The Man in the Bowler Hat

T.H. Wilson

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Sujets

• Thriller
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse UK
• Date de parution: 11 juillet 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798823083539
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Man in the Bowler Hat
 
 
 
 
 
 
T.H. WILSON
 
 
 
 
 

 
AuthorHouse™ UK
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Bloomington, IN 47403  USA
www.authorhouse.co.uk
Phone: UK TFN: 0800 0148641 (Toll Free inside the UK)
UK Local: (02) 0369 56322 ([phone] from outside the UK)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
© 2023 T.H. Wilson. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse  07/10/2023
 
ISBN: 979-8-8230-8354-6 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-8353-9 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023912540
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 1
T HERE I WAS, SITTING DOWN by the lake, cold and naked in the darkness. A mist was covering the water.
Where is this place? I thought. Is this a dream? It seems so real. Maybe I will wake up soon.
I saw the moon in the sky. The water shimmered in its reflection.
I slowly rose to my feet and heard my name being whispered. Looking around me, I saw a light in the distance. I started walking towards it on what seemed to be a path.
The fog was falling hard, so it was difficult to see anything. As I got closer to the light, I saw the shape of a house. There was an open door through which the light was shining. I walked up some steps and through the door. Everything was quiet. I looked around. A grandfather clock stood in the corner. A couch, a table, and some chairs filled the room, and the fire was lit.
It illuminated the room, casting shadows on the wall. I looked around slowly. This place looked familiar to me.
“Hello,” I called out.
But there was no reply.
“Hello,” I said again. “Is there anyone here?”
Still no reply.
I heard what sounded like someone sobbing. It was coming from upstairs. I slowly walked up, clutching the handrail, not knowing what I would find when I reached the top. I saw three closed doors. I opened the first door; my hand was starting to tremble, and I heard my heart pounding in my chest. I switched the light on. There was a huge bed, a wardrobe, and a small table and lamp next to the bed. A rocking chair sat in the corner. A musty smell filled the room, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Nothing much to see here , I thought.
I went to the next door and opened it. It was very dark, so I fumbled to switch on the light. It was a small room filled with photographs, books, and lots of toys, most of which were broken. It was obvious it was a child’s room. I could hear sobbing coming from the third room, and it was getting louder. I tried to open the door, but it was locked.
“Hello,” I said. “Is there anyone in there?”
I knocked a few times but got no reply.
“Will you open the door? There is nothing to fear,” I called out but still got no answer.
I was about to walk down the stairs when I heard the door squeak as it opened. The light was on. As I slowly walked into the room, I could see the figure of a little girl on the floor next to the bed. She was still sobbing.
“Hello, I’m Danny, and I mean no harm. What’s your name?” I asked.
There was no response.
“I’m not going to hurt you. What’s wrong?”
Still no response.
I knelt beside the little girl, reached out my arm, and touched her on the shoulder. She quickly turned to me, and it was a terrible sight. She was deathly pale with blood pouring from her eyes.
“Leave me alone,” she said in a husky voice.
I fell backwards, and then there was darkness.
 
Danny Wilson woke up in a cold sweat.
He sat up in bed with his knees towards his chest, arms around his legs. His bottom lip was twitching, and his lifeless eyes were looking at the blank television screen across the room. He was breathing heavily. He had just woken up from a bad dream. This was the way it had been for a while, on and off. They seemed to be getting more intense. He lit a cigarette and fell back onto the pillow, looking up at the ceiling as a cloud of smoke gathered around the room.
Danny suffered from severe memory loss; he had had it since he was a child. He kept a diary and would write down everything on a day-to-day basis. He had seen several doctors, but they could not give him an answer. They gave him sleeping pills, which did not help. He finished his cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray, and got out of bed and into the shower. He quickly dressed and put on a heavy coat, as it was wintertime.
His boss had given him a month off work to sort himself out. He would be driving up to Inchmore, a little town in the north of Scotland. He went there every year, as it was quiet and peaceful. There was a lake close by. His parents had left him a wee cottage. It was cleaned every two weeks by John, the caretaker. He started loading his van. First were his canvasses and paints and brushes. Painting was his hobby. Next, he put in his bow and arrows. He loved archery. He had joined his local club two years ago and had turned out to be a very good bowman. He had packed his suitcase the night before. He stuck his camera in his backpack—another hobby of his—as well as, of course, his stash of weed and plenty of it.
Danny said goodbye to the landlord, asking him to keep an eye on his flat. Everything was in the van. He got in, started the engine, put on his local rock station, and settled into his groove. He felt relaxed and ready for some time off. He was on the motorway in about twenty minutes.
Danny was a 38-year-old man of medium build with long hair and a beard. He worked as a journalist for a newspaper in Edinburgh. This was his chance to escape from the humdrum life of the city. He was charging down the motorway. He lit up a cigarette and began singing along to the songs on the radio. It was 10 a.m., and he was hungry. He was looking for a café to get some breakfast and a coffee, as it would be a three-hour journey to the town of Inchmore.
He had been driving for about half an hour when he pulled into a small diner on the left. He ordered a full breakfast and coffee and sat down next to the window at the back. The diner was quiet, except for a few lorry drivers sitting at the bar tucking into their food. The food was pretty good, and so was the waitress who served him. He started to read his newspaper and noticed a family of four entering the diner. They sat across from him. They ordered breakfast and waffles for the kids. He continued reading his paper but could sense someone was looking at him. It was the kids at the next table, staring and laughing at him. He gave them a smile and made some funny faces at them. Then he looked out of the window again. He seemed to go into a dream. He saw a little girl in a blue dress in the car park looking at him with an intense stare. She was very pale and seemed to have blood trickling down her face. Then she was gone.
“Can I get you a refill for your coffee?” asked the waitress.
Danny snapped out of his dream and looked up at the waitress. “What was that?” he said.
“Can I get you another coffee?” she replied.
“No, thank you. Just the bill, please.”
He paid the bill and left.
Danny drove away from the diner feeling very strange. He was puzzled by what he had seen. He turned on the radio. He was doing 70 mph but slowed right down and pulled into a lay-by. The sun was shining, but it was very cold. He got his camera out and started taking photographs. The scenery was beautiful—majestic mountains and the long, winding road. He lit up a cigarette, got back in his car, and drove off. It was 2 p.m. when he finally arrived in Inchmore. Nothing much had changed. There was still the high street, the little church on the corner, the small square where everyone would meet. Danny parked his car next to the supermarket to pick up some supplies—lots of food and booze. He dumped them in the van and was on his way again. It would be another twenty minutes or so to the cottage. He drove through some narrow lanes and then veered to the left up a dirt road for a few miles. Finally, he arrived at home.
He unlocked the gate, drove up the hill to the house, and parked the van. He got out and took a good look at the place. It was old-fashioned with a porch and a rocking chair outside. He looked across the lake. It was stunning. The small jetty was still there with the boat at the side. This was his world now, just peace and quiet.
He opened the door and walked in. He could smell polish. The place was so clean. John, the handyman, had done a good job. There was an open fireplace, and the old grandfather clock was still there in the corner, ticking away. Danny checked the kitchen, toilet, and upstairs bedrooms. He started unloading all his stuff. He needed to get a fire going as soon as possible. He went out the back door to the shed, where he collected lots of wood. In no time, he had a raging fire going. As there was no heating in the bedroom, he would make his bed in the living room on the couch. He opened a can of beer and made himself a joint. Then he laid back on the couch, drinking and smoking. He fel