Three Mile Drove, Chapter Two (standard:horror, 1616 words) [2/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Feb 19 2006	Views/Reads: 3214/2213	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Chapter two of a "chiller" situated deep in the English fens

CHAPTER TWO 

Tim Mcpherson saw the sign of the Fox and Hounds pub glimmering in the
gathering darkness and felt a surge of relief, on days such as this it 
offered an inviting prospect, a proverbial port in a storm. 

He pulled into the car park, then jumped out of his car and secured it,
before playing hopscotch around the puddles that had formed on the 
tarmac surface. He grimaced as the wind lashed needles of rain across 
his face like scores of tiny stinging insects. For a day and a half 
now, the elements had besieged the fenland, turning the dykes into 
furious free flowing rivers, threatening to burst out of their channels 
and flood the already sodden roads and fields. 

Perhaps it was pure coincidence that the heavens had opened just as he'd
begun his journey to Three Mile Drove yesterday, and that they hadn't 
abated since, but that they should precede the most foul discovery of 
his life seemed to his superstitious mind to have been a portent of 
worse things to come. 

Mcpherson, though of Scottish descent was none the less a fenman through
and through. His ancestors had settled in the area  as long ago as the 
mid - eighteenth century, and despite the benefit of a good formal 
education he was as superstitious as the rest of them. 

He bent his lean frame into the wind and headed for the shelter and
hospitality of the lounge bar, shaking the rain from his coat as he 
reached the porch. The pub stood on an isolated stretch of road between 
Ely and Littleport, from where, if you turned right at the cross-roads 
which lay just beyond it, you would reach the village of Bramble Dyke, 
not so far from where he'd made his grisly find the previous day. 

It was the time of day that dubiously divided late afternoon from early
evening, and the floral carpeted, crescent shaped lounge contained only 
a few customers. He suspected they had been driven to sanctuary by the 
depressive conditions, let's face it, they were enough to drive anybody 
to drink. These kind of conditions seemed to give the area all the 
charm of a frontier wilderness in deepest winter, an outpost where only 
the oppressed were flung to pay for their trivial sins. 

But Mcpherson's visit to the pub wasn't dictated by a spur of the moment
whim or by the prospect of seeking an alcoholic remedial, even though 
he needed to pass it on his journey home. Now, as he wiped his brow, 
Mcpherson's eyes swept across the bar to the far side, where at the 
furthest part of the curve a dark haired young woman dressed in denims 
sat on a stool, engaged in casual conversation with the young barman. 

Her broad face opened into a wide mouthed smile as she saw Mcpherson
approach. She slapped a hand invitingly on the vacant wooden stool 
beside her and laid her scotch on the bar. ‘Tim, sit down and reveal 
all. What mystery can I help you to solve?' 

Mcpherson smiled, but already he felt himself reddening. He could blame
it on the effects of the elements if she wasn't so damned perceptive. 
Sometimes he could almost feel that attractive shrewd face reading his 
mind and it made him feel more than a little uncomfortable. But then, 
he sought her help when he needed it and she didn't need her unusual 
gifts to discern that much. 

She smiled again in the face of his silence and glanced at the barman,
‘Come on Tim, what will you have, I can see you're in no mood for your 
normal half.' 

‘It'll have to be, I can't afford to get caught out, you know that.' He
flicked his eyes across the counter, watching as the barman moved away 
and levered the hand pump, then turned his face fully towards her, his 
voice low and concerned, ‘I was called out to a reported sighting of a 
missing child yesterday lunchtime, as usual it was a false alarm, but 
what I found in its place shocked me to the core.' He sighed, more of a 
groan really, his eyes returning to the barman as he topped up the 
glass and brought it to him. 

‘Thanks.' With a quick nod of the head he took his drink, guiding her
away from the stool to a seat by a bay window, pulling the curtain 
across as if seeking comfort, ‘I can only try to describe what I saw, 


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