Something Wicked This Way Comes

Linda Gaine

Description

Amanda comes from a small mining village in North Wales where you do not expect momentous things to happen, until horrific murders are committed. After marrying Paul, they move into a big house on the mountain where the only neighbours are sheep. Paul dies suddenly and tragically and Amanda is left alone.Many years ago, a family of disturbed individuals inhabited the house, the family was incestuous and the one son they had was locked away for several years in an institute for the criminally insane. Now he is better, and what's more, he wants his house back.In addition, he will do anything to get it. After Amanda comes face to face with the serial killer, she hides in the basement with her child; she finally uncovers the horrific secret of what happened to the last family who suddenly disappeared without trace.

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 31 mars 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528964913
• Langue: English

Extrait

Something Wicked This Way Comes
Linda Gaine
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-03-31
Something Wicked This Way Comes About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve
About the Author
Linda was born in London, UK. She studied and researched Forensic medicine, and criminal Psychology, followed by several interesting jobs. She is currently working on her fourth novel and lives in Malta with her husband and a very vivid imagination.
Dedication
For John, my inspiration and my brick wall, love you forever and beyond.
Copyright Information ©
Linda Gaine (2020)
The right of Linda Gaine to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528927017 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528964913 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
To family and friends for reading this book and supporting me each step of the way.
Thank you.
Chapter One
He walked quickly, arms swinging beside him, taking long heavy strides in army boots strong enough to cope with mountainous terrain. Hailstones streamed down like thick nail heads, clinging to his unshaven face to resemble tiny minuscules of ice. He was beginning to feel as if he had been stuck in a capsule and set adrift in space only to be trapped in time after being incarcerated for so long. But now he was free, he had escaped that capsule, and now he was going home.
It was dark, almost pitch dark, and there were no houses around these parts for miles. It was like the land that time forgot, a remote and desolate place. However, it wasn’t desolate to him because this is where he grew up. He smiled to himself—a brand-new start! That’s what he needed, and not long now just one more gate to open, and he would see the welcoming glow of the candle light sparkling in the living room window. Mother always kept three candles on the windowsill; it gave the place a warm, welcoming touch.
He saw the lights on in the lower ground floor, a soft shade of amber with a comforting surrounding, but no candle! Anger stirred inside him; this was not as he remembered! What in hell was going on? Where was everybody? His hand came up and touched the rucksack on his back; it seemed to weigh no more than a bag of feathers; it contained a hunting knife, rope and chisel, a machete slotted into the side pocket, neatly in place. He smiled; his lips widening into a deadly grimace that made his otherwise handsome features grotesquely contorted. Someone is having a laugh with him, making out they were someone else. Then the door would open, and mother would be there laughing at him, her arms outstretched ready to close around him in a loving hug, “Good to see you, son.” She would say while smothering him in kisses. The surrounding countryside was strangely silent; no birds sang in the trees, they had already nested for the night. The sky shifted by thunderous clouds, passing like shapes in the night.
He reached behind him and pulled out the hunting knife. He stood for silent seconds staring at the big arched door, and then he knocked and rang the bell.
A man answered, about to say, “Can I help you?” but the words never passed his lips. He shoved the knife into his belly, twisted and turned. The man looked shocked, he uttered a small inaudible gasp, then blood seeped from his lips, and between the rigid hands that held the knife tightly, he looked up into the killer’s eyes that were wide and staring, cold, unfeeling, bland and soulless.
The body slumped to the floor, blood spilled over the doorstep, onto the rug, building up like a rain-soaked puddle. He stepped over the body and silently walked towards the living room. He could hear a television; he looked towards the sound where flashes of light from the dimmed room cast shadows of the changing scenes. It was a programme that he used to watch in the hospital. Sounds of laughter echoed around him, exploding off the walls.
“Who’s there, darling?” a female voice called, not worried by the shuffling feet that headed toward her.
She looked up, her heart thundered, and she gasped at the sight of the bloodstained knife. He smiled again, with that death grimace, an unpleasant ghastly sight. He reached behind him again and pulled out the machete. He walked towards her, she just stood still, and her hand gripped the arm of the chair, startled. Her wide eyes glared at him, as terror froze her to the spot.
“You’re not my mother!” he snarled, the machete cleaved the air, and the woman fell. It was a bloodbath, but it didn’t matter. He could have all the time in the world cleaning it up afterwards.
Mounting the stairs slowly, yet with feet that thudded on each step, he made his way along the landing. The death grimace wider to expose healthy white teeth, Hollywood-style.
He opened the door to the pink bedroom, a little girl slept soundly in her bed. Next to the window, a small baby was curled up in her cot; reaching behind him again, he pulled out a spike. His iron-hard eyes blinked once.
Amanda waited at the bus shelter, shivering in the chill evening air. The wind howled past churning up old tin cans and bits of litter. Giant puddles mirrored images of light from the fat sleet drops that still drummed down heavily from a charcoal sky.
Hunching her shoulders, she bowed her head from the cold, tucking herself into her coat. This was the worst time of the evening, standing around until her feet were almost numb waiting for the bus to arrive. A chubby round-faced man passed, glancing towards her with a hesitant smile and a slight nod of his head; his eyes red and watery from the cold. Amanda returned the gesture with a soft smile, and a blink of her own watery eyes. He hurried on, and she glanced to see if the bus was coming, stamping her feet to bring life back into her frozen toes. It wasn’t far from where her grandmother used to live. She could see the big mountain, from where she stood, towering above the little house. She had often wondered how long it would take to climb to the top, but she never did get ’round to climbing that mountain, because a mountaineer she was not cut out to be. In the mornings, she would stand outside craning her neck to see the mist shedding from its peak on a crisp cold day. She could smell the pungent aroma of damp slate from the old quarries and rooftops, along with the rampant smell of crisp burning coal.
She gazed around at the empty streets. It was certainly quiet for a Friday evening, as if the countryside had taken a deep breath and decided to hold it until the storm had passed. On the opposite side of the street, a woman passed holding tightly to her umbrella that had turned inside out. It looked as if it was about to depart and fly off, and no matter how desperately she struggled to hold on to it, it would only be a matter of seconds before it was snatched from her hands and hurled into the night sky.
Wrapping her coat around her, she decided it would be quicker to walk than to stick around at the bus shelter waiting for hypothermia to set in. Amanda strained her eyes shielding them through the mist to see if there was any sign of a bus coming up the hill. If not, then she would start the miserable journey home on foot.
The sleet poured down, steadily at first and then in torrents. Walking in the sleet and the cold was a nasty thought, even though it wasn’t far, maybe a mile or so; it would take her at least three quarters of an hour to walk it, but it was far enough in the dark on your own in the freezing cold.
It wasn’t really so bad living in North Wales. In the summer, it was such a beautiful place, it was quiet and still with just the trill of the birds singing in the trees, the soft gentle breeze that floated from the valley carrying the wonderful scent of wild flowers to scatter in the air, and the view from the mountains was breath-taking. Her parents had purchased the house and moved when she left school, so moving had not caused too much havoc with her exams. She had passed all her ‘O’ and ‘A’ levels winning her a place at Bangor University. She wanted to do law, and so far, she found that she had realised her vocation in life. It was going to be forensic medicine or law, and maybe both if she was clever enough! At first, she found it strange after living in London all her life. City life was worlds apart from the calm countryside. It was a suspiciously quiet abode, and sometimes reminded her of a ghost town. It should never have felt strange at all really; every single school holiday had been spent visiting her grandparents from the time she had been able to walk.
But sometimes, even living in a place that is slightly familiar is never the same as visiting each year. After only a few months of moving, both her grandparents were dead.
Madeline lived next door to Amanda’s grandparents, and they had been friends from the age of five—a friendship that would last well into their mature years and would remain that way until the day they died.
Madeline had boundless energy; she’d move with a brisk bouncy stride; her deep Auburn hair was always tied in a ponytail bobbing along behind her; her eyes were the colour of pale sapphires.
Amanda found herself hunch