Stranger in the Woods: A tense psychological thriller

by Anni Taylor

  I gazed out the large window, trying to quieten the noise in my head. This was a crazy mission. We might even be trespassing by trying to enter the old church. But Rory hadn’t hesitated for a minute. He hadn’t even questioned what anyone else might think was just a dream of mine.

  Rory’s phone buzzed. He moved to the end of the bench seat, turning his head away as he answered. “It’s none of your business where I am. No, I’m not. Of course I care about her. I tried to be there for you. But you threw it all back in my face.”

  I watched pain and regret stitch lines and furrows into his face. I knew he was talking with Camille. He ended the conversation quickly and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

  “Want to go?” I said quietly.

  He nodded.

  As dim and depressing as the café had been, at least it had offered protection from the elements. I ran with Rory through the blustery wind and into the car. I felt even less safe in the car as we started out again. I tried to hang onto the words that Rory had said earlier. He was a safe driver. His car had safe tyres. He was used to this weather.

  Rory didn’t launch back into tales about the school. He drove on, withdrawing into himself. I preferred the cheerier Rory, and I cursed Camille for having called him when she did. I had nothing between me and the road now.

  With a start, I realised that the snowfall was going to make it harder to spot the church. Rory wouldn’t know where it was. It was up to me to find it, otherwise this trip would have all been for nothing. I didn’t exactly know where it was. There were very few landmarks along the A9. The landscape was mostly just countryside.

  Taking out my phone, I tried looking up the area on Google Earth. But the internet was so sluggish it was impossible.

  Rory glanced over. “It’s the weather—making the internet slow.”

  I pressed my lips together. “I don’t remember the spot where Greer pulled off the road. It was a last-second decision on her part. And I didn’t think I’d be coming here again.”

  “It’s okay. I took a quick look first thing this morning. I think I found the one you mean.”

  “You did? I should have been the one doing that. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

  “I’m a teacher. Preparation is mostly what I do. We should be coming up to the church soon. Keep your eyes peeled.”

  About fifteen minutes later, I spotted the top part of a church.

  “There!”

  Rory nodded, slowing the car.

  The side street that made a ramp off the main road was obscured with snow.

  “Okay, here we go,” he said, guiding the car carefully down the side road.

  “A field trip like no other,” I quipped, trying hard to push down the butterflies that were surging from my stomach into my throat.

  Most of the church was obscured with brambles, just as before. Today, snow was steeped against the exterior and piled on top of the cross that graced the roof. I imagined that the church would get half buried in a snowstorm—the land dipped down so low here.

  Emotions rushed at me as I stepped from the car. Was I really going to find any resolution here?

  Pulling my knitted cap over my ears to shut out the wind, I started down the incline.

  Rory grasped my shoulder. “Not so fast, Isla. There can be pits and hollows in the snow. You could fall into an old well, a frozen creek, anything.”

  “I don’t remember seeing any creeks or old wells.”

  “They can be well-concealed. Doesn’t look like anyone’s doing any caretaking on this place.” Letting go of me, he returned to the car and fetched a shovel. “Let me go first. I’ll poke the ground.”

  “You brought a shovel along?”

  “Always in weather like this,” he said. He stepped ahead, prodding at the snow here and there. Until we stood at the front step.

  Snow flaked off the handle as he turned it. “I don’t think it’s locked. I think it’s just swollen shut.” He twisted his head around to face me.

  I took a deep breath of chilled air and moved beside Rory.

  Together we pushed at the door with our shoulders. The old wood protested for a few seconds, then gave way.

  Leaf litter and snow blew down a long corridor. Rooms led off the corridor on either side.

  This is it.

  My dream.

  My memory.

  My dream had never been about a house. It had always been this—a church on the road to Inverness.

  My legs felt frozen rigid as I entered, the boards creaking underfoot.

  I jumped and spun around as the door closed behind me.

  Rory was holding two pen lights. “Too windy to leave it open. Here, take one of these.”

  Gratefully, I accepted the pen light. “You weren’t kidding when you said you come prepared.”

  He shrugged, grinning, then eyed me curiously. “Remember anything?”

  Biting into my cold lower lip, I nodded.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. This is the place.”

  “Hell. This is insane.”

  “Yeah.” Anxious thoughts tumbled through my mind, my chest wall growing so tight I could hardly breathe.

  We walked through the corridor to a large space filled with broken wooden chairs. The altar was simply a heavy desk. I turned to a dim corner of the room, already guessing what would be there. A piano. It was missing a few of its keys—the keyboard resembling a grimace with missing teeth.

  “I’m sure there would have been a holy cross up on the wall here at some point.” Rory studied my face as I stared at the piano. “Wow, you mentioned piano chords, too, didn’t you? Anything else coming back to you?”

  “Nothing specific. It’s frustrating. But I feel…panicked. I mean, just being here makes me feel panic.”

  “Try to relax. You’re safe.”

  “I know. I’ll try.”

  “Hey, maybe I should go look around outside and leave you alone for a while. You might have better luck without me here crowding you. I’ll see if I can find anything interesting out there that might jog your memory.”

  Nodding, I exhaled a stream of white air. “Thank you.”

  Rory shuffled back down the hallway, collecting the shovel that he’d left by the door before he went out.

  I crossed the room to the piano. It looked even worse close up. Dirt caked the spaces between the keys. Animal droppings had smeared and dried everywhere, forming a disgusting crust.

  This was the horrible thing that I’d heard playing in the background when I was here last. Who’d even want to touch this, let alone play it? Or had this church looked very different two years ago?

  Backing away from the piano, I scanned the room. There was nothing else here of note. Anything of value must have been either looted or taken away a long time ago.

  The only thing left to check was the rooms. I headed back into the corridor. I needed to look for the candles. And the cross and the rosary beads.

  There were four rooms, each door hanging open except for one.

  I stuck my head inside the first room on the right. Its walls were lined with shelves, most of which were broken and crooked. A metal filing cabinet stood against a wall. I opened the cabinet. It was empty, aside from a few folders. A picture of Jesus hung on the wall, unblemished apart from a hairline crack in the glass.

  The next room on the right held nothing but more broken chairs and an armchair—the stuffing and springs exposed. Animal droppings told me that rats had torn the filling out of the chair. I imagined they would get starving hungry in the winter.

  I tried the room opposite. In this room, the walls were decorated with cartoonish illustrations of children holding baby lambs and rabbits. I remembered a friend of mine telling me that her church had a crying room in which the faithful could take a fussing baby or child so that they didn’t interrupt the church service. Maybe that’s what this room had been.

  I tried the last door on the left. This was the one I could never open in my
dreams—until recently. It was always firmly locked.

  The handle twisted in my hand and I cracked the door open.

  The air smelled especially bad in here. A rusted odour combined with smells I couldn’t identify. This room must have been shut up for a long time.

  Covering the lower half of my face with the crook of my elbow, I entered.

  There was not much more in here than the other rooms.

  Deflated, I shone my light around.

  A homeless person must have once lived here. Empty tins of food were piled up in a corner.

  The beam of my pen light was too narrow to see the whole room at once. This was the darkest spot of the church and I could only see small pieces of it at a time.

  I began putting the pieces together, my heart rate jumping with each discovery.

  Candles on the shelves.

  Jackets on hooks on the wall.

  Bare mattress on the floor.

  This was the room I’d remembered.

  But surely I’d never lain on that filthy mattress in this filthy room?

  There weren’t rat droppings in here, at least. If the heavy door to this room had been kept shut, maybe that had kept out the rats.

  A dark stain had spread across the centre of the mattress. I crouched to the floor, examining the stain with the pen light.

  It’s blood.

  So much blood.

  With shuddering breaths, I directed my light upwards.

  Bare timbers spanned the ceiling, just as they did in every other room.

  An empty bottle of medication sat beside the candles on a high shelf, gathering dust.

  Wind blew in from a small crack in the window, making a wooden chain shuffle and clatter—a set of rosary beads.

  It’s all here.

  The last thing I needed to find was the religious cross with the heart in the middle. I searched the room, examining every patch of wall and floor that I could. It wasn’t there, else, I couldn’t find it.

  I stopped still, allowing myself to breathe. Why had I been in this room?

  As I watched, the dim day changed to darkest night, flames sprang to life on the candles, chaotic piano chords smashed the quiet.

  I could see it all as it was. When I was last here.

  I knew, without any doubt, that I’d been here on this foul old mattress.

  And I knew the blood was mine.

  34

  ISLA

  I wanted to run from this room and this church and go home. I didn’t even want to return to Greenmire. I’d just beg Rory to take me straight to the airport and have my things sent to me afterwards.

  But I couldn’t do that.

  I needed to find out more.

  Panting, I leaned my back against the wall.

  A memory of searing pain twisted through me.

  Like someone pummelling my body, over and over. Like hard, vicious, angry punches. Until my ribs were sore, and my insides were jelly and the taste of blood was liquid copper in my mouth.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I protected myself from a battering that had happened a long time ago.

  A hazy image formed in my mind of a person who’d stood over me, silently watching me scream.

  There had been someone there, standing by the bed. But I couldn’t see them properly. I could hear their voice. The voice said: Stay quiet. You’re not helping yourself. Then I could hear them say, I don’t think she’s breathing.

  Why did this person think I’d stopped breathing?

  Bile shot to the back of my throat.

  What could I do about any of this? What could be proven after years had passed? Even if a DNA test proved this was my blood, what then? If there were no witnesses—apart from the person who stood by the bed—how would the police be able to find out anything?

  Numbly, I stumbled from the room.

  I’d found out what I’d come here for, but I still didn’t know anything. Not anything concrete.

  Rory still hadn’t returned.

  Pulling open the front door, I called to him. “Rory?” The wind had an added force to it now, snatching my voice away.

  I stepped outside, letting the door bang behind me.

  For a moment, I worried that I’d been left here alone. I checked the top of the incline. Rory’s car was still there, the wind blowing a dusting of snow from the roof.

  “Rory?” I blundered through ankle-deep snow. Someone had been digging. A hole had been carved out, the shovel leaning against the wall of the house.

  “Rory, are you there?”

  A figure came from behind me—Rory.

  “We’d better get out of here,” he told me. “They’re predicting a bit of nasty weather. Best hit the road.”

  “What were you digging?”

  “I just dug here and there to see if I could find anything useful.” He shrugged. “I didn’t. How about you? Did you remember anything more?”

  I nodded. “I’ll tell you later. Sounds like we need to head off.”

  He turned up the collar of his jacket against the wind. “Aye.”

  We drove off into a blurred world of white and charcoal. My stomach clenched. I kept hearing the squeal of the wheels back when Hamish lost control of his car.

  Rory shot two quick glances at me. “You look half scared to death, Isla.”

  “I haven’t been in a snowstorm before. People really just keep driving through these?”

  “Yes. Unless it gets really bad.”

  “I’d hate to see really bad.”

  “I didn’t realise it was going to get this extreme. Hope I didn’t rush you, but I could see the clouds were looking heavy out there.”

  “You made the right call. I’d hate to be stuck there in a blizzard or something.” I felt sick at the thought of it. Being trapped in that church.

  “Don’t get alarmed,” he said tentatively. “But the wind is really picking up speed. If it happens to get worse, we might need to stop off somewhere.”

  “Oh hell, do you mean we’re heading into a blizzard right now?”

  “It could be the start of one. Hard to tell.”

  “You do what you need to do. I’d rather stop than get blown off the road.”

  Rory gave a short laugh. “We’re nowhere near that happening.”

  After a brief silence, Rory turned to me. “So…if it’s not too soon to ask, what was it that you remembered from the church?”

  I jammed my eyes shut. “It’s all still so clouded. Maybe I was drugged at the time. There’s a mattress in one of those rooms. An old, dirty, horrible mattress. With a big patch of blood on it.” Pulling my mouth in as I recalled the fetid odour and horror of that room, I met his eyes. “Mine.”

  “Whoa.” His jaw dropped. “Blood? Yours? You know that for certain?”

  I nodded. “I remember…terrible pain. Like being kicked or punched. Or even cut.”

  “That’s a complete shocker, Isla. You’ve got to go to the police. I’ll take you there right now.”

  “No…I’ve still got nothing. They’re not going to be able to do anything with the information that I’ve got. I mean, it’s not really even information. Just some hazy bits and pieces.”

  “I know what you mean. I do. But you can’t let the bastard get away with this.”

  “Thanks, Rory. You’ve helped me so much in bringing me out here today.”

  “If you could see your face right now,” he replied. “You wouldn’t think I’d helped you. You’re looking like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I didn’t see a ghost…but I did see someone. I remember. Someone was standing right there, near the bed.”

  “Bloody hell. Did you see his face?”

  “No…all I see is a figure.”

  “Are you sure you can’t see any of their facial features?”

  “I’m trying, but I can’t. It just won’t come to me. I can hear them telling me to be quiet.” I attempted to picture the scene in that room. Lying on that mattress, watching the draft make the beads sw
ay on their chain, watching the candles flicker, watching the figure standing above me. The figure was pacing the room. Up and down. While the chords of the piano reverberated in my ears.

  “Okay, what was their voice like?” he asked.

  “It’s strange. I can hear the words, but not the voice. It’s like, I know what they said, but I can’t pinpoint the voice.”

  I tried to hear Trent’s voice in my mind. Was the voice his? It was useless—I couldn’t tell.

  Rory shook his head. “By the looks of it, it’s all going to come back to you bit by bit. Let me know if you remember anything else.”

  We drove along in silence for the next few minutes. I sensed that Rory was giving me space.

  The car was starting to feel like a moving tomb, with the dark day and the howling, snow-laden wind all around us.

  I remembered something else.

  Someone carried me out of the church. I could see a glimpse of their shirt. I’d grabbed onto the person’s collar, confused and afraid. When I pulled on their collar, I caught sight of a dark tattoo on their skin. A tattoo of a cross with a rose in the middle of it.

  That’s it. The cross and rose had been a tattoo. Not a picture on the wall. A tattoo.

  I was certain. I could see it clearly.

  When I turned my head to tell Rory, I saw that he was looking distressed.

  “Isla,” Rory said gently, “I’m afraid we’ve reached that point.”

  I barely heard him above the noise outside. “Excuse me. I didn’t—?”

  “The storm. It’s at the point where we can’t continue.”

  “Of course. What do we do?”

  “The town we stopped at before is coming up. We’ll pull in there and wait for this to blow over.”

  I nodded, my heart racing in tune with my thoughts. Would we make it there in time? I hadn’t noticed the storm growing in force. I’d been deep within my own mind. I’d tell him about the tattoo later, when I had the chance.

  “If it keeps up, we might be stuck there, is all. I mean, like overnight. I didn’t expect this. I’m sorry.” He exhaled.

  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. You can’t help the weather.”

  “Just a shame it had to get this bad today. It was a rough enough day on you without this.”