by Jim Ody
“I can’t believe you kept this from me, Jenny-Wren!” she said, although behind the words she looked proud. She handed over the small shot glass, even though they could both just as easily take a swig from the bottle.
“I thought you might’ve talked me out of it,” Jenny said, accepting the glass despite how she felt. Nat poured one for herself.
“Maybe I would’ve! But here we are. How exciting is this, huh?”
Jenny was almost overcome with all of the feelings she felt. It was all a little too much. It was like the time Meg tried to make alcoholic punch and flung in loads of different shots. Individually she liked them, but all together it was too overpowering.
The words slipped out of her mouth before she could reel them back in. “I’m scared,” she admitted.
Nat looked taken aback by this. “Ahh, sweetie!” she said and flung her arms around her.
“He’s so much older than me… and experienced. I-I don’t know whether what I do will be right?”
Nat pulled back, and holding Jenny’s shoulders said. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t overthink these things.”
“But what if―”
Nat shook her head and placed a finger on Jenny’s lips. “Shhh! Let’s go!”
“What now?”
Nat grabbed her hand. “Exactly now!”
And they were suddenly outside. Everything was real. This was it. Alcohol, excitement and fear were partying in her brain, and she wasn’t sure this was the best frame of mind to be doing what she was about to do.
A turn, then past a couple of cabins and…
…there he was. Stood with flowers.
A ginger-haired lad barged past them, but Jenny hardly even saw him.
“He’s there,” she hissed. Oh my god, this was it, she thought.
“Harry!” Nat shouted. The guy stopped and turned around.
Nat, held Jenny’s hand as they trotted towards him.
“Hi Harry,” Jenny said blushing more than she’d ever done in her life.
“Oh, hi,” he said. “Are you talking to me?”
That stopped them in their tracks. Jenny felt her stomach drop and the familiar feeling of dread and rejection appeared. Her throat constricted, and her eyes got wet.
“Of course we are,” Nat said taking over. A hard-edge now prevalent in her voice. “You’ve been talking to my friend online for the past…” she turned to Jenny. “How long?”
“Two months,” Jenny managed. Her head was now bowed down in her normal submissive way. She was hoping they weren’t making a scene.
Harry held up his hands. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you have the wrong person.”
“Show him!” Nat demanded, but already Jenny didn’t see the point. If it was true then he was now denying it, having seen her in person, and if it wasn’t him, then she’d been speaking to a stranger, so was that any better? She fumbled with her phone, but her fingers shook, and her mind went blank, making the process of clicking an app and finding his profile all the more difficult.
And then behind Harry, a door opened.
Stood tall was an Amazonian woman dressed in a nurse’s outfit. Although this was not one in general use by the NHS, but more from an adult shop.
“What is going on here?” She said, with a nervous smile.
“Harry, here has been in contact with my friend,” Nat said.
Jenny felt even worse. The woman behind him was a real woman. She looked perfect. She was all curves and perfect make-up. Jenny wanted to turn away and cry, and then forget about the whole thing, when she came to his profile.
“Here,” she said. Tears now flowing and her nose filled with snot.
“That’s not me…” Harry started. “I mean. It is my picture… but this isn’t my profile.” He tapped on her phone and turned it around. “This is me!”
“So, you have two profiles?” Nat spat back. “Big deal!”
But Jenny saw something else. Or rather someone else.
She wiped her eyes. “Who’s this?”
He hardly even needed to glance at it. “My son,” he said.
“Marshall?”
He nodded. “D’you know him?”
Then, as if imaginary light bulbs appeared above their heads, they looked at each other.
“I’m going to kill him when I get my hands on him,” Harry said, although of course, his real name was Carl.
“But why?” Nat said as she turned to Jenny. Jenny just felt numb. Her fantasy was crushed. Carl was even more handsome in person, which made it even worse.
“Are those for me, Carl, or your girlfriend there?” the woman teased.
“For you, obviously,” Carl said and handed them over. He then turned and clapped his hands together like he was Gordon Ramsey. “Look, I’m really sorry about this… Marshall’s been under a lot of pressure…”
Nat shook her head. “Don’t defend him, Harry… or whatever your name is. It’s wrong.”
Carl held up his hands in defence. “I know, I know.”
Nat nodded behind him. “Anyway, I don’t want you being late for your appointment.”
“No, right,” he stuttered and took the hand the nurse held out for him.
“This way, sir,” she said in character as the cabin swallowed him up.
“I’m such a fool!” Jenny said, trying to dry her eyes. Each time she thought she’d succeeded, the betrayal of it all leapt out at her and she felt bad again.
“No, no, no! It’s not your fault it’s―”
“―It’s mine.” A strong voice said. Marshall walked into view. He looked suitably ashamed of himself, but perhaps that was just an act.
“Why?” Jenny said to him.
“Ah, the arsehole appears!” Nat said, and stormed towards him.
“Nat, no. Let him speak.”
“Jesus,” he began, and tried to add a little humour. “This didn’t turn out at all as I planned it.”
Jenny swallowed down the lump in her throat. The anger and humiliation overpowering her sadness.
A family walked by and pretended they weren’t interested in the drama unfolding before their eyes.
“Well,” Nat demanded impatiently.
Marshall was chewing the inside of his lip. Jenny didn’t know whether this was a trait of lying, or nerves. This was the problem with somebody you didn’t know.
“I saw your profile,” he began, and Nat rolled her eyes. He held up his hand to her and tried to smile at Jenny. If it was an act, then it was convincing.
He continued. “I liked you. I mean, the look of you and what your profile said. Your pictures―”
“―Need improved security settings!” Nat jumped in.
“Shh,” Jenny said frustrated. She really wanted to hear what he had to say.
“―look, I didn’t mean anything by it. And when we started talking, it was like we’d known each other for years.”
Nat once again was quick to answer. “That sounds like something from a teen movie. Why the fake profile then?”
“She has a point,” Jenny said. She wanted so badly to believe him. Maybe he was insecure. His dad was a handsome man, but beneath the grungy exterior was a guy who looked like he’d follow suit. He already was.
“Okay, it’s like this,” he began like he was doing his best to sound cool too. “When I saw you, I was in a relationship. It wasn’t anything heavy, and was already, you know, petering out―”
“So you lied to her and me?” Jenny said in a small voice.
“No, that’s not it. She was in a bad place. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity with you… I’m not good at that sort of thing.”
“What cheating?” Nat said.
“No, no, no. I never cheated on her,” he shook his head, and there was something in his voice that said it was the last thing he wanted. Maybe Jenny was being kind. The way he stood now turning one of the silver rings around on his fingers. Probably not even realising he was doing it.
“You
never said you were in a relationship,” Jenny added.
“I never said I was single either,” he half-smiled, then added. “You’ve seen my dad. Women love him, but I think you’ve probably guessed that leggy-blonde in that cabin is not my mum, and―”
Nat huffed. “―Here we go. The sob story.”
Marshal frowned at Nat, then turned to Jenny and said, “Can we speak alone. She’s making it really difficult.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nat jumped in again. “I’m not making it easy for you to explain why you were cheating on your girlfriend, by talking to my best friend, and using a false profile? The fact that your dad is at this very moment cheating on your mum, quite frankly makes the whole picture worse!”
He shook his head at her but remained calm. “Jenny, listen. It’s not like that. I’ve been so excited to see you. And when I saw you there by the river…” his words trailed off.
“You said hello and then rushed off home,” Jenny said, and Nat smirked.
“I didn’t want to come on too strong.”
Nat went to say something but this time Jenny held up a hand to say No.
“You can see what this all looks like though, right? I don’t want to be messed around. I came here because I thought you wanted me.” She held her finger up just as Marshall was about to say something. “But all I’ve had so far is lies, and it’s not my fault. I’m fed up of little boys, Marshall. I want a man. A real man. Not somebody who wants to be a cheater like his dad.”
“No, it’s not like that,” Marshall said but it came out as a whine. His confidence suddenly evaporated.
“It doesn’t matter. I guess we’ll never know,” Jenny said. “Come on, Nat.”
Nat looked shocked, then grinned. She took Jenny’s arm in hers.
“Loser!” Nat smirked and off they went.
After a few steps, Nat said, “You were great.” But Jenny just nodded, her heart broken.
They soon got to the outside area of the bar but the table was empty.
Meg and the boys had disappeared.
How much did they really know about the boys?
Little Miss Evil
Chapter 23 - Keith
H e walked with a spring in his step. He felt like he was Hugh Hefner waltzing around the playboy mansion. Okay, so it wasn’t quite like that, but people regarded him with respect knowing that he was in charge. Or at least his family was in charge. His mother never cared to walk around and mingle. She had tried to integrate with the guests a few years back, and that, in Keith’s opinion was where things went downhill.
Keith’s father was missing. He’d been absent for as long as Keith could remember. He was a face from a dog-eared photograph, hidden from him under his mother’s mattress. The slightly over-exposed snap was too orange. His father was dressed in only his underwear. Perhaps that was the reason his mother had kept it.
The worst part of this was that he knew where his father was. His mother did too, but she preferred to think of him as being lost. That’s what happens when for years you’re cheated on, until eventually he runs off to his fancy woman. They lived close enough to keep an eye on each other, but never talked.
Keith had seen him around. The guy couldn’t stay away. He tried to be all friendly, but Keith wasn’t interested in that, only what he had to give him through guilt.
Keith’s mother worked the campsite with a small skeleton crew of staff. Everything was fine until that summer. The one that almost closed the place down.
Even as the smiling faces passed him by - some acknowledging his presence, others selfishly caught up in their own little worlds – he was drawn back to that summer.
The day had been exactly like this―he smiled as he thought up those very words. The clichéd opening lines he’d told to more than one single woman at the bar. The honest truth was, since that day it had been one of the best things to have happened. It gave the campsite an edge that brought people there. The irony of it. How tragedy could be such a great marketing tool.
So anyway―people had been milling around. Smiling faces happy to be away from their boring lives. Cutting loose and relaxing, or raising a little hell. Shit, Keith couldn’t blame them. In fact, he’d gate-crashed a few parties and would also make it known that if they wanted to indulge in high jinks then as long as he was part of it, he’d smooth things out so the police weren’t called. In all the years he’d handed out a handful of free future weeks, and compensation of under a grand – in return he’d been party to over two dozen all night parties, two strippers, and something that vaguely resembled an orgy, although it was not an experience he wanted to repeat.
Keith smiled to himself. He was getting side-tracked again. He stopped going over the scene setting details. Warm night, music playing blah, blah, blah.
It started with a scream. Not one of shock. Not one of delight. But a loud and piercing scream of desperation. It then turned hysterical as a woman ran around waving her arms and yelling about her child. A missing little girl called Alice.
A wave of disruption came with her. It swirled around the bar and the dancefloor until the place was empty. With only the basics of a description, the campsite as a whole searched high and low for the missing 8-year-old girl.
To everybody’s credit, the woman was taken seriously, and not one person dismissed her. The people flooded out and around the campsite. Wherever you stood you could hear the sound of the little girl’s name being called out in different pitches and tones. Male and female voices, even other children under the protective eyes of their parents joined in.
Keith had led a party of men down to the lake. They hoped to god she’d not wandered off and drowned. They could see nothing, but darkness had fallen upon them and they could no longer see the other side of the lake.
Keith didn’t ever admit it, but he enjoyed the excitement of that night. His mother looked at him proudly as he took charge of the expedition to walk the path around the lake, but not before calling the police and sending out various smaller groups into other areas: like behind the cabins, deep into the surrounding woods, and into the storage rooms.
An hour later and they were halfway around the lake, the furthest side to the camp or the little village.
They heard shouting. Then a scared voice coming through the static on his walkie-talkie.
The code words forgotten, it simply said, “We’ve found her.”
Relieved and excited, Keith pressed the button and asked, “Is she okay?”
The silence, then an odd click, was telling. Someone was trying to speak but couldn’t.
“I repeat,” he said with authority. “Is she okay?” his party of men had all stopped and looked at him with hope.
It was another long few seconds before they heard the simple response. “No.”
Keith gulped, and one of the men, who would later be identified as the girl’s uncle sat down. Like he’d been shot. Right there in the middle of the boggy grass.
“The bunker,” the voice said through more static.
Keith called it in to base. Then his team headed towards the location. It was up the hill from where they were. Through a break in the trees, the bunker left over from the war had a look of evil. It might’ve been the night, or perhaps what it represented, or possibly the expectation of what horror they might find. But walking towards it, the place looked like pure evil.
The other team were outside, sitting down on the floor. Nobody was speaking, but they looked shellshocked.
“Don’t go in there,” a middle-aged man said vehemently shaking his head. “You don’t want that etched into your brain.”
Keith nodded but replied, “It’s my land…” it wasn’t, it was part of the trail but the guy wasn’t to know that.
The beam of his torch lit up the small structure. Involuntarily, he made a sound as he saw the body laid on the ground. But it wasn’t just that. The body was naked and covered in blood. The walls glistened with it. Her arms were no longer attached.
Stumbling
out, Keith bent over and threw up his supper. A scene he’d never forget.
Now, he stood at the bar. The girl serving grinned, nodded and poured him a healthy double-shot of whisky. His mother would kill him if she saw how much of her liquor he drank, but that was the good thing about it. She never saw, and she never knew.
He sat at the end of the bar, and remembered how the police had spoken to everyone at great lengths. Eventually, the same description of a man came out time and time again. Within 48hrs, the police had discovered a man living rough in another set of woods farther away on somebody else’s land. He was rounded up and eventually locked away.
But the murder of little Alice Cleaverly became a legend.
Keith had heard all the stories. You know, the ones that started with the god’s-honest truth and then were tweaked and embellished to make the story sound even more farfetched. There were the ones that spoke of a family of cannibals who had half eaten her. Or those that say they heard a chainsaw that night, and on a clear evening the sound can still be heard. Or the paedophile ring that appeared and disappeared just as quickly; Or the satanic worshipers whilst listening to Marilyn Manson – or even aliens! Alcohol, and girls who wanted to be impressed, helped the creative juices of men wanting to spin a yarn.
The truth of the matter was the whole story was vague. Ugly and horrific, but vague.
No one knows how Alice got to the bunker. Many people saw the man, but there were more than a few who thought a few dots had been joined in order to get a conviction. Rural Wiltshire police did not want the pressure of being unable to find a person who had committed such a despicable crime; and to have such a person still at large was too much.
Daniel Ishing was a nomad of sorts. He had a drinking problem, and a holding-down-a-job problem, but not necessarily a drunk or a bum. He was a survivalist. He liked to live rough, and most considered him harmless. More than a few eyebrows were raised when he was hauled into custody, and soon his weather-beaten features were described as those of a killer. His name synonymous with the little girls forever. Throughout the trial he pleaded his innocence, but the press only saw that as more proof of guilt.