Once his bag was packed, he left, walking to the end of the road with no idea where to go next. He could hide in the train station, sneak on-board and hope they didn’t ask for tickets. And if they did? He decided on hitchhiking, let fate decide where he ended up. He stuck his thumb out, almost as a test to prove nobody picked up hitchhikers anymore but a car pulled up seconds later. A middle aged woman undid the window and leaned over towards him. “Where you headed?”
“That way,” he replied, pointing down the road.
“Climb in.”
By the end of the day he’d been in five different cars, each one picking him up almost as soon as he stepped out onto the pavement from the previous one. It was like a personal taxi service, taking him further and further away from his past. He didn’t know it but if his journey had been marked on a map, it would have shown him moving slowly but surely towards Seaford, towards the person who wanted him there. He was dropped off on Seaford promenade just as the sun disappeared for the night.
He’d never seen the sea before and was impressed just by the sight of it. Even in the cold and grey of the encroaching darkness, it looked enormous. He breathed in the salty air as the cold wind hit him. Pulling his jacket tightly round his neck, he was about to turn away when the impulse to walk onto the beach hit him first. Why not see what the sand felt like under his feet? He walked down the promenade steps onto the narrow strip of sand, the waves slamming into each other a few feet away, spray hitting his face. He found himself thinking about his dad, wondering where he was, whether it would be possible to track him down and live with him.
“Beautiful night isn’t it?”
He turned to find himself looking at a man in a long black coat. Where had he come from?
“Sorry?”
“The sea always make me feel quite…insignificant. It eats away at the cliffs round here, reclaiming more land with every high tide. Seeing such power at work, how could people ever hope to defy such raw strength? Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yeah whatever. Look, I should be going.” Tim took a step backwards. “My mum will be wondering where I am.”
“I bet she will. She lives round here does she?”
Tim felt tense, unsure why he was asking. “Yeah, just over there.”
“Really? What street?”
“Erm, Westbourne Grove.” That sounded real enough.
“That’s strange. I could have sworn she lived in Leeds. My mistake. Well off you go then.”
Tim turned to walk away.
“But,” the man continued, “if for any reason you can’t find a Westbourne Grove round here, you’re welcome in my church anytime. It’s up there on the cliff top.”
“What-?”
“Oh, I’ve seen more than a few runaways in my time. I always feel so sorry for them, all alone in this world just like me.” The man leaned down, staring into Tim’s eyes. “I’ll see you soon Timothy.”
Tim hurried back up the steps to the prom. He looked back at the man. Was he the local vicar? He didn’t look suspicious anymore, just a man looking out at the sea.
As the night drew on the temperature dropped further and Tim shivered as he walked round the town centre, hoping to find somewhere to spend the night. The library was still open so he stayed there for as long as he could, leaning on the radiator in the children’s section. When they began to lock up, he forced himself back out into the cold. Only the pubs seemed open at this point and he had no doubt they’d throw him out if he even set foot inside.
Walking past the park, he considered finding a bench in there but one look into the darkness within convinced him it was a bad idea. Eventually he found himself back on the promenade, looking north to see lights twinkling on the clifftop above the town. Was that the church the man had mentioned?
He tried settling down against the seawall but the blasting wind was relentless and within minutes his limbs felt like ice, his eyes stinging as he got back to his feet again. In the end he decided even a church was better than nothing so made his way to the end of the prom and onto the grass at the end.
A well-worn path led him up the hill towards the church. He reached the gate a few minutes later and pulled it open, the graves silently watching him as he took hold of the door handle and turned it slowly, surprised to feel a waft of heat drifting out towards him.
The vicar was waiting inside, lighting a candle at the altar. He turned when he saw Tim. “Come on in. I’m glad you made your mind up. How was Westbourne Grove?”
Tim burst into tears, the emotions hidden inside him coming bubbling uncontrollably to the surface. The vicar walked over and put an arm round him, bringing him to sit on a pew. “It’s all right now,” the vicar said. “Come on, tell me everything.”
Tim found himself blurting out half his life story. The beatings from his mother, her lies when his father asked about his bruises, the divorce, running away, everything. When he’d finished he sat there, sobbing quietly, feeling very lonely and cold and alone.
“So nobody knows you’re here?” the vicar asked, his arm still round Tim’s shoulder.
“No. You won’t tell anyone will you?”
“Of course not, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. But it’s getting late and you must be hungry. Would you like something to eat?”
Tim nodded, seeing no need to mention the food in his rucksack if there was the chance of a free meal.
“Well that’s lucky,” the vicar continued, “as I was about to eat and I made far too much. I’d hate for it to go to waste. Wait there.”
The vicar stood up and walked through a side door, reappearing a moment later with a plate piled high with a roast dinner, steam rising from the food as Tim’s eyes widened.
“Tuck in,” the vicar said, passing him a knife and fork.
Tim balanced the plate on his lap as he ate the first hot meal he’d had since last attending school. The food burnt a fiery path down to his stomach as he wolfed it down but he didn’t stop until the plate was scraped clean. It was an odd feeling, having a full stomach was not something he’d ever experienced before, uncomfortable but satisfying at the same time. He let out a belch and looked up, expecting to be admonished, but the vicar didn’t seem to mind.
“How was that?”
“Great.” He paused. “Thanks. Is there any more?”
The vicar threw his head back and laughed loudly, the sound echoing round the church. “Priceless. Any more? I can imagine a condemned man asking the very same question during his last meal. How would you feel if that was your last meal?”
“What?” Tim frowned, the question making him feel uneasy.
“Nothing. Never mind. Now if you like I could offer you a place to stay for the night.”
Tim nodded, his eyes beginning to close, the good food combining with the warm air to make him feel groggy and desperate for sleep.
“Excellent. Are you all right to walk there? I’m afraid I don’t drive. Don’t worry. It’s not far.”
He opened the church door and Tim followed him out. They walked down to the prom, the vicar leading the way in silence. Tim had to jog to keep up and by the time they reached the entrance to the park, he was feeling decidedly queasy.
“It’s just in here,” the vicar said, taking Tim by the arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “Don’t want to lose you in the dark,” he smiled.
They headed into the park, climbing a gentle hill before descending on the other side. The street lights that had been visible behind them vanished and Tim began to feel uneasy.
“I know it’s a bit spooky,” the vicar said, seeming to read his mind. “But it’s the quickest way. Nearly there.”
They walked into a line of trees and Tim stumbled over the weeds at his feet. What the hell was he thinking? He was in a park in the pitch black with a complete stranger and nobody knew where he was. He had to get out of here.
He turned to run but the vicar’s grip on his arm grew stronger. “Not thinking of going anywhere are you Tim?”
“Let go of my arm!” Tim tried to yank it free as the vicar’s nails began to dig into his flesh.
“Why would I do that?” the vicar said, kneeling down in front of him, “I thought you wanted somewhere to stay.”
“What? Help me someone!” he yelled, trying to escape.
The vicar slapped him across the face making him gasp. “You ungrateful little brat. I give you warmth, I give you food. I offer you a home and you throw it back in my face?”
“Help!” Tim screamed as loudly as he could, the sound echoing back to him from the surrounding trees, sounding like a mocking retort.
“Listen to me Timothy,” the vicar said, shaking him by the shoulders. “I brought you here for a reason and do you want to know why? It’s because you won’t be missed.”
Tim screamed again as he felt a second pair of hands on his shoulders. Someone was standing behind him.
“Who’s there? Help me please. He’s going to kill me!”
There was a laugh from whoever it was. He felt his body being forced downwards towards the grass. But the grass wasn’t there. There was a perfect circle of blackness in the ground by his face. “What the hell’s that?” he asked, fighting ineffectually to free himself, wishing he’d never left home. Even his mother would have been better than this.
“Your new home,” the voice behind him said. He felt a shove in the small of his back and then he was sliding into the blackness. He fell down the shaft into the earth, landing with a splash in the murky water below. He felt a snap as his leg broke and he screamed louder than ever. He looked up to see the silhouette of two faces peering down at him.
He scrambled backwards through the water as the two people climbed down the ladder towards him. “Make yourself at home,” the vicar said as Tim tried and failed to get to his feet. “I think you’ll like it in here.”
The other man was still hidden in the darkness. He could hear him splashing through the water but whichever way he looked he could see nothing. Suddenly there was hot breath on the back of his neck. A hand went over his mouth and he bit down on it, not stopping until he felt bone. The man behind him never made a sound, even as blood ran into Tim’s mouth.
“You see Timothy,” the vicar said, his eyes two glistening balls of red in the dark, “The lifeblood of a town is people. People like you. The pathetic, the abandoned, the useless.”
The hand tore free from his teeth. He’d barely had time to open his mouth to take a breath before he saw the vicar’s face looming towards him. Something was inside the vicar’s mouth, something that moved and writhed in the gloom, lit only by the dark light of the vicar’s eyes.
The man behind him held him still as the vicar leaned closer still, inhaling deeply. Tim’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he descended into merciful sleep, unaware until it was too late that the thing inside the vicar’s mouth was tearing the skin from his face.
9
It happened near the golf hut. That was why Andrew thought Elmo had done it at first. Afterwards he hated seeing the golf hut and was glad to see it finally demolished when Elmo died. Even now he only had to smell a cigar to be back in time.
Nobody knew the guy’s real name. They all called him Elmo but nobody seemed to know why. He was a huge blob of a man who wore the same outfit every day, a brown woollen jumper covered in stains, a flat cap wedged on his greasy hair, a cigar permanently glued to the corner of his mouth. He only ever came out of the hut to cut the grass in the park on a ride on mower, the rest of the time he sat in there, leaning out over the counter, glaring at anyone who walked past.
There’d been a rumour that he’d caught some kid nicking sweets from in there once and the child had vanished, the chopped up pieces later found in the compost pile behind the hut. It was one of those stories that nobody really believed but then nobody ever stole from him either, just in case.
He only reined in his feelings when he smelt money. Andrew hated even having to talk to him but he had no choice. He had the cheapest junk food in Seaford. Some of it was more than a bit dodgy, foreign writing on the packaging, years beyond their sell by date but that didn’t matter to Andrew. It tasted good and if it wasn’t for all the sugar and E-numbers he’d never have been able to cope with school.
After making his obligatory morning purchase Andrew would walk through the park towards the school, hoping he was early enough to get over the bridge without any trouble.
The entrance to the school was at the top of the park. A gap in the wall there led to a concrete path that curved down the hill to the bridge. Surrounded by hedges on either side, the bridge, was the only way over the river and up to the school. Some days Andrew was early enough to walk across the empty bridge. Most days he wasn’t so unfortunate.
There were a group of older boys who were there most mornings, in no rush to head up the hill to start lessons. They’d straddle the railings on either side of the bridge and he hated them. Every time they were there he had to run a gauntlet of abuse both verbal and physical. He’d been pushed back into the park before, even forced into the river once and all the while other kids would pass through, never intervening, never standing up for him.
The kids didn’t sum up Seaford for him, neither did Elmo. Mr Bridges represented the entire town in his eyes. He’d stand by the school gates looking down at him but never getting involved, never stopping them, just watching. The whole town seemed to be like that at times, never interfering when bad things happened.
The older kids were in the park when Caroline was attacked but he knew it wasn’t them. They were in sight the entire time. That was why he thought it was Elmo. But now he’d heard Marie’s story about her fourteenth he wasn’t so sure.
It was only a few months after her birthday and they were gathered in the park by the big willow tree, the one with the trunk that lay parallel to the ground as if it should be dead already. Some people were lounging along the trunk, others sat on the grass passing bottles of cider around.
At the far side of the group were the older boys. Andrew wondered if they’d been invited or if they’d just shown up. One of them kept looking at him but he refused to make eye contact, wanting to avoid trouble.
Caroline stood up. “I’m going to piss,” she said. “Or throw up, not sure which.” She walked unsteadily away from the group.
There were a few giggles as she went. Ten minutes passed and she still hadn’t returned. Nobody else seemed to care but Andrew. He climbed to his feet to look for her, walking the way she’d gone.
“Caroline?” he called out, scanning the bushes beside him. “Are you all right?”
There was no answer so he kept moving. He could hear the group laughing and talking behind him and he was about to give up looking when he heard a rustling sound to his left. There was a thick patch of thorns down there. Below it was a low gap where rabbits or foxes had worn a path into the undergrowth. Andrew stuck his head into the gap, feeling ridiculous. “Caroline? Are you in here?”
There was another noise, this time sounding like a muffled cry. Flicking his lighter he held it to the ground, noticing a footprint in the mud. Laying on his front, he began to crawl under the thorns, moving forwards until he reached an opening surrounded by more thorns. He was able to raise himself to his knees here and called out again. “Caroline?”
There was a movement to his right and he flicked the lighter again. It was a foot, kicking upwards. Pushing aside thorns he saw who it was. Caroline was laid on her back and a figure in a hood was hunched over her.
“What the fuck?” Andrew said. The figure froze at the sound of his voice, turning to look at him as a breeze caught the flame and blew it out. By the time he flicked it on again, the figure had gone, crashing through the undergrowth. Caroline sat up and looked at him, tears streaming down her face.
“Are you all right?” he asked as she threw her arms round him. “What the hell happened?”
She looked across at him and a veil seemed to form over her expression, as
if she was a robot shutting down. “Promise me you’ll keep this to yourself,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “Please. For me.”
“What?”
“Promise me.”
“What did I see? Who was that?”
“Nobody.” She pulled her hand away and began crawling back out from the bushes. He followed her in silence, getting to his feet in time to see her already heading back to the group. He stood watching her go, unable to move.
“You can’t be serious?” Marie said, looking across the café table at Andrew as rain splattered against the window behind him. “What the hell happened?”
“Nothing. She made me promise.”
“But what the fuck? She was attacked twice?”
He shrugged. “Maybe more. Who knows?”
“But who was he?”
“For a while I thought it was Elmo.”
“The golf guy? No, I’d have known if it was him.”
Andrew suddenly wanted to leave Seaford and never come back. He’d wanted to get away from his thoughts and reminisce about the good times but now all he wanted was to see Caroline again, to tell her he loved her, that it was all going to be okay. It felt like a thick cloud of polluting but invisible smog was coating the entire town. He looked down at his watch. “I think I’m going to get going. Do you want a lift back to your car?”
“All right but listen-“
Andrew scraped back his chair, almost running to the door. “I’ve got to go. Are you coming or not?”
They ran through the rain to his car, big fat droplets hitting the windscreen as Andrew started the engine. He’d barely set off when they were forced to stop. A large yellow ‘Diversion’ sign had been placed in the road. Beside it a red one declared ‘Road Closed – Flood.’
“That’s just great,” Andrew said, turning the car round and driving north from the prom. They turned another corner only to find another closed road.
Night Terrors: 16 Horror Stories Page 15
