by Helen Cox
‘I still don’t know how the killer would even know we were here,’ said Evie.
‘Well, Ruby did insist on venturing out yesterday afternoon after she’d unpacked,’ said Kitt. ‘Where did you go?’
‘She was wearing the disguise, so I didn’t think anyone would recognize her. Plus there’s lots of people out and about for the festival. I just thought we’d blend in. Let’s see. We had a walk along the pier. Visited Rainbow Gems on Haggersgate. Then we went into the old town for an ice cream. Visited the occult bookshop and Whitby Glass. Then walked back to the guest house. We can’t have been outside more than a couple of hours and it was dark for most of the time.’
‘After all we’ve done to try and protect her it’s bloody hard luck to have failed her now,’ said Grace.
‘We’re not beaten yet,’ said Kitt. ‘Remember. The other killings didn’t take place until midnight. It’s not yet half past one. We’ve still got time to find her. I wonder if there’s a clue in here as to where she has been taken. Quick, take a look around.’
For several minutes everyone spent their time opening drawers, looking under the beds, checking inside the wardrobes and inside the bathroom but there was nothing of consequence. Sighing, Kitt slumped down on Ruby’s bed.
‘This is exactly what I was afraid of happening,’ she said, her eyes fixing on a volume sitting on Ruby’s bedside table. It was a copy of The Whitby Witches. On top of it was the receipt from Broomsticks, Black Cats and Books, alongside the change from Ruby’s purchase. Kitt couldn’t say why she was so fixated with the coins. There was something odd about them. ‘That’s a bit weird,’ she said, when she finally realized what was bothering her.
‘It’s been a bit of a week for that,’ said Grace. ‘You’re going to have to narrow it down. What’s a bit weird?’
‘These coins, Ruby’s change from the bookshop.’
‘What about them?’ said Evie.
‘They were all minted in 1991.’
‘What, all of them? That is weird,’ said Grace. ‘There are six or seven different coins there. What are the odds of that?’
‘I’m no mathematician, but almost non-existent I would imagine,’ said Kitt, hurrying to open her satchel. She didn’t carry much cash on her these days, most places accepted cards even in small fishing towns like Whitby. The small amount of change from her own purchase in the bookshop was still sitting in the front of her purse. ‘Oh my word,’ she said. ‘This is my change from the same bookshop; again, all the coins have been minted in 1991.’
‘OK,’ said Grace. ‘There’s no way that could be a coincidence. Why would Arnie be giving out change only in coins minted in 1991?’
Kitt shook her head. ‘It’s very odd indeed. Arnie was the one who put us onto Ayleen and Cyril . . . but we checked into him and he seemed all above board.’
‘Nothing untoward came up in any of my searches,’ said Grace.
‘So what’s with all these coins from 1991?’ said Kitt.
‘I don’t know, in fairness I didn’t find anything about Arnie from 1991. Most of the search results were from the last ten years. Anyroad, I’m going to find out. Something freaky is going on here,’ said Grace, pulling out her phone and tapping away at the screen.
‘Anything?’ said Evie after a few seconds.
‘Not sure. “Occult 1991” has brought up too many results. None of them seem that relevant.’
‘Try “occult Yorkshire 1991”,’ said Kitt.
Grace obliged. She scrolled down for a few moments and then her eyes widened.
‘Arnold Sykes wasn’t always a bookshop owner,’ said Grace. ‘And I know why nothing untoward came up in any of our searches before: his name wasn’t always Arnold Sykes.’
‘What?’ said Kitt ‘Well you did say he had a career change from insurance. But there was nothing about a name change.’
Grace shook her head. ‘He’s built a whole new identity for himself. In the nineties he was a farmer, in Sandersdale and his name was Victor Greenwood. Look, this is him in the picture, I’m sure of it.’
Grace turned her phone to Kitt. Sure enough, the article Grace had found was headed up with a picture of a man who looked just like Arnold Sykes, only thirty years younger.
‘Sandersdale . . . Oh no,’ said Kitt. ‘And being a farmer . . . that means he would likely have had access to Xylazine. And Victor . . . V.’
‘That’s why none of the lists of recent prescriptions for Xylazine have been any good to the police,’ said Grace. ‘He’s been hoarding it for decades.’
‘But why?’ said Evie. ‘Why would he kill all those people?’
‘Looking at the headline on that news article,’ Kitt said, ‘I’d say we’ve got his motive. In 1991 almost all of his livestock were killed.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Evie, ‘the Children of Silvanus were the ones who slaughtered his animals, in ritual killings.’
‘The article doesn’t name the cult,’ Grace said shaking her head. ‘Otherwise it would have come up in earlier searches that we’ve done on them, but it says that the slaughter meant bankruptcy for Sykes. He lost his farm. He lost everything.’
‘He wasn’t insured?’ said Kitt.
‘It says here that his insurers wouldn’t pay out, that kind of act wasn’t covered under his policy,’ said Grace.
‘Sounds to me as though Arnold Sykes – or Victor Greenwood as he was known then – found out it was the Children of Silvanus behind the slaughter and started systematically targeting anyone who was even remotely involved with them in revenge.’
‘Starting with Ayleen’s parents all those years ago,’ said Grace, ‘if our theory about the fires is correct. And I’ll bet Arnold Sykes and Alan Jenkins are one and the same too.’
‘But if Arnold Sykes is the killer and has gone to all these lengths to cover his tracks, why would he hoard coins minted in 1991 and give them out as change when it could – and has – led back to him?’ said Evie.
‘I can’t be sure,’ Kitt admitted. ‘But it’s likely it was a compulsion, or a way of making himself feel cleverer than everyone else. Leaving such a small detail in plain view. Knowing the full story was under everyone’s noses if only they looked close enough. Still, there’s no time for theorizing now. It’s clear Arnold Sykes is our killer,’ said Kitt. ‘We’ve got to find him at once. He’s got our Ruby and if we don’t catch up with them she won’t see the other side of midnight.’
Twenty-Nine
Without waiting another minute Kit and Grace hurried out of the guest house leaving Evie to receive the police, scrutinize the CCTV footage and inform them that as a matter of urgency they needed to find Arnold Sykes’s home address. The only place Kitt and Grace could immediately link him to was his business and so they agreed they would start the search there. It was highly unlikely that they would find Sykes at the bookshop now that he had been bold enough to kidnap somebody in broad daylight but it was the only starting point they had.
Due to the crowds of people who had gathered for the goth weekend it took them twice as long to navigate their way between the West Cliff and the East. Sure enough, when they got to the bookshop there was a sign on the door that said: Family emergency. Closed early. Sorry for any inconvenience.
‘Family emergency my foot,’ said Kitt.
‘What now?’ said Grace.
‘I don’t know, I— Wait, Grace, isn’t that him there?’
Grace turned to see the same thing Kitt had. Arnold Sykes standing twenty feet ahead of them in a black hoodie. He had been watching them and had a frightening leer fixed on his face. Without warning he pulled the hood over his head, turned on his heel and began to run.
‘Quick, we’ve got to catch him!’ said Kitt, before breaking into a run. A moment later Grace gave chase. Kitt was not a natural runner and had to work hard to keep up with her assistant. All the time, sh
e kept her stare fixed on that black hoodie with the white pentagram as he sped through the cobbled back streets of the old town towards the harbour. As they approached the swing bridge, Kitt heard a sound that would usually bring a smile to her face. The bell that meant pedestrians had to clear the walkway because the bridge was about to open to let a ship through.
Sykes just managed to dodge around the gate as the operator closed it to cut off pedestrian traffic. Knowing that if they waited for a boat to pass through they would undoubtedly lose Sykes, Kitt did something she would never normally do: she broke the rules and climbed over the barrier. Not an easy feat in the ridiculous dress Evie had picked out for her. She was in no doubt she was putting her wares out on display in the process but frankly, there was far too much at stake to be concerned with matters of modesty. Grace followed closely behind her. As they ran towards the middle of the bridge they felt a sickening lurch as it began to swing.
‘Quick,’ said Kitt, jumping over to the other side just before the two sections parted and grabbing Grace’s hand so she had no choice but to follow.
‘Oi, you two!’ the operator shouted as she and Grace hopped over the barrier at the other side
‘Ever so sorry!’ Kitt strained to call back, though she barely had the breath to do so.
Turning onto the promenade at the other side of the bridge, Kitt suddenly realized she had lost sight of Sykes. She hurried along through the crowds, checking the face of anyone wearing a black hoodie. None of the faces were Sykes and all of them were angry or perturbed at being jostled by a woman they didn’t know. When they reached the end of the promenade and still hadn’t found him, Kitt was just about to concede that they’d lost their subject when Grace picked up his trail.
‘There,’ she said, pointing up to the steps that ran up the side of the West Cliff.
‘We’re going to pass our guest house,’ said Kitt. ‘Do you think he’s leading us back there for some reason?’
The pair didn’t have time to discuss this theory. Instead, they crossed the road as carefully as they could and ran up the steps. Once on the cliff top, Kitt could see Sykes a little way in the distance running towards a fairground that had been set up especially for the goth weekend.
Kitt and Grace followed as closely as they could but they were tiring from the chase and Sykes had managed to get a bit of a lead on them.
Entering the fairground, the two women looked around, panting and squinting through the crowds to try and locate their target.
‘Over there,’ said Kitt. ‘He’s . . . he’s going into the Mirror Maze.’
‘Oh no,’ said Grace. ‘Can’t we just wait for him to come out the other side? We’ll never find him in there.’
‘According to that banner there are six different exits, we can’t cover them all,’ said Kitt, shaking her head. ‘We’ll have to go in and just do our best to follow him.’
Grace had a few coins in her pocket and paid herself and Kitt into the attraction. No sooner were they inside, however, than Kitt knew at once this was a big mistake.
They were surrounded by glass on all sides to the point that it was difficult to work out even where the openings to the main maze were. Indeed, the first thing she did was walk into a pane of glass, not realizing the corridor was behind her. Ordinarily this would have drawn hoots of laughter from Grace but it seemed even she understood the seriousness of the situation.
‘I don’t understand, a couple just went in before us and they’re nowhere to be seen,’ said Kitt. ‘Finding a way into this thing can’t be that difficult.’
‘Maybe they’ve done it before,’ said Grace. ‘Some people come here every year, you know?’
Feeling their way along and stretching their hands out to avoid any more bumps, they did what they could to navigate their way forward. Kitt could hear giggles echoing around the maze from other people in other parts of the attraction. Knowing there was a serial killer on the loose in there only made the sound of their merriment more eerie. They had no idea they were trapped in here with someone with the capacity to kill. Kitt and Evie turned two corners before they came face to face with Arnold Sykes.
Kitt jumped back in surprise. She thought he had been trying to escape from them. Why would he be stood here waiting if escape was his plan?
‘We know you’re behind the killings, Arnold, it’s over. Just come out of here quietly. There’s no need to make anything worse than it already is.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ said Sykes. ‘And it isn’t over. Not until you catch me.’
Arnold turned to run again. Kitt reached out to grab his arm but her hand only hit glass. ‘What? What?’ she said, realizing she had been speaking to Arnold’s reflection all along. She turned to see what she was pretty sure was the real Arnold running in the opposite direction. She and Grace began to follow but then realized there were two different corridors and they weren’t sure which one Sykes had run down.
‘You go this way and I’ll go that way,’ said Grace.
‘Splitting up is not a good idea,’ Kitt argued.
‘We don’t have time to debate it,’ said Grace. ‘If Sykes escapes now it will mean the end for Ruby. He’s not going to kill me in the mirror maze. The risk of being caught red-handed by another visitor is too high.’
Reluctantly agreeing with her assistant, Kitt nodded and began to make her way down the first corridor, all the while praying she would be the one to find Sykes. For a couple of turns she didn’t see anything except her own reflection. For a few moments she contemplated working her way back to where she’d left Grace, fearful that she might be having a showdown with Sykes and that she wasn’t there to help her. Then she caught a glimpse of something. A black shadow, small and fleeting. Kitt followed it until she had Sykes back in her view. She increased her pace then and Sykes increased his. Once or twice she hit glass and realized Sykes was running in the other direction. There was no doubt that Sykes knew his way around this maze. Had he planned this? If so, why lure her here? She didn’t have time to consider that now. Keeping visual contact with Sykes was all that mattered and to her credit she never once lost sight of him after that until they emerged on the other side of the maze. Sykes didn’t ease up, however. He just kept running, away from the fairground, away from the crowds, in the direction of Twilight Manor.
Kitt followed him, her breath ragged, her feet aching, the thought of what might happen to Ruby the only thing that kept her going as she manoeuvred around a small hedge. Once on the other side, though, she realized she could no longer see Sykes. No sooner had that realization hit her than she felt a sharp prick to her neck and within seconds the world around her started to distort. Her vision blurred. She could no longer stand and fell to her knees.
‘What have you done?’ she tried to say. She had no idea if the words ever reached Sykes’s ears but deep down she knew she already had the answer.
Sykes had injected her with Xylazine and given that she could barely keep her eyes open, she would wager the dosage was high.
A single tear slid down Kitt’s cheek as she wondered what would become of her, just before the world went black.
Thirty
When Kitt began to awaken, the first thing she sensed was a searing heat. An utterly confusing sensation given that some part of her remembered that the day hadn’t been that warm. Whatever was creating the heat wasn’t close enough to burn her but it was nearby. Nearer than she’d like. Slowly, she opened her eyes but that didn’t help her in ascertaining where she was. It was dark. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was lying down. She tried to move but in doing so found that her hands and feet were bound and she couldn’t see with what.
Taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to remain calm, she reached her hands out, spreading her fingertips as wide as they would go until they met something solid.
It was wood.
Kitt took a sharp
intake of breath and tried not to give in to the tears that threatened as she released it.
In that moment, she knew exactly where she was. Frantically, she began twisting her body and running her bound hands along any surface she could reach. Surely she must be mistaken. Surely she was just imagining the worst. But no. She was surrounded by wood. She was in a wooden box.
Or, to be more specific, a coffin.
Tears threatened again at that thought but again Kitt choked them back. Crying wasn’t going to help her and she was sure she could hear some scuffling sounds beyond that suggested one small mercy: she hadn’t been buried . . . yet.
She didn’t know where the coffin stood but currently her only hope of escaping was that someone may be outside, a friend rather than a foe, and that they might hear her if she called.
‘Help!’ Kitt cried, and began to beat her fists against the wood as loud and as fast as she could. ‘Help me, please!’ she cried out again and again, hitting harder and harder as she became more panicked. She knew, like everyone else, that she would one day have to face her own mortality. But she wasn’t ready to do that yet. There were still so many things she hadn’t done. So many places she hadn’t seen. Being something of a workaholic, she’d not got around to quite as many of those things as she would have liked and had always taken for granted that there’d be plenty of time. Suddenly, the odds of doing any of them seemed frighteningly slim.
‘Help!’ Kitt called out again, and continued her banging even though, after the effect of the drugs, the noise made her head feel as though it would split in two.
Kitt couldn’t say how long it was before the lid of the coffin was lifted. Probably no more than a minute but it felt like a lot longer.
Light returned to her world.
It was only candlelight but in comparison to the darkness of the coffin it felt like a bright summer’s day.
Any relief Kitt might have felt was at once drained away when she saw where she was and who she was with. Craning her neck she could see she was in a crypt of some sort, built of dark stone. A furnace was ablaze right next to where she lay and it was that detail that helped her understand where she must be: in the crematorium she had noticed on the way to Twilight Manor. And for company she had Arnold Sykes, leaning over the coffin and staring down at her with a mix of mild confusion and cold calculation.
