Tanners Dell: Darkly Disturbing Occult Horror

by Sarah England

“Has he said anything yet?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Has he woken up at all since he was brought in?”

  “No. Not so much as the flicker of an eyelid.”

  For a few moments they both watched Callum’s chest steadily rise and fall.

  Frowning, Becky asked, “Where was he exactly when you found him?”

  Sid Hall took off his anorak, briefly glanced over his shoulder and then leaned in close. “Actually, I was on my way home when I noticed someone staggering about on The Old Coach Road. At first I thought it was a drunk who’d fallen out of The Highwayman, you know, and got lost, but as it was such a rough night up there I thought I’d just make sure the bloke got home safe. Anyhow – got level and that’s when I saw the state of him! Coated in black soot like he’d just come off a shift at the pit, blood caked all over, not to mention delirious and muttering all sorts of mumbo-jumbo. Anyhow, I called out to him and bugger me if it wasn’t Callum. To be honest I’d given up hope of us ever finding him.”

  “So it looks like he had been down a mine shaft? And he had been left for dead!”

  “Well we don’t know that he’d been left for dead. He might have fallen. When did you last see him, Becky?”

  “You know I’m surprised you knew about me, Sid – you know, to call me? His children will be here later, by the way, but Callum and I were supposed to be a secret. It doesn’t matter now but…”

  “Your name was the only thing I could make sense of: Sister up at Drummersgate, he said. Wanted to um…marry you… Anyway, I’ve a lot of gaps to fill in. His last job had him attending a meeting at Drummersgate on the night of the…”

  He thumbed through his notes while Becky reeled from the information she’d just received. Marry her? Really? Her glance flicked over to Callum lying in the hospital bed – hooked up to a drip, attached to a catheter and a cardiac monitor, and with an oxygen mask over his face. His forearms, neck and face were covered in cuts and bruises, and there was a large patch of matted blood in his closely cropped hair. It seemed he’d hauled himself out of an underground tunnel despite several broken ribs and a shattered right patella. He must have been in agony.

  Marry her?

  “…Right here we go – the night of December 18th. What can you recall about that meeting? What was it for? As the nurse in charge, I take it you were there?”

  Her stomach turned in on itself just thinking about that night. “Sort of.”

  One of his eyebrows raised in query. “What do you mean, sort of? You were either there or you weren’t there, surely?”

  “Yeah.” She turned away for a second. There really wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance of ever being able to tell the police about hers or any of the doctors’ experiences. Just stick to the facts, ma’am… “Yes, I was there although I was officially still off sick after an accident. Dr Silver asked me to attend because we have two cases of patients who’ve very likely suffered child abuse in Woodsend; and one of them – Ruby – we believe has a daughter, Alice, who’s still there. On top of that there were some odd things happening to the team and we were pooling information. Callum came along at Dr Silver’s request and then decided to have a look around the area. I didn’t know he was going that night and I wasn’t in a fit state to…” She broke off and looked away for a second. “Anyway, that was the last we saw of him until you picked him up. The rest you know because of what you’ve seen on his mobile. Alice is in a lot of danger and I think Callum must have stumbled on the truth and been left for dead, like I said.” Irritation flared up from nowhere. “You know, I don’t understand why there isn’t more urgency about this!”

  “What sort of accident did you have?”

  “What? Um, a head injury. It happened at work.”

  “I see. And can we contact Dr Silver or any of the other witnesses present that evening?”

  “Dr Silver is seriously ill in Laurel Lawns.”

  Sid Hall raised both eyebrows this time.

  “Dr Isaac Hardy could talk to you, though – he’s the consultant on our unit at Drummersgate. He’s standing in for Dr Silver and Dr McGowan. Oh, and so could Noel, my staff nurse. The other person who was there that night was Martha Kind but she’s now dead so good luck with that one. I’m afraid like both Callum and Dr Silver she made the mistake of asking questions in Woodsend. It never ends well going there.”

  Sid Hall appraised her for a few moments before putting away his notebook. He had the look about him, she thought, of a patient father who’d had just about enough of a recalcitrant teen.

  “Well, we’ve been knocking on doors in that area for over a week now and not found anything untoward. Nor have we any reason to be suspicious about Alice Dean’s circumstances. As far as the police service is concerned, we’re just waiting for Callum to wake up and tell us what happened. It’s likely he fell down a mine shaft after a head injury from the car crash. It was pitch black out there and those moors are lethal with old mining tunnels. Have you ever been up there when it’s foggy?”

  “Pardon? Car crash? On his own when he’s a good driver and it was a clear night? Not to mention that his car was upside down!”

  “Picture it Becky. The car hits a bank of fog or there’s sheep on the road and he swerves, breaks, hits a rock and off it goes at speed, rolls over and he hits his head. Then in a delirious state in thick fog he falls down a shaft—”

  “That night, I remember it because I went to a church after the meeting. It was freezing but all the stars were out. Good visibility, Sergeant!”

  “You said yourself you’d just been off sick with a head injury. Can you really remember? And high up on Bridesmoor…”

  “It’s bloody high up at Drummersgate. Stars are stars, and they were out.”

  “Quite a few miles away – fog rolls in and off the moors in banks.”

  “Even so, assuming things happened as you say, you still can’t possibly leave Alice in Woodsend. She’s not safe.”

  “Why?”

  “Sergeant Hall, we have two cases of seriously traumatised young adults who suffered child abuse there. Another girl of around the same age, again from the Dean family, has been in a psychiatric unit since she was fourteen. Both Martha, our social worker, and her predecessor Linda, suffered sudden deaths after asking questions in the area. Two doctors have had mental breakdowns – again, after asking questions. And there’s no way Callum would have just gone off the road. He didn’t drink and he was an advanced driver who knew the road well. And it was a crystal clear night, I’m damn sure of it.”

  “Why isn’t Alice safe?” he repeated.

  “With Paul Dean? Are you serious? That was the man Ruby was arrested for attempting to murder-

  “She suffers from mental illness, does she not?”

  “She’s lucid a lot of the time and she definitely gave birth. He’s got her daughter. Alice is Ruby’s daughter.”

  “He has stated that Alice is his own daughter.”

  “So who did he say was the mother? And have you checked she goes to school and that she’s registered with the GP? Where’s the birth certificate? Did anyone ask? ”

  “Her GP was there when one of my officers visited. Alice was in bed with a nasty case of measles, apparently.”

  “What about school attendance?”

  “Apparently she has learning disabilities and she’s being home-schooled. His wife, Ida, was very helpful on that one.”

  “And you’re buying that?”

  “Becky,” he said kindly. “What you’re describing is a series of coincidences. Frankly, I’m just here to sure there’s nothing more to add to the investigation before it’s closed. Callum is safely in hospital after his accident and the girl, Alice, we’re satisfied is not in any danger. She’s with her parents. CS Scutts has instructed us to close the file as soon as possible.”

  “Close the case? Are you joking? What about what Callum has to say?”

  “Well yes, of course we’ll be asking him what happened
as soon as he wakes up.”

  “I don’t believe this! And did one of you ever actually see or speak to Alice?”

  Sid Hall sighed heavily and not for the first time Becky thought he looked overweight, a tad weary, and ready for retirement. “No,” he said. “But like I told you – the doctor was there and the child had the measles. The thing is, between you and me, when Scutts is personally involved—”

  “Why? Why is he personally involved? Shouldn’t he be at a higher level than that? ”

  “I take your point, but with a detective inspector missing and an accusation of child abuse he did get personally involved, so we can’t ask for more than that.”

  “No, I don’t suppose.” Her spirits plummeted. They had no social worker now for Drummersgate except a busy temp. And the police had closed the case. Jesus wept.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, you look exhausted, Becky. Why don’t you go home and rest and I’ll wait for Callum to come round?”

  Not bloody likely. “What happened to his photos, by the way – the ones on Callum’s mobile, which would dispute the fact he crashed his car and fell down a mine shaft?”

  Sid shook his head. “His empty wallet and keys were found in the area too. I’m just guessing, but someone must have found the car and robbed him, maybe dropped the phone?”

  “Lame.”

  Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Callum’s oxygen hissed and crockery clattered from beyond the side room where breakfasts were being handed out on trays.

  She shuffled closer so that she was inches from his face and levelled her gaze to his. “You know this isn’t right, Detective Hall. You damn well know there’s something very wrong in Woodsend.”

  His steady brown eyes looked straight into hers. Eventually, under his breath and so softly she’d wonder later if he’d said it at all, he replied, “Yes but I can’t do a damn thing about it. Scutts has closed the case and you wouldn’t want to cross Scutts if your life depended on it, Becky.”

  ***

  Chapter Five

  Bridesmoor

  June 1972

  Cora Dean was down by the river when the pit siren went up. The day was still sunny with cotton wool clouds perfecting a picture postcard day. Sparkling water washed over her toes as she watched her three eldest children – Paul, Derek and Ricky – splashing around on the rocks. They all looked so like their father with those pale blue eyes and shocks of dark hair. Sometimes the resemblance was quite uncanny – there seemed nothing of herself in them.

  She looked over at Bridestone Moor to where the pithead wheel was silhouetted against the skyline, and her heart didn’t miss a beat.

  That gypsy girl…you knew it would be him…you knew and did nothing…

  Desperately worried wives and girlfriends would be tearing out of their houses by now, revving up cars and making frantic phone calls, already rushing up to the yard to see who was being brought out on stretchers and who was unaccounted for. Many would be left without husbands after today, or fathers for their children. Not herself, though. She would not be one of them – Lucas would be just fine. The devil looked after his own and all that. Still, it would look odd if she didn’t show her face. It might be best to at least put on an act.

  Although reluctant to leave the warm grassy bank and the hypnotic tranquillity, she heaved herself up and put babies Natalie and Kathleen into the buggy. “Come on, we’re going!” she shouted to the boys. Still in their infancy, all three ignored her. “I said, ‘Come on!’ Pit siren’s going off. We need to see if your dad’s okay.”

  Paul Dean, aged nine, dead-eyed her. “We’re stopping ’ere.”

  The little shit was defying her again, blatantly, and in front of the other two. “Now!” she snapped.

  He grinned, clearly relishing the stand-off. “I said, ‘no’, Cora!”

  Fury shot through her veins and she ran to grab him and slap him, but skilful as a fly-half he dodged her and plunged further into the river, egged on by the other two. “Drown then, you little bastard,” she said.

  “You drown, you old witch.”

  Cora staggered back onto the bank, the hem of her skirt soaked through, and yanked the buggy up towards the path. Hell and hell again. They were more like their dad than she cared to admit. All those women in the village eyeing her with pity, gossiping so she could hear: What were the Deans doing with that great empty mill as well as a terrace when they’d got five kids to feed? What did her Lucas want with it? Don’t talk rubbish about it being renovated when they’d had it years and not done a thing to it. And those kids backchat like she shouldn’t stand for. And now that young girl missing, have you heard? It must be something to do with him…

  She fought back the tears. It would be better for her if Lucas was one of the men trapped inside the mine – better for everyone, in fact – but he wouldn’t be. And even if he was stone dead it wouldn’t end there, would it? Paul was going to be just the blasted same. Give him another few years and he’d be every bit as nasty, especially since Lucas now had him tagging along at night. She’d begged him not to take the lad out so late, but with Paul standing there laughing at her, there’d been no point railing against it. He was ‘going to the bad’ just like his father.

  The thought was horrific.

  Surely Lucas didn’t take him to Tanners Dell?

  ***

  She’d followed Lucas once – the night every last vestige of pretence between them was finally dropped. Her mother had offered to babysit so ‘they could have an evening out together.’ She’d had to lie about why Lucas had gone out first, spinning her mother a line about Lucas preferring a couple of pints with his workmates before she arrived – and that she’d join him a few hours later in the clubhouse.

  “Oh yes?” Her mother wasn’t fooled – had never disguised the wary contempt she felt for her son-in-law – but eventually she went to bed and Cora let herself out of the back door sometime around ten o’clock.

  For a long time she kept out of sight, lying low in the shadows of the churchyard for the pubs to empty and curtains to be drawn. No one, absolutely no one, must see her. Perhaps she’d dozed off a little, huddled with her back to a gravestone, because she’d jolted awake to find the night inky black and her limbs stiff with cold. She looked at her watch – it was gone midnight.

  The track down to the mill was off the public footpath and unknown to anyone aside from the locals; and most of those wouldn’t venture into Carrions Wood even in daylight. There was an unearthly stillness in what was ancient woodland, reputedly planted on top of an Anglo-Saxon burial ground. Birds didn’t nest in the trees here, apart from a few rooks, and even those who liked to put traps down for rabbits complained there were never any takers. No signs, in fact, of life. At midnight the light was an ethereal blue, the only sound her own breathing as she tramped further and further in. After every half dozen footsteps she stopped to scan the myriad of tree trunks on either side, then behind, doing a three hundred and sixty degree reconnaissance before continuing; until eventually there came the unmistakeable sound of rushing water. Not far now. Once the mill was in view she darted off the path and hunkered down under the protection of a large oak. Now let’s see what the old devil gets up to…

  History had it that a miller had beaten his wife to death here and now it was haunted. Various tenants had come and gone but there had been no buyer, so by the time it lay in ruins Lucas had been able to purchase it for a song. Word spread that he planned to turn it into an idyllic retreat and sell it to a Londoner for a fortune; but that was four years ago now and not a single improvement had been made. In fact, part of the roof had caved in, one of the ceilings downstairs was propped up with an old tree trunk, and several window panes were missing.

  So that was another lie she’d bought into. Every time she’d asked about the mill, though, it ignited the rage in him that never seemed far from the surface. Not for the first time she asked herself just who she had really married at Doncaster Register Off
ice all those years ago. She’d been a sixteen year old virgin with no qualifications and he was a well-paid miner with a sharkish grin and wandering hands. Stupid, stupid, stupid… With no preparation for the sadistic, painful sex she would subsequently be subjected to, not to mention the perversions, the trap had been set and dressed in a catalogue bridal gown she’d walked right in. Wherever possible she avoided his sexual attentions these days – not that it mattered anymore because clearly he was being satisfied elsewhere, which was, quite frankly, absolutely fine as long as it wasn’t herself.

  She should have vanished the night she followed him and found out just who and what he really was: the lost opportunity would haunt her for the rest of her life. But the chance had come and the chance had gone. Where would she go? He’d find her, seek her out and make her pay like others had paid. You didn’t hitch your wagon to a man like Lucas Dean and ever expect to be able to unhitch it again. The man was capable of inflicting the most unimaginable torture on someone who crossed him, but like most of the horrors revealed to her that night, the realisation came way too late.

  In the end it was a three hour wait and she’d been about to give up and go home. If Lucas wasn’t going to turn up he might get back before her and there would be hell to pay. Indecision pulled her both ways. But then just before 3 am, a line of black robed figures emerged from a forest swathed in dawn mist, and silently entered the mill.

  Cora’s eyes widened as she counted – ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen of them, gliding across the ground like spectres.

  Once they’d disappeared inside she took off her shoes and hid them inside the roots of the tree, then keeping low, skirted around the periphery of the trees before scooting over to the rear of the building and skulking into its shadows. Her heart was thumping hard in her chest by the time she slid down beneath a window to catch her breath. Again her ears strained to hear anyone but there was nothing other than the cascading water, so after a few more minutes, slowly and carefully, she stood up and peered inside.