The Place That Never Existed

by Jim Ody

  Debbie slapped his hand away, but Paul quickly turned and held his finger to his mouth in a Shh! motion.

  The girl was talking about a loud scream, an old house, and a gunshot.

  Debbie missed the beginning but heard enough to realise this all sounded more than a little strange.

  “Excuse me,” Paul said, but she was now taking a drink. “Hello?”

  She then looked up, and mouthed Me? while pointing a silver-ringed finger at herself.

  “Sorry to disturb you.” Paul got up and sat down next to her so he wasn’t shouting over the walking duo. “We’re on our honeymoon, and, um, how can I say this. We, er, saw you sat here and…”

  She suddenly held up her hands, a look of horror flashing over her face. “Look, you are both very attractive, and I am flattered, but…”

  Debbie got up. “No, no, it’s nothing like that! My husband doesn’t always choose the right words!”

  She still didn’t look entirely comfortable. “So you’re not trying to, you know, get me to join in…” She whistled and made a quick hand gesture that represented a forefinger going in and out of an “okay” sign.

  “I don’t think that is considered part of universal sign language,” Paul stated seriously.

  “I think you’ll find there is no ‘universal’”—she added her speech marks—“sign language, so perhaps you mean BSL, as in British Sign Language.” She then grinned, realising these two were not propositioning her.

  “Perhaps I was.”

  “Anyway,” Debbie added.

  “Yes,” Paul then said seriously. “That phone call…”

  “Vlog,” she corrected.

  “Vlog?”

  “Yes, I have a vlog. It’s quite common with youngsters nowadays. You may be more familiar with a diary, or a journal. Perhaps a quill pen.” She winked at Paul.

  “Yes, I know about vlogs. I, er, I just don’t know anyone who does one.”

  “Jez does,” Debbie added.

  Sidetracked again, Paul turned to Debbie. “Your brother does a vlog? On YouTube?”

  “The very one.”

  “That must be…um…”

  “Awful. Yes, it is painfully, embarrassingly, smack-your-head-against-the-wall disturbing.”

  “None of that surprises me. What’s it…? Oh, never mind.”

  “You were asking about my vlog?” she questioned. The need to outwardly share their creative juices can be both entertaining and embarrassing. The river of delusion runs rapidly.

  “Yes,” Paul said, shaking his head of the evil images that his subconscious was trying to concoct.

  “We couldn’t help but overhear you, but were you talking about a house in the woods?”

  She nodded, but then she seemed to suddenly grow suspicious herself. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what is it to you?”

  Paul looked at Debbie for encouragement, and when she nodded, he carried on. “We were at some woods this morning—”

  “We’re honeymooning in a cabin just down the road,” Debbie said, cutting in.

  “Yes, and we stumbled on a house. We went inside.”

  “Where was this house?” the girl asked.

  “Huntswood Cove.”

  “Are you talking about the old Dudley House?”

  Paul looked at Debbie again. “Is that what Robin was talking about?”

  “Yes, I remembered Dudley from my Aunt Shazz that lives up in Dudley in the West Midlands.” She nodded.

  “You’ve been in the house?” the girl said, to which the newlyweds nodded. “Because from what I’ve heard, no one has ever seen the inside of the old Dudley House and lived!”

  “Well, we saw three people go into the house,” Debbie said, but Paul turned to her. “But we never saw them leave the house, did we?”

  Debbie looked over at the girl, who looked more like she should be out shopping for the latest high street trends rather than sneaking around the woods like Nancy Drew.

  “Can we truly believe they never appeared again?” She then stopped. It was clear something else had just popped into her head, as she suddenly thrust out her hand. “I’m Debbie, by the way, and this is my husband Paul. We are not swingers.”

  The girl giggled at that. “Dhara. I’m not a swinger either. Well, I’ve never swung, is that the right word?”

  “No idea,” said Paul, shrugging his shoulders.

  “The thing is,” Dhara then added. “There are no pictures or video of that house. This afternoon I took both, but…look for yourselves,”

  She handed over her iPhone. Debbie and Paul huddled over it and clicked the button seeing either dark blurs or white lights. There was not one photo. “I’m trying to document this investigation, but how can I do that when I have no photographical evidence? People are going to think I’ve sat in my own house and made it all up. Look, even the video’s not come out.” She thrust a connecting cable from her camera to her phone, and once again, the screen was a jumble of either black or dark blur. You could just about make out Dhara’s voice.

  “The only way we can know for sure is by going back and going into the house.” Dhara was completely serious.

  Paul looked a little skeptical at first and then slightly awkward. “I dunno. We’re on our honeymoon. I’m not sure how much we want to get caught up in all of this. What are you expecting to find?”

  Debbie then spoke slowly. “This could be dangerous.”

  “Or it could be nothing,” Paul added. “You’ve done your research, I can tell that. So what are you expecting? A haunted house? An English Amityville? You don’t look that gullible, right?”

  Dhara paused before she spoke on, almost deliberately increasing the tension and suspense. “The house had been empty for a number of years before there were any disappearances. To answer your question, Pete—”

  “Paul.”

  “Sorry, Paul. No, I do not think that house is haunted. But something unusual is happening there. It’s something that has happened in the last couple of years. That’s why tonight I am going back there.”

  “We can’t let you go alone,” Debbie said, shocked that Dhara would even consider this.

  “Thank you, Debbie, I would love you to come with me.”

  “Um, okay.”

  “Seriously?” Paul questioned. “We heard a scream there. We possibly saw a body. You suspect that people have disappeared every time they have entered the house, and yet…and yet, you want to go back there under the cover of darkness?”

  “If we don’t find out what’s going on, then who will?” Dhara asked.

  “Someone else. Look, Lara—”

  “Dhara,” she said, rolling her eyes at his remark.

  “No offence,” Paul said, which of course is the line used before saying something offensive. “We don’t know you. But Debbie and I have had a hell of a year. We just want to spend our evenings cuddled together, and not out putting ourselves in danger. Debs, what do you think?”

  Debbie took a sip of her orange juice. “I don’t know, Paul. Part of me wants to hide away and let it be someone else’s problem, but I don’t like the idea of Dhara here going alone and then disappearing. I would never forgive myself.”

  Dhara looked hopefully at Paul. He took a deep breath. “I guess we’re going then.”

  The back of a beer mat became the crude map to show where the newlyweds were staying. They agreed to meet later on in the afternoon.

  Sometimes, the choices we make can send our lives in a direction we never thought possible. This was one of those choices.

  THE PLACE THAT NEVER EXISTED

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “S o, Jez. Tell me again why you’re driving down here?” Kim asked.

  “My sister is on her honeymoon, but her husband’s ex-girlfriend—who by the way is a fucking stalking psycho—is on her way down to cause trouble.”

  “Fuck me, lad, that’s some fucking Jeremy Kyle-like shit right there!” Jez smiled to himself. Kim was crass, but she was also a lot
of fun, and while a little plumper than his usual fantasies stretched to, she had a cheeky cuteness that seemed to contrast her foul mouth.

  “What yer pissing yourself about now, lad?” she said. “Seems like your situation has no shits and giggles about it is what I think!”

  “I know.” Jez then got serious. “This woman pushed my sister down some stairs, and she lost her baby.”

  “Fuck.”

  “I honestly have no idea what she would do now if she found her.”

  “You want me to beat her up?”

  “What?”

  Kim nodded her head. “I’ve done it before. This Barbie doll-looking bitch called me a fat-fucking-donut-muncher—”

  “That’s what she said?”

  “More or less, you know, along the lines of, you might want to lose a few pounds. That sort of shit.”

  “So not exactly word-for-word then.”

  “Close enough.” She turned to Jez with a frown. “Who are you? John fuckin’ Grisham?”

  “Huh?”

  “Some legal expert?”

  Jez held up his hands in innocence, and then as the car wobbled, he placed them back on the steering wheel. “Just trying to get an idea of the facts.”

  “Fuck the facts, lad. She said I was Humpty fucking Dumpty, so I punched her in the fucking nose! You know what she did then?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Exactly right, ’cause you weren’t there! Well, she started crying. That was embarrassing. I had to call her mum over.”

  “Her mum! How old was she?” Jez wasn’t sure suddenly how stable she was.

  “Like six and shit, so she was.”

  “Six!”

  “Nah, I’m just having a laugh! You should see your face!”

  “Bloody hell, Kim.” Jez tapped his heart.

  “The bitch was at least fourteen.” She turned up the stereo as Bryan Adams was reminiscing about a season in ‘69, but she was grinning from ear to ear.

  They were on the A38 when Jez’s phone rang. He quickly pulled over.

  Glancing at his phone, he saw that it was his wife.

  “Shit,” he said and pressed the button to speak. “Sex kitten!”

  Kim snorted, she couldn’t help it.

  “Who was that?” she said, and Jez wondered why he’d answered the phone. This was only going to go downhill. “K-Kim.” He paused, then said, “One K.”

  Kim was enjoying this. She watched as this big strange-looking guy squirmed at every word his wife said. Fear permeated from his pores. She wondered what this powerful woman looked like.

  “She needed a lift. No…No…Really? You want to speak to her?” Jez handed over the phone.

  “Hello?” the strong voice said.

  “Hi, there,” Kim said.

  “Irish, huh?” the voice said, and it was a little hard to determine whether she was cross or just curious.

  “That I am.”

  “Have you had sex with my husband? Tell the truth now.”

  “I don’t believe so. Would I be able to tell? I cannot make up my mind by just looking at him?”

  “Oh, honey, you would certainly know. He may not look like Brad Pitt, but he knows his way around a woman.”

  “Good to know.”

  “You better believe it. Put your hands on him, and I will hunt you down like a dog.”

  “Okay. Noted.”

  “Put him back on!”

  “Goodbye.” She handed the phone back. She thought him mysterious and slightly odd before, but now, and rather ironically, all she could think about was having sex with him.

  “Love you too,” he said and put down the phone.

  “Your wife loves you, Jez.”

  “Ya think?”

  “She said you were hung like a stallion on steroids.”

  “Really?”

  “Pretty much word for word.” She stifled a laugh as Jez was suddenly rearranging his trousers. What an interesting pair they must be.

  After a little while, Jez turned off the main road. “So where are you going?” he said.

  “Where ever you are, I be guessing.”

  “But after that?” She didn’t seem to know for sure. She shook her head but in a way that said she wasn’t all that bothered. He assumed this to be an Irish carefree way.

  “Well, I’m going about ten miles down here, as far as I can tell. Tag along if you want.” Jez didn’t mind having her around. He didn’t much fancy staying on his own, and there was no way he could stay with his sister on her honeymoon. Although part of him wasn’t sure that keeping this wild girl from the Emerald Isle around was an entirely good idea; but when did he ever have, and act upon, a good idea?

  “That I will then. If you don’t be minding? Your wife told me not to fuck you though.”

  “Really?”

  “She might’ve just been kidding, huh?”

  “She doesn’t joke. She traded it for extra meanness.”

  Kim let out a full belly-laugh. “Haa-haa!” she cried, rubbing her eyes of tears.

  “I am serious,” Jez said.

  “I know!”

  Jez shook his head. The suddenly One Direction blasted out of his stereo. The boyband were singing about the best song ever. Kim was pretty sure this was not it.

  “You gotta be kidding me? You like One Direction?”

  Jez remained silent, pretending she wasn’t talking. He did this a lot with his wife.

  “You realise you’re not a thirteen-year-old-girl? Am I wrong?”

  “It’s not mine.”

  Kim liked the way he was like a grown-up child, ready to deny until proven guilty. “Really? You seem to know every song on this CD. So, what? This isn’t your CD?”

  “Not mine.”

  She pressed eject. The CD slid out showing it was not an original CD put together by a record label with absolutely no idea of marketing, such was the randomness of the songs. The scrawled writing also suggested it was put together by an individual. The words read: My best mixtape ever : Jez-mix 3.

  “Not yours, huh?”

  “Does it matter?” Jez suddenly said.

  She grinned again. “That you lied? No. No, not at all.”

  They sat in silence. She was smirking, and he was sulking.

  She broke the silence. “So which one’s your favourite? Harry?”

  The car slammed to a halt. “Do you want to get out here?” he said, not looking at her.

  “I’ve made you cross. I can tell. Look, I apologise.”

  Jez eased away. “Okay,” he mumbled.

  They drove another mile before she said, “Zain was my favourite too. Don’t worry about it.”

  Jez ignored her. The truth was she was quite amusing.

  That’s when they saw the sign.

  Welcome to Huntswood Cove

  THE PLACE THAT NEVER EXISTED

  Chapter Thirty

  Y ou could just never predict what the weather was going to be like in England. Ginny had stood for almost five minutes at home deciding exactly what to put on by means of a jacket. There had been an unexpected shower twice this week, and while the odd breeze whipped up off of the sea, for the most part of the previous week there had been a thick humidity hanging in the air. This was a warning that at any point a downpour was going to be inevitable. Wearing a jacket you may keep dry, but you end up sweating out of every pore instead. On the odd occasion that a fine rain had fallen, it had been a welcome relief to the heat, but while leaving a shine, it never quite got her wet. Every once in a while, of course, the heavens would open and down would come some of Forrest Gump’s big ol’ fat rain that suddenly had you being an unwilling contestant in a wet T-shirt contest. Times like that had you thinking about Atlantis.

  She grabbed a denim jacket. It had been bought a few years back when she was at least two sizes smaller, so it hung open. The buttons and button holes were never in danger of coming together, and they looked like they were still in the aftermath of an argument. Bolan ran in small cir
cles with excitement, adding a giddy jump of two knowing they were going to go out.

  “Come on, Bolan,” she said an octave higher than her normal voice. Why was it that dog owners felt the need to climb the vocal scales ever so slightly when talking to their pet and then lowering it again to spouses? Somewhere there was a thesis waiting to be written on this peculiar fact that may consider it in relation to a pecking order in which both are regarded. And of course, there was no need to utter a single word, as Bolan was astute enough to understand the rituals of everyday life, surrounding the time of day and familiar routine of lead and Wellington-boots, would suggest nothing other than it was time for his walk.

  However, it wouldn’t be long before Bolan would understand the sudden change in the daily routine. Instead of heading right up the hill to join the path that ran through the woods, they turned left and headed deeper into the village. Or more to the point, the police station.

  It was only a five minute walk, and Bolan seemed a little confused that he was being tied up outside the police station rather than following animal scents into the undergrowth. He busied himself anyway with sniffing and then spraying the post that he was tied to before Ginny walked purposefully into the station. She knew them all in there and every so often would pop in to relive the hustle and bustle of police work—but of course in Huntswood Cove, hustle and bustle was yet to arrive.

  Sat back and fully immersed in a novel, Deidre Lennon was wide-eyed and actually gasped as she read.

  “Hi, Deidre!” Ginny said which made her jump. “Good book?”

  Diedre clutched her chest next to a beautifully crafted brooch. “Nearly gave me a heart attack there, Ginny!” She grinned showing teeth that were too white to be natural and more than likely spent the night in a glass of cleaning liquid, rather than a snoring mouth, and in a face that was as cheeky as an old lady could be. Her complexion was always powdered, with over-emphasised, ruddy cheeks, and her hair was curled in a Queen-esque style. One she’d more than likely had since her twenties, more than forty years ago. She put anyone at ease, but she was also known to, and this is to quote, “take no shit from them young-uns”, but she was a civilian after all, and so other than being an administrator and some-time receptionist, she got to catch up on some of her favourite UK crime novelists as well as her favourite American novelist, Nora Roberts. She especially liked Nora Roberts. All of that mystery and romance…