The Girls In The Woods

Chapter 1

Annie Ashworth let out a sigh and turned on her side. The heat from the late afternoon sun was warming her skin and even though she’d tried her best to keep out of the direct sunlight she still had a warm, golden glow. Her husband, Will, had a deep, bronze tan, his normally clean-shaven chin was covered in dark stubble and his dark blond hair had lightened considerably with the sun. He looked the picture of complete health and happiness but she knew different. He was lying on his side with his back to her and her eyes fell on the angry, red scar which ran across his right kidney. It would take a long time for it to fade into oblivion and when it did she hoped the memories would go with it. She was so lucky he was still alive, that they both were.

She shivered at the thought of that man, Henry Smith, and his accomplice, Megan. What she would have given to have watched their bodies being brought up from the cellar of Beckett House in black body bags and wheeled out to the waiting private ambulances. But she’d had to go with Will; he had been so badly injured and she had needed to be by his side. Jake, her best friend and colleague, had stayed along with Cathy and Kav, their inspector and sergeant when they were both stationed back in Barrow, to watch on their behalf. They had brought Megan up first because her body had been the most straightforward to bag up. She’d fallen down the cellar steps from top to bottom at Beckett House and instantly broken her neck. Henry, though, had got what he deserved. That strange man/monster thing had sliced his throat open with its long sharp claws but not before Annie had watched the terror on Henry’s face as he had stuck his knife into its strange, grey body. Jake had told her when he came to see her in the hospital that even Matt the pathologist had been horrified to see the mess of blood and limbs. No one had ever seen anything like the strange creature that lived in the drains below Beckett House, and it had been badly injured by Henry because there had been a trail of blood which led to the huge drain in the corner of the cellar – but then it had disappeared. Search teams had been brought in with special infra red and thermal imaging cameras and apart from a trail of blood that stopped suddenly in the sewers there had been no trace of it. Annie suspected that it had gone deep underground to another lair and either died or gone into hibernation. She hoped for Martha Beckett’s sake that it had curled up and died. The last time she had spoken with the elderly woman she had arranged to have the drain filled in with concrete and the cellar door permanently sealed shut. She had told Annie about the long letter she had written detailing the history of the house and everything that had happened there. She had given it to her solicitor with strict instructions that when the day came that someone was eager enough to buy Beckett House they would be given a copy of the letter so they were fully aware of the circumstances. It had made Martha feel much better but Annie knew that the house would be snapped up by some property developer who wouldn’t be remotely interested in the letter or the history of Beckett House. They would turn it into luxury apartments and move on to the next project. Annie just hoped that history wouldn’t repeat itself and no one with small children moved in there. All of this had been kept hush, hush and out of the media for the sake of Martha who had kept the terrible secret of the thing hidden for years. One day they could make a film about what happened at Beckett House; it was that horrific no one would ever believe it was all true.

She picked up her Kindle. It was amazing how Will could lie there for hours and not get bored. Turning to face her he smiled as his hand reached out for hers and she held it tight. His fingers trailed across the baby bump and he let them rest there.

‘I thought you were asleep again.’

‘What do you mean, again?’ He opened one eye and winked at her, ‘I’m just making the most of the last day before we have to go back to reality. I’ve been thinking about it, and you know I’ll have to go back to work soon, don’t you?’

She nodded, wishing they could stay here – cocooned on this island for ever, away from the madness that seemed to take over their lives on a regular basis.

‘I know you do, but are you ready to go back? I mean they couldn’t exactly say no if you had a bit longer off, could they? You almost…’

She couldn’t say the words because it set her heart racing every time she thought about what had happened at the Lake House where she’d almost lost him.

‘I think I’m ready, Annie. As much as I love spending time with you I’m getting a bit fidgety, restless. I need to be doing something a bit more challenging with my life than pottering around pretending everything is okay.’

She knew how he felt – she was on restricted duties because she was six months pregnant and she was bored, bored, bored. Although she was glad to be away from the prying eyes of the public and every weirdo that seemed to be attracted to her, she still liked to do her job.

‘If you’re ready that’s fine; I’m just being completely selfish but I love having you around. Although I suppose you’re bound to start getting on my nerves sooner or later.’

She winked at him and he shoved her arm. Jumping up he bent down and kissed her lips then he moved further down and kissed her swollen stomach.

‘I thought I was already getting on your nerves; you were a right grump before we came on holiday.’

‘Well, maybe just a little; you know I like my own space and I was getting fed up of doing nothing myself. But I’ve forgiven you because you brought me here.’

‘So it was a good choice coming here?’

‘Yes, probably the best idea you’ve ever had apart from marrying me. I’d never even thought about Hawaii until you showed it to me on the internet. It’s so perfect, just how I imagined paradise to be. Could you imagine living here? It must be so wonderful.’

He smiled and she knew that he loved to please her and she also knew she was very lucky that both of them were still alive to be here enjoying this perfect holiday.

‘Come on, how about we take a dip then go and get ready for tea?’

She held her hand out for him to pull her up, tucking her Kindle under her towel.

‘I’m starving.’

Will laughed, ‘Funnily enough I thought you might say that; after all it’s been, what, two hours since you last ate?’

‘You know I’m feeding for two; it’s the only time I’ll ever have an excuse to eat what I want without worrying.’

‘You could eat for three for all I care; as long as you’re happy then so am I.’

They walked hand in hand towards the crystal blue ocean which was gently lapping at the sand. She didn’t hear her phone which was at the bottom of her beach bag ringing; she’d switched it to silent – in fact she hadn’t bothered to look at it for days. She wasn’t bothered about telling the whole world on Facebook what she was doing every single second of the day, unlike most of her friends. They walked into the water, which made her yelp at the coldness. Will began to splash around and she sank into the water and began swimming, relishing the sudden change in temperature which cooled her warm skin. Further down she could see the beach was full of people but their hotel had its own private beach which was never busy. Even their ground-floor room had sliding patio doors which looked out onto a lush green lawn, with palm trees towering above to provide shade from the constant heat. It also had the shortest walk to the Pacific Ocean she could imagine. When Will had booked this holiday he had thought about everything, knowing that if it was hot she wouldn’t feel like walking far. Her phone kept on ringing in the bottom of her bag but oblivious to it she began to swim towards the floating sundeck not far from the shore, to work up an appetite before they went back to get ready to go out and make the most of their last evening together in paradise.

Chapter 2

Matilda Graham had finally plucked up the courage after dithering for days and told her mum, Lisa, she was going with a friend for a job interview at a hotel in Bowness. She had known she’d object to it because she always did.

‘How ridiculous – you can’t drive, Tilly. How on earth do you expect to get up to Bowness day in day out and home again? It’s at least a thirty-minute drive there and back on a good day, without traffic or bad weather.’

‘It’s not ridiculous, Mum. They might let me live in – and if not I’m pretty sure Aunty Annie would let me stay with her. She has plenty of room in that big house and I wouldn’t get in her way. She wouldn’t mind at all.’

‘No, she might not mind but I certainly would; you never know who’s going to turn up knocking on her door. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Yorkshire bloody Ripper decided to pay her a visit.’

And so it had continued for the next ten minutes until Tilly had stormed out of the kitchen and up to her bedroom, slamming the door for good measure. They hadn’t spoken for the rest of the afternoon and when Ben arrived home Lisa was drinking her second glass of wine. He walked in, looked at the half-empty bottle of Chardonnay on the table and nodded.

‘Rough day?’

‘You could say that. Your daughter has got it into her head she can go for a job interview at some hotel in Bowness and live and work up there – for Christ’s sake, she can’t even keep her bedroom tidy.’

‘It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard, Lisa. At least she’s looking for a job.’

‘Are you having a laugh, Ben. She said if the hotel won’t let her live in then she’ll go and stop with your Annie. Which is never a good idea. I love your sister to bits but she has more nutters and serial killers chasing her than the bloody detectives on the television. No, it’s not a good idea at all – and you should go upstairs and tell her that.’

‘Yes, you’re right about Annie but she’s pregnant now and that man who was stalking her is dead. For all we know it’s not as if Tilly will even get the job; the least you can do is let her go there and have an interview. It will be good experience for her and if she does get it then we’ll discuss what’s going to happen then. How does that sound?’

‘Fucking ridiculous, Ben. The day you actually stand by me and my opinions I’ll probably drop dead with shock. Do what you want, but I’m not being a part of it. You can tell her and if anything bad happens then on your head be it.’

She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. Ben walked across and kissed his wife’s forehead, then he sighed. All he seemed to do lately was try to keep the peace between them but it was getting more difficult each day. Then he went upstairs to talk to his daughter, who had music blasting from her room so loud the floor was vibrating underneath his feet. No doubt it had been to drown out the noise of him and Lisa arguing. Tilly hated it when they argued, which seemed to be an awful lot lately. What she didn’t realise was that she was the cause of most of the arguments. He’d never imagined teenage girls could be such hard work.

He knocked on her door and waited for her to open it. She did and he followed her inside and sat on the end of her bed.

‘God, she told you to say no, didn’t she?’

Ben nodded. ‘Tilly I can understand where your mum is coming from. She’s only worried about you.’

‘No, she isn’t. She doesn’t want me to have a life – she wants me to be stuck in this crap town for ever and pregnant before I’m twenty-one. For God’s sake it’s only an interview, I probably won’t even get the job.’

‘When is it?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘How are you going to get there? Me and your mum are both at work, you know that.’

‘I’m not an idiot, Dad. I can get the bus or a train – and besides, Gemma is coming with me and her mum who isn’t a total psycho might be taking us yet.’

Ben started to laugh. ‘All right, you can go, but if you get stranded make sure you phone one of us, okay.’

‘Thank you, Dad, I promise I will. You do both realise I’m almost eighteen, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but you have to realise that whether you’re eighteen or fifty-eight you’re still our little girl and we’ll always worry about you.’

She rolled her eyes and lifted two fingers to her head, pretending to shoot herself.

‘Very funny. Now make sure you look smart and don’t be cheeky when they ask you straightforward questions. Look them in the eye and do your best to answer them.’

‘Argh, Dad, get out. Now you’re just being insulting.’

He stood up and grinned.

‘Just checking. Oh, and I wouldn’t mention that you’re allergic to the hoover or washing machine either.’

He walked out and as she shut the door behind him, she felt her stomach churn. She didn’t care about lying to her mum but she hated lying to her dad. But hopefully he’d never find out. She only had to meet the photographer, have her photoshoot and then come home again. Tilly had found his details through Facebook. Some of her friends had liked his page so she’d clicked on it and had been impressed with some of the photographs. There were lots of prom photographs and a few before and after makeovers; one of the women had looked like an old dog before so he must be good to have taken the after photo where she looked quite nice. There was a voucher on there for a free photoshoot, no obligation to buy the photos if you didn’t like them. He sounded perfect and he didn’t look like some sort of major pervert. He wasn’t based in Barrow, he was in Hawkshead – which was a bit far away and trickier to get to – but she could do it. There was a bus route and if she got stuck she could go and see Annie for a lift home. She would tell them she didn’t like the manager at the hotel and didn’t want to work there anyway, so that would put an end to this argument. Then hopefully she would be able to send off her portfolio to the modelling agencies in Manchester and London. Her mum would have a complete shit fit when she found out that she wanted to move away to a city, but she wouldn’t be able to stop her once she was eighteen. She would be able to do whatever she wanted and get out of this dead-end town. The last three years she had done nothing but dream about becoming a model and living a far more glamorous life than the one she did now. If she didn’t try she’d never know, and would spend the rest of her life regretting it.

Chapter 3

Joanne Tyson opened her eyes and wondered why she was lying on a damp, hard, concrete floor. For a moment she didn’t have a clue as she blinked and her vision semi-cleared, then she remembered exactly where she was. One eye was swollen shut and she opened her good eye; he had gone, she couldn’t hear him stomping around. Which was good. She tried to sit up but felt queasy and lightheaded; he’d managed to really do some damage this time. Joanne wondered what it was she’d said to make him fly off the handle; she thought back but couldn’t think of anything that had warranted him giving her a black eye and knocking her unconscious. He was getting much worse – for a while everything had seemed okay and he seemed to have forgotten about using her as a punching bag, but lately… She shuddered. Well, lately it was getting more painful to be around him. The floor was freezing and she remembered where she was – she had come into the garage to ask him if he wanted some dinner, and he’d flipped. Now here she was. She heard his heavy footsteps as he came back through the door and walked towards her. She sat up, tucking her knees under her chin and wrapping her arms around them. She felt the air cool as his dark shadow loomed over her and she flinched once more; he bent down and stroked her head.

‘I’m so sorry, Jo, I didn’t mean it. You caught me off guard – you know I don’t like you coming in here when I’m working. It puts me off my stride; if you put me off I lose my momentum, then I can’t get it back – and the bills won’t pay themselves, will they?’

She whispered, ‘I’m sorry, I forgot. I just wanted to see you. I get so bored on my own all day.’

He reached down and stroked her hair like she was some kind of pet dog. ‘I’m nearly done for now. How about you go and clean yourself up and I’ll come inside, make us both a sandwich?’

He reached down, putting his hands under her arms, then pulled her to her feet. He brushed her down and she had to stop herself from flinching at his touch. Keeping her one good eye on the ground, she didn’t look across at the bank of steel fridges that were now lined against the back wall. She remembered now that she had stared at them when she’d come in and that had been why he’d hit her. She’d never seen them before and wondered why he wanted those monstrosities, which looked like something out of a television morgue. He must have seen the shock on her face and that was when he’d hit her. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. They weren’t morgue fridges. What would her husband want with second-hand fridges that had been used to store dead bodies in? It wasn’t right and he had no use for them – he was a photographer, not a pathologist. Maybe they were for keeping his equipment in, or something to do with developing his films. She pushed all thoughts of them to the back of her mind and stored them in the little black box where she kept the flashbacks of the kicks and punches he had hurt her with previously. She would lock them away and forget about them. She had no right prying into his business. If she kept out of here and did as she was told then he would be happy with her. She cursed herself under her breath. What on earth had she been thinking, coming in here?

She walked out of the garage, through his workshop and out through the studio, keeping her head down. He had been so busy lately and she had been so restless it had seemed like a good idea to come and see him. He hadn’t hit her for at least six weeks; what a fool she was, thinking that once again he had realised how cruel he was being to her and was a changed man – the same old stupid dream which had kept her going year after year. It was never going to come true. Now they were back at square one; she wouldn’t be able to go out of the house until the swelling had gone down and it was the height of summer, the weather was glorious. She supposed she could potter around the garden and there was nothing stopping her walking through the woods at the back of the house, although she didn’t really like them. On the rare occasions she’d gone walking out there she had always felt as if someone was hiding in the trees watching her and it freaked her out even though she knew it was just her imagination running wild. She didn’t need to go into the village really; it was easy to do an online shop now that every supermarket did home delivery, and the swelling would go down before she knew it. She went straight to the downstairs cloakroom to look at her reflection in the mirror. Her swollen eye was already turning blue; she’d never learn. Running the cold water tap she put the flannel underneath it, wrung it out, then sat down on the toilet and pressed it against her eyelid. ‘Ouch.’ She stayed that way until she heard the loud footsteps coming down the hallway towards the toilet. They paused outside the door and she felt a cold shiver run down the entire length of her spine, making her drop the flannel into the sink. She picked up a towel and patted the water from her cheek.

‘I’m coming, sorry, I won’t be a minute.’

Then she flushed the toilet, blew her nose and opened the door. There wasn’t anybody outside; she could have sworn she’d heard him walking towards the bathroom door. She looked around, not daring to call his name in case it made him angry again. Maybe she’d knocked her head when she hit the floor and was hearing things. Turning to wring out the flannel and fold it up, she put it back so it didn’t look untidy. She glanced into the mirror one last time, and screamed. There was a much younger woman watching her from inside the glass. Her face was pale, with huge dark circles under her eyes. Her long dark hair hung around her face and the left side of her head was covered in thick, almost black, dried blood. Part of her skull was showing where the flesh had been eaten away. Jo gasped and stepped away from the mirror; terrified the woman was behind her, she turned to look… but there was no one there. She looked back at the mirror, hoping she had gone – but the woman was still watching her. The fear which filled Jo’s heart was different to anything she’d ever felt. It was a cold, creeping feeling, like her entire body was freezing itself from the inside out. The woman in the mirror watched Jo for a little while longer then lifted her hands, which were bruised purple and black, and slammed them against the glass of the cabinet. The glass bent with the force of the blow and Jo turned and ran, expecting it to shatter everywhere. Slamming the door behind her she ran into the kitchen to see him coming through the door which led from his studio.

‘What’s the matter with you? You’ve gone white.’

Instead of telling him like she wanted to, like she should have been able to, she shook her head and tried her very best to make her voice not shake.

‘Nothing, sorry, I just gave myself a bit of a fright.’

He looked her up and down.

‘Well, that’s hardly a surprise. I mean you’ve had better days. Have you looked in the mirror lately?’

She bit her lip. Yes, she bloody well had and the mirror had looked back at her. Who was that girl and how did she get in there? It wasn’t possible – that mirror was hung on a plasterboard wall, and on the opposite side of that wall was the garage, so there was no way someone could have been standing there watching. Her heart was racing. All she wanted to do was go outside and get some fresh air, get away from this house, from him. But thanks to him and his twitchy fists she couldn’t even do that. Willing herself to calm down before he got angry again she opened the cupboard and took a loaf of bread out. He walked across and took the bread from her.

‘Sit down. I told you I’ll make lunch. I have no idea what is going on with you but you need to sort yourself out.’

She sat down, crossing her hands so he wouldn’t notice how much they were trembling. Then she began to recite a prayer in her mind over and over again. She didn’t know if she had really seen that woman or whether she was hallucinating because of the knock to her head, but she prayed to God to make it all go away. Her gran had been a very spiritual woman and when Jo had been little she would watch her through the crack in the curtains which separated Gran’s front room from the living room. Her gran would have people come around for readings, or to speak to their dearly departed. They’d sit around the small round table in the front room and dim the lights, the glow from the candle making them all seem very eerie. Jo’s mum didn’t believe in any of it and once, when her gran had told Jo she had the gift and one day she would be able to do what she did, Jo had gone home crying and her mum had gone mad. She’d stormed round to her gran’s house – which was a few doors up the street from them – and told her not to scare Jo and to keep her rubbish to herself. Jo’s mum never believed any of it and Jo definitely never believed in anything remotely paranormal; she hated horror films, much preferring to watch a nice feel-good film where the girl always got the guy and he would turn out to be the kind of man every woman fantasised about. No, her own life was a big enough horror story – so she didn’t want to add any further distress to it than she had to.

He slid a sandwich across the table to her and she thanked him, not wanting to eat because she felt sick, but not daring to turn it down because he would go mad at her for wasting his time and food – so she picked it up and began to nibble on it. He began to chatter away; when he did occasionally talk to her there was no stopping him, but today she couldn’t be bothered. Her eye was throbbing and her head hurt, not to mention that her heart was having palpitations because she couldn’t get the image of the woman from the mirror out of her mind. Jo wanted to scream at him to shut up; she wanted to pick up one of the pans from the hanging rack and smack him across the head with it to see how he liked it, give him a taste of his own medicine. Instead she listened to him going on about what a fabulous photographer he was and how he had this idea for a great project, something which no modern day photographer had ever done. She nodded and agreed with him whenever she thought it was necessary, anything to keep the peace and stop the pain.

When she looked up from her plate to face him, she felt her blood freeze. The rack of pans which hung down from the ceiling behind him was moving. The pans were swaying from side to side; they were heavy-based copper pans which she struggled to lift most of the time so how they were moving like that was beyond her. She glanced across at the window to see if it was open and letting in a breeze but it was shut tight, as were all the doors. Even if she did leave the windows and doors open she had never seen them all move like this all at the same time, ever. He looked at her.

‘What the hell is the matter with you today? What are you looking at?’

Jo shook her head.

‘Nothing. I don’t feel well. I must have banged my head when I fell over in the garage.’

She emphasised the ‘I’, careful not to accuse or throw any blame his way – even though it was completely his fault. The pans were still moving behind him. Why weren’t they making a noise? They should have been clanging together but they weren’t. She began to cough, choking on a bite of her sandwich, and the breath that came out of her mouth was surrounded by a plume of white smoke as if it was a crisp, frosty December day – not the end of August. He looked at her as if she was mad, shoved the last of his sandwich in his mouth, then stood up to go back to his studio.

‘I have clients in this afternoon Jo. I do not want you to come in or disturb me – do you understand?’

She nodded her head. She was going to go upstairs and lie down.

‘Good, I’m glad we cleared that up – because if you disturb me again when you’ve been told not to, I’ll fucking kill you.’

And with that he walked out of the door, turning the key in the lock from his side. She looked up at the pans which were now still, then towards the door that he’d just locked. Putting the plate on the side she stood up and forced her hand to reach up and touch one of the pans; her fingers brushed against the cold metal and she pulled back – it felt as if it had been in the freezer for an hour. She turned and stumbled her way upstairs to her bedroom… she needed to lie down. She wasn’t well at all.