He picked up the metre-length piece of thin, plastic pipe and dug the bottom end forcefully through into my taped mouth. He told me to grip it hard with my teeth and tongue and suck the air into it, and that if I didn’t, well, I’d just suffocate in less than a minute.
With those last words, he grabbed a spade and motioned for my sister to grab the other, and together, the two of them filled the hole back in with the mud, dirt, and stones and proceeded to bury me alive inside my shallow grave.
The plastic pipe inside my mouth had been pushed far too hard through the tape and into the back of my mouth. It was beginning to make me choke hard, my eyes watered, and my nose ran. Thankfully, I was able to push it up and out of the back of my throat, just a little touch, using the strength of my tongue. Now I could get a good suck of air from the hollow tube inside, which gradually began to calm my nerves. Long deep breaths. I kept telling myself over and over again. Long deep breaths.
My eyes were still firmly shut and I dared not open them, even a little, for fear of all the dirt and mud seeping in through my eyelids. I could feel the soil continuing to cover me, layer after layer, from head to toe. It was gradually becoming heavier and heavier, weighing my body down more and more by the passing seconds.
I’d never felt so terrified and helpless before in my entire life. How the hell was I ever going to get out of this? If I didn’t suffocate first or choke to death at some point then it was going to be another few days at least, maybe even a week, before my sister returned and I saw the light of day again. But that’s only if she ever did return.
That thought wasn’t even worth thinking about. I was going to be trapped down there, in the dirty, suffocating darkness until I slowly died of dehydration or suffocation, with only the slightest hope that my sister might arrive back in time to dig me back out.
There was nothing else to it. I had to accept my situation, and quick smart too, if I was going to survive this nightmare. I had to calm my breathing, calm my anxious thoughts and nerves and racing mind and just lie there, lie there still and wait. Wait for some kind of miracle in the eternal darkness that now engulfed me. With nothing but the sound of my own breathing and my own thoughts for companionship.
Chapter 18
It was so dark in there, which wasn’t even the worst part. I couldn’t move an inch, that was the worst of it. Even just to scratch a little tiny itch that kept resurfacing on my left thigh, I would have given my right arm just to give it a good, hard scratch in that moment.
I thought about trying to move and wriggle. I really did. I thought about making one of those sudden, forceful, and continuous twist-and-turn movements, over and over, desperately trying to see if I could shake myself free from the heavy dirt and mud weighing down upon me like a lead-ton weight. But the fear of losing my air pipe, having it slip away from the grasp of my mouth and being unable to recover the end of the tube and breathe again if things didn’t go according to plan, while desperately trying to shake my way out of my shallow grave, well, it was more than terrifying. It had paralysed me once more into doing nothing but lie absolutely frozen-stiff, trying to ride out the storm in the best way I possibly knew how: passively.
I had to wait it out. That’s all I could do. Then the more hours that passed, the more terrified I became of falling asleep and choking to death. It was funny how falling asleep hadn’t even entered my mind when my father had first buried me down there. Now, it was all I could think about. When it would happen, not if. Would I ever awaken again if I did drift off, even for just a few moments?
At one point I let out a great, frustrated internal cry with my mouth firmly shut. It seemed to help. For a little while after, I began thinking clearly again. Well, as clearly as any young, teenage girl, who’d been buried alive in the middle of a secluded forest, could hope to think.
I thought about Chris a lot. I blamed myself for his death, one hundred percent. I wished that I’d never gotten into his truck yesterday and that we’d just parted ways back at the petrol station café after he’d bought us our breakfast. I could almost imagine father watching us from the other side of the service station, and pulling his hair out after witnessing us accept Chris’s offer of a ride, but driving further north first instead of heading south.
How could I have been so stupid? Of course, dad was watching us the whole entire time. Just like he’d done all those times before when he’d left us in the woods to fend for ourselves for days on end.
Why hadn’t I realised that? Why hadn’t I learned my previous life lessons concerning him? I swore to myself that if I ever made it out of this hell hole alive and saw daylight again, then one day I would do the decent thing and somehow track down Chris’s family, his wife, his daughters and confess to them everything that had happened. Beg them for forgiveness. Tell them how he’d looked after me and my sister while we were under his care and protection. Tell them what a good, kind-hearted man he was. A heart that swelled with goodness and kindness and decency and joy. But I’m sure they already knew his beautiful traits. Without a shadow of doubt, they knew it.
I thought about my sister too. I wondered where she might be right about then. Was she still on her way back up to the Isle of Lewis with my father? Had she even started to make her journey back down again? Had my father, perhaps, also tricked her into digging her own grave somewhere in the woods and left her buried deep down in the suffocating darkness, too, until he felt the merciful urge to come and dig us both back up again himself, once he’d decided that we’d had enough of his torturous games?
I had no idea about anything, anymore. All I could do was speculate in my own mind, where I was also a prisoner. All I had to go on was hope and fear, and fear was winning by a landslide victory. I tried not to think about dad, but it was almost nigh on impossible to prevent the image of his smug, twisted face and sinister grin from creeping back into my thoughts.
I hated him so much. I wanted him to die the most horrific and painful death imaginable. I wanted to inflict upon him even just a tiny bit of the pain and misery that he’d inflicted upon me and my sister over the years and more than likely our own poor mother too. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to hurt, mentally and physically. But alas, more than anything, I wanted him to hold me in his arms like a real, normal, loving father and tell me that he was sorry, that everything was going to be all right. That he’d had some kind of mental breakdown these past few years. Done some terrible, awful things. But he was back to normal now and it was okay to cry. It was okay to be weak and vulnerable sometimes. That he knew he was very ill in the head before, so mentally ill, but he’d seen the light and was better now. All better. And then he would cry too and beg for my forgiveness.
In my fantasy I wanted desperately to forgive that man—that sad, weeping, apologetic monster. But deep down inside, I knew that I never really could. Even if that fantasy in my head ever did play out in reality. That’s when the rage, anger, and hate overwhelmed me once more. I began to imagine all the different ways in which I might gain my revenge on him. Most of those grisly ways involved a knife, a chainsaw, a pitch fork, a set of garden sheers, or all of the above.
But the long, slow, torturous death I loved best of all was the one that involved carving him open, bit by bit, piece by piece, peeling him slowly from foot to forehead like peeling the dry skin from a rotten apple so that he could feel and endure every second and every ounce of pain that I intended to inflict upon him.
As the minutes, hours, and maybe even days, dragged by, eventually, in the darkness, my mind began to wander into madness. Every single one of my senses abandoned me. I didn’t know what time of day it was or even what day it was. How long had I been in that grave? I didn’t even know if what had happened to me or what was happening to me still, was real anymore. I felt so delusional. So disorientated. So hopeless.
I imagined that I’d died ages ago and had been sent straight to hell and this was my punishment—to suffer an eternity in a weighted darkness with only my spiralli
ng thoughts for companionship forever and ever. That was it.
Then the strangest thing happened.
I thought I heard my name being called, but from far, far away. It sounded extremely faint at first. But then… there it was again, I felt sure. Someone was frantically calling my name from some muffled and far off distant land above. Or was my mind just playing more tricks upon me?
Then came the thudding and scraping and banging and raking. I felt the dirt and mud becoming lighter and lighter on top of my body. I thought I was dreaming. I was probably hallucinating. But I didn’t care; the heart-warming relief felt so bloody damn great. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven, yet it was more likely to hell. I didn’t care which though as long as the dirt got lighter, the voices got louder, and I could finally see the light of day again. I felt so desperate for something to change. For something real to come into my vision again and not just an image in my mind.
Suddenly there it was. A tiny bit of grey then white light. It was daytime out there, for sure, although I didn’t care what time of day it was, just that something different to the never-ending blackness was there. Even though my eyes were still full of mud and dirt.
Then came the hands, wiping the mud, dirt and filth away from my face. The tube piping pulled gently from my mouth, followed by fingers on my cheeks, gently pulling the tape from my mouth and lips.
I breathed my first, long, deep, hard, and refreshing breath of good, old-fashioned clean air. Never had air tasted so good before. Never. And I savoured every breath that followed. Over and over. Again, and again.
I felt the hands on my face once more. This time wiping more dirt and soil away from my cheeks and eyes. Then from my ears and hair. Like an angel singing, I heard my sister’s voice calling my name and asking me if I was all right. If I was okay.
Hearing her voice, knowing that it was her who had finally come for me. Come to save me. Hearing and knowing that she was there before opening my eyes to see her beautiful, angelic face was all I needed in order to be flooded with so many good emotions, so much good will, that I never thought I could possibly feel and all at the same time. I could have died right there, in that moment, and never felt so happier to be alive before in my life.
I began to break down into a fit of sobs and cries. I couldn’t help myself. The great relief of being free again was just too much, was just far too overwhelming. My sister hugged me. She told me that everything was going to be okay. And I believed her. Why wouldn’t I?
I never saw her pull out her knife but I felt it cutting the rope that tied my ankles together. She grabbed a hold of my bound wrists and cut their ties too, slicing right through the thin ropes with hardly any effort. She pulled me up to my feet and hugged me so hard, so tight. I’d never felt so much love from my sister before, never. I didn’t really believe it existed, or that such feelings could have radiated from her being.
When we finally pulled away from our embrace, my sister said that we should leave quickly. She took my hand and tried to lead me away through some nearby trees. I stopped her though. With what little strength I had left in my body, I dug my heels into the ground. I told her that I wasn’t going back to the house. That I wasn’t going back to him. Never again. And if she wanted to take me there, instead of running away together to find a new place to live, a new home to grow up in, then she should just bury me back in the ground again instead, where she’d found me and leave me there to die.
My sister smiled at that. She lightly cupped my cheek in her hand and said that she wouldn’t have it any other way. I smiled too. More tears streamed down my face. A single tear fell from my sister’s eye and rolled down her cheek before settling upon her lip like something warm and wanted.
She hugged me hard again and promised that she would never leave me alone, ever again, never leave my side. That she would stay with me always. Always and forever. She would protect me from everything bad and evil in the world, including my father. That she would never let any harm come to me anymore. And if anyone or anything did try to harm me, then they’d have her to answer to, always.
Then everything started to fade.
I felt the forest and trees spin. Then the wind and earth, swiftly and violently yank my sister away from my grasp. It felt like the whole entire forest had just swallowed her up whole before sucking me right back down into that shallow grave once more.
Suddenly, everything turned back to darkness. Then I felt a pair of large, firm hands grasping a hold of my wrists and painfully yanking me back out of the grave, once more, with an incredible ease. But this time it didn’t feel like a dream.
To my utter despair, this felt more real than being dug out of the ground by my sister just moments ago. Someone big and strong was shaking me down and so violently hard. Shaking the dirt and muck right off of me. I felt the stinging pain of the tape being ripped from my lips. I could have opened my eyes, but I didn’t want too. I instinctively knew what was in store for me out there without having to take the slightest of looks.
I heard his muffled, rough, and ranting voice. Those same big, strong hands grabbing me hard by the hair, yanking my head and neck right back into an unnatural position before slapping me across the side of my face and ears. More dirt and soil fell from my earlobes.
“Are ye listening tae me girl, aye? Are ye fuckin’ listening now?”
I heard his voice loud and clear. It was him. My father. Dad. He was the one who had dug me out of hell before projecting me into this new one.
“Ye didnae think ah was just gonnae make it so easy for ye’s now, did ye? Eh? That your sister was just gonnae make her way all the way back doon here, dig ye up nice and easy, lemon squeezy, and that was gonnae be the end of it, aye? Back tae fuckin’ normality again, is that wit ye thought ye stupid wee cunt, aye?
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to answer. I was in so much pain and shock, yet heavenly relief of being out in the open air again. Briefly, I thought that I might me dreaming again. That I might awake at any second back inside that underground tomb. And if this was to be my new reality, out here with him, then I couldn’t believe that I was actually thinking it, but I desperately did want to secretly wake up back inside that underground tomb again. I’d rather take my chances down there and wait for my sister to come find me than to progress any further out there with anything that that sick and twisted man had in store.
I felt dizzy. I felt like I wanted to be sick again. Barely had the thought and feeling of nausea filled my brain when father hoisted me up and over his shoulders in a fireman’s lift. Still tied and bound at my ankles and wrists, he proceeded to carry me back through the woods.
At that moment, I’d never wanted to be buried alive again so much before in my life.
Chapter 19
Dad bundled me hard into the back of his car and drove the short journey from the edge of the forest to our farm house home, just a few miles further along the coast.
Lying with my face down on the backseat, I could hear a howling wind outside, bashing this way and that against every side of the vehicle. My restricted views of the dark windows were blocked by an avalanche of rain that seemed to pour down heavier and heavier the closer we came to the farmhouse.
Dad pulled up close to the front door and exited the car, caring not a jot for the cruel, foul rain and wind whirling around him, pushing him this way and that, trying its hardest to keep him inside the vehicle. In my mind, I desperately imagined it was I who was controlling that horrific weather, using it to do my bidding and battle against my father, trying my bloody damnedest to blow him off his feet or up and away into the clouds then out into the freezing-cold sea. But he soon managed to open the back door and drag me out of the car, throwing me over his shoulder again before carrying me off into the house.
I realised then that no vicious hurricane or howling wind was ever going to be a match against the determination of my psychotic father. Without pausing for thought or breath, he carried me all the way down to his secret cel
lar, way underneath the foundations of the house. The huge and heavy old oak bookcase that kept the doorway hidden had already been shoved to one side. He must have been planning this fate for me all along.
Once through the iron doorway at the bottom of the steep and narrow staircase, he plonked me down hard right in the middle of the first dark room we entered from the corridor. I held my breath as he pulled out a long, sharp knife and leaned over me with a sinister glee. He let me take a good, long look at the blade before, surprisingly, cutting the rope around both my wrists and ankles and not my throat, which had been my first thought. I was now free to move, walk, or even crawl around the confounds of the large, dark cellar complex underneath the house.
He must have felt fully confident that there was no other way out of the cellar for me, with or without the use of my hands and feet. Either that or he assumed that I was far too scared of him and the consequences that he would reign down upon me if ever the opportunity to escape did arise.
“You’ll wait doon here like a good wee cunt until your sister returns. And if ah hear just one wee fuckin’ peep from you before that happens, then al start slicing off your fuckin’ fingers, one by one. A finger for every noise ah hear coming from doon here. And when ah run oot of bloody fingers, it’ll be your fuckin’ toes ah start on next. Ye understand me, wee girl, aye?”
I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to yell and howl and roar in his face at just how much I hated him. How I already knew about his secret cellar. How me and my sister had discovered his dirty, little secret a long time ago. That I knew what he’d done to our mother down here - to our other dozen or so little brothers and sisters - I knew what he’d done, although I didn’t understand the twisted and contorted insane why.
My Sister And I: A dark, violent, gripping and twisted tale of horrifying terror in the Scottish Highlands. Page 16