by Shaun Baines
By the afternoon, Holly was back in the office with her headache following closely behind.
The Little Belton Herald was a newspaper run beneath the Newcastle to Edinburgh rail line. When the trains thundered past, Holly was forced to hold onto her computer to prevent it from vibrating off her desk. She was the only employee. Her employer, Old Jack, had a separate office constructed of walls made from wooden pallets. A paisley curtain riddled with holes hung from a horizontal pole acting as his door.
Holly heard Old Jack groaning as he stretched.
Picking up the phone, she called another number.
“Is that Mr Slattern?” Holly asked when the line was answered.
“Yes, lass,” came Mr Slattern’s voice. “Are you Old Jack’s new man then?”
“I am, sir,” Holly answered, rolling her eyes. “I’m calling to inquire if you would like to continue running your advert in the Little Belton Herald. It’s for a dog grooming business, isn’t it?”
She heard a laugh and removed the phone from her ear when it turned into a hacking cough. The cough died and Holly hoped Mr Slattern had not.
“For all the good that advert does me,” Mr Slattern said. “That newspaper has a worse circulation than I do, but go on, then. Give me another six months.”
“Thank you very much for your continued business, Mr – ”
The phone line went dead and Holly typed up the advert. She had a list of sixteen companies to call. It was what Old Jack called the lifeline of the Herald. Without the advertising money, there’d be no newspaper and it was part of Holly’s job to generate as much income as possible. Added to that was administration, delivering the Herald to three key outlets and cleaning the office.
Holly still referred to herself as a journalist, though.
She rubbed her throbbing temples before reaching into her desk for a Thank You card. Old Jack was the first person to give her a chance. It wasn’t easy finding an office job in a small village and with everything going on at home, Holly knew how lucky she’d been. She hurriedly wrote out a message and sealed the card inside its envelope.
Just as she did, the curtains to Old Jack’s office swished open and he stood with her Spring Fair story in his hand.
“We’ll be needing a cup of tea, pet,” he said. “No sugar, was it?”
Holly nodded and studied Old Jack’s back as he bent over an ironing board where he kept the kettle and tea mugs. There was no telling how old he was. His skin was like a piece of gnarled bark, his spine as bent as a broken bough. He could have been a thousand years old, except for his flashing blue eyes giving him the look of a younger man.
When he turned to face her, Old Jack’s smile was broad, showing the ivory of his false teeth. “It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”
The breath left Holly’s body and she stared at the ground.
Old Jack perched on the side of her desk with a wobble, handing Holly her tea.
“How are you finding your place?” he asked. “By Knock Lake, is it?”
Her parents’ old cottage sat on a hill overlooking a small lake. In the evening, the water turned to steel. As a child, it had frightened Holly as her imagination took her under its surface to where monsters lurked. Even as an adult, she could only appreciate the lake when it was lit by sunshine.
“It’s good to be back,” she said. The tea was too hot to hold and she put it on her desk. “We like it. Me and my husband, I mean. Well, I do. It’s just…”
Holly trailed off when she realised Old Jack wasn’t listening.
“Grand, grand,” he said, sipping from his mug. “Did you know I set this paper up? I’ve been running it for decades and the village hasn’t changed a single bit in all that time.”
Holly thought of the struggling shops and the unkempt buildings. To her, it seemed like there’d been a lot of changes, but she wasn’t ready to start an argument with the boss on her first day.
She picked up a pen and dropped it back in its place. “Was there something about my article, Jack?”
His frown was an imperceptible movement of leathery skin. “I heard you met the Winnows.”
“News travels fast around here,” she said.
Old Jack tapped her desk with a finger. “It was nice to meet them, wasn’t it? Little Belton is nice. Our news is nice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you took the wrong angle with the Spring Fair,” Old Jack said.
“But the generator? The fumes. It looked dangerous.”
“Do you think those folk at the fair would stand around if it was?” Old Jack shook his head. “A year or so back, I came down with a bug. Bedridden and on my own. Then the Winnows called round with a trout. Mr Winnow caught it. Mrs Winnow cleaned it and they cooked it right in front of me. Good people. Do you understand?”
Holly nodded slowly, not understanding at all.
Old Jack stood with a smile. “Living in a village means living cheek by jowl and we watch out for one another. There are no mysteries in Little Belton, pet.”
“What about the new owner of Black Rock Manor?” Holly asked. “He didn’t open the fair. No one knows where he is.”
The desk creaked under Old Jack’s buttocks. “Perhaps he got lost or perhaps, as a successful man, he had more important matters to contend with.”
“You sound like you know who he is.”
“All I know is that we are small people who like to make a big fuss every now and again. Trust me, pet. There is nothing lurking in the shadows of Little Belton.”
Holly’s shoulders sank and she blinked away the moisture gathering in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jack. I meant to do a good job.”
“And so you did. I saw your photos. There’s a belter of the funny-looking vegetable stall.” Old Jack took another sip from his tea, his blue eyes glowing. “That’s front news stuff.”
“You’re not going to fire me?” Holly asked, glancing at the Thank You card.
“Of course not. You’ve only just turned up.”
“Okay, then. I’m on it,” Holly said, her cheeks flushing. “I’ll write something about the carrots.”
“Not right now you won’t,” Old Jack said. “Haven’t you got somewhere else to be?”
Checking her watch, Holly scrambled from her chair. She considered drinking the tea Old Jack had made her. She didn’t want to appear discourteous, but neither did she want to scald her mouth.
“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” she shouted over her shoulder as she ran to the door.
Perhaps her tea would be cool enough to drink by then.
Chapter Three
The Travelling Star was the only pub in the village. Inside its double doors, the wallpaper was a deep red and the seats were a cracked green leather. An oil painting of a black raven was pitched over a fruit machine. A fire burned in the grate. The Travelling Star was a place where the locals swapped tales with tourists and the air was filled with clinking glasses and the hum of constant chatter.
Standing behind the bar was Big Gregg, his large hands nimbly changing the optics. He moved lightly for a man of his size; a fact made more amazing considering his false leg. Big Gregg was in his late forties with a mass of ginger curls tucked behind car door ears.
“That’s how you switch the optics over,” he said, dispensing an empty whisky bottle into a hidden bin. “And you’ll need to learn fast. This lot go through two a night.”
Holly adjusted her polyester uniform, making the hairs on her arm crackle with static.
“Working men need a dram to fuel the legs.” The call came from a man wearing a stained shirt and a tartan kilt. He sat at the far end of the bar. Judging by the glazed look in his eyes, Holly guessed his legs had enough fuel for a marathon.
“That’s Mr MacFarlene,” Big Gregg whispered into her ear. “My best customer, though I worry for his liver at times.”
“What does he do?” Holly asked, studying the small man with a large white beard and bloodshot eyes.
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br /> “His farm is on the outskirts of the estate. Used to be a profitable bit of land.”
Mr MacFarlene swayed on his stool. He reached for his whisky tumbler and missed, knocking over a dish of peanuts instead.
“Perhaps I should get him a cup of coffee,” Holly said.
“He lost his wife,” Big Gregg said by way of explanation. “I think he deserves a drink or two.”
Holly shrunk into her polyester uniform, deciding to keep her assumptions to herself.
“Thanks for giving me this chance, Mr Onstead,” she said. “I’m a fast learner. I promise I won’t let you down.”
“Don’t you worry. Old Jack recommended you.” He threw a damp bar cloth over his shoulder and gave her a wink. “And call me Big Gregg. It’s good for my self-esteem.”
For the next hour, Holly dropped glasses and spilled drinks. The orders came with machine gun speed until she felt like ducking for cover under the bar, but she forced herself to gain ground. Soon, for every order she got wrong, she got two right and beamed at Big Gregg for approval. He would wink and point toward another thirsty customer. Wiping her brow with her own damp bar cloth, Holly launched back into the throng. She pulled pints, drained optics and felt her feet pulsate with pain.
The job at the Herald was great or would be when she learned how to be a journalist, but Old Jack couldn’t afford to pay her much. So he’d found her a second job at The Travelling Star. There were problems at home and Holly would need to keep both if she expected to pay her bills every month.
As it neared eight o’clock, two women entered the bar. They wore ankle-length dresses and knitted shawls. Their faces were thin with oval eyes and hooked noses. They’d been beauties in their day, but a long life had taken its toll.
The drunken crowd parted to let the women through and they sat in a corner nearest to the fire.
“The Foxglove sisters drop by from time to time,” Big Gregg said, suddenly at Holly’s side. “They’re our last food order of the night. Go see what they want.”
Holly detected something in her other boss’ face.
“What’s the matter with them?” she asked.
Stepping around her like a light breeze, Big Gregg was at the gin optic, pouring himself a measure.
“There’s nothing wrong with them,” he said, draining his glass.
The colour returned to his cheeks, but the landlord remained quiet. His eyes flitted around the bar, settling on anything but the sisters.
Holly grabbed an order pad and waded through the undulating crowd to the table by the fire. “Evening, ladies. What will you have to eat tonight?”
The sisters both turned and there was something in their laser-like scrutiny that made Holly swallow.
“You’ll be the new southerner, then?” the one on the right said. “My name is Nancy and this is Regina.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Holly said, shivering despite the near fire. “Kitchen’s closing soon. Can I take your order?”
Regina waved her hand. “Oh, they’ll wait for us, dear. We hear you’re up by Murder Lake.”
A finger traced the back of Holly’s neck and she turned to see who had touched her, but there was no-one about. There was only a space where other patrons feared to tread. When she returned her attention to the Foxgloves, she saw they were smiling.
“You’re mistaken,” Holly said, rubbing her neck. “I live next to Knock Lake.”
“But did you know it used to be called Murder Lake?” Nancy asked.
The name shot a bolt through Holly’s heart and the chatter of the bar dimmed.
“Why was that?” Holly asked, the order pad in her hand transforming into the notebook of a journalist.
“Why do you think?” Regina peered at the menu, eyes squinting in the dim light. “Back in the day, they used Murder Lake to dunk witches. All those women drowning because silly men were afraid of them.”
“And those who didn’t drown were burned,” Nancy said, staring into the fire.
“We used to play there as kids,” Regina said. “My sister and I. Old Jack, too.”
“Course, he was known as Jack the Lad back then,” Nancy added.
Holly jumped as a crackling log collapsed into the fire, spitting embers onto the hearth. They blazed briefly and withered to ash.
“Mince and dumplings,” Regina said, tapping the menu in front of her. “Twice, please, dear. With a pot of tea.”
The noise of the bar grew louder and Holly found herself gathering the menus and nodding at the sisters.
As she made to go, Nancy grabbed her arm. “We heard you’re working for Old Jack. If that’s the case, you’ll be looking for a story.”
“Leave her alone,” Regina said, her face paling.
“She needs to know.”
“I mainly write about vegetables,” Holly said.
“Come see us,” Nancy said. “We know all about the new owner of Black Rock Manor. You’ll want to know, too. Especially if you want to write about a scandal.”
Regina reached for her shawl, gripping it tightly.
Nancy released her hold on Holly and smiled through her gapped teeth. “Now how about those dumplings, dear.”
Chapter Four
The car juddered up the incline to her cottage. Holly still hadn’t grown used to the blackness of Little Belton nights. There were no street lamps, no radiant halo from a nearby town. Her headlights lanced through the dark. Every tree or boulder was captured in the white, ghostly skeletons of their daytime existence.
Nancy and Regina had left an impression on Holly and not necessarily a good one. After she’d served their meal, Holly had returned to the bar to continue serving the Star’s other customers. Every now and again, she’d find the Foxgloves staring at her and where most people might be inclined to look away, Nancy and Regina did not.
As Holly journeyed home, she could still feel their gaze upon her.
Up ahead came two pinpricks of green by the side of the road. They were joined by others. Soon there was a host of floating green orbs. Her headlights swung over them to reveal a herd of deer watching her approach. They grew agitated, not by Holly’s presence, but by a giant stag pushing his way through. He cantered onto the road and faced her, baring a chest twisted with scars.
Holly slowed, but she couldn’t stop. The car was old with questionable mechanics. Stopping risked an uncertain slide down the hill.
“Get out of the way,” she shouted, tooting her horn.
The stag rattled his vast antlers.
“For God’s sake.” Holly slowed further, but she was still gaining too much ground. Holly’s stomach lurched at the thought of an accident and gritted her teeth.
A screech split the air, startling the stag and the deer. They bolted into the darkness, replaced by a shape flying into the light of Holly’s headlamps. A large bird with talons stretched out to kill.
In shock, Holly’s foot jammed on the accelerator. The car reared, scrambling forward. There was a thump. Feathers billowed in the air and Holly winced at the sound of the bird’s body rumbling over the roof of her car.
Her heart raced as fast as the vehicle. Gripping the steering wheel, Holly took control, breathing deeply and slowing them both down. Her eyes searched the rearview mirror, hoping to see the bird flying off into the dim moonlight, but it was lost to the night.
By the time, she reached home, Holly was wet with sweat and chewing on her thumbnail. Her house keys slipped from her hand twice. Fumbling on the doorstep, she found them again and staggered through the door.
The house was quiet with the faint smell of damp she remembered from her childhood. Holly crept through the echoing rooms, not wanting to disturb her husband in bed. After a long day and her terrifying trip home, Holly needed a drink and she’d prefer to do it alone.
She tip-toed into the sitting room, her hand groping for the light switch on the wall. With a click, the room flooded with light and Holly jumped at the form on the sofa.
Derek was face
down in the cushions, fully dressed and snoring. His shirt had ridden over his round stomach and his auburn hair was glued to the side of his face.
Their only bottle of wine was empty on the table beside him. There was no glass and she assumed he had drunk straight from the neck. Again.
Her fists clenched, anger replacing her exhaustion. It wasn’t fair. Her feet were swollen and her back was aching. She’d been forced to work as many jobs as she could to support them both. All she wanted to do was relax.
Holly marched over to Derek, ready to shake him awake, but stopped when she saw the letter addressed from Micklewhite and Sons, an estate agent in Penrith. With a worried glance at her husband, she picked it up.
‘We regret we will not be taking your application for the post of Manager any further. Good luck in your future career.’
That was it. Two lines and a bottle of wine.
She sighed, massaging her taught muscles. It wasn’t easy for Derek. He was used to working, used to being in charge. Bankruptcy had loomed and Derek had crumpled. Her parents’ cottage had been vacant for months. When it came to running from their problems, it was the obvious place to start again. Holly was beginning to suspect it might have been a backwards step.
There was no point in waking Derek, even if she could. He’d be too tired and too upset to talk.
And Holly felt the same. She slunk to the hallway cupboard, pulling out a thick, woollen blanket. She tucked it around her husband, smoothing hair from his face.
It would be another night sleeping alone.
Chapter Five
A week had passed before Holly had found the opportunity to visit the Foxglove sisters. She’d picked up two extra shifts at The Travelling Star. Her skills as a barmaid were either improving or entertaining enough for continued employment and Holly needed the money.
Old Jack had also made plans for her. While there was little actual journalism to do, the floors needed to be steam cleaned and invoices needed to be filed. The urgency of these tasks seemed suspicious, given neither had been done in years. Holly had done as she was told, but the lingering impression of the sisters had never left her.