Three Mile Drove, Chapter Twelve (standard:horror, 3610 words) [13/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jan 18 2007	Views/Reads: 2700/1840	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Coninuation of a completed horror story - a fading pop musician inherits a smallholding in the English Fens, and soon finds himself involved in a scene of abduction, rape, and murder.

CHAPTER TWELVE 

By ten thirty the following morning Darren was on his way back to
Bramble Dyke. The people who had come to look at his house had been 
non-committal at this stage. Apparently they had other houses to view. 
Darren didn't hold out too much hope, even though his house was 
respectable, fairly modern, in reasonable decorative condition and 
situated in a decent suburb. The couple who'd come to view the house 
had been middle-aged, middle class career people, the sort who held 
their nose towards the ceiling and spoke as if they had a plum in their 
gob. The sort who would avoid eye contact, as though by making it with 
you they would pick up some kind of visual plague. He couldn't really 
see them moving into an ex-rock musician's property; even though they 
lowered themselves into telling him they actually liked the place. But 
in Darren's eyes, the pair would much rather be able to tell an evening 
guest that the previous occupant was a party member, and a close 
confidant of a certain Mrs.M.Thatcher than a humble, all faults 
revealed guitar player. They could lie of course, but that took 
imagination, not business sense. Somehow, he thought these two didn't 
have it. 

He'd counted on being back in Bramble Dyke by two thirty at the latest,
but that wasn't to be. A serious accident on the motorway, restricting 
traffic to a single lane for several miles, put paid to that idea. In 
fact, by the time he'd reached the boundaries of the fenland village it 
was touching five, and thick fog had reduced traffic to a crawl. 

He was frustrated and tired when he booked into the inn, surprised to
see it so busy considering the time of day. Apparently his arrival had 
coincided with the AGM of the Association of Master Tradesmen, whose 
participants were arriving from all over the region. Quite why they had 
chosen a location he'd described as the “cross-roads to nowhere”, he 
hadn't a clue, the only thing he could think of was that the 
comparative isolation of the place meant they would be unlikely to be 
disturbed. 

He ordered a mixed grill for his evening meal, being advised by a young
lad with an ill fitting white coat, as though he'd hastily been 
seconded to the kitchen, that it might be some time on account of how 
busy they were. 

‘Fine,' Darren said. He was tired and wasn't going any further that day.
He collected his drink and selected a corner seat. 

Because of the delays he'd been unable to contact the builder he'd
decided upon to renovate the bungalow, but as luck would have it, 
through the glass divide he noticed the man standing chatting in the 
foyer to a group of three or four others. 

He thought that this probably wasn't the time or place to approach him,
but he was anxious to conclude arrangements at the earliest possible 
opportunity, and this was availing itself now. 

He threaded his way through the gathering throng and pushed open the
foyer doors. He gave a polite nod to the others in the group, none of 
whom he knew or recognised, then approached Jackson, ‘Mr. Jackson, I'm 
Darren Goldwater, you called on me yesterday and gave me an estimate 
for my property, Old Bridge Farm. Can I have a word?' 

‘Yeah sure,' the ruddy-faced man smiled agreeably, ‘you can have as many
as you want.' He turned back to his colleagues, ‘Be with you shortly.' 
Clasping a big hand on Darren's shoulder, he led him away from the 
assembling congregation and into a corner alcove. 

‘Sorry to butt in on you like this...' 

‘Don't be, old son, the function proper won't get started for an hour or
so yet,' he grinned, showing excellent teeth for somebody of his age. 

‘It's just that your quote was about the best I had; you seemed quite
professional in your assessment as well. You seem to know what you're 
on about. I need the work started as soon as possible if you'll 
undertake to do it.' 

‘I should know what I'm on about, all the years I've been in the trade;


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