The poisoned cradle (standard:horror, 1328 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Mar 04 2008	Views/Reads: 3500/2223	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Is this seemingly abandoned village really unoccupied? Perhaps it is best to turn back.

A weekend in the Lake district sounded like a reasonable suggestion, but
James Morton and his wife, along with their two daughters found it to 
be quite an ordeal, as their simmering, disordered marriage had only 
lasted for four months, and already the cracks were beginning to show. 
They had been together for eight years, and throughout that time had 
split up five times, yet, somehow they ended up together, and a whole 
year had passed without any ructions, resulting in James's proposal of 
marriage, but soon after, arguments began to punctuate their 
relationship, and at one point they agreed to the stay together, ‘for 
the kids', but it was more than that. Neither of them wanted to risk 
leaving their comfort zone, and venturing out into the lonely world of 
singledom. So arguments became more and more frequent, and James slept 
on the couch more and more often. So he suggested a trip to the Lake 
district, as the fresh air and change of scenery might do them all 
good, and maybe it did, but it did not stop their bickering, their 
souring of the mood of the occasion. It was not constant, but enough 
for both of them to barely crack a smile for the duration, and it was 
Hazel who suggested they leave earlier, as rain had started, and didn't 
seem as though it would let up, and your own bed is always the 
comfiest. So without much protest from James, they left in the 
afternoon, instead of the evening, as planned, but the girls wanted to 
stay longer, and now, as they headed home along a winding country lane, 
they sat on the back seat in a sulk, as did their mother who stared out 
of the passenger window, in a bad mood because James hadn't put much 
petrol in to cover the journey there and back. The needle was nearly 
touching the red. She attributed it to him being careful with his 
money, but it was alright for him to throw money on going for a drink 
with the lads. He could spare that money alright. 

He, in turn, reflected her mood, so the interior of the car was filled
with an oppressive atmosphere, heavy with antagonism, but silent. After 
a few moments Hazel spoke again: “Told you...” she muttered. “Look will 
you just leave it!” James shouted, his left hand chopping the air as 
though fending off her bitterness. The sound of sighing came from the 
back seat, but it was ignored. The car came to a crossroads, and James 
drove onwards. “What are you doing?” said Hazel. “You should have 
turned right. You should have turned right”. “I know,” said James, but 
there's a village down here, and I just need to pick up a few things”. 
“ A few things? Such as?” “You know, like food, and water”. “We don't 
need food and water. There's plenty for the trip home, plenty for the 
girls, and how much more petrol are you going to waste doing that?” 
James was silent. He knew she was right. “If we run out of petrol 
halfway home....” she threatened, pointing an accusing finger at him. 
“This place better hadn't be far,” she said, resuming her sulk, and 
staring out of the window. 

It turned out to be a little over a mile away, but when they reached the
place, James pulled up outside a line of four shops, then opened the 
door and got out. The silence that had pervaded the car interior seemed 
to expand outwards when he had opened the door, as when he stood, 
looking around, all was quiet. He could see nobody. A slight breeze 
blew a brown leaf onto the road. From his vantage point, he could see a 
public house, a church, and a post office. “Well hurry up then” said 
Hazel. “Get what you want and lets go” “There's nobody here,” he said. 
“It's deserted”. Hazel didn't reply for a few seconds, then got out of 
the car and stood, like her husband, surveying the area. “Where is 
everyone?” she asked, as if he would know. “How am I supposed to know,” 
he retorted, crossing onto the pavement and walking across to what must 
have been the local newsagents. 

Save for the fact that there was nobody behind the counter, everything
seemed normal. The newspapers where for the previous day. When he came 
out he was eating a chocolate bar. “Was somebody in there?” she asked. 
He shook his head. “Then I hope you left money on the counter”. “Nope,” 
he said. “Nobody's going to miss it”. “But that's theft” said Hazel. 
James gave a wave of dismissal. “Oh, I'm going for a look around, you 
can do what you like”. “Whose that mummy?” said one of the girls, who 
was standing beside the car, pointing along the road. James followed 
her pointing finger and saw in the distance, a man struggling with a 
bicycle, as though he didn't know what to do with it. 

James began walking towards him, picking up pace as he went. When he was
about forty metres away, the man saw him approaching, dropped the bike, 
and turned and ran towards a small church beyond a row of trees. “No, 
wait” said James, reaching out a hand, as though that would somehow 


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