Sam Carrington - I Dare You

‘What do you propose I do? March around the village accusing the local kids of trespass, criminal damage?’

‘Well, no. Although going to the police with your suspicions would be a start.’

‘I told you, Anna – I’m not going to the police.’ She looked past Anna, into the distance. ‘That’ll make matters worse.’

‘For who? The kids? That’s the idea, Mum. And if it isn’t the kids …’

‘It’ll be him,’ Muriel said.

‘The police will be able to keep an eye on things. On him. He’ll be on a life licence. Something like this would put him straight back to prison.’

‘Or, it could stir up a hornet’s nest,’ Muriel said, her face stony.

That was the problem with small villages. Anna had always sensed it growing up, but now it was even more apparent. One event could cause a ripple effect – what should be contained within a family unit suddenly became the business of every person in the village. Everyone had something to say; some advice to give, solutions to problems to offer. Whether wanted or not. If word got out that Muriel thought the children of Mapledon were responsible for the macabre doll’s head, then she was right – accusations would fly, uptight members of the community would be up in arms. The local council would probably seek to lay down a curfew – the teenagers would rebel. The situation would likely worsen. And then Muriel would become the sole focus of attention. But then, maybe she had already.

Why had she been targeted?

If it really was him , then this was just the start. Anna remembered that at the time every villager had been horrified at what had happened. Everyone had named Billy Cawley.

‘I think I’ll get some fresh air, Mum.’ Anna couldn’t sit inside the house waiting for the next ‘gift’ to be delivered to Muriel’s door. It might be that others had received something similar. A walk around the village might well give her an opportunity to find out if anything else was amiss in Mapledon.

Muriel squinted at Anna. ‘I – I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Not on your own.’

She tried to ignore her mother’s deepening frown as she bent to kiss the top of her head. ‘Mum. It’s daylight. I’m a grown woman – I’ll be fine!’

‘I didn’t ask you to come here on a mission to track down the culprit, Anna. I just wanted you here to be with me.’

‘I can’t stay cooped up. And I’m not tracking anyone down, I’m going for a walk.’

Muriel sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. ‘Don’t be long, then.’

Taking in her mother’s anxious expression, she realised Muriel’s concern was not entirely for Anna. It was for herself. She didn’t want to be alone in the house, just in case.

‘I won’t be. And I’ve got my mobile. Call me immediately if …’ Anna trailed off.

‘You get a full signal here?’ Muriel straightened in her chair, her tone panicked.

‘Well, not full, no,’ Anna said. She couldn’t very well lie. She’d assumed there would be areas where the signal dipped, became non-existent even. It was a small village in a valley on the outskirts of Dartmoor; it was to be expected. ‘But I’ll never be far away, will I? God, it’ll only take fifteen minutes to walk an entire circuit of this place.’

‘It took less time than that for someone to abduct Jonie Hayes,’ she said bluntly.

Anna ignored the comment and left, grabbing a hoody from the hall bannister despite the warmth of the day. With the hood up, she’d maybe remain anonymous as she walked through the village. Taking a right at the end of Muriel’s road, Anna headed down Fore Street. The only houses – three cottages in a row – were situated just before the road ended and joined what was the main road of Mapledon: the one that led to the church. No one was about. The cottages appeared normal as she passed. But then, had there been anything hammered to their doors, no doubt it’d been removed by now. Anna wasn’t really expecting to see anything remotely strange: no doll’s heads. Not really. But still, she looked. Or, maybe she was hoping to see something. She could take some comfort then; there’d be a shared fear, rather than an isolated one.

As she ambled up towards the church, passing other equally unremarkable homes along Bridge Street, Anna found herself at the entrance to one of the cul-de-sacs that ran off it. Blackstone Close. Curiosity made her turn into it and begin walking to the end.

She stopped outside the final bungalow. The paint was peeling, the plaster crumbling. The garden was overgrown. Even in daylight there was something sinister about it. There’d been calls from angry, grieving villagers for it to be demolished afterwards. But the formidable local councillors had come up against more red tape than they could cut through. So, it had stood. Empty for thirty years. Like some strange kind of mausoleum .

Anna couldn’t help but wonder about the man who lived there.

Would he really come back?

Was he inside it now?

Her heart jolted at the thought. She wanted to turn and walk away, but her feet remained planted. She took her hands from her hoody pockets and reached out slowly towards the wall. A voice made her snatch it away again.

‘Hi, Bella. I thought you might come calling now.’

Lizzie was parked just outside the church gate, eyes fixed on the entrance, her resolve wavering. There were no regular services on a Saturday – she hadn’t given that a thought when she’d decided the church was the best place to start. Perhaps the vicar would still be inside, though. There might’ve been a wedding. Or a funeral. Doubtful, though. Surely her luck wouldn’t be that great. If she didn’t brave it, get out the damn car and take a look, she’d never know. But a sudden fear that her faith in the vicar was misplaced – that he’d be unable to help her at all – caused her to hesitate. It was unlikely to be the same vicar as thirty years ago, and certain events tended to cause a tight community such as Mapledon to clam up, to decide it was too hideous, too abominable to ever speak of again. A new vicar might not have any knowledge of what had happened. And Lizzie couldn’t remember the name of the original one. Couldn’t remember many names at all.

Just the three.

She unconsciously pulled at her hair, collecting several short, black strands in her palm whilst berating herself for not having spent some time researching before jumping in her car and setting off. That was a mistake. Local vicar aside, who would she approach to answer her questions? She brushed the hair into the footwell and sighed, the sound loud in the quiet car. Maybe the how was something she should’ve also given more thought to. Lizzie hadn’t considered what effect her presence in Mapledon would have. She could be a “nobody” – her name was different now, after all – but that in itself wouldn’t help her. She doubted Mapledon had many random visitors. A stranger in the fold would spark interest, prompt caution. A closing of the ranks.

Outsiders are not to be trusted .

They wouldn’t knowingly divulge anything to an outsider. But, equally, she couldn’t tell anyone who she really was, either; who she used to be. She had the sinking feeling her trip here would be a waste of time. Where was she even going to stay? She was in the middle of nowhere and it didn’t seem as if Airbnb was an option. She really hadn’t thought this through.

Just drive back home, back to safety. Back to Dom.

Lizzie watched as two women emerged from the church gate, one holding a pair of shears. They’d likely been tending to a grave. A pain gripped her stomach. She pushed her hands into it, clutching at the skin with her fingertips, and closed her eyes. A vision of a woman swam inside the darkness: a blurry-edged picture void of facial features. Because she couldn’t remember any. Tears slipped over her cheeks and ran under her chin.