Three Mile Drove, Chapter Twenty Six (standard:horror, 1248 words) [27/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Apr 08 2008	Views/Reads: 2551/1808	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Approaching the conclusion of my story, set in the English fens.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX 

He'd known matters were coming to a head and the knowledge of it had
seized his mind and body in nervous tremors, sending flushes of heat 
through his limbs and veins. 

Incest had continued through the ages in this part of the land where the
fingers of civilisation hadn't reached. Ancient practices continued 
unnoticed by society concealed within the isolation and wilderness that 
formed the fens. Practices that formed the backbone of life in earlier 
centuries had become extinct in modern day England. 

Or so it was generally thought. Age-old practice was one thing. But it
was worse than that. And he'd been a party to it. 

He knew what had been going on in the drove, the soul-less three mile
stretch he'd feared to tread, he'd screwed his eyes shut, blanked his 
mind at the thought of it, but now at the arrival of a stranger the 
concealed menace had developed sharp new teeth which cut through the 
thin veil of his mind to expose the reality. 

Claire wouldn't let it rest. Perhaps out of concern for the daughter he
knew she had, the one that Shaun Tomblin had taken with the approval of 
his father and had confined deep in the fens for his own purposes. 

He'd seen that look in her eyes when she'd left him and known what it
meant. It spoke aloud of her determination to involve the policeman 
McPherson, to tell him all she knew. 

And she knew plenty. 

She'd known about the abductions that had occurred through the years,
about the Tomblins' vulgar attempts to implant some normality into 
their people, only the safety of her own daughter had stopped her from 
advising the authorities. 

Until now – upon the arrival of the stranger. 

And now his own conscience had broken through the straitjacket of
constraint that had held him for so long, created by the threats that 
Tomblin had cast about him, threats he didn't doubt would be carried 
out. Again the grotesque and snarling face of Joseph leered in front of 
him but this time it held no venom. There was a fire beginning to rage 
inside him, a resolution that had begun to engulf all else. 

He'd known what must be done now, and quickly. 

*                                              * 

It was four when he left the house, a glance at the chiming hall clock
confirmed that. Soon it would be dusk. By the time they had arrived at 
the old house unseen, they would be there. The little gathering of 
deformities and retards who unbeknown to most, inhabited ramshackle 
outhouses deep in the fens. Dusk was their feeding time, the only time 
they were released from their confines and Henry and Maisie's house, 
neglected and abandoned by their daughter Claire, became their 
temporary sanctuary. 

He knew as much, Claire had confided in him long ago, the way she could
to nobody else. As a consequence he'd strayed into territory, even he, 
in his pastoral role had seldom ventured. There had never been a call 
for him to do so, small wonder now. 

He'd witnessed scenes with his own eyes, through the clogged windows of
the old house they'd sat chewing their scraps and bones, raw chunks of 
meat that had them dribbling down their filthy rags. He couldn't 
witness the sight any longer, he'd turned away only to be confronted by 
Shaun Tomblin. Then the threats had come, reinforced at regular 
intervals, a hostile presence others might only perceive as unusual. 

He was travelling on foot, treading little known tracks behind the
huddle of houses, then skirting the boundaries of smallholdings, their 
white washed frontages showing intermittently between the swaying 
fortress of conifers that shielded them from the darkening sky. 



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