I know that this needs corrections, as does part three, and possibly a lot of them. But due to time pressure you are not getting them yet!
Sorry about that
Anyway, it will all work itself out and I’ll do the corrections as soon as I can after Sunday.
Here’s part four of the ongoing Chatterton story, urban fantasy, 875 words.
S49 – Chatterton
Tara had already flicked on the outside lights, the garden was illuminated by what looked like a over a dozen spotlights. It was only dusk, summer’s long evening dragged on and natural light was perfectly fine to see by. Sarah wondered if perhaps everything looked dimmer through Dave’s copious eyebrows. She also knew she had exceptional night vision, so perhaps it was darker than she thought. Dave started pulling on a jacket and boots, Sarah and Paul already wore runners. Never be without shoes, you never know when you might need them.
Sarah opened the large front door and stepped outside into the cooling evening air, at once she lost her footing and stumbled. Paul’s swift hand took her elbow and easily righted her.
“Can you feel that?” She asked, her voice low. Paul nodded.
“That’s what you’ve been feeling since we got here?” He asked.
“This is stronger, more forceful, I think having two magic users has poked the hive. Something wants to come and play. Perhaps it was the zombie removal earlier…”
“It’s bad if I can feel it, right?” Paul searched Sarah’s face, she nodded, lips pressed tight. Dave walked out of the house behind them, seemingly noticing nothing of the magical oppression in the air.
“What’s this about the boys?” Sarah said, Dave puffed his way past her and stepped down on to the gravel drive.
“A serial killer, from way back, the early 60’s, buried boys around outskirts of the village.”
“Don’t tell me, the village has expanded past those outskirts now.” Sarah said, a laconic tilt to her voice.
“Aye.” Dave replied, as emotional as a bush.
“So what you are saying is we have the typical Poltergeist movie plot going on.” Sarah said, more to herself than anyone else. Paul walked past her, she followed him down to the drive and they started walking to the expanse of lawn ahead of them. A gaggle of other guests had come out of the house and made their way across to them. Sarah noticed Angela Lansbury was rubbing one of her temples, as though she had a persistent headache. She feels it too, Sarah noted.
“Oh, I remember this,” Said Paul, Sarah turned to look up at him, one eyebrow arched in impatience, “the Mockingbird murders, right?” They stared at him, Srah in turn stared at them, assessing each of their reactions. A variety of expressions ranged across the faces of those present; anger, hatred, fear and tiredness. The desire to have this all over with was evident among all of them.
“I think I remember that now. Eight boys wasn’t it?” Sarah said.
“Nine.” said the Vicar.
“The killer was never caught? Sent mocking letters to the police?”
“Well, in a way he wasn’t caught, he killed himself.” Said the vicar.
“Right, knew I remember all this,” Sarah said, resolutely ignoring the fact she didn’t and it was Paul who said he did, “so, Dave, what are we all trooping out here to see?”
“I don’t know about all that, I don’t watch movies.” Dave replied. Not quite keeping up with the conversation. It took Sarah a moment to realise he was still replying to her throw-away Poltergeist line. A methodical man, she thought, if not the quickest.
“Doesn’t matter, typical scenario of buried innocents wronged. Well, it would be typical if Murder She Wrote hadn’t been dropping magic into the ground for the last forty years, and some things using that, along with the power of the wronged dead, to push back into this world.”
“So not really typical then.” Paul muttered.
“Is anything in my line of work?” Sarah shot back, a wry smile briefly crossing her lips.
“Only to improve my garden. I’ve not done anything to harm anyone.” The old lady’s voice said softly. Sarah ignored her for a moment and turned to Dave.
“Dave, shall we?” Sarah prompted.
“Over here.” He replied and started off across the lawn. It was a huge expansive lawn, treed areas, some formal arrangements, but Dave headed over toward part of the grounds that looked less kept. Beyond the small wood fence in the distance cows mooed balefully and shit with abandon.
“You still don’t get it, do you.” Sarah said to Angela.
“Yeah, I know. But you’ve been feeding something a long time and by the feel of the air tonight it doesn’t need much more to get through.” Sarah left it at that, she sped up and caught up with Dave and Paul who were a few paces ahead of the group.
“What’s the plan?” Paul said.
“What’s a plan?” She quipped back.
“Here,” Dave indicated an indentation next to a cherry tree just in front of the fence, “this is where they found the last boy, Ralph he was, and James.”
“He killed this boy Ralph and himself right here?”
“Well, shit. So that’s what’s coming through.”
“What?” Said Dave, his expression hidden behind his voluminous facial hair.
“Oh.” Said Paul.
“The killer, James. He wasn’t just killing boys, it was a ritual and he’s coming back.”
“Now do you have a plan?” Paul asked.
“Fuck yes.” Sarah replied, climbing the fence and walking into the field.