Memory Scents: A Psychological Thriller

by Gayle Eileen Curtis

  Chrissie knew as soon as she stepped out of the car that she wanted it. She loved the old Norfolk red brick which looked deep in colour in the midday sun, and the pretty overgrown front garden. Stocks and roses crowded the path that beckoned her to the front porch. It all held a familiar feeling with it. A feeling she couldn’t pin point but had decided was her gut reaction telling her that it was the right house.

  Chrissie dried herself with the soft towel, soothing her skin which was prickled, having stepped out of the warmth and comfort of her steamy bath. The latch on the door clicked up and the door creaked open, startling her again, causing her to quickly cover her naked body with the towel.

  “James, I haven’t finished!” she screeched, looking up at the empty doorway.

  But there was no reply and no James stood at the bathroom door.

  “James….?”Chrissie called, feeling her heart begin to pound; her skin prickling from fear, rather than a chill, that was creeping over her body. Chrissie stood in her bathroom staring at the space left by the door; cold water was running down her body as it dripped off her hair.

  “Did you call me?” James appeared in the doorway, startling her yet again.

  “Cover yourself up, I don’t wish to….” He stopped, seeing her pale face. “Chrissie are you alright?”

  “Um, yeah, did you open the bathroom door?”

  “No, I’ve been downstairs making a cuppa. What an earth is wrong?”

  “Nothing, I probably didn’t shut the door properly, and it swung open and made me jump.”

  “You dozy old bag! Get some clothes on for god’s sake and hurry up and get downstairs; I’ve just made a brew.”

  “Enough of the old!” Chrissie shouted light heartedly after him as he made his way down the winding staircase. But she didn’t feel light hearted, not one little bit. She felt silly getting so worked up about a door but it was the feeling that it had left her with that bothered her the most. She knew she’d shut the bathroom door properly because since she’d moved into the house, doors opening on their own had become a frequent occurrence. This had caused her to become almost obsessive about checking them.

  When James and Kate rang to tell her that they were coming to stay for a couple of days, she’d tried to stop herself sounding too hysterical. The relief that had swept through her was palpable. Almost every day she had spent in the house there had been some incident or another that had either frightened her or made her waste time wondering whether she had caused it herself. Especially after what Grace and Tim had told her at the pub. Hearing about the murders of all those children, particularly one that was found in her garden, had really freaked her out.

  There had been things left on the kitchen work top that she knew she hadn’t removed from the fridge, pictures falling off the wall for no reason, the television changing channels of its own accord and the most frightening one of all was when the dial moved on the radio. Chrissie had been unpacking some boxes and listening to her favourite radio station when it had suddenly become high pitched and crackly. She went into the kitchen to see what had happened, and as she began fiddling with the aerial she had spotted the dial turning backwards and forwards as if someone was tuning it.

  Most of the time the house felt warm, homely and familiar, and these were the times that Chrissie really felt she’d made the right decision. And that the future was full of exciting things. But at some point during each day, a cold blanket descended on the cottage like a layer of snow; silent and chilling. It left her feeling sick and fearful and wanting to jump into her car and drive far away from the whole place.

  These extreme changes in atmosphere were causing Chrissie to have conflicting emotions. She enjoyed and looked forward to each day in her new house because at times she felt elated. But she also dreaded anticipating the change in atmosphere that could appear at any time. So, gradually and very slowly Chrissie was becoming a nervous wreck; like a large screw being turned inside her head. The offer of some company was grabbed with both hands because Chrissie naively convinced herself that it would all stop for a couple of days.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NORFOLK 1955

  Daphne unscrewed the cap of her flask and inhaled the metallic smell of strong sweet tea that wafted towards her nose.

  It was a beautiful summer’s day and it was promising to be really warm by the afternoon. She was pleased to be outside for a change. When the weather was bad, Daphne spent time in the library or a café. But she preferred to be in the fresh air, it made her feel free. Something she didn’t feel in her life in general. When she was at home with Tim and Jack, in their big house, with their acre and a half of garden, she felt trapped like a rabbit in a hutch.

  So, most days during the summer holidays Daphne asked Dora their housekeeper to watch over Tim.

  They were some of the best days of her life and some of Tim’s worst, something she was oblivious to. Lost in her own world, she never once questioned why Tim hated the summer holidays, unlike other children, who loved them.

  Daphne leant back on the bench, crossed her feet and breathed deeply. Relief flooded her. She came out most days to be alone, think and reflect. It was like a whole new life she’d created outside her old one. This had been imperative to the well being of her family, even though they were unaware of her other life.

  It had been on a day a few months previously when she thought her head would explode like a ticking bomb. It had scared her, what she might do to Tim, she’d become so distressed. So she’d called on Dora to look after him for a few hours. And it was like someone had turned a tap on. She’d run to the park that day, sobbing all the way there in the rain, wanting so desperately for things to be different.

  That day had been the first of many and a tiny spark of an idea had ignited in her head. She decided that in order for her to be able to function in her role within her family, she would go out whenever she could. So, Daphne approached Dora with an agreement. Dora was paid extra to stay on and look after Tim and she wasn’t to breathe a word of it to anyone. If Jack ever asked, she would just tell him that she’d been out visiting or shopping and Dora had agreed to baby sit. He had no idea how often or how long she was out; he was always at work. She couldn’t tell Jack she wanted a Nanny because he’d then enquire where she was going. Dora just thought that Daphne was having an affair, one that she was glad of because it was lining her pockets and her lifestyle.

  The agreement worked for many years and Daphne was eternally grateful for the lifeline she’d been thrown. It had saved her from committing suicide and taking her son with her. It had only meant to be until Tim started school full time but then Daphne had found herself calling on Dora during the school holidays.

  Daphne became a familiar face to people after a while, visiting the same places. Frowning, inquisitive looks had turned into cheery hellos and a brief passing of time. Those people knew her as Daphne and no one else and she found this immensely liberating. She’d picked a town roughly fifteen miles away where she could safely immerse herself. No one there had any idea that she had a son and a husband at home. They knew nothing about her, thought she was a loner. She liked it that way, it was comfortable and familiar and it made her feel whole and complete.

  There was no guilt involved for Daphne; she knew she needed this life to be able to continue with the other one. Leaving either life wasn’t an option for her. She’d made her bed and she would lie in it, now, more comfortably than before. Had she been aware of what Tim was going through while she was away from him, she would have felt very different.

  And as Daphne now sat on the bench sipping her tea and enjoying the peace, her son was sat in a pitch black, damp cellar, wishing for the entire world that his mother would come home and rescue him.

  *

  Norfolk 1998

  “There was no need for you to tell Chrissie all that nasty business about the murdered children. What on earth were you thinking? She’s only just moved in and she’s trying to get used to the place. Thanks
to you, she’s probably frightened out of her wits!”

  “Oh shut up, you stupid woman! Someone was bound to tell her. You know what the gossips are like in the village, I’ve done her a favour.” Tim said, opening the fridge door to see if there were any leftovers to quell his hunger. Drinking beer at lunch time always made him hungry, even if he had already eaten at the pub.

  “And what makes you think that you were the right person to relay that information?” Grace searched his face for any sign of a nervous reaction.

  “Just being neighbourly. If I’d have left it to the gossips she would have heard some half baked story more frightening than the truth, which would have had her packing her bags and leaving. At least what I’ve told her is a matter of fact, without all the bullshit with it.”

  “I can’t understand why you would think that anything could be more frightening than the truth of all that happened to those poor little souls. And what makes you an expert on delivering the facts?”

  Grace leant on the kitchen worktop and folded her arms. She scrutinized his face while he busied himself with some bread and cheese, but to no avail. Not a flicker; he was as cool and calm as normal. This only made her more agitated and she needed to watch her step. The last thing Grace wanted to do was to let him know that she knew what he’d done all those years ago. She wasn’t frightened of him killing her, just the fact that he might do it before she got the pleasure of doing it to him first.

  Grace felt she had already experienced the worst kind of fear and pain that any human being could go through. She wasn’t worried about dying; that would be a time to go to sleep and be put out of the misery that she’d endured through her lifetime. No, dying was a luxury. There had been a time when she’d wanted that experience to happen sooner rather than later. That had been the day her daughter had died in a terrible accident. She’d felt that she’d died right there and then with her on the day the police knocked at her door. Dying, for Grace felt like it would have been a light relief from the horrendous nightmare that she was about to go through.

  She remembered an unconscious thought fleeting through her mind when she saw the two officers walking up the path; that they’d come to tell her that Tim was dead. Not her precious daughter.

  Nadine had been playing in the garden of an old derelict house and hadn’t seen the open cess pit. The police said they thought that Nadine had been playing whilst waiting for her friend who lived next door. A dog walker had seen her there and had told her to move on saying it was dangerous but she’d ignored him. It was when he heard her screams after he’d got some way past her that he knew something bad had happened and alerted the police from a phone box. He searched for Nadine with the help of her friend Pauline and Pauline’s Father, who had heard the commotion because he was working nearby. They almost fell down the cess pit themselves, it was so well camouflaged.

  That day had happened almost ten years ago but it was as clear as the minutes passing now. She could even remember the warm sunshine peeking through the rain clouds making them look like they were lined with silver. But there was no silver lining that day or any of the days that had followed for Grace. Tim had dealt with his grief in his own selfish way. Leaving her for days on end to lose himself in his sailing and then coming back for such a brief time she hardly noticed he was there. Even though she yearned for some support, she realised looking back she hadn’t wanted it from him. All the times she’d screamed at him that he wasn’t there for her, she actually realised in her quieter, less hysterical moments that he had done exactly what she wanted, which was to leave her alone. How could she gain any sort of comfort from someone she thought was emotionless and weak?

  So Grace was looking forward to the luxury of dying but not until she’d had the pleasure of killing Tim first and making it look like a tragically sad accident.

  This comforting thought passed through her mind as she watched him sink his teeth into the bread and cheese he’d prepared for his supper.

  *

  Tim found himself wandering past his shed and down the garden path and through the gate. He didn’t quite know what he was doing but he knew where he was going.

  He was becoming increasingly bored with his boxes of memory scents; the smells were fading fast. Until he worked out what he was going to do next he needed to occupy himself with something else and that was to have a bit of fun.

  Chrissie had made a huge mistake telling him about her little problem. He laughed to himself at how women were so over-emotional and stupid; couldn’t keep anything to themselves, not like men. Tim thought he was especially good at it. He knew that the only way to continue enjoying what you were doing was to keep your mouth shut. He believed that the only person you could ever trust was yourself.

  And that was why Tim had got away with all his gruesome activities. He’d not told a soul, not even his Mother, with whom he shared the most secrets.

  He contemplated this little gem of information about himself as he walked down the dimly lit lane towards Chrissie’s house. He wanted to go and sit in his favourite shed at the bottom of her garden, so that he could think about what he was going to do next. That particular old shed held fond memories for him and there was still a faint smell from the past that he could detect if he breathed in hard enough.

  It was time to plan some excitement and by the time Tim finished, Chrissie would have a perfect understanding of the meaning of fear. Tim would make sure she would feel like she had completely lost her mind.

  It would be a part pay back for the spectacular escape she had made when she was a child. It had taken him a while to work out the familiarity of her. The smell was similar to that of when she was younger, but only a hint. It was her eyes that had given her away. Those fascinatingly beautiful blue eyes that almost looked like they were coloured lenses because they were so bright. Tim recognised her when they were talking about her house, and from her scared expression. He couldn’t place her in that capacity at first, not until she mentioned she had holidayed with her parents in the village for many years as a child. It caused a memory to flash across his mind. He remembered that scared look very well, and what a beautiful little child she’d been.

  Chrissie was on holiday with her family and Tim had watched her for almost a week, waiting to pounce on her as soon as her family left her alone. There were three little girls but he’d only been interested in her. Partly because of her alluring eyes but also because she’d passed him innocently in the local post office, leaving a scent behind her that had captivated him. A child like smell mixed with washing powder and soap and a slight scent of unwashed hair with remnants of the sea.

  Tim was slightly worried she was on to him; why else would she have moved here? He was so conceited; he couldn’t imagine anyone making a decision that didn’t concern him being taken into account. Even though Chrissie hadn’t appeared to have known who he was, Tim needed to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t put two and two together. Logically he couldn’t see how she could link him to anything because he had never let her see his face back then.

  Luckily for Tim, on this occasion he had picked the night time to abduct Chrissie. If he hadn’t, she would have been able to give the police a full description of his face. Tim was usually the last person that his victims saw, but he hadn’t been Chrissie’s. He remembered her being a strong little thing, not wanting to give up without a fight. He was surprised at her will to live. His other victims had given up after what Tim saw as only a tiny struggle, pathetic and weak. The fact remained, it had been pure fear that had caused their bodies to fail in their functioning, that and Tim’s rough handling.

  That particular night, he’d gone into the garden of the holiday cottage where Chrissie and her family were staying. He’d observed whilst watching her and her family that Chrissie would go back outside after she’d got ready for bed and sit on the old swing in the garden. Her mother regularly called her in but she ignored her until she was physically marched upstairs to bed.

  T
im thought the best way of enticement would be to make a noise like an animal to draw the little girl to the gate. It worked and with very little effort he grabbed the tiny six year old, clamped his hand over her mouth and took her a little way down the track to a nearby back garden where he knew of an old unused shed. He knew it was quiet there, because it was so far away from the house that it belonged to.

  It was to be that same house and garden that Chrissie bought, many years later.

  It was all as simple as that, in those few seconds that any parent whose child has gone missing wishes they could rewind. Those missing minutes that can never be repeated.

  Luckily for Chrissie it all back fired on Tim because, being used to taking children during the daylight, the night time seemed to have short-footed him. So, while he was trying to deal with a small child who was kicking but unable to scream, he didn’t notice the slight step into the old shed and as he stumbled forward he lost his grip of her and Chrissie made her escape. She ran and ran and somehow managed to get back to the holiday cottage where her mother was frantically searching the garden for her.

  For the first time in his life, Tim had been scared. He rushed back to his house hoping that no one was in, so that he could hide his panic.