Three Mile Drive, Chapter Sixteen (standard:horror, 2649 words) [17/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: May 18 2007	Views/Reads: 2629/1874	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The continuing story of a faded rock musician who inherits a property in the village of Bramble Dyke, deep in the English Fens, finding himself embroiled in kidnap, incest and murder. This chapter contains a flashback.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

*                         * 

If only her uncle's molestation had been the one blight on her tender
years, if only; but if her experience that day had damaged the fragile 
foundations on which her tender years had been built, what was to 
follow later that evening swept them away. 

Through the scar ravaged corridors of time they came back to haunt her,
corridors within corridors, dividing and duplicating, so there seemed 
to be thousands upon thousands, and as they grew they filled with 
maggots until all the passageways were full. Only then did the struggle 
for sanity begin taking place, within the besieged cells of her brain, 
amidst a fitful sleep. 

She was strong. But victory for the conscious over the sub-conscious
only deepened the division in her soul. One day she might not wake to 
sanity. 

Out there in the fens, in an isolated wilderness where townsfolk thought
nothing ever happened, save for the whine of a tractor, or the whirr of 
a harvester, or the sight of a country bumpkin farmhand stuffing down 
the remainder of his lunch while staring blandly into space. A docile 
tranquillity lay over the land, drop dead boring, inhabited by those 
with sub-zero mentality, but tranquil nevertheless. 

That was what they thought. But the only thing townsfolk got right was
the sub-zero mentality. Deformed, demented beings, manifest themselves 
amidst her mind's madness, the madness that came when she slept, 
whenever something or someone summoned it back. 

Bones like wretched offshoots from withered willows; mouths that only
slobbered and shrilled, that spat and howled within shapeless heads. 
Figures that crouched and crept in the stench filled hovel that leant 
fury at their wretchedness not only to the night, but to the occasional 
unfortunate thrown into their hideous paths. 

And to become part of this monstrosity of nature, to be held within its
constricting clutches, to break free only to find that you hadn't 
really done so, that you were a captive of your own personal trauma. 
For what is the mind of a child if not one of imagination. Nobody would 
believe you, except perhaps a parent. And then what would happen, if to 
your horror you found they weren't on your side of the fence? 

Where would you go? What would be left to inherit your mind but the
wretched? 

And it had. For a long time it had. But she didn't want it back, not at
any cost, though it seemed she was losing the battle. 

McPherson had spoken about a child; she hadn't wanted to know. Her
conscious thought naturally fought against anything to do with it. But 
slowly, tortuously, she found her mind snaking back through the years. 

She remembered the “normal” one. 

*                               * 

Maybe it had been the hard mattress that had caused a recurrence of his
back condition, an old legacy dating back to a motorcycle accident 
which had occurred in his late teens and came back to haunt him from 
time to time, letting him know that it would never be gone for good. 
Such a time was now, as placing the thumbs of his outstretched hands 
against his spine he stretched, feeling his back creak as though his 
bones were the rusty joints of an ageing door. He'd listened to what 
McPherson had to say, feeling a fool for his jealousy but nonetheless 
intrigued by the policeman's change of direction in asking him to 
report any unusual happenings in Three Mile Drove. In a way, the 
curiosity he felt himself, provided some compensation for the early 
termination of what might have been a meaningful relationship. Might 
have been, but not any more, and what was there left other than to play 
out his own fascination with the strange eeriness that lay out on the 
fens, in stark contrast with the flat, boring nature of the place. He'd 
always had excitement in his life, romance of a kind too, yes. Odd 
really, but the back of beyond, the land that looked as though it might 
once have been squashed flat by a giant meteorite, might just provide 
that for him. 

Right now though, his immediate problem was his back, the trouble had
crept up on him the way it often did, he'd been totally immersed in his 
emotional problems and now that the mists that had obscured his senses 
began slowly to evaporate he realised that it hurt, it hurt a lot. He 
needed some strong lotion, or at the very least one of those bags that 
you placed in a microwave and then pressed to your back so that the 
warmth gave some sort of relief. It might make him feel like an old 
woman but who cared about that? He was past the age where he felt any 
embarrassment about that sort of thing. 

He decided upon Ely, it was the closest place where he could be sure of
getting what he needed, the local village store surely wouldn't provide 
such things, and so grabbing his coat from the hook on the door he made 
his way out. He noticed the white clouds rushing across the wide 
expanse of heavens, pushed along by a freshening wind. Despite its 
gathering strength there was a mild feel to the day. He'd heard on the 
radio that fierce storms were predicted to cross the region from the 
west later in the day and he guessed the increasing amount of upper 
cloud was a forerunner to it. 

He drove into Ely and parked in a vacant space close to the high street,
walking through a narrow alleyway fronted on both sides by shops 
selling every variety of knickknacks he could think of, except of 
course, what he was after. He crossed out onto the high street to join 
the throng of Saturday morning shoppers. Winding his way through the 
crowds with increasing irritability he saw a chemist sign up ahead. 
Darren found he got ratty pretty quickly in such situations. There was 
something missing in the Saturday shopper, namely a sense of direction. 
To him, the aimless amble through crowded streets was something to be 
avoided at all costs, undertaken only as a necessity, he couldn't 
understand the mentality of some of these people who seemed to thrive 
on it. He suddenly stumbled into the backs of a couple who for some 
reason came to an abrupt halt as though they were robots who'd blown a 
circuit. Offering a frustrated apology and not really knowing why, he 
made a sharp diversion, only to walk straight into the path of an 
attractive woman, his mouth dropping open when he saw who it was. 

‘Claire...' 

‘Hello Darren.' 

For a moment they stared at each other as the crowds of shoppers brushed
past them, he noticed the look on her face, it was cool to say the 
least. What else could he expect? 

‘Just heading for the chemist,' he said awkwardly. ‘An old back strain.'


‘Old age creeping up is it?' She gave a slight smile which surprised
him, ‘I've just been in for some supplies myself actually. It's the 
only chance I get to do it.' 

‘Yeah, I bet.' He noticed the dark shades around her eyes, skin he'd
normally seen so clear seemed unusually blotchy this morning, he 
wondered what might have caused it. 

‘Listen, I wonder if we might talk, I need to say something.' 

She raised her brows, ‘About what?' 

‘Look, not here,' he said with an urgency in his voice, ‘can we have a
drink or something? I need to get out of this crowd.' 

‘I thought you needed the chemist,' she said dryly, ‘and I don't have
much time.' 

‘The chemist can wait for a few minutes,' he said, glaring as a shopper
nudged his arm. 

‘There's a café opposite the cathedral,' she glanced at her watch and he
found himself wondering what she had planned for the rest of her day. 
‘I suppose I can spare a few minutes.' Claire lead the way up the hill, 
she was wearing a black leather coat he hadn't seen before, but it was 
a perfect match for her dusky looks and dark hair. He fought back a 
wave of desire that could have no outlet. What was the point, he'd make 
the most of his unexpected opportunity to make amends for his 
behaviour, but he didn't expect anything to come of it. 

He bought two coffees and found a corner table; he took a sip from the
cup and watched as she drunk hers. 

‘So?' she asked with raised eyebrows. 

‘So I just wanted to say I was sorry for the childish way I reacted last
night,' he placed his cup on the saucer and leaned forward. ‘It was a 
childish attitude from a grown man who should no better. I 
misinterpreted the situation...' 

‘Did you indeed,' she interrupted, placing her elbows on the table and
cupping her hands beneath her chin, ‘and how do you know that?' 

Darren sighed, looking at her sheepishly, ‘McPherson came to see me this
morning; he said there was nothing between the pair of you.' 

‘Nice to know you were discussing me,' he saw the sudden hardening in
her eyes, the indignation there, the transformation from beautiful 
woman to one tough cookie shook him, he was making a good job of 
worsening the situation. 

‘No, it wasn't like that, please don't think that,' he hastened,
fidgeting with his lighter, ‘he came to see me about Three Mile Drove.' 


‘What?' 

‘Three Mile Drove,' he repeated, almost recoiling before the severity of
her gaze. 

‘I heard what you said. Why?' she demanded. 

‘McPherson's convinced that there's a link between the derelict house
and the missing kid. That something there or beyond the house holds the 
key. The problem is that because of financial constraints his hands are 
tied. Apparently the police bosses won't allow more manpower and they 
might even close their files. In short they think he's wasting his 
time, so he's asked me to report anything suspicious,' he drew breath, 
watching all the while those remarkable eyes intensify, ‘I thought I 
might shop around a little, see what I can come up with that might 
help. Tonight, perhaps.' 

‘Don't even think about doing that!' It wasn't her words that alarmed
him but the force of her sudden grip on his wrist. She relented almost 
at once, but her face was flushed and she looked even more bothered. 
She got up to leave, ‘Just take my advice, don't involve yourself in 
things that don't concern you. I don't know what Tim could be thinking 
of.' 

‘Claire wait...' 

But she'd strode from the café, leaving half her coffee, and brushing
aside a youth who'd blocked her path. He wanted to follow her up the 
street but knew it was pointless to do that. 

He slammed his cup into the saucer with a force that threatened to crack
it, drawing attention from the serving staff. What was it that caused 
such sudden vehemence from her; it wasn't down to her dissatisfaction 
with his attitude last night, he could see that. No, the very mention 
of Three Mile Drove had stirred it. He knew she'd lived there, and now 
he was more than ever certain he was holding something back. Why, or 
what, he didn't know, but he was sure she wasn't involved in the 
abduction of the missing girl, it was a gut feeling but he saw it as 
plain fact. So, despite her warning, and his ever-growing feelings for 
her he felt more than ever resigned to find out what was really 
happening out there. 

He thought he saw the eyes of the clientele follow him as he left the
café, but he was only dimly aware of it. What was on his mind now was 
rapidly becoming something of a mission, perhaps an obsession, because 
in the process of getting to grips with this he might in some way be 
helping her, even though it didn't seem that way at the moment. It was 
just a gut feeling. 

Outside the skies had turned angrier, dark brown clouds now chased white
across the sky like the bad guy chasing the good. The wind had risen 
further, so that he had to stiffen his body against it as he made his 
way down the hill towards his car. There was a storm brewing, and 
quickly too. 


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