DARK COUNTY

by Kit Tinsley

  Paul tried to ignore this feeling, shaking it off as the remnants of his bad dreams, the way that sometimes nightmares can linger with you for the rest of the day. He set off towards the newsagents, hat pulled down low and hood up, just in case Baz was already about.

  When he got to the road the newsagents was on, he was surprised to see that there was no traffic. There were cars parked on the side of the road, but none traveling. This really was strange, by this time the road was usually full of 4X4’s driven by middle class women taking their children to the primary school round the corner. Paul knew because he always felt sorry for those kids. When he was young his mum would drop him off at school just before nine, nowadays, though, it seemed like all schools opened early and children would often be there two hours before lessons started.

  Today there were no 4X4’s, no middle class mothers, no children, nobody at all. The pavements were as deserted as the roads. Paul was starting to feel very ill at ease. Where was everyone? Sure, it was early by his normal standards, but not for most of the working population. He continued walking down the silent street to the newsagents. When he went inside, he found it, too, was completely devoid of life. The door was unlocked but there was no one in there, no customers, not even a shop assistant.

  Paul was felt a trickle of cold sweat run down his neck, followed by a shudder. He knew he had to keep it together, but he could feel panic chomping at the bit to take control of him. He left the newsagents and returned to the empty street. He stood there trying to decide what to do. It was so still, so silent. Then he heard it, faintly at first, but definitely there, a faint hum in the distance, like some kind of electronic drone. It was almost at a frequency to low for human hearing to register, but it was just audible.

  He tried to determine the direction the sound was originating from. After a little while, he realised it was coming from the East, from the sea. He had not wanted to go near the sea, not after all the strange things that had happened last night, and not with Baz out for his blood. He wanted to get on a train and get away. Priorities have to change some times, though. Not only was the town seemingly deserted, one of the missing was his own mother, he had to find her.

  He set off towards the town, not quite jogging, but walking very quickly. When he reached the train station and the convergence of main roads by it, he was amazed to see that the road was as devoid of traffic as the others. He had hoped that it had just been a quiet day, that there was a logical explanation for what was happening, but now seeing the main road into town without a single moving car on it, he knew that it was real. Or was it? For a brief moment, he hoped that all of this was just another nightmare, and that soon his alarm would wake him for real. He would walk into the kitchen and his mother would be sat reading the paper with a coffee cup in her hand. She would offer to make him breakfast and he could continue with his plan.

  Deep down, though, he knew this wasn’t a dream. Everything was recognisable and things were happening in real time, not the disjointed manner they occur in dreams. He continued walking, past K.F.C and down into chip pan alley again. When he got to the Hildred’s shopping centre at the end of the road, he could hear the hum more clearly. Not only that, he could see the light emanating from the beach. It was faint, as it was day light, but the dull grey sky seemed to be lighting up with a bright blue, rhythmic pulse. The colour made him remember the strange lights he had seen flickering in the surf the previous night. The lights in the gel he had on his hand.

  He felt his heart pumping in his chest. He did not want to go any further, but he had to. He had to find his mother. He took a deep breath and tried to harness his fear, turn it into motivation. He set off running for the sea front.

  6

  The sight that greeted him as he arrived on the beach was like nothing he had ever seen. There, in one large group, stood the entire population of the seaside town of Skegness. He recognised friends, old teachers, ex-girlfiends, customers, and even Baz. None of them was moving, none of them was speaking, they all merely stood there, facing the same way, staring out to sea. Paul tried waving his hand in front of the faces of a few of his friends, they did not even flinch, it was like they were frozen in time. He ran through the crowd, which must have totaled ten thousand people, desperate to find his mother. It was like looking for a needle in a stack of needles. He would spot a figure of a similar build, with similar hair and go racing over to them, only to find they were a stranger.

  He ran to the front of the crowd, it ended just at the sea. He looked out, the sea was glowing blue in regular pulses. It was coming from below the water, and he got the sense that it was getting closer. He turned back to the crowd, and against all the odds, he saw her. She was about five hundred meters back, and two hundred to his right. He raced over to her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

  ‘Mum?’ He said clicking his fingers in her face. ‘Can you hear me?’

  Her face showed not even a glint of recognition. Her gaze was fixed on the sea, on the light, on whatever was coming.

  ‘Sorry for this, mum,’ he said, and then he slapped her hard across the face, so hard that her head turned. She merely turned it back and continued to look at the sea.

  ‘Fuck!’ He screamed.

  Well, if he couldn’t get her to walk off the beach he would carry her. He bent down to pick her up in a fireman’s lift, yet when he lifted nothing happened. His mother was a petite woman, she always had been. He should have been able to lift her easily, but no matter how hard he strained he could not mover her, it was as if she was welded to the floor. Stood nearby was a child, no older than five. He tried to lift the child; he, too, would not budge.

  ‘You can’t save them, Paul,’ a familiar voice said behind him. He turned and saw the tramp. ‘I told you I can only save one.’

  ‘You did this!’ Paul said, his fear becoming rage. He charged at the tramp. The bearded man simply put his hand out and stopped Paul dead. The cold, dampness of his touch felt a thousand times worse on his chest.

  ‘Let’s get something straight,’ the tramp said angrily. ‘I did not do this. I merely pave the way. If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else. They will come no matter what, they always have. At least I get the chance to save one soul. I wish I could do more but I can’t.’

  ‘Why me?’ Paul screamed.

  ‘Because you were there,’ the tramp said. ‘Right time, right place. Chance, pure luck.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Paul said, tears starting to flow.

  ‘They’re coming. They’re coming to feed. Like always, they will suck the life force and souls out of every man, woman and child. Everyone, except you.

  Paul looked at the sea, the light was even brighter now. Looking at it was starting to hurt his eyes.

  All around him, the crowd began to move en masse towards the sea. They all kept the same pace, like a giant army marching into the sea.

  ‘It’s time,’ the tramp said. ‘Praise be to my master, and God help these poor souls.’

  Paul watched in horror as the people walked into the water until it was above their heads. Onwards the crowd pushed, his mother now was walking into the water. He watched as it rose up her body with each step, until the last grey curl on her head was submerged. The tears flowed endlessly from his red eyes. The tramp kept the freezing hand on his chest.

  The whole process took about twenty minutes, then they were all gone, the only two beings left on the beach were Paul and the tramp. The bearded man lowered his hand from Paul’s chest and he dropped to his knees. The tramp stood over him.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ the tramp said. ‘I have to go, too, now.’

  Paul watched as the tramp walked into the water. Just before his head was submerged, he turned and offered Paul a look of pity. Then he was gone.

  On the still and silent beach, in the still and silent town, a single lonely figure knelt on the sand and sobbed.

  TRACKS

  ‘Here it is,’ Steve signed as they stopped
their bikes as the bottom of the bridge. ‘Come on.’

  Jake got off his bike and they dumped them on the grass verge at the side of the road. Steve turned to his younger brother and moved his hands.

  ‘Come on, let’s go up,’ he signed.

  Jake followed his big brother up the slope of the railway bridge. Jake had been born deaf, he never knew any different. His parents and Steve could all hear, but they had all learnt B.S.L. in order to communicate with Jake. Jake was only twelve, whereas Steve was sixteen. Jake looked up to him in the way only a little brother can. Steve was his hero, his model for how to be. Whatever Steve was interested in, Jake followed suit.

  When they reached the top of the bridge, Jake looked around. The road continued over it, and there was only a narrow path for them to stand on. If two cars tried to come over at the same time, at least one of them would have to mount the path, as this was a single lane country road. Jake knew, though, that if Steve heard a car coming he would make sure that Jake was all right, he always looked out for him.

  ‘Has anyone ever told you the story of Alison Rawlins?’ Steve signed at his brother.

  ‘No,’ Jake signed back. ‘Who is she?’

  ‘She was the most beautiful girl in the whole village,’ Steve signed. ‘I was only about eight when she died, so you’d have only been four, but I remember seeing her. She had this amazing long blonde hair that flowed down her back. When the sunlight hit it, it was blinding.’

  ‘What happened to her?’ Jake asked.

  ‘For some reason she was really sad. Some people say that she was mentally ill. Others say that a boy from town broke her heart and she just couldn’t carry on. She came down to this bridge late one night, and walked down the bank over there.’ Steve pointed to the slope that led off the edge of the bridge. It was covered with bushes and trees, but Jake could see there was a thin path that led all the way down. He looked back to Steve.

  ‘She went onto the tracks,’ Steve continued. ‘She walked right into the middle of the tunnel and waited. A little while later a train came along, there was no way the driver could see her in time, what with her being stood in the tunnel. He saw her at the last second and slam, the train hit her. They say that it nearly tore her to pieces.’

  Jake gulped, the idea of being ripped apart by a high speed train was terrifying. Poor Alison must have been in agony.

  ‘Some of the older kids, the ones who knew her, started coming down here and looking down in the tunnel,’ Steve continued. ‘I don’t know whether it was because they missed her, or just out of morbid curiosity. They said that if you walked right into the middle of the tunnel and stood on the tracks, the exact spot where the train hit Alison, closed your eyes and counted to ten. When you opened your eyes, you would see Alison’s ghost, all bloody and disgusting. They said she would reach out for you, and if she caught you, she’d kill you. I guess she was lonely in death.’

  Jake looked over the side of the bridge down at the tracks and shivered. He knew that he was too old to be scared of ghost stories, but something about this story had really creeped him out. He turned back to Steve.

  ‘Have you ever done it?’ Jake asked.

  Steve nodded.

  ‘I tried once,’ Steve signed. ‘It was when I was your age, I stood there in the tunnel with my eyes closed, and I started counting. I could hear someone walking up behind me as I counted. I got so scared that I ran out of there with my eyes still closed and didn’t open them until I was back on the bank.’

  Jake was shocked. He had always seen Steve as so brave, and yet he had chickened out. It must have been really scary down there.

  ‘Anyway,’ Steve signed. ‘We better get home. Mum’ll have lunch on by now.’

  They walked back down to their bikes and then rode the half mile back to the village and down their road.

  When they got home, Mum had indeed nearly finished cooking Sunday lunch. Their Dad was out in his workshop making a chair. He was not a professional carpenter, but had been doing it as a hobby for about five years now. The furniture he made was actually quite good; he sold it online in an eBay shop.

  Mum turned round to them as they stepped through the kitchen door. She signed and spoke at the same time, as they all tended to do.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Just riding our bikes,’ Steve replied.

  ‘Well you better both go and have a wash, dinner will be ready soon,’ she said and signed. She turned to Jake. ‘Would you go and let your Dad know dinner is nearly ready when you’re done, Jake?’

  Jake nodded, and then both boys ran up the stairs. There were two bathrooms upstairs, one on the landing and one in their parents’ room, so they didn’t need to fight over who went first. Steve ran to their parents’ room and Jake went to the bathroom on the landing. He shut the door behind him and filled up the sink. As he washed his face and hands, he thought about the bridge, and the story of Alison Rawlins, and her ghost. He shuddered once more at the thought of being hit by a train. He had watched them going past plenty of times, the size of them and the speed. No wonder they said it had made a mess of the poor girl.

  He wondered why she had chosen to do it. He knew that sometimes people got so sad that they ended their own live. He didn’t understand it. How could anyone feel that bad, sometimes he felt sad about the fact that he couldn’t hear, especially when his family spoke about music. He wished he could hear music. He felt some vibrations from it, but it wasn’t the same. Even when he had felt at his worst, though, the thought of killing himself had never entered his mind. These people must have had some awful problems to feel that it was their only option.

  The other thing that Jake couldn’t understand about Alison Rawlins was even if she felt that low that killing her self was her only option, why one Earth would she choose to do it in such a horrendous way. Jake thought that people just took tablets and went to sleep.

  He looked in the mirror and imagined what it was like down in the tunnel, stood there with your eyes closed counting to ten as Alison’s ghost approached you. He imagined her twisted, ruined body shuffling towards him.

  He opened his eyes and shook the image away. He couldn’t believe that Steve had run out of the tunnel before getting to ten. Jake had always thought of his brother as brave. Knowing this fact made him feel a little disappointed, like a part of the way he saw the world had gone away.

  Could he do it? Would he be able to do what his brother had not? He knew he would be scared, but he had to admit that he thought that maybe he could. He had an advantage you see. Steve had said that he had got too scared because he could hear something shuffling up the tracks towards him. That was why he had run out of the tunnel. Jake, though, wouldn’t have that problem. He was deaf, and would not hear the sounds.

  He put the idea to the back of his mind and dried his hands and face. Steve was in his bedroom when Jake stepped back out on to the landing. Jake went down the stairs and then walked out of the front door. He walked around to the side of the house, where his Dad’s workshop sat. Once upon a time, it had been the garage, but Dad had extended it and turned it into somewhere to make his furniture.

  As he opened the door, he saw that his Dad had his back to him and was using one of the machines, the big saw. Jake did what he always did, he flicked the light on and off quickly. This was the code the system they had come up with for Jake to get his dad’s attention when he was working. It would be too dangerous for Jake to just tap him on the back, and Jake didn’t like shouting. He had no idea what sound he was making, and this always bothered him.

  His Dad turned around when he noticed the flashing light. He smiled at Jake.

  ‘Hey, Jake,’ he signed. ‘I take it dinner’s nearly ready?’

  ‘Yeah, Mum told me to come get you,’ Jake replied.

  ‘Ok,’ Dad said then switched off the saw. ‘What you been doing today?’

  ‘Me and Steve went and road our bikes.’

  ‘Where did you go?’ Dad asked.
/>   ‘All over,’ Jake said. ‘Have you heard of Alison Rawlins?’

  Dad looked concerned.

  ‘Did you go out to the bridge?’ He asked.

  Jake nodded. He was always unable to lie to his Dad.

  ‘I know that the kids have come up with some stupid ghost story about that bridge. What happened to poor Alison was terrible, but there’s no such thing as ghosts.’

  Jake wasn’t so sure. If ghosts didn’t exist, why were there so many stories about them?

  ‘I want you to promise me you’ll never go into that tunnel,’ Dad said. ‘It would be dangerous for anyone, but especially you. If a train was coming, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.’

  His imagined picture of the mangled ghost of Alison Rawlins sprang into his mind again. He pushed the thought away. He knew his dad was right, but still, he wanted to prove to himself that he could do something that Steve had failed to do.

  ‘I promise,’ he signed to his Dad, even though he thought it was a promise he might have to break.

  ‘Good boy,’ Dad said.

  They ate dinner as a family, and as always it was the one time that Jake felt the most left out. They would often carry on talking amongst themselves while they ate. The fact that they were holding and using cutlery meant they were unable to sign. Jake had started learning to lip read, but this was made more difficult when people had mouths full of food. So he often ended up sitting there eating his dinner with no idea what they were talking about. On his more paranoid days, he would imagine that they were talking about him, but he doubted that was really the case. Periodically one of them would remember that he existed and sign something to him, he would then reply. Then they would all carry on eating and talking amongst themselves.

  After dinner, Steve washed up and he dried and put away, while Mum took what she referred to as her ‘well-earned rest.’ Dad went back out to the workshop to continue with whatever he was making.