Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set

by Paul J. Teague

  ‘Alex?’

  No answer. Shit, probably more rats. I wondered for a moment if the ambulance guys might be the better option. Was I seriously thinking of abandoning my friend because of a vermin problem?

  I made my way down the stairs, scanning the floor for rats with the limited light given out from my smart phone. It was an empty cellar with the exception of a punchbag hung up from one of the joists, some discarded linen piled up in the far corner, and a couple of old chipboard bookcases leaning against one of the walls.

  ‘Alex?’

  There was no sign of her. There had to be another entrance.

  ‘Pete, where are you?’

  I could hear her voice coming from a room beyond. I walked towards the bookcases and gave them a kick, giving any rats a chance to make a run for it before I shifted them. They were only lightweight and moved easily enough. It turned out they were concealing a second door. I opened it and there was Alex, painfully trying to stand up unaided.

  ‘Sit down. I’ll take a look,’ I said as I rushed over to her. I scanned her via the light from my phone. She had some scratches on her arms and a bloody mark on her cheek. I dabbed that with a tissue first, and then turned to her leg.

  ‘What movement do you have?’ I asked, the most cack-handed doctor that you could possibly have the misfortune to be examining you.

  ‘Honest, Pete, I think it’s only a bad sprain. It’ll take my weight – just – but I’m okay. I’m more interested in all these old newspapers.’

  I looked down to see that she’d already been working her way through the ones on top.

  ‘Take a look at this,’ she said, handing me a copy of the Today newspaper from 1992. I hadn’t seen a Today newspaper in years, and the distinctive blue logo immediately took me back to a time and place when I was much younger and living at home.

  Second Death At Controversial Children’s Home read the headline. The article related to Woodlands Edge. There were piles of them: national newspapers, local newspapers, professional journals, each one outlining the history of the place where my wife had lived.

  This was irresistible to a couple of journalists like Alex and me. We rapidly made our way through the boxes of papers, trying to get a rough timeline of the problems they’d experienced there.

  It looked as if there had been four deaths in all: three boys and one girl. Two suicides by hanging, one by pills, the other by cutting wrists. Then there was a big inquiry, and the hauling of staff over the coals: a man called Gary Maxwell, the guy in charge of the home, and a support worker called Bob Taylor, who’d been scapegoated in the investigation. The chief constable at the time, Tony Dodds, and Russell Black, the head of social services, were heavily implicated. It was remarkable reading. But at the end of it all in 1993 the home was given a clean bill of health. It was 1994 when it was resolved. Meg would have been sixteen at the time. Was she involved in this?

  There would never be any pictures of the kids – even then press regulations would not have allowed it. But somebody had painstakingly kept newspaper records of everything that had gone on here. It was an entire, sorry history told through sensational headlines.

  Head Of Children’s Home Jailed In Abuse Inquiry

  Police Chief Claims Personal Grudge To Blame For Costs Of Inquiry

  Woodlands Edge Home Renamed After Abuse Inquiry

  Even in the nineties they’d got the hang of rebranding it seemed. But Meadow’s End? Really? Which committee of fuckwits thought up that one? It told you all that you needed to know that the locals had completely ignored the new name and continued to call it by its original name for years afterwards. The story that we were reading had all the hallmarks of a seventies-style cover-up. As journalists we’re supposed to be impartial about these things, but my cynical sixth sense was telling me that this had all the makings of a horrible story. And this is where Meg and her sister had been.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Alex asked.

  ‘What? It looks like a load of shits walked away with unblemished careers after a whitewash?’

  ‘Ooh, you’ve become so cynical. No, but I agree, it stinks. I thought we should get Steven Terry up here. If kids died and stuff like that, he might be able to sense something. What do you reckon?’

  ‘I think it’s a great idea!’ I said. ‘He’s in Blackpool for two more nights. I wonder where he’s staying?’

  ‘He gave you his card, didn’t he? He did say to call him anytime. He’d have a field day in this place. Let’s call him. Seriously. It can’t do any harm.’

  ‘We need to get you out of here first, and take a better look at that—’

  I stopped in mid-sentence. Alex had rested her phone against her thigh and it was shining on one of the newspapers. I recognised the face in the photo, but I couldn’t place it at first. It was grainy and faded – the light was poor. I got it eventually. It was Thomas Yates.

  I picked up the paper, and moved the beam from my phone closer so that I could read the tiny text in the darkness.

  It was Meg’s dad alright. It turned out that he’d been a caretaker at the former Woodlands Edge children’s home. He was in the paper because of his connection with the guy in charge of the home, Gary Maxwell, and all the other high-ups who were named in the various newspaper articles. The original case had collapsed when Thomas Yates withdrew the allegations that he’d made alongside Bob Taylor. Bob Taylor became immediately discredited and the suits walked away. My journalistic instincts were fully aroused.

  Alex had been right about Steven Terry. He took no persuading to pay an impromptu visit to Woodlands Edge – or Meadow’s End, as nobody called it, ever.

  After discovering Thomas Yates’ involvement in the whole affair, things were beginning to take a little more shape. It was making more sense to me that Meg might not want to rake over this entire story again. I think that I’d want to forget it all too.

  Alex and I skimmed off a selection of the papers before we made our way out of the cellar and back to the car. It was a slow and painful journey for her, but we made it and she was soon on her way to A&E. She was reluctant, but I persuaded her to get it checked out. We got lucky; we’d avoided the weekend and evening rush hours so we only had to wait for a kid with Lego stuck up his nose and an old guy who’d had a bad fall before it was our turn. The doctor was far too professional to play fan girl, and just did her job, sorting out an X-ray for Alex, and then confirming that it wasn’t broken. Her ankle had bruised though and looked like an over-ripe banana. One of the nurses was assigned to bandage it up and Alex was given some painkillers. All in all we were in and out in a little over an hour. Not bad.

  I called Steven Terry from the waiting room. They seemed to have relaxed the rules in hospitals. There was a time that I’d been scared to switch my phone on in case someone’s life-support machine exploded at the mere whiff of a 2G signal. It was the same with planes. Apparently, the onboard instrumentation is so sensitive that if you dared to call your mum to tell her you were on your way back from sunny Spain, you’d instantly start to plummet from the skies.

  ‘How lovely to hear from you, Pete. Have you been mulling over what I said to you?’

  ‘Actually, Steven, I want to know if you’re up for an adventure.’

  I explained what we’d been doing and warned him that he’d have to sneak through builder’s fencing to access the building. He was immediately up for it.

  ‘It may look glamorous doing a touring stage show, Pete, but I do find the days a little dull. All that applause and adulation, and then I’m left to my own devices until the next one. In short, I’d love to join you. It sounds like just my thing!’

  I hadn’t put Steven Terry down as an adventurer, but he couldn’t get over to Woodlands Edge fast enough. I had to tell him to hang fire until Alex and I were finished at the hospital.

  I looked up the Milton Keynes train times on my phone while Alex was having her X-ray. She’d assured me that she would be fit to travel the next day
, but I thought it best to delay buying tickets until a bit later. I knew that I was sailing close to the wind with my credit card too, I was keen to put off spending the money until I knew that we could make the journey. There’s only so much humiliation one man can take. I’d already screamed at the sight of a rat – I didn’t want to make a big deal of how broke I was.

  We’d have to catch a shitty shuttle train over from Blackpool, but then it was straight down from Preston on a decent InterCity train. I hoped Meg’s mum would be able to explain everything that we’d discovered in those papers.

  With Alex dispatched from the pharmacy with painkillers in hand, we bought a bottle of water from the hospital shop so that she could take her first pill, and then made our way back to the car.

  ‘I’ll text Steven now. He said he’d have to take a taxi, so we might have a short wait. You okay?’

  ‘Yes, fine. I know it looks bad, but it’s not as painful as it was when I first fell. What a daft cow I am. I can’t believe I did that!’

  ‘How about we pop into the catalogue store on the way over and get you a walking stick. Would that help?’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes it would.’

  ‘You can get the old-lady experience; it’ll give you a taste of what you’re in for in years to come!’

  I was in and out of the store in no time. They had a cheap metal walking stick, which cost me less than a tenner. My credit card was still obliging. How far would I be able to go until I got blocked? I could see immediately that Alex was more comfortable with the stick taking the weight off her foot.

  Steven Terry was there already. I saw him as soon as we drew up. He’d located the same gap in the fence that we’d used and made his way past the big oak tree to the house. He’d been crying when we reached him. He made no attempt to hide it.

  ‘Sorry we’re late, Steven. Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, don’t mind me. How about you, Alex? Is your ankle alright?’

  Alex filled him in with the details.

  ‘What have you picked up then, Steven? What’s so special about the tree?’

  I was testing him. I knew that two boys had hanged themselves from that tree, but I wanted to know how genuine he was.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much sadness in one spot,’ he began, his eyes reddening again at the thought of it. ‘Two young men ended their lives here. They were in great pain – terrible things had happened to them. They were friends too, good friends. The death of one was copied by the other, and they followed each other to the grave.’

  He paused. Whatever signal or information he was receiving from this area had given him quite a jolt.

  ‘These boys felt lost and trapped when they killed themselves. They had everything to live for, but they couldn’t carry on with their lives. They felt as if they had no other option. You see where this branch has been cut down? That was done to prevent any more children from doing the same thing. It’s terrible, this place is very dark.’

  ‘Shall we try the house? Is there anything else that you need to look at outside?’

  I was stunned by Steven’s accuracy. There was no way I was telling him how correct he’d been. He can’t have looked it up on the internet; the story was too old, nothing had come up when I did an online search in the hospital. This was an old story. Its details were confined to musty old newspapers and the library microfiche.

  We headed towards the house.

  ‘Mind if I sit on the step?’ Alex asked. ‘I’d rather give it a miss in there for now, bearing in mind what happened earlier.’

  We left her tapping away on her phone and entered the building for the second time that day. Steven stopped sharp in front of me.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘There was joy in this place,’ he answered, ‘but there has also been so much pain. I can hear the echoes of children laughing. They would play in this hallway; they loved to have games of hide-and-seek and chase. But I only see that happiness on the younger faces. The older children carry a burden – I can’t tell what it is.’

  ‘Do you actually see faces? Or is it more a feeling?’

  The cynic in me had long gone as far as Steven Terry was concerned. I was hanging on his every word.

  ‘It’s more of a sensation, Pete. It’s very strong in this building. I’d love to film my TV show here; I think we’d get a couple of episodes from it. What went on here?’

  I hadn’t revealed that yet. I wanted to see if Steven would sniff it out himself.

  ‘Let’s walk up the stairs,’ I suggested. ‘Alex and I never got that far.’

  Using the lights from our smart phones, we made our way up the wide stone staircase. As we entered the landing, it got lighter. The upstairs windows weren’t boarded up. I opened a few doors and we were able to switch off the flashlights.

  These rooms had to be bedrooms. Each room had a washbasin in it, and one or two had the frames of collapsed wooden beds. There was no ensuite in those days, and the toilets were accessed via the second-floor landing, girls on one side, boys on the other. It looked like the boys had the bedrooms on the right-hand side of this floor and the girls the ones on the left.

  Steven stopped dead again. I was getting accustomed to the drill now. All the good information would begin to flow soon after he stopped walking.

  ‘There was a demon in this place. Remember I told you last night about demons? They’re evil people. They can’t help themselves. They’re just pure evil. There was one here. The children lived in fear of him. So did the staff. I can still feel his presence here. He hasn’t been here for many years, but his scent still lingers for me.’

  He paused again. It was as if he had to sort it out in his own mind before he could communicate it to me.

  ‘Let’s walk into the rooms, Pete – see what’s there.’

  We walked in and out of the bedrooms. A shiver ran through me as we reached one on the boys’ side.

  ‘They’re here, Pete. They’re with us now.’

  ‘Who? Who’s with us?’ I asked, looking to see if Alex had joined us.

  ‘The boys. They used to share this room, the ones who hanged themselves. They’re with us now. They want us to carry on.’

  ‘I looked around. I couldn’t see anything.

  ‘Are they actually here with us now, at this moment?’

  ‘Yes and no, Pete. I feel them strongly. I can sense everything that happened in this room. It has been a happy place. There has been joy in this room. But it’s these boys whose mark has been left most strongly. They were wronged. I can sense only anger and despair. They felt helpless and trapped when they ended their lives.’

  I was completely gripped by what Steven was saying. Baloney or not, there was no way he could have known any of this information. It had to be for real, but my instincts kept telling me that it was impossible that he could see these ghosts. It was just too incredible for me.

  We walked across the landing. He was like a water diviner, sometimes he sensed something, most times he didn’t.

  We walked in and out of the girls’ rooms. He said nothing. I was beginning to think that that was all he was going to come up with. Then, without warning, we entered the last of the rooms on that side of the landing. I thought he was having a heart attack. He looked as if he was about to drop down on the floor.

  ‘What is it, Steven? Are you okay?’

  ‘Oh my dear God, Pete. Just give me a moment. I need to consider how to tell you this.’

  I looked at him. His face was white. I gave him time to recover, but I was desperate to hear what he had to say.

  ‘Two girls shared this room, Pete, two good friends. They were in love with the boys who killed themselves, or at least they thought they were.’

  This was of no particular interest to me, but I knew that I had to bide my time. There was more that he wanted to say. He started to speak again.

  ‘These girls shared many secrets, Pete. They were forever bound by the ties of their li
ves. But someone very dangerous has been in this room, Pete. She’s another demon. She’s one of your demons, Pete. You need to take great care.’

  Chapter Five

  1992 The Woodlands Edge children’s home was a quiet place for the next two weeks as the youngsters there adjusted to a second tragic death. Meg Stewart was inconsolable. It was only when she fainted one teatime that a medical examination revealed the truth about her health. Grieving turned to shock and gossip, and David’s death was quickly placed on the back burner as far as the residents were concerned. One of the girls had become pregnant, and she was below the legal age of consent.

  Gary was a man under siege. Not only had the home lost two children in a matter of weeks, it now had to face the ignominy of an underage pregnancy and the associated implication that the boys and girls in its care were perhaps less well supervised than they might be.

  It was never good when Gary was under pressure. He was curt with staff and dismissive of the youngsters, unless someone wearing a suit was visiting his establishment. Everyone kept their heads down. Tom did his work and stayed out of it. The task of removing the branch from which the boys had hanged themselves fell to him. He supervised the tree surgeon who came to saw off the branch, and he was pleased to see the back of it when it crashed to the ground. It had been one of the worst experiences of his life as he’d tried to support that young lad to keep him breathing if he was still alive, desperately crying out for help to get him cut down.

  Meg had suspected that something wasn’t quite right. She and David had found comfort together, so she knew what the changes in her body might be, yet she was terrified to admit it to herself. She prayed that the situation would somehow pass of its own accord. She knew that she would have to deal with Gary when the news came out, and she wanted to postpone that as long as possible.