The Netherwell Horror Read online

  Jim didn’t want to wait around any longer. His heart was pounding in his chest, and a cold sweat had broken out over his skin.

  He’d never been one to carry a mobile phone before, thinking it a useless piece of modern technology, but he dearly wished he had one on him now. As it was, he needed to leave, find a phone, and then call the police.

  He was a former army man, and had seen many things in his time, such as death, murder, mutilation, and more. But this?

  This was different.

  It was just like what had happened in Netherwell Bay all those years ago, when Jim was a young man. He recognised it instantly after seeing the horrific desecration in the cave, and after spotting those fucking symbols on the ground.

  This was evil. And it was back.

  3

  ‘I’m not doing it, Mark,’ Beth Davis said. She had her arms folded tightly cross her chest and glared down at the man who was shaking his head in annoyance.

  Mark Pritchard was the Editor-in-Chief of the local newspaper where Beth worked, The Daily Enquirer, and he sighed in frustration.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ he stated.

  The short, skinny man was seated behind a desk that overflowed with paper, folders, and even takeaway food packaging. The office they were in was a large one—too large, considering the meagre size of the open-plan workspace outside that the rest of the team had to share. The office had a low L-shaped leather sofa and glass coffee table in one corner, with Mark’s desk central to the back wall. The chair behind the desk was framed by a large, arched window that overlooked the town of Ashford.

  At thirty-five, Mark was a year Beth’s junior, yet he had quickly risen to the position of Editor-in-Chief, despite working at the paper for three years less than Beth. And despite being—in her opinion—utterly useless at his job. Being the son of the majority shareholder obviously had its benefits.

  Mark was balding, and what little hair he did have was cut short atop a thin, weasel-like face. When he smiled, the gesture seemed to lack warmth or happiness. Instead, it always came across as a creepy sneer to Beth, hindered by discoloured and crooked teeth. When standing, and not hiding behind his desk, the man was only five-foot-four, and Beth often wondered if that was why he tried to order others around and belittle them, as if trying to make up for something.

  This little Napoleon had been captaining the once respectable newspaper down the toilet for years, chasing the basest stories, which were to be reported with little-to-no objectivity. Sensationalism was his mantra.

  Although, Beth had to wonder if that was exclusive to her newspaper, or the state of her industry in general.

  ‘Look, just sit down, will you?’ Mark asked as he gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk.

  ‘No, I choose to stand,’ Beth stated, still keeping her arms crossed. She liked looking down over Mark and could tell it made him uncomfortable. Even if the man stood she would still have had a few inches on him, and was maybe even a little broader than him as well. Beth didn’t consider herself obese, but she certainly wasn’t supermodel-thin, and was proud of that fact. She stood at five-nine and had long brown hair that, if not styled for work engagements, was usually maintained in a functional bun. Her slightly cherubic face was always made up with a light layer of foundation and subtle make-up, to help hide the smattering of freckles across her cheeks. But Beth's most striking feature was her bright blue eyes. That day, she wore a simple blue blouse, black trousers, and heels, something she considered professional but not too uncomfortable or flamboyant. Mark, on the other hand, was dressed in tight jeans and a dark-blue blazer over a white shirt. The shirt had been unbuttoned down to his chest, allowing his bare, pale skin below to be seen. He probably thought it looked hip and ‘smart-casual,’ but in Beth’s eyes he just looked like he was trying too hard.

  ‘I don’t understand what your problem is. Why do you keep fighting me on this stuff?’ Mark asked in an exasperated tone.

  Beth shook her head. He knew why. She’d made her position on this very clear before. And yet, here they were again, singing the same song and doing the same dance. Earlier that day Mark had demanded she change a story she’d written that was due to go out in tomorrow’s edition. Beth had spent months investigating reports of fake expense claims by a local member of parliament. A story, Beth soon found out, that had legs. One slight problem, however, was that Beth’s source had money and gambling issues of his own. A public figure himself, the man was still ready to waive the right to anonymity and be named in the story to help prove his case.

  Mark, however, had gotten friendly with the government official in question over the last year, and Beth was well aware that 'Little Napoleon' saw the friendship as a way to move up the social ladder. And despite Mark’s claims to the contrary, Beth knew full-well the reason he wanted to change the narrative of the story—to instead focus on her witness and his money troubles—was to protect his new friend.

  Beth’s story had originally remained as impartial as she could have possibly made it. She had indeed highlighted the money troubles of the witness, as they were relevant, but the other evidence was solid. Mark, instead, wanted to change it into a hit piece that actually protected the MP. He also felt that shining a light on a local businessman who could not be trusted with money was a ‘good public service.’

  ‘I fight you on this stuff because it's unethical,’ Beth said.

  ‘It makes for a better story,’ Mark replied. ‘It will sell more copies and also get more clicks on the website.’

  ‘But it isn’t the truth! You want me to say that my witness is at risk of losing his home.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘No, he isn’t! It hasn’t gotten to that stage yet. Not by a long shot.’

  Mark closed his eyes, then gripped the bridge of his nose. He let out a sigh. ‘You're just splitting hairs,’ he said.

  ‘It isn’t splitting hairs, Mark!’ Beth shouted, feeling another surge of anger.

  Mark's face flushed red and his beady eyes quickly flicked to look behind her, off through the open door and out into the bullpen. Beth had answered back to him—loudly—and she knew that he hated being seen as weak.

  ‘Quiet down!’ he scolded with a snarl, but any show of intimidation he was trying to make was ruined by his obvious embarrassment.

  Beth then felt a discreet vibration from her trouser pocket, indicating someone was calling her mobile phone. There was no way she could answer now, however, not in the middle of this.

  ‘I’m not changing the story, Mark,’ Beth stated, calmly this time, but with a certain edge and defiance.

  Mark shook his head, took a moment, then slowly got to his feet. He leaned forward as he pressed his fists into the surface of the desk. He shot her a scowl and leaned in closer still. But Beth was not going to wilt away from this man. She wasn’t afraid of him. Instead, she took a step forward, causing him to shrink back a little in surprise.

  ‘Anything to add?’ she asked.

  He took a moment to answer, then nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think it’s best you take some time off.’

  ‘What?’ Beth asked, incredulous ‘Are you firing me?’

  ‘That’s not what I said,’ Mark replied, raising his palms defensively. ‘But, bottom line, the story is going to change before it runs tomorrow. So, perhaps you are best served taking a few days—hell, a few weeks—to get your head where it needs to be. You could even look to see if anything else comes up that would suit you better. Might be that this paper isn’t the best place for you anymore.’

  He wasn’t wrong in that regard. Beth's father would be rolling in his grave if he could see the state of the so-called journalism here. She wanted to argue back, to defy Mark and stay around here out of spite, if nothing else. But, at the same time, she also wanted to tell him where to stick his job.

  ‘This place is going to go down the shitter, Mark,’ Beth told him. ‘And you’re the one doing the flushing. You are out of your depth and flounder aro
und like a spoiled child.’

  ‘Get out of my office, Beth,’ Mark said, gritting his teeth. ‘Before I do fire you.’

  And that challenge was enough. Beth had plenty of money saved up to last a few months without a job, and this could be the kick she dearly needed to move on to something better. She hated leaving a job half-finished, which was what this felt like, but what other choice did she have? Give this slimly little toad the benefit of breaking her?

  Not a chance.

  ‘You won’t get to fire me, Mark,’ Beth said, leaning in closer to him, putting her own hands on the desk as well. Mark pulled back farther. ‘Because I quit.’

  He didn’t get the chance to add anything else. Beth simply stood back up to her full height, cast him a last scowl, then turned and left his office. She made her way over to her desk and started to collect her belongings. Erland Cowell—a researcher, and one of her closest friends at the paper—cast her a confused look and mouthed, ‘Are you alright?’ Beth shook her head but did not go over to speak to him. Right now, she just wanted to be out of the building.

  She was done with this place. It was time to find a fresh adventure.

  4

  Beth threw her box of her collected possessions onto the passenger seat of her Ford Kuga SUV, then walked around to the driver's side. She got in, closed the door behind her, and let her head fall back to the headrest. A long exhale escaped her.

  God, how she needed a drink right now. The day hadn’t gone as Beth had imagined when waking up that morning.

  She was just about to fish her keys out of her pocket and start the engine, when she remembered the call she had missed during her meeting with Mark. After retrieving her mobile phone, she quickly unlocked it and checked the call log, where she noticed a number and area code she didn’t recognise. Beth also had a voicemail waiting to be listened to. She debated waiting until she was home before listening. After all, if it was something to do with work, or one of the stories she was working on, there was little she could do to help, and she didn’t feel up to a conversation outlining why she had just quit her job. Still, the fact that it was from a number she didn’t recognise piqued her interest, so she swiped the screen of her smartphone across to the voicemail app and hit dial. After navigating through an automated menu, the message started to play. The voice that spoke was one Beth hadn’t heard for four years. But it was one she recognised all too well.

  ‘Beth, it’s me... Josh.’

  It was her brother. And he sounded panicked.

  ‘Sorry for calling out of the blue, but I didn’t know who else to turn to. I’m in trouble, Sis. I mean real trouble. And I need help. Something… something has happened. I’ve gotten caught up in something, and I don’t know what to...’ his voice trailed off, and Beth heard him start to sob. ‘I need your help. Please. I’m in a town called Netherwell Bay. There is something wrong with this place. I can’t go to the police. I don’t know what to do, Sis. Please... I need help.’ He started to cry again. Beth couldn’t remember ever hearing Josh cry as an adult before. Not even at their own father’s funeral. The message then suddenly cut off and an automated voice took over: ‘To return the call, press one. To save the message, press two. To delete, press three.’

  Beth was too stunned to press anything.

  She hadn’t seen or spoken to Josh in years. He wasn’t exactly one for taking on responsibility or staying close to people, let alone asking anyone for help. Beth had last seen him on the day of their father's funeral, and prior to that hadn’t spoken to him for a number of years. In fact, she had been a little surprised Josh had actually turned up to say goodbye to their father. After the service, however, Josh had swiftly left again. Beth had no idea what he was doing with his life now, or where he was living. Until this message.

  She was well aware that Josh was no angel, and had often landed himself in trouble over the years she had known him. However, he’d always been able to worm or charm his way out of it. Beth had never, ever, heard him scared. It just wasn’t part of his makeup. She wasn’t even sure he cared enough about anything or anyone to allow fear to register. Yet, on the voicemail she had just listened to, he not only sounded fearful, but absolutely desperate.

  The automated voice then repeated its options to her, seeming impatient for a response. Beth chose to redial the number—which was a landline, not a mobile one. As it dialled, she realised that Josh was fortunate she had kept the same mobile phone number for all these years. In truth, she was a little surprised he still had her number in the first place.

  Beth listened to the ringing tone as the call awaited connection at the other end. And it continued to ring. And ring. And ring.

  She let the call continue for a few minutes, but ended it when she realised no one was going to pick up. Strangely, it didn’t give her the option to leave a message of her own. It just rang on and on.

  She felt a sense of urgency begin to rise in her gut. She quickly searched the mysterious number online, and the results showed that the call had come from a public payphone in a place called Netherwell Bay.

  Why the hell is he using a payphone? And where the hell is Netherwell Bay?

  She was more than a little surprised people even used public payphones anymore. Did Josh not have access to a mobile or house-phone of his own? Or was there a need to use something he couldn't be linked to?

  Beth decided that trying the number again would likely prove fruitless, so she saved his voicemail and contemplated what she could do. With no way of contacting Josh directly to find out what was going on, there was perhaps only one option.

  Beth used her phone again, this time to Google Netherwell Bay. Knowing that the UK had many towns with the same name, she also used the area code from Josh’s call to narrow down the search. She quickly found the place she was looking for.

  The first website she clicked on described a small, coastal settlement in the North East region of the country. The few pictures on the site showed a fishing town that time seemed to have forgotten. Given Josh was one for living the fast life, Beth couldn’t fathom what the draw of this place was to him.

  Unless, of course, it was a woman.

  She punched the route to Netherwell Bay into the route-planner application on her phone and saw that the drive would take a little over five hours—but only if she didn’t hit any major traffic.

  Was she really considering travelling all that way, on such short notice, just to help a person—brother or not—that hadn’t bothered to keep in touch over the years? Did he even deserve her help?

  Josh had ignored her for years. Beth, for her part, had initially tried to maintain a relationship with him. She’d tried damn hard, always texting and calling, desperate to be a good big sister. But a person can only be ignored for so long before they give up completely.

  The sensible thing for Beth to do would be to wait for Josh to call back, which he likely would, and then offer any help she could from a distance.

  But that wasn’t where her mind was going.

  Like it or not, he was still family. The only family she had left on this earth. Her father had always impressed upon her the importance of family. It was important to him, hugely important, given he did not know his own parents. That seemed to push him harder to look after his own kids. Beth was grateful for that, and it broke her heart knowing her father had watched his own son become estranged only a few years after losing his wife. Beth saw it as her responsibility to try and hold the family together as best she could and make her father proud, so she really tried with Josh. However, she knew that her father went to his grave with a broken heart.

  Josh's tone during the short message had scared Beth. He was obviously afraid, and that meant the trouble he was in was serious. Given what had just happened with her job—namely that she didn’t have one anymore—she had nothing holding her back. Even if the trip called for an overnight stay, the only thing stopping Beth was her own reservations.

  And, like it or not, she still felt respon
sible for her younger brother. That, above all else, was what helped her reach a decision.

  She would need to go home first and pack some things. Beth's job as a journalist had taught her that a short trip could quickly turn into something more prolonged.

  Given it was just before lunchtime, Beth figured she could be in Netherwell Bay before dusk, even if she allowed for a couple of food and restroom breaks on the way.

  ‘What the hell am I getting myself into?’ she asked out loud. For a day that had already started out strangely, things had just taken a very unexpected turn.

  But Beth's mind was made up. Josh was family. And she resolved to help him.

  5

  The long trip was finally taking its toll on Beth. Her eyes felt heavy and itchy, a consequence of focusing too hard on the road ahead without having taken a break in the last two hours.

  She had finally left the motorway a little over an hour ago and was now winding through the secondary roads of the countryside, with rolling fields and hills either side of her.

  Her neck felt stiff and her lower back ached.

  Beth just wanted the drive to be over. Her car was a spacious one, and well maintained, but even the most comfortable cars could only stave off the aches and cramp of being stuck in the same seated position for so long. The sound of AC/DC blared from the car’s sound system and Beth tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel along to the quick rhythm of the band’s music.

  After initially making the decision to head to Netherwell Bay, Beth had first returned home to pack some clothes and make sure her flat was secure. It had crossed her mind to look into booking accommodation ahead of time, but she’d decided against it, reasoning that she would be able to find somewhere suitable upon arrival, if it was needed. So, after grabbing a quick bite to eat and changing into some jeans, some comfortable Converse, and a beige, long-sleeved blouse, Beth had left for a town that—until earlier that day—she had never heard of before.