CHAPTER 16
Percival tutted loudly as his raincoat caught on a vine of thorns. He pulled and tugged but the barbs refused to let go. He grabbed the snagged-hem with both hands and heaved with all his might. The cloth held fast for a second or two, before it sundered with an almighty ripping sound. Unprepared and unbalanced, Percival toppled backwards into the undergrowth.
Above the canopy, the sky blazed with spiced colours as the sun began to sink. He had been out all day, searching for the missing girl. His head was sore, the pain brought about as people called out her name over and over.
“Oops a daisy,” Martha laughed. She towered over Percival, her large belly casting a shadow. Martha smiled and offered him a hand up.
“No thank you,” Percival snapped, swatting her hand out of the way. “I don't need your help,” he derided.
“I think you may be right there, Percy,” she commented. “You need professional help.”
Percival sneered, he was not comfortable being teased. He was not comfortable in this forest and he was most certainly not going to waste another minute looking for this stupid girl. For all he knew she had most likely run away from these people for a better life.
“That's it!” he shouted. “Mavis, come along. We are going home, right now.”
“But, dear,” Mavis countered. Her cheeks flushed an embarrassed-shade of pink. “We haven’t found Harmony yet. She’s is still missing.”
“As sad as that is,” he retorted, haughtily. “We will not find her in the dark. We have wasted enough of our holiday already, and I refuse to stay in the company of this repugnant-woman a moment longer. I’m going home!” he finished with a stamp of his foot.
“You've got a nerve calling me rude!” Martha bellowed. “You’re just some pathetic, little man. You’re nothing but a dark name in your family tree.”
“That's enough, Martha,” Sergeant Cooper cut in.
“Yes, Martha, that’s enough. You know nothing about my family. You ignorant, country-bumpkin!”
“And we've all heard enough from you, Mr Montague,” the Sergeant scolded. “Now, Mr Montague is right about one thing. It’s going to get dark soon. Seeing as you both need to calm down why don't you go and get some torches,” he suggested to Martha and Percival. “Maybe you can find a way to stop arguing and gain a littler perspective. Need I remind you, that Harmony is about to spend her third night alone in a dark forest.”
Percival was just about to tell the Sergeant exactly what he thought of the plan, when Mavis coughed and shook her head. He decided to just accept the policeman's order rather than argue further. He would go, but he wasn't promising to come back. Martha did not look happy either. She held a whispered conversation with the officer.
“Well? Are you coming or not?” Percival sneered, his hand firmly lodged in his pockets.
“Oh! Pipe down, you old fart,” Martha countered.
Each as sulky as the other, they walked away in the direction of Kilt’s Cove Cottage.
Their journey back to the lodge was mostly a silent one, excepting for the odd, uncomfortable, attempt at conversation.
“So? What was the name of the house again?” Martha asked. She was tired of the stagnant silence.
“Kilt’s Cove,” Percival replied, shortly. He was in no mood to converse with her; he liked the stagnant silence.
“What an odd name.”
“Don't get me started,” he replied, rolling his eyes.
“I have been out on this road a thousand times,” Martha waffled. “I have never seen the gate before. I swear this place is new.”
“Ridiculous! It can’t have just appeared out of nowhere.”
“I'm not saying it just appeared,” Martha sighed.
“Look. To suggest that there is a mystery here is nonsense,” he alleged. He glanced at the short, round woman by his side. “You must be mistaken. It’s all the answer we need,” he finished with a condescending smile.
“Don't you dare tell me what I need,” she barked back. “I’m not mistaken. And I’m not making it up. Someone built the house without anyone else knowing, is what I meant.”
“Yes, well. We're almost there now and we shall see how...”
“How what?” Martha asked when Percival lapsed into silence.
When he failed to respond, Martha followed his line of sight. Through the thinning trees she spotted the poorly-named cottage. It looked ordinary. She couldn’t see fathom what had stolen his attention.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Percival didn’t speak. He simply gestured with a finger toward a large tree. Martha stared in the direction he indicated. There, hidden behind the trunk was a tall, thin man dressed in a black suit.
He was lurking whilst watching the front door of Percival’s cottage. The peeping-tom was quite unaware he had been seen.
“Who is he?” Martha whispered.
“He gave us the keys to the cottage. Never gave his name. He smiled too much, an odd fellow.”
“Odd? You don’t say,” Martha noted. “Why is he spying on you?”
“I don't know. Maybe you should go ask him?”
“Right then, I will,” she countered. With a surge of confidence she marched up to the loiterer.
Percival cursed her under his breath. He didn’t want to have a confrontation, or cause a scene. However he couldn't very well keep hiding now. He too marched forward, trying to look as dignified as possible. He dreaded to think what impression his ripped coat and muddy clothes would give.
“You there, pervert! What do you think you’re doing” Martha bellowed.
The man did not move a muscle. He didn't even get a shock as she shouted at him. He just stayed very, very still. Martha had cleared the gap and was standing a few feet behind him.
“Are you deaf?!” she shouted. Percival arrived at her side. “He's a rude bugger, Percy.”
“Language, Martha. That’s not very lady-like,” Percival retorted, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. “Come along now. You’ve been rumbled, turn around. There’s a good fellow.”
Again the man failed to turn. Martha looked to Percival. She nodded her head, silently communicating a plan to seize him. Percival replied with a frown. Silently he declined her invitation to accost the key-giving voyeur.
“Right! That's enough,” she blurted. Martha stepped forward and grabbed the man's shoulder. She yanking him backwards forcing him to turn and face them.
The man's body was empty… Not full of muscle, bone and blood. He was a vacant sack of skin. His body fell to the floor in a torrent of rippling flesh. The hollow man collapsed, air forced from the cavity inflated his hood-like head. Martha screamed and turned to run. Yet something stopped her from moving. Then she screamed even louder.
Percival wanted to look away from the man’s crumpled body. He wanted to turn around but he was too afraid. He could sense that something was behind him.
Martha, at his side, was frozen to the spot. Her wide unblinking eyes and short gasping breaths only perpetuated the fear charging the air.
The sound of breaking twigs, snapping and cracking, scratched against his nerve. He had to turn around, but he lacked the courage. He needed to see what was approaching, to defend himself. From some unknown source he found a burst of bravery. He span on his heel.
His vision was instantly filled with a dark, rough, black cloth. The coarse fibres scratched his skin. His nose and mouth filled with the scent of mulch and decay. He heard Martha scream again. She was fighting, struggling to free herself. Then, suddenly, silence fell like an executioner’s axe.
Percival panicked, scared by the abrupt stillness. He thrashed against his capturers as their hard, bony fingers fastened his hands and feet with rope. He felt a length of wood slipped between his bonds. Then, gruffly, he was hoisted into the air and carried like a hunter’s kill.
His mind tried to search for an explanation. Why would anybody want to kidnap him? Taken hostage in the English countryside was not something even he had planned for.
He attempted to communicate. When his words instigated no response he called out to Martha. His cries were eventually answered, though not in the way he hoped. A hard and heavy object collided painfully with his cloth covered head.
His mind burned hot and white. His fear and discomfort, along with everything else for that matter, faded effortlessly into tranquil blackness.