Three Mile Drove, Chapter four (standard:horror, 1286 words) [5/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: May 06 2006	Views/Reads: 3084/2211	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Continuation of a completed horror thriller

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

crossing the room to an old bureau, taking from it an ageing leather 
binder and flicking through its yellowing pages, ‘Yes, an old couple by 
the name of Henry and Maisie Thompson. I recall it now, the old man 
died of pneumonia and that instead of seeking medical help he tried to 
ride it out, only to pass the illness onto his wife who survived him by 
just a few days.' 

McPherson nodded, ‘And that was it? No survivors to inherit the place?'
Endleberry coughed, shaking his head, ‘What happened thereafter was all 
down to rumour, but rumour had it that the place had been bequeathed to 
a child too young to occupy the property and that consequently it had 
fallen in to an increasing state of disrepair. I'm afraid that it's a 
complete mystery; who the youngster was, and what became of it nobody 
seems to know, nor even if the child was aware of its inheritance.' 

Endleberry shook his head again, ‘But a scenario such as you've just
described, I just don't see it frankly.' He walked to the window, made 
a minor adjustment to a curtain that flapped in the draught and turned 
to face McPherson, ‘The conditions, the children you say you saw, yes, 
there are families out on the fens who keep to themselves, old habits 
die hard, especially in the fens, but I don't see...' 

‘The scenes I witnessed weren't about family,' McPherson protested,
Endleberry was making it all seem like all he'd stumbled on was a 
children's playroom,  ‘The kids I saw were grotesquely distorted, the 
conditions in that place were a pit of filth, I've told you, animal 
limbs, excrement – surely to God...' 

He stopped. The Grandfather clock boomed out seven enormous chimes,
resounding enough to wake the dead. He reminded himself of his 
surroundings and tried to curb his frustration. 

‘Sergeant - Tim,' Endleberry moved to the fireplace, spreading out his
hands as if about to start a sermon, ‘What you probably saw were 
children from a nearby farm, they probably seemed deformed to you but 
there's an explanation. You see for a long time in the fens, inbreeding 
was a fact of life; minor deformities are commonplace, there's nothing 
grotesque about it, I can assure you.' 

‘Inbreeding,' McPherson muttered, ‘what's that?' the word meant nothing
to him. 

‘Yes,' Endleberry affirmed, raising his eyebrows at McPherson's
ignorance, he crossed the room to an oak bookcase, selecting a book 
from the second shelf. ‘Here, read up on it, it's folklore in these 
parts.' 

McPherson accepted the copy without taking his eyes off Endleberry, ‘I
still say they were grotesque, like nothing I've seen before, and what 
about the rotting carcasses and excrement, what logical explanation do 
you have for that?' 

Endleberry seemed to rise above McPherson's sarcasm, ‘Tim you told me
that upon your return everything had vanished, as if the place had been 
magically tidied up. The place you've described has been derelict for 
years, it's bound to be a trifle dirty, wouldn't you say? The rest I 
think is down to your imagination, if I dare to suggest as much. I 
think you might have over-reacted a little, you know conjured up 
something that wasn't really there. Stress can do that to you, did you 
know that?' 

McPherson could only stare, he judged it was time to leave; he was
boiling at Endleberry's dismissive attitude, amazed at it. The scene 
he'd witnessed bore no comparison to civilised life, if the missing 
child had entered this grizzly mess she was in dire trouble, it might 
already be too late. And he had witnessed it, this wasn't a figment of 
a stressed out mind, no matter what Mr. pompous parson said. 

‘Thanks for your time at any rate,' McPherson gave Endleberry a curt
nod, gathered his coat from the stand and made for the door. 

The parson and the vicarage had plenty in common; they seemed
encapsulated in a time warp. * 


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