Three Mile Drove, Chapter Nineteen (standard:horror, 2432 words) [20/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Aug 25 2007	Views/Reads: 2563/1788	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Approaching the conclusion of a serialisation of my completed horror story, Three Mile Drove. Darren Goldwater is drawing the conclusion that Claire Summerby has betrayed him. Is he right, and if so, why?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

that marked Tomblin. 

Darren picked himself up, glancing back at the gate, but now Tomblin had
gone and he heard the metallic tapping of his hammer on the battered 
blue bus resuming. 

Tomblin was an ogre and his words had done nothing to persuade Darren
that he wasn't hiding something, but he'd been right about one thing, 
and as Darren forced some air back into his lungs the stark reality of 
it pierced the air he'd just drawn in like a knife. 

*                                         * 

Claire nodded as Endleberry climbed out of her car; she turned her head
and was dimly aware of him walking towards the vicarage. He'd uttered 
urgent sounding words in her ear, that although she'd acknowledged, not 
a single one had registered. She'd a dull headache she supposed might 
have been caused by her own inhalation of the chloroform she'd given 
Darren last night, or perhaps it was because her own ordeal had built 
up to such a peak it could no longer be resisted. 

But she hadn't needed to listen to Endleberry's parting words, his
pleadings had rung in her head all the way back from the drove. Now she 
must think, weigh up what wasn't easily weighable, the balance was so 
fine. But first she needed the sleep that hadn't come last night. 

That couldn't have come. It couldn't have come because she needed to be
certain the dose had worked. That he'd sleep through the night. She 
needed to be there when he awoke – just in case. 

*                                       * 

Darren brought his hands down heavily on the wheel, instantly regretting
it as the reverberations racked through his body into his aching head. 
But his actions were born of frustration and something he couldn't put 
his finger on. Anxiety, uncertainty perhaps. Because Tomblin had 
planted doubts in his mind. If he'd have thought for a moment instead 
of charging at the man with blind accusations, he'd surely have 
realised that the ogre didn't possess the sophistication to engineer an 
incident such as the one that had befallen him the previous night, As 
little as he knew of the man, it was obvious it wasn't his style. 

And wasn't it handy that Claire just happened to be on the scene, with
the parson, and the parson come to that had supposed to be paying him a 
genial visit welcoming him to the neighbourhood. If so, he didn't fit 
the picture of any clergyman he'd known, few though they might have 
been. In fact he'd seemed nervous, edgy, hot under the collar if you 
like. Darren allowed himself a wry smile though it soon vanished as his 
thoughts turned back to Claire. Her insistence that he shouldn't 
trespass on Tomblin's land had been laced with anger, now she'd been 
the one to find him unconscious. She'd said she'd happened to be coming 
out this way, but might that not be a little too convenient? And it was 
she who'd pushed open the bungalow door he was certain he'd locked the 
previous evening. 

Darren blew out his cheeks and whistled. Through the half open driver's
window of his Jeep he could hear the metallic knocking of hammer on 
metal. Rap, rap, rap, the blows seemed to be pounding directly into his 
brain. Whatever purpose it was serving Darren didn't know. From what 
he'd seen of the battered bus it probably hadn't moved in years. 

He accelerated away, the rapping gradually receding, becoming a distant
thud and then being absorbed by the wind. He'd glanced at the old house 
as he'd passed, for a split second he thought he'd seen a face at an 
upstairs window, a child's face, but of course when he'd glanced again 
it wasn't there. All in his imagination, obviously. 

But still his senses spoke to him of menace, closing in, some unseen
form that would soon materialise, though the thought that made him 
shudder was that it might take Claire's form, that somehow he'd allowed 
his revulsion of Tomblin to eclipse some far more deceptive and 
guileful menace – 

and that it was her – someone he'd developed feeling for, and allowed
that feeling to cloud his mind – 

He tried to block out all thought of that, but it was like rolling down
an old shutter that just kept rolling back up. He passed the bungalow 
at the top of the drove, the one that might have been desirable once, 
but that would have been long ago, now it had the same neglected and 
forlorn look that slotted in perfectly with the rest of the drove. The 
old man was outside, leaning against the railings and watching him 
pass, his weather-beaten face unreadable. 

Was that all he ever did? Stand and watch the world go by, what very
little there was of it in these parts. Stand and watch the world go by, 
Darren thought again, yes that and issue vague warnings. 

A sorry state of affairs. 

But if there was so little of the world on show in these parts why was
he so sure that a lot lay hidden? Because he knew what he'd heard, he'd 
practically felt those cries that pierced the air like sirens, the ones 
Claire had played down. 

Yes, Claire again. 

Though what was the point in confronting her? None at all. She'd just
get angry and he'd get nowhere. His thoughts turned briefly to 
McPherson, as for the Sergeant, he'd not a shred of positive 
information to provide him either. 

So his earlier intention must be acted out, right now. There was
something concealed in the drove and he was going to find it, find it 
right now, even if the source lead directly to Claire and not to 
Tomblin, as he'd so plainly thought. 

He thought of the face at the window, had it been solely imagination? He
should have found out. Time to do so now. 

He'd been driving while his head spun thoughts around like a wayward
ball, and with a sudden start he realised he was in Norfolk. Now he saw 
the Norwich sign loom right up at him, an unwelcome indication of how 
far he'd driven that day. 

Darren braked hard, pulled into a lay-by and swung the Jeep in the other
direction. 

*                                     * 

Claire Summerby needed sleep but it wouldn't come, but then when had it
ever readily come to her? She wasn't one of those people who could fall 
asleep the second their head touched the pillow, in fact she'd 
conditioned herself to fight against it in order to delay the 
nightmares she knew would eventually come. They always did – and now 
they would be compounded. Because her efforts to prevent Darren from 
becoming embroiled in Three Mile Drove hadn't worked and now she knew 
only too well that if he persisted his safety would be at risk, but Tim 
McPherson damn him, had been the one to have encouraged, no – pitched 
him into the heat of things he didn't understand. Her anger at his 
actions was matched only by her concern for Darren, and because of that 
concern she must act. 

She frowned, raised herself from the bed she'd been tossing and turning
on and picked up the receiver. 

*                                 * 

McPherson's phone rang yet again. If he'd had a fancy for trivia,
possessed the sort of mind that welcomed nonsense into it like 
outstretched arms to a long lost friend, then he might question how 
many times he'd answered it that day, it might turn out to be some sort 
of record. But he wasn't one to waste time on useless pursuits, and 
right now the only thing that bothered him about its ceaseless ringing 
was that it distracted him from outstanding cases, most of which came 
accompanied by a mountain of paperwork. 

‘McPherson,' he said mundanely. 

‘Tim we need to talk.' 

Claire Summerby, perhaps she'd had second thoughts. 

‘Is it about Three Mile Drove?' His voice livening, he swung in his
chair, taking his coffee cup in his free hand. 

‘What do you mean by involving Darren in that place?' 

‘Say again?' McPherson leaned forward, replacing his coffee cup without
taking a sip. 

‘You know what I mean Tim, encouraging him to become involved in things
that don't concern him. He's not a policeman so why involve him in your 
dirty work?' 

‘Struck a raw nerve have I, Claire?' He noticed the hard edge to her
voice, funny, but ever since he'd known her he'd thought there might be 
one, but it had never come out in the open like this, ‘Now either 
you've a definite thing about him, or there's something that's worrying 
you that you've not told me about. Either way you've something to 
hide.' 

‘Answer my question, I could report you for encouraging trespass for a
start...' 

‘My, we have got a bee in our bonnet, haven't we.' He shrugged, keeping
his voice low key, ‘Your word against mine I'm afraid.' 

‘There's Darren,' she countered, ‘he'll...' 

‘What makes you so sure he'll back you up,' McPherson interrupted,
becoming irked by her attitude, though he was damned if he'd let it 
show, ‘Anyhow it's hardly a serious disciplinary is it?' He cupped the 
phone as a clerk came in, watched while she dropped a file on his desk 
then ran his eyes quickly over the cover, and then waited until she'd 
left. 

‘Now look, let's have it, tell me all you know before someone gets
seriously hurt – and it could be Darren.' 

That was it. That was the point at which she snapped. The whole thing
was reaching the level where it threatened her sanity; she had to tell 
what she knew. ‘I'll call into the station before you leave. Give me 
half an hour,' she said, her spirit seeming as though it had dropped 
down a well. 

It was almost simultaneous, the moment she'd replaced the receiver, the
phone in McPherson's office rung again. 


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