Cath Staincliffe - Towers of Silence

A couple with a string of dogs passed us. The dogs rooting for scents around the base of trees. We walked on. Maddie and Tom ran ahead to hide.

“Is Stuart coming for Christmas?” Laura asked me.

Ho hum.

“No,” I cleared my throat. “It’s all over.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. My decision really.”

She sighed. “When was this?”

“Last night.”

“Hence the hangover?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel?”

“Headache’s gone. Crap really,” I blinked hard.

I felt queasy and tired. As though my blood was too thin and my muscles too weak. And I still felt uneasy about work, anxiety slopping around inside and cloaking my shoulders. Why couldn’t I just shake it off?

“Careful,” I called to Tom who scrambled down the sandstone edge. As we reached it we could see the fields which lay far below; in one, cows the size of paper clips. The further vista beyond the first farm was shrouded in mist. We all followed Tom down onto the cliff-side and along to one of the caves that peppered the hill. The soft walls, striped russet red and golden with the layers of rock, were smothered with carved initials and drawings. This was supposed to be a magical place, wizards and all, and pagans held it sacred. The remnants of a fire and some lager cans lay near the entrance. Maddie refused to go any further in – there be monsters – but Tom had no qualms. Giggling with excitement he made growling noises and chattered about bears and dragons. Laura and I followed him. The wall and ceiling narrowed suddenly so we had to go on our hands and knees. The place reeked of damp rock. It was impossible to see further into the small tunnel. We could hear the wind deep in the stones.

“Next time we’ll bring a torch,” I told him. “Then we can go further in.”

We turned and crept back out, Laura and I squatting until it was safe to stand up. Maddie was waiting silhouetted at the mouth of the cave. As I got near to her I could see a woman with a Dalmatian dog descending the path towards us and at the side of the path a man: grey and brown hair, leather jacket, denims, cowboy boots.

“Laura,” I turned to her and spoke urgently, keeping my voice low. Tom was next to Maddie, jumping up and down. “Take the kids, get them an ice-cream. Ring the police.”

“Sal,” she peered at me. Was I serious?

I returned her look, showing that I’d never been more so. I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Tell them I’m being… someone’s following me. Hurry…”

“But…”

“Laura, please.”

She speeded up. Called Tom and Maddie and challenged them to a race up the hill. Off they went; Digger appeared from nowhere loping after them.

I stood in the entrance to the cave. Waited. My mouth dry, my heart flopping around in my chest like a landed fish.

I had acted instinctively. He shouldn’t be here. Things could get unpleasant and my first thought was to get the children clear. Looking back with the benefit of hindsight, I’d probably have been safer sticking with them. But it’s easy to think that now. And I never imagined he would take such breathtaking risks.

“Sal,” he stepped down the ridges made by the tree roots, stood level with me.

“You followed me,” I said. It couldn’t be chance. From home, then. How had he got my address? Oh, God. I remembered; we’d chatted about Withington, I’d signed their petition, home address. Stupid.

“Things to talk about,” he said.

Another family headed for the cave.

“Here?” I tried to convey my incredulity.

“Shall we?” He gestured to a rocky outcrop beside one of the small brooks where we could sit. We walked over there. I could feel tension singing along my limbs, spiralling inside. Give them chance to get back to the car and then I could run for it if I had to. What could he possibly have to say?

He climbed up and sat on one of the boulders, I perched on the one next-door.

“I don’t like being set-up,” he said. His eyes were flinty, the blue flat and artificial even though the lines still wrinkled the edges.

I looked away. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know. Snooping around, then you accuse me of lying, next thing you’re in a huddle with the chair of my management committee.”

I tried to laugh. “She has a friend, needs a private eye, a domestic thing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he was dismissive. “I really don’t understand this vendetta. I bent over backwards to help you and then you start twisting everything. I won’t have you spreading lies about me.” He was icy.

I stood up. I didn’t need to hear this. I could feel his anger simmering, he was fuming. Gone the sharing, caring cowboy.

He moved round quickly and blocked my path.

“Excuse me.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” he said, “I can’t let you do that.”

I wheeled away in the opposite direction off the path and into the trees. I’d circle through the lower woods, climb up to the car park further round. But he came crashing after me. I ran. The ground beneath the tangled undergrowth was soft with mud. I stumbled twice, rolling as I fell to keep my speed up. I pulled off my gloves and threw them away. I couldn’t get a proper hold of anything; the wool was too slippery. I kept moving. There were no paths down here, little chance of meeting dog-walkers or families out for a stroll. I glanced back, the distance between us was increasing. I ran up and over one of the small ridges. He wouldn’t be able to see me now. There were bushes to the left, rhododendrons growing in a gully. I ran round. Further along was an overhang, thick with brambles. I wriggled beneath them, gasping as the thorns tore at my face, curled into a ball. I smelt earth and rotting plants. My breath roared in my ears, I tried to quieten myself. He wouldn’t hear above the rustle of the wind surely. Still I buried my face in my hands trying to sip only a fragment of air, not make the noisy gulps. My heart was burning. I could hear him now. Getting closer. He stopped walking. I could hear him panting. Then another sound, someone moving, light and rapid through the woods. Snuffling, closer. Digger worming his way into my hiding place.

“Go,” I mouthed and shoved at his head. “Get away.” Stupid bloody dog.

It was too late, footsteps my way. I pulled myself out and struggled upright just as Eddie Cliff reached me. He launched himself at me. I ducked and managed to side step him. I ran, he was close on my heels. He caught up again. Knocked me down. I brought my hands up to protect my head. He had his weight on me. He was heavy, solid. I could feel mud beneath one hand, brambles with the other. My face was buried in the leaf mulch, cold and gritty with sand. The miasma filled my nostrils robbing me of breath.

He was panting, harsh and fast. “You had to interfere, didn’t you? Just like…”

Like Miriam. Who had seen Melody with him. Who knew him for what he was.

He rolled me over and knelt astride me, his hands went round my throat. He began to squeeze, he was incredibly strong. He was choking me. My eyeballs hurt, my vision went. Help. Get off. I lifted my hands up, clawing at the air, his head, his face. He bit my finger, the deep pain made me whimper. Bastard. I was angry. As soon as he released my hand I lunged, found his nose and jabbed my nails into the orbs above. Hard as I could. He howled and released his stranglehold. Pungent air rushed into my windpipe making me splutter and saliva washed into my mouth. It was only a moment but enough for me to roll him partly off me, and begin to wriggle backwards. As soon as I could I kicked at his face and hit his nose. He yelled again. His eye was all bloody and his nose began to bleed too. But he came at me again. I rolled over, kept going, half crawling, half falling down the steep slope. I could taste blood in my mouth. Was it my throat?