Beyond the Dark Waters Trilogy

by Graham West

  “But you’re just a child.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  Laura knew it was pointless arguing with her son. His pragmatic approach to life was ingrained in his DNA.

  “Can I start swearing when I’m eighteen?” he asked, looking quizzically at his mother. She decided to ignore the sarcasm, of which her son had an uncanny grasp.

  “I just don’t like to hear my little boy using words like that. How about Mummy and Daddy promise to stop using those words too?”

  Cody grinned. It was a minor victory in his eyes. “Cool!”

  Laura waited for a moment, watching him as he packed several loose pencils into their plastic container. “Look, Dee, the teachers at school tell us that you don’t play with the other children. Can you tell me why?”

  Cody shrugged. “It’s cos they’re stupid.”

  “But why? Why are they stupid?”

  “They don’t understand. They call me weirdo.”

  “But that’s only because of your imaginary friends, isn’t it?”

  Cody nodded.

  Laura fought back the tears. It was at times like this that she missed her sister’s wisdom. Okay, Alison had a liberal approach to child-rearing, which had resulted in many heated arguments over the years, but she could connect with kids like no one else, and the local nursery loved her. She exuded a serenity—one which belied the authority she’d exercised so effortlessly. Laura had never heard Alison raise her voice to a child. There had never been any need.

  She tried to imagine how her sister would deal with this. Alison had always avoided confrontation. “But they can’t see them, Dee, so they will think it’s weird.”

  “It’s because they don’t look or listen,” Cody replied with a dismissive snarl. Her kid didn’t suffer fools.

  Laura Nelson sighed. “Look, maybe you shouldn’t talk about these special friends while you’re in school.”

  “That’s what Mrs. Greenhall said.”

  “What? You’ve told the teachers too?” She bit her tongue the moment the words left her mouth.

  Cody shook his head. “Nope, just her. I saw a little boy sitting beside her in the classroom. He told me to tell her he was there, so I did.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She got real angry. She said that it was cruel and I shouldn’t be talking like that. Then she started to cry.”

  “And do you know who the little boy was?”

  Cody threw a sketchpad into the case along with a packet of coloured crayons. “I think it was her son. The one who got knocked down last year.”

  ***

  Alex sat on the edge of his chalet bed with the memories of his night with Ellie fresh in his mind. So that was it. Sex. He was no longer a virgin. It hadn’t started well. Even when he’d discovered that she shaved everything but her head, he’d been too nervous to manage anything more than a smile.

  Ellie hadn’t given up. “We have all night long,” she told him, kissing his cheek. “We’ll just switch off the light and have a cuddle.”

  Alex had felt her body next to his. “Was Danni thinner than me?” she whispered, her hand sliding down towards his groin.

  “A little,” he answered. “But you’re not fat, not at all. You’re—”

  “Curvy,” Ellie interrupted, pulling him on top of her. “Just imagine I’m her,” she whispered. “Imagine this is Danni.”

  Alex groaned. Something began to stir. Ellie reached down and guided him inside her. “This is how it would have felt,” she purred. “Cos, to be honest, we’re all pretty much the same down there.”

  It had worked, but they hadn’t used a condom. Ellie assured him she was on the pill, but there were other things to consider. She admitted to hooking up regularly while her husband worked and played away, and the last thing Alex needed was a dose of something. He checked Danni’s page on Facebook. There was nothing new. She was still in a relationship and his heart still ached. Maybe the sex thing wasn’t such a big deal after all.

  The plasma-screen TV flashed its images silently. Some early evening game show signalled the start of another long night. A whole five hours of trash. Maybe he should get into reading books. Danni was a reader, so he’d tried, just to impress her. That was all part of the love game; Alex had wanted to get into her world, and he would have read every night if it meant keeping their relationship alive.

  Neither his mother nor his father thought their love would last. It wasn’t that his parents hadn’t liked the girl; they just thought he was too keen. They’d told him not to smother her, but he had continued to message Danni every morning, from the moment he woke, and throughout the working day. Then, of course, there had been the late-night conversations on Snapchat and Messenger. He’d ignored the signs. The snappy, short replies.

  I’m tired—need sleep!

  Don’t you want to talk anymore?? Xxx

  I’m too tired! X

  Is everything okay? You seem cool! Xxx

  It’s okay. Just tired x

  You still love me? Xxx

  Yes.

  No kisses???

  Xxnite!

  He trawled through all the old messages. If only he’d listened to his parents and backed off. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to walk out on them, but they gave him an ultimatum. That was bang out of order, and he told them as much. He’d never given them any problems, never used drugs, never even smoked. He’d never been a big drinker, either. His school grades had always been good, and the teachers liked him, so maybe they could have been a little more supportive. But no, they called their son’s bluff, and it had backfired.

  Alex’s folks were proud people, and begging wasn’t in their nature. So he had left under a veil of silence, his mother’s tears his only comfort. She cared. They both did. Now Alex just wanted to hear their voices on the end of the phone.

  Chapter Five

  Dennis Blakely stood at the window, staring out across the park. Penny had reminded him that in two days’ time, everything would go crazy. The kids were on a school break and heading straight for Mosswood.

  “You can’t afford to be having any nightmares,” she pointed out, placing a glass of whisky on the table beside him.

  Blakely didn’t answer. The blinding headaches and vomiting that followed the dreams would put him out of action for at least a day, and with the Park full to capacity, that was going to be a problem.

  “And where are we putting the Adams family?” she enquired, mischievously whistling the theme from the seventies TV show.

  “Stop it,” he replied with a chuckle. “That’s mean!”

  “Sorry. I just can’t help thinking of Uncle Fester.”

  “They’ve got one of the four-bed lodges,” he answered, interrupting his wife, who continued to whistle.

  She stopped, taking a sip from a large glass of white wine. “They do well out of you. A free holiday? No wonder they bit your hand off!”

  “They’re friends,” he said, shielding his eyes from the late-evening sun. “And besides that, I want Jenny to check out the doll before we put it on display.”

  Penny rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s tough if she doesn’t like it. You’ve spent nearly fifteen thousand on that thing.”

  Blakely shrugged. “That’s because it was made to order. It had to be lifelike.”

  “Lifelike? It gives me the creeps. That stuff looks like real skin—it feels like real skin—and those eyes!”

  Blakely smiled. He had ordered the doll from a company that specialised in making what they tactfully called companions for men who could afford expensive sex toys. Jenny had provided the only existing photograph of Amelia, along with several detailed drawings.

  Penny shot him a look. “It’s going to freak people out. It’s too real!”

  Blakely shrugged. “It will just be a model, sitting at the desk, reading a book. What’s scary about that?”

  “I just think it’s a bit macabre,” she replied. “Amelia’s dead and buried
—we don’t need a life-sized replica of the girl!”

  “I don’t know what you’re worried about. It’s no different from the stuff you see in Madame Tussauds!”

  “They’re wax mannequins Dennis—you can’t twist their legs in the air and have sex with them!”

  Blakely chuckled to himself. “I wasn’t expecting that much detail. I think there was a misunderstanding there.”

  Penny finished the dregs from her glass. “Hasn’t that Jenny girl got a kid now?”

  “Yep. He must be about two and a half.”

  “But you only found out when you offered them a free holiday?”

  Penny didn’t like freeloaders, but she was just watching his back, he knew that. “So how many are they now?”

  Blakely shrugged. “There’s Rob, his partner, Jenny, Jake and the kid…”

  “And?”

  “Turns out Jenny has a brother—Darren. He worked here, fitting out the lodges, remember?”

  Penny shook her head. “Not really.”

  “And then there’s Rob’s other daughter.”

  “Other daughter?”

  “Yeah, he had a girl to another woman—never knew about her till a couple of years ago.”

  Penny was sitting down, the empty glass perched on the arm of the chair. “Was this while he was married to what’s-her-name?”

  “Elizabeth? Yes.” Blakely tried to avoid the subject of married men and their mistresses. It had been over three years since his affair with Kim, but the name still came up every time they fell out.

  “Well, I guess I’ve something to be thankful for,” she muttered. “At least you didn’t get that woman pregnant.”

  The fact that the woman in question had been murdered within half a mile of where they both stood tempered Penny’s anger, but the pain was still there in her eyes.

  Blakely took a sip of malt. It wasn’t really his drink but the alcohol relaxed him, and after a day on site he needed to wind down slowly. Inviting the Adams clan had been an act of kindness, but he really needed to talk to Jenny about the dreams. If anyone understood, it would be her. Maybe his nightmares were just that—nightmares. But Jenny would be someone who knew the fear, someone who might not judge him so harshly if he plucked up the courage and confessed.

  ***

  Reverend Francis had been expecting a visit from the Nelsons since their hasty exit the previous Sunday. They stood at the manse door like chastised children, clearly uncomfortable at calling on the help of the church out of hours. He assured them that God’s house was always open and ushered them through to his study.

  They took him up on the offer of a coffee, and Cody seemed more than happy with a strawberry juice, which he gulped down without drawing breath.

  “So,” Francis said, easing himself into an ornate black leather chair. “How can I help?”

  Laura nodded towards her husband. She obviously didn’t feel comfortable revealing anything about her precious boy, but Peter Nelson had decided to get straight to the point. “We’ve been worried,” he began. “Cody has imaginary friends.”

  The reverend nodded, glancing at the little boy who was already engrossed in his sketchpad. “Well, that in itself isn’t unusual—”

  Peter interrupted. “It’s not just that, Reverend. He sees people in church. In this church.”

  Francis stiffened. “People? Who?”

  Cody looked up from his pad. “There was a man. His name is Mr. Root. He sat at the back.”

  Francis went cold. He had prayed this little boy was the victim of an overactive imagination and had wanted to reassure the young couple that their son was perfectly normal and, of course, would make real friends in time. But now this? Amelia’s father was sitting in his church. Why?

  Laura glanced at her husband, clearly embarrassed. Maybe they should have left Cody with one of the neighbours, but then there probably weren’t that many who actually wanted to mind the kid.

  Francis felt the blood drain from his face. “Mr. Root?”

  Cody nodded happily.

  “Are you okay?” Peter Nelson asked, looking a little concerned.

  Francis nodded. “Yes. I’m fine, thanks.” He turned back to Cody. “And who else have you seen?”

  Laura’s hand tightened around her small, black handbag. “There’s no one else! No one! Is there, Dee?”

  Cody was oblivious to his mother’s concerns. “Yes! Yes, there’s a vicar!”

  Francis shifted uneasily in his chair, leaning forward. “What vicar?”

  “He sits halfway down on that side,” Cody said, signalling to the left. “And he has blood coming from his mouth.”

  Francis winced. It could only have been Allington.

  “I drew him!” Cody continued excitedly. “And Mr. Root too!”

  “Laura grabbed the book from her son’s grasp. “There’s no need for that.”

  “Mrs. Nelson,” Francis said, reaching out his hand, “if you’ve come all this way to talk to me, then you might as well tell me everything.”

  Reluctantly, Laura passed him the pad.

  “They’re on page five,” Cody informed him.

  The pad fell open at the drawing, and Francis stared for a moment, scarcely able to believe the images confronting him. He recognised Jacob Root immediately. He had seen the old photograph in one of Amelia’s diaries, and there was no doubt that the minister with the gaunt look and the blood oozing from his mouth was Allington. But it was the drawings themselves that shocked him. They were not the efforts of a seven-year-old boy—not even a talented one. They were hand-sketched portraits, executed with the skilled hand of a master. Perfect in every detail.

  He looked up. “But how did…”

  “I know,” Laura said. “Now you know why we’re worried. He writes and draws in school—the way you’d expect a seven-year-old to write and draw—but it’s only when he sees these…these people…”

  Cody frowned. “That’s cos Enrico helps me!” he snapped. “I’ve told you that!”

  “Who’s Enrico?” Francis asked.

  “He’s a really awesome artist, and he used to sell lots of pictures, but then he got really sad and jumped off a bridge.”

  The Nelsons looked defeated. Francis guessed they were tired of fighting the ghosts in their son’s life. “Okay,” he began, careful to measure his tone. “So these friends—they’re all dead, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Cody, have you ever seen a movie called Sixth Sense?”

  The little boy shook his head. “Nope. Kids in school have asked me that, too.”

  “Do you know what it’s about?”

  “Yes. It’s about a little boy just like me.”

  “And you’re not scared?” Francis asked.

  Cody shook his head. “No, I’m not. Can I have my book back now, please?”

  Francis smiled. “Of course.” He handed the sketchpad to the boy, who seemed relieved to be holding it again.

  Peter Nelson looked at him anxiously. “What do you think? What can we do?”

  Francis held up his hand. Don’t let the boy see how worried you are.

  “The people Cody has drawn…I know who they are.”

  “They exist?” Laura Nelson asked.

  “Oh, yes, but I think you knew that already. It’s a long story, and I don’t want to say too much right now. I’ll call you tonight if you leave me your number.”

  ***

  Cody listened to them talking but he wasn’t at all curious about what had happened to the vicar or the gardener. He was too busy drawing someone else. A girl with long hair and really big eyes stood next to the window in a white, bloodstained gown.

  ***

  Peter Nelson replaced the phone in its cradle and walked back into the lounge where his wife was waiting expectantly.

  “That was the minister, I presume?”

  “Yeah. It’s quite a story,” he replied, flopping into the chair he’d claimed as his own. “That Allington bloke was a bit of a bastard,
by the sound of it.”

  “That’s the one that Cody drew?”

  “Yep. The local saint, apparently. I mean, we only live a fifteen-minute drive from Tabwell but I’d never heard of him.”

  Laura listened as her husband related the whole story from the moment Francis had found a young girl called Jennifer Adams vandalising the church through to the day they buried Amelia Root in the grounds of Mosswood Adventure Park.

  “I’m not sure I really want to go on this holiday now,” she said with a sigh. “But Cody will be gutted if we don’t.”

  Peter nodded. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on him.” He watched helplessly as his wife leaned forward, burying her head in her hands.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  Laura looked up, and her eyes flashed with anger. “No, Peter! I’m not okay! I can’t believe we’re getting embroiled in all this shit! Why are we even talking like this? I’m actually going to church, for fuck’s sake, as if that’s going to help! We’ve never believed in all that ghost stuff. When you’re dead, you’re dead!”

  “I know,” he replied defensively. “But what about those drawings?”

  “I don’t know, but there has to be a rational explanation—there just has to be. Maybe he is autistic. That’s why he can draw brilliant pictures when he wants to.”

  “What? Brilliant pictures of people he’s never seen?”

  Laura glared at him. “So you actually believe he can see dead people? Get real, Peter!”

  “I’m not saying that, I’m just—”

  “Just what? Okay, I can’t explain it but I’m not buying the whole spirit bullshit. Because that’s what it is Peter. Bullshit.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Laura grabbed her phone. “There must be people out there that can help kids like Cody. Trained people who can find out what’s going on in his head.”

  “You’re looking online?”

  “Why not? I need to organise something because this is doing my head in!”

  Peter groaned inwardly. When Laura flipped, she flipped, and this had been building for some time. Two years, in fact. She was still grieving for her sister. Alison had found a lump in her breast at the age of twenty and had taken the decision to have both removed. Things had been looking good, but six weeks after reconstructive surgery, and with a brand-new pair of pert boobs, she collapsed while out shopping at the local supermarket.