Text copyright © 2014 Katie L Thompson
All Rights Reserved
Preview Extract: Deathly White
Prologue
The hall was crowded. How had they managed to invite so many people? From what he’d heard it had started off as a small wedding of seventy-five. Now it looked more like a festival. The music was hard to hear over the noise of the people, it gave him a headache, but at least the ceremony part of the day was over. In a few minutes he could slip out of the back without anyone noticing – there really was no reason for him to stay; he’d known the bride once, a long time ago, but he barely knew the groom.
“Honey, come have a dance with me,” a girl held onto his arm.
“No thank you.” He shrugged her off. He didn’t want to dance, he wanted to leave. And, who was she anyway? Why were people always so overly friendly at weddings?
There wasn’t a single face in the room that he knew well. He recognised a few from the olden days but there wasn’t anyone there he could call a friend, or even an acquaintance.
He thought about saying goodbye before he left but then realised, no one had actually noticed him arrive. Everyone appeared to be having a good time, and he didn’t want to interrupt them.
The door closed gently behind him. It wasn’t as noisy outside and the fresh air helped to clear his head. It had been an odd day. He still didn’t know why he’d turned up. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d turned up because he’d been invited and found it rude not to go when he didn’t have any other plans.
“Going so early?”
He turned round to face a man puffing on a cigarette.
“Not feeling too great,” he said. It wasn’t completely untrue; he did still have a slight headache.
“Mike,” a woman’s voice called from inside, “I want to dance.”
“Safe journey home,” the man said, stamping his cigarette out. He headed inside.
Now it was just him and the night. He pulled his coat tighter around him. The light was beginning to fade and a chill was settling into the air. The drive home wasn’t a long one but the sooner he got started, the sooner he’d be home.
He drove slowly along the narrow country roads, looking out for passing places in case he met someone further along. These roads were a pain. Nine times out of ten, when you met someone, one of you would have to reverse for ages before finally finding a passing place. In the day time it was horrible but in this fading light it was even worse.
Driving alone, he felt as though he was in a horror movie. Up ahead was what was commonly known as Gibbet Hill. A gibbet still stood proudly at the top of the hill. He shivered. How horrible it was to think that people had died mere feet away from where he now drove.
He tried to concentrate on the road, anything to stop him from looking up at that gibbet, but of course he looked, he always did, just to check that there was no one up there.
A flash of white caught his attention. He slowed the car down to get a better look and then stopped.
The light’s playing tricks on me, he thought. Quite often, he imagined someone hanging from that gibbet. He’d even walked up the hill once just to make sure that there was no one there.
He drove on a little further. A gap in the hedge allowed him a better view. He stopped the car once again and rubbed his eyes before looking back up.
I’m sure of it, he thought, or else I’m going crazy.
The road curved around the base of the hill and after driving a little further he found a passing place where he’d be okay to park. A hole in the hedge was just big enough for him to wriggle through.
Once halfway up the hill he sat down. He didn’t need to go any further to know that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
“Police,” he muttered into his mobile.
“Yes,” he said when someone answered the phone. “My name is Bradley Stance. I’m at Gibbet Hill. I was just driving back from my friend’s wedding and something on the hill caught my attention.”
He nodded, although the person on the other end of the phone couldn’t see him.
“Yes, it’s a body,” he said. “I think it’s the bride.”
All Rights Reserved
Preview Extract: Deathly White
Prologue
The hall was crowded. How had they managed to invite so many people? From what he’d heard it had started off as a small wedding of seventy-five. Now it looked more like a festival. The music was hard to hear over the noise of the people, it gave him a headache, but at least the ceremony part of the day was over. In a few minutes he could slip out of the back without anyone noticing – there really was no reason for him to stay; he’d known the bride once, a long time ago, but he barely knew the groom.
“Honey, come have a dance with me,” a girl held onto his arm.
“No thank you.” He shrugged her off. He didn’t want to dance, he wanted to leave. And, who was she anyway? Why were people always so overly friendly at weddings?
There wasn’t a single face in the room that he knew well. He recognised a few from the olden days but there wasn’t anyone there he could call a friend, or even an acquaintance.
He thought about saying goodbye before he left but then realised, no one had actually noticed him arrive. Everyone appeared to be having a good time, and he didn’t want to interrupt them.
The door closed gently behind him. It wasn’t as noisy outside and the fresh air helped to clear his head. It had been an odd day. He still didn’t know why he’d turned up. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d turned up because he’d been invited and found it rude not to go when he didn’t have any other plans.
“Going so early?”
He turned round to face a man puffing on a cigarette.
“Not feeling too great,” he said. It wasn’t completely untrue; he did still have a slight headache.
“Mike,” a woman’s voice called from inside, “I want to dance.”
“Safe journey home,” the man said, stamping his cigarette out. He headed inside.
Now it was just him and the night. He pulled his coat tighter around him. The light was beginning to fade and a chill was settling into the air. The drive home wasn’t a long one but the sooner he got started, the sooner he’d be home.
He drove slowly along the narrow country roads, looking out for passing places in case he met someone further along. These roads were a pain. Nine times out of ten, when you met someone, one of you would have to reverse for ages before finally finding a passing place. In the day time it was horrible but in this fading light it was even worse.
Driving alone, he felt as though he was in a horror movie. Up ahead was what was commonly known as Gibbet Hill. A gibbet still stood proudly at the top of the hill. He shivered. How horrible it was to think that people had died mere feet away from where he now drove.
He tried to concentrate on the road, anything to stop him from looking up at that gibbet, but of course he looked, he always did, just to check that there was no one up there.
A flash of white caught his attention. He slowed the car down to get a better look and then stopped.
The light’s playing tricks on me, he thought. Quite often, he imagined someone hanging from that gibbet. He’d even walked up the hill once just to make sure that there was no one there.
He drove on a little further. A gap in the hedge allowed him a better view. He stopped the car once again and rubbed his eyes before looking back up.
I’m sure of it, he thought, or else I’m going crazy.
The road curved around the base of the hill and after driving a little further he found a passing place where he’d be okay to park. A hole in the hedge was just big enough for him to wriggle through.
Once halfway up the hill he sat down. He didn’t need to go any further to know that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
“Police,” he muttered into his mobile.
“Yes,” he said when someone answered the phone. “My name is Bradley Stance. I’m at Gibbet Hill. I was just driving back from my friend’s wedding and something on the hill caught my attention.”
He nodded, although the person on the other end of the phone couldn’t see him.
“Yes, it’s a body,” he said. “I think it’s the bride.”