The Tide of Terror

by Stuart G. Yates

  McGregor smiled. “So, nothing. I'll see you tomorrow. Flight's at eleven. Ten?”

  “Nine-thirty. I know what you're like when it comes to time-keeping!”

  Bad time-keeping or not, it didn't really matter because when they did arrive at the airport, there was pandemonium. People were strutting around looking very angry. Apparently, nothing was flying, and this time it was not the weather that was to blame, it was birds.

  “I'm sorry,” said Phil Dyson, the man behind the desk who had become the brunt of everyone's anger, “There's nothing we can do. There must be over a thousand birds just sat there. We can't take off. Nothing coming in either.”

  “Can't you just frighten them away?” demanded a voice.

  “Drive a truck at them?” cried another.

  “Shoot them?” snarled a third.

  Phil spread out his hands, “Apart from the shooting, we've tried all of that. They fly off, then come straight back. I've never seen anything like it!”

  Among the chaos, McGregor managed to find a seat, looking philosophical about the whole business. He smiled up towards Mark and Jenny. “I'm used to being fog-bound, but bird-bound…” he chuckled and shook his head. “I'm going to have a nap.” Which he did, closing his eyes and allowing the noise and the clamour around him just fade away.

  “How does he do that?” asked Mark.

  “I haven't a clue. Oh my God, Mark.”

  She froze, her whole body becoming taut. Mark followed her gaze and he too stiffened.

  In the far corner, looking more than usually harassed and bad-tempered stood Morrison and Mrs Strickland. They were in frantic conversation with each other. Morrison kept jamming his fingers in his mouth to chew his nails, while Mrs Strickland repeatedly mopped her sweating brow with a tissue. Ruffled and troubled, that's what Jenny thought. But why?

  It was then that Morrison caught Jenny's eye through the press of people. For an instant he had a look of total disbelief on his face, then he was striding forward, pushing people out of the way, furious.

  Jenny clutched Mark's arm and waited.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Weren't you told―”

  “Jenny is here to see me off, Mr Morrison. This has nothing to do with you. She didn't know you'd be here, how could she?”

  Suddenly Mrs Strickland was next to them, eyes blazing. “I blame you for this. If you hadn't started poking your nose in, none of this would have happened.”

  “You blame me?” gasped Jenny, looking incredulous. “What, for the birds on the runway?”

  “For everything! You've probably cost me my job!”

  “Well that had nothing to do with me, Mrs Strickland – that was your doing.”

  “Was it really? My God, you're so holier-than-thou.”

  “God is holier-than-thou, actually,” said Mark with a smirk.

  “I beg your pardon? I don't know you, and I don't really wish to.”

  “You've been sniffing around here for too long,” snapped Morrison. “I know all about you, what you've been doing. We're a peaceful, private community here. We don't like outsiders coming in and snooping around.”

  “I wasn't snooping,” stated Mark, his voice beginning to sound on edge. “But I think I just might start.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, where are you both off to in such a hurry? You seem a little bit too panicky if you ask me.”

  “No one is asking you!”

  “And that business with your solicitor, directing him to warn off Jenny…A bit over the top wasn't it?”

  Jenny frowned and looked at Mark. How did he know all about that? Then, glancing over to the still-sleeping Mr McGregor, she knew she had her answer.

  “That's also none of your damned business. The woman is a menace.”

  “I think that's the kettle calling the copper black, to be honest. The only menacing person around here, is you!”

  “You damned little―” and to finish his sentence, Morrison landed a solid fist straight into Mark's jaw, sending him flying backwards into a bunch of would-be passengers, all of whom shouted out their annoyance, before they realized what had happened. They gave way and Mark fell to the ground. Jenny instantly went to his side, snapping her head around to give Morrison a mouthful only to find that the detestable little man, and Mrs Strickland, were hurriedly making their way out of the airport departure lounge. She blew out a breath and helped Mark sit up. His lip was bleeding, but he managed a smile, “He can punch, for a little fella',” he joked. He struggled to his feet, Jenny giving him a helping hand.

  The other waiting passengers all looked on, some laughing, most shocked at what they had seen. Phil Dyson, who had come round from behind his desk, was looking concerned. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Nothing that a whisky couldn't put right.”

  “Well, I wouldn't worry about your flight. Nothing will be leaving until we manage to clear the runway. Goodness knows when that will be. We're taking people's contact numbers so we can keep everyone informed. Just leave yours at the desk.”

  They sat at Jenny's table, sipping tea not whisky. But it had the desired effect and Mark was beginning to look better, although his lip was still swollen and undoubtedly sore. The airport had been in touch. It was unlikely anything would be flying that day. Passengers were being advised to contact the airport in the morning. The situation might be improved by then. Mr McGregor was beside himself, more concerned at his wife's reaction than anything else.

  Jenny gently smeared some more antiseptic cream on Mark's cut lip. “We should inform the police,” said Jenny.

  “What good would that do? I'm leaving – and so is Morrison.”

  Jenny thought for a few moments. “I wonder where he's going? And Mrs Strickland. She's been suspended after what happened, but they couldn't have done this on a whim.”

  “No. I think you're right. It must have been planned.”

  She frowned. “That's what I was thinking. But how could they plan it? And plan what? I'm just really confused.”

  “Yeah…and those birds, that's all a bit odd, don't you think?”

  “Odd? It's downright supernatural. They were just standing there, as if they had made a decision not to let any planes take off. How could that be?”

  “Exactly. How could that be? And for what reason? To hold up the flights, perhaps?”

  “I'm worried, Mark. I have been worried since that hedgehog was found stabbed. What was it doing in Morrison's vegetable patch? Why would he react so violently towards it? Then the birds, then Mrs Strickland's dog.”

  “Which I found, don't forget.”

  “No, I haven't forgotten.” She stood up, a new thought growing in her mind. “Morrison's dog was called Bouncer, but it wore a collar with the name Rusty…Just wait here a moment.” She ran off, taking the back stairs two or three at a time, and went straight into the little office where she kept the record books of all those who had ever boarded their dogs in the kennels. She scoured each page, leafing through them as quickly as she could. She couldn't remember the exact date, but she knew that Mrs Strickland had left her dog with them not all that long ago. As it was, she had to go back nearly four months, but there he was. Mrs Strickland's dog. His name proudly displayed, big and bold on the page.

  Rusty.

  Mark's voice sounded determined, “I'm going round there, find out what's been going on.”

  “But we don't know if anything has been going on.”

  “Jenny, why would they try and kill Strickland's dog? Why do that to the hedgehog? Why do any of the weird things that they've done, including lying to the authorities about you? No, I'm going. You stay here; if the police are called, they'll almost certainly arrest you.”

  “I'll drive you. Fifty metres they said. I'll park at the bottom of the track.”

  The house was completely quiet as Mark slowly strolled along the narrow street. He glanced at the upstairs windows, but the curtains were drawn, as indeed they were downsta
irs. All boarded up, he mused to himself. He stopped, wondering what to do next, when suddenly his mind was made up for him. A large black dog bounded towards him, its tail wagging furiously. It was Bouncer, and Mark dropped to one knee as the animal plied into him, to prevent the dog bowling him over into the ground.

  “Oh, you're a good boy,” he said, rubbing the dog all around its thick neck. But then, just as suddenly, Bouncer broke into a run. Mark watched him. Amazingly, the dog stopped, and looked back at Mark with an almost despairing look on its face. It barked just once, took a few steps forward, stopped, and repeated its actions again. There could be no doubt, it was telling Mark to follow him.

  Mark raised his hand to Jenny as he followed Bouncer all the way round to the railway track. Jenny wound down her window to speak but Mark just shrugged and continued on his way, following the dog as it jogged down the track towards the rear of Morrison's house.

  The back door was open. That was puzzling. Why shut up the whole house and leave the back door unlocked? As he stepped inside, he thought he had his answer. There, on the roof, perched a line of birds. They stood silent, watching him intently. Perhaps they had something to do with the door? For a moment he stood still, not sure about the good sense of his actions, or the state of his mind. Of course the birds had nothing to do with it, that was just fanciful nonsense. And he was here to get to the truth. That was all. So why dither? He glanced around, making one last check of the surroundings. The only sign of life was the lawn mower, standing there. He frowned. The cable ran from the rear of the machine into the kitchen, through an open window. Strange. But then Bouncer gave another bark and he made his decision, putting his worries to the back of his mind and followed the dog further into the garden, pausing only to close the door firmly behind him.

  Bouncer was pawing at the ground amongst the vegetables, the place where the little hedgehog was when Morrison had speared it. Mark went over and crouched down. There was a large hole appearing and then Mark saw something. Paper. Letters, all of them rough-edged, beginning to rot due to the dampness of the soil. But the writing could still be seen. The name. The address.

  Suddenly Mark had the answers he needed. He straightened up, just as Bouncer drew back its teeth and began to snarl viciously.

  “It's all right, boy,” said Mark softly. But the dog was backing further off, down on its haunches, hackles raised, growling with real menace. Then Mark realised what the dog was afraid off, but it was too late. Even as he began to turn he knew that there was nothing he could do.

  He didn't even feel the blow that sent him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jenny didn't look at the screen of her mobile phone when it went off, believing instinctively that it was Mark. But it wasn't Mark. It was a woman's voice that now rasped down the line.

  “We need to talk, Jenny. Down by the lighthouse. Thirty minutes.”

  The call ended.

  The weather had suddenly changed, a threatening clump of dark, menacing clouds drifting in from the sea. Even the air seemed charged with tension. A storm was coming. As she drove along the sweeping road that meandered alongside the sea towards the lighthouse, the wind began to violently jolt the van sideways, buffeting it with sudden, powerful gusts. The sky darkened, becoming black in places. A sudden boom of thunder made her almost lose control, and she slowed the vehicle right down. She didn't want to crash and miss her appointment with Mrs Strickland.

  At last she pulled in beside the massive, imposing lighthouse, its great arc lamps cutting huge beams out across the bay. It could only be four o'clock, but it felt much later; it had become so dark. Jenny tried to text Mr Tenchard, but there was no signal. Frowning, she got out of the van and reeled as a sudden blast of wind nearly knocked her over. She reached back for her coat and pulled it on, still fumbling with the buttons on her mobile, thinking that if she went closer to the cliff edge, the signal might be improved.

  But it wasn't and she let out a despairing sigh. She looked down. The sea was boiling up, beginning to crash into the jagged rocks far below. The noise of the sea and the booming of the thunder prevented her from hearing the approach of the figure behind her. She caught a shadow and she whirled around, heart pounding.

  Mrs Strickland was swathed in an old-fashioned green raincoat, buttoned up to her chin. It gave her a melodramatic air, which lent itself to the surroundings and the swiftly deteriorating weather. She was smiling, but one totally devoid of any warmth or friendliness. This made it even more sinister.

  “Well, Jenny,” Strickland had to shout above the sound of the waves and the weather. “Nice of you to come so promptly.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Just a few words.” The teacher took a step forward, and Jenny shied away, getting closer to the edge.

  Jenny glanced down, then returned her gaze to Mrs Strickland. “You pick your moments.”

  “Indeed. You've done well for yourself, Jen. Made yourself a nice little niche here in our close community. Pity you had to spoil it all, with your snooping.”

  “If you hadn't sided with Morrison…or hit Leona.”

  “None of which would have happened, it you hadn't stuck your nose in. Especially over Mrs Charles.”

  The woman took another step forward and Jenny again responded. She was so close to the edge now that if she were to stumble, or be pushed…the rocks far below were sharp and jagged and huge. To be dashed against them would mean almost certain death. As if to confirm this, a great wave smashed against them, sending up a surge of spray that drenched both women from head to foot. Jenny roared over the noise, “I had nothing to do with that – the police called me in!”

  “Yes. But afterwards, Jenny dearest. You had to come poking around, didn't you. Desperate to know the truth.”

  “You're making all this up, just to make yourself feel better. What is it you're hiding, Strickland?”

  “That curiosity of yours is definitely going to be the death of you.”

  Jenny's blood ran cold at those words. She took another glance below and began to feel the terror of the situation building up inside. Perhaps she should try her mobile again, or make a run for it. But when she looked at the teacher she realized that neither option would work. No sooner had she begun to move than the teacher would strike. She may have been old, but Jenny knew how fit Strickland kept herself. She'd studied karate, ran almost every day, she would be a formidable adversary if Jenny attempted to escape. There really was only one option and that was to try and appeal to her better nature, try and talk her way out.

  “Mrs Strickland,” Jenny's voice softened, but kept its volume, “Please. I never meant you any harm. I was just concerned about the animals.”

  “The animals? This has got nothing to do with the animals.”

  “But your dog, Rusty. Don't you want to know about him?”

  The teacher frowned deeply, “My dog? My dog is dead, dear.”

  “No, no he's not! We found him you see. Rescued him. I've nursed him back to health.”

  “You're lying.”

  “No, it's the truth. Honestly. He's back at the rescue-centre. You could come and see him, if you like.”

  Strickland thought, but only for a fleeting moment. Then she shook her head. “It's too late for any of that. We've got to leave, Bernie and me.”

  Her voice took on a strange tone. She was looking out to the roaring sea and when a massive flash of lightening lit up the surroundings, Jenny could clearly see the teacher's wild, bulging eyes. It made her realize, if she didn't already know, that this woman was beyond reason, beyond persuasion. She seemed quite insane.

  “We killed her, you see. Mrs Charles. Bernie had known her for years and he knew she had money. Didn't trust the banks. So, when Bernie and I became…close…we hatched the plan. It was all so simple, no one would suspect. Then you had to get your name in the papers over that stupid hedgehog. That journalist, he came round. He'd caught wind of something, came round to con
front Bernie about what had happened. Bernie lost his temper, as he often does…” She looked back towards Jenny. The first drops of rain began to fall. “Everything would have been fine, even then. We put his body in the shed. Who would ever go there? Of course, we never thought that it would be her daughter who would ruin everything. We had the bags packed, nevertheless. And the air tickets bought. Then came today, and you and your blessed birds meant we had to stay in this infernal place for yet another twenty-four hours. Seems like everything boils down to you, Jenny dearest. All because of you helping that hedgehog.”

  Suddenly the heavens opened and the rain began to sheet down, so hard that Jenny could barely see Strickland standing just a couple of steps away. Her green raincoat against the driving rain was blurred, indistinct. It appeared to be moving as if on its own accord, coming in and out of focus. Jenny thought she saw something coming out from the side of the teacher, something brown and heavy, but it was so difficult to see now. Impossible.

  “We're going to make a new life, in South America,” Strickland was within an arm's length now. She had moved slowly forward, trapping Jenny, with nowhere to go. She felt the panic rising in her chest, finding it difficult to breathe or even move as the fear gripped her. “We're going to get away from all this, leave all the bad memories behind. But, of course, business has to be finished first. You see, now that you know everything, dear, sweet little Jenny, you're going to have to die too.”

  Then Jenny saw what it was that Strickland had in her hand. It was a stubby, hefty rounders' bat, more like a club now as Strickland raised it up above her head, ready to strike.

  “'Bye, 'bye Jen.”

  Jenny screamed, holding up her arms to try and fend off the awful blow that she knew was about to crash into her skull, which would send her plunging down towards the jagged rocks and her death.

  From out of the squall, something large and white suddenly struck Strickland hard across the top of the head. It was the teacher's turn to scream now. The collision was a heavy one, and Strickland staggered sideways, the club falling from her fingers. Instinctively, she held up her hand to her head and when she pulled it back she could see blood. A look of wild, terrified bewilderment crossed her face, then it came again, the white blur, hitting her hard on the forehead, causing her to lose balance, pitching her backwards, dangerously close to the cliff edge. For a moment she teetered there, arms flapping, then she was gone, the surging waves and the teeming rain swallowing her up whole as if she had fallen into the wide, gaping mouth of some terrible, subterranean monster.