“Praying,” said Mike as if he had heard the word for the first time. “I must admit I haven’t done that for a long, long time. I used to get a great deal of comfort from prayer, a lot of answers. Now it’s like standing in the middle of a field shouting at the sky, with no one listening. I’m not sure there ever was anybody listening.”
Becks thought for a moment then turned to face Mike, “You’re not alone you know.”
Mike returned her gaze, “No I know I’m not.” He held out the packet.“ Would you like the last jammy dodger?”
*
Gareth collapsed into the driver’s seat, sweaty and out of breath from loading his mother’s heavy wheelchair into the Fiesta’s hatchback. He fumbled around for his inhaler.
“Don’t mess about, just get us out of here,” snapped Joan Worthington, “someone might see us, having to attend a police station at my age, and all on account of you. All you had to do was keep your stupid mouth shut and you couldn’t even do that.”
Gareth grimaced. “It will probably be for the best in the long run, they did say it was very unlikely that any charges would be pressed.”
That’s alright then thought Joan Worthington, but the policeman who had taken the statements had made it quite clear that if it was up to him, charges would be pressed.
“Just shut up and drive Gareth, I’ve had enough of your noise today,” she said irritably.
Gareth sniffed and drove on in silence. They took the old A6 road back from Horwich and turned right off the main road to go up towards Winter Hill. They drove down the country lane just coming up to a bridge, Joan Worthington took little notice, wrapped up in her dark mood.
“No!” wailed Gareth suddenly breaking into her thoughts. She snapped her head up to see what was wrong and found herself looking at Ellie Parsons. The little girl was standing in the middle of the road only yards from the oncoming car, smiling at them. Gareth wrenched the wheel to the left. The car lurched off the road, smashed through the hedge and into a field. Gareth braked but the car skidded on the wet grass and went through another hedge, teetering on the edge of a steep incline before rolling down and coming to a stop with a bone jarring impact. The breath was knocked out of both of them, their safety belts saving them from more serious injury. Gareth put his hand to his head and found he was bleeding. He looked at his mother who seemed to be shocked but otherwise unhurt. He looked out of the cracked windscreen and for a few seconds was unable to work out where they were. Stone chippings and steel rails. Then it dawned on him, they had gone down the embankment and had come to a stop on the railway line. He could feel vibration and hear a horn sounding and, looking through the driver’s door window, saw a train heading straight towards them. The driver had seen the car crash down the embankment a few hundred metres ahead of him. He slammed on the brakes but he was hauling three hundred tons of stone chippings and, even on a good day, would be unlikely to stop in under a quarter of a mile. Their only chance was to get out of the car. He blasted the horn continuously and braced himself for impact.
“There’s a train coming mother,” said Gareth dully. He could taste blood in his mouth and had bitten his tongue.
She snapped out of her daze. “We have to get out of here,” she shouted, unbuckling her seat belt and scrabbling at the door handle. The door had been twisted by the impact and had jammed. She wrenched at the handle and desperately pushed at the door. She kicked the door, first with her left then her right foot.
“Oh look mother, your legs have got better,” said Gareth impassively. She finally put her shoulder to the door and it sprang open. Gareth looked through the cracked windscreen to see Ellie standing on the opposite side of the tracks, watching them with her strange little smile. Mother was still struggling to get out of the passenger seat. He reached over and grabbed the door handle yanking the door shut, keeping his mother in the car.
“What the hell are you doing Gareth? Let go!” she screamed, desperately clawing at his hand on the door handle. He held fast and ignored her.
Gareth looked back at Ellie. He shook his head, mouthed the word “Sorry” and squeezed his eyes tight shut.
Then the train hit. The impact impaled the car on the front of the train. Gareth was killed instantly, the train’s buffer smashing his head like a huge hammer. Joan Worthington howled as the wreck was carried down the track, Gareth’s bloodied body jammed next to her. The fuel tank ruptured spraying petrol which was ignited by sparks. She screamed as she was doused in burning liquid, her clothes and hair alight, clawing at the flames desperately trying to put them out. Then the fuel tank exploded blowing her arm and half her face off. Finally the car broke in half, the back half of the car rolling into the ditch at the side of the tracks. The front half containing their mangled and scorched remains remained stuck to the front of the train and was dragged along the track for another hundred metres before finally the train came to a halt. The screaming had stopped.
The driver picked himself up off the floor of the cab. He climbed shakily down on to the track. The debris stretched back hundreds of metres. He sat on the embankment and his hands started shaking. He was pretty sure that they had not got out.
*
“What’s happened?” said Becks as soon as she opened the door and saw Mike’s expression.
Mike sighed, “Joan Worthington and Gareth have just been involved in an accident, I’m afraid they’re both dead.” Becks just stood there in shock for several seconds before beckoning Mike to come in. “Their car went off the road on the way back from the police station,” continued Mike when they were in Becks’ kitchen. “They ended up on the railway line and were hit by a train, they stood no chance and of course they would not even have been there if I hadn’t made them go to the police station.”
Becks shook her head, “You can’t blame yourself for this Mike.” She stepped forward and hugged him tight.
He hugged her back, “I had that dream again last night and Jesse Whitehill was in it.”
Becks stood back, “But this was just a stupid accident, right?”
“Well,” said Mike. “Ronnie Wallwork came round to see me and told me what had happened. The traffic cops are a bit puzzled. The road was dry and the light was good and there are no skid marks on the road itself, meaning Gareth didn’t brake at all. For seemingly no reason he just drove the car through a hedge and down on to the railway.”
“My God, the poor boy,” said Becks sadly. They just stood in silence for a minute.
“Oh,” said Mike, “On the plus side, Tom Preston phoned, he and Gregor Fergusson will be here tomorrow morning. Then maybe we can start to make some sense of all this.”
*
Mike lay awake. Becks had cooked a curry for them both, and then they’d had some wine before he had wearily made his way back to the vicarage. He’d put off going to bed for as long as possible but eventually fatigue had got the better of him. Pretty soon he’d found himself back on the escalator, trying not to look at the scenes being played out on the screens - a smiling grandfather bouncing his grandson on his knee, looping a cheese wire garrotte round the child’s neck. Joan Worthington being whipped by two large men in hoods, the metal whips tearing lumps from her flesh as they roared with laughter. Gareth Worthington, his head in a vice on a woodwork bench. A frail old lady, struggling to hold a large electric drill as she placed it against his temple, giggling. A few yards further down the escalator, Ellie looked on smiling. He awoke with a start and lay awake for a long time.
Chapter Eight - Thursday
Becks came to Mike’s to await the arrival of Tom and Gregor. She had actually met Gregor a few times, as well as knowing Tom. They had no idea what time Tom and Gregor would get there and were just about to text them when, just before eleven, they heard a truck pull up outside. Puzzled, they went to the door. An AA recovery truck was just driving away, being waved off by the larger of the two men that it had deposited on the pavement. It was Tom and Gregor.
“Er, the clutch plate w
ent, ten miles down the road,” said Tom sheepishly.
“That nice man dropped us off,” beamed Gregor, “The car’s in a garage in Horwich.”
As cavalry arrivals went it wasn’t a classic, but Mike didn’t care. There were hugs all round. Mike ushered them through to the kitchen with their bags. They made an odd pair. Gregor was large grizzled and imposing sporting his usual tatty leather coat. Mike remembered one of the younger members at the Derbyshire retreat describing him as looking like ‘an ageing heavyweight wrestler auditioning for Doctor Who’ which had raised a smile and stuck in Mike’s mind. Tom was slim and fair haired, thinning a little on top but immaculately dressed as usual. Both men stood back and weighed Mike up.
“Good to see you old friend,” said Tom in his soft Liverpool accent,
“You look like shit,” smiled Gregor in his Glaswegian brogue, “Now what’s been going on?” They sat down around the large kitchen table with cups of coffee and Mike and Becks went through everything that had happened. Gregor pulled a small pair of silver framed glasses from the inside pocket of his coat and perched them precariously on his nose, making notes on a small notepad. The only comment either of them made was when Becks told them of the encounter with Ellie Parsons in the graveyard.
“She referred to you by name?” said Tom incredulously. Gregor merely raised an eyebrow.
Finally brought up to date, Gregor leaned back and growled, “No wonder you look like shit.”
“Well,” mused Tom, “There’s obviously a spirit active in your village. We mustn’t automatically assume the deaths are related to this activity, they could just be accidents. But the fact that the spirit appeared to both of you and addressed Mike by name is... unusual to say the least.”
Gregor nodded in agreement. “At least we know who the ghost is.”
“So what do we do first?” asked Becks.
Gregor drained his coffee and placed the cup on the table “First, we have breakfast.”
They walked up to the Black Barn. Across the road some people had laid flowers outside Jesse Whitehill’s house. The bedroom window had been repaired and the landlord already had a ‘For rent’ sign up in the garden. Life went on. They went into the pub, only a handful of regulars were there as it was still early.
“Hello Vicar,” said Kenny eyeing Gregor up and down with suspicion. Gregor just smiled placidly, he had the most unsettling smile Mike had ever seen. They ordered food and went over to a table. Mike noticed Gregor was having a pint of Guinness with his breakfast. He must be cutting down, no whisky chaser.
“We need to take a look at the spot where the girl died,” said Tom, “It’s usually the seat of any activity, but there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern to this.” They fell silent as Kenny approached with the food. Mike, Tom and Becks had gone for breakfast barmcakes. Gregor had gone for the full English XL. Kenny placed in front of him an enormous plate of bacon, eggs, sausage, and at least half a dozen other ingredients.
“I can feel my arteries hardening just looking at that,” said Becks.
“We conquered half the world eating breakfasts like that,” said Kenny reproachfully, “Now people eat muesli and look where we are.” He wandered off shaking his head and muttering to himself. They tucked into their food.
*
Gary Koenig ran through the trees up to the castle, leaving his parents and the dog far behind. He liked the castle, although smart-arse Sylvia insisted it was a ‘folly’ and not a real castle. It looked real enough to him, perched on the edge of the reservoir like something from the Lord of the Rings films. There was nobody else there. Good, he had the place to himself. He threw a couple of stones into the reservoir, startling some ducks into flight.
He heard Sylvia shouting “Gary!” in the distance. He ignored her, she wasn’t his real mother. He would wait until they were nearer and his father shouted him before he would answer. He took the opportunity to duck into the tunnel below the battlements to relieve himself. He had just finished when he heard a giggle from the end of the tunnel. He looked towards the sound and saw someone just disappearing from view. He hurriedly zipped himself up and cautiously approached the end of the tunnel. He stuck his head round the corner and scanned the area outside the castle but could see nobody. He heard the giggle from behind him, from the other end of the tunnel. Once again, a brief flash, as someone stepped from view. He ran back through the tunnel to the inside of the castle, once again nobody there. He was getting angry now
“Who’s that?” he shouted “Stop messing about.” He heard the laughter again from above the tunnel. He ran from the tunnel into the centre of the castle, spun round and looked up, but there was nobody there.
“Gary,” whispered a mocking child’s voice, almost lost on the wind. He thought it came from the edge of the castle near the reservoir and took several steps in that direction. “Gary,” came the voice again, this time directly behind him. He turned round expecting to see nothing and found himself looking directly at Ellie Parsons, who was standing ten feet away from him.
“You’re dead,” he gasped taking a step back.
“Nasty boy,” said Ellie, shaking her head and taking a step forward, then another one. “You said I smelled and I didn’t.” Gary backed away. “You put dog muck in my hair you pig,” she spat, still advancing. Gary backed towards the edge of the castle, his mouth working soundlessly, unable to speak. Finally he managed to splutter, “Fuck!”
“Dirty boy,” scolded Ellie, “You need to have your mouth washed out.” She lunged forward, Gary staggered back, the low stones of the castle wall hit the back of his knees and he tumbled backwards over the wall, falling ten feet into the reservoir. He hit the water hard, knocking all the wind from his lungs. His heavy fleece-lined waterproof immediately filled with water and started to drag him under.
“Dad!” he gasped breathlessly as he thrashed around trying to get his feet on the bottom. He finally managed to find his footing, as the water was not very deep. He struggled to stand and looked up to see Ellie peering over the wall at him, smiling. To his horror the weeds seemed to be coiling around his arms and legs pulling him down and further from the shore. “Dad! Help!” he managed to shout as the weeds pulled him down to his knees. He screamed as he was pulled under but with his last ounce of strength he tore himself free of some of the weeds and broke the surface again. His last scream was cut off as his mouth filled up with freezing cold water and he went under for the last time. Ellie watched as Gary’s thrashing form sank deeper and deeper, trailing bubbles. Finally the bubbles stopped.
“Dirty boy,” she repeated.
Malcolm and Sylvia Koenig ran into the castle, a dog prancing around their feet in excitement.
“Gary,” shouted Malcolm looking around in panic. He ran to the parapet over the reservoir and screamed “Gary,” repeatedly scanning the water for any sign, but there was nothing.
*
They had spent most of the afternoon visiting the sites where Ellie Parsons had been seen. Her grave was quiet, as was the Worthington’s back garden. They would have to visit the Owens and talk to Robert at some stage, but had put that difficult conversation off until later. They finally pulled up to the end of the lane that led to the motorway footbridge and piled out of Mike’s car. The wind had increased and the black clouds had come in threatening rain. They walked up the lane and up the steps to the bridge, the sound of the traffic surprisingly loud. Half a dozen dead bouquets of flowers were tied to the railings where Ellie had died. It was a sad and lonely spot.
“Grim place,” opined Tom.
“Indeed,” agreed Gregor struggling to light a cigarette in the wind. They stood around for a few minutes and were about to leave when Becks said, “Look.”
They followed her gaze and saw a small figure in a yellow duffle coat standing on the embankment about thirty feet away watching the traffic, Ellie Parsons. As they watched she turned to look at them, she looked directly at Mike. Everybody froze for a minute then Gregor called ou
t
“Ellie, Ellie Parsons.” She turned towards Gregor a puzzled expression on her face and shook her head. The next second she was gone. Gregor took a long draw on his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke before turning to the others, “I have never seen anything like this before in my life.”
They walked back to the car, Tom and Gregor deep in conversation, Mike and Becks walked slightly ahead. Becks linked Mike’s arm and looked up at him as they walked.
“This is all very scary.”
“Yes,” Mike agreed “At least we have the experts with us now, in as much as anybody can be an expert on this.” Mike had left his mobile in the car and he had two missed calls from Ronnie Wallwork. He phoned him back but got an engaged tone so decided to call him later. They climbed in and Mike started the engine but didn’t drive off. “So what do we do?” he asked.
“Well,” said Tom then paused, thought for several seconds then turned to Gregor. “Gregor what do we do?” Everybody looked to Gregor who mulled the question over then replied.
“Well normally to lay a spirit we would first go to spot where the apparition appears, but this one seems to move around at will, which is impossible. It also interacts with the living which is impossible, and seems to be responsible for several deaths, which is, of course, also impossible.” He paused.
“So what do we actually do?” blurted Becks.
“We do some research,” said Gregor thoughtfully “And we may have to perform a summoning.”
They drove back to Winter Hill, over the causeway separating the reservoirs and into the village. There was a car parked outside the vicarage and Mike recognised the figure of Ronnie Wallwork standing next to it talking on a mobile phone. He finished his call as they pulled up.
The Haunting of Winter Hill Page 7
