The Boy in the Well

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The Boy in the Well Page 4

by Dan Clark


  On the road, she slips into first and takes off with a screech, before turning on the headlights and fastening her seatbelt. The roads are quiet at this time of day. The clock on the dash tells her it’s nearly half past six. Carolyn is used to driving in the bright lights of the city. The small amount of light supplied by the county roads makes her nervous. She switches on the fog lights to guide her.

  Her hands are holding the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles are white, leaving moisture on the leather.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” she beckons the car to speed up. The daunting image of the young boy looking up at her is etched into her mind. She shivers, feeling a chill at her spine.

  Ryan’s face and the face of the boy down the well flash one after the other in front of her eyes. She wants desperately to close them and forget, but she can’t. She has to keep her foot on the accelerator and inform the police. Her bottom lip begins to tremble and she cries out. Tears are streaming down her face as she approaches a sharp bend in the road, almost missing it and ending up through a wooden fence and into a dark field. She brakes and takes the turn, tyres screeching from the tarmac as the car’s engine cries out in need of a gear change.

  Carolyn continues for two miles, oblivious to the roars of the engine, before she finally shifts up a gear. On the cobbled high street the car bounces wildly, forcing her to slow down. Groups of people smoking outside The Red Fox pub turn and watch as the Polo approaches the police station and screeches to a halt a few feet away from the entrance. Onlookers watch with drinks in hand as Carolyn jumps from the car and falls to her knees. She loses one of her slippers, but straightens herself as she pushes through the glass doors of the police station.

  The officer at the front desk, PC Ian Riley, watches as Carolyn, standing breathless and gasping for air in dusty, mud-stained pyjamas while missing a slipper, struggles to speak. PC Riley is looking her up and down as if she’s crazy.

  “There… is… a body…” Carolyn pants. Her complexion has gone white, and the nausea is back. “There is a body in a well… a young boy.” She clutches at her stomach. Inspector Richard Williams is coming from his office. He sees the distressed Carolyn and steps in.

  “Miss, are you ok?” he asks.

  PC Riley looks at him and shakes his head. “She says there’s a boy down a well, sir.”

  Richard Williams looks from PC Riley to Carolyn. His shirt is overhanging from his trousers and his tie is pulled loose from around his neck. A slight smell of body odour escapes him. Carolyn assumes he is near the end of his shift, and identifies his facial expression as annoyed.

  “Ok, miss. Where is this boy? Is he still breathing?” he asks.

  Carolyn shakes her head. “No, he’s dead, I think. I can show you. It’s at the back of my mother’s house, facing the church. I’m Jeanette Stephenson’s daughter. I’m staying with her for a little while.” Carolyn pauses to catch her breath. “Follow me. I can show you,” she adds, heading for the glass doors.

  Williams says, “I know where the church is and I know your mother’s bungalow. Is that your car outside?”

  “Yes… no, it’s my mother’s car. My phone wasn’t working, so I had to drive here.”

  “Okay, well leave the car here until later. You can ride with me.” He turns and follows her out, then turns back to the reception area. “Riley, park this woman’s car up and get through to Hughes and Dixon. They’re at that dispute over on Highfield Road. Tell them to meet me there, and get the fire brigade. We’ll need them. It’s the bungalow facing Father Joseph’s church.”

  Riley nods and picks up the phone.

  Carolyn is outside and slides the lost slipper back on. Richard Williams’ car flashes as it unlocks, and Carolyn climbs into the passenger seat. She recognises the scent of old cigarettes and take-away food. PC Riley follows outside shortly after and climbs into the red Polo, parking it at the side of the station.

  Blue lights flash further down as the fire engine joins the road just behind Richard Williams’ patrol car.

  “So you say the boy is dead?”

  Carolyn doesn’t respond. She’s too busy watching the small gathering of people outside the pub. They are pointing and speaking, obviously not used to seeing such drama in their quiet town. Some take pictures which will inevitably be posted to social media within minutes.

  “MISS!?” Williams shouts, snapping Carolyn from her thoughts. “You say the boy is dead? How do you know?”

  “Yes, I-I think, anyway. He wasn’t moving, and his eyes were… they were just staring at me…” she tails off.

  Inspector Williams releases a sigh and nods his head. “We haven’t had any reports of a missing child lately.”

  “That’s just it. His skin was… well, it didn’t look fully decomposed.” Carolyn stops and holds a hand up to her mouth. The image causes her to fight down the vomit.

  “Are you ok? Do you need me to pull over?” Williams asks, slowing the car.

  Carolyn shakes her head. “No… I’m fine, sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Williams says, taking a bend of the road with the confidence of a man who has driven this route for well over forty years. “It must be hard seeing something like that. Can you tell me more? What does the boy look like?”

  Carolyn closes her eyes and thinks. Nothing substantial enters her mind, only the glazed white eyes appear.

  “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head again, then remembers. “He was wearing a green jumper!”

  Williams nods. “Anything else?”

  “I-I think it looked like a school jumper. There was a logo… maybe a crest on the chest… I couldn’t see properly, but it looked like an S.”

  “An S?” Williams thinks for a moment. “That could be Silvis Primary. They have green jumpers as part of their uniform.” He steps on the accelerator a little harder.

  Carolyn is silent, her mind wandering.

  “Jeanette tells me you live in Leeds,” Williams says in a conversational tone.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I own a bakery,” Carolyn answers, and before Williams can ask why she is here, Carolyn adds, “I’m just here for a holiday and a visit for a few weeks.” Richard Williams doesn’t need to know the details of her visit, and Carolyn doesn’t want to speak about them. Not yet, anyway. And not to a stranger.

  As the car and the fire engine pass the pig farm, they are joined by DS Hughes’ and DC Dixon’s Hyundai.

  They arrive at Jeanette’s bungalow. Williams’ car skids up the path and comes to a halt, making more imprints in the gravel as a small cloud of dust bursts from behind it. The fire engine and the other patrol car park on the road outside. The blue lights of the three vehicles light up the countryside sky like a busy fairground.

  Father Joseph Coyle comes out and stands on the steps of the church, looking on. He wipes his glasses on his t-shirt and puts them to his face.

  Jeanette comes out of the front door fastening her dressing gown. “Where have you been?” she asks. “I woke up to find you gone and my car was missing. What’s going on?”

  Before Carolyn can respond, Williams is standing in front of Jeanette, his considerable belly almost reaching her flat stomach. “Carolyn tells us she has found a body in the well… behind your bungalow.”

  The rain has started again, but nobody seems to realise or care. Their attention is on the body Carolyn has found.

  Jeanette’s face, already pale as she isn’t one for the sun, turns a ghostly white. She closes her hands over her mouth in shock and looks up to Carolyn. “Is this true? Are you sure?” she asks, her voice trembling.

  Carolyn doesn’t answer. She leads the way and heads through the front room to the kitchen, snatching a torch from the shelf as she passes. The three officers follow her through the house and out into the back, the firefighters following behind.

  The bright LED torches illuminate the pathway to the bottom of the garden. Carolyn ducks and sque
ezes through the gap, Richard Williams pulls off some of the rotting fence panels and throws them onto the grass. One by one, each of them squeezes through and into the woodland behind Jeanette Stephenson’s home. Jeanette herself stays in the doorway watching. She was never one for unpleasant sights, which is strange for a woman who spent her working life as a nurse. Instead, she watches with her hands clasped together, saying a prayer.

  Carolyn continues leading the way. The idyllic scene from a short while ago, the one in which she imagined herself sitting and catching up on a bit of reading while sharing a picnic with her mother, has now been replaced by something out of a horror film. Moths flicker in front of her torchlight as she attempts to retrace the path she had taken earlier. Darkness has crept up out of nowhere.

  She shines the torch left to right, left to right, and walks a few feet ahead, scouring the area. The footsteps of eight people following behind her, snapping twigs and bringing up earth, is loud and unsettling. Left to right, left to—

  Carolyn points. “There it is. Up ahead,” she says.

  The well comes into view, housing the corpse that waits to be discovered. To Carolyn, it looks like the type of well you’d be expecting a goblin to climb from and chase you through the woods, snapping branches out of its way as it claws at your back with sharp nails.

  “There, that’s it. He’s… he’s down there…” Carolyn steps aside to allow the police to do their work. She’s seen too much today already. Williams pushes ahead, the sweat and rain trickling down his flustered face. DS Hughes and DC Dixon follow behind, then the firefighters behind them. She leans against a tree as the crew run past, all eight torches shining down the dark hole, lighting the horror.

  Carolyn sighs and looks up towards the dark sky in a bid to concentrate on something else, anything other than the decaying face she saw earlier. The vomit is trying desperately to break out again. She’s lost in a train of thought. She doesn’t hear the first question until she looks down and finds eight irritated faces staring back at her, expecting answers. The sound of night comes back, the hooting of an owl, the humming of the night, the angry tone of Richard Williams’ voice.

  “I asked, is this a joke?” His face is red with anger and his wide eyes focus purely on Carolyn. His forehead creases with frowning. The other two also demand answers. The firefighters shake their heads and begin walking back to their truck, frowning and muttering under their breath. Carolyn thinks she hears the one at the front, a grey-haired man, calling her a crazy bitch, though she isn’t sure. It could just be the internal voice.

  Carolyn watches as they walk back to the gap in the fence. She turns towards the three officers, confused, and walks towards the well. The morbid image of the poor boy who lost his life flashes in her mind as she heads over. DS Hughes lowers her look to Carolyn’s chosen attire and grunts. She turns to her partner and mutters under her breath. He too inspects her clothing, the corners of his mouth lift as he smirks.

  Inspector Richard Williams is holding his torch over the opening of the well. The bright beam illuminates through the cracks of the crumbling brickwork as his hand trembles with anger.

  Carolyn reaches the well, the same spot she was standing just an hour ago, a few feet away from where she threw up – now thankfully washed away by the rain – and looks from face to face. Disgust, anger, frustration and irritation all look back at her.

  She leans forward onto the red brick, dirtying her pyjamas even further as she looks down the well. Feeling sick and speechless, she gasps.

  There is no boy, no decaying body, nothing to even resemble a body. Sticks and bin bags entangled together, or maybe even a mannequin wearing a wig, would have made this an easy mistake, but there’s nothing.

  No corpse.

  Chapter Six

  “Well?” Williams asks, wiping the rain from his forehead.

  The sick feeling is back in Carolyn’s stomach, now even stronger.

  How is it possible for a body to disappear? she asks herself.

  You’re crazy, Carolyn. Crazy old Carolyn, the internal voice replies. She almost yells back, ordering it to be quiet. She decides not to, as that’s all they’d need to have her sedated.

  The vision of the corpse comes back to her: the bruised, mangled body. There was no way she dreamt that up. Just no way.

  “Well?” Williams repeats, this time angrier, his eyes focused on Carolyn’s.

  “I…” Carolyn begins. “I… I’m sorry… I really don’t understand. There was a body down that well, I swear!” Carolyn can sense DS Hughes looking at her, feeling the glare burn into the side of her face, studying her. Carolyn turns to face the detective. DS Hughes clicks off her torch and places it back into the holder on her belt. She’s a tall, stocky woman, and wears her hair in a thick plait. Carolyn thinks she resembles a female cage fighter, and is confident that in a one-on-one the DS would come off better. DS Hughes lowers her long face and mumbles something under her breath before nodding to her partner to follow. They turn, their shoes squelching in the wet grass as they head in through the fence, then into the bungalow by the back door.

  “Do you think our police work isn’t important, Mrs Hill?” Williams asks, wiping the rain from his forehead again. His face is back to its usual colour.

  Carolyn feels nauseous and lightheaded. She pinches the corners of her eyes as she shakes her head. “I wouldn’t waste your time like this. I’m telling you there was a body down there earlier. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “Have you been feeling all right?” Williams asks. His eyes and facial expression show what he’s really thinking: Here is a crazy woman.

  “Don’t do that,” Carolyn says, giving him an annoyed look. Williams purses his lips and gives her a look that says, I don’t know what you’re going on about.

  “I’m not crazy, and I definitely wouldn’t waste police time like this!” Carolyn shouts.

  The inspector turns his back on Carolyn and heads back inside.

  Carolyn shines her torch down the well. The tree branches are in the same place, but there’s still no body. She turns and follows behind Richard Williams. Hughes and Dixon return to their car to head back to the station, along with the fire crew.

  Jeanette is sitting on the couch with Father Joseph, hand in hand as they say a prayer.

  “Is it true, Richard? Is it a little boy?” Jeanette asks, wiping fresh tears from her shiny cheeks. “The other two officers wouldn’t confirm it.”

  “There is no boy, Jeanette!” Williams barks. “Your daughter is a liar. She thinks it’s funny to waste our time.”

  Carolyn enters after him, closing the door on the cold night air. The temperature has dropped, and the thin wet pyjamas are now proving to be unsuitable outdoor clothing. She steps inside, feeling embarrassed and confused.

  Her mother looks at her puzzlingly, but before Carolyn can open her mouth, Williams speaks again.

  “Whose are these?” he asks, holding up the tub of pills and reading the label. “Side-effects include dizziness, drowsiness and weakness.” His eyes lock smugly on to Carolyn’s. “Label says these are yours, Mrs Hill. Do you think maybe you could have been tired and imagined the whole thing?”

  “I know what I saw!” Carolyn shouts. “It wasn’t my imagination!”

  “Carolyn!” Jeanette snaps. There’s no mistaking the anger in her tone.

  Father Joseph stands up and walks over to Williams, resting a hand on his shoulder. He’s slightly taller than the inspector, and has wider shoulders. He takes off his thick-rimmed glasses, wipes them, and places them back on his face.

  “She’s had a long day, Rich. And with what’s gone on lately… Maybe give her a free pass?”

  Carolyn looks from Father Joseph to her mother with disbelief. “You’ve been telling him my personal troubles?”

  Williams pulls a confused expression and places the tablets back onto the counter.

  “I’ll leave you to discuss it,” Father Joseph says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jeanet
te. Richard, have a good night.” He nods at Carolyn and leaves the bungalow.

  Carolyn watches him walk down the path and cross the road to the church.

  “You told him?” Carolyn asks again, raising her voice.

  Her mother avoids eye contact and doesn’t reply.

  “What’s going on here?” Williams asks. Rain is falling from his police coat and forming a small puddle at his feet, along with the blades of grass and mud stains from the others.

  “Father Joseph was wondering where I’ve been for the last three months, Carolyn,” Jeanette explains. “I rang him from Leeds when I first arrived, but I couldn’t tell him anything over the phone. He’s going to say a prayer for Simon and Ryan tomorrow.”

  Carolyn turns and kicks off her mother’s battered slippers before leaving the room. She sits at the bottom of her bed, trying to focus her mind on the memory at the well, just before she dropped to the ground.

  Is it possible I imagined it? It could be the drugs taking their effect, she thinks.

  Maybe she’d sleepwalked, or was low on sugar. She hasn’t slept very well in weeks. She strains her ears to listen to her mother in the next room, telling Williams the events of what happened to Simon and Ryan. Her mother’s voice is clear and audible. Williams’ voice is deep, and it’s hard to make out his short replies. She lies back and places a pillow over her face, trying to drown out the part when her mother mentions the lorry that had crushed her family. Not long after, she hears footsteps passing her room and then her mother’s voice as she says goodbye to Williams at the front door.

  Unable to shake off the image of the corpse, Carolyn reaches for her phone, connects to her mother’s internet and opens the search engine. One article she reads is about hallucinations and how they can occur during times of stress and bereavement.

  She shuts her eyes for a moment and thinks back to Ashwood Forest, and the woman driving the silver Mercedes with her son in the back. She pictures the fear and upset on the little boy’s face as she bashed and yelled against the car windows, and remembers how certain she was that the little boy was Ryan.

 

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