by Jody Medland
‘That’s why we take things into our own hands,’ revealed Christian.
‘Why don’t we call the police?’ asked Amanda.
‘Oh! A wonderful idea!’ snorted Karen mockingly in the background.
Christian looked at Amanda with sincerity in his eyes.
‘Come with me into my office and call them if you like,’ he said, openly. ‘Tell them that the beast of the moors has murdered a young spastic child and see what they say.’
‘The murder of any child has to be taken seriously!’ Amanda returned, incensed.
‘If only that were true, dear,’ added Margaret, with deep regret. ‘But it’s like I told you. Nobody cares for these kids except us. Nobody,’ she repeated, somewhat ominously.
The confidence of Christian’s words and the backing of Margaret, who she fully trusted, was enough to make Amanda believe they had truly taken such measures before, but to no avail. Christian walked over to Amanda and held her shoulders. This time, he did so gently.
‘By all means, feel free to try. Maybe their attitudes will have changed,’ he said.
Amanda did not expect Christian to be so encouraging about the involvement of the police and his support led her to conclude it would do no good. The local police were either inept, were friends of the family or had genuinely no concern over a group of physically and mentally ill children who did not integrate within their society – especially when the country continued to go through such political turmoil.
Amanda sighed, frustrated and torn.
‘Reuben’s gone, Amanda, and not a single thing we do can bring him back,’ said Christian, tenderly. ‘But I promise you this. I’ll get two of the best hunters I know here tonight and with them, I will scour the moors until we find the beast. We’ll kill it, once and for all. It will end tonight.’
Amanda considered his words. He spoke bravely and although Margaret had revealed there was a level of abuse within the home, Amanda could still only guess who the guilty parties were. Could it be that Christian was, in fact, good? She had seen him play so sweetly with Reuben earlier that morning and was touched by his caring nature. He appeared to be hurting every bid as much as Amanda was and so she wondered if his pursuit of the beast should be encouraged. After all, surely the family were not capable of the same torment as the animal that lingered outside. Once the beast was out the way, she would be able to figure out more clearly how to expose the abusers within the home, and so she looked back to Christian with vengeance in her eyes.
‘You need any help?’ she asked.
*
As the sun faded on what had been an extraordinary day, Christian sat out the front of the house on a wooden rocking chair. It offered him the perfect vantage point of the land around him and with his trusty gun locked and loaded, he observed, affording the other residents as much peace of mind as he could possibly offer.
Inside the house, Amanda made her way grimly upstairs and towards Ellie’s bedroom. The poor girl had, quite rightly, been delirious with fright after Reuben’s savage murder and yet such was everybody’s panic, no one had thought to console her. Had Ellie’s window not have been so high and so small, she might have been able to offer Amanda some vital information regarding the attack. By that same token, had her room been more accessible then it may have been her window through which the beast climbed.
As Amanda passed Reuben and Georgina’s bedroom she again heard movement coming from inside and took it upon herself to investigate. She pushed the door gently to see Arthur sweeping remnants of glass from underneath the window. He was also armed with a large bucket of soapy water, which was desperately needed for the large patches of blood that had soaked into the floorboards where Reuben appeared to have fallen. Amanda wondered how much of the poor boy’s body the beast devoured and how much of the torment it inflicted on the child would have been for some form of sadistic pleasure. Why would this happen to such a sweet and innocent boy? She thought, hoping dearly that his suffering was minimal.
Part of Amanda wished to make her presence known to Arthur so she could help him with the cleaning, but it was all too painful and so she convinced herself Ellie needed her more and silently edged away.
Once again, Ellie did not attack Amanda as she entered her room. What’s more, upon seeing Amanda, she did not turn away. Instead, her bottom lip quivered and she began to cry, allowing Amanda onto the bed where she adopted Margaret’s technique of running her hands through the youngster’s hair.
‘Why?’ asked Ellie in between sobs.
‘Sshh…’ comforted Amanda, soothingly, like the sound of small waves breaking gently in the ocean. ‘It’ll be okay,’ she said, feeling foolish as she did so.
Why did people always say such things at the most inappropriate moments?
‘Don’t say that!’ said Ellie, calling Amanda on her clumsy words. ‘It’s not okay. And it never will be!’ she shouted.
The girl gave no warning before pulling away and jumping to her feet. Before Amanda absorbed what was happening, Ellie had run to the edge of the room and was clawing at the padded walls.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Amanda, with a sense of urgency.
Ellie was frustrated that she could not break through the fabric but started to aggressively head-butt the wall in any case.
‘Ellie!’ called Amanda, as she ran to the girl’s assistance, entering another tussle. The youngster tried desperately to fend Amanda off. She shouted and screamed but Amanda held firm and eventually managed to take her to the ground.
‘Ellie, calm down!’ she pleaded.
Eventually she did, though the sobbing continued.
‘Make it stop,’ Ellie cried, weakly. ‘Please make it stop!’
Heartbreakingly, Amanda felt certain the girl was referring to her own life. All Amanda could do was hold her and rock with her until the tears dried up. It was while doing this that she noticed an aniseed ball lying on the floor beneath Ellie’s bed. Amanda knew that Walter visited the girl. Indeed, he had openly admitted it when she raised concerns over Ellie’s lack of contact with the real world. However, something about seeing the sweet lying there appeared incredibly sinister. Amanda shuddered at the implications.
‘Does Walter come and see you sometimes?’ asked Amanda, as innocently as possible.
There was something about Ellie’s reaction – the way she said nothing but quickly nestled her face into Amanda’s bosom – that suggested she was trying to hide her expression. Only somebody who had themselves been abused could understand the inexplicable shame felt by a fellow victim, as though they were dirty; as though they themselves had done something wrong. From that moment, there was no doubt in Amanda’s mind that, as unlikely as it first seemed, Walter was one of the key offenders.
*
It had become a desperate time; a deadly game of cat-and-mouse where evil was as likely to come from inside the house as it was from the land around it. If Amanda was to survive, she would need to know who her allies were and, even more importantly, her enemies. Roaming the moors was a relentless killing machine and although she had yet to catch Karen doing anything wrong, she felt certain the woman was capable of much cruelty and horror. Amanda felt it in her bones. Added to that list now was Walter – a man who, somewhat disturbingly, had appeared completely trustworthy. What, then, was Amanda to make of her feelings towards Christian? He was another person she always felt she could trust – a good egg who had learnt everything he knew about decency and honesty from his mother, and Amanda’s one true ally, Margaret. Was the reason Margaret refused to “go against” her son the fact that he was innocent or simply because she was unable?
Only one thing seemed certain. Amanda had to make a move and she had to make it fast. Her life, and the lives of countless children who had been wronged in the most unspeakable of ways, depended on it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Point of No Return
Monday 14th February, 1972
A new vehicle occupied the car park
at the Prince Care Home. Inside were the two hunter buddies that Christian had promised to summon to the house. In truth, it was one hunter buddy and his sidekick, whom Christian was meeting for the first time.
Andy was a bit of a rogue whose nose was permanently twisted from all the times it had been broken, but he had won far more battles than he’d lost. He pulled out the lighter that was embedded in the dashboard of his truck and lit up a cigarette.
‘I don’t exaggerate when I tell you how dangerous this is,’ Christian warned.
Joe was in his early twenties. He was tall with wavy hair and model good-looks. His inexperience made him nervous and he sat in the back seat looking like a rabbit caught in headlights as Christian eyed him up and down from the front passenger seat.
‘You a good hunter?’ asked Christian.
Bashfully, Joe shrugged.
‘I’m okay,’ he replied.
His lack of conviction irked Christian.
‘Okay’s no good,’ he said, bluntly. ‘It’ll get you killed.’
‘Will you relax?’ said Andy as he took a deep puff of his cigarette and blew a large cloud of smoke out of the window. ‘The boy’s good. He’s just a little modest, is all.’
‘I’m not paying for modest. I’m paying to get the job done,’ said Christian, sternly.
‘I won the clay pigeon championships in the county last year,’ blurted Joe.
Christian looked back at him wearing a deadpan expression that Joe wasn’t quite sure how to read.
‘You might have read about it,’ Joe continued. ‘It was in the paper. I mean, I’m not bragging, but… it was a tough group of shooters.’
‘There! You see?’ encouraged Andy. ‘The boy’s a natural.’
‘Clay pigeon’s, huh?’ said Christian, looking increasingly agitated. ‘Tell me, did the pigeons have claws? Did they have teeth that were as sharp as razorblades? Did they come right at you with the intention of ripping your throat out of your fucking neck?’ he asked.
‘Jesus!’ recoiled Joe, more than a little unsettled.
‘You said he was a hunter!’ stormed Christian before climbing out of the car.
‘Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa!’ said Andy who, at the prospect of missing out on a payday, suddenly appeared a lot more focused. ‘Settle down! The kid’s a good shooter. One of the best I’ve seen. I can absolutely vouch for that,’ he assured Christian, who stood at the open door of the truck looking back at them. He monitored the two men closely for several seconds before eventually pulling out a brown envelope.
‘Half now. Half when it’s over,’ said Christian, holding out the envelope.
‘I’m good with that!’ Andy agreed, eagerly reaching for it. Upon placing his hand on the small package, Christian pulled the man close.
‘And who do you tell about this?’ he asked.
‘No one,’ answered Andy.
Christian eyeballed him for added effect before finally letting go of the money.
‘Good,’ he said with a nod before looking back to Joe. ‘Good luck!’ he said, somewhat ominously, before closing the door, double tapping the roof of the truck and walking away.
In the living room, Gordon, Georgina and Malcolm sat in front of the television, one of the home’s many bizarre traditions given that the trio was made up of an autistic kid, a blind girl and a boy who had “sleeping disease.” There was something about having the TV on in the background that was reassuring, though. It was something of a quirky British trait along with drinking cups of tea and complaining about the weather. More importantly, in this instance, it afforded Amanda the freedom to stand in a quiet corner of the room and hold a private conversation with Margaret, who protectively held a small leather-bound book in her hands.
‘I’ve played it through in my mind and something doesn’t quite make sense,’ admitted Amanda.
‘Yes love?’
‘If this beast is what’s been eating all the animals around here, well that’s one thing. I mean, the mark of a wild animal is to kill when it gets hungry so it can survive… but to surround a home and threaten people? To go into that home and take a child? That’s something else entirely,’ summarised Amanda as she expressed her thoughts.
‘M-m, h-m,’ Margaret murmured, appearing to get upset.
‘Think about it,’ continued Amanda. ‘Why does something kill? Through hunger, fear or passion, right? They’re the only reasons. The children it took. Do we know if they were eaten?’
Only at that point did Amanda notice Margaret’s deep unrest. Offending people was always a hazard of a person thinking aloud and with Reuben’s passing being so recent, it came as no surprise that Margaret was so sensitive.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Amanda, as she touched Margaret lightly on her arm.
Margaret, as always, forgave her.
‘No. It’s okay,’ she insisted, sniffing gently.
At that moment, Amanda felt bad about delving further, but to make progress she had to distance herself from the subject and press on. It was a technique she had mastered over the years.
‘Maggie?’
‘H-m?’ grunted Margaret, momentarily distracted.
‘Were they eaten?’ whispered Amanda, wearing an apologetic expression.
‘Oh! No. To the best of my knowledge the children have never been… eaten,’ answered Margaret, stalling on the final word of the bizarre sentence she had just spoken.
‘I didn’t think so. Yet I can’t see how the beast is threatened by us, either,’ admitted Amanda. ‘We’re locked away in the house, not challenging it for supremacy or for land. That only leaves passion, and I find that very interesting.’
‘How do you mean, dear?’ asked Margaret, dumbly.
‘It’s proof of intelligence!’ she said, sounding intimidated but also impressed. ‘It means there’s a thought process behind its actions. It’s emotionally driven. I mean, what kind of wild beast could–’
‘Stop calling him that!’ yelped Margaret, giving in to her own emotions in a rare moment of weakness. ‘Please, I can’t stand it,’ she said weakly.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Amanda, uncertain of where exactly the source of Margaret’s frustration had stemmed from. ‘I’m just not sure of what else to call it,’ she admitted.
‘He has a name,’ Margaret revealed.
‘A name?’
‘Yes,’ she confirmed. ‘His name is Elijah.’
Amanda looked at her, speaking delicately as she tried to coax out the all-important information Margaret seemed to possess.
‘You know, I keep hearing that name, but no one seems to want to tell me who Elijah is,’ hinted Amanda in hope.
Margaret took a moment to compose herself, knowing that the next words she uttered would change life as she knew it forever. In providing Amanda with such a key element of the mystery, she knew there would be no return, but considering the life she was leading, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
‘My grandson,’ she finally whispered.
‘I’m sorry?’ asked Amanda, unsure if she’d heard correctly.
Margaret took a deep breath, built her courage still further and spoke again, this time with authority.
‘Elijah is my grandson,’ she confirmed.
Being an investigatory journalist, Amanda had learnt many facts in her career that she found surprising. By the job’s very nature, it led towards truths that the average person would least expect. The element of surprise was what made a great story and so Amanda was always sniffing around the improbable, the unlikely and the downright illogical in the hope of finding new leads that created something truly special for readers throughout the country.
Nothing in her memory compared to this.
Did Margaret really just say that the beast of the moors; the animal that preyed upon the home and claimed countless children’s lives; the monster that had come so close to claiming her own life, was her grandson? The magnitude of what this meant could not possibly be absorbed all at once. Instead, Amanda became sil
ent as she contemplated the significance of such a discovery. Suddenly, the context of every conversation she’d held with the residents – every look they’d given her – had shifted. Things started clicking into place and making more sense, but as it did so, the world in which she lived became less like reality and more like a work of fiction.
Slowly, Margaret lifted her hands and offered the leather book that she had held so protectively, handling it as though it were something truly sacred.
‘This should answer your questions,’ she said.
As Amanda went to take it, she felt the mild resistance of Margaret’s grasp until, eventually, she let the book go. Amanda soon discovered it wasn’t a book but a photo album. Unfortunately for Margaret, she had timed her confession poorly, for standing on the other side of the wall on the ground floor hallway, Karen had been pruning wicks and lighting candles. She had heard everything of Margaret’s confession.
Karen looked down at her timepiece as it ticked rapidly towards seven.
Darkness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hunt or be Hunted
Monday 14th February, 1972
An oil-black sky was illuminated only by the soft bluish glow of the moon that hung rather magically in the air.
Two torches passed over the moorland like lighthouses seeking ships at night as Andy and Joe huffed searchingly through the fields and into the periphery armed with chunky, heavy weapons.
‘What’d he say? It was like a panther?’ asked Joe, still feeling uneasy about the hunt.
‘Something like that,’ shrugged Andy, who chewed on a toothpick as he scanned the land.
