“Pleased to meet you Vicar,” said Sanjeev, shaking Mike’s hand.
“No point chatting him up Vicar,” snorted Kenny, “you won’t get him in your church, and if you did you’d have to call out the bomb squad, he’s the only Islamic Fundamentalist in the village.”
“Kenny!” hissed Becks looking outraged.
”It’s OK Becks,” said Sanjeev laughing, and waving his G & T at Kenny, “How many fundamentalists drink gin?”
“Well you’re still a Muslim,” retorted Kenny, “When you leave a building, we all leave it.”
“I only come in here for the entertainment,” said Sanjeev smiling to Mike and Becks. “This guy’s funnier than Alf Garnett.” Kenny looked thoughtful as he tried to work out a suitable reply.
A table had come free so Mike and Becks excused themselves, and left the pair bickering amiably with each other and sat down.
“I used to know a family called Whitehill when I was in the Police,” said Mike thoughtfully.” A real bad lot, from an estate near Farnworth. I wonder if he is one of that clan.”
”I wouldn’t be surprised,” replied Becks. “He has a couple of convictions for drug dealing and most people reckon that’s just the tip of the iceberg. We shouldn’t judge, but he really is an unpleasant piece of work.” Mike sipped his pint in silence.
*
Having said their goodbyes outside the pub, Mike headed off back to the Vicarage. Becks headed off to the shop for a loaf, bumping into Alan and Claire Owen as they were leaving the shop,
“Hi you two,” said Becks “How’s things with you?” The quick glance between the pair did not escape Becks.
“We’re alright,” said Claire carefully. “Actually we were thinking of speaking to you or the new Vicar about something. What’s he like?”
“His name’s Mike Cunningham. He’s young, enthusiastic, and a breath of fresh air, very approachable,” replied Becks, “Is there something we can help with?”
“Yes,” said Claire “We’re a little worried about Robert. We thought he’d come to terms with Ellie’s death, but the last few days have been a bit strange. Robert claims that Ellie has come back and visited him. We can hear him talking to her in his bedroom.” She looked to Alan for support, who nodded and looked down at the pavement.
“Oh,” said Becks, genuinely lost for words. “Mike has just headed off back to the vicarage, we can go up there now, if you like.”
“No, we’ll see if it happens again tonight,” said Alan awkwardly. “We’ll be at the service tomorrow anyway, so we can have a chat with the vicar afterwards, if we feel it’s needed.”
“Right,” said Becks, I will be sure to introduce you to the vicar before the service.” She squeezed Claire’s hand in reassurance. They said “See you later,” and Becks went into the shop. Alan and Claire headed home.
“Do you not think we should have seen the vicar today?” said Claire.
“No, we should see if anything happens tonight. If it doesn’t then maybe he’s over it.” said Alan hopefully. He just wanted the problem to go away.
*
Harold Farnsworth locked the church doors, and headed home. He had replaced five bulbs in the church and checked everything over. He wanted everything to be right for the new vicar’s first service tomorrow. He instinctively liked the new man. A permanent vicar was a good thing, a young guy with some go about him was even better. He looked up and saw that it was getting dark already, the days growing shorter as autumn rolled on. He walked past the old church hall, and stopped. The doors were open. It wasn’t like the rowing club lot to leave the doors open. After all, it was their property that was kept in there. He approached the doors, pulling his heavy bunch of keys from his pocket. Better check to see if anyone was in there before locking it. He stuck his head round the door and shouted
“Hello, is anyone in here?” No reply. He went in. Fibreglass canoes were stacked on crude metal racking in four rows in the middle of the church hall. The light was poor through the dirty old windows, and Harold flicked the light switch. Nothing happened, more bulbs to replace.
He was about to leave when heard a scuffle from the back of the hall, behind the canoes. “Hello,” he shouted again. Silence, then another sound, like somebody exhaling. He walked to the right hand wall and headed to the back of the hall. There was no one there. The noise came again, this time from the left of the hall behind the canoes.
He walked along the back of the hall peering down the aisles between the racking. At the third aisle he turned left towards the front of the building. Half way down he heard movement again, this time from behind the racking on his right. “Is anybody there?” he said, louder.
As if in answer he heard a child’s giggle. “Who’s there?” he shouted, peering through the racking and canoes to see who it was. It was dark, and difficult to make out, but there was a brief flash of something yellow, a yellow duffle coat.
“It’s only me, Mr Farnsworth.” Said a voice. A little girl’s voice. A little girl’s voice he knew. He staggered back, momentarily shocked. He took a few seconds to recover, and anger took over. Who the hell was playing a sick joke like this? He stormed to the end of the aisle and ran into the space behind the racks. Nothing. No one was there, just some drops of water on the floor. He locked the hall doors with shaking hands and continued home. He knew that voice. He knew the Owens and their children well. This was wrong, very wrong.
*
Mike put the phone down, and picked up his coffee, sipping at it thoughtfully. Becks had told him of the conversation she had had with Alan and Claire Owen. He would do whatever he could to help them, but he was suddenly uneasy. Nine times out of ten this sort of thing could be put down to grief and an over active imagination, but there was still the tenth time. He considered calling Tom Preston but decided against it. Better find out what the situation was first. He ate the last two jammy dodgers and, not for the first time, wished he had a packet of cigarettes. He went back to fine tuning his sermon.
*
Gareth Worthington lay awake. He had not slept properly for weeks, but this was the worst yet. Sleep just would not come. It seemed like hours since the sound of the TV had ceased from downstairs, and mother had gone to bed in the room next to the kitchen which she had turned in to her bedroom. He avoided looking at the clock for the umpteenth time as it seemed to be ticking away slower every time he checked.
Moonlight streamed through his window and cast shadows of tree branches on his bedroom walls. Suddenly there was a sound, like a tap on his bedroom window. Startled, he looked towards the noise.
The sound came again. Sitting up he clearly saw a pebble bounce off the glass. He froze. Who the hell could that be? Another pebble hit the window pane. He got out of bed and slowly, reluctantly, made his way over to the window. He peered down into the darkness of the back garden. At first he could see nothing. Then a small figure detached itself from the shadows cast by the old garage, and stepped in to a patch of moonlight.
“No!” moaned Gareth recognizing the figure immediately. Ellie Parsons, wearing the same duffle coat she had worn when she died. She looked up directly at him. A scowl of hatred on her face as she raised her arm and pointed directly at him. He grabbed the curtains and dragged them shut in panic, nearly pulling the curtain rail down. He collapsed into a corner and buried his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. He felt his pyjama bottoms turn wet and warm as he pissed himself. He was too scared to care. He buried his face deeper in his hands. He was still in that position when, many hours later, the moonlight was replaced by milky dawn sunshine and his alarm went off to herald a new day.
Chapter Four - Sunday
Mike was up bright and early on Sunday. He felt good, his first sermon at his new church. His morning run left him feeling invigorated. He ate breakfast and pushed the issue of Robert Owen to the back of his mind. It was probably nothing. It would keep for later.
He headed over to the church early. Harold Farnsworth had already o
pened up and turned on the old heating system, taking the chill off the interior of the building. He seemed distracted, nodding briefly at Mike before scuttling off somewhere to take care of something, almost immediately reappearing to say
“Good luck Vicar,” before heading off again. Becks arrived, making coffee in the vestry before also wishing Mike good luck before heading off to set out the hymn books leaving Mike alone.
He put on his vestments, even ran a comb through his hair, then sipped his coffee, savouring the peace and quiet that the thick stone walls afforded. Ready for action he headed out into the church. Mrs Douchamps duly arrived, gave Mike a quick hug and headed over to the church organ, arranging her sheet music and playing a few scales to warm up. There were no bells to call people to worship, the pulleys that worked the single bell needed attention, A pity thought Mike, he missed the bells. As people began to arrive Mike positioned himself by the open door to welcome people. Becks performed the introductions. Apart from the council members, nearly everyone was new to Mike. By the time the service started, twenty eight people had arrived. Not great but not too bad either. No Alan and Claire Owen though. Becks said she would contact them to find out why. Mike climbed up to the pulpit and began.
The service went well, after introducing himself, and welcoming his congregation, he delivered his sermon. He kept it light, not referring to the Ellie Parsons tragedy by name, just mentioning ‘recent events’. He emphasized how communities should put aside their differences and pull together at times like these. Many nodded in agreement. The singing was typically chaotic, only Robin Dacre, who had a powerful singing voice, keeping things together. After the service, Mike headed back to the door to thank everybody. Stephen Priestley and Robin Dacre were particularly generous with their praise. Sylvia Koenig apologised for the absence of her husband (a regular occurrence apparently) but said how much she enjoyed the service. Only Joan Worthington failed to speak to Mike, snapping at Gareth to
“Get a Move on,” as he made to slow down so that she could speak to the vicar. Gareth looked awful. Red rimmed eyes and skin a sallow pale colour. Mike watched as he awkwardly manoeuvred the big wheelchair on to the pavement, constantly being abused by his mother. Some people certainly drew the short straw in life.
*
Becks had made more coffee in the vestry. She had called the Owens.
“Seemingly, there was a bit of a scene with Robert this morning, He didn’t want to come to church in case he missed Ellie while he was out,” said Becks sadly.
“If they are available now, I’ll go round straight away,” said Mike. Becks confirmed that this was the case and texted the Owens, Mike changed out of his vestments, but kept his collar on. They walked up the street to the Owens house. Becks pushed the doorbell, and the door opened immediately.
“Hello Becks,” said a small, pretty, dark haired woman, obviously Claire Owen. They went inside, where a large grey haired man in a shapeless blue pullover stood awkwardly in the middle of the lounge. Becks introduced Mike to Alan and Claire, and they all sat down. “Would you like some tea or coffee,” asked Claire. Becks accepted for both of them and Mike soon had yet another cup of coffee in his hand.
“Robert is upstairs, should we fetch him,” asked Alan.
“Before you do,” said Mike, “just tell me exactly what has happened.”
“Well,” said Claire, “as you probably know, a couple of months ago, we lost our foster daughter Ellie. They said it was an accident but you can’t help wondering if you got something wrong. Apparently, she fell off the bridge on to the motorway, but why would she even be up there? It hit us very hard. We had planned to adopt Ellie, and she and Robert were very close.”
Alan nodded in agreement and added, “Robert has learning issues and is autistic. Most kids his own age won’t play with him, and he attends a separate school as well, so Ellie was his best friend.”
“It was awful at first,” sighed Claire. “How do you explain death to a child like Robert, he just couldn’t understand it. We told him that Ellie had gone to a better place, and he would meet her again one day when it was his turn to move there, but he got angry that Ellie had gone on without him. Becks helped a lot. I don’t know how we would have coped without her.” She reached over and took Becks hand, squeezing it tightly. Becks smiled reassuringly at her.
Alan continued, “Our social worker offered to arrange counselling for him, and we had to agree that he needed it. Then one day, he woke up and seemed to have accepted it, if we asked him how he was, he said that he missed Ellie, but he would see her again one day, so that was OK. We were thankful that he was getting over it. To be honest, we were so wrapped up with Robert, we hadn’t been able to mourn Ellie properly ourselves. Things seemed to have settled down. They would never be the same, but we were coping.”
“At least until a few days ago,” said Claire shaking her head.”Robert was spending more and more time alone in his room, he’d lost his friend, and had no one else to play with, but we didn’t think this was good for him, he seemed to be talking to himself as well. Eventually, we went upstairs and asked him about it, and,” She paused, “He said he was talking to Ellie.” They both looked at Mike expectantly, as did Becks.
“Well,” said Mike gently, “We all know that that cannot be the case.” A brief look passed between the Owens, not lost on Mike and Becks.
“You don’t really believe that Ellie has come back do you?” said Becks carefully.
“No, of course not,” said Alan shaking his head, looking to his wife for support.
Claire paused for a moment.
“But when we go upstairs to investigate, it sounds like two people talking, not one, when we knock on the door, the talking stops.”
Mike thought for a moment.
“When you were kids did you play with dolls or toy soldiers?” The Owens nodded.
“Well I bet you did all the different voices yourself, didn’t you?” The Owens nodded, but looked unconvinced.
“That’s all it is,” said Mike firmly, “That’s all it can possibly be, now let’s get Robert down, and have a chat with him.”
Alan went upstairs and reappeared a minute later with Robert. He was a stocky, muscular boy, not tall but still quite large for his 13 years. His open friendly face bore a wide smile as he immediately went up to Mike and offered his hand.
“Hello Mr Vicar, my names Robert.”
“Hello Robert,” replied Mike shaking the proffered hand. “You can call me Mike.”
“Oh,” replied Robert frowning. “I usually call grown-ups mister. Should I call you Mr Mike?”
“No, just Mike will be fine,” smiled Mike. “Have a seat Robert. I would like to have a little chat with you.” Robert sat down on the couch next to Mike and put his head to one side expectantly.
“Well Alan and Claire wanted me to have a little talk with you about some things because they are a little bit worried about you.” Robert frowned but said nothing. Mike carried on. “You know how upset you were when your little sister Ellie was killed in an accident.”
Robert’s frown deepened and this time he spoke.
“She was my best friend. I had no one to play with when she left.”
“Yes, it must have been awful,” said Mike as gently as possible. “But you know Ellie has gone on to a better place and you will see her again one day Robert.”
“Yes,” said Robert instantly brightening up. “But I don’t have to wait till then because she mustn’t have liked the other place much and she has come back.” The room was suddenly very quiet. All eyes were on Mike.
“Well that can’t really happen Robert because when Ellie died she went to heaven to live with God.” Robert simply shrugged.
“She didn’t mention him maybe he’s not got any room left.”
Alan rubbed a hand over his face and Claire looked at the floor.
“She can’t have come back, it’s impossible,” continued Mike gently but firmly. “I think maybe you missed Ell
ie so much, you wanted her back so much, you imagined her being back.”
“I wondered if I was imagining it,” said Robert thoughtfully. “But I can’t be imagining it because last time she was here we played Ker-plunk.”
Mike could feel the conversation slipping away from him.
“Maybe you just played Ker-plunk against yourself,” he suggested.
“What’s the point of that,” replied Robert looking at Mike as if he was an idiot. “There would be no winner, besides she also plays with my action men. She leaves them in silly poses like standing on their heads and another one had his hand to his nose like he was picking it.” Robert shook his head and giggled.
Mike chose his words carefully.
“Why do you think Alan and Claire have not seen Ellie, why do you think she has not spoken to them?”
“Well I was her best friend. I played with her all the time. That’s why she came back to see me before anyone else.” Robert stated matter-of-factly.
Mike pressed on.
“That simply can’t have happened Robert, Ellie has not come back,”
Robert suddenly stood up, not smiling now, looking confused.
“Why don’t you like Ellie?” he said sounding suspicious.
“I never met Ellie,” Mike said softly. “But if I had, I’m sure I would have loved her just as much as you did.”
“Then why don’t you want her to come back?” spat Robert, angry now.
“Now Robert, Mike is just here to try and help you,” said Claire soothingly, taking Robert’s hand. He snatched it away and glared at her.
“Why don’t you want Ellie to come back? Don’t you like her anymore?”
“Now that’s enough,” said Alan more sharply than he intended to. He continued more gently. “You know we all loved Ellie a great deal.”
Robert looked around the faces in the room, getting more and more agitated.
The Haunting of Winter Hill Page 3
