Three Mile Drove Chapter Twenty (standard:horror, 1688 words) [21/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Sep 23 2007	Views/Reads: 2806/1947	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A pop musician has inherited a smallholding in the English fens, and right now things are getting a little too hot for him to handle!

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

the wind, fragmenting, making it seem like a Catherine Wheel out of 
control. 

White heat emblazoned the grey skies, illuminating the lone willow which
had seemed to stand before the house like a deformed guardian, now 
seeming to turn it into a weird caricature of the old man he'd just 
seen, with its two remaining branches stretching out like thin ageing 
arms, each with points seeming like fingers, fingers that warned him 
away. The sensation set his heart pounding, but he fought for control 
of his senses, summoned logic against the nonsense that had entered his 
mind. Claire's old house was on fire, derelict or not McPherson had 
believed it held the key to the missing child, now it was burning 
before his eyes. 

He thought then of the child he'd reckoned seeing at the window before
he'd dismissed it as a figment of his imagination, and with a growing 
unease pressed heavily on the accelerator. He cursed himself for 
driving so far while his mind led him on a turbulent trail of thoughts 
circling around Claire. 

And then amidst the fury of the blaze he heard awful screams, wailing
which sounded like high-pitched sirens carried on the wind. The same, 
inhuman calls that had caused him such concern, only now whoever was 
responsible for the howling was surely entrapped within the inferno 
raging around the house. 

Pulling the Jeep to a halt a safe distance away Darren glanced back at
the fire that the gusty wind was spiralling high into the grey skies, 
creating an eerie merger. He stepped out and walked about twenty yards, 
passing the tall bank of trees, which shielded Shaun Tomblin's house 
from the road, pausing alongside the makeshift bridge, which crossed 
the dyke. A timber rafter disintegrating in the heat broke away, 
crashing to earth, sending sparks and cinders crackling around him like 
demented jumping jacks. 

There was nothing he could do and yet there had to be. The howling told
him that much, but even as he flung himself from the Jeep and fought 
his way through the mixture of thick bog and grass that had once served 
as a garden, he felt his legs buckle on the uneven ground, pitching him 
headlong into the foul smelling soil. He gazed up at the house, its 
upper floors billowing smoke and flame, he saw the window he'd thought 
he'd seen the child and saw the fiery glow lashing at it like huge 
fingers. The sight served to pull him up, stirring the leaden weights 
that were his legs towards the door. It was a flimsy construction and 
gave easily as the foggy swirl of smoke seared his breath. The screams 
rang out again from above, mixing eerily with the sound of cracking 
timbers. They were upstairs somewhere, whoever they were. He was going 
to find out, the blaze hadn't yet engulfed the whole house but it was 
within minutes, perhaps seconds of doing so. 

He fumbled in his pocket for something to mask his lungs from the acrid
smoke which darkened the room like a smog, finding a handkerchief as 
wet as the soaked clothing he wore. But his soggy condition afforded 
him some protection from the fire that ravaged upstairs. He could hear 
it rippling through the rafters; he could see the flashes of light that 
lit the stairs like a fairground from hell. 

He forced himself up the stairway against the pall of smoke, finding the
landing and grasping the banister for support; it shook with his weight 
but it didn't give. But neither did the bedroom door that he swung his 
foot at, the door behind which came the frenzied screams. He cursed 
briefly at the irony of it, that an internal door should be tougher 
than an external one, then launched his foot again with all the force 
he could muster. He felt a surge of adrenaline as it gave with a 
splintering sound and a wall of flame dashed out to greet him. He 
covered his eyes from the searing heat, staggering into the room, 
feeling himself immediately jostled by featureless silhouettes in the 
smoke as they rushed towards the landing. A rafter missed his head by a 
whisker and a ball of fire hurtled down from above as if tossed by a 
giant hand, but the fire's captives whoever they were had been freed, 
he could hear the quick tread of footsteps down the stairs; hear their 
urgent, high-pitched yells. 

He turned back to the landing, rushing headlong down the stairs after
them. Somebody had fired the attic, tried to kill them and more than 
anything right now he needed to know why. He needed to know who these 
people were; he was within a few yards of the owners of the terrible 
sounding screams that had plagued him since his arrival here, but he 
had to fight his way through a dense wall of smoke that seemed to defy 
his every downward step. 

And then he saw a face, the face of the girl he'd imagined he'd seen
from the window, it looked back at him, panic stricken, through the 
gathering darkness as he stumbled to the edge of the doorway taking 
deep breaths of smoky air. In an instant she'd turned and fled, joining 
the others, the owners of the screams that continued to shriek in the 
distance. He plunged his feet into the soggy soil, cursing the fact 
that his weight was much heavier than the child's, that it inhibited 
his progress far more than it had done to her, or any of the rest for 
that matter. But he'd seen the route that she'd taken and forcing much 
needed air into his withering lungs he gave chase. 

He reached the gap in the overgrown hedge he'd seen the child disappear
through, though now the cries had ceased and the track cut three ways; 
one lead into the fens, another towards the drove while the third lead 
into Tomblin's home.Instinct would have led him in that direction but 
for a sudden explosion of fire that illuminated the area in white 
flame. He caught sight of movement, a sudden hustling along the track 
that led deep into the fens. 


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