Ellie felt her body shake gently, but somehow knew that someone was shaking her.
'Sir, she's waking up!' shouted a woman. Ellie looked into the direction of the voice – just below where she still sat strapped into her car seat – and the policewoman's blonde cropper hair began to break through. The features of her face followed.
The little girl immediately panicked, shouted out for her mummy, her head thrashing side-to-side as she sought her parents. The friendly police officer touched her hands, calming her just a little. Then it all flooded back to her; the horror that she had been subjected to, the terrified look in the whites of her mother's eyes as she was abused and beaten by the cruel gang in black clothing.
Ellie screamed, her mouth unable to form any coherent words. Her parents had always been so proud of how her speech had come along considering Ellie's age. But at that moment, words failed her.
PC Julianna Selby reached for her, trying desperately to calm her down. The true shock was yet to set into the little girl's mind, and she needed to help keep her under control the best she could.
The scene had turned her stomach the moment she got out of the patrol car. The blood had not yet dried on the concrete, and still existed in thick smears on the ground, trickling to form neat pools around the front tyres of the car.
Both bodies lay face down. Their faces were largely untouched, but the vicious assaults had taken chunks out of their backs. Declan Starker's skull had been caved in from behind, his hair now matted with the dried blood and brain matter.
Thankfully, she had noticed the child in the back seat almost immediately, her discovery aided by the open rear door. She had found Ellie asleep, although for many frantic moments she thought her to be dead. Her skin was deathly pale, her skin ice cold. But as she knelt before her, she could hear her faint breathing.
Miss Selby had let her fellow officers clear up the mess behind her whilst she tried to gently rouse Ellie from her grief-stricken slumber. When it had finally worked, a rush of relief coursed through her, met only with fresh panic when Ellie started thrashing out. She had to be careful to steady Ellie's heart rate, for there was no telling what damage had already been done to her on the inside. There was no physical sign of harm or struggle – at least the bastards who had butchered her parents had thought enough to spare her little life – Ellie's ordeal would have surely damaged her mind.
Selby looked over her shoulder towards her sergeant, silently asking for help or reassurance. It was only her second week with the force.
'Get her out of there,' the moustachioed chief shouted. Selby nodded, her hands wrestling with the buckles. As soon as the harness was released, she gently grabbed hold of the child and pulled her from the car. Ellie immediately wrapped herself around Selby, her legs circling her waist and her arms around her neck. Selby put a hand around and rested on one of Ellie's shoulders, quietly shushing her. Ellie's little body relaxed at last, as Selby carried her away from the carnage, taking care to keep her head pressed close against her so as not to catch a glimpse of her parents.
Selby carried her from the car park and sat her in the warmth of the awaiting patrol car, which waited in the nearby fuel station. As soon as Selby pulled away from her, Ellie began frantically searching her hands, her lap and her tiny pockets.
'What's the matter, dear?' Selby asked.
There was no answer; Ellie simply continued checking everywhere around her, growing more upset with each passing moment. Selby knelt before her, touched her hand and asked again. 'Slow down,' she told her, 'tell me what's wrong.'
'My ginger-man,' Ellie sniffed, still looking around, and even casting a look behind Selby, over her shoulder. 'My ginger-man,' she said again as a sob caught in her throat. 'He's gone!'
Selby got one of the other male officers to sit with Ellie as she returned to the car, trying to look for the child's lost toy but at the same time having no idea what she was looking for. At least he couldn't have gone far, Selby thought, since the child had not moved from her car seat. Selby returned to the car and checked the back seat.
Nothing.
She ducked down and searched the foot well below where Ellie had been sat, reaching under the front passengers' seat too.
Nothing.
She returned to the patrol car, dismissed the other officer and knelt down in front of Ellie once more and shook her head. 'I'm sorry, sweetie. I couldn't find him.' Ellie's body shook as she sobbed again, her cheeks and top lip now coated with a sheen of salty tears and snot. Selby reached for the little girl and held her close, whispering to her. 'I will find him, I promise.'
* * *
PC Selby took Ellie back to the station with her that night and made her a bed on the sofa in one of the consultation rooms. She sat in the corner of the room for the rest of the night, giving in to short dozes here and there but mostly just watching the child sleep. She tried to fathom what she must have seen, what would be left of her sanity in a few weeks when the shock and fatigue would have lifted and reality started to set in.
The next day, Ellie was moved to a safe-house; a large property near Stoney Cross, in the heart of the New Forest. Two nuns resided there, whose job it was to care for children of all ages that had been subjected to abuse, abandonment or loss. Children that just needed somewhere that sheltered them from harm. Crittenden Hall was largely unknown to the general public. The authorities kept it going, and maintained its secrecy, as it was a valuable resource for them. With the walls of the mansion, they could ensure that the most vulnerable of witnesses could be protected whilst they tried to find the perpetrators of whatever crime had robbed them of their innocence.
For weeks, Ellie did not sleep. Her eyes closed during the night, but she did not rest. Despite the constant company from the nuns and the other nine children currently in residence there, she felt alone. Even at such a young age, she felt betrayed by those around her.
She did not speak, but did not protest when the nuns moved her from her bedroom to the common room. She even joined in with the other children, playing with the abundance of toys at their disposal. But, as the Sisters observed, she would only seem at peace when playing alone, away from the others. They would watch her for almost an hour sometimes, marvelling at the depth of her imagination, wondering what scenes were going through her growing mind that were coming forth through her hands as she moved the dolls, plastic animals and dinosaurs around the carpet.
Sister Abigail, however, voiced concerns after the first month of Ellie's residence. In a sense, she was very much like the other children that passed through there. Her life was not a fairy tale. There was no prince, no talking animals. No happily ever after. But in many of the others, there, hidden beneath their grief - their fears - was hope. But there was something about Ellie. Something a lot more disconcerting.
One day, she had watched her in the play room as she played with a small army of Lego men. Her play was innocent enough to begin with, so Sister Abigail left her for a short while whilst she attended to two of the other older boys who were locked in a play wrestling match, one refusing to let the other out of a very tight headlock.
When she returned to Ellie, she was horrified to find all of the Lego men had been dismembered. Their heads, hands, arms, torsos and legs had all been removed from one another and now lie in neat piles. Ellie had by that point even moved on to lining the body parts up in their groups, arranging them by colour.
The sight was worrisome enough, but the sound emanating from Ellie's mouth was most disturbing of all. She was laughing. Quietly, and very deliberately, laughing.
'They won't misbehave anymore,' she told Sister Abigail without turning around to face her. Ellie's voice lacked tone, lacked any emotion at all.
As Sister Abigail took a step closer to observe the macabre display, she noticed a group of four yellow plastic men that had somehow escaped the torture of their friends. Their bodies remained intact, but piled upon each other as if kindling on a campfire.
'Wh-What a
bout those ones?' Sister Abigail asked, pointed a crooked finger towards the small group of still-whole Lego men.
'They're next,' Ellie said coldly. 'They haven't found them yet.' With that, Ellie's head slowly turned to face the nun. Her eyes, which had previously been a warm autumnal brown, now shone an icy blue.
Sister Abigail brought a hand to her mouth as she trembled and stumbled backwards, out of the room. She ran down the hall, in search of her fellow sister, feeling the sudden need to hide.
* * *
Later that night, a call came through to Crittenden Hall. It was Sergeant Carter from the local police, requesting that he and one of his officers call round with some urgent news. Carter arrived at the house within the hour, with PC Selby at his side.
Sister Beatrice took them through to the main office, buried deep at the rear of the building. As they walked past the small bedrooms, PC Selby paused at one and looked in, seeing the familiar trail of thick dark curls above the pink duvet cover. Ellie lay on her side, her back to the door. She looked asleep, but somehow PC Selby knew that she wasn't.
The young officer's thoughts were interrupted as the elder Sister urged them to continue down to the office. Once inside, she closed the door behind them. Sister Beatrice took her seat behind the simple wooden desk, and the Carter and Selby took theirs opposite her.
'What is this about?' the Sister asked.
'It's about Ellie. We believe we have found the men who murdered her parents,' Carter said plainly.
Sister Beatrice was shocked by how casually the words tumbled from his mouth, and for a moment did not know how to respond.
'I see,' she said. 'And you have them in your custody, I trust?'
Carter and Selby exchanged a troubled look, before the sergeant turned and address the nun once more. 'Not quite. They are dead.'
Sister Beatrice sat back in her chair, the shock evident across her face, her mouth dropping open. She crossed herself and rested her hands, fingers locked together, on the table, bowing her head in a quick, silent prayer.
'All of them?' she asked, without looking up.
'That's right,' Carter replied. 'We found their van no more than ten miles from the services where the murders took place. Pulled over on the side of a track that ran away from the main road. Lights were still on, engine was running. But inside, all of them were dead. All of their eyes had been removed.'
The description caused Sister Beatrice to spring from her chair, clasp a hand over her mouth and wave the other towards the officers.
'Please spare me the details, Mr. Carter. You know I do not have a strong stomach.'
'There's more,' PC Selby said as she stood up to offer a hand to the shaken Sister. 'On the front seat of the van, we found this,' she said, reaching into the deep pocket of her coat. From it she took out a small, woollen object. A child's toy. Although she had never seen it, PC Selby – and Sister Beatrice – knew exactly what it was. Since her arrival at Crittenden Hall, much like the night that PC Selby found her, when Ellie had spoken the only thing she had constantly talked about was her ginger-man.
The nun took the knitted toy from Selby's hands and stared at it. Suddenly its woven smile looked malevolent, cruel. Sister Beatrice closer her eyes, repulsed by it, and thrust it back towards PC Selby.
'No, no. You take it. Get it away from me!'
Selby and Carter looked at each other, confused. 'Please excuse me,' Sister Beatrice told them as she hurried to the door. 'Please see yourselves out.' By the time Selby got to the door to look after the troubled old woman, she had gone. There were many doors leading off of the dimly-lit hallway, too many for Selby to guess behind which Sister Abigail now hid behind.
'What was that all about?' Selby asked, still searching the shadows down the hall.
'Got me', Carter shrugged as he stood from his chair. 'Now let's get out of here. There's a hell of a mess to clear up back at the station and it's getting late.'
Carter pushed past Selby and walked briskly down the hall. 'I'll see you back at the car,' he called back to her. Selby paused for a moment longer then made her exit too. As she walked down past the line of bedrooms, she stopped at the only one still with an open door. She peered inside and slowly walked towards the bed. Ellie hadn't moved a muscle since she spied her earlier. She exuded peace, but something else started creeping in Selby's gut as she looked down upon the angelic little girl.
Something nibbled at her from within, a cold gnawing deep inside her. Fear.
Selby gently reached over the sleeping child and tucked the woollen gingerbread man between Ellie's arms. The toy's face smiled back at her, emptily.
As PC Selby left Crittenden Hall by the large front door and walked back to where the patrol car waited, its engine humming quietly, she stopped and looked back behind her sharply, convinced that she could hear a voice. She strained her ears to listen again, but heard only the wind.
She got back into the car and spent the ride back to the police station in a haze of troubled thought. Something didn't feel right. She closed her eyes and heard the voices again, this time more clearly.
'Run, run as fast as you can. You'll never escape me. I'm the Ginger Man.'
Her eyes snapped open again and she drew in a strangled breath. 'Jesus, Selby!' Carter shouted as he struggled to get control of the steering wheel again. 'What the hell was that? You scared the jeepers out of me!'
'I'm sorry, sir,' Selby replied, 'I don't know what came over me.' Her eyes darted from side to side. She immediately looked out of the window, into the deepening darkness.
Back at Crittenden Hall, Ellie finally slept like a baby. He was home, and was never leaving her again.
The End.
About the Author: Chris Tetreault-Blay
As a lifelong fan of horror cinema and heavy metal music, it was probably only natural for Chris to discover his love for writing his own stories of the weird and macabre. Having taught himself to play the guitar, his earliest attempts at writing came in the form of song lyrics, which he now posts on his website. However he turned his hand to writing fiction as recently as 2013. After tying together ideas for three short stories, he eventually found himself with his first full novel, Acolyte, the first part of The Wildermoor Apocalypse trilogy. He realised his new-found dream of becoming a published author in 2015 and self-published three more titles the following year before signing with Creativia.
Chris moved from Basingstoke to the beautiful Devon countryside, in the south west of England, after graduating from university in 2005. He currently resides in Newton Abbot with his wife and twin children.
Books by Chris Tetreault-Blay:
Acolyte
Blackgang - The Trickerjack Trail
House of Courtenay
The Sowing Season
Links:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ChrisTetreaultBlay/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ctetreaultblay
Starlight in the Willow Tree
By Amber Gulley
When echoes of the day
Weave their songs across sky,
And inky starlight blots away
The tear stains in your eye
All the waves that hold the nightmares
In a stony, violent deep
And the grains of sand that tumble
From the towers of your sleep.
Every whispered word of hope
Pushed into a grateful ear,
Sit beside me and I'll tell you
Of the wonders that you fear…
On a warm afternoon in the month of July, when the air was still and cicadas sang love songs to each other through the trees, the apple farmer's daughter wandered a deep shadowed pathway through the forest, trying to stay cool, on her way home from an unsuccessful day at the market. In fact, the whole day had been horrible, it being her sixteenth birthday, and her father had ordered her to sell apples instead of letting her go the other side of the village with all the other children to see the wandering magician p
erform his tricks.
“You're too old now to be wasting time on childish things,” her father had said.
“But it's my birthday,” she'd protested. “Everybody else is going. And the prince will be there too.”
“I gave you a ribbon. And I'm giving you something of far greater value than a useless magic show. I'm teaching you that it's more important to make money than anything else, especially on your birthday. And besides, what does it matter that the prince will be there. A peasant like you would be of no interest to him.”
She didn't think so. All her friends said she was the prettiest girl in the province. And she was certain they were right, even though her family was too poor to have mirrors in the house, she'd seen her reflection in horse troughs and forest streams. So surely the prince would think so too, if he saw her.
And so, she was in a terrible mood. The more she thought of her woes, the angrier she got. She'd only sold two apples at the market, the rest having simply withered in the hot, midday sun. Her family was also too poor to invest in a proper stall to shelter their wares form the elements.
In a fit of temper, she tore the green ribbon her father had given her from her hair, and chucked it into a nearby stream. It was a stupid ribbon, and her father was mean for not letting her go to the magic show. He could have gone to the market himself. She hated him, and although she didn't know what, she wished that something terrible would happen to him, something to make him realize what a horrible thing he had done.
As she glared at the running water, she noticed a little grey mouse with a black stripe across his eyes that made him look like a thief. He sat on a pebble beside the stream and watched her intently, which began to make her feel very self-conscious. So she took an apple from her basket, put it on the ground in front of him and walked away.
As she continued along the path, she came to a large, old oak tree, beneath which a scruffy young man sat with his ankle caught in a hunter's snare.
Once Upon A Broken Dream: A Creativia Anthology Page 9
