He knew not what.
* * * *
He found the car easily, as Marc had said he would, and drove out of the village without trouble.
Heading back towards the town from which he had collected his son earlier that day, Daniel’s heart and mind were full of slow-burning anger, outrage and confusion. He felt some mean but astonishingly skilful trick had been played on him. And he felt tormented. Somewhere, at that moment, he was being laughed at, he was sure: his defeat and consequent retreat were being mocked by the inhabitants of the village whose sleight-of-hand vanishing trick had deprived him of his son and, at the same time, his dignity and self-respect. What promises had they made to Marc? What had they offered him that had captivated the boy? What had they got to give that he hadn’t?
He was determined to get his revenge. Even though, as far as he knew, no actual crime had been committed, he would report Marc missing to the police and force them to investigate every building in the village, drive out the inhabitants from wherever they were hiding, and compel them to return Marc to him.
And, if any harm had been done to the boy. . . . ? Daniel’s mind winced away from the thought. He would try to deal with that eventuality, if and when he had to.
For a while he couldn’t decide if he ought to go to his wife first, before he involved the police. Then he realized that he was late in returning the boy: Emma would have become concerned about Marc’s whereabouts a long time ago, and may well have informed the police herself. She may even have thought that he, Daniel, had snatched their son away: he had never concealed his dissatisfaction, contempt even, of the way she had brought the child up, or his own conviction that he could have done a much better job of it!
Daniel found he had been driving very slowly, almost in a daze. He shook himself awake and put on some speed, suddenly keen and anxious to confront his wife. He wanted to see how she would react when he told her the news. Would she blame him? Would she hate him? Both these things, probably, and more. Daniel felt the beginnings of something like joy stirring inside him, which increased along with the exhilaration of speed as he drove faster and faster. At one point it occurred to him that if he made one sharp movement of the steering wheel to the left or right he would hit one or other of the high walls he was passing on either side - and he would undoubtedly the instantly, and in a spectacular way. He gave this exciting possibility all his attention for a while, but, by the time he had decided whether or not to take action one way or the other, the walls were miles behind him, and the impulse had passed. He drove more steadily then, until he arrived outside the house where Emma had her flat.
He was surprised that she did not answer the door at once when he rang the bell. Had she not been looking out of her window, as she had been when he had called to collect Marc, watching for his return? He couldn’t believe she would have been able to control her anxiety to that extent.
Maybe she had gone looking for him? She knew he had taken Marc bowling each time he called, and had no reason to believe he had not done so on the present occasion. The thought nagged him for the next minute, until Emma did appear.
She stood well back behind the open door. Her puffy, chalky face shone like a misty moon in the darkness of the hallway. She looked at Daniel in silence, wearing her usual expression of pained irritability, softened to some extent now by something like sorrow or pity that was just perceptible in her eyes and the line of her mouth.
‘What is it this time, Dan?’ she said. ‘What’s happened to...our son now?’ She sounded like a tired nurse forced to deal with a difficult patient.
Daniel shook his head and made a helpless gesture with his open hands. ‘I hardly know how to explain it. We went for a spin out into the country, because of the weather, and found this village. Marc got - taken up by some people there. Religious maniacs, I think: something like that. I’m not sure if he went off with them because he wanted to, or if he was kidnapped . . . ‘
Emma took her turn at shaking her head. ‘Anyway, he won’t be back. Is that the idea?’
‘Of course he’ll be back. We must go and find him. I’ll call the police. With their help . . .’
‘Oh, no, Dan. Please don’t do that. Not the police. I couldn’t bear to go through all that again.’
‘Again? What do you mean again?’
‘You forget, Dan,’ Emma said sorrowfully. ‘You do forget. I envy you that, if nothing else. Because we’ve been through this so many times before. But, as I said, you don’t remember.’
Daniel, swaying slightly from the hips as though he were giddy, stared almost shamefully down towards his boots, like a reprimanded child. Then he seemed to take courage and glanced up into Emma’s eyes. He turned away at once from what he saw there, and began, slowly and thoughtfully, to massage his temples with the fingers of both hands.
‘You don’t seem to understand, Em,’ he said, slurring the penultimate word like a drunk. ‘I tell you the boy’s gone.’
‘He has, Dan. That’s true, I know.’ Emma’s hands were mobile too; her clasped fingers twisted restlessly together against her chest, inches below her chin. ‘He’s long gone.’
‘And those people have him now,’ Daniel continued, with quiet desperation. ‘They were so small, and they seemed harmless, but I realize now they were evil, malevolent. They lured me there somehow, because they wanted Marc. God knows what for. We’ve got to save him. We have to try.’
‘It’s much too late, Dan.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because I can’t take much more of this. It gets worse every time, because you have a different crazy story every time. They get crazier, in fact. I don’t want to listen to any more. I’m scared I might crack, and end up like you.’
Daniel blinked foolishly, and gave her an uncomfortable, mirthless smile. ‘You’re angry, Em. I can feel it. That’s okay. I expected it. But believe me, what happened to Marc wasn’t my fault.’
Emma retreated a few inches back behind the edge of the door. ‘I know, Dan. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did just then. I’d better go now, before I say something to hurt you. Please leave me alone, and please don’t go to the police. They won’t find Marc, and nor will you, so forget everything that happened today.’
‘You don’t want me to do anything, Em?’
‘Just go home. Get some rest. You look terribly tired.’
Daniel’s body twitched, as though he had received a shock. ‘That’s right. I am.’
‘Will you be okay driving?’
‘Sure.’
Something seemed to have passed out of Daniel. His face had emptied and left him looking totally vacant. He was suddenly compliant. To Emma’s relief, he raised a hand in a gesture of capitulation or valediction, and turned and shambled off towards his car. She watched him pass through the gate before she shut the front door and trudged upstairs to her flat.
She knew the rest of the day would be hard for her. As soon as she was back in her room she phoned a friend and almost forced her out for an evening meal. Emma was determined that she would not to be alone with her memories of the one child she had conceived, but lost ten years ago.
* * * *
There was a small parcel in his pocket. He took it out, glanced at it, and set it down between the handbrake and the driver’s seat. Where had he got that from? Gift-wrapped in gold and silver paper, it seemed somehow familiar. Before driving away, Daniel absentmindedly reached for it, picked it up again, and made an effort to remember where he had seen it before. For some reason, he expected it to be quite heavy and hard, but it wasn’t either. Whatever it contained was light and soft.
Daniel held the package up in front of him to give it a closer look. He saw the paper was creased and frayed, and partly faded - by sunlight, presumably, so, it had been around for some considerable time! When, after some moments, he still could not identify it, or recall whence it had come, he fumbled it open, rolling it in his hands and pressing with his thumbs to tear the pap
er to reveal what was inside.
He was mildly surprised to find it contained a fanciful, rather ridiculous woollen hat: the kind currently favoured by streetwise kids.
The price ticket was still attached. Obviously, it had never been worn.
* * * *
Terry Lamsley’s stories have been published in a number of horror anthologies, notably The Best New Horror, The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror, The Year’s Best Horror Stories, Lethal Kisses, The Mammoth Book of Dracula and the first volume of Dark Terrors. Magazine appearances include Ghost & Scholars, All Hallows and Cemetery Dance. Ash-Tree Press published a collection of his stories, Conference With the Dead, and a hardcover reprint of his first collection, Under the Crust, recently appeared from the same publisher. ‘A village very like the one described in “The Lost Boy Found” exists somewhere in Yorkshire,’ Lamsley reveals, ‘but I’d better not name it. I went there for a weekend a couple of years ago, with a couple of friends, to play out a pool contest. It probably is a very nice place, but it seemed very peculiar and otherworldly to me, even in broad daylight. I was extremely pleased to get out of there in one piece. To make things worse, I lost the contest by a wide margin.’
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The Gollancz Book of Horror - [Dark Terrors 05] Page 41
