Three Mile Drove Chapter Three, part one (standard:horror, 1882 words) [3/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Mar 13 2006	Views/Reads: 3138/2184	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
First part of third chapter about a fading musician who inherits a run-down bungalow in the English fens and ends up with more than he bargained for.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

No matter. He would have a shower and a good night's sleep, give his
drink-ridden head time to clear and then leave for Ely in the morning, 
where he would seek out Henley and Son collect the key and the exact 
details of the location. 

The phone rang but he made no attempt to answer it. A verbal blasting
from Goldie wasn't exactly desirable right now, neither was a useless, 
lengthy argument with the other discontented band members. 

But the damned thing wouldn't stop ringing, it felt as though it had
been planted inside his head and every resonation seemed to send a 
shock wave through him. He felt like ripping the thing from its wall 
bracket and cursed himself for not switching on the answerphone. 

Even as he grabbed it the last ring died away, and as he held the
receiver to his ear and heard only the dialling tone, Darren wasn't 
sure whether he felt irritation or relief that the caller had finally 
rung off. 

Dial 1471 something prompted him. No leave it; he dismissed the
temptation forthwith. What could he possibly gain from it in any case? 
Additional hassle, that was all. 

It was mid morning by the time Darren rose, having habitually been a
late riser he was normally too knackered either from the after-effects 
of an evening performance, or because he'd consumed too much drink or 
smoked grass until his head revolved like a whirligig. He flung into 
the Jeep only what he thought he might need, and that simply amounted 
to toiletries and a change of clothes. He wasn't sure how long he would 
be staying but he couldn't imagine it being all that long. He'd packed 
his guitar chiefly because it accompanied him wherever he went, but 
right now he could scarcely imagine playing a note. By way of after 
thought he grabbed his mobile phone, though he left it switched off, he 
wasn't prepared to accept calls now, they would serve no purpose. He 
thought that at various times during the night he'd heard the main 
phone ringing but dismissed it as a product of his personal antagonist 
– a subconscious mind that whirled and spun while he was asleep, 
creating a string of broken images of Goldie and the band, which 
although they leaked from his head like a vapour trail in the morning 
light, nevertheless left a bitter imprint, an unpleasant reminder that 
they had been there. 

Darren chucked his leather blazer containing his wallet into the Jeep
and climbed in. He took a final look at his atlas, found what he was 
looking for, then slipped the Jeep into gear. It didn't seem too much 
of a journey, a little over one hundred miles perhaps; he might travel 
several times as much as that during the course of an average week. 

The wipers flicked quickly to and fro across the windshield. The rain
that had started the previous evening was forming rivulets in the 
gutter and then being channelled furiously into the drains as Darren 
exited the street. 

By being a late riser he had avoided the rush hour traffic but progress
through the city centre was slow, hampered by commercial traffic and 
the simple fact that every set of traffic lights seemed to have 
conspired to change to red as he approached. 

Should it really matter though, was speed of the essence? As long as he
arrived in Ely before the solicitor's office closed, and he had plenty 
of time to do that, then there wasn't a problem. It was just that in 
his current, frenetic state of mind even the smallest obstacle provided 
the greatest frustration. He'd ten or more years of rock band 
turbulence to blame for that. Years of late night gigs, early morning 
sleep-ins, afternoon booze-ups, and sex with Goldie before their 
inevitable rows which could last into the evening, whereupon the whole 
circle began again. 

It seemed an age before Darren finally left the city confines behind,
but slowly the claustrophobic streets gave way to the more agreeable 
suburbs, and then to the rolling farmland beyond. But Darren's 
irritation subsided only slowly as both the roads and the landscape 
opened out, because with the turmoil and upheaval he'd encountered of 
late he felt he'd still be on edge if he spent three months in a 
peaceful, idyllic location like the Bahamas. So no minor change of 
location was going to transform or pacify his mind, he was certain of 
that. 

Suddenly a thought flashed through his mind. He'd forgotten the
afternoon engagement, or drinking session in reality, that he'd 
arranged with a mate in Peterborough. His mind had been so overloaded 
this last day or two the thought had gone clean out of his head. 

Not that he didn't appreciate the opportunity to duck out. God how the
place depressed him. It was the point at which the lie of the land 
descended to pancake status. Caution you are now entering boredom zone, 
switch off any stimulating thought, it didn't belong there. You only 
had to observe how they drove in Peterborough, and be forever watchful. 
And driving through the place was a nightmare. It was full of geriatric 
old gits who hogged the middle of the road because they weren't capable 
of driving within the confines of one particular lane, and even then 
you had to be wary when they approached a junction, you needed psychic 
abilities to anticipate their intentions. And wherever you wanted to 
park you couldn't do it because the streets were lined with cars 
displaying blue disability stickers, normally abandoned about two feet 
from the kerb. If they couldn't drive why didn't they confine 
themselves to electric wheelchairs and do everyone a favour. 

Darren found himself recalling a gig the band had performed in the city
a few years back at a stadium not far from the football ground. They 
had been at their prime then, and in those days both vocal and 
instrumental performance had been good. The overall harmony was at its 
peak, but judging by the response of the audience that night he'd 
thought they'd have been better advised to spend the night meditating 
in a monastery. No, when all said and done he wasn't disappointed at 
having to miss out on his visit. 

Somewhere close to Wisbech Darren pulled into a lay-by and gave himself
a breather from the monotony of the journey. The rain still seemed as 
though it was being hurled down from a vast upturned bucket and the 
skies seemed to enclose him like a huge grey dome. But at least he was 
nearly there, if that was anything to be enthusiastic about. In about 
thirty minutes he'd be in Ely, and on the verge of discovering what his 
inheritance really amounted to. Darren broke into an ironic smile as he 
edged the Jeep out of its temporary sanctuary. *                 *      
         * 


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