ve been so…lost without you!” he slurred and pulled at her jacket.
“Piss off, Tim! I mean it! Just piss off!” She pushed him and he fell backwards hitting his head on the kitchen cupboards.
It knocked him out cold. She stood there for quite some time holding her breath while she stared at him. She was wondering if she’d killed him but there was nothing in her being urging her to check for any signs of life.
Eventually there was movement from his chest and he groaned. It occurred to her how easy it had been to push him. If she’d done it a bit harder she might have killed him there and then.
She imagined how she would feel now if it had been a reality. How she’d go straight back to her sister’s and pretend she hadn’t returned to the house yet. That he’d got extremely drunk and slipped on some water in the kitchen; a tragic accident in their tragic family. It would have been all over as easy as that. But it wasn’t. And Tim wasn’t dead. And she was back in her house.
Grace felt surprisingly chirpy for the rest of the day. She left Tim on the kitchen floor to sleep it off and she tidied the whole house from top to bottom.
A beautiful realisation was surging through her, like the buds of a plant unfurling. She could kill him quite easily and make it look like an accident. All she had to do was encourage him to keep drinking. It was perfect.