Authors: Helen Phifer
The fire engines began to appear and they watched as the last throngs of people were led from the gates. The men began to form up to take it in turns to try and fight the fire.
‘You ladies should stay here or go home, but I better go and help them.’
‘Thank you; we live at 3 Park Place if you need anything. We would be more than glad to help. It’s the least we could do.’
Eleanor watched as he jogged towards the men who were lining up, passing buckets of water along to each other. He was nice even if he did work in a fairground. Her father would be furious with them. With her especially for letting Agnes talk her into bringing her here, but she had a feeling that tonight had been worth the days of anger that were to come. She grabbed her sister’s arm, dragging her away from the burning wreckage in front of them.
‘Come now; we best get home before Mother begins to worry where we are.’ As they turned to leave she stole one last glance at James, who had thrown his cape to the floor and had pushed the sleeves of his soot-stained white shirt up to his elbows, showing off his muscular forearms. As if he knew she was looking he glanced in their direction. His eyes meeting hers, he performed a small bow. Eleanor giggled and her sister looked at her.
‘Please tell me you don’t find that man attractive. He works in a freak show of all places.’
‘It’s none of your business who I find attractive and he doesn’t just work in a freak show, as you so rudely put it; he owns the whole thing. So he’s a businessman and he is a lot more attractive than that beastly old man, Thornton, who Father keeps inviting round for dinner.’
Agnes looked over at the blackened tent they had been inside not fifteen minutes ago. ‘He was a businessman. There’s nothing left now.’
‘Come on, let’s go home…’
They set off, walking the short distance to their home, which overlooked the park. The four-storey town house came into view, every window brightly lit. Eleanor could make out the figure of her mother in one of them and her father in another. ‘They are either waiting for us to come home or have been watching the fire.’
Agnes stared at her sister. ‘Let’s not tell them where we’ve been. We can say we went for a stroll.’
Eleanor began to laugh so much that her eyes watered. ‘Agnes, I have no idea if I look like you but you are covered in black soot and smell as if you’ve been standing too close to one of Arthur’s bonfires.’
Agnes for the first time looked at Eleanor and also began to laugh. ‘Oh my, I think we are in a lot of trouble because you look like the chimney sweep. How did we get so dirty?’
They both began to giggle as the front door opened and the tall figure of their father blocked out the light. A yelp or a scream, Eleanor wasn’t quite sure what it was, filled the air as their mother pushed their father to one side and ran down the steps.
‘Oh my goodness, I’ve never been so worried. Look at the state of you two. Where have you been?’
She pulled them both close, hugging them, and they hugged her back.
‘Sorry, Mother, we went to see the fair.’
Their mother pulled away from them both. ‘Well, what matters now is that you’re both safe and home in one piece. Come inside. You smell terrible. A hot bath and your nightdresses on before we talk about any of this terrible business.’
She led them by the hand up the steps to the house. Their father nodded at them both.
‘Do what your mother said and then we’ll talk about your fraternising with those people without our permission.’
Eleanor turned her head to look at him, catching the sigh that escaped his lips as his shoulders relaxed. He wasn’t as angry as she’d thought. She said a prayer for all the people back at the fairground and for James, because she wanted to see him again.
1 September 1929
The workmen had almost finished building the large house on the edge of Lake Windermere and were relieved it was almost over. The slate and limestone house was impressive. Although not as large as some of the homes along this stretch of the lake, it was still a sight to behold. It was the cellar that the builders didn’t like; there was a real sense of desolation down there. There was a problem with the drains, from which a terrible stench was emanating, and they had drawn matches to see who was going down to put it right. They had argued and bickered amongst themselves for the last thirty minutes. Not one of them was brave enough to admit that for some unknown reason they were terrified to go down there now daylight was fading fast.
In the end it had been Fred and Billy who had agreed to do it for an extra two hours’ pay. The family hadn’t moved in yet but last week there had been a delivery of packing boxes and crates, which had been stored in the cellar. They would be moving in in the next few days but they wouldn’t be able to if the house still smelt this bad. Fred and Billy had laughed and joked to their friends to send a search party out to look for them if they weren’t at the pub by eight o’clock. As they’d stood watching the others drive away a silence had descended. Neither of them particularly wanted to go back inside to work now the others had left, especially not in the cellar.
It had been Fred who had gone back in first. ‘The quicker we get it done, the quicker we’ll be out of here and home for tea.’
Billy watched him. A gut feeling that something wasn’t quite right made his feet reluctant to follow his friend, who was ten years older and probably a lot wiser than him. He had to force himself to go inside. They took the handheld lamps so they could at least see what they would be doing down there. With the house just being built the cellar was one big space with some shelves lining one wall, ready to store anything else that was surplus to requirements upstairs out of the way. Fred led the way with Billy close behind and they walked across the space until they found the corner where the drain that led into the sewerage pipe was. There was an awful smell, so Billy had tied his handkerchief around his nose. Fred laughed at him.
‘You great soft bugger, what’s the matter with you?’
They reached the drain and it took the pair of them to lift the heavy-duty cover from it, both of them putting their hands through the gaps in the bars and pulling at the same time. Billy bent his knees, gripped the iron cover and then let out a scream so high-pitched that if you’d asked Fred what it sounded like he would have said a girl who’d just had a spider run across her hand. Billy leapt back from the hole in the ground and Fred did the same, as if he had no idea why but seemed to think it was a good idea.
‘Jesus Christ, Billy, what are you trying to do – give me a bloody heart attack? What’s the matter with you, lad?’
‘Something touched my hand, Fred. It brushed against my fingers and it felt freezing cold.’
Fred started to laugh. He looked at his friend’s face, which was almost glowing it was so white, and he really began to chuckle.
‘You’re an idiot. What did you think it was? Someone trying to hold your hand from the sewers?’
‘I don’t know what the hell it was, Fred, but I’m telling you now, something touched me.’
Fred wiped at his hands with his sleeve and tried to stop laughing, but the harder he tried the harder it was to stop.
‘It will have been a water rat. This place is right next to the lake. There’s bound to be all sorts of vermin running around down there. Must have took a liking to you, young Billy. You should be grateful it didn’t decide to take your finger off and eat it for its tea.’
Billy shuddered; he didn’t like rats or mice.
‘Now stop behaving like your Emma and let’s get this done. The quicker we see what’s causing the blockage and move it the faster we can go home and still get paid.’
Billy nodded his head and stepped forward. He didn’t want to put his hand down there but he didn’t have any choice. If whatever it was that had brushed against his hand was a rat it was a bloody big one. On the count of three they heaved the drain cover off and dropped it onto the floor.
‘Now get down on your hands and knees and take a look down into that hole; see what might be causing the blockage.’
Billy shook his head. ‘You stick your head down there. What if it’s waiting for one of us?’
Fred rolled his eyes at Billy and took the lamp he’d put down onto the floor. He hovered over the hole. The smell was bad. Fred mumbled that he had no doubt some animal had got trapped down there and died. He didn’t want to go fishing around in the drains and have to move some rotting animal corpse but he did want to go home and put his feet up, so he knelt down to take a closer look.
Billy, who was ready to run should anything dark and hairy come up through the hole, watched Fred with an expression of horror etched onto his face. Fred leant right down and peered into the blackness then let out a scream and jumped back.
‘What was it? What did you see?’
‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I think it was a rat but it was massive. It moved too fast to be sure but there’s something at the bottom that’s going to need shifting. Whatever it is stinks and must be causing the smell.’
‘How are we going to shift it? I’m not going down if there’s a huge rat running around. Christ, it’s probably looking for its tea and if there’s one there will be hundreds more. Just put the cover back over and tell them we couldn’t find anything.’
‘Some hero you are, Billy. You’re scared of your own shadow. It won’t be interested in me or you when it’s got something else to eat. Go upstairs and get one of the empty sacks. I’ll go down and put the sack over it and scoop it up, then you can take it off me and pull me back out. It will take five minutes at the most and then we can get out of here.’
Billy looked at Fred with fresh admiration and then turned and ran. It was almost dark now and what little daylight was left was dirty grey, streaked with black. He grabbed a sack and heard a muffled shout from the cellar; Billy ran as fast as his legs would let him. Where was Fred? He shone his lantern around but the vast room was empty as far as he could see.
‘Fred, stop mucking around. Where are you?’
But there was no reply. He knew that his friend couldn’t have gone upstairs without Billy bumping into him and he felt a ball of dread lodge in the back of his throat. What if he’d fallen down into that hole and was stuck in the drains? He ran across to the black hole, which seemed to have doubled in size since the last time he’d looked into it a couple of minutes ago.
Fred’s lantern was on the floor and Billy called his friend again. A muffled grunt from inside the hole made Billy force himself to kneel down and look inside. He couldn’t see Fred, but he could see whatever it was that Fred had been talking about at the bottom of the hole. Billy leant closer. The thing was moving ever so slowly but it was definitely moving. He opened his mouth to shout to Fred again and was pulled down into the hole by something with sharp nails that scraped against his skin, making him shiver in disgust. He was so shocked that he couldn’t speak. As he was falling he hit his head on a large rock that was jutting out of the wall, and just before he lost consciousness he saw a face in front of him unlike any he’d ever seen before, one that was ghostly grey with two huge red eyes and a mouthful of sharp, pointed teeth.
‘I can’t hear you. Speak up. It’s too windy.’ Police Constable Jake Simpson was talking into the radio clipped on to his body armour to his best friend and colleague, Annie Graham. He refused to call her by her married name, Ashworth, because she’d always be Annie Graham to him. She was near to the side of Lake Windermere looking for a missing sixty-year-old man who had last been seen pottering around near some of the rowing boats that were for hire. A gust of wind took Jake’s police helmet clean off his head and blew it along at some speed until it reached the corner of one of the boathouses then disappeared underneath it.
‘Shit, I’ll call you back. My helmet’s just blown away.’
He didn’t hear Annie’s giggling as he ended the call and jogged across to find it. He bent down to reach underneath. He’d never hear the last of this if he didn’t get it back. He rarely wore the damn thing but this morning they’d had an email from the inspector telling them to make sure they were dressed appropriately at all times and not to let standards slip. It was all right for her – tucked up in her cosy office doing the crossword. She should try to keep her hat on in a gale-force wind and see how much she was arsed about standards then.
Jake’s fingers brushed against something that he assumed was his hat. He wasn’t really paying attention because he was too busy looking to see how many of the Japanese tourists on the steamboat that had just docked at Bowness pier were actually watching him and taking photos. He grabbed it and yanked it towards him. When he pulled it out and saw what he was holding in his hands he actually threw it onto the shingled path and screamed – really screamed. Which in turn made the tourists who were now all watching him lift their cameras and begin to photograph the perfectly preserved, severed head in front of him. Not only was Jake not wearing his helmet as he became the most photographed policeman in the Lake District, he was also swearing profusely and jumping up and down while rubbing his hands against his trouser legs.
He shouted down his radio to the control room for assistance and wondered how the hell a woman’s head had got under there and where the rest of her body was. Annie came running across from the other side of the pier towards him to see what was wrong and stopped in front of the head. Her mouth fell open and she looked from the head that was lying on its side on the ground back up to Jake.
‘Oh my God, where on earth did you find that?’ She tilted her head and stared. ‘Isn’t that the woman who went missing in Barrow a couple of months ago?’
He shrugged and pointed to the gap underneath the boathouse. ‘How would I know that?’
‘Well, you would if you bothered to read the bulletins the Intelligence Unit send out now and again instead of pressing delete every time.’
‘Jesus Christ, Annie, remind me what it was that you said? Come and work with me in Bowness, Jake. It’s lovely in the summer and ever so quiet in the winter. You won’t know you’re born. It’s all ice creams and summer fetes.’