Unseen People - Chapter 2

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Unseen People

Thanks as always to Robyn and Chris for their input and support and a special thank you to all of you for your kind comments and messages for Chapter 1. Please continue to post your comments, they help me keep writing and improve as I do so.

Chapter 2

Freddy Malins had been a regular at the King’s Head for nearly thirty years now. There was a stool at the place where the bar bent around the corner; the worn red leather of the stool had an imprint that matched Freddy’s bum exactly. If you were to look closely you’d see the faint lines, like the rings in a tree, where his buttocks had grown, inch by inch over the long years.

Freddy prided himself on knowing all the customers of the little pub. He knew the other regulars like family, and the casual drinkers better than any work colleague. The man he was looking at was neither. He couldn’t quite put his finger on this one. The stranger’s face was smooth and boyish. He looked young, apart from the fatty jowls and slightly receding hairline. The suit he wore was new, but also baggy and ill shaped and ill fitting.

“You new to the area?” Freddy asked, taking a sip of what was left of his pint.

“Just passing through,” Freddy guessed from the stranger’s accent that he was from London.

The stranger stopped and turned to look at Freddy, “I’m doing some research into this girl who reappeared a couple of nights ago.”

“A journalist?”

The stranger nodded slowly, “You could say that I dabble.”

“Who do you write for?” Freddy looked longingly at the nearly full, cold pint in front of the stranger. Lager wasn’t usually his drink, but right now he’d be glad of anything.

“I’m freelance. You wouldn’t know anything about this girl would you? The barman said you work in maintenance at the hospital.”

Freddy watched the stranger's face. It was soft and smooth. He could be forty something and lived an easy life, he could be in his twenties and over indulged.

“What’s your name, stranger?” Freddy felt uneasy, he knew he wasn’t supposed to talk about patients.

“Peter,” Peter held out a hand, “Nice to meet you Freddy. Let me buy you a pint.”

Freddy didn’t remember introducing himself, must be all the booze he thought. It’s time to cut down on the daytime drinking. Well, nearly time.

Peter gestured for the barman to come over. The barman didn’t look too happy about it.

“Get my friend a pint. Whatever is his pleasure,” The barman shot Freddy a glance. Freddy didn’t think he wished him any pleasure.

“Anything else?” The barman turned back to Peter.

“I am going to guess my new friend here has an unpaid tab?” Peter said cheerfully pulling several crisp twenty pound notes out of his wallet.

“You could say that,” The barman replied not looking at Freddy. Freddy knew it was past the £200 mark. How much higher he didn’t want to know.

“Well my friend Freddy and I,” Peter slapped Freddy on the back, “We are going to the snug. If he tells me something I want to hear then I’ll be paying off that tab.”

The barman looked back at Freddy. From his expression he didn’t think Freddy had anything to say that anyone wouldn’t be interested in.

Peter led Freddy away, “What’s your full name?” Freddy asked.

“Peter Pan,” Peter smiled a mirthless smile.

Freddy tried unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh, “Your parents had a funny sense of humour?”

“No parents, I was raised by fairies.”

---

A couple of flakes of snow hit the glass of the canteen window. Jack watched them melting as they slowly slipped down the window.

A girl sat with her father at a table across from them. Both her arms were in bandages and her father had to carefully feed her soup. Jack’s eyes followed the spoon up and down, as they did so her scratched his arms. Nerves sent signals to his brain telling him this soft skin was now his.

“Jack, can you tell me any more details about yourself?” Wren’s voice cut through his thoughts. Jack turned back to the detective and shook his head. Jack picked up her pen and wrote something on her note pad.

‘Parents are dead. I go to Salford Uni. I could give you a list of my friends but I can’t remember their names off the top of my head.’

He wanted to ask how his body had changed, why he now appeared to be female, but when he tried to form the questions in his head he found himself becoming distracted. He looked up seeing the father wipe his daughters mouth with a napkin before he started writing again.

‘There’s an address book at my home, I keep it next to the phone.’

Wren took the notebook, turned it around to face her and then read it twice, “I am sorry Jack but we haven’t been able to find the address you gave us.”

Jack wrinkled his forehead and twirled the pen in his hand. He could feel the extra weight on his chest rise and fall with every breath. It was disturbing, none of this made any sense. It was like someone had sneaked in and moved everything in his life two feet to the left.

Wren must have seen the look of distress on his feminine face, “Dr Devi thinks you maybe suffering from some form of amnesia.” She took Jack’s hand in hers, stroking its smooth, soft skin. Jack could feel how much greater the strength in Wren’s hand was than his. He felt like he was made of rice paper. “The doctor thinks it could be your mind’s way of dealing with the trauma.”

Jack shuddered. It made sense, but he didn’t want to confront what could have been so terrible that it had fried his brain.

“Do you remember anywhere, anything that could help us?” Wren squeezed tightly. For a moment Jack worried that she would crush the bones in his fingers they felt so fragile.

He concentrated, trying to put back together the pieces of his memory, like a jigsaw puzzle. Blurred images, sounds and smells. He pulled the notepad back to him and wrote something down, passing it back to Wren.

‘Castle Irwell Student Halls.’

Wren nodded but didn’t say anything. Castle Irwell had closed down the year before and the building itself had been destroyed this year by fire.

---

Ben woke with a start; he had heard the rattling in his dream. At first he lay there listening for any sound. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the hum of traffic where the A road met the motorway. It was only very faint, during the day it would be completely covered by the everyday noises of the house.

He lay in bed for a full fifteen minutes wondering if he had only dreamed it. Then he heard it again. He looked outside and saw the trees swaying in the wind. Maybe a window had been left partially open? The rattling came again, this time he could tell it was coming from beneath him. Underneath his bedroom was the kitchen. Perhaps the cat flap was letting a breeze in?

When he heard it a third time he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he had investigated. He crept down the stairs careful not to wake his dad.

When he reached the kitchen his first instinct was to flip the light switch, but something stopped him. He knew once a light came on the half of his brain that was still in sleep mode would be awake. Then it would take him hours to find sleep again.

He crept through the dark kitchen trying to identify the source of the noise. The room had been transformed by moonlight from the normal and everyday to the transient and dream-like. He looked out through the window; the moon looked much larger then normal.

At the end of the kitchen there were the large French window doors. Through them he could see a fresh layer of snow had fallen. It must have been some time before as the sky above was clear and full of stars.

Reaching the French window he looked up, he had never seen so many stars in his life. Was it his imagination or did he see a shooting star? He could almost see the colours of the giant gas clouds from which solar systems were formed.

Suddenly, he heard it again. Only this time the rattle was right next to him. He looked down to see a face staring back at him, the face of young girl. He jumped back startled, nearly tripping himself over. He ran to the back of the kitchen running his hand along the smooth surface of the wall until he found the switch. His heart beat against his ribcage.

The instant he flicked the switch his eyes were dazzled. He stood there, facing away from the French windows. He knew he had to turn around but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He told himself that there would be nothing there, that it had all been in his imagination, but then the rattling started again.

One… Two… Three, he turned slowly and had to force himself to keep his eyes open. When finally he faced the door he sagged in relief. There was no one there. He moved towards the door, comforted by the normality of his surroundings. There was the cornflakes packet, left out next to an empty bowl, crumbs and discarded flakes all over the counter. It told him his dad had been down for a snack earlier.

As he reached the French doors he noticed the frost patterns covering the outside glasspane. Intricate lines meeting together creating what looked like the map of a frozen city. He looked out onto the back garden. The snow lay crisp and untouched save the tiny footprints of a robin. OK, he thought to himself, he had let his imagination run wild. That moment he heard the glass in the windows rattle with the wind. That must have been it, he told himself. Deeper in his mind he though, that is a different rattle, but he rationalised it as his mind playing tricks on him.

He decided he needed to do something, to keep his mind from inventing things. He brushed up the crumbs from his dad’s midnight feast and put them in the compost bin. Then he returned the cereal packet to its cupboard and put the bowl and spoon into the dishwasher. As he left, turning off the light switch he couldn’t help but feel like someone, or thing, was watching him. He turned quickly, but saw nobody.

Suddenly there was a tapping at the window, making Ben nearly jump out of his skin. He flicked the lights back on expecting to see the girls face again, but there was nothing.

Tap, tap, tap. Ben couldn’t see where it was coming from. Then he saw it, a tiny little bird sitting on the windowsill. Tap, tap, tap, it banged its beak against the glass. It probably had no idea what the window was thought Ben. It’d be like one of us finding an invisible force field in the middle of the shopping arcade.

Not really knowing why, he went over to the window. He places his finger on the spot where the birds was tapping. He could see that the bird was a robin, its red breast showed up starkly against the white backdrop. Tap, tap, tap the bird rapped on the glass. It turned its head so it was looking directly at Ben. He thought its eyes looked sad. Tap, tap, tap the bird went one last time, then it flew away.

Ben was left looking at the garden. It was empty all the way to the line of trees that separated it from the gully and Hob’s Hill behind it. He thought of Jess, the cat, and wondered how long it had been since they had seen her. Maybe twenty-four hours now. He decided he’d help dad look for her before school and headed up the stairs. The clock in the hall said 4:20. Probably too late to sleep now. He’d put his headphones on and listen to podcasts until it was time to get up.

---

Jack lay listlessly back on top of the bed. He still had on the clothes Wren had given him earlier, although they now looked wrinkled from lying there for hours. They were mostly fairly boyish, although tailored to fit a young woman. What he had the most trouble with was the bra. He couldn't get used to how it pulled on his shoulders and back. He didn’t even want to think about the extra weight he felt there when he moved his body.

Even sitting felt strange with the extra padding on his bum. Most of the time he chose to lie, but he could only lie for so long before he noticed something like the extra weight on his chest, or the absence between his legs, and he had to move.

On the bedside table was a pile of magazines, mostly fashion ones and celebrity gossip. Jack hadn’t touched any of them; all he wanted to do was stare out of the window. He wished they could give him something more asexual. Perhaps something on music or film. The problem was when one of the nurses came in he found himself becoming listless, unable to form the words on his notepad.

He had watched the young female nurse called Jill as she changed his bedding. He stood there wobbling slightly as she bent over tucking sheets in. She was pretty, tall, long legs and red hair. Normally he’d have felt something, even when sick, but this time there was nothing. Well, not quite nothing, he did feel something. It had hit him about half an hour after she left. He had been feeling jealousy. The elegant way she moved, and the fact that it all seemed so effortless for her.

He knew he should be more agitated. He hated it when Wren and the others referred to him as a girl. Worse still he kept thinking of himself as a ‘she’. It all seemed odd to him, like he was driving someone else’s car. He knew how everything worked but the windscreen wipers and the indicator switches were on the wrong sides and clutch was over sensitive.

Worse of all was Isaac. He was smart enough to recognise how he was feeling around him. That slight lightness in his head, and the butterflies in the stomach. The way everything he did seemed clumsy and ill thought through when Isaac was near. Sometimes he was glad he couldn’t speak. Even the thought of some of the foolish things he would have said in his presence made him blush. Jack had never fancied another male before, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about this boy.

---

Wren waited on the platform of the Rochdale Town Centre tram stop. The strong wind was blowing the smell of samosas from the little van on the edge of the market space. Wren heard her stomach rumble, damn the diet.

As the tram rolled in her phone buzzed. Wren called the number back.

“Hi, I’m on the platform!” She surveyed the crowd disembarking the tram. “I’m the one wearing the blue coat.”

A woman’s voice replied, “I can see you,” it didn’t seem as old and tired as Wren remembered. She tried to hide her surprise when the woman stepped out in front of her. She didn’t look much over fifty, Wren had been expecting older.

“You were expecting someone older weren’t you?” Ms Rees, the mother of the girl who went missing in the 90s smiled knowingly.

“No, not at all,” Wren lied. “I didn't really know whatto expect,” she pulled it back a little.

“Well I am here now, what do you want from me?” The woman said smiling a little.

As they drove to Alfdale hospital Wren explained as best she could.

“I don’t know how but there seems to be a link between this girl, Jack and your missing daughter Jacqueline. It maybe that she knows something.”

“You think she’s trying to impersonate my little Jackie?” The woman looked out of the window, not at Wren.

“I don’t think so,” Wren had been going over this in her head, “She seems genuine. And if it is a lie it’s a transparent one,” She looked over at her passenger, “We could easily disprove it. But the doctor thinks she’s suffering from some form of amnesia.”

“She doesn’t know who she is?” the mother interjected.

“Not quite. According to Doctor Devi amnesia doesn’t make you forget your name, that’s only in bad science fiction novels. He thinks something traumatic happened to her and she has constructed a false identity to protect herself. But that leaves open the question of where she heard about your daughter.”

Wren looked over at Ms Rees. She was clutching her handbag close to her. Wren could see the whites of her knuckles.

“Can I ask you a question?” Wren had decided to risk it.

“Sure, I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you an answer.”

“What happened to Jacqueline’s father?”

Ms Rees gave a mirthless laugh, “Oh he’s in Australia somewhere. He works for one of the oil companies out there.”

“He left you?” A car pulled out in front of Wren forcing her to come to a sudden halt. She had to restrain herself from swearing in front of her passenger.

“Oh, I don’t really blame him. Those years after…” her voice trailed off for a moment, “Well, after Jackie went missing. They were hard on us.” As Wren started the car again she noticed Ms Rees looking at her intently, “The hardest thing was the hope. It was very hard to let go.” Her voice was so quiet Wren almost didn’t hear what she said.

They met Doctor Devi outside the ward. Wren watched as he introduced himself to Ms Rees. She watched as Ms Rees’ head bobbed along to every word he said. She had no idea what was going on in there? Doctor Devi explained that the young woman had been through a traumatic experience and that if he felt this was too much for her he would pull them out.

“Inspector, can I have a quick word with you before we go in?” He took Wren by the arm and directed her into a corner of the room.

“Sure, what’s up?” She resisted the urge to end the sentence with ‘doc’.

“As I mentioned we’ve been running some tests on Jack’s vocal cords to see what the problem is.”

Wren nodded, “You said you thought it was psychosomatic?” she noticed the worried look on his face, “Have you found something?”

“That’s just it,” he looked sheepish, “we’ve found nothing.”

“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” she replied uncertain where he was going with this.

“You misunderstand me. We found nothing, as in there are no vocal cords.” He held up an x-ray for her, she had no idea what she was looking at.

“Is that rare?”

“Very. Unless it was a birth defect, which is very rare indeed, then it would had to have been done by surgery.” He looked her in the eye, she could see fear, “That’s some pretty tricky and extensive surgery.”

Wren pondered this. So she was looking for someone with a professional background, probably a surgeon. She thought of all those books she had read on Jack the Ripper back when she was doing her training. She looked over at Jack’s mother; she seemed so small on her own. Who would go to all the trouble of removing a young woman’s vocal cords and why? That thought alone made her shudder.

“Are there any uses for vocal cords. Rare medicines, something like that?” She watched as the doctor shook his head.

“None that I know of. Possibly organ transplant for someone without vocal cords,” Wren looked at him in disbelief, “I’d have to do some research, see if it has ever been done successfully. It isn’t really my area of expertise.” He trailed off at the end.

“Well thank you doctor, let me know what you find.” She looked over at Ms Rees who sat nervously on a plastic chair watching them. This was indeed perplexing but it would have to wait.

“OK, I think we can go through now,” she took Ms Rees by the arm. She looked up at her as if she was about to say something, but nothing came out.

Jack was sitting up on the bed, wearing the same clothes she had brought her that morning. Isaac the nurse stood beside the bed. She noticed he was holding the girl’s hand.

“Ms Rees, this is the woman we…” Wren had only started speaking when she felt the woman beside her go. Wren had to strain to hold her up as she let out a guttural wail. She sounded more like a wounded animal than anything human.
Wren felt like she was going to be pulled over before Doctor Devi rushed to her side and helped her carry the woman to a chair in the corner. Wren tried to reassure her but she wept openly and uncontrollably. After a few minutes the woman calmed down enough for Wren to understand her.

“Jacqueline, it’s my little Jackie,” she said through huge sobs. Sobs so big they seemed to shake her whole body.

“Inspector, Doctor, I think we need some help here,” Wren turned. She had been so fixed on the woman she had momentarily forgotten about Jack. The girl was sitting on the edge of her bed shaking visibly, silent tears rolling down her cheek. Reassured Devi had the mother she rushed over to Jack putting her arms around her.

“Are you OK sweetie?” She tried to hold her but the shaking was violent and almost totally out of control.

Jack reached out for something. It took Wren a few moments to realise she wanted her notebook and pen. Wren passed them to her.

My mother, wrote Jack pointing across the room at the woman in the chair. Wren nodded, she didn’t know how it could be true but she believed her. How was she going to convince Chief Inspector Jacobs?

Jack was trying to write something else, but her hand was shaking too much. Isaac reached out gently steadying the girl’s hand. After a few minutes Jack was able to write again.

She died three years ago

Wren looked into the girl’s terrified green eyes. They seemed to be begging her for help. Something struck Wren; she put her hand on Jacks arm trying to steady her.

“Jack love, this might seem like an odd question,” she took a deep breath, “but what year do you think it is?”

The question seemed to jolt Jack. So much so that she stopped shaking. She looked from Isaac face to Wren and then wrote something down. Wren took the notepad from her and looked at what she had written:

1998

---

The ambulance arrived just after the police. There was a crowd of people standing around. Tom and Tully were used to this. They often had to fight their way through onlookers to get at a casualty. From inside the group Tom could hear screaming. He pushed past as quickly as he could.

A young looking policewoman stood there trying to keep the crowd back. Next to her, her male partner was trying to restrain a man who was screaming blue murder.

“What’s happening?” He said to the policewoman who looked happy to see him, “Who is the casualty?”

“That’s what we want to know,” The policewoman sounded like she was having a bit of a day.

“They took her, the bastards took her!” screamed the restrained man. Tom noticed a small man in a postman’s uniform kneeling on the pavement, blood pouring from his head. Tom indicated to Tully and she went to help him.

The first man flailed out an arm that caught the policeman on the side of his chin, knocking him backwards. Tom was aware that some of the teenagers in the crowd had taken out phones and were snapping pictures. In a second both police officers were on the man. He was knocked to the ground, the policeman held him while the policewoman struggled to handcuff him.

The man seemed to realise he had made a mistake and stopped thrashing about. Tom turned to the policewoman and said, “You get rid of the crowd, we’ll look after him.”

The policewoman looked uncertain so Tom continued, “You aren’t going to get anything out of him until he has calmed down.”

The two police officers nodded and started to push the crowd back. With Tully’s help Tom took him to the back of their ambulance. As he looked at the cut on the man’s forehead he spoke to him.

“What happened?”

The man didn’t look at him, “Jenny was calling me from the front garden,” Tom looked over at the muddy patch of grass in front of the house. There were still patches of snow covering most of it. In the next garden was a small snowman with no eyes and a tatty little scarf. “She shouted something about the Brownies selling biscuits.” His big chest heaved, “By the time I was half way around the house I could hear her screaming,” he bowed his head and looked into his large open hands, “She was gone before I got there.”

“And what about this guy?” Tom gestured over at the dazed postman Tully had helped up. She was walking him around holding his arm around her shoulder.

The man’s voice became small, “I think he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

They waited with the police and the two men. Tully sat in the ambulance with the postman, whose name was Alan, while Tom sat on the curb with the man whose wife had gone missing, Keith. While the police left the cuffs on Keith, Tom at least had put a silver blanket over his shoulders. The sky was turning grey. It wouldn’t be long before the snow started again.

Tom was sitting in the staff canteen when he saw her enter the room. He watched Wren as she walked over. Without her big coat on he noticed she had long, slim, legs. She was probably in her early thirties, Tom guessed. Her auburn hair was tied back into a high ponytail. It looked like it had been a long time since she had been to the hairdressers. Not that Tom was much of a judge.

“You again,” Wren said to Tom. “Always causing trouble.”

“That’s me,” he smiled at her, indicating for her to take a seat at his table. His shoulders and back ached, it was only when he sat down that he noticed.

“I’m going to need to take your statements,”

“Tully will be back soon, she has just taken Alan to the hospital for a check over,” he took a big sip of his coffee.

“Alan being the postman?” Wren took her notebook out and wrote something.

“You’re an inspector aren’t you?” Tom looked at the ID badge Wren had just put down on the table.

“Yup,” Wren kept her head down flipping through her notes.

“Does your Chief Inspector ever come down for things like this?” Tom watched her as she lifted her head.

“Jacobs? No not often. Not unless there’s some bigwig involved. Why do you ask?” She looks at him in the eyes. Hers were brown and searching.

“I just wondered how seriously the police are taking this. There seems to be a lot going on.”

“How do you mean?” She kept her eyes on him. Her gaze wasn’t unfriendly, but it was intense. It made him want to twitch.

He shrugged, “There just seems to be a lot happening at the moment. Strange things.”

He watched her as she put her note pad away. She licked her lips before speaking again. “When do you finish your shift?”

“In about an hour,” he glanced up at the clock, it was just a little under.

Wren kept her eyes down, “Do you want to talk more? Over a drink I mean.”

At first Tom didn’t realise what had happened. He thought she wanted to question him some more. “You want to go for a drink?”

“Yeh. it‘s been a mad day.” She looked up at him again with those same searching brown eyes. Only this time they seemed to contain a flicker of vulnerability.

Why not? His love life was pretty none existent. The only women he met were work colleagues or the injured and sick.

“OK,” he said, smiling at her, “Do you know the King’s Head?”

---

Jack slept uneasily. The day had been filled with more emotion than he could cope with. Through wriggling around he had wound the sheets around him with only his bare feet poking out at the bottom.

Something woke him, a sense that he wasn’t the only one in the room. He could see little through his sleep filled eyes. He noticed that the room temperature was low. Outside the window the moon looked huge in the empty sky. Its light was all he had to see by.

As he became accustomed to the light, or lack of it, he saw something that made him nearly jumped out of his skin. There were two figures standing at the bottom of his bed. Not able to call out all he could do was reach for the light switch.

It took a moment for his eyes to get used to the artificial brightness. Standing there were two girls, probably not much older than twelve. The tallest cocked her head to one side, looking at Jack. Her long blond hair reached down past her shoulders. Her shorter friend had brown hair cut into a short bob. Both wore Brownie uniforms with little black hats and yellow sashes.

Jack reached for her note pad and showed them the first page, I can’t speak, I am mute.

“Yes,” said the taller girl, “We know.” It was a firm statement.

Jack waited a moment to see if they would say anything more.

The smaller girl raised up a box to show Jack, “Will you buy our biscuits?”

I am sorry, I don’t have any money on me. Jack leaned forward to show the girls what he had written. How had they got in here? Surely it was too late for kids their age.

The girls divided and walked to either side of bed. Jack looked from one to the other, not knowing what was happening.

“We don’t want money silly,” This time the tall girl spoke. Jack watched as she undid her yellow necktie and wrapped it around her hand.

“We want you,” said a quiet little voice. Jack whipped around to see the other girl also had her yellow necktie in her hands. Up this close she thought they no longer looked like little girls, but more like miniature adults. Before Jack knew what was happening the two girls had pounced and grabbed her arms. Jack tried to struggle but the girls were surprisingly strong. Within moments they had tied her wrists to the rails either side of the bed.

Jack struggled to break free. He couldn’t speak of course, all he could do was thrash his legs about. A cold shiver ran down his spine when he saw the tall girl jump on the bed. Jack began thrashing about even harder when he saw the smaller girl pass her friend a pillow.

“You had to run away didn’t you,” The tall girl’s face was contorted into a mocking sneer. “But if we can’t have you, no one can,” she leaned forward pressing the pillow against Jack’s face.

Jack tried to fight back but again he was overwhelmed by the girl’s inhuman strength. He could feel strong little hands holding his legs still. The pillow seemed to be pressed against him for hours. His lungs burned and his chest felt like it would explode. Eventually he could feel the strength leaving his arms. What a way to die! Then everything turned black.

Jack woke with a start, his body desperately trying to suck air into his lungs. After a few moments of animal panic he calmed down. He realised his arms were free, they must have untied them. Had they thought him dead? The light was off again so he grabbed around for the switch. In his panic he hit something with his hand; he heard the sound of a plastic cup bouncing off the floor.

Light came back into the room. Jack looked around and was comforted to see the girls were gone. He must have passed out and the girls had left thinking they had succeeded.

---

It was Friday and the King’s Head was packed. Wren craned her neck to try and spot Tom in the crowed. She looked down at her phone; his text said he’d found a quiet spot. Looking around she couldn’t see anywhere that fitted that description. She took another look around the bar to see if she could see him.

She spotted old Freddy in the corner, it looked like he’d been drinking all day. There had been a number of times when Wren had let the old soak sleep it off in the cells. He was harmless enough, although that didn’t mean he couldn’t cause trouble. Only that he did it more by accident than design.

“Hey Wren,” she turned around to see Tom sitting at a little table near a window. He gestured down to show he had bought two pints. His was already half empty.

“Hey,” she said sheepishly, not sure what the proper etiquette was. They both leaned forward to kiss a cheek, only they went for different cheeks and ended up brushing each other’s lips. Wren felt a little tingle.

“Halloween this weekend,” Tom nodded towards the different costumes in the room. At the table next to them a vampire had left half his make-up on his pint glass.

“You not dressing up?” Wren said, glad of the subject as her mind had gone blank.

“Halloween isn’t my thing really,” Tom shrugged, “I guess in my line of work you see too few people rise from the dead.” Tom looked embarrassed, “Sorry, that’s a bit dark to start with.”

“No,” she instinctively reached out and touched his hand, “You don’t have to worry. It is the same in the police. If you didn’t laugh you’d have to cry and all that.”

Tom took a big gulp of his beer and then smiled at her. She could feel a werewolf’s tail brushing against the back of her head, she leaned closer to Tom. “So, what is the maddest thing you’ve seen on duty?”

As time went on the crowd in the pub began to thin out. Some headed into Manchester for the clubs and bars. Couples headed to restaurants or takeaway in front of the TV. Tired singles slunk off for quiet nights or to meet friends.

All along Wren and Tom kept talking. She found him easy company, like they had been friends for years. Wren told him about the man she found not wearing trousers in the middle of the shopping mall. Tom told her about the different things people had got stuck up their bums. With each reel of laughter they each felt their burdens lighten slightly.

Eventually Wren had to get up to go the toilet. She had been dreading it for a while. There was a long line outside the Ladies. Wren was stuck between a sexy nurse and a sexy zombie. She was surprised they had managed to make a zombie sexy.

After finally getting a stall and relieving herself she elbowed her way to the mirror. She really wished she’d found time to get to the hairdresser. It was unfair. Men could pop in for half an hour and be done. For her it was a daylong event. Seeing as she only got two days off a week, she resented wasting half that time on something which should surely count as work.

She spent ten or so minute trying to tease her fringe into something that might look asymmetrical and cool. In the end she was happy to settle for just covering the lines on her forehead.

Walking back to the table she saw a sexy chainsaw victim chatting to Tom. She didn’t like the way the fake blood covered her exposed cleavage.

“Bugger off girly,” she flashed the sexy-chainsaw-victim her ID badge, “or I search that bag of yours.”

“I was just chatting,” the bloody boob owner protested.

“I know what you were just doing,” she nodded at Tom, “he’s with me.”

The chainsaw victim staggered back to her friends. Wren was sure she heard her saying something about being ‘frigid’.

“I think that might be an abuse of power Ms Inspector,” Tom smiled wryly at her. “Does that come with handcuffs?”

Wren sat down and tried to change the subject, “Do you want another pint?” This would be their fourth.

“How about a curry? I know a good place not far from here.” Tom reached for her hand, touching it gently.

“How about we go to my place and order takeaway?” Wren tried her best pout, a look that had served her well in her younger dating days.

---

It was early morning before Jack decided to make his move. His mum, or whoever she was, had left some clothes for her in an old duffel bag. Jack rummaged through them looking for something suitable. He found a pair of dungarees and a long-sleeved T-shirt. They would have to do.

He had spent much of the night planning his move. He knew he couldn’t stay in the hospital, it wasn’t safe, but he needed help. He couldn’t trust the police, they had been supposed to be keeping a guard. The hospital was similarly worrying. Had someone on the staff led the girls here? Then there was his mum. He was the first person he had thought of running to, but how could he trust the fact she had been dead and was now alive? Where had he been for the last three years? Or, if he was to believe the inspector, the last twenty or so years.

There was one person he thought he could trust, but how to get to him and get out of here? After getting dressed, no easy feat with his whole body aching, he tiptoed to the door. Looking out, the corridor seemed empty. The policewoman who was supposed to be on guard had wandered off for a moment. Picking up the duffel bag and the black coat Wren had bought he opened the door as silently as possible.

A toilet door had been left open. The door had a mirror. For several minutes Jack was caught by his reflection. He stared at the girl looking back at him. Her chest moved up and down in time with his own. Short blond hair, pale white skin and a small pouting mouth. She could easily be one of the girls he used to see in the clubs in town. Eventually he pulled away, there was too much to process.

The corridors were silent, this was good. He wanted a head start before anyone knew he had left. The plastic soles of his Adidas trainers squeaked on the floor as he walked. He wished he had some way of silencing them. There was a front desk to the ward, but it was only staffed by one woman. Jack stood out of sight, watching her for ages. He was beginning to panic he’d be caught when the phone rang. As the woman answered it Jack slipped away around the corner.

It took Jack a while to find all the things he needed. First he had to find a hiding place for later, then some supplies. He stole some fruit off a food cart that had been left outside a private room and found an old newspaper and magazine he didn’t recognise. He placed them in the duffel bag, squashed in with the clothes. When he was finally ready he made his way to the staff changing rooms.

He felt strange breaking into the male changing rooms. Like he was breaking into his old bedroom after someone new had moved in. Jack moved as silently as he could, thankful there was nobody about. The smell of a male locker room should have been normal to him, but it smelt strange slightly fogging his mind. Had it always smelt like this, had he just not noticed?

Finally he found Isaac’s locker. It was near the back. He took his notepad out of the pouch in the front of his dungarees and scribbled something down.

‘Please help me! It said. I’ll be hiding in the store cupboard on the top floor, next to room 508, J xx’

He hadn’t planned on putting the kiss at the end, but there it was. He was considering chucking the note and starting again when he heard the door opening and two men talking. Quickly he folded the note up and slipped it through the crack at the bottom of the door into Isaac’s locker. He then hid behind another bank of lockers and waited till the men had passed where he was. Slowly he slipped out of the door and back into the corridor.

Jack hoped his hiding place was a good one. There was no light in the room so he had to keep himself as still as possible. It reminded him of playing hide and seek as a young boy. He used to hide for ages in places like airing cupboards and elsewhere. He had hidden himself behind several boxes of cleaning fluid. All he could do was sit, knees under his chin and take stock. He was now in a strange body, like his own but different in a few fundamental ways. If what he had been told was true, he had missed the millennium and most of the first two decades of the new century, but he hadn’t aged. On top of everything now he couldn’t speak and two crazy strong primary school kids had tried to kill him.

He tried to think what might have happened, and where all the missing time had gone, but nothing came, only a sense of dread.

A couple of times the door to the storeroom opened. Thankfully both times the janitor had found what he was looking for near the door and he hadn’t been discovered.

The third time was different. “Jack, are you in here?” asked a quiet voice.

Jack instantly recognised it to be Isaac, but he didn’t leap up to great him. He watched him for a while making sure he wasn’t with someone else. Once he was reasonably sure Isaac was alone, and fearing he would leave Jack stood up, silently waving.

“Jack, what are you doing? Everyone’s going crazy looking for you.” Isaac’s voice sounded worried, but not unkind.

Jack blinked as the Isaac turned the light on. He showed him his notebook, he had already written out what he wanted to say. ‘Someone attacked me last night. They tried to kill me.’

Isaac looked her up and down, for a moment she was worried he wouldn’t believe her.

“Who?”

Jack started scribbling, ‘I don’t know,’ he took a deep breath, ‘they looked like little girls but I can’t be sure who they were.’

He looked up, Isaac looked confused but he was still listening to him.

‘They tied my arms to the sides of the bed and then tried to suffocate me with a pillow. I must have passed out and they thought they had killed me.’

Isaac was close to her now. Gently Isaac took hold of both of his arms, “We have to get you out of here,” he said pulling him into an embrace.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands and arms so he just laid his head against Isaac’s chest. He told himself Isaac was just being a good friend.

---

It was early morning and Andy was up writing again. He’d had a short story accepted for an anthology in America a few months ago and he was determined to develop it into a whole novel. It wasn’t that he hated his job, and he certainly didn’t hate being a single father. All he knew was that he needed something that was just his. Something he could retreat into, if only for an hour or two each day.

The fog outside was thick, almost like smoke. The grey of the fog merged into the crisp white of the snow. The only thing that made the view out of the French Windows differ from a modernist painting in some corporate London office were the occasional spots of green grass. That and the red toy truck Ben had used to pull his sister around in when he was younger.

Try as he might he couldn’t help but be distracted. A red robin landed in the garden. It came up to the glass and started chirping something. It was almost as if it was trying to get his attention. He tried to ignore it and returned to his writing.

The empty screen just stared back at him. He knew he just needed to write something, anything. Get a few lines down and, at some point, he would be away. But nothing came. Perhaps it was the extra large glass of wine he had last night. Or perhaps it was the report he had to get finished for Monday.

Instead of returning to writing he decided to finish the ‘have you seen this cat’ posters for Jess. When Ben was up they would walk around the neighbourhood putting them up. He had stopped off at Staples on his way home last night and purchased a box of clear plastic folders. He hoped they would protect the poster from this weather.

He had decided to go make a cup of coffee when something caught him his attention. There was something in the garden. It had moved too quickly for him to see what it was. Could it be Jess? He went and fetched his keys and coat. The keys sat in a little plate Ben had made at summer school when he was six. Next to the plate was a photograph of Ben’s mum. She looked so young in the picture. What would she have been? Twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight? If the girl in the photo had seen him now she’d have thought he was an old fart.

She was surrounded by some of her friends; it had been taken when they had all gone to Greece on holiday. What had it been for? Someone's wedding or birthday? He couldn’t remember which. Still it made him smile every time he saw it.

Pulling his coat and wellingtons on he made his way to the back door. Out in the garden everything felt still, all sound deadened by the snow and the fog. Did you normally get fog with snow? (yes!)He couldn’t remember ever having seen it before. The air was cold but fresh, hurting his lungs slightly whenever he took a deep breath.

Again from the corner of his eye he saw movement, a flash of black and white. Could it be Jess? He headed in its direction. All there was at this end of the garden was the old shed. He only really used it for storing stuff nowadays. He wondered how many garden hoses had met their end in there, coiled in a death grip around various lawnmowers and other long forgotten implements.

He heard the unmistakable sound of running tiny feet. He remembered when Ben was two and had just learnt to walk and run. He’d speed off around the house, excited to have the freedom from his parents. The unrestrained joy in his face only matched by the worry in Andy’s.

The noise seemed to be coming from behind the shed. Perhaps Jess had got herself trapped there? Andy decided to investigate. Down that side there was a pile of earth left over from the time he had dug out the little pond. He had always planned to get rid of it sometime. He had a half baked idea of giving it to some charity like a city farm of something. Once it had gone out of sight however, it had gone out of mind.

There was something rummaging around in the dirt. Perhaps it was Jess. How funny to think she had been out here all the time. As he got closer he was shocked to see a little face looking up at him. At first he thought it was a mole or something, but the face looked too human.

The what ever it was jumped up and ran away. Getting a good look at it Andy thought it looked like a garden gnome. At least a garden gnome that had been animated for some 80s horror film.

“You scared him,” Andy jumped; the voice had come behind him.

Standing there were two girls in Brownie uniforms. Not the modern more colourful uniforms girls wore today but the old brown ones he remembered from his youth.

“How did you get in here?” Andy asked perplexed. Had they seen the Missing Cat posters he put up in the local supermarket?

“We said, you scared him,” both the girls said in unison.

“Well he scared me.” Andy leaned forward, “Is that a Swiss army knife? I used to have one of them when I was in the…”

The movement was swift and deadly. The smaller girl leaped up and with one powerful arch of her arm slit his throat. It only took Andy a few moments to die. He just had to hope Ben would be safe.

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Comments

Cutthroats

Cressar's picture

Nasty business!

Radio Cressar - not available on FM

When I was a Brownie ...

... that sort of thing could get you a serious telling off from from Brown Owl. Sometimes I wonder what BP would think.

Robi

BP

Cressar's picture

He'd probably think, "Oh, Lord!"

The more immediate concern, I believe, is what LB's thinking...

Radio Cressar - not available on FM

Nightmares

You must have some wicked nightmares.

Now, I'm worried that is what's going to happen to me, after reading this too late at night.

So, just out of curiosity, how many more chapters are you planning to torture us with before wrapping this up in some amazing, tidy bow? Or is this one of those stories that ends in a permanent chill?

As for the brownies, kudos for the comedy of munging together two quite different traditions. Cookie?

Thanks Pippa

I'm writing chapter 5 at the moment. I estimate somewhere between 8 and 10 chapters all in all.

Naming the Girl Guides The Brownies was part of a Victorian/Edwardian trend of gentrifying a much earlier, and much darker, English/Celtic folklore tradition. I quite like the idea of turning it on its head.

Oh, and my nightmares are mainly about money and jumping off my old high school's roof ;-)

" I estimate...

Cressar's picture

...somewhere between 8 and 10 chapters all in all."

So that'll be 9, then :-)

Radio Cressar - not available on FM

I may be misunderstanding you ...

... but, in this context (I assume but I only proof read), and in the British Scouting tradition as founded by Lord Baden-Powell and his sister (I think), Brownies were the entry group for younger girls (pre teens) before they were old enough to join the Girl Guides. This is similar to Wolf Cubs (as they were called when I was involved) being for boys too young to join the Boy Scouts.

Brownies wore brown dresses with a leather belt, a neckerchief that varied in design depending on their local group. The adult leader was known as Brown Owl just as a cub leader was called Akela (after the leader of the wolf pack in the Jungle book by Rudyard Kipling. It may be different now but my personal experience of Scouting etc was in the early 1950s so somewhat dated probably - in my day Scouts wore broad brimmed hats (like Canadian Mounted Police), carried sheath knives (illegal now in the UK) and carried long wooden staffs that were (supposedly) useful for all sorts of tasks (like measuring the height of trees)

Using Brownies in this way, our writer, adds to the horror IMO. Sweet apparent innocence becoming a blood shedding death cult has that certain something. I love the smell of death round the camp-fire, so much more enjoyable than 'Ging gang gullly gully ...' :)

Robi

Dib, dib, dib!

Yup, that's right. My little sister was a brownie. I was always jealous of her uniform ;-)

I believe they have new more fashionable, and less brown, uniforms today

The Brownies in the story go for the traditional look (which will be explained later on)

You're Certainly Terrifying Me

joannebarbarella's picture

Ghoulies, ghosties, murder most foul....some kind of time travel. All very effective.

Brownie Cookies

Brownie Cookies

I used to like Cookies not so sure now even when in the Scouts we did not have Swiss Army Knives they must have been reserved for the Brownies

Love the story Lizzy very much Twilight Zone Style

Love

SamanthaAnn

this one is so twilight zone

murderous Brownies? time skips? sex changes? goodness knows what else? I have no idea what's going on, but I'm hoping we'll find out!

DogSig.png

Mystery is -

Podracer's picture

definitely taking a turn to the dark (shivers a bit). The wintry setting is helping.

"Reach for the sun."

Thanks

Thanks for the comments everyone, I am glad you are enjoying it so far. I'm editing chapter 3 as quickly as I can ;-)

Excellent Story

Miss Jessica's picture

Lizzy,

I just wanted to let you know how much I've enjoyed the story. Gripping plot and one of the best written stories on the site. I can't wait for Part 3.

Obviously *not* time travel.

Brooke Erickson's picture

Obviously *not* time travel.

Or at least not *just* time travel.

Best guess is that the "creatures" are from another dimension or at least another timeline. and are accessing several timelines. That'd partially explain Jack being male in one timeline and having a dead mother, but being female in the timeline of the story.

Still doesn't explain why/how the male Jack wound up in the female Jack's body.

I *do* wonder what DNA testing would say. Is the body actually female, or just a male body that's been made to look female?

I'm also surprised that there was any evidence of surgery on the vocal cords. I'd expect them to be just gone.

Jack's mind has been severely messed with too.

Pity it didn't occur to him to write about his being male when nobody was in the room and then leaving it out for them to find.

Brooke brooke at shadowgard dot com
http://brooke.shadowgard.com/
Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls
It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world
"Lola", the Kinks

Good point!

Ooo, you've found a loophole in my logic. I'm going to have to figure that one out...

Many questions, few answers

Jamie Lee's picture

So many questions have formed but few, if any answers have been provided.

How did Jack lose her vocal cords? Why did they two apparent little girls try and kill her, if they actually tried?

Why have those two who appear like little girls grab the guy walking home from the pub?

What does that face belong to that many think they've seen?

Why did those apparent little girls kill Andy and others?

This story, so far, has all the ear marks of The Outer Limits, The Twilight Zone, and one of Stephen King's books. Its unnatural happenings, its mysterious characters, and the unanswered questions are what make this a very good story.

Others have feelings too.

Wow!

This is one spooky story. Not sure if it is horror or sci-fi but it crosses the boundaries. Are you sure you're not Stephen King?

Stephanie maybe

Stephanie maybe

That's why I didn't join the scouts, knives and axes, brrr

I'm not buying cookies from them ! They can't intimidate me with a scout knife, I have a gun. Remember what Sean Connery said in the "
'Untouchables'? "Don't bring a knife to a gun fight".

Karen