Three Mile Drove, Chapter Three, part two (standard:horror, 4065 words) [4/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Apr 09 2006	Views/Reads: 3103/2145	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
continuation of a completed horror story set in remote fenland in the UK

CHAPTER THREE (part two) 

Darren reached Ely a little after two o'clock, finding a car park close
to the main street where the offices of Henley & Son were situated. As 
he left the confines of the car park, he was surprised to find himself 
thinking that the place exuded character and a warm charm; it seemed to 
stand defiant in the face of the isolated wilderness he'd just driven 
through. As if to emphasise as much he noticed the leaden skies had 
begun to lighten from the west and the heavy rain relent into a 
drizzle. 

He found the solicitor's office at the foot of the hill on Main Street,
just before the bend leading down to the river. It's wide, double 
fronted windows seemed to provide it with the air of an estate agent 
rather than a solicitor, and only the name Henley & Son, solicitors, in 
large blue print on the door told him otherwise. The dismal conditions 
seemed to have deterred people from taking to the city's streets and 
likewise the solicitor's office was empty apart from a receptionist, 
who sat primly with her spectacles perched on the end of a sharp nose, 
glancing up as he walked in. Darren introduced himself and wondered 
whether he suffered from excessive body odour by the way she blinked 
when he approached the desk. 

‘Oh yes, Mr. Henley is expecting you,' she muttered, pivoting round in
her swivel chair and pressing a button on her intercom, ‘please go 
through.' 

Darren took the few steps leading through the reception area to a small
corridor, at the end of which was open door. ‘Come in Mr. Goldwater,' a 
small looking, portly man with a round and reddened face beckoned from 
behind a walnut desk, ‘a foul day for your journey I'm afraid,' he 
stretched his hand out to meet Darren's, forming a limp handshake 
suggesting formality rather than greeting. ‘Do sit down,' he said, 
offering an easy chair on the near side of his desk while he opened a 
drawer, taking out a file. The faint smile Henley had displayed 
disappeared immediately he flicked through the folder. He took from it 
a small cellophane bag containing a set of keys and dangled them from 
his fingertips as though he thought they might contain the remnants of 
The Plague. 

‘I have to tell you Mr.Goldwater, that Old Bridge Farm might not be all
that you were expecting,' Henley said, in the manner of someone whose 
job it was to convey disappointing news. He placed his fists under his 
chin and regarded Darren thoughtfully, as if  expecting that 
disappointment to be prematurely reflected on the curly haired man's 
face. ‘You see Mr.Goldwater, the deceased was something of a recluse, 
and the bungalow you have inherited is, for want of a more apt 
description, in a tumbledown state. You might find it a costly 
enterprise to renovate.' 

Henley reclined in his high backed chair, ‘I wouldn't imagine it would
provide adequate accommodation unless you invested; apart from that it 
wouldn't have much of a resale-able value, now would it?' 

Darren swallowed to conceal his rising resentment. He didn't like
solicitors; he felt they were the one species you could generalise on 
with a degree of certainty. They charged exorbitant rates, judged 
themselves to be above the level of common understanding, and above all 
he'd yet to meet one who didn't speak as though he had a plum in his 
mouth. It was as if the profession demanded it. 

‘You will find Bramble Dyke between Ely and Littleport, I believe it is
signposted,' Henley said, his face set as though it had been moulded in 
a plaster cast of contempt for people who existed in lower levels than 
himself. 

Darren took the keys, smiling faintly before assuming Henley's now
austere stare. “Well,” he thought, “if I do renovate the place and put 
it on the market there won't be any takings for supercilious old 
bastards like you.” 

Although the rain had relented and the sky opened out into a faint
yellow haze, darkness was already beginning to close in as Darren left 
Ely, bound for Bramble Dyke. He'd found the journey boring and that had 
probably exacerbated his feeling of tiredness, but no doubt a string of 


Click here to read the rest of this story (347 more lines)