The house had thankfully, been empty, because Grace was at a Women’s Institute meeting. This enabled Tim to turn on the lights, get something in the oven, and generally make it look like he had been there all evening. Tim knew that the whole place would be crawling with police in a matter of minutes; especially as they were on the hunt for a child killer. That was the only time he scolded himself for being stupid and genuinely felt he may have blown the whole thing.
Within half an hour he was back to his usual calm, cold self and when the police knocked on the door to let him know what had happened he looked like any other normal citizen who had spent an evening in on his own. The problem was Tim was so clever that he’d managed to convince the entire village that he was a pillar of the community. He’d been a serving police officer since he was old enough to join up. A local bobby, trustworthy and friendly, prepared to go that extra mile for someone else and always keeping a watchful eye over everyone’s children.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dear Alice,
I think I’ve managed to convince Daddy to go on holiday without me. I know I’m going to miss him dreadfully but I just can’t bring myself to leave the house. He knows I wouldn’t enjoy it anyway. I’d be constantly wondering what was happening here. There in body but not in mind as they say. He refused at first and said he wouldn’t go at all but he needs a holiday desperately. He sees it as a way of moving on and I suppose we all deal with things differently, but it’s not a way forward for me. The thought of it is just pure torture.
Anyway, I was reading an article the other day about how some people can suffer amnesia from shock or a bump to the head. In some cases they go wandering off, not remembering who they are. Sometimes, after a few years they just come to, and go looking for their real families. It gave me fresh hope because you were on your own that day, and you could have easily fallen over and bumped your head without anyone knowing.
The whole thing made Daddy cross and I’ve promised not to mention it again. Daddy is convinced that you’re not coming back and that the only thing that would have caused you to leave us would be if you were dead. But I would know that as a mother, and I’ve never felt it, not like other people who have lost a child.
I know you wouldn’t leave us intentionally because I know how happy you were. And you certainly wouldn’t have left your beloved little dog, Tilly.
I’m sorry for running on again my darling, but I’ve felt that the whole situation has consumed me lately. Maybe this is a sign that you are near and that we will see you soon. I don’t just feel it, I know it.
I cut the article out and put it in your scrap book with all the other cuttings for you to read when you get home.
Loving you always
Mummy xxx
*
NORFOLK 1956
The scent of Dora and the warmth of the range cooker that they were sat next to in the old familiar kitchen were making Tim sleepy. He was sat on Dora’s lap; his head leant against her breast, as she read from his favourite story book. His tiny fingers were entwined in her soft blonde hair, as he twirled the golden locks round and round. He loved the feel of her silky, waxen, shiny hair on his hands. It was something he should have been doing with his mother, but she was hardly ever around and he’d grown used to Dora as a substitute.
They’d had a lovely day together. Tim had skipped into town with her in the sunshine and she’d bought him a packet of sweets. He’d even heard her humming to herself on the way. It was the first day he could remember in his short little life that she hadn’t scolded him or snapped at him. She was in one of her better moods.
Whatever had caused this gaiety in Dora was to be short lived but Tim wasn’t old enough to know this familiar pattern of events. Launching him off her lap and across the kitchen was the result of him snagging her hair with a hang nail. Dora’s temper brought out her true roots, the posh clipped accent she used to impress Daphne and Jack evaporated as quickly as fading breath on glass.
“You stupid little bastard!” she screeched at Tim as he hit the far kitchen wall and crumpled in a heap on the floor, shocked and astounded, as ever, at the personality change in her.
“Get up!” she said, rubbing her neck where he’d snagged her hair.
“I’m sorry...”
“Get up, I said.” This was said more quietly but with a sinister tone in her voice, which scared Tim more than anything. She was bent over and moving towards him slowly, as he desperately scrambled to pull himself off the floor and stand up straight. He closed his eyes, not wanting to meet hers, and crossed his tiny legs, hoping she wouldn’t see the dark stain appearing on his trousers. But urine began to drip loudly on the unforgiving linoleum floor.
Dora stared at the wet patch and then back at Tim, a look of disgust shadowing her face. She grabbed him sharply by the arm, her temper getting the better of her, and dragged him screaming to the cellar door. As she thumped down the steps dragging him behind her, his small legs couldn’t keep up and he fell twisting his arm in her grip. She continued regardless, his body thumping down the concrete steps as if she was a child again dragging a rag doll. She swung him around and flung him on the soot and dirt covered floor.
Back in the kitchen, Dora leant her hands on the kitchen sink and stared out of the window, trying to calm her breathing and her rage.
Tim’s crying could be heard through the floor in the kitchen, which only served to irritate her more. She poured herself a large gin and tonic and went outside for a cigarette so she couldn’t hear him. Jack was away on business and Daphne would be out until late, so she wasn’t concerned about anyone coming back. She more or less lived in the house, she was there far more than Tim’s parents and she’d begun to treat the house like it was her own.
Two hours later, a tear and urine stained Tim was removed from the cellar and put into a hot bath and scrubbed clean. Afterwards, she put him to bed and finished reading the story that had been interrupted earlier. It was as if nothing had happened. Dora looked in every way the angelic young beauty that she always portrayed to Daphne and Jack. It was the perfect calm setting for when Daphne eventually came home.
*
Norfolk 1998
Chrissie wandered along the beach, deep in thought, looking very troubled. There were all sorts of scenarios running through her head, but the light sea air seemed to be helping. Just lately she’d felt safer outside her house than she had in it. The sheer panic that engulfed her when there was a change of atmosphere at home had caused her on a few occasions to run outside and sit on the swing. The swing was where she felt safe. And whatever it was that she thought was chasing her inside, outside felt like an expanse of escapism.
There had been a new turn of events just recently and it had caused her to call her best friend Sarah. She needed to feel that someone was there with her and, not knowing many people in the village, the telephone seemed like the next best option.
Chrissie had been unable to hide her alarm and begged Sarah to stay on the line and keep talking. This obviously worried Sarah greatly and, after talking with Chrissie for almost two hours until the commotion died down, she insisted that she would get some time off work and drive over to her for a few days as soon as she possibly could. She’d wanted to get in the car that night and drive over to Chrissie, but had been ordered in no uncertain terms not to. Chrissie assured Sarah that she would call on Grace if things got unbearable. Sarah felt that ‘unbearable’ had already been reached but didn’t like to say, in case it unsettled Chrissie further.
Not only were there things going on in the house but to add to Chrissie’s hysteria there were unexplained activities going on outside. The night it started she hadn’t had too bad a day apart from the interference with the radio, but that was becoming a normal occurrence for her, and the atmosphere in the house hadn’t dropped to its normal level.
Whatever it was that was going on outside seemed to have a knock on effect of aggravating the activities indoors. She wasn’t sure what she had he
ard at first because every time Chrissie turned down the television it appeared to stop. But then it continued so she switched the TV to standby and waited. Then she heard it. A scratching at the window which she thought might be one of the cats. But after a quick look around she located all three. The scratching got louder and it sounded like a razor blade being dragged across the window, which caused Chrissie to shiver uncontrollably, even though she was sweating with fear. The cats began to stir and a low deep growling could be heard coming from their tiny bodies. In her panic Chrissie had checked the back and front doors were locked and in doing so had briefly peered out of the small window to the door. She couldn’t see anything and wasn’t brave enough to pull back the curtains and look out of the windows. She’d made that mistake the other night when she thought she’d heard something, only to have been frightened out of her wits at the sight of her own haunted reflection.
So she had curled up on the sofa with a blanket and the television turned up loud until it passed. When she thought the noise had stopped she began to feel brave enough to turn on the outside light and venture upstairs to look out of her bedroom window. At first she didn’t notice what was strange in the garden until she walked away and then turned back. It reminded her of one of those picture quizzes where you have to spot the odd thing out.
The air was completely still that night although it hadn’t felt like that with all the noise and the strained atmosphere inside her home. She’d imagined there to be a raging storm outside, but it was as still and quiet as most other late summer evenings. Everything in Chrissie’s garden was perfectly still, even her cottage garden plants. What was glaringly obvious when she turned back to have another look was the swing hanging from the tree. And unlike everything else, it was swinging backwards and forwards with quite some force. Chrissie tried to suppress the bile that flooded her throat, before she ran to the toilet. She only just made it to the bathroom, in order for her body to express all the pent up fear of the past few weeks in the only way it knew how. Anyone else would have called the police or left the house screaming but Chrissie was used to paranormal activity. She and her sisters had been brought up in an old rectory where it was a normal occurrence. She knew the difference between that and an intruder. Or so she thought.
The freedom of walking along the beach in the light autumnal breeze was a huge relief to Chrissie as she waited for Grace to meet her for a chat. She spotted her in the distance, walking confidently across the beach car park towards her. She was unsure whether to tell her any more of what had happened, partly because she didn’t want to appear obsessed with the whole thing, having only just met her, and because she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear any more grim details about these child murders. She found it strange that she hadn’t remembered hearing about them when she was younger, seeing as she’d holidayed here for many years as a child.
“Hello!” called Grace cheerfully to her as they approached one another. “Oh, dear, you don’t look your best, are you coming down with something?’
“Thanks very much!” Chrissie said, giving Grace a brief hug and kiss on the cheek.
Grace laughed and returned her greeting.
“I’m not feeling too good as it happens. I’ve not been sleeping very well. But I’m sure a lovely walk along the beach will blow the cobwebs away.”
“Have you had some more problems at the house?” Grace asked.
“Yes and I can’t understand it. I feel like I’m going round the bend! I had my step-children to stay for a few days and I thought it would all stop while they were here or that I’d realise I’d been seeing things. But it all continued and what really freaked me out was that James and Kate experienced it as well. They couldn’t get away quick enough.”
“So do you really think it’s haunted?” said Grace, beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable.
“Well, I can’t think of any other explanation. Maybe the things that are being moved are simply me misplacing items, but the radio dial turning and the television switching channels are definitely nothing to do with me.”
“Perhaps you’ve got an electrical fault; it might be worth getting someone to have a look at it all.”
“Oh come on Grace, you and I both know that the previous owners had all that major work done before I got there. And it’s not just the electrical things; the latch doors keep opening on their own and the atmosphere and temperature in the house plummets for no reason. I think it’s got something to do with that child Tim was telling me about.” Chrissie was tentative, having not wanted to bring the subject up, but talking about her problem had stirred a curiosity inside her to know the facts.
“Don’t take too much notice of what Tim says. He thinks he’s laying out the bare facts to people when in fact they’re probably slightly exaggerated; typical of a policeman.”
Chrissie paused briefly from walking.
“I didn’t realise Tim’s in the police?”
“Was, in the police, he’s retired now; done his time.”
Chrissie nodded and watched the other woman’s expression change into what looked like disappointment. She waited, expecting her to continue with what she was saying but there was a long pause. As if by saying anything further about her husband, she’d let out too much information. And actually Chrissie was right; Grace felt that if she ever started talking to anyone about her marriage with Tim, she’d never be able to stop. And it was a much bigger trauma than Chrissie could ever anticipate.
“But there was a child found in my garden wasn’t there?” said Chrissie wanting to pick up the conversation again.
“Yes there was, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the problems in your house. Her body was found near the old shed right at the end of your garden, quite a distance from the house. I think they actually discovered her in that stream that passes the bottom of your land. Poor little love.”
“What, my shed? The one I told you about? Why didn’t you tell me at the time?”
“Because I didn’t want to frighten you. Cause you to panic unnecessarily and put two and two together and come up with five like you’re doing now.”
Grace stopped and turned to face her friend, who looked even more haunted than she had when she’d first arrived.
“Look Chrissie, let’s not talk about it; you don’t need to know the gory details. Let’s talk about how we can solve your problem. Hey?”
Chrissie looked like she was about to cry; a mixture of fatigue and fear almost visibly washed over her. Grace suddenly felt very protective of Chrissie; there was a strange responsibility for her. Grace felt almost like she was partly to blame for all the catastrophic nightmares that her husband had caused. There were still new consequences to his actions, like ripples in the water appearing endlessly. And Grace felt she needed to fix what little she could.
“But don’t you think if I know all the details then I’ll be able to make some sense of what’s happening. Just because that little girl was found at the bottom of my garden doesn’t rule out the fact that she could be haunting my house. Maybe, if I trace it all back and find out who lived in the house before the previous owners, I might be able to find out what happened in the house during the time these murders took place. You did say there was more than one child, didn’t you?”
“Yes, there was more than one child. I think there were eight or nine altogether,” said Grace, continuing to stroll again as they talked. It was going to be an uncomfortable conversation but Grace managed to detach what she knew about her husband from the whole story. That was her business, and something she didn’t want another living soul to know. Not if she was to successfully complete her plan.
So Grace composed herself and relayed all the facts she knew about the children who had left this world in a way that no living creature should have to endure.
*
NORFOLK 1984
Jennifer had been so excited about the birthday party she was having after school that she didn’t think twice when her friend’s father had
stopped her on her way home from school. He told her that her mother had asked him to take her in his car to the local café for a birthday treat. Make sure she got there safely.
She knew Tim quite well, having been to his house to play with his daughter, Nadine many times. Her mother had told her not to go off with strangers or even talk to them. But Tim wasn’t a stranger so that made it alright.
When he locked the car door so she couldn’t get out and drove in the opposite direction which took them down some desolate Norfolk back roads, she started to worry.
“Where are we going? That’s not the way into town.”
“You didn’t seriously think I was going to actually take you to the café did you?” Tim glanced at her in the back of the car; his face having changed completely.
“But where are we going?” Jennifer’s face was a mixture of surprise and confusion. Her first thought was that her mother had organised a bigger party for her at the village hall and kept it a secret. But fear was creeping through her stomach, telling her that all was not well.
“And I wouldn’t waste your time trying to get out of the car, it’s got child locks.” He said, spotting her hand moving towards the handle.
Jennifer, who had just turned eleven that day, stared back at the complete stranger who she had made the mistake of getting into the car with. The fear had reached her throat, twisting it and causing her mouth to sporadically open and close in an effort to make a noise. Her hand was white from the grip on the car door handle and she seemed incapable of movement, as the reality of who he was dawned on her. All she kept thinking was why it had to be her, and of all days her birthday.
Memory Scents: A Psychological Thriller Page 5