The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

from thirst and shouting. Her head felt like an axe blade was embedded in it. Where was Cal? Surely he hadn’t given up and was tucked up in bed asleep? Maybe he was glad she was gone. Turning her head into the corner, she began sobbing.

    Four ten. Why had she come here? She had no one else to blame but herself. If only she hadn’t started her stupid investigation. Wrapping her arms gingerly around her knees she tried to control her shivering. If only she had confided in someone, anyone, what she was up to and where she was going, she wouldn’t be in this mess now. How she wished she had told Barbara.

    Five a.m. She wanted to rip her head off, but her wrist was too painful and the action would definitely be a two handed job. Inspecting the puffy, bruised flesh, she was sure she had a fracture. She fell asleep soon after, and dreamt about Amy. She was standing at the end of a long tunnel in a pool of light, waving a bottle of Evian at her with one hand, and a greasy chicken drumstick with the other.

    The singing of a lark somewhere near by woke her. Gingerly she rose to her feet, and having stretched back her aching neck she scrunched it down deeply into the socket of her shoulders, hearing several bones crunch. There wasn’t a single part of her body which didn’t ache now. Would no one come to rescue her? She beat the door several times with her sore fist, just in case anyone was within hearing distance. When she stopped and listened, even the lark had fallen silent. She had never known such misery; such isolation.
    Sounds from outside again, but this wasn’t a bird. It was a mumbled voice, footsteps. She lurched to her feet and almost fell over in her haste to reach the door. If only she could see outside. Whoever it was didn’t seem to be trying to keep quiet. “Bill, I know you’re out there,” she called in a croaky voice.
    “Mrs. Noble?” It did sound like Bill. Stumbling backwards, Meli collided with the far wall. He’d come to finish her off. Images of staring down the barrel of the elephant rifle seconds before having her head blown off her shoulders unhelpfully took shape in her mind. Her teeth began to chatter with mortal terror and the blood drained from her face and pooled down into her feet. If only she had a weapon, she would show him what for. The noise outside had become more frenzied. Scraping, banging, and what sounded like snapping and tearing of wood. What a beast, was he in that much of a hurry to kill her?
    The door burst wide, allowing a swathe of silvery grey light to pour in. Meli lifted her right fist, her only weapon, but she intended making good use of it. Bill’s frame appeared. She thought he was wearing a smile, but the look vanished too quickly to be sure as she watched him collapse forward as if in slow motion, and land heavily on his knees. She froze, her eyes protruding like two large pickled onions as they stared at this unpredicted and peculiar behaviour. What the devil was he doing? It was with some misgiving that she realised why. Bill was not alone. There was another figure behind him: four foot, square shouldered, topped by a bloated face and large Marty Feldman eyes. Bill’s body was propelled forward by the largest unshod foot she had ever seen, sending him sprawling in a heap, his head smashing against the wooden floorboards only inches from her toes. The door was slammed shut, quickly followed by the sound of hammering to the accompaniment of whistling.
    “Finn,” Meli eventually managed to gasp as the horror thawed from her body when it realised that the immediate threat was over. It had to be him. So he did exist. “What the hell is going on?” She hurled her ice-chip anger at Bill as he struggled groggily to his feet, one arm outstretched towards her as though he actually expected her to help him, while holding the back of his head with the other. Under the feeble light, she saw the unmistakable glistening of blood within the Grecian 2000 black at the nape of his neck. Meli was tempted to take advantage of Bill’s incapacity, and lay into him, and it was only her muddled doubts that held her back. Friend or foe? She just didn’t know any more.
    Bill was upright now, his wobbly frame balanced by an out flung arm that flapped and undulated in the air like the wing of a butterfly, drunk on rotting plums. “Mrs. Noble,” he mumbled.
    Even though this was Dastardly Bill, she found it difficult to ignore the pleading in his voice, so overcoming her