'There's a match on after the news. A big game. Arsenal and Liverpool, it's…'
She cut him short. 'Oh all right, I can take a hint.'
Emma went into the hall and pulled down her old navy blue duffle coat and fastened the buttons. She held out her hand for the leash, the dog now excitedly waiting. Gordon winked at her.
'I don't know how I've put up with you for twenty-five years,' she said, trying not to smile. She could hold it back now longer when he blew her a kiss. Laughing, she led the dog out into the hall. Gordon heard her say, 'Back in a bit,' and then the front door slammed shut.
He settled down to watch the game.
As Emma stood on the doorstep, fastening the last toggle of her coat, she shivered. She had not realized just how cold the wind was. Now it lashed her face with icy barbs and felt like a portent of frost or even snow. The sky was clear, the full moon suspended on invisible wires like some huge fluorescent ball. It cast its cold glow over the town, guiding Emma as she walked. The dog tripped along nimbly beside her, its breath forming white clouds in the chill atmosphere.
Lights burned in most front rooms as she walked down the street, and their muffled glow made the night seem a little less forbidding. The estate on which they lived was clean, populated by families well known to one another, and there was a feeling of belonging which Emma had never encountered before. She and Gordon had lived in Medworth for over twenty years, London before that. Both of them found the solitude and peacefulness of country life a positive lift after the hustle and bustle of the capital. Her parents had both come from around this area, so she herself was no stranger to their ways.
She had finished work for good when Vera was born. Gordon had had a good job and his wage was more than enough to keep them comfortably. With their own anniversary due on Saturday, just two days away, things looked rosy. They were only having a small get together, family mainly, and a couple of close friends. But what really made the occasion for Emma was the fact that she would be seeing her daughter again after so long. Suddenly she forgot the cold of the night, instead overcome by that familiar warm glow which comes with expectations.
At the bottom of the street, the road curved sharply away to the right and more houses. Straight ahead lay a large expanse of rough ground and thickly planted trees which locals called The Wasteland. Emma laughed to herself. If old Henry Myers, who owned the land, could hear them, he'd go mad. Myers had a small farm right on the edge of the estate. No livestock, just arable crops like the other small holdings dotted around the outskirts of Medworth. Still, he made a living from it. However, with this particular field, he seemed to have given up. Nothing but stumps of grass and a positive jungle of weeds grew there, the whole thing flanked by a string of cedars. A muddied footpath led to a stile over which one had to climb to get into the field; and it was up this path that Emma led the dog.
The animal scrambled beneath the rotted obstacle while Emma struggled over the top, nearly slipping off. Sherry was panting excitedly as Emma unhooked her leash.
'Off you go, girl,' she said, and the dog bounded away into the field, leaping about like a lamb in spring. Emma leant against the stile for a moment watching the dog, then she began to walk around the perimeter of the field.
The trees crowded in on her from one side, kept back to a certain degree by a high fence of rusty barbed wire. The fence was broken in numerous places, the lengths of wire hanging down in the mud.
The wind combed through the branches creating a sound which reminded Emma of sheets blowing on a washing fine.
She jumped back as a low branch, propelled by a gust of wind, snatched at her face. She decided to move further away from the trees, perhaps even to join the dog in the centre of the field.
There was a loud snap as a branch broke behind her.
She spun round, her heart thumping. There were scuff marks around the base of the bushes and beneath her lower strands of barbed wire, wliich she took to be the work of rabbits.
Or rats?
The idea of being in a field with rats made her shudder and she looked across towards the dog, anxious now to get home. Back to the warmth of the fire and the comforting glare of electric light. She looked up at the moon, suddenly covered by a bank of thick cloud. The field was plunged into momentary darkness and Emma felt suddenly, unaccountably, afraid… She rebuked herself as the cloud cleared and cold white light once more flooded the ground. Nevertheless, she pulled the leash from her pocket and prepared to call the dog.
There was more movement in the bushes behind and she turned, convinced that the creator of the disturbance was much too big to be a rabbit or a rat. Perhaps some kids messing about. She tried to fix that idea in her mind, her eyes glued to the source of the disturbance. She stood riveted for long moments then turned slowly back to call Sherry.
The dog was crouching in the centre of the field, its head resting on its front legs, whimpering quietly. Even from as far away as fifty yards, she could see it was quivering, its eyes fixed on something in the bushes behind her.
She turned, the breath catching in her throat.
The thing that had once been Ray Mackenzie hurtled at her from the cover of the bushes, a shower of leaves accompanying his charge.
Emma opened her mouth to scream, her eyes riveted to the contorted face, now lit obscenely by the moonlight. The feral grin showing discoloured teeth, the three deep scratch marks on one cheek but above all, and this was the last thing she saw before he was upon her, the glowing red orbs that were eyes, burning with the fires of hell.
Mackenzie launched himself at her, cleared the fence and slammed into her, knocking her into the soft mud.
Emma screamed, the sound finally choking away as Mackenzie fastened both talon-like hands around her throat and lifted her off the ground. He held her up at arms' length, her legs dangling uselessly, trying to kick him, trying to ease the grip which was killing her. Through eyes clouded by pain, she saw him grinning, those terrible red eyes burning madly. Then he flung her, as an angry child might fling a rag doll. She crashed into the barbed wire fence, the cruel spikes gouging her flesh and ripping her cheek. She tried to rise but he was upon her again, his weight forcing her down, one hand clamped across her face, pushing her head down as if he wished to drive it into the very earth itself. She struggled vainly, striking feebly at him, her tear-filled eyes catching sight of his other hand. A hand which reached for a length of broken barbed wire. Ignoring the barbs which tore open his palm, Mackenzie snapped the wire free as if it had been thin string. He released his grip, momentarily, on Emma's face, holding the two foot length of barbed wire above her. She made one last desperate attempt to get up and did, indeed, manage to stagger a few feet from him. But her legs gave out and Mackenzie caught her, looping the barbed wire around her neck and using it like some kind of spiked garotte. He pulled with all his strength, watching as Emma raised one hand to ward off the attack. It was useless.
The barbs tore her flesh, puncturing the twin carotid arteries sending spouting fountains of blood spraying into the night air. Blood filled her mouth and, mercifully, she blacked out. But Mackenzie kept pulling, those insane red eyes glowing like beacons, yellow spittle dribbling down his chin. He jerked the body up, hardly realizing that she was dead, failing to appreciate that the wire was embedded so deep it had practically severed her head. He dropped the corpse and stared down at it for a moment.
The eyes were still open, glazed and wide with terror and agony.
Mackenzie dropped down and bent over the head.
In the middle of the field, the dog watched silently as its mistress was killed. Fear pinned it down as surely as if six inch nails had been driven through its paws. It had seen the man emerge from the woods, seen the awful struggles of its mistress. Then finally it had seen the man bend over her, his hands groping at the lifeless face with frenzied movements before he disappeared once more into the woods.
Only then did the dog wander slowly over to the lifeless body, its nose twitching at the stench of blood and excrement. It whimpered, nuzzling against the corpse as if trying to stir it into life. It stood there for long moments, howling up at the moon, then it scampered off, leaving the body of Emma Reece alone.
