Three Mile Drove, Chapter Five (standard:horror, 3009 words) [6/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jun 04 2006	Views/Reads: 2931/2179	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Continuation of a completed horror story

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

That'll be one pound eighty please.' He placed Darren's beer on the 
counter, examined the change and placed it in the till before resuming 
his interrupted conversation. 

Darren lifted his glass and carried it to a seat by a table opposite the
door, where he returned the stares of anyone still regarding him as a 
curio. He felt like an exhibit in a museum, and his indignation at that 
was matched only by his indignation at the vandalism directed against 
his vehicle, and the apparent neglected state of his inherited 
property. 

Well he couldn't say that he hadn't been warned. The pompous solicitor
Henley had warned him of such, even if the man's manner had been 
arrogant. Now he'd just settle for a while with his drink, try to calm 
his jaded nerves and return any gormless, open mouthed stares that 
might be directed his way, then head for the inn at the cross-roads 
where he'd be able to get some much needed sleep. Or so he hoped. 

The main door of the pub opened, allowing a cold blast of air to funnel
into the bar, though it wasn't the sudden draught, which bothered 
Darren as much as the cause of it, as two smartly dressed people 
entered. One, very tall and slim, who Darren adjudged to be in his 
thirties and the other, preceding him, was the attractive woman he'd 
briefly spoken to earlier. So his optimism had borne fruit, but it was 
fruit of a sour taste, because she'd brought her boyfriend with her. 

Well that was no surprise really, it would be difficult to imagine her
as unattached at any rate; she seemed classy, vibrant and good-looking. 
When all said and done, she'd hardly be interested in a run down 
ex-rock musician. 

He saw her glance over straight away, making eye contact. She was
wearing a long skirted white suit, which contrasted, gorgeously with 
her rich, shoulder length dark hair. Her partner was dressed in a 
smart, dark suit with pinstripes that made Darren think he might be a 
solicitor. Judging by their elegant attire it was evident they weren't 
planning on spending the evening in a plain, basic pub bar. He noticed 
too, that the conversation hadn't fallen off in the same manner as when 
he'd walked in, and for a moment that puzzled him because if anybody 
seemed out of their environment it was them. He soon noted however, 
from the easy way in which they chatted to the barman and those around 
the bar, that unlike him they weren't strangers amongst the clientele. 

Darren lifted his head in surprise as he saw the woman collecting her
glass, leaving her partner chatting at the counter and making her way 
towards him. 

‘I take it you found what you were looking for?' she said with a bright
smile as she reached his table, then he saw her pause in astonishment, 
running her eyes over him, ‘What on earth's happened to you? You've got 
bits of wet weed ground all over your hair, have you been bathing in a 
swamp or something?' She gave him a frown, although he felt she'd tried 
hard to disguise it. 

Darren looked at her and sighed, unable to conceal his exasperation. He
took a big gulp from his glass and began an account of what had 
happened. She pulled up a chair and listened intently. It was probably 
his tired, overactive imagination, but when he'd finished and returned 
his gaze to her he thought that the radiant complexion he'd noticed 
when he'd first come in had been replaced by a much more pale one. It 
was almost as if she was personally troubled. But why should she be? 
After all she didn't even know him. 

‘What an awful experience,' she said, sipping some kind of clear spirit,
‘a nice introduction to life on the fens I must say.' She took another 
sip and considered, ‘Not a true reflection though, I assure you.' She 
arched her dark brows as Darren bit on his lip, he didn't want to 
offend this fine looking, personable woman, but just at this moment it 
presented a pretty passable reflection to him. 

‘I could have told you that you'd find no heating or water, or anything
for that matter at Bridge End Farm,' she added in the face of his 
silence. She dropped her glance for a few seconds, ‘But I never thought 
of it. If I had of done it would have saved you the trouble of going 
down there so late in the day, and it would have saved you from getting 
stoned and nearly drowned as well.' 

Her eyes seemed to show guilt, guilt that he thought wasn't justified.
He strove to dismiss it and leaning forward he said, ‘Why should you 
have thought to tell me, we only came into contact with each other for 
a few seconds when all said and done.' 

Contact. The word made them both smile as they recalled the collision
earlier. He swallowed more of the contents of his glass and looked up 
to find the woman's tall, slim partner standing over them. 

‘Are you going to introduce me to your friend?' the man asked, his voice
amiable enough, but his expression as his gaze travelled over Darren 
seemed to indicate suspicion and disapproval. 

Claire turned away from the man, looked at Darren and laughed to reveal
fine white teeth. ‘I don't even know your name, by the way, my name's 
Claire Summerby.' 

‘And I'm Darren Goldwater.' 

‘I think you might be interested in this Tim,' she said, swivelling
around, her own smile fading as her broad face became more serious. She 
quickly looked back at Darren and extended her arm, ‘Darren this is Tim 
McPherson; he's a police sergeant. Tell him what you've just told me.' 

Darren tiredly repeated his story to McPherson, who as he spoke, sat
down and pulled a packet of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his 
suit jacket. He stretched it towards Darren who selected one willingly. 
When he'd finished speaking McPherson blew smoke abstractedly through 
the air, before returning his blue-eyed gaze firmly to Darren. 

‘You're sure it was Three Mile Drove where this took place?' he asked in
a low tone, ‘There's no chance of you being mistaken, after all you are 
a newcomer, unfamiliar with these parts I should think?' 

“Does everyone in this damned village, in this whole damned area know
I'm a newcomer?” Darren's thoughts were internal but he almost voiced 
them outright as he barely managed to keep his irritation beneath the 
surface. 

‘Yes, it was Three Mile Drove,' he said swallowing heavily, ‘it was the
last turn I made. A couple of hundred yards down it, that rock hit the 
Jeep so hard it felt like a grenade had exploded.' 

McPherson turned to Claire, whose eyes were lowered as if mesmerised by
the light reflecting on the table, ‘Now who the hell would have the 
motivation to do that,' he muttered. ‘It might be the sorry trend for 
brainless twits to do something like that on a bridge over a dual 
carriageway, but on an isolated road where you'd be lucky to see one 
vehicle per hour? It doesn't make sense. Just what the hell is going on 
in that godforsaken pain of a place?' 

McPherson slammed his cigarette heavily into a circular tin foil
ashtray, extinguishing it in a cloud of smoke, ‘Listen Darren, I want 
you to meet me at the top of the drove, at ten tomorrow morning. I know 
it might be difficult but I want you to try to pinpoint the exact 
position where this happened. I've my own enquiries centering on this 
drove at the moment, as it happens, which is why I had to be sure that 
you were right about the location.' 

‘No problem,' Darren said, switching his attention to the woman with the
devastating smile, though now he saw that her expression had turned 
more serious. ‘Don't think I'm prying,' she said, ‘but I was wondering 
how you came to inherit Old Bridge Farm.' 

Why should you want to know that? Darren thought of asking her, though
he stopped himself, it seemed a nosy sort of question she'd asked, but 
he liked what he saw in this woman. He placed his glass on the table, 
‘Sam Regan was my uncle,' he said, ‘though I only met him once, I 
think, and even that memory is sketchy.' 

‘I see. Lucky you.' She smiled but it wasn't the flashing wide mouthed
grin that had so impressed him earlier. This one seemed forced somehow, 
though he couldn't explain why. And what did she mean by “lucky you?” 
There seemed a faint air of resentment in the voice, which went with 
the smile. Was she referring to Sam Regan or the property when she'd 
spoke the words? Had she known Regan? Probably she had, he thought, 
after all it was a small community. All the same he sensed that 
something was disturbing her, though of course it could just be a 
consequence of his over-active imagination. 

He stood up and drained his glass, ‘I'd better be off, I need some kip.'
He glanced from one to the other, ‘Have a good night the pair of you.' 

As Darren limped his way out of the bar, McPherson turned to Claire and
smiled, ‘I reckon he thinks we're an item.' He ran his finger across 
the gold stud in the lobe of his ear, ‘I also think he likes you.' 

If he'd been looking for a response from Claire he was disappointed. She
sat coolly sipping her drink. 

‘Where are you off to tonight, in any case...' he prodded her, ‘all
dressed up?' 

‘I've been invited to talk at the Women's Institute, in the village hall
across the way,' she said in a voice lacking enthusiasm. ‘A day in the 
life of a community nurse, would you believe. It's my day off as well, 
but there you go.' She stretched and McPherson had difficulty keeping 
his eyes from wandering downwards. ‘But then in a small community like 
this we have to contribute don't we, and we have to be seen to 
contribute, unlike you, who can simply vanish from this village like 
the invisible man back to Ely.' She looked at him, suddenly narrowing 
her eyes so that faint creases showed around their edges, spoiling an 
otherwise perfect skin, ‘In any case, I might ask the same question 
about you?' 

He grimaced and touched the gold stud on his lobe again – the force had
prohibited him from wearing his prized earring while working, ‘I'm 
still on duty Claire, I did as you suggested and went to see the parson 
about Three Mile Drove.' 

‘Was David any help to you?' she asked casually. 

McPherson noticed that Claire was rapping her fingers quickly on the
table as if in response to some imaginary pop song that might be taking 
place within her head, though he doubted as much, because of late she'd 
been strangely subdued.  He'd not marked her down as a fidget, and 
certainly not the nervous kind either, so he found her manner 
surprising. 

As if she'd sensed what McPherson was thinking she immediately stopped
the drumming, lifting her fingers from the table and folding her arms 
across her chest, then leaning them on the table. 

‘Well come on then, did he help or not?' 

‘He was about as much help as a broken key in a lock, he actually had
the gall to suggest I'd imagined what I saw. Me, would you believe, 
with all my experience.' McPherson gave a short laugh though there was 
no mirth in it, ‘In a roundabout way he thought I might be suffering 
from stress,' he gave her an awkward glance, ‘that's not what you 
think, is it?' 

Claire raised her eyebrows, ‘No of course not, why should you think
that?' 

‘I just wondered,' McPherson lit a cigarette and inhaled, ‘I just can't
believe he could be as dismissive as that. He mentioned something about 
inbreeding...' 

‘Inbreeding?' 

‘Yeah, inbreeding, having it off with your own family...' 

‘I know what it is Tim,' Claire glared at him, ‘do you have to be so
coarse.' 

‘Sorry,' McPherson took a long gulp from his glass, ‘anyway, it was his
explanation for the weird kids I saw, he says there might have been 
some kind of slight deformity, that I exaggerated. But I know what I 
saw...' 

‘You all right?' McPherson stopped, he'd seen a shadow cross Claire's
face. He'd seen that kind of look on people before, normally when 
they'd had a nasty shock. 

‘Yes of course, I'm feeling a bit jaded that's all,' she gave a brief
smile, ‘I think I might be going down with a bug, from a patient I 
expect,' she waved away smoke from his cigarette, he got the message 
and lowered it. ‘So inbreeding eh? It's been rife around here for 
generations, didn't you know?' 

‘I can't say I did, but even so, what I witnessed was downright
horrific; the whole scene was revolting. What if the missing kid has 
ended up in all this?' 

‘Now that really could be your imagination Tim,' she lowered her eyes,
reaching for her glass. 

McPherson reddened, ‘Not you as well.' 

‘In that respect, yes.' 

He shrugged and glanced at his watch, ‘If I wasn't suspicious I wouldn't
be a copper I suppose, is that the time? “The Bill” starts at nine 
tonight,' he gulped down the rest of his drink, ‘it's the second of a 
two-parter, I don't want to miss it.' 

‘Then learn to set the video dear,' Claire murmured as she watched him
stride out of the lounge. She downed the last of her drink, her hand 
tightening around the stem of the glass. * 


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