Three Mile Drove, Chapter four (standard:horror, 1286 words) [5/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: May 06 2006	Views/Reads: 3083/2210	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Continuation of a completed horror thriller

Three Mile Drove, Chapter Four 

McPherson parked his car in the rear yard of the “Bird In Hand,” but he
hadn't got his mind on a drink just yet. It was a short walk from the 
pub to the vicarage, where he'd arranged an appointment with the 
parson, David Endleberry. 

The nineteenth century building lay back from the street, dark and
sombre, flanked either side by cedar trees. Just a faint light 
illuminated the porch and a yellow glimmer emanated from behind the 
curtains of a downstairs room. 

It seemed a rambling property for somebody who lived alone, but then
Claire had told him that the house served as a meeting place for 
several groups in the community, including apparently, the attic, which 
provided a club for the local children. 

Endleberry must have seen or heard him approaching because the door was
opened before he reached the porch step. ‘Come in Sergeant.' In the 
dimly lit hallway, Endleberry, a tall gaunt man, stood aside and 
ushered him through. ‘Not often we see your lot in our neck of the 
woods,' he said closing the door, ‘nothing too amiss I trust.' 

‘Damned awful night,' McPherson said, hearing the parson's remark but
not responding directly. He bit his lip at blaspheming the moment he'd 
crossed over the threshold, though Endleberry hadn't seemed to have 
taken offence as he took off his coat and hung it on the stand. 

Endleberry lead him through to a front room which fitted its nineteenth
century status every bit, ‘Take a seat won't you, what can I get you, 
tea – coffee perhaps?' 

‘No thanks,' McPherson politely declined; he had his sights set on
something stronger once he'd finished his business here. 

‘There can't be many goings-on around these parts that escape your eye
Mr. Endleberry,' McPherson paused, not really sure how to address the 
man appropriately - what was it, vicar, parson, something like that? 

Endleberry seemed to be aware of his dilemma because he gave a smile,
‘David will do,' he said. ‘I take a particular interest in the 
community as I'm sure you're aware, otherwise I doubt that you'd be 
calling on me, though there are one or two other small communities that 
consume my time. As a matter of fact you caught me on one of my quieter 
evenings.' 

‘I'm glad about that,' McPherson leaned forward, clasping his hands
together, examining his fingertips, then shooting Endleberry a glance, 
‘I'll come straight to the point, how much do you know about Three Mile 
Drove, the derelict house midway along it in particular?' 

Endleberry shrugged, sitting himself opposite; a middle-aged man, his
face seemed lined with leathery furrows, ‘Not much at all Sergeant, why 
do you ask?' 

‘Call me Tim. My enquiry surrounds a missing child,' McPherson said with
marked gravity, ‘I was called to a spot on the drove where the girl was 
reportedly sighted, close to a derelict house.' 

McPherson recounted his experience as he settled his eyes on Endleberry.
The fire in the grate threw out almost as much light as the low-wattage 
bulb in the ancient table lamp, and through it he thought he saw the 
grooves in Endleberry's skin thicken. Surely, McPherson thought, 
Endleberry had more than a little knowledge of what went on around 
these parts. 

But when he'd finished Endleberry simply sighed and shook his head. ‘I'm
sorry you didn't find your missing child Tim, all I can tell you about 
the old place is that it's not been lived in since the mid sixties.' 

‘Who were the last occupants?' 

Endleberry frowned, rubbing his fingers through the thick furrows of his
forehead, ‘I'm not sure, it was a long time back,' he met the 
policeman's firm gaze, ‘but I can check.' Endleberry drew himself up, 


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