Memory Scents (17 page)

              “You know something, don’t you?” Eve eyed her sister beadily.

              “What? No! What made you say that?” Grace tried desperately to look calm.

              “The police have told you something you’re not allowed to tell me. Tim knows doesn’t he?”

              “Don’t be daft! If I knew anything I’d tell you. Why would they speak to Tim about anything?”

              “Oh I know how it works in the police. They all stick together. You told me yourself he used to tell you things that other people weren’t privy to.”

 
              “Eve, look I know…”

              “Don’t try and fob me off Grace, just tell me what you know.”

              “I honestly don’t know anything Eve. Really, if I did I would tell you. Come on you’re being silly, you know I wouldn’t keep anything from you.”

              Grace squeezed her sister’s leg, as if by doing so it would give her lie some sort of truth.

              Eve held her sister’s gaze, searching her face for clues. There was something there. Even if it didn’t have anything to do with Alice, there was definitely something on her sister’s mind. But she was too exhausted to pursue it.

              Grace’s mind moved like a piece of driftwood, in and out of the shore, wanting to tell Eve, keeping it to herself. Telling her, not telling her, until the driftwood finally settled on the shore and the tide went out. The urge was gone to unburden herself, and she was left with a feeling of determination to rid the world of her sick and twisted husband.

*

           
Even though Tim didn’t particularly care much for Grace’s company, it kept him occupied for certain periods of time. Her absence had left him with boredom on his hands and time to whistle like the wind around the village and over to Chrissie’s house.

              It was time to have some fun. If Chrissie had any doubts about her house being haunted, then she certainly wouldn’t after tonight.

              A little sapling of an idea had grown in Tim’s mind, and he began to chuckle at the thought of it. The tiny idea eventually turned into a clear visualisation in his head.

              He crept silently around the back of Chrissie’s house. He’d come along the track and past his favourite shed. He had the weather on his side, because even though it was quite a warm, clear moonlit night, the breeze blowing off the sea was quite strong and would impair anyone’s hearing in a draughty old house like Chrissie’s.

              All the lights were off and it was the early hours so Chrissie and her friend were most probably in bed. He glanced up at the bedroom windows. Two were open.

          
Tim crept over to the patio area and as quietly as possible he picked up the garden table and carried it across the grass to place it near the stream in a sheltered clearing right at the bottom. Then he went back for two of the chairs. Once they were in place and sheltered in front of some trees, he searched through the bag of items he’d brought with him, until he found what he was looking for with the help of his torch.

              With his gloved hand he placed a child’s book on the table. Perfect.

              Then he moved back up to the house, checking the windows as he went, for any sign of movement. He made his way towards Chrissie’s washing line which was tied from her outhouse and reached along to a large tree. On there he pegged some children’s clothes. He stifled a laugh; his excitement was beginning to bubble over.

              His last stop was the shed. Tim’s favourite shed. There, he planned to hang an old dolly by its neck from the rafters with a noose made from a frayed piece of rope. He felt like an excited child playing hide and seek, filled with the anticipation of someone catching him. Only, Tim wasn’t a child and this was no game. Tim crept backwards down the garden, viewing his handy work, as he made his way towards the shed.

              He lifted the rickety old door up from the floor as he pushed it open, because he remembered the hinge having come away and he wanted to keep the noise to a minimum. He shivered as he felt the cold stale air rush to his body.

              Something made him look over his shoulder. A feeling, a memory, he didn’t know what, but a change in the atmosphere was very slowly making the elated excitement in Tim’s stomach turn to sand and slip through the timer.

              He shone the torch out of the doorway, but there was nothing there. He shrugged and carried on with the task in hand.

              Once he’d hoisted the doll where he wanted it, he shone the torch around the shed to make sure he hadn’t left anything. Switching it off he picked up his bag, not wanting to step out of the shed with it on, just in case someone was lurking about.

              He turned towards the shed door to adjust his eyes to the altered light. The moon was shining quite brightly and there was a silvery blue light cast over everything. As his pupils dilated, he suddenly became aware of the outline of something in the doorway. He held his breath, his heart beginning to thump, thump, thump.

              There seemed to be a strange kind of whimpering coming from whatever it was, and Tim let out a huge stifled breath as he realised it was either a fox or a stray dog. He turned on his torch to get the measure of what he needed to swat out of the doorway.

              But it wasn’t a dog or a fox that faced Tim in the doorway of the shed. It was a small child. A child he very much recognised.

              Tim became aware of his heart again and gripped his torch. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out; his throat was like sand paper.

              The little girl stood in front of him crying, her eyes wide and haunted.

          
He’d remembered the floral pinafore she was wearing. It was an item he’d just thrown on the bonfire along with all the other memory scents.

              What he couldn’t comprehend, as he tried to move his feet, which seemed to have turned into lead weights, was that the little girl who stood in front of him was dead. He knew he wasn’t mistaken because he was the one who had killed her, with the help of a dog chain. He’d then thrown her into the stream at the bottom of the very garden he was standing in.

CHAPTER TWELVE                                                                   

              “I had some really vivid dreams last night. Did you sleep well?”

              “Fairly well. Kept thinking I could hear things but it was just the wind.” Sarah said, pulling up a chair at the kitchen table.

              “I was back in that garden. Where I was when I had my regression therapy? And I had that same feeling and smell.”

              “Did you go any further with it than you did in your session?”

              “A little bit I think. I was being dragged somewhere but then I woke up in a sweat.” Chrissie poured tea for them both from the pot she’d brewed.

              “Are you any closer to working out if it’s a memory or a psychic vision?”

              Chrissie fidgeted in her chair.

              “No. I still think it’s a psychic vision.”
Chrissie’s voice was clipped. Sarah thought it was best not to push it, so she kept quiet. They both stared into the atmosphere, each in their own little worlds.

              They were transported back to the kitchen table by the telephone ringing. Chrissie, jolting herself back to the present, answered it.

              “Hi Mum. Have you and Dad been busy?”

              “Hello darling. Yes, we’ve been out and about…are you alright?”

              “Yes fine thanks. I’ve got Sarah here at the moment.” Chrissie wandered into the lounge with the phone and stared out into the garden.

              “Oh that’s nice dear. Give her our love. Was there any reason for your message?”

              “No not really. Just had some regression therapy with Sarah and it threw up some stuff we thought may have come from the past. It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve sorted it out in my head.”

              “Alright darling. I’ll let you get back to Sarah. I expect you’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

              Chrissie totally missed the fact her mother hadn’t asked her about her regression, as she was too distracted by the absence of her garden table and two chairs. She hadn’t been sure what was different about the garden when she’d first looked, but the two lonely chairs that were left behind had given it away.

              She hung up the phone and went into the kitchen to tell Sarah but she was already staring out of the kitchen window.

              “Sarah, something strange is going on in the garden.”

              “You’re telling me. Have you seen what’s hanging off your washing line?”

 
              Sarah’s voice sounded distant and small.

              Chrissie was becoming familiar with the presence of Jack Frost. He seemed to be a permanent fixture on her shoulder, ready to tip toe down her back whenever he deemed it necessary.

              Chrissie wrenched on her Wellington boots and bravely went outside to face whatever it was.

              There was a thin low mist billowing across the garden and the day was overcast and dull. Chrissie pulled her dressing gown around her for warmth and went over to the washing line to get a better look at what was hanging from it. She turned to look at Sarah through the kitchen window but she was in the porch getting her shoes on so she could join Chrissie in the garden.

              They both turned very pale and it wasn’t just from the cold.

              “Did you notice the table and chairs?”

              “No, what?” Sarah spun round. Being unfamiliar with the garden she hadn’t noticed anything was missing.

              As Sarah turned to look at the empty space on the patio, she saw something moving out of the corner of her eye. The swing hanging from the tree had begun to move as if there was someone sitting on it. She was sure it hadn’t been swinging when she came out. She grabbed Chrissie’s arm, making her turn around and look.

              “Oh my god, Sarah! Get back in the house!”

              The two women scrabbled for the front door. Out of breath, they stood in the kitchen staring at one another.

              “Now do you see what I mean?”

              “Yes. But are you sure that’s paranormal activity and not some head case trying to frighten you?”

              “And who would do that around here? No one knows me apart from Grace. Maybe it’s a puzzle”

              “What? A baby’s clothes on a washing line? And how do the table and chairs fit in?” Sarah filled up the kettle to make a strong cup of tea.

              “Whoever it was killed children, didn’t they? But I’m lost on what the table means. Where is my table anyway?”

              Chrissie peered out of the window again and shuddered. It was hard to see right down the garden due to the mist. She scanned it from side to side, struggling to see anything. But as her eyes adjusted she began to make out a shape near the trees.

              “Come on Sarah. We’re going for a walk.”

              “Are we?” Sarah was cautious and didn’t fancy going back outside.

              “Just to the bottom of the garden.”

              “Can’t we have a cuppa first?”

              “Come on! I need you with me.”

              They found the table and chairs as Tim had left them with the child’s book placed on the top. Everything was damp from the mist and dew.

              “But how did an iron table and chairs get down here?”

              “How do we explain any paranormal activity? Whatever it is it’s obviously trying to get my attention.” Chrissie shivered again.

              “I really think you should call the police, Chrissie.”

              “It’s not what you think it is, Sarah. Trust me on this one. It’s a feeling. I know someone’s trying to get a message to me. I’ve just got to work out what it all means.”

              Chrissie turned around and stared at the shed. The door was open, which was unusual. She was sure she’d shut it the last time she’d been down here. She moved over to it, feeling the usual flush of sweat prickle her forehead as her heart began to beat faster.

              She held onto the frame and leaned into the dark, damp room, staring into the gloom to adjust her eyes. Everything was as it had been before. She reached for the door latch and wrenched it as best she could to the frame.

              “Where does that lead to, down there?”

              “Where?”

              “Down the side of the shed. Look,” said Sarah, pushing her way through the shrubbery.

 
              “Oh! I don’t know. I hadn’t noticed it before.”

              Chrissie started to follow Sarah along the path, pushing down the tangle of tumbleweed as she went.

              “We can’t go too far, Sarah. We aren’t even dressed and I don’t think this is part of my garden.”

              “Who’s going to come down here?” said Sarah, pressing her friend to keep going. They walked for quite a distance, delayed slightly by the sprouting plants in their way.

              Sarah stopped, causing Chrissie to walk into her.

              “What is it?”

              “There’s a row of cottages up ahead and what looks like the back gardens leading to them. Look, up on the right.”

              Chrissie squinted.

              “Oh yeah. Must be my other neighbours. Can we go back now? This is still freaking me out.”

              “Let’s just go a bit further and then we’ll turn back.”

              Chrissie was feeling extremely peculiar and she didn’t like it one bit.

              As they got closer to the row of cottages, Chrissie had a strange feeling of déjà vu sweep across her vision.

              “Bloody hell, Sarah! That looks like the cottage in my regression.”

              Sarah stopped and turned to look at Chrissie.

              “Are you sure? I had a feeling we needed to keep going. Come on!”

              And there it was, the swing hanging from the tree in the middle of the garden with the tiny gate and the path leading to the French windows.