by Rohan Gavin
She turned the torch beam back to the clearing and screamed in shock.
Something was crouched in the middle of the circle.
Before her brain could fully register what the thing was, Alexis reached for her crucifix, then fumbled and dropped the torch, her hands shaking uncontrollably. The light dropped to the ground, falling at an abject angle, leaving the clearing itself in total darkness.
She started hyperventilating, tore off one glove, pulled out her phone and started texting, desperately stabbing at the screen, her face lit up in a paroxysm of fear.
The thing came closer, avoiding the fallen torchlight so as not to be seen.
Alexis managed to hit ‘Send’, then turned the screen of the phone around to illuminate her attacker. Alexis recoiled in surprise, before surrendering to a full-blown, blood-curdling scream. The kind that not even the best horror films could come close to.
In less than a second, the phone was snuffed out and stamped into a hundred pieces. The crucifix fell to the ground, and Alexis was completely encompassed by the dark.
‘What the hell was that . . . ?’ demanded Clive from the path a few hundred metres away.
‘A woman in distress,’ Burke deduced.
‘Oh, top marks, Ray,’ Draycott snipped. ‘We might have a position for you on the force.’
‘I’m going in,’ said Burke.
‘On whose orders?’ Draycott barked.
‘Hasta la vista.’ Burke lowered his night-vision goggles and set off in the direction of the scream.
‘Don’t be a hero!’ Draycott called after him.
Another deafening howl sent birds scattering above the trees. The sound appeared to be nearer than before.
‘Can we leave now?’ Clive asked.
Draycott thought about it for a second. ‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day.’
Clive held up his hand in a high five. Draycott raised his hand to meet Clive’s, until . . .
Clive’s whole arm dropped out of reach, as his legs were pulled out from under him.
‘What – ?’ he yelled.
Clive hit the ground, spreadeagled and face down in the mud.
‘Ouch! That reaaa-lly hurt,’ he complained.
Then Clive was suddenly yanked backwards, trailing along the ground towards a large bush.
‘Clive?’ Draycott shouted.
‘Heeeeeeelp!’
Clive clawed at the mud as he was dragged through the darkness by an unseen attacker, his legs and feet completely vanishing into the undergrowth, until only his head and the shoulders of his shell suit were visible through the bush.
‘It’s got my trainers off –’ Clive screamed. ‘I’ve had it! Ray?! Somebody, please!!’
Burke heard the commotion and turned his bike around.
Draycott waded in, grabbing Clive by the arms and pulling him in a desperate tug of war with the enemy. A growling, chattering noise came from the foliage.
Clive stabbed a finger at the sports bag. ‘The dung! Throw the dung!’
Draycott briefly let go of Clive, who was instantly pulled even deeper into the undergrowth, until he clutched on to two hedgerows – now only the thatch of his salt-and-pepper hair was visible through the bush.
Draycott unzipped the sports bag with his free hand, turned up his nose and reached in, grabbing a handful of predator deterrent. Draycott threw it, hitting Clive squarely on the top of the head.
‘Not me! The werewolf!’ Clive whined.
Burke skidded to a halt, dropped his bike and grabbed Clive’s arms. Clive’s lower half jolted again sharply as he was pulled further backwards. Draycott threw aside the sports bag and joined Burke in holding on to Clive.
A loud ripping sound came from the undergrowth.
‘It’s got my trousers –’ Clive screamed. ‘Hurry! Please!’
Burke and Draycott dug in their heels and pulled Clive’s arms. All three men screamed from the sheer exertion of it, until Clive’s body was pried loose and ejected from the bushes, leaving them all in a heap. The lower half of Clive’s shell suit had been torn away, leaving only a pair of red Y-fronts. The other two men did a double take.
‘Well, don’t just stand there – let’s get out of here!’ Clive shouted, pulling his jacket down, before loping towards his BMX.
‘Good plan,’ agreed Draycott.
‘Follow me,’ ordered Burke, who was still wearing the night-vision goggles.
The three of them performed a rolling start and pedalled hard downhill.
A short distance away, Ian Dulwich was still running, bottles rattling, having heard the full chorus of screams and howls from the woods. He ran down a steep path leading towards the East Heath Road entrance, then stopped, hearing a strange, whirring noise behind him.
He spun around to see two red lights flying straight towards him.
‘No-no-no-no . . .’ Ian stammered in terror.
He pulled his camera around to his chest and aimed the flash at the oncoming creature, pressing the button over and over again, illuminating a middle-aged man in goggles on a BMX.
Burke flinched. His infrared night-vision suddenly became a blinding snowstorm. He lifted his goggles and rubbed his eyes, steering his bike wildly off course.
Clive and Draycott followed right behind him through the darkness, exactly as they’d been instructed to.
Ian watched as the three middle-aged men on BMXs careered downhill, failed to negotiate the bend, and slammed straight into the guard rail that protected the pond.
With a deafening clang, all three men were thrown over the handlebars of their bikes and – due to the complete surprise of the impact – their bodies were so relaxed that they flew through the air with the grace of trained circus acrobats, before hitting the icy water in a hail of screams and curses.
Chapter 21
A Riddle Wrapped In A Mystery, Inside A Text
That same night, Darkus digested Bogna’s latest culinary offering while assembling the facts of the case – but found himself no closer to a solution. Uncle Bill had called during dinner but appeared too lovestruck to contribute anything sensible to the investigation. He’d spent the whole afternoon with Fiona Connelly and was convinced of only one thing: that she was the ‘lass of his dreams’.
As Wilbur snored at his master’s feet, Darkus pored over the photos he’d downloaded on to his father’s computer. The images flashed by one after another: the giant paw print he’d first found on the Heath, which matched the one in Fiona’s back garden; the grisly makeshift hunting lodge with its mutilated trophies hung up for the hunter to admire. But what sort of hunter had done this, and what was the motive? And how did it relate to the fact that Darkus and his dad had now been targeted by Barabas King and his pack of attack dogs?
Darkus flicked through the tortured bodies to the picture of Fiona Connelly’s bed. He clicked on the screen to enlarge the image. The impressions in the mattress topper were certainly curious. Both lay curled up in foetal positions. The animal shape could have been that of a dog, a wolf, or some other creature. And the human shape was facing the animal one, in an almost protective position – although Darkus feared he was letting his imagination run away with him.
He finally flicked to the partial footprint in the bathroom, mentally noting its features, before closing the screen.
He heard Tilly making up the inflatable mattress on the landing, then he settled down on the sofa. He pulled a blanket over himself and soon fell asleep with the distant and reassuring sound of his father downstairs, talking over the case to himself, with only an occasional interruption from Bogna.
Darkus slept fitfully, seeing the phantoms of the dead pets flying through his unconscious brain; and occasionally witnessing a pair of demonic eyes watching him from deep in the woods. The woods of course were those of Hampstead Heath.
Wilbur appeared to take on Darkus’s nightmares as well, and kept intermittently crying, then whimpering in his basket. Darkus comforted the dog, whic
h also served to comfort himself, then they both returned to sleep.
But Darkus’s sense of well-being didn’t last long. His dreams were haunted by low, dark creatures running across the meadows and howling at the moon; then his dream-self heard a rasping gurgle, like the last breath of a dying animal, and witnessed what appeared to be blood dripping down over the skyline.
Morning arrived mercifully at 8 a.m. when Tilly burst through the door, holding a phone in her hand.
Darkus sat bolt upright, still fully clothed.
‘Is it Dad?’ he asked bleary-eyed. ‘Is he OK?’
‘Don’t worry, Doc, I’m fine,’ said his father, appearing in the doorway.
Wilbur roused from his slumber, looking as exhausted as his master.
‘Miss Khan’s on the phone,’ said Tilly.
She put the call on speaker and placed it on Knightley’s desk for them all to hear.
‘Good morning, students,’ Miss Khan’s voice addressed them.
‘There’s no need for formality. Tell us what you’ve got,’ requested Tilly.
‘Very well,’ Miss Khan began. ‘This morning I received a phone call from the Headmaster about two separate incidents on Hampstead Heath last night – both relating to members of Cranston School.’
‘Proceed,’ said Darkus.
‘Tilly, your father was involved in an ill-fated attempt to uncover the cause of the recent pet disappearances. He appears to have recruited a Chief Inspector Draycott and our PE teacher, Raymond Burke. All three men are currently recuperating at home with hypothermia, cuts and bruises.’
Tilly rolled her eyes. ‘What exactly were they playing at?’ she asked.
‘They claim to have heard unearthly noises, and Clive believes he was attacked by a werewolf – although none of them can positively identify the assailant. Apparently, Clive was half naked when the men were rescued from the mixed bathing pond by members of the Hampstead Heath Constabulary.’
Tilly shook her head. ‘Muppets.’
‘In an unrelated and far more serious incident,’ Miss Khan continued, ‘Alexis Bateman also ventured on to the Heath last night, accompanied, somewhat reluctantly I understand, by Ian Dulwich.’
Darkus looked up. ‘What did they find?’
‘They also heard a howling noise, at which point Ian fled the scene,’ replied Miss Khan.
‘What about Alexis?’ said Darkus, concerned.
‘She didn’t come home last night.’
Darkus rubbed the back of his head anxiously. Tilly watched his reaction closely, her brow furrowing.
‘The police are conducting a search,’ Miss Khan went on.
‘Did Ian make a witness statement?’ said Darkus.
‘Yes, but he’s too scared to make any sense. It was dark and he was disorientated,’ replied Miss Khan. ‘We do have one piece of evidence though . . .’
‘Proceed,’ repeated Darkus impatiently.
‘Alexis’s mother received a text from her at exactly eleven fifty-eight last night. It only contained three words with no punctuation, emoticons or any other clues. It simply said: found come early.’
‘Found come early?’ asked Darkus. ‘All lower case?’
‘Yes. Her phone was disabled, possibly destroyed, moments later.’
‘Intriguing . . .’ said Knightley.
‘We’re talking about a missing person, Dad,’ snapped Darkus in uncharacteristic fashion, before steepling his fingers nervously against his forehead.
‘She shouldn’t have gone out there without proper back-up,’ argued Tilly. ‘More fool her.’
‘I don’t see how that’s relevant now,’ replied Darkus dismissively.
‘A search party’s combing the Heath, but it’s a monumental task,’ said Miss Khan.
‘Found . . . come . . . early,’ muttered Darkus, letting the words revolve in his mind, racking his brain for a possible meaning.
‘Doc,’ said his father carefully, ‘if we turn this into a Missing Persons inquiry, we risk the whole investigation. There are larger powers at work here.’
‘Are we concerned with saving lives? Or simply solving a case?’ Darkus challenged him.
‘When she wrote that article she put everyone’s life at risk,’ Tilly responded. ‘She brought it on herself. Call it bad karma.’
Darkus frowned and stared at the carpet, searching for an answer.
Knightley approached, resting a hand on his shoulder. ‘There are forces at work that mean to do us harm . . . this very night, by the light of the full moon. Alexis may have been taken for exactly that reason – to lure us out there after her. In order to get to us.’
‘Is her life any less valuable than one of ours?’ Darkus demanded.
‘To be honest with you, Darkus . . . yes,’ answered Tilly guiltily. ‘And the dogs will be out within a matter of hours.’
‘ “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few”,’ quoted Knightley, although he couldn’t recall exactly where he’d heard it. ‘If we find whatever is perpetrating these acts, we will most probably find Alexis too. So far, our enemy has only targeted members of law enforcement. There’s every reason to believe your classmate is still alive.’
‘Very well,’ Darkus consented, looking at Knightley then Tilly with something approaching resentment, or even contempt. ‘It appears I’ve been outvoted,’ he said and leaned towards the speakerphone. ‘Please keep us posted, Miss Khan. We have a case to solve. Thank you.’ He pressed a button to end the call.
Knightley and Tilly watched and waited for his next response. Wilbur whined, unsettled.
Darkus went into an almost Zen-like state of total absorption, putting every last nerve impulse in his brain to work on the problem.
After almost a minute, he said, ‘Tilly . . . ?’
‘Yup?’
‘If I’m not mistaken, you and Alexis share the same brand of mobile phone, am I right?’
She nodded. ‘Same exact one, except she’s got the gold case and I like to change mine at random.’
‘May I borrow it, please?’ Darkus requested.
Tilly paused. ‘Just so you know, I never let anyone touch my phone.’ She reluctantly passed it to him.
‘I promise no harm will come to it.’ Then Darkus stopped, having second thoughts. ‘Better yet . . . you be my guinea pig.’
‘O – K . . .’ she replied, sceptical.
Darkus passed the phone back to his stepsister, who was quite confused at this point. Knightley and Wilbur watched and waited in silence.
‘OK. Ready when you are,’ said Tilly.
‘I’m going to ask you to compose a text message for me, but you have to write it in less than three seconds,’ said Darkus, producing a stopwatch from his waistcoat pocket.
‘Why?’ asked Tilly.
‘Just do as I say.’
‘Well, who should I send it to?’
‘Irrelevant. There’s no need to press “Send”.’
‘All right,’ she huffed, having no idea what this game was about.
‘Are you ready?’ Darkus rested his finger on the stopwatch.
Tilly poised her fingers over the touchscreen keypad. ‘Shoot.’
‘OK. The text message is . . . Fiona Connelly.’
Darkus watched the second hand start ticking. Tilly wasted a good half a second reacting to the content of the message – then quickly tapped out the words on the screen.
Darkus watched the final second elapse and clicked the stopwatch. ‘Time’s up!’
Tilly looked down at the screen. ‘That’s unbelievable.’
‘What is?’ asked Knightley, baffled, looking over her shoulder.
Tilly handed the phone to Knightley who examined the message window. It read: found come early.
‘It’s very simple,’ explained Darkus. ‘At least to a piece of word-recognition software it is,’ he went on. ‘Alexis was so terrified that her fingers missed some of the letters. The phone auto-corrected the letters to the most common words: fou
nd come early.’ He concluded: ‘Alexis was trying to write Fiona Connelly.’
‘Outstanding,’ said Knightley.
Tilly nodded, impressed.
Darkus put his personal feelings towards Alexis in a locked box. In order to save her he had to treat the case objectively – like any other case. He returned to his near-meditation state, talking to himself: ‘We know the police are combing the Heath. There’s nothing more we can do there. We know that in all likelihood they’ll find nothing. As usual, their sole purpose – along with members of the press – seems to be to corrupt the scene. Therefore, we must use the remaining daylight hours to find and follow Fiona Connelly. She’s clearly protecting someone, or something. And I now believe that thing might be Barabas King.’
‘Bravo,’ Knightley added. ‘So the two cases are connected?’
‘We’ll know for certain when the moon is up.’
‘I’ll stay here,’ said Tilly. ‘I need another few hours to finish the programming. By this evening we’ll have a backdoor into Fiona’s security system – which means we’ll be able to watch the house ourselves, undetected.’
She looked to Darkus for approval, but received none.
‘Don’t mention it. Piece of cake,’ she added.
But Darkus didn’t even hear her, such was the intensity of his focus. He looked down to Wilbur, who watched loyally, his head still resting on the basket.
‘Come on, boy. We’ve got work to do.’
But Wilbur didn’t obey, appearing unwilling to move.
‘Come on, boy,’ Darkus repeated. ‘What are you afraid of?’
Wilbur simply curled up more tightly in his basket and refused to budge.
‘Fine,’ Darkus conceded, gathering his coat and heading for the door. ‘Be like that.’
Knightley nodded apprehensively to Tilly and followed his son out.
Chapter 22
The Unlikely Combination
Barabas King found himself in another empty building – an abandoned factory this time, chosen for its anonymity. So anonymous in fact that he didn’t know where it was himself. His pack of dogs sat obediently in formation behind him, awaiting instructions.
