The Netherwell Horror Page 4

  Lastly, Beth thought about locating that payphone, the one Josh had called from, to see if she could glean anything from the area around it. The irritable man she’d spoken to may not have seen Josh make the call, but somebody else might have.

  Still undecided, she turned back to her car, ready to head deeper into town. She would decide her course of action on the way. However, before she entered the vehicle, a sound caught her attention: a steady tapping, coming from her right, barely audible over the rhythm of the sea.

  Beth looked over to one of the houses that lined the road on the opposite side. The one that drew her focus was a fairly nondescript townhouse with brown brickwork, wooden window frames, and a red-tiled roof. It was sandwiched in-between terraced houses either side, and the source of the sound was emitting from this dwelling, from an upstairs window that had a low sill.

  Someone was standing just behind the window, close to it, and was gently rapping their knuckles against the glass, as if to get Beth’s attention. When Beth looked closer, her breath caught in her throat.

  Whoever this person was, male or female, they were completely naked, allowing Beth to see their mottled and blistered skin. They were also severely malnourished, and scars ran from each shoulder joint and met at the sternum, where a single, raw incision continued down to the abdomen, creating a Y shape on the chest. The person had no genitalia, simply an open wound in its place, indicating something had been cut off… or cut out. The face of the tapping stranger was hidden by stained and dirty bandages that wrapped around their head completely. Other than the tapping on the window, the only other movement from this figure was a quick and constant twitching of its limbs and head, as if they were in the middle of some kind of epileptic fit.

  The person continued their steady knocking, and Beth—in horror—let out a gasp. She instinctively backed away. As she did, her heel caught the edge of the footpath behind her and she fell to the grass, landing on her back. The fall didn’t hurt, only startled her, and Beth quickly sat upright and looked up again to the window. The mysterious knocking figure was gone. Beth rose to her feet, feeling her heart pound in her chest, and studied the window closely.

  Nothing.

  If anyone had indeed been standing there in the first place, they had disappeared quickly. Too quickly. Especially considering Beth had only averted her gaze for a moment.

  Beth instinctively looked around to see if there was anyone else present on the street who could make sense of what was going on. But she was alone.

  She shivered and could feel goosebumps form on the back of her arms. She quickly got back into the car and decided to head into town while trying to ignore what she had just seen… if, in fact, it had been anything at all. She’d never been one to have hallucinations, but how could she rationally explain what had been up in that window? The state of the body was horrific and more resembled a corpse than a living person.

  Putting the car into gear and taking quick, panicked breaths, Beth revved the engine and pulled out of the lay-by, casting a look back up to the window as she did. Still nothing. No deformed, painfully thin figure up there trying to get her attention anymore. She tried to calm herself.

  ‘That was just in your head, Beth,’ she told herself. ‘Has to be. Just relax.’

  She focused on the road ahead, forcing the image of that thing from her mind. Beth had to keep her wits about her when rolling down the steep hill. If an oncoming car came up at speed, she wouldn’t have the room to move over and let it pass. Rain started to fall, light for now, but Beth could tell it could easily turn into a downpour, given the dark clouds.

  The level of the road she was on sunk below the bank of grass to her right and the houses to her left, which towered over her, making her feel enclosed and claustrophobic. And she was still panicked at that horrible vision behind the window. The road then bent round slightly to the right and began to level out, signalling Beth had entered the town centre.

  The way ahead was still narrow, and had buildings either side, though now these buildings had changed from simple townhouses to a mix of commercial and public structures as well. To her right was a large, striking building, constructed from smooth stone blockwork. It stood two stories high and had tall, thin windows with wooden frames and arched heads. A circular window was set into a small gable peak to the front of the building, indicating an inhabited room within the attic space. Black, cast-iron guttering and downpipes complemented the grey slate roof, and there were iron railings to the front that separated the structure from the public footpath before it. A brass plaque was mounted on the wall by the door, and Beth could just make out what it read: Netherwell Bay Heritage Centre.

  Other buildings close to it were built from red brick, and still others were layered with white renders, while some were constructed from sandstone block. The variation and mismatched materials lent a quaint, old-world quality to the town, added to by narrow alleyways between buildings, some barely wide enough for a person to walk through. The road and paths were cobbled, and Beth bounced in her seat as she made slow progress along the winding, uneven road, that as yet had offered no off-branches or side roads. Just a long, single route ahead. There were a few people milling around, drifting into quaint shops or gossiping in clusters. Most turned to look at Beth as she slowly passed them, eyeing her vehicle suspiciously. Parked cars either side of the road made her progress even slower, some not pulled over far enough to leave a comfortable space for her to pass.

  Beth could see high cliffs beyond the buildings ahead of her. They dominated her view and loomed over the town. Eventually, some turn-offs from the main road opened up, but Beth ignored them and kept going. The way ahead widened out a little. To her left, the buildings faded away, and the thoroughfare ended up running parallel with the river she had previously been adjacent to, though Beth could barely see the water given the size of the drop just beyond the protective railings. On the other side of the river, more houses ran up a hill, this one steeper than the one Beth had just descended. The houses there looked even older than those Beth had already passed. They were also smaller and single storey, with severely worn and weathered brickwork. Beth looked over to that side of the river and saw that it curved away from her at the top. She had a feeling that the road there led up to the plateau of one of the great cliffs that overlooked the sea.

  When she turned her attention back to the way ahead, Beth could see the road bloom out farther, creating a large, open, cobbled space that acted as a turning circle. This was, it seemed, the end of the line, as just beyond the edge of the circular space—that reminded Beth of a large courtyard flanked by buildings—was a low stone wall. After a short drop, there was a pebble beach running out to the sea. The open area she found herself on, however, was rife with activity. People were huddled together, looking out to the beach. Beth also saw a few news vans and camera crews. Something was going on.

  A row of parking spaces abutted the low stone wall, of which most were taken. A few, however, remained free, and Beth—with no other route to take—eased herself into one, creeping slowly past the crowd. She parked the car and gave herself a moment to get her bearings, and to try and make sense of the activity outside. But her attention was quickly drawn to the beach beyond the stone wall to her far left. She finally realised what the people gathered here were staring at.

  Her stomach tightened as she was able to make out a police presence a few hundred metres away: cars, vans, and a few officers dressed in thick high-visibility coats. The beach curved around the face of one of the great cliffs. Whatever was going on with the police, most of it was blocked from view by the the cliff. However, Beth could tell what was going on was serious. Both from the number of police vehicles—which, given the lack of access, must have driven up the beach from somewhere else—but also because that area of beach was cordoned off with tape.

  Beth had a terrible feeling about it all. Her mind ran to Josh. Could something have happened to him?

  Please, God, don’t let
him be dead.

  Beth watched the police’s movements for a few minutes, but she could see nothing of any further interest. In fact, the officers present moved around very slowly, aimlessly, as if simply standing guard. Beth’s guess was that the crime scene had been here for a while now, and most of the important work had likely been done already. The news crews, too, seemed to be just waiting, with no reports currently being filmed.

  Going onto the beach to try and talk with the police would be useless, Beth knew, as they would tell her nothing. However, the gathered crowd might reveal more information. Beth disembarked from the car, pulled her coat tight, and walked closer to the pockets of people while trying to listen in to conversations. Not many were talking, but she did hear that the police had been out there since early morning. A few people even started to slope off, seemingly having had their fill. Before Beth could ask anyone anything, however, the heavens opened, and that light rain quickly started to lash down heavily. The crowd then began to fully disperse, and the camera crews jumped back into their vehicles.

  Damn it.

  Beth needed to get out of this rain, at least for now. She noticed one of the buildings close to her—the one with white render and slate roof tiles—had a large painted sign on its gable face that read the Trout and Lobster.

  It was a pub, evidently, and quite a large one. A small glass of wine sounded just the thing to calm Beth’s nerves until the rain passed. And The Trout and Lobster suddenly seemed like the perfect place to start her investigation proper. Beth cast one last look back out to the police on the beach before running inside of the pub.

  7

  After moving through a small draft lobby and into the main area of the pub, Beth was greeted by a blast of warmth from a ceiling-mounted heating unit above her. She stood under the comforting, hot air, letting it radiate into her bones and dry her a little, and allowed herself to take in her surroundings. It was fair to say that the interior aesthetic of this place was in desperate need of attention. A single word summed it up perfectly: gaudy.

  While spacious enough, with high ceilings held up by intermittent brick pillars, it was the decoration that left a lot to be desired.

  The wallpaper looked to have once been a plush red, with golden sea-shell imprints, though the colours looked to have faded considerably. The floors were bare-timber boards, but they didn’t appear to have been treated in a long time, and were stained and discoloured. But the worst of it was the maritime decorations that hung on the walls and ceilings: mounted fish, ship-wheels, and nets draped from the ceiling that were littered with fake starfish and shellfish. A large steel anchor even dominated a wall to Beth’s left. It wasn’t the fact that these items were all maritime that put Beth off. That all made sense, considering the kind of town she was in. However, it was the sheer quantity of them. It was too much.

  Alright, we get it, this is a coastal town pub.

  The whole pub had an unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke that was almost overbearing. Beth knew it would cling to her long after she had left this place.

  Straight ahead was a large seating area with lots of empty tables and booths. In fact, there was only a single family of three present there—a man, woman, and toddler—all eating a meal. Beth reasoned that this was the restaurant section of the establishment. Beyond that, she could see a drinking area up ahead. The width of the pub narrowed in that space. Stools were lined up against the bar, there were small, circular tables in a central area, and a few fabric-lined benches were pressed against the wall opposite the bar. This area, though smaller than the restaurant section, was considerably busier, and all of the noise and chatter seemed to be coming from there—especially from a group of gathered men near the bar, all laughing and swearing with abandon. Billows of thick cigarette and cigar smoke rolled from the drinking space, and it was clear that the pub was an establishment that chose to the ignore the ‘no smoking in a public place’ law. A few of the patrons looked over and stared at Beth, but she steeled herself, having been in places she was not welcome many times before. It was part of her job. Well, her former job. She made her way over to the bar, though the walk felt like an eternity as she passed through the practically empty restaurant section while everyone watched. She sidled up to a bar stool, the conversation notably muted as she did. Beth ignored it and caught the barman’s—or bar-boy’s— attention with as friendly a smile as she could muster.

  The thin young lad serving barely looked over sixteen—and given it was a weekday, should probably have been in school. A thin layer of dark fuzz lined his top lip, and pimples were scattered across his rosy cheeks. His dark hair was messy, sticking up at the back, and he looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He gave Beth a shy smile, showing braces behind his lips, and cautiously approached her.

  ‘C… can I get you something?’ he asked. Beth knew she would likely need to drive again today, so she really shouldn’t be drinking at all. But she reasoned that one little beverage couldn’t hurt, nor would it impede her judgment or reflexes too much.

  ‘I’ll have a small, dry white wine please,’ she replied, still holding her smile. The barboy nodded, then turned away to fix her drink. Still feeling eyes on her, Beth cast a glance to her right. Beside her, a small, frail-looking old man sat at the bar, perched on a stool. He was sipping a tumbler of amber-coloured liquid and kept his eyes firmly on his drink, minding his own business. But beyond him, leaning up against the bar, was a group of four men, all roughly in their late thirties and early forties. The leader of them, who had been the loudest, was a short-haired brute with a thick neck and white t-shirt that was far too small to contain his wide arms and bulging beer-belly. He made no effort to hide his admiring gaze. The man wore a chunky gold chain around his neck and had tattoos covering his forearms. Beth locked eyes with him for a moment and he flashed her an ugly smile, making it painfully clear he liked what he saw. Beth simply averted her gaze away from him, looking over at the rest of the patrons instead.

  There was another old gentleman sitting on the bench against the back wall, and he was joined by a younger man; they bore a striking resemblance to each other. The older of the two was dressed in an old, checkered shirt with burgundy trousers. His aged face was a mixture of deep wrinkles and thick tufts of white hair that sprouted from random places. He had wild, bushy eyebrows and a thick, grey stubble. Without question, Beth knew that the man had once been a fisherman. The person next to him, the younger of the two, shared many of the same characteristics, such as a rather square-shaped face and thick hair—though his hair still had streaks of black mixed in with the grey. He wore waders with a black, long-sleeved vest beneath.

  Father and son, Beth assumed. A small, sandy-coloured Terrier dog lay asleep at their feet.

  The bar-boy set down Beth’s drink. ‘One pound, fifteen pence, please, ma’am,’ he said, trying to sound polite. Beth nearly fell off her stool. Back home, the same drink would have cost well over five pounds. She handed him the money and took her change.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and took a sip. She kept her expression neutral, holding off a grimace, but knew instantly why the prices here were so cheap.

  The chatter between the drinkers soon picked back up. Beth kept her ears open, listening for anything that could lead her to Josh, or something relating to what was going on outside.

  It didn’t take her long.

  Beth's attention was quickly drawn to the group of men at the bar, where her thuggish admirer was holding court.

  ‘I heard it was a mess. Guts everywhere.’

  ‘Can’t believe they still don’t know who it was that got cut up,’ another added.

  The ringleader smiled and shook his head. ‘Police know who is dead, I reckon, it just won’t be common knowledge yet. They certainly ain’t told the press. I was speaking to the reporters outside and they don’t seem to have a clue yet.’ The man speaking then looked over to Beth once more and, with a smug grin, added, ‘So they won’t know who the killer is, either.
’

  Beth didn’t look back at him—didn’t allow herself a reaction—even though she felt a deep sense of dread building. Evidently someone had been killed, and in a rather gruesome fashion, it would seem—though the group of men were talking about it with such glee that they could have just as easily been talking about a game of football.

  Was it Josh? Was that why he called this morning, because he was in fear for his life? Or, if not him, was he somehow involved in a murder? Was that the reason he had sounded so panicked?

  Despite his troubles in life, Beth would have never thought Josh was capable of killing. But his message, begging Beth to come to the place, coupled with the apparent murder she was now learning about, couldn’t have just been a coincidence.

  Could it?

  She took another sip of her wine… a sip that turned into a long mouthful of the vinegar-tinged drink. Then the glass was empty.

  ‘I’ll have another,’ Beth said to the boy behind the bar. His eyebrows were raised in slight surprise at seeing how quickly she’d finished her drink. But he dutifully prepared her another and set it on the table, again taking her payment and giving change.

  This second wine was a mistake, Beth knew, and would likely put her over the limit to drive, but she felt her dread rising further, threatening to turn into full-blown anxiety. She needed to calm herself to think clearly. Perhaps alcohol wasn’t the best thing for that, but it was all she had on hand.

  ‘Christ, you’re a good drinker, aren’t you, love?’ the thug with the gold chain said to Beth. ‘That went down so quick I don’t think it touched the sides of your throat.’

  Beth gave a well-practiced and stern smile. One that showed no humour and simply said: fuck off and leave me alone.