by Gwyn G B
Alison watched as Satan replaced her son on the altar.
Her voice shook in fear,
‘Please forgive those who trespass against us,
Oh God, please help me, help us.’
Satan didn’t even acknowledge her, but the heavens did. It burst into light. The devil put his hands over his head to shield himself from the bright white light which shone down. The clan members began to panic. Alison felt a wind which seemed to come straight down from the sky, blowing out the candles on the devil’s altar. She felt the grip on her lessen and she scrambled straight towards Satan and her baby as the clan members started to run into the shadows.
As she lurched forward, a loud deep voice echoed over the forest.
‘This is the police, stay where you are. We have you surrounded.’
Alison didn’t hear the words, she just grabbed for her son. Satan had already melted into the darkness. Behind her, the scene was chaotic. Men in black combat uniforms were running into the clearing from the trees, knocking the white naked bodies of evil to the ground and handcuffing them. The helicopter whirred overhead, but Alison just clutched her tiny son to her and kissed his head. He was cold, she opened her dressing gown and tucked him inside, but where was Sophie?
She soon found her, sitting rocking on the ground where Michaela had pushed her earlier. She didn’t seem to realise her mother was there, even when she put her arm around her and kissed her.
‘Are you alright love?’ one of the policemen asked her.
‘I need a hospital for my baby,’ she said peering up at him.
‘OK, we’ll get you out of here immediately. Is this your daughter?’
‘Yes,’ but Alison looked into Sophie’s eyes and she didn’t see her daughter there at all.
41
Sally Davidson knew tonight was a big ceremony, Martha had got Richard out doing things all week in preparation. He’d brought back a video camera and had been learning to use it, making her perform sex acts on him so that he could film it and test it out.
When the night finally came, he’d tied them both up.
‘Can’t trust you bitches,’ he’d said as he left, ‘Have a nice evening in won’t you,’ he’d laughed.
Sally hadn’t tried to struggle, she’d realised the futility of it all. Indeed she’d all but given up hope of God ever coming to their rescue, but she should have known he wouldn’t have completely deserted them, he was just choosing his moment, and to top it all, he sent his son.
There was no mistaking Jesus. He’d knocked on the door, looked through the window and come in. With long brown hair and a beard just like all the pictures. He wore a grey overcoat and walked straight up to Sally.
‘Sally Davidson? We’ve arrested your husband, are you both alright?’
42
Elizabeth Jones couldn’t have imagined a more amazing and awful story then the one she heard on her arrival in Deepdene. After being hospitalised, Alison had spent forty-eight hours being debriefed on Martha Hurrell, the clan and the child pornography ring they ran. Charlie had been taken into intensive care and had still not regained consciousness. She spent her time between his bedside and that of her son and Sophie. Her daughter hadn’t spoken a word since that night.
‘John, Martha’s husband set up the group years ago,’ Alison told her mother, without a flicker of emotion in her voice as she cradled her newborn son. ‘He used his local guide book printing as a cover for their pornography and Neil Best would handle all the mailing arrangements through his post office.’
‘But why if the police knew about this, did they not stop them?’
‘They’d lost track of Martha and it was only the abduction of that poor little boy Todd Warner which led them to Harding and Best. Harding used his estate agency business to store the goods and even Todd in empty properties. I can’t imagine what his poor parents have been through.’
‘How were the police there so fast?’
‘They knew something was going down, but they were waiting in the wrong place, they were at the village church.’
‘But why you Alison?,’ her mother asked, her voice nothing more than a whisper, all strength gone.
Alison lowered her head and sighed.
‘They needed somebody who’d be easy to manipulate and bear them a baby for their ultimate ritual. They were going to kill him mum for some sick video.’ Alison began to cry again and her mother passed another tissue. ‘They chose me because I’d been recently bereaved, they thought I’d be easy to control. Poor Charlie was just an innocent victim. I must have hurt him so badly.’
‘It’s not your fault love, those people are just evil.’
‘Yes, but I should have been more careful. I still can’t believe that Martha was the leader of it all.’
‘Have they still not found her?’
‘No, She got away in the panic with Michaela. I can’t believe that they’re still out there, spreading their evil. When will it ever end?’
Thank You
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading The Villagers even though it tackled some tough subjects. The second book will be out soon.
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Also by Gwyn GB
Chapter One
Rachel, 13th October 2016
The garden is illuminated only by thin leached light from the windows of the house - the curtains open for that purpose. The dark moon-less sky means a thousand shadows have been born - but only one has made her heart pound, turning her skin cold and sending the blood pumping in her veins.
She knows they’re watching again, and curses herself. How stupid not to have realised they wouldn’t have just given up. Now she’s left herself vulnerable.
Her hands start to shake slightly as she locks up the shed, determined not to leave her animals unprotected. Her breathing is shallow. Muscles tensed for flight, as she listens for the slightest sound from behind: a bush parting, soft footsteps on the lawn, the breath of another on her neck.
Like last time - there’s nothing.
Nothing except the endless drone of suburban London traffic and a baby crying in a house across the road, its high pitched wailing summoning tired parents. She is surrounded by houses, by families and couples going about their evening routines: TV, computer games, reading, arguing - all oblivious to her rising fear - and what might be about to happen.
Rachel shivers involuntarily, partly due to the cool October evening which has begun to penetrate the thin cotton jumper she’d flung on over her jeans earlier; and partly because of the tide of cold dread washing through her.
She pushes her blonde hair back from her face, pocketing the shed key and spinning on her heels to face the house. It’s only ten paces but the empty lawn gapes wide. Why are they here again? It’s been weeks since the last time and she’d convinced herself they’d gone, scared off by the presence of a man in the house. It’s almost as if they know she’s alone tonight.
What if they’re already inside? Slipped in unseen while she fed the rabbits.
Light pours from the open kitchen doorway in front of her - a threat lit up and welcoming to any passing stalker.
What should she do? Stay outside with the shadows in the open? Or trust the light and the doorway that will enclose her?
Fear wins. Her legs start to move as flight and adrenaline take over. If she gets into the kitchen her mobile phone is on the table - she can almost see it from here.
Rachel walks. Each step an eternity. Nearly twisting her ankle as she misses the edge where lawn meets
footpath.
She’s a few feet from the doorway, light bathes her pale face making her blonde hair glow.
Her phone is just a breath away.
Chapter Two
Neil, 13th October 2016
Neil leans into the bathroom mirror, plucking the last grey hair from his dark eyebrows. The demanding youth culture of digital marketing isn’t his only motivation to hold back the years.
It’s as he drops his gaze to the sink, turning on the tap to wash away his age, that the knife enters his back.
He doesn’t see who kills him. It wouldn’t matter much if he had because he’s dead, and thus a useless witness, long before anyone finds him.
As he careers head first into the bath tub he knocks his bottle of Creed aftershave in with him, smashing and spattering the white porcelain with scent as well as blood.
The pathologist later comments that his is the nicest smelling corpse he’s ever had the pleasure to be acquainted with.
By the time Neil’s mobile phone rings in the sitting room, Rachel’s number flashing up on the screen, his heart has stopped pumping.
Neil will stay forever young.
Chapter Three
Claire, 13th October 2016
DI Claire Falle has an epiphany lying naked next to the man who’s shared her bed for the past three years. He is never going to make her happy - a fact backed up by the dull ache between her legs instead of a pleasurable post-orgasmic throb.
In truth, he’s bored her for months, but it’s been convenient. The same reasons so many coppers get together - an understanding of the crap you have to deal with and the shit hours. Unfortunately, Claire no longer wants convenience. She wants passion and her own space - neither of which she’s been getting since Jack moved in.
He’s also been getting a bit too heavy lately - broody even. Jack has started talking forward, not just weeks or months, but years.
‘This would be a good investment,’ he’d said the other night. They were sitting on the sofa, dinner finished, watching Game of Thrones. It was one of those rare occasions they were on their own in the flat, without one of Jack’s buddies over for a beer. All of a sudden he’d just come out with it and handed Claire his iPad. Claire expected him to show her a savings account or the latest Kickstarter hit, but instead he’d offered up an estate agency site with an ad that said, “Great neighbourhood. The perfect family starter-home.” Claire hadn’t known what to say.
Thankfully Khalisi and her dragons took that moment to catch Jack’s attention and she was spared any further awkwardness.
Lonely Hearts is available NOW on Amazon
About the Author
Gwyn GB is a writer living in Jersey, Channel Islands. Born in the UK, she moved there with her Jersey-born husband and their children. Gwyn has spent most of her career as a journalist, but has always written fiction. She loves to hear from readers, so please get in touch.