The Ghost House. Helen Phifer
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He couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. He kept replaying it over and over in his head. Had he really taken her to the big house and slit her throat? It felt as if it was all a dream and he was finding it hard to distinguish between his fantasy life and his real one. How had he turned into a stone cold killer?
He rooted around in the bottom of his wardrobe until he found his backpack. Placing it on top of the bed he unzipped it, his hands slick with sweat he fumbled to get it open. There, in the bottom of the bag, was the scarf his mother had given him last Christmas, which added to the ten others he had in his wardrobe. He took it out and rolled it across the bed until the knife appeared and he inhaled sharply. The long thin blade was covered in flecks of dark brown, dried blood.
It was a very old knife and he knew that by the worn, cracked wooden handle. It was hard to imagine this knife ever being used for anything other than to cut and slice pure white skin with such delicacy. He poked around in the small zip pocket at the front of the bag and felt the gold rope chain between his fingers. He pulled it out and held it up to the light. He had tugged it from Jenna’s neck just before he sliced her throat open: his little piece of her.
He retrieved the tin box from the shelf and took out the photographs. They were mainly pictures of the servants but there was one photograph of Lord and Lady Heaton and their son Edward. It was this one that fascinated him so much; he was drawn towards Edward and had spent hours staring at him. He looked so aloof; there was quite a distance between him and his parents. There was something so compelling about him that he had begun to haunt his dreams.
That first time he had looked at the photographs he had recognised the huge house behind them and he knew he had to find out more about this man. He had spent a very enjoyable afternoon in the library going through the archives, researching the family, and all the time he had felt as if there was some bond between him and Edward, a bond that was growing stronger.
He knew that he had to find a way to open one of the doors to the house and go inside so he had gone there one wet, miserable morning when he knew there wouldn’t be so many dog walkers around. He walked the perimeter of the building trying every door and had felt like crying when they were all locked up tight. He then began to wonder if the owners had ever left a spare key like his mother did: she left hers under a plant pot. He began to check the area, any plant pots and planters had long gone but around the back, near to a small door, was an overgrown rockery. He had spent the next ten minutes sweating and lifting up stones and rocks and had gasped when he saw a rusty piece of metal almost buried under one of them, the very tip sticking out. He brushed away the woodlice, dug his fingers into the moist soil and pulled out a rusted old key. He didn’t dare breathe in case it was too good to be true.
Wiping the key along his trouser leg he walked over to the door and put it into the lock, the pleasure he felt when the key turned was indescribable. He was meant to be here. There was a reason he bought that tin box: he felt connected to Edward Heaton more than he ever felt connected to anyone in his entire life.
I’m sitting on an absolute fortune, some idiot would pay thousands for this knife. But he wouldn’t part with it now for anything or any amount of money because it was a part of him and he still had so much work to do, work that he knew had never been finished over a hundred years ago. He wrapped it back up and hid the bag at the back of the wardrobe, pulling a blanket on top of it because if his mother found it she would phone the police in seconds. That he was her son wouldn’t matter; there would be no loyalty. Then he kissed the gold chain and placed it into his tin box next to the picture of Edward and put it back on the shelf. He needed to play it cool for now, wait until all the fuss had died down. He knew it would take a while because missing girls were big news in this small town.
He sat down in his armchair and looked out of the bedroom window that faced onto the busy front street. He liked to watch the people going in and out of the newsagents across the road. There would be a steady flow of traffic until about seven o’clock and then it would slow to a trickle and become peaceful. If only they all knew that he was watching them and that, should he decide to do something about it, they would well and truly know. He felt invincible.
The young lad who had taken over running the shop for his grandad came out to put today’s flyers on the billboard for the evening paper. He stared at the headline: LOCAL TEENAGE GIRL MISSING. They could search all they wanted. He doubted very much that they would find her. Even if they searched the house that small room in the cellar had been hidden since the 1900s and no one knew of its existence except him.
The light was fading rapidly, the steady drizzle after the storm making the woods treacherous, so Will decided to call it a day. If the girl was here she was deep in the trees and bushes and it was too dangerous to send people in. The Abbey was surrounded by fields that went on for a couple of miles in each direction. There had been no dog handler available because there was a big drugs job on in Workington so, in other words, it was looking pretty hopeless for today. The area had no CCTV coverage except for one small camera on the corner of the house at the bottom of the track that led to the woods. Will doubted that it even worked; they never did when you really needed them to. He was frustrated. There were dead ends everywhere. Several roads led away from this area which made it possible to reach any number of villages or towns and most of them were within walking distance. Jenna White could be anywhere. He hoped she was safe and staying somewhere of her own free will, but his gut instinct told him different and he had a feeling it would be a corpse they would find, if they were that lucky.
He had liaised with the Chief Inspector a couple of hours ago. He had been reluctant to call in air support for a missing teenager who had walked away from her home address on her own two feet: the budget cuts were playing heavily on his mind. Will couldn’t blame him and his hunch wasn’t going to be enough to convince him otherwise, at least not before the dogs had made a thorough search of the area.
He walked the perimeter of the crumbling mansion one last time; double-checking there was no way anyone could have gained entry. He found himself standing on the top step before the front door and shivered at the brass doorknocker: it was the freakiest thing he had ever seen. He still wanted to check the inside. If he didn’t it would niggle away at him until he did and at least it gave him an excuse to go back and talk to Annie.
Will wandered towards Jake. ‘That’s it for today. I’m going to see Annie, ask if she can show me around the house.’
Jake wolf whistled and winked.
Will growled, ‘Get stuffed.’
‘See you later, Detective Sergeant. Enjoy your coffee.’
Will walked away annoyed with Jake: he could be so childish at times. The rest of the search team headed on down the path that would take them back to the cars parked at the entrance of the woods. But he took the path that forked to the left and led to the farmhouse. He knew they were eager to leave the woods before it got dark, he was himself but he wanted to see Annie again. She must be brave staying up here on her own; he doubted he would be able to.
He took out his phone and tried to ring the office to see if Laura had any updates for him. He had left her manning the phones and ringing around a list of Jenna’s friends who hadn’t been in when officers had called earlier. No signal: this place was a bloody nightmare. Following the narrow path that led to the farmhouse he felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck begin to prickle: someone was watching him. He turned and stared into the trees but couldn’t see anyone. Why did he feel so unnerved? A loud bark echoed through the trees and a big black dog came tearing towards him.
‘Tess!’ The dog stopped in her tracks, turned and raced back to Annie, who was standing by the gate.
‘Hello again, I’m sorry to bother you but I need a favour.’
‘Where’s Jake?’
‘The big guy went back to the station because he’s too scared to be up here in the dark.’
Annie laughed.