by Luca Veste
‘We might have to.’
‘That’s if you believe there’s someone out there hunting us down for what we did. And if that’s the case, they saw us in those woods.’
‘Alexandra, there’s no doubt someone was there. The body went missing.’
‘About that . . . ’ Alexandra replied, shifting on the sofa and turning her body towards me. ‘What’s to say there’s not some other explanation for that? A coincidence of some sort? It’s not like we checked him over properly. He might have still been alive.’
‘Are you kidding me? Can you not remember the state he was in?’
‘Believe me,’ Alexandra said, her tone suddenly becoming cold and harsh. ‘I remember every detail about that night. I think about it all the time. I’m just saying, you never know. People can survive all kinds of things. We didn’t know what we were doing. We just saw his body and lost our minds. We were scared, we were exhausted. Do you remember anyone checking for a pulse? Because I don’t. What if he was still alive, barely, drags himself onto the road, a car hits him and that driver panics? It’s early in the morning, no one else is around, and they hide the body somewhere else?’
I began to answer, then stopped myself. It was something I had never considered. Mainly because it was so ridiculous. I stifled a yawn and rubbed some life into my face briefly. ‘It sounds like something that would happen in some crappy TV show. Not in real life. I think I prefer to go with Occam’s razor on this one.’
‘I’m just saying, it’s not out of the realms of possibility. This whole thing has been like a horrible nightmare from the beginning. If there’s a chance that there is something deeper to this whole Stuart and now Michelle story though, then it’s probably best if we have some sort of plan.’
‘I do. It’s called going to the police and telling them what happened.’
‘We’re not giving up just like that,’ Alexandra said, smacking the arm of the sofa in frustration and getting to her feet. ‘I’m not prepared to give up everything I have because of this. I won’t let it beat us. Whatever is going on, we can still come out the other side. We just need to stay calm.’
‘Calm? Calm is what got us into this mess in the first place. We calmly made a decision to cover up a murder . . . ’
‘It was self-defence—’
‘We calmly dug a hole,’ I continued, following Alexandra’s movements as she walked over to the living-room door and paused with her hand on the doorknob. ‘We threw a body in there and then panicked when we found another one. No decision we’ve made since the moment we stepped in those woods was a good one. Simple as that. If confessing doesn’t feel like the right thing to do, maybe that’s because it’ll finally be the right call. We screwed up. Made the wrong choices and now we have to face up to that.’
‘You’ll ruin all our lives.’
‘They’re already ruined,’ I said, getting up and moving towards Alexandra. She was facing away from me, her head dropped to her chest and shoulders moving up and down slowly. I reached out and put a hand on one of them, but she shook it away. I breathed in and tried to keep talking. ‘None of us can live with this anymore. No matter what way we look at things, this is it. This is our last chance to do right by everyone involved. It’ll be hard, but nothing worth doing is easy.’
‘You speak for yourself,’ Alexandra replied, moving away from me, grabbing her laptop from the coffee table and shoving it back in her bag. ‘You’ve not considered the fact that there’s not just you who was there that night and doesn’t want to say a word to anybody about it. You’re only thinking about your own selfish reasons.’
It was the same argument we’d had when we’d arrived back home a year earlier. Only we had been in opposite roles back then. Alexandra was the one who wanted to go to the police and I was trying to pretend it had never happened. The fear of that knock at the door had driven us into two disparate corners that eventually drove us apart. Now, we were back in that time.
Only this time, Alexandra was leaving before it could get any worse.
‘Listen, I’m sorry,’ I tried, but she was pushing past me and out of the living room. I followed her into the hallway still talking. Pleading. ‘We can sort this out. You don’t have to go. Please.’
It was no use though. Like the previous time she’d left, I was powerless to stop her going. Even this time with me at least speaking a little more than I had back then, she was opening the door and on the front path within seconds.
‘Matt, get some sleep,’ Alexandra said, turning around, but still walking backwards slowly towards the gate. ‘I’ll speak to you soon when you’re more clear-headed.’
‘Alexandra . . . ’ I tried again, but she was through the gate and into her car before I could leave the house. I looked at the blinds in my neighbour’s windows twitching as my voice echoed around the street. I ignored them and went back inside.
Twenty-Six
I called Michelle as soon as I was back in the house, cradling my phone between my neck and shoulder as I went through sparse cupboards trying to find something to eat. She answered just before I imagined an answer machine would kick in.
‘You okay?’
‘What do you think?’ Michelle replied, and tiredness and pressure was dripping from every syllable. ‘I haven’t slept and can’t stop checking the locks on my doors and windows. I feel like I’m living in a nightmare. Or a horror film.’
‘It’s going to be okay. You should come here and stay. Or I could come to you?’
‘No, it’s fine. Why should I drag someone else into this? If it’s me first, best they don’t get two of us at the same time. If something is going to happen, it’s better if it’s only me. That way, someone is left behind to stop whoever it is from picking us off one by one.’
‘Michelle . . . ’
‘Did you speak to Chris?’ she said, before I had the chance to continue. ‘Did you tell him what we should do?’
‘I spoke to him. I think you can probably guess his reaction. Nicola will agree with him, I guess.’
‘I should just go myself . . . ’
‘We can’t do that,’ I said, but I wondered why that was the case. Michelle was living with the threat of something happening to her, to the point she couldn’t even sleep in her own house. Surely that meant more?
‘I know,’ Michelle replied, but I could hear the lack of conviction in her voice. ‘They’re not the ones with a red candle in their wheelie bin that won’t go away though.’
‘You threw it out?’
‘I had to. I couldn’t have it in the house anymore. I don’t care if it’s got evidence on it – although I bet there’s not a fingerprint on the damn thing – I just don’t want to be around it. I don’t want it near me.’
‘You have to get out of there, Michelle,’ I said, more forcefully now. She couldn’t stay there any longer and even if I had to park up outside her house that night, I wasn’t going to let it happen. ‘Come and stay here, or ring Alexandra?’
‘I spoke to her earlier. She doesn’t want to go to the police. She thinks we can deal with this ourselves. I’m not sure if she really believes it’s as bad as I’m saying. Makes me feel like I’m going crazy or something.’
‘You’re not crazy,’ I replied, then steered the conversation back again. ‘I’m serious, Michelle. You have to leave that house. You’re sitting there, just waiting for him to come back. There’s no point. We can get past this. I can convince the others that we need to confess – I just need a little more time.’
There was silence on the line that pricked the hairs on the back of my neck. Then, a sigh and Michelle’s voice.
‘I don’t know. I thought this would be easier.’
‘If you’re right, then you’re just waiting for someone to come. It’s giving up. Right?’
‘I know I shouldn’t be here. It’s just . . . it’s like I’ve seen a way out of this nightmare. Maybe this is what we deserve. You understand?’
I did, but I wasn’t about
to say that. ‘This isn’t the end, Michelle. We can beat this. We don’t deserve any of this. We only did what we had to.’
‘I need to get out of this house. It’s driving me even crazier than I already was.’
I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You can come here, if you like?’
‘No, it’s okay,’ Michelle replied, something approaching respite entering her tone now. ‘I’ll go to my mum’s house. She’s always on at me to visit more. She won’t ask any questions either, if I tell her I’m staying.’
‘No problem. If you need anything, just let me know. I’ll be right there.’
‘You’re a good friend, Matt.’
I didn’t feel like much of one as I hung up the phone after saying goodbye, and lay my mobile on the kitchen counter. I thought about Stuart. Tried not to and failed. I’d been thinking about him a lot more since the funeral. Since before that, really.
Since the moment I’d been told what happened to him and this all started up again.
I looked again at the empty cupboard and closed the door on it. I couldn’t stay here, sitting around doing nothing, simply waiting for the next bit of horror to unleash itself at my door. I needed to become more proactive. Not that I knew where to start.
In my office, I switched on my computer and searched for the forums Alexandra had mentioned. Putting ‘the Candle Man’ into Google gave me so many results, it made sense to start at a smaller point.
I pulled a notepad from a pile and found a pen quicker than usual. Began making notes. The first thing I did was find the forum on Reddit that listed all the possible cases involving the Candle Man. It was an extensive list. Reports from all over the UK. Most you could tell were simply apocryphal tales. Ghost stories being shared around.
I started making a list of names.
Outside it became darker, until the only light in the room was the static glow emanating from the screen in front of me. I barely noticed. My stomach growled and grumbled, but I ignored it, along with the pain behind my eyes. The tired headaches were becoming more and more frequent, but that only served to make them easier to ignore. At least, that was what I told myself.
The forum was comprehensive, if nothing else: numerous disappearances that were then cross-checked, and various theories put forward. Most of the threads talked about the annoyance they felt that no one was taking them seriously. The most prevalent theory was that the Candle Man was a police officer and that was why it wasn’t being looked into properly. Some thought it was someone in the Royal Family. Others blamed high-ranking business types. The theories grew and grew, until it was an international conspiracy it seemed.
I lost an hour to reading through all of these and more. Then two hours. I checked the time and saw it was approaching 8 p.m.
I went back to the beginning and looked at the list of names I’d made. All of them UK-based. Those who had families reporting the existence of red candles after their loved one had gone missing. There were a few newspaper reports about the Candle Man, but they seemed to dry up pretty quickly, years earlier.
I spotted something quickly.
The storm lantern.
This hadn’t gone unnoticed by the people on the forum either. Although it had generated discussion also. People arguing back and forth about its significance. With the prior knowledge I had though, it made it much easier.
It did have significance.
I began whittling down the list of names. Searched online for media reports about the disappearances. Found a couple of pieces that mentioned the red candles and the ones that also had pictures including a storm lantern.
I then went through a whole ream of people who were either eventually found alive, or, more infrequently, those who had died and were clearly not victims of the supposed serial killer. There were many who had simply turned up after a few days.
I was left with a number.
Twelve.
Twelve people who were missing, who had stories in local newspapers, on social media, which mentioned red candles and storm lanterns. Who had police involvement, but a denial about it being linked to a serial killer called the Candle Man.
Mark Welsh wasn’t on the list.
I opened Google Maps and began plotting out the areas where the twelve were. Places in Scotland, three in Wales, two near Brock Hope Forest. One in Liverpool. Two in Manchester. Peak District. Random places, scattered around the counties.
I added the thirteenth marker in the woods at that damn music festival. Even if Mark Welsh wasn’t really considered a victim, it felt wrong to leave him off.
The room seemed smaller somehow, as if something unearthly had entered and settled in the air. Before, I had thought of it all only in an abstract way. I knew the man was a killer and we had stopped him. Now, seeing the red markers on a map made it all the more real.
There didn’t seem to be any sort of pattern, but I noticed you could almost draw a straight line up the west side of the UK. No single place. The dates began decades earlier, moving forwards in time sporadically. At least one every two to three years.
I looked at the one closest to home. Andrew Pennington. A twenty-six-year-old man from Liverpool who had been reported missing by his girlfriend. I had a vague memory of the name, but I didn’t recognise the face. I looked at the reports in the Liverpool Echo online, but after a few articles, there wasn’t much else to see. His girlfriend was in the final article, a picture of her sitting next to a storm lantern housing a red candle. The headline didn’t bury the lead:
LOCAL MISSING MAN LINKED TO CANDLE MAN MYTH?
The article contained a few links back to the internet forums I’d already searched, but also contained a statement from Merseyside Police:
A police spokesperson said, ‘We are aware of the rumours surrounding Andrew Pennington’s disappearance and its link to a story that has been swirling around the internet since its inception. The myth of a supposed serial killer has been thoroughly looked into and is not a part of our enquiries at this time. We urge anyone with any information about Andrew’s movements in the days before or after his disappearance to please contact us.’
I wondered what was stopping them from finding the information it had taken me only a couple of hours to find and was shared between so many people online. I guessed they had done the same as me and discounted many; that all it looked like was a myth to them.
Or, they knew, and didn’t want to admit they couldn’t find him.
What I had wasn’t much. Not enough for a court or anything – not that it’s possible for a dead man to be put on trial.
The first year on the list I’d made was 1996. Twenty-three years earlier. There were also names I couldn’t confidently add that were much earlier than that. I looked at all the information I’d collected, saw what little it amounted to, and sat back in my chair wondering what to do next.
As a voice inside me screamed to shut the computer down and forget all of this, another part of me knew I couldn’t do that.
This wasn’t going to end with me ignoring it.
Instead, I created an account on the forum, posted a few messages and waited.
Twenty-Seven
It was black outside. Cold. Clouds in the sky that looked angry and filled with dark hate. As if they were waiting for me to step outside so they could unleash hell upon me. I tried breathing deeply in and out again and remembering it would only be rain. Standing at the doorway, looking at the path that led to my car – parked up only yards away.
That path suddenly looked longer. My car even further away. The street was quiet, the only sound a distant wind chime tinkling in the distance.
I made myself step forward and was outside.
Behind me, the door was still open. Ready for me to go back. Change my mind and retreat. I don’t know how I kept moving, but somehow, I did. I pulled the front door behind me and the noise of it shutting echoed around the street. I breathed in again and began walking. Pushed open my gate and unlocked the car with the fob in my hand.
There was a noise from my side. A shift of feet on the pavement. I turned to look, but there was nothing there. An empty street, dull light emanating from the streetlight a few yards away. An almost amber yellow. A noise again and I could feel my heart rate increase. Beating against my chest, I could almost hear the pound of it.
Someone was out there.
I didn’t know where that thought came from, but it was suddenly stark in my mind. Eyes watching, unseen, hidden from view. Lurking in what was now a multitude of shadows outside my front door. I heard the scrape of shoes against concrete again and forced myself to walk around the car to the driver’s door and crouch. Waiting. My breaths were coming in short bursts and I willed them to quiet.
I leaned against the car, looking left and right, watching for any movement. The feeling of being watched lingered, as I peered into the gloom of the evening.
Nothing moved, nothing shifted. The only noise I could hear was traffic in the far distance, blown towards me on a wind which increased in strength the longer I stayed standing there.
I waited for another noise, but none came.
Waited for someone to walk past. A stranger who didn’t know me. Didn’t know what I was doing. Couldn’t know.
After a minute or two, I shook my head and let myself into the car. Sat down in the driver’s seat and placed my hands on the steering wheel. Adjusted the rear-view mirror and saw nothing in the reflection. Checked the side mirrors and got the same result.
It was my mind playing tricks on me. That was all. Still, I could almost feel those eyes out there on the street.
Watching me.
I shook the thought from my head, turned the key in the ignition and started driving. I had something more important to concentrate on.
*
Charnock Richard Services on the M6 was only a half-hour drive from my house, located between junctions twenty-seven and twenty-eight. I remembered passing it on a drive up to the Lake District that Alexandra and I had done a couple of years previously – making jokes about a guy called Richard who wrote his name down wrong when they were opening it up.
