Three Mile Drove, Chapter Twenty Two (standard:horror, 2139 words) [23/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Nov 26 2007	Views/Reads: 2774/2031	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Out in the wilderness, that is Three Mile Drove and Bramble Dyke, Darren Goldwater stumbles on a form of existence he never knew existed.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO 

Darren halted. He'd gone the wrong way, seeing the track narrowing into
a pathway as it wound behind the ruins, cutting increasingly thinly 
through open fenland now disappearing amidst the gloom. 

Realising that his targets had fled the other way, he turned to face the
house. He could see it's smouldering remains, like the wrecked shell of 
a huge, beached ship in the gathering darkness. 

Then they came once more, those horrendous cries, slicing sharply
through the air. Somewhere, ahead of him, though not directly. He 
should have taken the other route or at least used his ears to guide 
him; he might have known the screams would fill the air again. 

He'd lost them now, he should wait until morning, the voice of reason
spoke up, more clearly than ever. But he was too fired up now, in the 
last few minutes he'd plunged into a fire ravaged house and freed a 
child and some wretch so badly deformed the sight had struck him to the 
core. He'd been within perhaps feet of discovering the root of what had 
been haunting him since his arrival here. He could walk back to his 
hotel, but he'd simply walk the floor all night. He wanted answers now, 
and he'd find them, even if his only tool was the torch in his pocket. 

He'd chosen the wrong route; therefore he'd take the right one, no
matter what lay ahead. Retracing his steps he walked back to the point 
where the main track diverged into two, and took the opposite route. 

He shone his torch at the track; from what he could see in the faltering
light it curved in an arc, north easterly. The shrieking cries died 
away, the wind dropped as the rain began to fall more heavily, like 
thin nails driving into the ground beneath his feet. 

Reaching a point where the track straightened out so that it ran
directly north, he thought he saw movement ahead of him, but with the 
light so poor it could have been anything. 

Forcing himself on without so much as a sign of the thing he'd seen, he
began to despair that he'd ever see an end to the avenue of trees which 
seemed to be pressing in on him, as if they intended his suffocation. 
His legs growing tired, Darren thought it must be at least fifteen 
minutes since he turned into the track. Ahead of him there was only 
darkness, he let out a curse as the last flickers of light died from 
his torch; any flame from the fire behind had either been extinguished 
or was hidden by the trees. Perhaps he'd travelled so far he was beyond 
its glow. As his pace dwindled he saw the futility of his mission 
spread out before him like a huge screen. He'd seen this bank of trees 
from the roadway, noticed how they stretched through the fens like 
endless spires, and yet he hadn't appreciated the true depth of it. 

There was sound behind him, and it wasn't the whistle of wind either. It
was the kind of treading only man or large animals made, the steps 
seeming to match his. He turned, seeing nothing, cursing himself for 
his stupidity. The drumbeat of rain, he told himself, that's all it 
was. He was letting his mind run away with him. 

But the rain slackened, and still the sound was there behind him.
Closing, quickening. Alarm warnings pounded in his head like peels from 
mighty bells as he forced his tired legs to carry him faster. Brushing 
sweat and rain from his eyes he saw in the distance a dim flicker of 
light, and with it, the shrieks and cries burst out again so loudly 
they pierced his ears. 

Suddenly the bank of trees fell away and he found himself in a circular
opening, like a ramshackle camp. A large barn dominated the centre; 
flickering light from what might have been an oil lamp emanating from 
beyond a flapping door. From what light there was, he could see that 
several wooden buildings, not unlike beach huts were scattered around 
the perimeter. 

Darren turned in a circle, fear and disorientation grabbing at him like
a ferocious clawed hand. The wind had risen, the rain began to pelt 
again as if the elements had been trying to lull him into a false sense 
of security, as he made for the barn door, knowing there was little 
else he could do. 


Click here to read the rest of this story (162 more lines)