There’s a stillness in the air. A stillness that’s contagious, and sinister, like some kind of purgatory.
A damp scent rises from the earth as the crackle of energy fills the darkness. An electric purple flashes and a rumble rolls close by.
Small droplets of rain land on Barry’s shoulders, the droplets getting larger and falling harder. A strong gust of wind blows his curls back from his face as he strains to keep his eyes open.
This is one storm he doesn’t want to miss.
Bertie doesn’t look up when his name is called but he can feel people moving away from him like he is all of a sudden poisonous. The huge sigh encompasses him as he processes the fact he has been chosen. Chosen to die. To die in front of everyone, on TV, for their entertainment.
An arm reaches out and a hand brushes against his shoulder, perhaps the last moment of comfort before he meets his death.
Bertie raises his head as his mother pulls him in close to her chest. Her heart drums against his ear to the beat of utter shock.
“What will you do when I’m gone?”
“Hush, now, don’t talk like that.” His mother’s words don’t sound like her own.
“I can’t do this. I can’t leave you.”
“You have no choice, son. Be braver than Leonard.”
“Leonard was brave.” Bertie hung his head, his shoulders dropped an inch. “He was brave but didn’t see them coming. It’s been four years.”
“I know, I know. But I won’t lose you too.” His mother retrieved a tattered shoelace from her pocket and placed it in Bertie’s hand, closing his fist around it. She nodded her head.
Bertie ran his fingers round the shoelace and squeezed it tight. This was Leonard’s undoing and area 5.3 will pay for what they did to his brother - he had their murder weapon in his possession. He knew what he had to do.
Francis stood at the end of the wooden walkway and stared out into the calmness the lake evoked. A soft breeze lifted his hair and blew it back from his face. Why more people didn’t come here was beyond him. Something about the water just ebbs away all sense of worry, anger, upset and even confusion.
Francis had been angry for a while, but visiting the lake made him feel better.
He walked back to his car, a rusty VW Golf that he had worn to the ground. He didn’t know much about cars, but knew a lot about people. There were a few thumps from the boot and a muffled scream as the car rocked from side to side.
Francis smiled - one of those lingering smiles that lifts the corners of the mouth but doesn’t quite reach the eyes. After this, he only needed to find two more.
As he opened the boot, a foul scent of urine rose up. Great - now he would have to put more effort into cleaning his car. His victim squirmed like a fish out of water, but there wasn’t much else he could do with his ankles and wrists bound with electrical tape. Another scent filled the air - fear.
Francis grabbed the man in his boot by the scruff of the neck and hoisted him out, dropping him to the dry mud with a thud. He dragged him across the wooden planks of the walkway, every now and then his clothing getting caught and having to tug a bit harder. He forgot how strenuous this activity was.
As he reached the end, Francis breathed in deeply, closed his eyes and let his breath out. He stretched his neck from side to side, a click and a sigh of relief. Francis glared down at the pathetic mess by his feet, leaned over and pulled a hunting knife from inside his boot. He smiled as the man’s eyes widened and his body wriggled with more vigour.
“You have a choice, Matt. You can either allow me to carve out your guts - if you have any - or you can simply jump into the water. I have added weights to your boots so you’ll sink right down.”
Tears spilled out of Matt’s eyes as he mumbled his pleas. Strange how they have all reacted so similarly. Francis would ask one more question, as he had with the two before Matt.
“Do you recognise me?” Francis sat down and observed Matt’s brows furrow, the slowing down of the wriggling, the realisation that karma had caught up with him.
Francis was pretty sure he could hear muffled apologies - but it was too late. As he stood, he grabbed under Matt’s shoulder and pulled him to standing as best he could. He pointed the knife towards his stomach and ran the blade along the top of belt line. “So, shall I carve you, or shall I drop you?”
Defeat crept into Matt’s eyes as he glanced across the water.
Francis shoved him into the lake, cold splashes sprayed his face as Matt hit the water. He watched the bubbles frantically popping along the surface until they stopped, until the ripples slowed. How many other secrets are hiding in the depths of this lake?
The calmness returned, and Francis slipped the knife back into his boot. Three down, two more to go… no-one gets away with murder.
I’m staring danger in the face yet I feel so calm. They must have heard me coming; such beauty in their power. Before me stand three tall white wolves, one standing closer to me than the others. They must have heard me coming, I can tell by the way their eyes are fixed on me.
I hold onto my hiking stick with both hands in front of me, my lower back is feeling the strain of the 45 minute hike I’ve completed so far. Only another twenty minutes until I’m back at the car. If I’m allowed to continue.
The alpha wolf takes a step closer, raising its nose and sniffing the air around me. I think he’s try to suss out whether I’m a threat or not. I stay where I am and as still as I can l, although my breathing needs to slow.
The other two wolves stay put, waiting for permission.
My heart rate quickens, maybe I’m not as safe as I thought I was. Is anyone going to notice if I don’t make it back home? Will anyone know where to look for me?
The aplha moves in closer yet, I maintain eye contact - not wanting to back down. He circles around the back of me and my feet become tree roots, holding me to the ground. And luckily, he comes back round the front. I let out a sigh of relief as he walks back to the pack. He has spared me my life. How do I show my gratitude to a wolf?
I smile, it’s the only thing I can think to do.
Never thought I would feel like a pirate, but today that’s exactly how I feel. I don’t know who this card is from and I don’t know how it has managed to get delivered to me whilst on a cruise with my friends. But right now, in my hands, I’m staring at a crumpled map.
“Let me see.” Sam jostles in closer to me, her chin perched on my shoulder. She has never understood the concept of personal space.
“Anna, hold it up so we can all get a look,” Torie said to my left. She’s a class teacher, always has been and always will be.
Jules, the alcoholic of the group, sidles up on my right side, the scent of red wine lingering on her breath.
“Where is this for?” I ask, holding the map higher so everyone can see. A flock of birds squawk past as if descending on troops back on shore, distracting me. A gust of wind blows the centre of the map into my face and my hair flies out, temporarily blinding me.
Tories pulls my left arm down and runs her perfectly manicured fingernail over the faded red dotted line on the map and looks out to sea. She was focused.
“Come on, Torie, what have you figured out?” Sam says, a little louder in my ear than I had wanted.
A group of young lads walk by, laughing and jeering, drinks spilling out of their glasses. It’s only 08:30 in the morning and they are sozzled. The one closest to us stops in front of Torie. “Alright, darling?” He sways towards her.
“No thank you,” Torie says and signals for him to keep moving. The lad looks defeated but Torie appears oblivious. The lads snigger as he joins the rest of his group and they walk away.
Whatever Torie has discovered is not apparent to me as I study the map more closely. One line goes towards the shore, and I have no idea where the other lines take us.
Jules trips over my feet, grabs my arm and pulls my down to the deck. Map still in my hands I land on my elbows and roll onto my back, crying out in pain. Why does she have to make a fool out of me as well as herself?
Torie grabs the map, her eyes squint as she looks towards the top right hand corner.
As I get back to my feet, I rub my elbows. Jules has apologised ten times or more but I’m not hearing her. I want to know what Torie knows. And judging by the look on her face, we are about to embark on a real-life treasure hunt.
I don’t know how long I’ve been chained in this room, but it feels like days. I was taken on Halloween, while my children were out trick-or-treating with their friends. I hate to think what happened when they returned home.
A bird pecks at the window pane and flies off, fleeing the disaster that hides in this worn out house.
The rotting flesh of the bodies dumped in the corner is making me feel nauseous, like I’m going to pass out. Every now and then I think I’ve got used to the smell and a wave hits me and I’m right back to holding everything in.
A door slams below me and I hear the soft, slow thudding of footsteps up the stairs, the creaking of the landing as he reaches the top. The door suddenly feels in close proximity. All I can do in this moment is watch the door open and pray there is a distraction.
Freya giggled as I pushed the swing higher. I ran round to the front and pretended to grab her feet and she flung her head back and chuckled. This is what I lived for - the happy moments - the memories that will stay forever.
I wonder if my mother still has these memories, if she ever pushed me on a swing, if she ever wanted to see me laugh. I can’t ask her these questions because I have no idea where she is. I don’t even know if she is still alive. That’s why my grandmother, my mum’s mum, raised me. Gran told me many years ago that my mother asked her to babysit one night and she never came to pick me up - just left me there and disappeared.
Gran must have plenty of memories of me as a little girl on a swing or out running. I have those memories. But Gran is in a care home suffering with dementia so I’m not sure what exactly she remembers. Sometimes when I visit she doesn’t remember my name. It’s hard to see her embarrassed when I remind her.
“More!” Freya shouts as the swing slows down.
I must have been in a daze because I forgot to continue pushing her. I hold my nose and count down from ten in a robotic voice then power up. I give one big push and Freya smiles. I don’t ever want to forget her prescious smile.
She didn’t tell me she knew him. She must have kept it secret for a reason. This photo shows her in a different light, she’s a different person; perhaps he made her feel better than I do now.
“How do you know him?” I glare into her eyes, challenging her for the correct answer.
She rubs her nose. Something I’ve noticed she does when she feels uncomfortable. “He’s a friend from years ago.” Shes crosses her leg then uncrosses it.
“How close were you?” My elbows dig into my knees a little deeper, my chin firmly positioned on top of my hands. I just want her to tell me, to confirm what I already know.
She lets out a nervous giggle. “I haven’t gone there with him, if that’s what you’re asking!”
Then why has he sent me this photo? Why can’t I get the image of her all over him out of my head, imagining exactly how close they were to each other. Did she wear the same perfume back then? Did he tickle the back of her neck? Is that why she likes it when I do that?
Mandy stands from the chair opposite me, her thumbnails clicking against eachother. She’s wearing a frown that doesn’t suit her normally innocent face. “Why don’t you ask him how he knows me?”
I lean back, taken off guard by her assertiveness. Maybe I’ve got this wrong. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. But something still doesn’t feel right.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back. I can’t seem to get enough air into my lungs. I can’t think clearly. The water splashes onto the boat with each paddle fiercly plummeting into the river as I try to increase the distance between us.
As I glance back, their silhouette sails boldly behind me, stark against the sunset in the background. The calm before the storm.
I face back in front, breathing out short puffs of airs, the wispy mist of my breath clinging to any warmth it finds. Why is the bank so far away? My muscles stiffen with each movement, weighing heavy at my sides. I need to disappear, to hide where they won’t find me.
When I look back this time, there is no boat chasing me. No group of people shouting profanities at me. Nothing.
The silence pulsates in my ears as I look from left to right, front to rear. My knuckles, white, as they grasp the oars tighter, not moving them, not moving anywhere.
A gunshot crashes the wall of stillness down, birds screaching from the trees in the distance. Another shot, and this time the bullet breaks the surface of the water to my left. I duck, my knees grazing against the rough wood of the boat. Another shot. Another bullet sinks into the water.
I’m frozen, no where to hide, no-one I can call for help. I’m certain this is the end.
It’s a good job I’m not the kind of girl who wears heels, even though I could do with being a few inches taller. There’s no way I would make it across the rocky terrain I call my garden with the sharp edges of rocks jutting out of the ground. Its like walking over a neverending pile of plugs - and we all know how much stepping on one plug hurts!
Instead, I’m sitting here tying the laces on my trusted hiking boots. The soles are so thick I could be walking along the sand instead.
My husband, Edward, is already waiting at the gate. He’s a famous geologist and extended member of the royal family, inheriting this castle because nobody else wanted it. He saw the beauty of it, the tranquility of being in an area that no-one dared set foot in. I have aptly named him The King of Rocks, and standing before the gate he looks anything but a king in his clunky boots and rucksack filled with his various technical equipment - because you never know what treasures will be under your feet. Or under your arse if you miss your step!
My rucksack is heavy, filled with enough water bottles to keep us hydrated for the next few hours on our treasure hunt.
The gate clink-clink-clinks up, and as we step out into the forest of rock, a helicopter roars by overhead. We are normally used to seeing heicopters fly by, but this one is different. It takes a sharp turn and steers back in our direction. And something is dropped, something that falls to the grounds with a thunk, something that resembles a body. It lays there, about 200 feet away. The helicopter speeds off.
I can usually move quite nimbly over the rocks but today I trip over my first step. Edward grabs my hand to steady me. I have a bad feeling about this.
I wipe the perspiration from my forehead and clamber over the rocks, Edward matching my pace. I get to the body and I just know. It’s him. It’s my brother who has been missing for the last six years. But he’s dead.
