The Hill - Ben’s Story (Book One).: A Paranormal Murder Mystery Thriller. (Book One).

by Andrew M Stafford

More useful information was turning up, but there was nothing concrete.

  Garraway decided to visit the adventure playground on Doncaster Road. Doug, the caretaker in the nearby school had told him that he had left the school around seven o’clock the night of the murder. Garraway knew that the murder had probably happened closer to ten, which was the time Ben Walker’s watch had stopped.

  So if Doug Plummer had left the school when he did, he wouldn’t have known if there were any kids in the playground at or around the time the murder happened.

  He parked in the same place as he had the previous day.

  It was 4pm and there were youths hanging around the adventure playground.

  Garraway walked into the play area which was well equipped with climbing frames, Tarzan ropes and sandpits. It looked as though the council had pumped a lot of cash into the playground and most of the equipment looked new.

  He stopped and surveyed the area. There were around 20 kids, all boys, who looked to be between 14 and 19. Some were hanging around in groups chatting, others where smoking, one or two were drinking cans of beer and one was on his own by the fence playing keepy uppy.

  The youths looked at Garraway warily. The boys who were drinking put down the cans and shuffled awkwardly. Garraway had no interest in underage drinkers.

  He walked towards the largest group of youths. There were five of them who were slowly turning on a roundabout looking particularly aloof.

  “I imagine you all know about the incident which took place on Sunday evening.”

  Some of them nodded, one grunted and the other two just stared at him with a look of indifference.

  Garraway raised his voice so he could be heard by the other groups dotted around the playground.

  “Were any of you here, or near the woods on Sunday night, say between nine and ten pm?”

  No one replied. Garraway stood moving his head slowly around the playground to emphasise that he was talking to all of them.

  He felt his authority amounted to nothing as the entire group of youngsters’ perused him with little regard to his position as a detective.

  “We’re good boys mister, and we’re all home and in bed by eight thirty,” said one cocky lad with a smirk on his face.

  Garraway nodded slowly. “Very well, but if any of you did see or hear anything, and I mean anything you think could help us with our investigations, I’d be grateful if you would get in touch.”

  As he walked out of the playground he could hear them quietly sniggering and mocking his Scottish accent.

  Little shits, he thought to himself.

  He left the playground and glanced towards the hill. The search patrol officers were busy examining the area. The immediate vicinity where Ben and Liz had been found was cordoned off. The public wouldn't be setting foot anywhere near the place for at least the next week.

  Garraway had a great deal of confidence in his team but was impatient that nothing much was turning up.

  Focusing on the hill, he slowly began to walk towards it without realising he was on the move. There was something about the place which fascinated him. He always became gripped by being in the vicinity of a murder site, but this was different.

  He found himself at the bottom of the hill which was covered in stubbly grass and a few wild flowers. He walked slowly around its perimeter with his hands in his pockets and subconsciously disturbed the loose soil with his feet.

  He sat down on the smooth slope and looked towards the autumn sky. Again, without warning, he was consumed by an overwhelming feeling of nausea. He closed his eyes and began to gag, but as quickly as the feeling came, it went.

  When he opened his eyes, things were totally different. He was surrounded by hundreds of figures moving silently around him. They passed through one another and none of them were distinct. As his brain processed what he was seeing, he felt no fear and instinctively knew that the figures could not harm him.

  They were blurry and seemed to ebb and flow, backwards and forwards like the sea washing over the shore.

  They were wearing clothes of varying fashion. Some looked up-to-date and some looked old. The figures in old fashioned clothing were the hardest to focus on. Some were walking dogs, some were riding bicycles and a few were lying down motionless.

  One thing the figures had in common was that they didn’t last for more than a few seconds before fading away, only to be replaced by others.

  The vision began to fade and soon everything was back to normal. The apparitions were there for less than a minute, but it seemed a lot longer.

  He slowly stood up and was shaken by whatever he’d just seen.

  His arms ached as if he had been carrying a hod of bricks and his legs burned like he had run a mile.

  When he had composed himself he saw that he was being watched. This time it was by a real person and not an apparition.

  Doug Plummer, was watching him from the other side of the fence which ran around the perimeter of the school. Garraway made his way over.

  “You look like you've seen a ghost,” said the caretaker, remarking on how shaken Garraway looked.

  “Perhaps I have Doug, perhaps I have,” replied Garraway. “Tell me, what do you know about this place?”

  “What would you like to know?”

  Garraway pointed to the hill. “What's the story behind that thing?”

  “That thing? That thing is a Bronze Age burial mound, it’s over five thousand years old.”

  “Is it really?”

  “That's what they say. It was excavated by archaeologists about a hundred years ago.”

  “And what did they find?”

  “You know, the usual things, bones, stone tools, bits and pieces.”

  “I presume the bones were human and not animal?”

  “A bit of both I reckon,” said Doug. “I'm no expert, if you really want to know, ask an expert, or even better Google it.”

  “I will, thanks for your advice.”

  “One thing I can tell you, this place has always attracted nutters.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Garraway curiously, “what kind of nutters?”

  “You know, all types.”

  Garraway shrugged his shoulders encouraging Doug to continue.

  “You get couples at it on that hill.”

  “At it, at what?”

  “You know, sex, they have sex up on that hill.”

  “And who exactly are 'they'?” asked Garraway, in a mocking tone.

  “I don't know who they are, but couples who are having problems conceiving do it on the hill because they think the place has special properties, like its magic or something.”

  “Anything else?” urged Garraway.

  “You get your druidy types, you know, in their funny outfits and everything.”

  Garraway continued to say nothing, forcing Doug to keep talking.

  “I've even seen oddballs up there charging their divining rods, all very strange if you ask me.”

  “And what do you think, what do you believe?”

  “It doesn't matter what I believe,” he replied, “all I know is this place can be strange and what happened here on Sunday night is going to make things even stranger.”

  Garraway smiled and thanked him through the wire fence.

  “Perhaps I’ll Google it when I get a chance,” said Garraway.

  And that’s exactly what he did.

  Chapter ten

  Carla’s house

  7.30pm

  Tuesday

  Carla Price was curled up under her duvet. Her room was a mess. Her clothes were strewn across the floor and her wardrobe door was wide open with a jumble of shoes spilling out of it. The photograph of her mother and father in a pink heart shaped frame was face down on her bedside table.

  Carla had hardly left her bedroom since getting back to her house on Sunday night. The only time she ventured out of her room was to stumble across the landing to the bathroom to be sick.

  She had told her father tha
t she had a stomach bug mixed with a heavy period. Any mention of the word ‘period’ sent her poor father, Richard, scurrying away.

  She was in a state of emotional turmoil and could not get the horrific images out of her head of that poor girl being so violently kicked by John and the vision of Boyd slamming the rock into the boy’s head. She had been crying continuously for almost two days.

  Carla was fifteen and should have started her final year at school that week. Her father had contacted her school and let the secretary know that she wouldn’t be in as she had a bug. She couldn’t stay away from school forever, but felt that she would never be able to face the world again.

  She was scared and had no idea where to turn. Carla couldn’t tell anyone what had happened as she feared that she would be accused of murder and spend the rest of her days in prison. She wanted to disappear, to where nobody would know who she was.

  She hadn’t switched on her phone since Sunday. In her bedroom she had found temporary sanctuary. The only contact with the outside world was a small television in the corner of her room. She turned it on and saw that the regional news was reporting from Badock’s Wood. Carla turned off the television and was sick again.

  Until now, Carla had been a happy soul and was doing well at school. She spent most of her time with her best friend Charlotte, but lately she had seen less of her since she had started dating Paul ‘Greeny’ Green. Carla had other girls to hang around with, but missed spending time with Charlotte, which was why she had started hanging around with Paul Green and his friends so she could be with her.

  She’d never felt comfortable around the gang of older kids, but if she wanted to hang around with Charlotte she would need to accept the others into her life.

  Carla’s home life had been traumatic. Her mother had left in 2007 after Richard had discovered she’d been having an affair with her boss. Even before this, her family life had not been brilliant because of the tension created by the affair.

  It had come as a shock to Carla’s father when he had found out his wife had been having an affair, but in fairness all the signs had been there and he should have known something was wrong. Carla’s mother had been getting in late from the office, was acting aloof and for most of the time was unapproachable. Carla and her mother were not communicating, which was upsetting and Carla felt unloved.

  This had brought her closer to her father and their bond deepened after her mother had left home.

  There was more trouble ahead as Richard lost his job two months after they had separated, and since then he had been living on benefits.

  In spite of the difficulties of the past two years, Carla had been able to remain cheerful on the outside, only letting her emotions show to a few friends, including Charlotte.

  She hadn’t seen her for almost two days. Normally Charlotte would be the first friend she would turn to if she had a problem, but now she never wanted to see her again. If it hadn’t been for Charlotte seeing her stupid boyfriend, then none of this would have happened, or if it had, Carla would have had nothing to do with it.

  But it had happened, and she was stuck in the middle with no idea of how to escape.

  Carla pushed her face into her pillow, when she heard a knock on her door.

  “Carla honey, can I come in for a minute?” called Richard softly from outside her room. Carla sat up and grunted an indistinguishable response, which her father took as ‘yes’. He slowly entered her room and was taken aback by a stale smell as the warm air of her dark bedroom hit him.

  “Are you feeling any better?” he asked as he gently sat beside her.

  “Not really daddy, I still don’t feel very well.”

  “Perhaps I should call the doctor.”

  “No daddy, please don’t,” she retorted.

  Richard moved back slightly as Carla snapped at him. He assumed her hormones were getting the better of her.

  “OK, but let’s see how you are in the morning,” he replied. Carla nodded and put her face back into her pillow.

  “I’ve got some news for us, and I thought you might like to hear it,” said her father.

  He held a letter and ran his fingers over it, as if it was something of great significance.

  Carla rolled over and looked at her father.

  Richard continued, “I’ve got some good news and some not so good news.” She pulled herself into an upright position and looked at him.

  He was shocked to see how pale she looked, but put it down to her upset stomach and period pains.

  “The good news is that I’ve got a job,” he said as a beaming look of pride spanned his face. Carla smiled back. This was the first time she had smiled in two days.

  “That’s great news daddy, I’m really pleased for you,” she half-heartedly replied.

  “But there is some news which isn’t so great. The job is in Darlington, which is too far away for me to travel to and from Bristol every day, …….sooooo, I am afraid we are going to have to move up north.”

  Carla put her hand on her father’s and looked into his eyes and replied with a weak voice, “Don’t worry daddy, that’s OK. I’m just pleased you have found some work……… when do we have to move?”

  “I start my new job in early October, so we’ll be off in about three weeks.”

  He kissed her on her forehead and left her room.

  As he closed her bedroom door, he was pleased at how well she had taken the news, but was concerned that she wouldn’t be seeing her friends anymore. The change in school at such a crucial time in her life bothered him. He assumed if she had been feeling better she would have put up a fight over the whole thing.

  Carla lay back on her bed and let out a big sigh. Perfect she thought. Now she had a reason to get out of Bristol. She wanted to get as far away from this place as possible.

  She closed her eyes and tried to escape the memories of Sunday night, but couldn’t.

  Chapter eleven

  The Incident Room

  10.30am

  Wednesday 9th September

  Matthews’s phone was ringing.

  Dr Robert Clarke was calling with some bad news. Liz Mason’s condition had deteriorated overnight and she was now in a coma. Clarke could not put a timescale on how long it might be until Liz would be in a position to talk. The brain injuries she had sustained were severe. Should she come round Clarke could not promise that Liz would be able to communicate. Even if her speech had not been affected by the injuries, he could not guarantee that she would remember anything about what happened.

  Matthews slumped in his chair, he had a habit of slumping when things were not going to plan. Whenever he slumped, his disheveled appearance was accentuated. Three days into the investigation and he was getting frustrated. If only Liz was conscious, the whole thing could have been done and dusted by now.

  It was times like these when Matthews wondered if he was cut out for this line of work.

  Gillian West entered the room.

  “Ah Matthews, just the fella,” she said, smiling as she sat down beside him. Her smile did not last very long.

  “What’s the boggle?” asked Matthews.

  “The boggle is, Mr. Matthews that my good friends in forensics have finished dusting Paul Jackson’s Previa, and he was right, the thing was rammed with fingerprints, and as you may have guessed none of the prints match anything on police files.”

  Matthews grunted as he pushed a pile of files away from him.

  “Colin, I can only tell you what forensics have told me. I can’t polish a turd. This is what we have to work with and it’s up to you and Garraway to work your way through all this crap and get a result….. It’s what you do.”

  Matthews half-heartedly nodded and pulled the files back towards him. “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s just that sometimes, it gets a bit…….”

  “Frustrating?” said Gillian, completing the sentence for him.

  Markland Garraway entered incident room number two and was greeted by Matthews and West. He coul
d tell by Matthews’ expression that Gillian hadn’t given him any better news than she had done over the last couple of days. He looked at Matthews with the look a father would give a son who’d come last in the egg and spoon race.

  “It’s the Previa,” said Matthews, “the prints are useless sir, just like everything else, nothing matches anything we have on file.”

  “Forensics haven’t quite finished,” added West, “We haven’t yet completed the task of going over the vehicle for fibres, hairs and anything else that could help us identify anyone.”

  “Sorry to sound pessimistic,” said Garraway, “but if the evidence we have from the scene and the prints in the vehicle are not coming up trumps, then I don’t hold out much hope of there being anything of any use in the Previa.”

  The three of them sat in silence. Matthews was pulling at his bottom lip whilst gazing into the middle distance, Gillian thumbed through the files she had in front of her whilst Garraway let his mind wander and thought about what he had experienced yesterday on the hill.

  Garraway jumped up. Breaking the silence he announced he had things to do. He moved to another desk and logged onto a computer and turned the monitor for privacy.

  The previous evening he’d intended to research the history of the hill, but had felt too tired. The only thing he had felt fit for was relaxing with a glass of whisky and gazing at the television until falling asleep in the armchair.

  He fired up Google and typed ‘burial mound Badock’s Wood’. The first results brought up news reports on the murder of Ben Walker and the attack on Liz Mason. He scrolled down until he found a result from a local archaeology website. He clicked the link which opened up a badly designed website which looked like it had not been updated in years.

  There was brief mention of the burial mound which sketchily detailed an excavation which took place in 1878. Bronze Age tools and small fragments of a human skull and other human bones had been found. This wasn’t what he was looking for.

  He typed another search into Google, this time he entered ‘burial mound Badock’s Wood strange sightings’, this search didn’t help him find what he was looking for. He tried again, this time he decided to search using ‘burial mound Badock’s Wood mystical happenings’, but before he finished typing it, Google finished the search for him and suggested ‘burial mound Badock’s Wood mysterious qualities’. Garraway clicked the link which opened up www.mythicaluk.net.