Dark Corners

by Darren O’Sullivan

  When I was young, I couldn’t comprehend how sad Dad must have been to lose his purpose. And, as I watched him gently snore, I realised that I didn’t blame him for Mum leaving anymore. It wasn’t his fault; it wasn’t hers either. The fault lay with the mine. I understood why he was cold towards me, distant, because, like the mine, like Mum, I left him too.

  Beside me, my phone lit up with an incoming Facebook message. It was Holly, asking if I was OK, and if I was still coming to meet the others. I said I was fine, and I would be there. She messaged back instantly, saying she’d be at The Miners’ Arms in half an hour. Derrick had put a sign out saying the pub would be closed for the next few days, understandably, but Holly was allowed to use it if she needed to. I guess it was the least he could do after all her efforts to try find his troubled son, even if they were in vain. I didn’t wake Dad and instead left a note saying I wouldn’t be long and that there was a sandwich in the fridge, in case he was hungry before I got back. As I set off to leave, I hoped he would just sleep until I was home. That way, he wouldn’t be alone.

  I was shocked at how cold the air felt on my skin. My exhaled breath seemed to freeze above me. The walk towards the village felt tense, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t help but want to look behind me with each step, to make sure I wasn’t being followed. Frost had begun to form on car windows and the patches of the footpath that hadn’t seen any sun during the day crunched underfoot. I walked quickly and held my breath until I drew level with the pub.

  Ironically, the one day Derrick didn’t open would have been his biggest opportunity for business, since over the hours the village had slowly filled with people from neighbouring communities, or media outlets, tying to understand what had happened. I hadn’t watched the news, because I knew they would link this new mystery with one from a long time ago, trying to connect dots. I knew, because I was doing exactly the same thing in my head, and as Holly wanted to meet, I knew she had too.

  ‘Hello?’ I called out, unable to see anyone else in the pub.

  ‘Over here,’ Holly called, emerging from the corner where I had seen the man watching me two nights earlier. I walked towards Holly’s voice, trying to appear in control, my nerves in check. I didn’t want to seem spooked – after all, I was the one who didn’t believe in ghosts.

  Holly stood and greeted me with a warm hug before turning to the group, suddenly revealed in the dim light. Michael, Baz – and Georgia. It took a moment, but I released it had been her in the van, nearly hitting me, as it mounted the kerb. I hadn’t placed her yesterday, assuming she was older than I was. Of all of my old friends, Georgia looked like the one who had struggled the most with the past; besides Jamie, of course.

  ‘Well, here she is,’ Georgia said quietly.

  ‘Hi, Georgia. Nice to see you again,’ I said, indicating I knew it was her who’d scared me. She smiled enigmatically.

  Holly gestured for me to take a seat as she sat back at hers. Picking up her cup of tea she blew on it.

  ‘That’s one’s yours,’ she said, pointing at a second steaming cup in front of me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I replied, but really, I wanted something much stronger. Having the group back together – well, most of it – made me feel uncomfortable. The last time we were all in the same place, at the same time, was after Chloe went missing. And even though I knew that I was transferring old feelings to the present, I couldn’t stop it.

  Above me, I was sure the ceiling had cracked, like it did when I was at university. But I daren’t look.

  ‘Now we’re all here, we need to talk about what’s happened,’ Holly began.

  ‘Jamie has hurt himself,’ Michael said quietly.

  ‘But, the top on the ground, it’s just like…’

  ‘He’s done it as a cry for help. We all know he’s not coped well since Chloe died. He’s replicated what was found when we were kids, he wants us to know.’

  ‘But don’t you think…’ Georgia started.

  ‘No, don’t, I don’t want to hear it,’ Michael butted in. ‘I don’t want anyone to speak about ghosts and the past. I want to leave it well alone. Jamie is ill, and he needs our help. We need to find him.’

  ‘He’ll come back when he is ready,’ Baz agreed.

  ‘But what if he’s…’

  ‘This is going to sound awful, and I’m sorry. But if Jamie is dead, then there would have been a body, wouldn’t there? Besides, who would have hurt him? One of us?’

  ‘I agree, Jamie is calling for help, but you know the press are starting to dig up the past,’ said Georgia. ‘It won’t be long before they make the connection.’

  I knew I should have said something about the man I’d seen, the man who reminded me of the Drifter, but I didn’t. What was being said made sense, as sad as it was. Jamie hadn’t recovered from the summer of 1998. I remember it hitting him hard. He questioned life, mortality. He panicked that the Drifter would come for him.

  ‘So, what do we do now?’ Baz asked no one in particular. ‘What do we say if they start to bring up what happened here in 1998?’

  ‘Well, Neve will run away again.’

  ‘Georgia!’ Holly said, standing up in my defence.

  ‘What, am I not allowed to voice my opinion?’

  ‘Yes, but you don’t need to be a bitch about it.’

  ‘I’m the bitch? I didn’t fuck off when Chloe went missing, leaving the rest of us to pick up the pieces, did I, Holly?’

  ‘Georgia, just calm down.’

  ‘I didn’t leave us all high and dry when Chloe’s top turned up, covered in her blood. Did I? And I bet, Holly, you’ve not told her how much it hurt you for her to go like that.’

  ‘Georgia, please calm down.’

  ‘No, I will not fucking calm down. She hasn’t been here; she hasn’t had to deal with everything since.’

  ‘Enough!’ Michael said, his voice booming above Holly and Georgia’s. ‘Come out for a fag, calm down, this isn’t going to help anything, is it?’

  Georgia didn’t respond. Instead she grabbed her coat and bag and stormed out, followed closely behind by Michael; in their wake, a heavy silence.

  ‘Neve…’ Holly broke it. ‘Georgia had it rougher than the rest of us when Chloe… her dad was arrested.’

  ‘What, why?’

  ‘After we told the police about the Drifter, they started to look at who he might be, they went door to door, and Georgia’s dad… Well, he lived alone, isolated, and remember how we all suspected he mistreated Georgia?’

  ‘Yes, I remember…’

  ‘Well, they discovered it was true. Then they found Chloe’s diary. She had written a few times about how Georgia’s dad creeped her out. They got a warrant to search his house and found pictures.’

  My throat was dry. ‘Pictures. Of what?’

  ‘Of Chloe.’

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘Nothing like what you might be thinking. They were mostly copies of Georgia’s pictures of us all hanging out. But we had been coloured over with a biro.’

  ‘God.’

  ‘Obviously, he was arrested.’

  ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘They tried to make him the Drifter, but he didn’t fit. He was awful to Georgia, and perhaps he had a thing for Chloe, but he was never near the mine. He was never charged, there was nothing to actually link him to Chloe going missing. But for a few days, all the village spoke of was how strange he was, how it must have been him. Some think it was him, even now.’

  I didn’t reply but nodded my head. I was back there in darkness, the silence and then that terrifying din, metal banging against metal. It was that which made us split up, lose sight of each other. And then I never saw Chloe again.

  ‘I can see why they thought it was him,’ I said quietly.

  ‘It’s been rough on her, the questions about her dad. They tried to get her to press charges for how he treated her, but she wouldn’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Who else has she got, Neve?’<
br />
  ‘So, she stayed with him?’

  ‘No, social services got involved. She had to live away with her aunt and uncle until she was eighteen, and, then she came back.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘She’s had it rough. It doesn’t excuse her lashing out like that but…’

  ‘No wonder she hates me.’

  ‘That still doesn’t…’

  ‘I didn’t know her dad had been dragged into it,’ I just managed to say before my words choked on a sob.

  Holly rubbed my shoulder and got up, walking towards the bar. Baz sat unblinking, like he was facing a patient who he had given bad news.

  ‘I still can’t believe you’re a GP,’ I said, laughing through my tears.

  ‘I know, right.’

  ‘I’d never have called it.’

  ‘Well, after Chloe, I wanted to help.’

  ‘I’m really pleased you’re doing what you’re doing. It gives you hope, you know?’

  Before Baz could answer, Holly was back, holding a tray with a few glasses of red wine and some beers.

  ‘Holly, are you stealing from the bar?’

  She grinned. ‘No, of course not, Baz. I’ve left some money on the till.’

  Holly sat down beside me and took a glass of red, Baz joined her, and I went for a pint and we quietly drank. After a minute I heard the pub door open and close and over my shoulder I saw Michael and Georgia return. They sat down and picked up their drinks.

  ‘Georgia, I…’ I began.

  ‘Leave it, Neve,’ she replied, but without the anger I heard before. This was more of a defeated, tired sound.

  ‘So, now we have calmed down…’ began Baz quietly. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Holly. ‘We keep looking for him, we keep trying to find him. We find Jamie, this all stops.’

  ‘And if we don’t find him, what then?’ Michael asked the group.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Holly replied.

  ‘I might sound stupid – this probably is – but have we considered, what if Jamie hasn’t done this to himself?’

  ‘What are you saying, Georgia?’

  ‘I mean, we’re assuming because it seems obvious it can’t be true, but what if it’s him? What if it’s the one from when we were young?’

  She couldn’t say the Drifter, and I didn’t blame her.

  ‘I don’t want to hear about ghosts,’ Michael said, punctuating each word.

  ‘I think I’ve seen him,’ I blurted out, before I could stop myself.

  ‘Who?’ asked Holly, even though she knew.

  ‘Him. I think I’ve seen the Drifter.’

  ‘What? When?’ asked Baz, his calm demeanour gone.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Holly said, her voice high and panicked.

  ‘Yes, no. I don’t know. I thought it was just my imagination, but with the top and…’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  Until that moment I hadn’t considered the importance of that question.

  ‘I think I saw him last night, just before you radioed.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘I wanted to think that too. It’s been too long. But I’m sure it was him. What if he is back?’

  Chapter 24

  24th November 2019

  Night

  As a group, we decided that if anyone from the local papers asked questions about Jamie’s disappearance and the similarities to Chloe’s, we were going to talk about how Jamie needs our help, and nothing more. We also agreed I should call the police, tell them what I’d seen, just in case. So, before leaving the pub, I stepped away from the others and called the local police station. I told them about the figure I saw up high on the bank, just moments before Jamie’s top was found. I had expected them to want to speak to me right away, I’d mentally prepared for them to invite me to the station. But the policeman I spoke with – someone called Hastings – said that I should come down and make a statement in the morning. It felt like before, like when I was a kid; the police weren’t taking me seriously.

  We finished our drinks and said our farewells. Georgia had warmed a little to me and although she didn’t apologise for her outburst, she smiled as she said goodbye. The walk home felt longer than it had the previous few trips to and from the village. The night darker and with each turn of a corner, each bend in the road, I expected to see the shape of the Drifter. As I passed Chloe’s house, Brenda was smoking from Chloe’s bedroom.

  ‘Cold one tonight,’ she said. I pretended I’d not heard her. When I got back Dad wasn’t in his chair and I saw from the kitchen the back door was closed. Quietly I moved upstairs to see if he was there and to my surprise and delight, I could see the shape of him on his bed, asleep. Walking into his room, a space I rarely stepped foot in, even as a kid, I lifted the covers and tucked him in. I kissed him on the head and whispered that I loved him. Twice in one night, twice more than in twenty years and despite him being asleep, I waited a moment for him to whisper it back. But of course, he didn’t.

  I went downstairs to make myself a cup of tea and saw Dad had left a note.

  Thanks for the sandwich. Dad.

  Despite it all, I caught myself smiling.

  When I went to my room and reached to draw the curtains, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Movement from the opposite side of the street, close to a row of garages. At first, I dismissed it, but as I looked again, I had to cover my hand with my mouth to stop myself from screaming. A man walked out from that dark space. He was wearing the same long black coat, the same heavy boots from back then. I couldn’t see his face, it was hidden under the hood of the coat, but I knew he was looking directly at me. Turning, I grabbed my phone from the bed to ring the police, and by the time I was back at the window, he was gone.

  I looked down the road and couldn’t see anything. I looked the other way, nothing. It was like the air hadn’t been disturbed, like he was never there. It was like the ceiling was falling in again. My finger hovered over the keypad, and I hesitated. If I called the police, what would I say? I’ve just seen a man outside my dad’s house, but he vanished, and I’m not sure if he was real or just my imagination.

  Instead of dialling, I logged into Facebook and began to type a message to Holly; it took several attempts as I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. Eventually, I managed to send it.

  I’ve just seen him again. Outside my dad’s house. What do we do, Holly?

  Checking once more, the night was quiet, and not knowing what else to do, I sat on the edge of the bed, and waited for daylight.

  Chapter 25

  25th November 2019

  Morning

  Dad was still in bed after I had showered, and assuming he hadn’t slept properly in a decade, I didn’t disturb him. I took a little comfort in knowing he had slept deeply; it compensated for my tentative slumber whilst perched on the narrow seat in my old room’s bay window. He lay motionless, still tucked in from the night before, my kiss still upon his head.

  Downstairs, I put out a bowl and some cereal for Dad for when he woke, wrote a note telling him I would be back later – saying maybe we could watch a film together – and left. Closing the front door quietly behind me, I shivered. Last night had been a cold one, so cold frost glistened off the front lawn, and the windscreen of the hire car parked on the road looked like it was made of a sheet of white plastic. I didn’t have an ice scraper, so using my maxed-out credit card from the car hire deposit I’d likely lose, I went to work on clearing the glass, without any gloves. My hands burned by the time I climbed behind the steering wheel and fired up the engine.

  After a tough, careful drive, I found the station that looked more like a community centre than an institute designed to protect the public. I stepped inside and was met by a gloomy officer at the front desk.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Hello, yes, I need to talk to someone about, umm, an incident yesterday?’ I said, noticing that the officer looked young – too young to be wearin
g a uniform, in my opinion. His narrow shoulders were lost under his shirt which hung over him like a tent. The tie around his neck was almost as wide as his frame. I almost asked if he was on work experience but stopped myself. I had a habit of saying the wrong things.

  ‘I see, can I ask what incident?’ he said, whilst scratching the fluff on his chin that resembled something like a beard. He tried to appear interested, despite his voice sounding flat.

  ‘Yes, it’s about that top they found, over near the mine. The one with blood on it.’

  ‘I see,’ he repeated, although this time the boredom in his voice was gone. ‘Please take a seat, someone will be out shortly.’

  Before I could respond, he upped and left through a set of doors directly behind him, unable to hide his excitement, and a few moments later, an older officer stepped through. Heavy steps, a tired face.

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Good morning,’ I replied; it was the same voice I had spoken to on the phone. Hastings. I offered my hand, which he shook, although I could see he wasn’t keen.

  ‘You have some information,’ he said, a statement more than a question.

  ‘Yes, I called yesterday.’

  ‘Would you like to follow me, Ms—?’