Voice of God - Part V

Photo by Mika Baumeister on Unsplash

It was four o’clock in the afternoon when I returned to my office.

I tried to unlock the mysterious door in the dim-lit corridor on my way, but it would not budge.

After locking my office, I drew the curtains and turned on the desktop lamp to study the newspaper.

It was an article from two decades ago detailing the horrendous murder of the young graduate said to haunt the adjacent woods.

It was written by a man called David Chapman.

I looked up his name on a tablet I brought with me from home, but there were no traces of him on the internet.

I was about to throw in the towel and return to the grocery shop when I found a matching name on a freelance website for independent journalists.

The profile picture showed a balding man in his late-fifties. He was dressed in a chequered shirt and wore round, tinted glasses sprung alive from the seventies.

I sent him a direct message, going over the reason for contacting him, and that I hoped to arrange a meeting in the coming days to discuss the case at hand.

I did not mention my involvement with Dew Shire and only detailed information about the case of Enis Fair, and that I would very much like to learn more about the circumstances of her investigation and subsequent death.

David Chapman got back to me two days later and asked to meet up out of the public eye, and that he’d come and pick me up in the witching hour along the roadway the next day. 

Though hesitant, for good reasons, concerned with this singular request, I accepted.

It took David two and a half days to make up his mind and schedule a meeting, and I feared that refusing to meet up would deter him from contacting me again.

At long last, the day I eagerly anticipated arrived. I drew the curtains and turned off the night lamp at approximately ten o’clock.

While waiting for the time to pass, I stuffed my bag with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a bunch of keys, some snacks and drinks, and a blanket, just in case.

It was Friday, so I wasn’t in a hurry to return to school the next morning but knew that I was being watched. It was better to return the same night and make sure no one noticed my absence.

At half past eleven o’clock, I unlocked the door and waited a few seconds before opening it.

When I was certain no one was lying in wait in the corridor, I scurried to the exit and made my way to the haunted woods a few yards from the barred village gates.

David had not notified me of where I should wait, but I figured we would eventually meet along the roadway leading to the nearest town.

The roadway was on a slope. I paused now and then to catch my breath then continued. The beginning of a hurricane picked up and made it difficult to advance uphill.

It struck me that the reporter might never make it here due to the inclement weather but hoped I was mistaken.

The message was sent to me when the storm had already begun and David must have known about the weather before asking me to come here.

In fact, I firmly believed this storm was the sole reason he wanted to meet up today of all days; no sane person would trek the woods in such weather after all.

It was during one of these brief pauses that a granite rolled down from the incline to my left and struck my foot before coming to a standstill.

I picked it up and looked around myself when I thought I saw a figure behind an oak tree. That was when I realised the granite had rolled in the opposite direction of the windblasts.

Someone tossed it in this direction on purpose – at least that was the first thought that came over me. 

I hardly took a step towards the massive tree when a cold hand tapped my shoulder and squeezed it.

I jolted and turned around to find David Chapman in front of me.

“Ms Carlton, isn’t it? I’m glad you made…”

We shook hands and then got into his black Mitsubishi, which he had parked at the side of the roadway.

I had not heard the motor, nor had I seen the headlights approaching in the dark but as he started driving I noticed that he had turned off the headlights so that he drove no more than a few miles an hour.

He laughed as he realised what must have been a quizzical look on my face, and deftly mentioned that he did not want to draw attention to himself while driving through the woods.

His laugh was robotic and rather forced, and more than anything, nervous.

The drive lasted somewhere between twenty minutes and half an hour.

I counted the seconds to stop overthinking and concentrate on something other than the dark roadway.

Now and then I thought I saw an animated figure move about in the thickets but became less and less sure as we neared the end of the haunted woods.

The retired journalist parked the car next to an inn and I followed him out.

Due to the circumstances and the late hour, the inn was populated by less than a handful of townspeople, most of which seemed either homeless and ruffled or too young to set foot there.

David greeted the owner, a middle-aged woman smoking indoors behind the counter, and then we took a seat in the farthest corner to discuss what brought us together this very night.

When our beers arrived, I asked the reporter for the details of the missing person’s case and the following murder investigation. 

He took a deep breath and knocked back a pint of beer as if recounting these events required the force of booze to retell.

 “I worked as the chief editor and director at a news firm twenty years ago. Enis Fair started working for me two years after her graduation. She was pregnant with her first child when I first met her.

“Her long-time boyfriend was in the military and due to the nature of his job, had yet to hear about her pregnancy. I took pity on her. It was during her fifth month as a junior reporter that a tip about missing children in Dew Shire reached us.

“I was set to go down there and interview the locals myself and let Enis take care of the affairs here. But she insisted that she preferred field work and so I gave in to her pleas.

“She went to Dew Shire as an undercover teacher since she was an unknown figure there, and we arranged to meet up, in this particular inn, every two to three weeks to exchange information. 

“During our first meet-up, I sensed that she did not look well and suggested we keep the project on hold until she gave birth, but she was adamant about continuing her investigation.

“She would not say how the investigation was going, though. She only assured me that she had a lead and that we would discuss it later next week.”

I asked as he naturally paused to drink. 

“And did she ever manage to?”

He nodded and downed another pint. 

“When I saw her again the following week, I could hardly believe how much weight she had lost. She did not look like a pregnant woman; her cheeks were deep and hollow, her eyes barely open, and her complexion pallid.

“She told me that Dew Shire was a strange place, that the people living there made her blood curdle. Even this time I insisted we stop the investigation and that she should return, but she said she was close to finding out the truth and that she had something to show me at our next meeting.

“I shouldn’t have listened to her, but I allowed her to return to Dew Shire that night. That would be our last meeting alive. She never showed up and I reported her missing. They found her dead body in those woods. The cause of death was never found due to the traumas her body was subjected to by the wild animals.

“More perplexing though, and which this article you brought with you doesn’t state, was the absence of her infant. For many years, I thought it had been consumed by the savage animals…”

“But no longer?” I asked. “You think it’s alive?”

“I don’t think; I know. It was six years after her murder – everyone calls it an unfortunate accident, although I don’t think so – that I received a phone call from a woman who allegedly lived in Dew Shire.

“She informed me that the infant was sound and safe, but in great peril should I fail to save her. I was reluctant to believe this woman for many reasons. There had been no word of its existence until then, and the woman refused to let me come in person and claim the child.

“She insisted we meet up in the same woods Enis Fair lost her life so savagely and I accepted. But she, as was the case with Enis, god bless her, never showed up. I called her more than I should have since then, but she stopped answering my calls.

“I dearly wanted this to be a hoax call, but I could not brush off the woman’s desperate pleas to save the child from whoever preyed on her. Shortly after this, I retired and hoped all these years that I made the right decision. Until two days ago. You proved me wrong. Whatever’s taunting Dew Shire is still there…”

I briefly looked away. “And now another child has gone missing – just like back then.” I met his unyielding gaze. “It can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

“This is only the beginning of a series of unfortunate events, I’m afraid. I wished I could say it was not so and assure you.”

“You think there’ll be more disappearances?”

“I no longer think, and I highly advise you to flee that place before things get out of hand.”

“What about the children in my care?” I began. “I’m their teacher and if there’s something out there who preys on them, then it is my job to see that nothing happens to them!”

David Chapman shook his head. “Dew Shire is alive and it’s no pretty thing! There’s something wicked living there and I hope you’ll realise this before it’s too late!”

“Then I’ll ward it away, whatever that is!”

“You cannot.”

“Help me fight it…” I leaned forwards and lowered my voice. “I’m not asking you to physically be there, in Dew Shire, but be someone I can confide in and seek advice from when time so requires it.

“I… think I saw Enis Fair in those woods before you found me. Listen, I know how this sounds, but I don’t think she was there to harm me. 

“She’s stuck there along with the truth she buried with her, and I think she wants people to know what’s happened to those children and save what’s left of them. Please, you must believe me.”

He stood up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Seeking the truth, however wicked and harmful, had always been my sole weakness.

The lure; though distorted and surely shrewd, was enough to keep me awake untold nights and mess with my mind.

If no one wanted to help me find out the truth then I had to find it all by myself, there were no questions about it.

But as much as I wanted to disperse all the lies and find whatever Enis Fair buried with her, I dreaded the unknown and the terrible circumstances that surrounded me in this god-forsaken hamlet.

With no one by my side, no one to come to my rescue, I had no other option but to rely on myself and my own gut.

These things, however, proved to be a much larger issue than I anticipated.

I did not sleep a wink for several days and it was now wearing me out. Every waking hour felt like a waste of time. But Dew Shire brought me here for a reason…

Read Voice of God - Part VI.