The Forgotten Cottage (19 page)

Getting up from the bed, he washed and dressed himself and took up his position in the chair. He leant across to switch the radio on, closing his eyes. Images of Jenna White and Emma Tyson, before and after he’d killed them, flicked through his mind. They’d been suppressed for a while now but it seemed as if they were back and he knew that it wasn’t going to end well for anyone who tried to stop him. A smile spread across his lips and he remembered the smell of fear and the feel of their delicate skin. Henry felt as if he’d been under a hazy cloud for months but now the cloud had gone and he could finally see clearly again.

He jumped at the sound of the key turning in the lock and waited with his eyes shut to hear who his early morning nurse was. That was the beauty of having nothing better to do in this place; he knew every one of them by the sound of their voice.

‘Morning, Henry, I hope you’re ready for the day ahead.’

He grinned and looked around to see Megan smiling back at him.

‘Well, good morning, Megan. I wasn’t expecting you so early.’

‘I swapped my shift and told them I was willing to work longer hours.’ She placed his breakfast tray on the table. ‘I’ll be back very shortly with your clothes. Nurse Happy is dishing out the extra drugs to our friends. When she gives you yours don’t question her; just do what you normally do like a good boy.’

‘I think I can manage that.’

‘Good. I’ll be back soon. Oh, and you best eat that breakfast. I’ve filled a cool box with lots of food and have plenty of bottled water and snacks in the back of my car but we won’t have time to park up and throw down a blanket to sit on and have a picnic. Once they realise you’ve gone the sirens will sound and they pipe them as far as the neighbouring village to warn the nice, normal people to keep inside and lock the doors because there’s a mad man running around.’

Henry laughed. ‘My dear, you’re making it sound like something from a bad nineteen-fifties film. Surely they don’t let sirens off?’

‘Yes, they do because, back in the sixties, I think it was, someone did escape and murder some poor kid in the village so they’ve kept the early warning sirens in place ever since.’

‘Well, let’s hope that we can be well clear of this place before they begin to terrorise the villagers and start a riot.’

Megan giggled. ‘Henry, you are wicked, have a little faith. Just because I look like a sweet, normal girl it doesn’t actually mean that I am.’

She turned to leave then looked back at him. ‘I’m just checking—you’re not planning on killing any kids, are you, because the deal’s off if you are?’

‘Megan, now you need to have a little faith. Just because I look like your typical serial killer, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have some standards.’

She nodded. ‘Touché, Henry.’

Henry ate his mediocre breakfast of cereal with cold milk, followed by two slices of wholemeal toast, as he watched the rain fall against the glass. It was perfect weather. The door was opened by another nurse, who came in with his medication. She nodded at him and handed him the small plastic cup; he thanked her and lifted it to his lips, throwing his head back and tipping them into his mouth. He passed her the container. Some loud shouting from out in the corridor drew her attention away from him just long enough for him to spit the tablets into the palm of his hand. He picked up the plastic water cup and took a large sip. Satisfied, she turned and left him alone—so far, so good. Now he just hoped Megan had her side under control.

Twenty minutes later, she came in with the laundry sack. Leaning inside, she brought out a neatly folded pair of black jogging pants, a hooded sweatshirt and a baseball cap. She passed them over to him.

‘Really, Megan?’

‘Really, Henry; we need to cover the scars on your head and the cap will do that, then you can pull the hood up to cover the side of your face. What were you expecting, a three-piece suit?’

‘Well, maybe not a waistcoat but a jacket and trousers would have sufficed. No, you’re right; I do need to hide my face so they are an excellent choice. Thank you.’

‘I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, Nurse Happy will be going on her break in ten minutes and it gives all our other friends time to be feeling the effects from the extra pills. We’ll leave through the fire exit at the back of the ward and take the stairs down to the basement and go out through the staff entrance. There is only ever one guard on down there and they will be monitoring the cameras to make sure the special visit is going without incident and that no one is trying to get in who shouldn’t.’

She left and he went into the bathroom and dressed himself, then looked in the mirror and smiled. With the cap on and the hood up, you couldn’t even really see the scars. He felt excited and it had been a long time since he’d felt like this. Today would be a great day; he had a gut feeling that it would. Unable to settle, he paced up and down, keeping away from the door so no one could see him, especially as he was supposed to be comatose and drooling in his chair. He was sure it was illegal to drug patients to keep them quiet, just for an easy life. He stood still and listened; the ward was unusually quiet.

Finally his door opened.

‘Are you ready to do this, Henry? If you’ve changed your mind then it’s fine.’

He turned to face her. ‘I’m ready.’

She nodded and he walked out of the door into the corridor. She shut it and locked it behind him. Then she began to walk towards the fire exit at the opposite end of the ward and he followed her, his hood up and head bent down, not sure if she’d managed to do anything to the internal cameras. Megan swiped a card and the door clicked. She pushed it open and he followed her through into the much colder fire exit. She began to jog down the stairs and he followed her down several flights to the basement. She swiped her card, which opened another door, and held it open for him to step through.

‘When we reach the guard station I’ll keep him talking. You just wave and carry on walking towards the doors.’

Henry could see the small booth in the distance and felt his hands begin to get clammy; it had all been too easy up to now. He wondered if this man would be the one thing between him and his freedom and then he realised that if he did try to stop him he would kill him, no doubt about it. There was no way he was going back inside that glorified cell.

As they approached the booth a phone began to ring, so loud that it echoed around the basement area, and Henry jumped. The guard picked it up and began talking loudly to whoever was on the other end. The talking soon turned into raised voices and Megan began to walk so briskly that Henry had to do a little jog to catch up with her. They reached the booth and Megan waved at the guard, who was so engrossed in his argument about whose turn it was to fill the car with petrol that he didn’t even look at either of them. He lifted his hand at Megan and she walked past. Henry did the same, lifting his hand at the man, and he nodded at him. Within seconds, Megan had the door to the outside world open and held it for Henry to walk through. He grinned and then bent and kissed her on the cheek. Taking a deep breath, he realised this was what freedom smelt like.

Megan began scurrying towards a small black Ford Ka that was parked nearby, pulling the keys from her pocket. ‘There’s one more guard to get past,’ she said, ‘but it’s fine; they never give the staff cars a second glance and there’s no siren sounding so they won’t have a reason to.’

They got in the car and Megan reversed out of her parking space. Up to now she’d done really well but Henry found it irritating that she hadn’t had the forethought to park her car facing the right way in case they had to rush. She stuck to the speed limit and he tried to push himself as far down in the seat as possible. He could see the guard and he hoped this one would be just as distracted as the last. As Megan stopped at the barrier she waved at the guard, who waved back and pressed a button to lift the metal barrier up. Henry couldn’t quite believe it; this place housed some of England’s finest monsters yet the security was appalling. He would sack every single one of them and hire people who were so desperate for a job they would actually do what they were supposed to, and then he started to laugh.

Megan looked across at him with a huge smile on her face. ‘What did I tell you? Now, let’s get some distance between ourselves and this place before they realise. We’ve got another twenty minutes before Nurse Happy goes back to the ward and wonders where I’ve disappeared to. If she thinks I’m in the staff bathroom that would give us another ten minutes. Didn’t I tell you to have a little faith?’

‘Yes, you did, Megan; I’m impressed and extremely thankful. What about the car? They will know this is your car, though, and we’ll end up being put on the ANPR cameras. The minute we pass through one it will recognise the number plate and we’ll be surrounded by traffic police in the blink of an eye.’

‘I have another car that’s registered in another name waiting for us in the car park of a disused warehouse. We’ll ditch this one and take the other one; by the time they find this we’ll be long gone and they won’t know what car we’re in.’

Henry nodded. ‘You certainly aren’t your average, normal girl at all. I approve one hundred per cent.’

She smiled, proud that she had pleased Henry but even prouder that she had just changed the entire course of her life in less than an hour.

1782

Marcus King was sitting in his chair by the fire, the pewter tankard with the last few drops of ale he’d been drinking all night dangling from his hand as his eyes began to close. He had been busy the last few weeks, helping Joss on the farm now that he had no one but himself. Marcus had spent the last four days helping to harvest the hay and it was heavy work. His head nodded and a gentle snore came from his mouth. The room was dark, the candle almost burnt out. The fire had died down but it was a mild night, and he’d no energy to go out for more wood.

There was a sharp scratch as something moved along the window, quiet at first, but then it began to get louder. The noise seeped into his unconscious mind until the tankard clattered to the floor and he jolted upright, his eyes opened and for a second he was disorientated. Unsteady on his feet, he pulled himself up, about to go upstairs to bed, when the noise started again; this time it was on the window right next to his chair. It sounded as if something sharp was being dragged against the glass and he felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. He turned to look out of the window and see which silly bugger was outside playing games, but it was dark outside and he couldn’t see anyone. He stepped closer, pressing his nose against the glass, but drew back and rubbed his nose. The glass was white. There was a layer of frost across it. Marcus shook his head with disbelief. How could that be? It was the middle of August. He reached out a finger to touch the windowpane and heard a giggle come from somewhere in the room behind him. He swung around. He had lived on his own for as long as he could remember. He had never married; there should be no one else in the small cottage except for him. A loud screech on the window next to him made him jump back as he watched claw marks appear in the frost and the noise was horrific, so loud he wanted to cover his ears with both of his hands to block it out; the sound filled the whole room. He rubbed his eyes, not wanting to believe what was happening, hoping he was still asleep and this was all some nightmare. He didn’t understand what could be happening; none of it made any sense.

The only book he possessed was a Bible and it was always on display on the kitchen table. It began to shake and then moved of its own accord, slowly across the surface of his kitchen table, and his heart began to race as fear took over his body. The book reached the edge of the table, where it hung, suspended in mid-air, balancing on nothing, and then it dropped to the floor with a loud thud, its pages opened onto Exodus 22:18. He picked the candle up from the windowsill. Beyond terrified, he walked across to see where it had landed and the words jumped out at him: ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’. Fear ran through his veins and he knew exactly who it was that was playing games with him. A warm trickle of urine ran down his leg.

‘Who’s there? Get out of my house at once. I never invited you in so you have no right to be in here. Leave this minute!’

He was greeted by silence; he stood where he was and listened for any noise but there was none, then he walked across the room to the staircase to listen and was greeted by silence. Thank the good Lord, he had told her to leave and she had. Marcus didn’t believe in anything other than hard work and good food washed down with a pitcher of ale, but a slither of unease crept through his mind: why were you so adamant that Betsy Baker was a witch if you don’t believe in anything supernatural? He convinced himself that it had all been some bizarre dream and laughed. Shaking his head at his foolishness, he began to walk up the stairs to his bed. He could even have a bit of heatstroke after working out in the fields in this burning heat; what he needed was to lay his weary body down and get a good night’s sleep.

As he reached the step second from the top the temperature dropped so drastically he began to shiver and felt his teeth begin to chatter. A high-pitched giggle in his ear made the tiny hairs stand on end and a fear like nothing he had ever known lodged itself in the base of his throat. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t make a sound. He looked up to see Betsy Baker standing on the step above him; she was so white that she glowed, around her neck was an angry red and blue ring where the rope he had used to hang her had bit into her soft white flesh until it had choked her to death. She lifted a finger, which had a long pointed nail at the end of it.

‘I told you I was no witch but I struck a deal with the devil and here I am. I also told you I would come back to get you and that was the truth, Marcus King. You’re not so big and brave now it’s just me and thee, are you? What’s the matter—has the cat got your tongue?’

Marcus couldn’t speak if he’d wanted to; his brain was still registering the fact that the woman he’d insisted on hanging and then helped to bury with his own two hands was standing in front of his very eyes.