Rhos Meadow

by Lex Sinclair

  The sound of metal crunching and bending, glass shattering and the impact itself was deafening. Eric hit the backrest of the seat hard. He groaned. Sighing in pain and shock, Eric pried his fierce grip from the steering wheel, wincing. He wasn’t so shocked that something like this had happened. If anything, it was inevitable. What had shocked him was how the car appeared in his vision without giving him sufficient time to react to avoid crashing. He’d never had a crash in the car before. His body felt as though it had received an electric shock and his muscles had tensed reflexively.

  Exhaling deeply, the young officer unclasped his seat belt. His face burned with intensity. He pulled the visor down and wasn’t surprised to see a flushed complexion staring at him. So, this is what crashing feels like, he thought.

  He grabbed the handset to radio over to HQ to let them know what had happened and that he’d need some assistance. However, he suddenly realised there was no reception. No static. It was possible that the radio unit might have got damaged during the collision, but he doubted it. After all, he was only going ten miles per hour. Not to mention he’d braked, which would have reduced the speed even more.

  Sighing, he turned the dial.

  Silence.

  ‘What the fuck!’

  Eric depressed the dial. Then he pushed it again to turn the radio on again.

  Silence.

  ‘Oh, I don’t fuckin’ believe this,’ he said to no one.

  Aware that he was stranded in the midst of a dense fog, Eric knew he had to find some way of communicating with the police station. For one thing, dispatch would be wondering why they couldn’t get hold of him, either.

  He fished his mobile phone out of his pocket and dialled some of his colleagues’ mobiles.

  The screen illuminated the interior and announced two words to add to Eric’s troubles.

  NO SIGNAL

  In vain he tried another three times. He even tried to dial 999.

  NO SIGNAL

  He slammed the dashboard with a clenched hand, crying out in frustration. Then he calmed himself, as best he could. He breathed deeply and used rational thinking, not anger, to do something about the current predicament he found himself in.

  Two minutes later, he opened the driver’s door and stepped out into the fog.

  He’d been barely standing there twenty seconds, doing his utmost to get his bearings when a shrill female voice cried out causing a shudder to go up his spine.

  ‘Hello! Hello! Who’s there? I know someone’s there. I just heard you crash into my car.’

  Eric’s heart was doing a tap dance on his chest walls. He consciously told himself to quit standing there trembling and answer. ‘Whoever you are,’ he shouted, not liking the quaver in his voice, ‘I’m a police officer.’

  ‘I’m over here,’ the invisible woman cried back.

  The sound of her terror-stricken voice came from Eric’s left. He moved around the front of his patrol car and blindly moved forward. ‘Keep talkin’,’ he said. ‘I can’t see anything. ‘If you speak, I’ll be able to find your exact location.’

  ‘My name’s Diana,’ the woman called out. ‘Just take one slow step at a time.’

  ‘Okay, Diana. My name is police constable, Eric Leibert. You can call me Eric.’

  ‘Hi, Eric.’

  ‘Hi,’ Eric replied. ‘Diana, do you live here in Rhos Meadow?’

  ‘No. We were just drivin’ through.’

  Eric moved closer, stumbling over a rock. He steadied himself, turned to the right and moved forward again. ‘Who’s “we”, Diana?’

  ‘My daughter, Tulisa. I can’t find her anywhere. The petrol station was abandoned. Tulisa needed to wee. We had to stop. This place was so quiet and creepy, we decided to leave. That’s when the fog came... out of nowhere.’

  ‘I’m getting closer,’ Eric said, sounding relieved.

  ‘Eric, will you help me find Tulisa?’

  Eric hesitated a moment. Then he said, ‘I’m not sure how we’re gonna do that in this fog, Diana. I don’t understand how she could have got away. At least not far away.’

  ‘When we drove out of the Texaco station and I turned we hit something. I stopped and got out. But whatever I hit must have disappeared. Tulisa, who’s eight, got out of the car and came outside. She thought I might have run someone down in the fog. But there was no body on the road. All I heard was the passenger door opening. Then her little footsteps drawing closer. The last thing she said to me was, “Mum”. I went to where she’d been standing and couldn’t find her. I called out and called out. That’s why my voice is so throaty, I think. I came over here to see if Tulisa had fallen over and staggered back to the station off the road. But as you can see - or rather hear - she’s not.’

  ‘I’m nearly right in front of you, Diana. If I reach out and touch you, don’t scream or flinch.’

  Eric reached his hands out in front of him, swatting the coils of endless fog, until his fingertips brushed a tender cheek. Diana yelped. Then she apologised and reached out. Her hands found his chest and rested upon his pounding heart. Eric’s hands found her face. He permitted himself to intertwine his fingers in her long curvy hair.

  ‘Okay,’ he said in a shaky voice. ‘The good news is I found you. The bad news is my radio and mobile don’t work.’

  ‘My phone or car radio don’t work, either,’ Diana said.

  ‘So it wasn’t the crash that damaged it then,’ Eric said to himself.

  They stood in the coils of swirling fog not saying anything.

  ‘Will you help me find Tulisa?’ Diana said, breaking the silence.

  ‘I’ll try,’ Eric said.

  4.

  THEN

  January 2012

  In the farmhouse that used to own the acreage that had long since been turned into a drilling operation, Ted Gillespie’s eyes snapped open. The same Ted Gillespie who had once fornicated with Sara Banks like a wild rabbit. The same Ted Gillespie who erected the sign saying SAY NO TO WIND FARM! The same Ted Gillespie who then agreed to sell off the majority of the family’s land to the government for a lump sum. The same Ted Gillespie who had devoured a hearty meal with his dad, Keith. Then for next few days complained of stomach pains that threatened to rip him open from the inside out. He’d writhed about in his bed, clutching himself. He’d sweated pints just lying immobile.

  He could hear Keith across the hallway, in his bedroom, groaning too. Ted believed it to be a stomach bug. Keith had been to the toilet. Once he’d moved his bowels, he said he’d felt much better. Ted did the same. However, the pain still lingered long afterwards.

  But he couldn’t remember any of that right now. His mind was blank. He stared drearily up at the ceiling, lethargic. Then with a lot of exertion, Ted’s fingers began to move involuntarily at first. Twitching. Tingling. Like they’d never been used before. His feet then the rest of his legs followed while he merely lay there, flat on his back.

  Using his hands as levers, Ted lifted himself off the soaked mattress and sat upright. In front of him he saw a wall decorated with posters of Metallica and Thin Lizzy. However, in his current alien condition they weren’t at all registering in his brain. To the right of the wall was a door, closed shut.

  Rising, Ted swayed precariously, managing to right himself before falling over. Then he stumbled forwards, one methodical step after another until he reached the closed bedroom door. His clammy palm slipped off the brass knob just as he pulled the oak door open and bashed himself on the forehead. The impact was unforgiving. Yet Ted didn’t even flinch. Instead he reached out and pulled the door open, shuffling to one side. The first floor beckoned him. He corned the banister, lost his footing and crumpled to the top step in a heap.

  A muffled groan escaped him.

  Then as though nothing out of the ordinary had occ
urred, Ted gripped the banister and fumbled down the steps. He miraculously made it to the ground without falling. His muscles felt like they were filled with lead. Yet the more he moved, the lighter they became. Blood was flowing through his veins and arteries after being unconscious for so long.

  Ted pivoted and stumbled down the short hallway, not knowing where he was going. Everything felt so strange. He felt strange. He halted suddenly. In front of him, standing in the exact same place he was by himself was a monster. The monster’s face was pallid and emaciated to the point where it appeared more skeletal than that of a living human. Dry blood ran from the mouth in scarlet rivulets all the way down his neck.

  As he stumbled forward, Ted could see the bloodshot eyes that belonged to a monster but also looked familiar too. They were the eyes of monster taking the form of a human. The hair was tousled and sodden with sweat, sticking up here and there. What he was seeing was his reflection in the square-shaped mirror that was covered in a film of dust.

  Ted’s mouth stretched open like a cavern, but no scream emitted from him.

  He hurried forward, struggling to lift his leaden limbs and smashed the mirror into a hundred jagged pieces, destroying the image of the monster that was now his face.

  ***

  Greg Zane sat in his armchair next to the picture window. For him life had drained out of him like an enlarging wound, gushing blood. The scenic view he’d once had of an endless green-yellow meadow where corn, blueberries and the Gillespie’s’ livestock had now been replaced by a hydraulic fracturing drilling operation. And yet no one but the Gillespie’s seemed to notice was not long after they’d begun their operation that was going to save the world with its new renewable energy sources was how all the livestock had started suffering. It had happened sporadically at first. Then the deaths of young cows dropping dead, and chickens and cows and pigs being born with only two or three limbs became horrifyingly palpable. You couldn’t not take notice.

  He didn’t know if he was being paranoid. However, his intuition insisted something was not right with Rhos Meadow.

  The cold wet conditions didn’t do his mood any favours, either. The dark, battleship-grey clouds hung ominously overhead, drifting so slowly that by the time they had passed more thunderclouds replaced them. It had already been raining for three hours straight this morning. The only plus Greg got from this was he didn’t have to water the plants.

  The night before he and Bobbie had gone to the Hope & Anchor. The pub had been deserted, save one of two early evening drinkers sitting at the bar talking. It was January 2 and most of the locals and out-of-towners were probably still hung over and broke to go to the pub.

  Darkness had wrapped up the last of the daylight in what seemed like minutes. The interior was brightly lit and Greg had seen Bobbie sitting on a leather seat in the corner of the pub sipping his pint and eating a packet of crisps. He glanced over his shoulder and raised his hand in greeting. Greg reciprocated, ordered his drink and headed over to his friend.

  ‘All right?’

  ‘How’re you doing, Greg?

  ‘Aye, not too bad. Be a bit better when all this Christmas and New Year bollocks is behind us mind.’ He put his drink down on a coaster.

  ‘Thanks for coming out to see me,’ Bobbie said, sounding anxious.

  ‘Aye, no problem. What did you want to see me about?’

  Bobbie crunched another crisp. Then he offered Greg one. Greg declined. ‘It’s probably nothin’, but ‘member I mentioned how I hadn’t seen Tony the last few days over the holidays?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Well, Amy was at the convenience store this morning. She looked like shit. And I don’t mean that in a nasty way. But she looked all haggard and depressed. I wandered over to her and made pleasantries. She put on an act. Said the celebrating and late nights had just caught up to her. But when I mentioned that I hadn’t seen Tony and asked how she was, she went bright red and started getting all worked up.’

  Greg hadn’t touched his drink. Instead he listened intently, frowning.

  ‘I said I’d give him a call and she snapped, “Don’t do that!” Practically bit my head off. She quickly apologised, then said he wasn’t feeling too well. I suppose you could say I was being nosy. But then we’ve always been close and I was only asking out of concern.

  ‘Anyway, I went home about half past eleven on New Years Eve, as you know. Abigail said she wanted to go out onto the porch and watch the fireworks. I don’t know if you saw them from downtown?’

  Greg shook his head. ‘No, mate. Everything after ten is a blank. I was pissed as a fart.’

  Bobbie didn’t even laugh. ‘Anyway, they lit up the sky magnificently. Why people go out and pay that sort of money for when they can watch others provide the entertainment beats me. But in the staccato illumination I’m sure I saw a figure on the land where the drilling operations are going on dressed in denim dungarees.’

  ‘A figure?’ Greg pulled a face, perplexed.

  ‘A figure,’ Bobbie said again. ‘A figure of the exact same size and the exact same shape wearing the same denim dungarees as Tony Little.’

  ‘What was he doing? Were they his fireworks?’

  Bobbie shook his head. ‘That meadow is off limits. You’ve seen the wire-meshed fencing around the digging apparatus. But apart from the mere sight of him on Private Property was the fact that he was raising a pick axe overhead and bringing it down full-force into the ground. He was digging like a madman.’

  ‘Digging?’

  Bobbie rolled his eyes in frustration.

  ‘Sorry,’ Greg said. ‘I don’t mean to sound like a parrot. I just don’t get what you’re getting’ at. Are you sure you weren’t steaming?’

  ‘Abigail was worse for wear I on the other hand only had three drinks all day. I don’t particularly like New Year. I know what I saw. And after my bizarre chat with Amy this morning, I decided to walk as far to the fencing as I could. And guess what I saw?’

  Greg shrugged, clueless.

  ‘Holes. Where someone had been digging deep excavations.’

  Silence.

  ‘What would he be digging for?’ Greg said, breaking the minute silence.

  ‘God knows. But he can’t be that bad if he’s out on a freezing cold night digging holes like he’s getting paid gold bars from the Fort Knox.’

  Taking a gulp of his cold pint, Greg didn’t know what to make of what he’d been told.

  ‘What - if anything - do you intend to do about it?’ Greg asked.

  ***

  The frosty night air rattled their bones and pebbled their flesh with goose bumps. They couldn’t stop shivering. Yet the longer they walked into the meadow past the cattle the warmer they became. Bobbie and Greg had beanies pulled down over their heads covering their ears and big duffel coats buttoned up to the jaw line, gloved hands stuffed deep into the pockets. The carbon dioxide they exhaled plumed in the air. Overhead the glittering of innumerable stars looked like the most spectacular jewellery set ever seen.

  ‘What’re we gonna do if he doesn’t show up?’ Greg said.

  ‘Freeze our balls off. Did you bring those night vision binoculars with you?’

  ‘Yeah. They’re under my coat attached to my belt. Be careful with them, they were expensive.

  ‘You said you bought them off EBay?’

  ‘I did. The fuckin’ post & packaging nearly cost as much as the binoculars.’

  They headed to the fringe of the woods and stooped down.

  Greg showed Bobbie how to focus in and out. Then he took out a Mars bar and bit into it.

  ‘Give us a piece,’ Bobbie said.

  Greg snapped a bit off and handed it over. Then they waited. Greg thought the idea was ridiculous. Nevertheless, a bit of fresh air and walk would do him some good. He just hoped he
didn’t get pneumonia.

  They didn’t have to wait long. Approximately fifteen minutes later, Tony appeared to their left brushing through the cornfield and striding directly to the excavations he’d dug previously. Greg could scarcely believe what he was seeing. It was one thing to listen to an incredulous yarn about someone he’d known for years but to actually see it...

  Tony’s hands were gripping the handle of a hefty pick axe and a spade.

  Greg stared with protruding eyes at Tony drop the spade and began striking the earth with immense determination. The ground broke as Tony yanked back with the garden tool, ripping up a clump of earth. The Mars bar crushed in his hand as he watched and listened to the grunts and groans of his friend destroying the earth around him.

  Twenty minutes passed and Tony had dug two holes. He hoisted the pick axe overhead and brought it down with Herculean strength and hit something hard.

  Instantly, Tony dropped the garden tool and flicked the torch on. He pointed the beam of yellow light into the hole at something neither Greg nor Bobbie could see.

  ‘Yes!’ Tony shouted and punched the air in jubilation.

  Greg tapped Bobbie on the arm. Bobbie started. He looked frightened. He regarded Greg for a few seconds then returned to spying through the night vision goggles. Greg watched as Tony bent down out of sight momentarily. Then he reappeared, leaning back, face contorted, illuminated by torchlight giving him a maniacal expression. Evidently, Tony was straining.

  Greg thought he might be caught on a root or something. However, that though dispersed as Tony’s upper arms came into view.

  Tony was holding onto something in a fierce grip, pulling with every amount of exertion he could muster. Eventually the soil crumbled and cascaded into the hole. What emerged from the excavation in Tony’s grasp would for ever haunt Greg and Bobbie’s dreams. The vivid depiction they would see whenever they closed their eyes at night and in their mind’s eye during the day was their friend, Tony Little, lifting a human arm out of the hole.

  A gasp escaped Bobbie, who clapped a hand over his mouth.