Cold Valley Nightmare

by Anna Willett

  Chapter Eight

  “Jake, you stay here and don’t make a sound. If you get out of the car, a monster will come,” Mimi said.

  Her mouth was a pink circle filled with wonky teeth.

  “Get it?” She squeezed his arm, her fingers digging into his skin. “It’s good manners to answer when your mummy talks to you.”

  He tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t come out. His throat hurt like all the things he wanted to say were piling up behind his tongue.

  “You’re making mummy angry.” Mimi gave his arm another squeeze, this time pinching his skin between her fingers. “You’d better answer.”

  He pushed like he was blowing up a balloon and the word popped out. “Yes.”

  Mimi’s mouth turned into a smile. Not a nice smile like his mother’s, but a bunched up grin that looked like Mimi had sucked a lemon. “Okay.” She sounded happier. “I have to go in the house with Smiley.” She looked over her shoulder. “The people that live there, they are… You don’t want to meet the people in that house.” Mimi jutted her head forward until her nose was almost touching Clem’s. “So stay in the car until I come.”

  He could see himself in her glasses; his face looked small.

  He nodded, which must have been the right thing to do because she kissed his head then slammed the car door. Mimi scared him, but the kiss reminded him of his bedtime and the way his mother settled the blankets under his chin and called him Hopper. Sleep tight, Hopper. I love you till the cows come home.

  Now the sun was gone and Clem was alone. The car windows were black and shiny like a cockroach’s belly. Noises, music, and voices drifted through the darkness. He shivered and curled on his side, pulling the empty jar under his chin and wishing someone would come and give him a drink of water, because his lips were sore and his tongue was sticking to his gums.

  The thought of leaving the car and going into the dark came and just as quickly vanished. Mimi had warned him about the monster. She talked about monsters all the time. If he opened the car door, one might snatch him and carry him off. One might be watching him now and waiting to eat him.

  Eyes wide, Clem huddled on the seat, his narrow chest moving up and down as he listened to the sounds of the night. The music must have stopped, but he couldn’t remember when. There were no more voices, just the chirping of insects. Then a crack, like the clatter of claws on dry leaves.

  Clem sat up and gripped the edge of the seat. The jar rolled onto the floor and landed amongst a pile of burger wrappers and napkins. So many windows. So many places for the monster to get in. He thought he’d used up all his tears, but there were more. They bubbled up and fuzzed his eyes. The door creaked open. Light blinded him. Howling now, he crawled across the seat, desperate to escape the monster.

  “Jake.”

  Clem hiccupped out a shriek and covered his face.

  “Jake, stop making such a fuss.” Mimi’s voice cut through the noise and panic.

  Shaking and with his hair plastered to his head with sweat, Clem crawled towards her. He was still crying when she scooped him up and pulled him from the car.

  “You have to be real quiet now, Jake,” Mimi said.

  His legs were wrapped around her and his head was on her shoulder.

  “I’m taking you into the house, but don’t make a sound or they’ll wake up.”

  Her breath was hot on his ear.

  “If they wake up, we’ll both be in trouble.”

  He buried his hands in her dark hair. “I… I won’t make a sound.”

  He kept his eyes closed just like she told him. Squeezing them shut, he listened to air whoosh in and out of his mouth. When he opened them again Mimi had sat him on the edge of a green bathtub, his big toes almost brushing the tiles.

  Mimi stood in front of the mirror, holding something over the sink.

  “I’m going to put this on your hair,” she said.

  She glanced his way and for the first time he realised she wasn’t wearing her glasses. She looked pretty without the glasses. Not as nice as his mum, but pretty in a messy way.

  “It’s something magical. It will make you a new boy.” She was whispering and talking fast. “You’ll be my little boy.”

  Clem looked around the bathroom. There were black dots, millions of them on the wall near the taps, marching upwards to the ceiling like an army of ants. He knew all about ants and how some were workers and soldiers and queens. His mother brought him books from her school. The ones about insects were always his favourite. He liked… Clem’s thoughts tapered away. It was getting hard to remember his favourite things.

  “Can I have a drink?”

  “Hm.” Mimi held up a bottle and shook it.

  Clem noticed a dark ring around one of her blue eyes.

  “In a minute,” she said.

  Goo slopped onto his head, cold and wet. Clem sniffed and his nose burned. Tears were coming out of his eyes, but not because he was scared. He was scared, but being with Mimi was better than being alone in the car. The tears were hot and stung his eyes. He wanted to ask for water again, but didn’t want to make Mimi angry.

  She stood close to him, so close her tummy bumped his chin. She was wearing gloves that looked like they were made out of plastic bags.

  “Now we wait a while and then we rinse it off,” she said.

  Plastic bags were bad for the ocean. He remembered his daddy yelling at the TV, something about the supermarket being a pig wagon and shopping bags ruining the world. Clem wrinkled his nose, trying not to let the stingy smell get in his mouth.

  “I’ll get you a drink,” Mimi said, pulling off the gloves. She put a finger to her lips before slipping out of the bathroom.

  Alone, Clem turned to look into the tub. Rusty looking streaks swirled around the plug. Above the stained bathtub was a small window covered by a ragged piece of board. He was glad he couldn’t see the blackness of the night. He wanted to pretend night never came and Smiley and Mimi were just leftover memories from a scary movie.

  “Find me, Mummy.” He whispered the words aloud, hoping they would become magic if he said them often enough, but in the grubby bathroom it was hard to believe in magic.

  “Here you go.” Mimi stepped into the room holding an orange plastic cup and a bag of potato chips.

  She handed him the cup and when he took it, Clem noticed his hands were dirty. Black stuff was under his nails. The drink tasted like fizzy, but with something nasty that changed the sweetness to sour. Still, he drank every drop then dipped his hand into the open packet of chips when Mimi held it towards him. Snatching up handfuls of chips and pushing them into his mouth, he didn’t worry about manners or washing his hands.

  “Okay, Jakey.” She tossed the chip bag into the sink. “That’s enough. We need to wash that stuff off your hair.”

  She took the cup from his hand and plonked it into the sink with the chip packet.

  “Shit.” She was staring at him, the corners of her lips drooping down like an angry puppet.

  He’d done something wrong, made her angry. Clem wrapped his arms around himself, shrinking back, expecting a smack. Maybe she noticed how dirty his hands were or that he forgot to say thank you. His chin quivered as tears crowded his eyes.

  “I should have taken your T-shirt off so we can rinse your hair.” She picked at something on her arm, then shrugged. “Oh, well, you’ll just have to get your clothes a bit wet. Better than pulling your top off and getting it covered in dye.” She jabbed him in the shoulder, her finger sharp like a pointy stick. “Take you pants off and get in the tub.”

  He did as he was told, hoping she’d be happy with him and give him more potato chips so the growling pain in his tummy would go away. Mimi made him kneel in front of the tap as she ran cold water over his hair. He tried to keep his eyes and mouth closed, but the cold made him gasp. He squinted and saw black water pooling around the plughole.

  When it was over Mimi held him up so he could look in the mirror over the sink. He saw
a boy with black hair and chattering teeth staring back at him and knew that Clem was shrinking. Soon, he’d be Jake and his mummy would never find him.

  Chapter Nine

  “I remembered something I wanted to tell you.” Lucy was at the kitchen table with her laptop open and her phone in her hand. Outside, magpies were warbling out their morning song.

  Damon drained his coffee and placed the cup in the sink. After his conversation with Larson the night before, he decided to pick up Brock and drive back to Cold Valley so they could check out the fire road near the Wheelers’ property.

  Lucy turned in her chair.

  “Something Sadie told me kept pinging around in my brain, but I couldn’t work out why,” she said.

  She pointed to the computer screen where an article she found in a small local newspaper that covered the Cold Valley region was displayed on the screen.

  Damon moved closer, leaning over her shoulder. “The Cold Valley fête?” As he spoke, she caught a hint of his clean, slightly soapy scent.

  “Well, it’s not really the fête itself that puzzled me, but rather what happened there.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not in the article, but Sadie told me Clem went missing at the fête. She said Robert was supposed to be watching him that time, too.”

  “So what are you thinking?” Damon straightened, but remained at her shoulder.

  “Is it possible?” She tapped the screen. “Could whoever took Clem have attempted this before and failed?”

  Damon’s eyes narrowed as though working through something in his head. “So the fête was on Sunday and then one week and one day later the same boy goes missing again.”

  Lucy had to crane her neck to meet Damon’s gaze. She felt a familiar spark of excitement, one that came when a vital piece of information fell into place.

  “Whatever it is, it’s not a coincidence.” He seemed about to say something but stopped and hooked his hands on his hips.

  “What?” She knew him well enough to know he wasn’t convinced by her theory.

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but if Wheeler was watching the boy when he went missing at the fête, it could be when the idea of getting rid of him took root.” He picked up his jacket. “Maybe the incident sparked something in him. A man like Wheeler might have recognised it as an opportunity.”

  She had a pretty good idea what Damon meant, but had to ask. “An opportunity for what?”

  “If he had fantasies about hurting Clem or getting rid of him, something as simple as losing the boy at the fête…” He shrugged, but there was nothing casual in the movement, “…it could have been the impetus Wheeler needed to push him to act.”

  Lucy picked up her coffee and took a sip.

  “Maybe.” The idea that Robert Wheeler was secretly nursing dark fantasies about hurting his stepson made the coffee sour in her mouth. “Still, I think it’s worth looking into.”

  Damon kissed the top of her head, lingering for a second before continuing, “After we’ve checked the fire road, we’ll stop by the Wheelers’ and quiz Robert about the fête. Brock’s steely gaze might rattle the man enough to get some answers.”

  Lucy couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Brock Day sitting across from Robert.

  “Let’s hope so,” she said.

  After Damon left, Lucy stared at the screen, scrutinising the photo that accompanied the article on the Cold Valley fête. For a small town, the event was crowded. But Lucy supposed there wasn’t much going on in a place like Cold Valley and even a fête would have a big turnout.

  Lucy tapped a finger against her lower lip. Her gut told her the incident at the fête was somehow related to Clem’s disappearance. Damon’s theory also made sense. If Robert did have a dark side, it could have set something in motion.

  She minimised the article and created a folder on her desktop, titling it one word, Clem, before copying the article and placing it in the folder. The night before, Damon mentioned Larson putting together a file with background information on Robert and Sadie. With no other leads, it would be a good place to start. With nothing in her inbox but an email from Matt Price, her producer at Channel 12 News, she left the table and went outside.

  Cool light, partially filtered by a smattering of clouds, washed the rear of the property as wildflowers dipped under a faint breeze. Not until she moved to the semi-rural property had she ever considered herself to be a morning person, but her tastes were changing. Two years ago, she could have never imagined a life outside of journalism. Now there were times when she questioned her commitment to the profession.

  She grabbed her worn sneakers from their spot near the back door and sat on the steps. She was supposed to be working on a story about families opting out of the rat race and taking their children with them on an Australian odyssey. But as she laced her shoes the last thing her mind could settle on was a bunch of hipsters making the rest of the population seem dull. Instead, she set off on one of her walking trails.

  Dressed in a billowing cotton shift and bright blue cardigan, she headed left, following a well-worn path through the tangle of peppermint and grass trees. Moving with haste, the breeze lifted her hair as she let her mind drift. Experience had taught her to let go of nagging questions, because when she stopped trying to force her mind into action, the answers usually surfaced on their own.

  The goat trail dipped downwards to where a fallen log crossed the thin track. It had been some time since her daily walks had a dual purpose.

  “Three weeks and one day,” she said aloud as she bent and reached inside the husk. “Not bad.” She pulled out the packet and lighter and popped a cigarette in her mouth.

  The first puff set off a haze of dizziness. She sat on the log, her feet splayed and her knees together. Her tastes might be changing but her desire for cigarettes seemed to have a life of its own. Staring up, she watched as smoke drifted between the trees, her thoughts returning to Damon saying how losing Clem at the fête could have been the impetus for Wheeler to act.

  It occurred to her that the same reasoning could be applied to someone else. Lucy took a deep draw on the cigarette, then studied its burning tip. Wanting the culprit to be an outsider was in part her determination to find the little boy alive. She recognised that. If it was Wheeler, it meant Clem was dead, but an outsider could want him for any number of reasons.

  Lucy squinted, not wanting to imagine the reasons a stranger would want a four year old. Instead, she focused on other possibilities, one of them being a little boy that might have sparked someone else’s fantasies.

  “Someone at that fête.” She was talking to herself again, a regular habit, but not one she worried about. She stubbed out the smouldering end of the cigarette and stashed it in the little tin she kept in the hollow log. Her thoughts were rushing, ideas falling into place with such speed she almost forgot to put the cigarettes back in their hiding place. After a second’s hesitation, she shoved the packet and lighter inside the log and jogged back to the house.

  “Since moving to the country, your dress sense has taken a weird turn.”

  Tim was at the kitchen table, a thick manual of some sort open in front of him while he munched on an apple; chewing and swallowing between biting off hunks and handing them to Atlas, who sat with his chin on Tim’s leg. He pointed at Lucy’s dress and joggers.

  “I’m not criticising, just noticing.” There was a teasing tone in his voice, one that would have normally made Lucy smile.

  “Nor should you.” She glanced her brother’s way and pointed at his woollen beanie. “Not with that ratty thing on your head.” Her tone was light, but absentminded.

  Snatching up the phone, she fired off a text to Sadie.

  Hi, it’s Lucy. This might sound crazy but can you ask around and see if anyone took any film of the fête? I’m looking for footage that shows the crowd. Also, try to identify as many people in the footage as you can. Make a list and send it along with the film.

  She hesitated befo
re sending the message and ran her fingers through her hair.

  If you know anyone who’s lived in town for a long time, ask them to check faces in the crowd. Come up with names.

  Lucy sent the message and dropped her phone on the table. Next, she opened her inbox. As promised, there was an email from Larson with a document attached. She downloaded the document into the file she’d created earlier, but didn’t read its contents. Instead, she created another document and began making notes.

  Her pulse was thumping. She had information and what she hoped would turn into a decent lead. As a journalist she was in the habit of keeping a daily log of research and interviews. She began making notes, starting with the interview with Wheeler and included Sadie’s information about the fête.

  With her focus on the screen she barely noticed Tim moving around the room.

  “I thought you said yesterday was a cigarette day,” he said.

  “Hm?” She kept her gaze on the screen, but her fingers faltered.

  “I can smell it on you.”

  She looked up and the snappy comeback she was ready to deliver died on her tongue. Tim looked worried. His arms were folded across his body. One sleeve on his jumper had ridden up, revealing the tail of thick red scar tissue.

  “It’s getting to you.” The earlier teasing tone he’d used was gone. He looked away as if he couldn’t say the next words while still holding her gaze. “This abduction stuff is getting to you.”

  Lucy was so used to protecting her younger brother, her first instinct was to lie and tell him everything was fine. But watching him rub his thumb over the end of his scar, she was reminded of how much stronger he was than she gave him credit for.

  “A bit.” She dropped her hands into her lap. “I’m okay, though.” She nodded to the screen. “I want to find that little boy and bring him home to his mother.” The last few words almost caught in her throat.

  Saying it out loud made it sound too real. Too impossible. Yet standing in front of her was living proof that no one was gone until they’re gone.