by M. L. Rayner
“Oh, nothing. Just plenty of weeds to pull, that’s all. They certainly sprout up everywhere don’t they?”
“They’re my wild flowers.”
“Oh.”
“I’m going for the wild look… can’t you tell? Rather happy with it, too, as a matter of fact.”
Helen drops the hose and places her hands to her mouth in embarrassment.
“Oh, Jackie, I’m truly sorry,” she said, presenting a sympathetic smile.
“Forget it, Helen,” replies Jack, looking at the skin of his wrist. “My, is that the time? I must dash.”
His back is already turned by the time he’s finished speaking.
“No problem,” calls Mrs Prowes. “Have a splendid day, despite all the upset, that is.”
Jack stops in the doorway, rolls his eyes and steps back to the path.
“Upset, Helen?”
She quickly peers up from her flowerbed.
“Yes, you know, all that nastiness.”
“Nastiness?”
“Yes, such unpleasant business.”
Is she taking the piss!
“Unpleasant business, Helen? You might have to help me out a little.”
She pierces her trowel into the soil and removes a single gardening glove.
“You haven’t heard, Jackie?”
“It’s Jack, Helen. And no, clearly I haven’t.”
“That young child vanishing in the woods.”
Jack’s face scrunches.
“Woods? What woods? Around here?”
“No, up north. It’s that big wilderness estate,” Helen replies, trying to think of the name while snapping her fingers.
“Sleathton?” asks Jack.
“Yes! That’s the place,” continues Helen. “They’ve just built that new village up there. Typical a child should wander off. I can’t believe you haven’t heard. It’s been on the news for days. Do you not watch the news?”
Jack delays his response. “Uh… not really, Helen.”
The woman tiptoes over to her door step and walks back quickly.
“Here,” she says, passing Jack a folded newspaper. “It’s all in there. Apparently, there was a spot of bother around the same area some years back.”
Jack looks at the folded paper then at Mrs Prowes.
“A spot of bother?”
“Why, yes,” said Helen, moving in closer for the whisper. “Bodies… and a few so I’ve read.”
Jack grips the folded paper and begins to roll it in his hands.
“I’ve gotta go, Helen.”
*
On the coffee table in front of him, the newspaper remains folded. Jack sits nervously on the edge of his seat, both hands clamped harshly around the back of his neck. He reaches out but hesitates, as though the printed ink may bite.
Just read it, he thinks, trying to steady his pounding heart.
Jack straightens the paper with the flick of his wrist, licking his thumb and skipping immediately to the headlines. He stops when he catches sight of the title and anxiously begins to read.
Child Missing.
Last seen in New Thyme village.
Deep within the ever-growing wilderness estate of Sleathton, the small resettlement of New Thyme has been struck by horror this past week, due to the disappearance of a local minor. Eight-year-old Olivia Maud Bradwell was last seen wandering the outskirts of the small village community six days prior. We have been given reason to believe that no sightings have been reported since. For the past several days the local authorities have conducted around the clock sweeps of the estate, many men, women, and even children volunteering in an effort to find the missing girl and safely bring her home. The child’s mother attended a brief press conference at Divisional Police Headquarters when she appealed for anyone with information to come forward.
Spokesman: Sergeant F. Hall.
“It is in desperate times such as these that the power and faith of the community is tested. Should anyone believe they can help and who are willing to aid us in this investigation, please do so. Your supportive efforts will go towards finding young Olivia and putting an end to the family’s suffering.
“I would like to express that at this particular time, the disappearance of Miss Bradwell is still currently being processed as a missing person’s case. We have no supporting evidence to suspect any kind of foul play. Nor do we believe that Miss Bradwell is a runaway. I will ask, if anyone has any information, regardless of how small, to please come forward and contact your local authorities. It just might save a life. Thank you.”
All villages hold their secrets, and the nestled hamlet of New Thyme is no exception. During the course of the early 1950’s, the village itself was abandoned after a number of questionable disappearances that were never solved. It wasn’t until the summer of 1986, that a widespread investigation struck our television sets, shocking the world after a number of unidentified bodies were recovered with the assistance of three young boys. The three young adults, who happened to be completing a full circuit course of the estate, claimed to have witnessed the cause of the horrific events, lending new light to the investigation. After a period of several months the case unfortunately turned cold. And by the autumn of 1987, a press release followed stating that there was no choice but to close all investigations for lack of evidence.
Now, thirty-nine years later, the vast estate of Sleathton finds its new victim hidden somewhere below the treetops. Let us hope that with the combined efforts of Police and public coming together as one, the young Olivia Bradwell will soon be found safe. And in doing so, it will put to bed the trend of regular occurrences that has haunted the village of New Thyme throughout the decades.
Jack folds the paper, placing it gently on the table. He feels sick, his mind swimming in memories of the nightmare he endured, the memories he was warned never to speak of. He sits back in deep thought, both hands tingling as though they have fallen asleep.
They’ll never find her.
No matter how he tries to calm himself, or how many times his mind attempts to stray, the thought spinning round his head remains the same.
They’ll never find her.
He thinks of that place. The gruelling darkness that entraps him every night as soon as he closes his eyes to sleep. He senses the fear as though he’s back there right now, forcing him to feel just like a child. On the table, the front cover of the paper shows a colour image of a girl grinning at him. He has seen her before, in a dream perhaps?
Jack holds up the image. The picture itself shows the youngster at what could only be guessed as a children’s birthday party. She wears a pointy hat, held on her head by a single string of elastic. In her hand, she poses with one of those party blowers at the ready to bring it to her lips.
She certainly is beautiful, he thinks, his arm veins visibly twitching.
Standing, Jack walks up the stairs, returning with his coat buttoned and a rucksack tightly in his grip. The front door opens, letting in a ray of sunlight that reflects pleasantly across the wooden floor. He pauses in the doorway, allowing the morning air to sweep calmly past him. Holding his breath, he counts to five before letting the door slam firmly behind him. A peacefulness occupies the village. The sunlight illuminates the walls of sandstone houses, while birds chirp cheerfully in song as they venture from garden to garden. All is tranquil, the only disturbance is a plane flying low overhead, accompanied by the clear echo of Jack’s hurried footsteps fading, as he walks down the street and vanishes from sight.
About the Book
The idea of a childhood adventure always seemed to appeal to me growing up – the anticipation, the excitement, but most of all, the freedom and responsibility to take on the world alone. Of course, coming from the overpopulated city of Stoke on Trent, vast open spaces were few and far between. The story of Amongst the Mists is one of complete fiction, including all characters and locations, although many of the story’s ideas were greatly influenced.
Tales of folklore and myt
hical locations are such a powerful part of history. They are the legends that our ancestors recited as lessons to their children. They are handed down from generation to generation. Without them, these once iconic creatures and landmarks would become lost to time. The creation of Sleathton and the myth that lurks within came to me from the telling of such stories. One in particular is the legend of the mysterious Doxy Pool; a proclaimed bottomless body of water that can be found on the path that runs across the top of the Roaches in Staffordshire.
Doxey Pool, The Roaches, Staffordshire.
Since 1949 locals claimed to have witnessed a strange creature emerging from the dark water on early mornings that would entice you to the pool’s edge before dragging you by the neck to a watery grave. The creature’s form has adapted over time from a blue nymph to a sinister green skinned mermaid known as Jenny Greenteeth, who waits below the surface to drown both the young and elderly.
Another myth that influenced me is a creature that was briefly mentioned in my previous novel located in the highlands of Scotland. This mythical creature is called the Shellycoat: a curious fae creature rarely spoken of and even more rarely sighted. This spirit resides in the shallow waters and has given his name to many rivers and streams across Scotland. Although considered to be quite harmless, this bogeyman is prone to misleading wanderers who trespass on his watery territory, crying out loud as if drowning to distract their victims.
Of course, with any mythical creature a setting like no other is required. Somewhere to make your skin crawl and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end; a wilderness to make you feel isolated, lost and alone with a sense that no help will find you. The vision for Sleathton came to me while researching a number of past disappearances in my local area. During the late 1960s, several children were reported going missing in the Cannock Chase area of Staffordshire, a vast forest reserve that, over the years, has gathered many mysterious stories. These disappearances sparked a number of intense searches throughout the forest and are known today as the Cannock Chase murders.
To this very day sightings are reported from time to time of children (noticeably a young girl) wandering the forest’s ground alone, dressed in white, her eyes missing, and displaying only sunken dark sockets.
Amongst the Mists
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my wonderful wife Emma, the most encouraging person I know. My children, Brandon and Meredith, for providing me with the time, love and support to write my second book.
To Sue Scott, thank you for the thorough editing of my work to date. Your patience with me is beyond words. Not forgetting your well received advice during each project and friendship made along the way.
To Jim Ody, thank you for your continuous guidance and support. Your advice is always well received. I look forward to sharing many ideas.
To Shelagh Corker, thank you for editing this book and for all your suggestions.
Thank you to Question Mark Press Publisher, and all the authors that show great support for one another. Your determination to see every book grow and succeed is truly inspiring.
To Emmy Ellis, thank you for your help & marvellous cover talent.
To Zoe-Lee O’Farrell & Elli Toney, thank you for all the committed hours spent on promotions and tours. Words cannot express my appreciation.
A big thank you to Andrea Neal for BETA reading and to all ARC readers, who dedicated their time to work through this book.
About the Author
QMP Author.
Born and bred in the county of Staffordshire, Matt is a keen reader of classical, horror and fantasy literature and enjoys writing in the style of traditional ghost stories. During his working life, Matt joined the ambulance service in 2009, transporting critically ill patients all over the UK. After writing his first novel, Matt was welcomed into the family of Question Mark Press publisher and now dedicates his time on future releases. His hobbies include genealogy and hiking, and he enjoys spending time with his wife, Emma, his children, Brandon and Meredith, and his family.
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