the man who came - judd's manuscript

1





‘Richie’

Richie heard his mother but chose to ignore her. He was too busy chasing two butterflies that dipped and weaved across the small area of grass that stretched from the stone steps at the back door to the gate, the singular entrance to the dark, chilling depths of forest pine and oak that stretched for miles around him.  The gate, and what came after it, was out of bounds; Richie knew that. This evening as the day drew to a close one of the two butterflies passed by the gate landing fleetingly upon it before swirling away into the shadows beyond. The young lad, eager to continue the chase, forgot his mother’s warnings, forgot his father’s threats of a beating and also forgetting where he was, followed. Behind him his mother’s cries grew weaker.

‘I ain’t going out to you young sir. I might love you dear but I ain’t ya slave.’

In truth she knew she was, she was there for him and always had been. Richie for all his good spirits wasn’t the tidiest of children. Dirty clothes strewn across his bedroom mixed endlessly with clean ones. Discarded cups of tea grew mould around the edges and model aircraft some finished, some half finished, littered the floor. The models made it hard to manoeuvre, once she had stood on a B-29 Superfortress complete with atom bomb and smashed it to pieces. Richie had loved that plane and hadn’t said a word to her for almost a week. It had taken hours of combing his floor in a desperate attempt to reclaim all the pieces (a feat she duly achieved) and the remainder of her week had been occupied sticking them, and her fingers together with Easi Glu. It was worth it. The Super fortress lived on another day and the sulk into which Richie had descended was over.

Mary headed inside to check his room wondering whether he had crept past her and re-entered the house while she was asleep. As she walked towards the front door she pushed the door to his room open gently making sure that such a disaster didn’t happen again. Richie wasn’t there and neither was the Super Fortress. She imagined him in the fields or down the vegetable patch running along the lines of seed with the plane swinging wildly in the air. Several crops of carrots had been destroyed in this manner. Runner beans had mysteriously been ripped from their supports. It didn’t matter, there was always enough and the loss was well compensated for the sight of her son grinning from ear to ear, a mixture of contentment and excitement in his eyes. She smiled as she closed the door behind her, walked down the hall and stepped out onto the porch.

There, on the step was a marvel.

A plane, modelled on the super fortress shaped out of wood. Of similar size to Richie’s plastic version the wooden carving lay tilted kept up on a solitary wing.  It wasn’t varnished or polished just hewn masterly by the hand of a craftsman, the cockpit fine branches that had been trimmed and knitted to form a lattice, the guns that protruded from the for and rear gun turrets twigs that had been whittled into shape.

As Mary picked up the model and began her fruitless search her son Richie had long forgotten the butterfly and now, heading into the trees, was following the whispers that beckoned him deeper into the forest.

‘Be one with nature. Smell the air. Hear the leaves as they rustle in the breeze. You’ll like it in here Richie, you’ll like it.  Be one with nature, be one with me, come into the forest.’

By the time the sun had disappeared beneath the Rocky mountains miles to the west Mary was once more back in the chair that rocked outside on the porch a state trooper sitting next to her holding her hand as tears flowed down her cheeks. She was describing the events of the afternoon, those that she could remember to a second trooper Captain John Rowels who sat rocking in the chair opposite her. The plane lay in the centre of the porch table tilted slightly on its side as if basking in its glory. After she had finished her tale Rowels picked it up and admired its beauty. The gift, for that is what it seemed had been left in place of her son. Rowels turned it in his hands, stroked the smooth fuselage checking the scratched Enola Gay as he did so. He lifted it in the air as Richie might have, checked the undercarriage then placed it back down on the table. Rowels considered the irony. It certainly was a good copy. The irony was it was a pity that Richie would never see it.

During the several days that followed officers trouped back and forth through the house asking Mary questions and searching through the little belongings that Richie possessed to try and establish a motive for the disappearance of the child. On the sixth day they searched the fields in a long line diligently looking for clues, clues that were never there to find. On the eighth day they prepared to enter the woods. The man in the woods drew back blending with the sinewy branches and the thick foliage.  He waited for the police to leave, waited for the flocks of reporters to close up their notebooks, waited for the village gossips to become silent and then, when he got what he wanted he started whispering once more.



2



A little over three weeks after Richie was taken, just as the people began to move on, began to question their fears the second abduction took place. Pete Bundy, a talented pupil in the same class as the missing Richie Hammersmith, left his home waving cheerily at his mother as he leapt down the twisted path that meandered through his front garden and ended abruptly at the front fence where Pete, as he always did, checked the mailbox. There was nothing there, nothing for him anyway. Pete wasn’t surprised. Since Richie had gone there never was.

He missed Richie, the whole school did. Richie had been his idol, his friend, and, at times, his guardian. When Pete moved into the little cottage at number 5 Drydon Walk he knew nobody. Richie was the first person to speak to him as he sat throwing stones against a wall after school.

‘Hi newbie.’ Richie had offered. ‘You ok? You sure look down. Fancy sharing my apple.’

Pete recalled as he followed the path to the pond the look on the boys face as he looked up then recalled the shape of the apple. The apple was rotten and the boy above him was laughing. It was Richie’s sense of humour. Later when Pete got to know him they would laugh about that encounter but there, at the time, he had waited for the strange boy to drop the apple and run a little up the hill before he had thrown it at him in contempt. The apple had landed neatly on top of Richies head splitting open as it did so. The tall boy hadn’t been happy and a chase had ensued. Later, when Richie had got to know Pete, he’d laughed about it too.

Now Richie was gone he had nobody to turn to. Things in Pineville High had turned ugly. Without the tall, lanky form of Richie to protect him Pete had found himself at the wrong end of a few punches from the school bullies. The Warthogs, a small gang of four, terrorised the playgrounds. Jack Thornbill, or Thorny as he was called, was the leader. Jack wasn’t tall but he was big, really big. He held the school lunch break arm wrestling championship, a feat he had won for three years on the row, and his punches, especially with his stronger left were legendary. As Jack’s reputation grew so did his followers. Hank Simpleton, once bullied for his name himself, latched on immediately. Hank could see when a good thing came his way, he was an opportunist, a survivor and the moment he clapped eyes on the huge frame of Jack Thornbill he knew where his allegiance was heading. Corey Wrightwood soon followed. Corey was lean but fast. His forte was the one hundred metres, a feat that he had achieved with a best time of fifteen seconds. Against an Olympian fifteen seconds didn’t sound too good but Corey wasn’t an Olympian, he was fifteen and nobody in the school could catch him. And there lay the problem. Escaping from the Warthogs was an impossibility. With Corey on your heels there was little chance and so what Corey didn’t deliver in aggression he provided in his role as a hunter. Corey had caught Pete before almost a year ago by the cycle shed. They had pinned him up by his underpants as was the custom till he had screamed blue murder then, after Jack had put a few jabs into his ribs, Dan Pickton the final member of the Warthogs had thrown ground black peppers into his face. The pepper had almost blinded him but Dan had stopped there whilst his comrades had left laughing at him. There was something not quite right about Dan. Dan was sadistic and it was Dan that Pete feared the most.

Returning to his thoughts Pete began to plan the adventure he had before him. He had already decided not to go to school that day. Although he had his rucksack on his back it contained no books just a small box of sandwiches, a drink and Pete’s favourite toy his pirate ship. His mother was away till four and his father, well his father would just be drunk and wasn’t interested so that ruled him out. At the end of the lane he fainted left, then when he was out of sight of his house turned immediately right and headed over the fence, down the field towards the lake. There was a fine wind blowing that day, a wind that was too good for sitting in class learning maths. Pete knew he was taking a chance missing school but it wasn’t his parents that he was afraid of. It was the Warthogs. The lake and the land round it was their territory, they had claimed it last April and, on an ordinary day, Pete would have kept well clear. But this was no ordinary day, this was the only day that summer that the wind had lifted and Pete was determined to make use for it and so, as he reached the bottom of the field and scouted the lake he hoped and prayed that the terrible foursome would not make an appearance. As he moved from rock to rock checking the coast was clear he could feel his heart pounding. They weren’t there. Relieved Pete took out his boat and gently pushed it out into the water.

The sails took immediately and in seconds his boat was heading away from him towards the other side of the lake. Pete, sandwich in hand, traversed the bank skipping from rock to rock as he did so. The wind was strong, so strong the boat soon began to distance itself. This hadn’t happened before. Maybe he had misjudged the wind, maybe his missing school was coming back to haunt him. Pete began to get both tired and worried.

The first stone hit him on the side of the temple, the second missing his glasses by inches.

‘Pepperpot good to see you. What you doing here?’ he heard Jack cry. Behind Jack Hank started up his war chant, behind Hank Dan loomed ominously. The good news was there was no sign of Corey.

Before he could answer another stone impacted his leg and a fourth bounced dangerously on the ground in front of him. The war chant Of Hank became louder.

‘Pepperpot. Pepperpot. We’re coming to get you.’

Pete turned and saw the trio arriving at the bottom of the field. In the middle of the pond flying fast with the wind the ship sped towards the far bank. He couldn’t leave it, he mustn’t. Pete carried on in the direction he was travelling while the stones from the far bank rained down on him. As he arrived at a spot where his boat nestled between some reeds he heard a noise to his right. A well-aimed stone by Corey hit his glasses this time knocking them off and breaking them. A further stone hit the boat snapping a mast off that hung then splashed into the water returning later to float to the surface. To his left the other three were gaining ground circling the lake towards him, to his right Corey had left his hiding place behind the big oak and was now rushing towards him. Bending quickly Pete pushed the broken mast into his left hand pocket, scooped the ship up in his hand and headed, squealing into the trees. Corey stepped up to chase but Jack called him back.

‘I ain’t going in there Corey an I wouldn’t ask you to either. That’s the place where lanky went missing. Pepperpot won’t head in there for long he’ll track alongside the edge and come out by Nancy’s. Specially without his glasses. We can cut him off by there. We’ll get him don’t you worry about that, we’ll get him. Pepperpot will get more in his eyes than pepper this time.’

With that Jack turned and walked back up the hill. His three companions followed him across the field, up the lane and round to the path that Pete had taken earlier. The truth was, without his glasses, Pete was losing his direction. The blurred green shapes of leaves blended in from one to another. Without realising Pete wasn’t running alongside the edge of the forest Pete was soon heading directly into the middle. When he finally ran out of breath he sat down on what seemed to be the fallen stump of a tree that lay in the path. It was then, in his right ear he heard the whispering.

‘Be one with nature Pete Bundy. Smell the air. Hear the leaves as they rustle in the breeze. You’ll like it in here Pete, you’ll like it.  There’s plenty of wind for your boat in here. We have rivers and streams too. Be one with nature, be one with me, come into the forest.’

         The Warthogs stayed all afternoon taking turns to watch for Pete’s return but saw no sign of him. His mother did return at four but drove past the boys ignoring them. She slammed the car door and made her way reluctantly it seemed into the house. The boys didn’t see when she got in she was struck in the face by her drunk husband and they didn’t see her collapse to the floor at the foot of the stairs crying while her husband shouted at her and reached for another beer. There was also a further thing they didn’t see. At about five in the evening they didn’t see the long arm of a man reach from the woods and extend till its hand approached the side door to the kitchen. As the evening drew on they became bored but Jack was insistent they wait. The afternoon had been dull and long and only a severe beating would cheer him up it seemed. The boys argued whose turn it was to watch the house and gradually one by one they fell asleep.  When they woke approximately around seven there was till no sign of Pete. Outside the kitchen door however on the steps, carved in oak, was a sculpture of a pirate ship.





3



Pete’s disappearance un-like the previous incident concerning Richie Hammersmith went undiscovered for three days.  Later that evening, the same evening the man from the woods whisked Pete away his father could be seen banging furiously on the young boys door. When no answer came Hal Bundy sloped once more downstairs kicking his wife as he passed (Norma Bundy was still at the foot of the stairs dripping tears over the newly polished floor and wondering as she had always wondered these last twelve years why on earth she had married the brute – the answer was simple – he was dangerous he was exciting and she probably deserved all she got for being so stupid in the first place).

At ten to midnight when Hal slipped down the settee and began to snore Norma finally stopped crying, realised her son had not arrived home and looked to do some of her own investigation. After discovering he was not in his room she carefully climbed the stairs to the attic (a place where Pete often hid when the storm of his father passed through the household – the noise of his ranting and raving would be lessened and there was also a lock with which he could lock himself in should ever his father’s rants be directed at him), and called his name softly outside the door. No answer. After tapping (also softly) for five minutes Norma Bundy decided her son was asleep and settled down herself for the evening. Back downstairs she washed the dishes taking care to separate them on the draining rack so as not to risk clinking them together and waking her husband. She finished the ironing, dusted the hallway, removed the clean washing from the machine and laid it out neatly on the rack sleeves dangling Finally she entered her own room, manoeuvred a large chest of drawers behind the door, undressed herself delicately and showered away the pain.

The Warthogs watched as the upstairs light blinked then extinguished itself. They looked back towards the kitchen doorstep, saw the boat and argued who out of the three was to go and inspect it.  The decision was made in seconds. Jack hit Corey who swung wildly at Hank who turned and hit Dan right between the eyes. Dan, having nobody to pass the buck to, realised he was it and began his way up the path towards the front door grumbling his opinions. Holding his legendary pepperpot in front of him he steadily moved up the lawn, past the rose bushes and approached the patio. The light from the front porch illuminated his figure a final time before Jack and Corey laughing saw him disappear into the dark. They waited as they had waited for the return of Pete occasionally shouting up enquiring what he was doing. They didn’t shout too loud it wasn’t the best house to sit outside making a hullabaloo as Dan had duly pointed out when they had arrived earlier. Hal Bundy and the temper that so often accompanied him was well known. Thus twenty minutes later, when Dan had still not returned, none of the three boys felt brave enough to find out what  he was up to and left him there

Three days later Norma Bundy opened the back door for the first time that week to throw out the rubbish and found the ship on her doorstep. Near the ship there were several footprints, footprints that approached from the front of the house veered off towards the line of the trees then headed in towards her back porch. To the left of these were two parallel lines dug deep into the mud that veered from the patio and snaked their way into the forest. Norma Bundy picked up the ship, looked at the tracks then ran back into the house screaming. Later that night a badger disturbed by the noise pushed its head out from the bushes and sniffing the ground in front of it quickly retracted itself back into the bushes. There was an explanation for the actions of the badger. The two deep troughs and the soil around them were littered with pepper.



4



Dan Pickton’s disappearance made the townsfolk of Pinecliffe finally take notice. A meeting was called in the school assembly room and all were present. At the front of the room behind a long oak table sat the four town committee members, Dan Howard and his wife Molly, Chuck Sawton the local carpenter and Rose Perrington the wife of the local reverend. Beside her John Rowels tapped his fingers nervously on the wood. Something was bothering him, that same something that had clawed desperately at his brain the day Richie had gone, the day he had to console Richie’s mother as she rocked endlessly in her grief. Mary Hammersmith had been relaying the story to him then but Rowels had been aware even then he hadn’t been listening. He had been trying to recall something he felt was relevant, something that dodged and weaved in his head, something that just wouldn’t sit tight and let him snare it. Directly in front of him Norma Bundy the mother of the second child glared at him never shifting her eyes. She is blaming me, she thinks we didn’t do enough. This could have been avoided and goddamn it there is something there that could have prevented her loss. Her husband even at the announcement of his son’s disappearance was nowhere to be seen. Rowels was relieved. The last thing he needed was a rumble with the town bully. Rose Perrington picked up the council hammer and started the meeting.

‘I, Rose Perrington, council member would like to open the forty-sixth Pineville Town Council meeting. If you look in your calendars you will notice that the meeting was due to be held on August the 7th we have unfortunately had to bring this meeting forward for obvious reasons. I’m sure you are all aware we are here to discuss the disappearance of three of our children’

Norma Bundy sprang to her feet her face red with anger her eyes shifting quickly from the policeman to the new object of her hatred. When she spoke she spat the words out venomously.

‘Three of our children? Which one of the three is yours?’

Rose held firm ignoring the comment surprised that the lady in front of her was speaking let alone off her seat. Norma Bundy however wasn’t going to be ignored.

‘Your child is there right before us playing on the steps. It took the disappearance of  the Pickton boy to get something done. What about my Peter? What about my boy? Nobody questioned where he was. Nobody told me he wasn’t at school, nobody told me to mind him.’

Her actions were rousing the people around her, friends and family members. Rose looked across at her fellow committee members and saw the worry on etched on their faces. Chuck was sitting forward in his seat his arms across his chest, Molly had her head down while her husband glanced upwards at the rafters. A storm was approaching. Norma had not been vocal in the community since she had shacked up with her husband three years ago but now, with her son gone, a devil had been woken and they, the committee, the keepers of the community were about to reap the whirlwind. Still Rose took it upon herself to hold firm. She stood up as if opposing the brittle form of the lady below her, banged her hammer once more and tried to placate the situation.

‘Norma I understand how you are feeling, I really do but how were we to know your Peter had been taken? How many times has that boy run away. Are we even sure now he has been taken? We may keep to our own business in this community (which was ironic because Rose Perrington never did) however all present here today have knowledge of the incidents that occur in your own house. We see the bruises, we see the tears and we’ve seen you out with him when you’ve not been allowed to talk…’

‘…and you’ve done nothing.’

‘What could we do Norma. When we moved here we agreed everyone kept out of people’s business. That was our reason for moving. To get away from the city and make our own lives. Hal was a good man then or we would not have brought him with us.’

‘..and I changed him did I? I made strike me in the face when he comes home drunk, I gave him the notion it was best I eat my dinners off the floor?

Rose Perrington took a step backwards. Nobody knew the torment of Norma Bundy had gone that far. There were whispers from the back of the hall. When the whispers got louder a child at the front Barney Grouch started to cry. Norma Bundy continued to shout across her point.

‘I want action. What would you do if your son was taken? Would you sit back and do nothing?

Rose looked down at her son pushing the Model T back and forth across the bottom step. Her heart melted a little. It was true she would shout down the … no that wasn’t true. Should her son disappear she would collapse as Mary had done. It was strange how emotion could change a person. Mary, as herself, were pillars of the community, strong and respected while the entire village knew what Norma had subjected herself too. Norma didn’t speak till spoken too. Norma reacted to shouting with a tear. Yet here she was with her fists in the air demanding justice. Would she be doing that if her lovely husband were present?  That may be entirely a different matter.

A movement caught the old ladies eye. For a second she left the gaze of the woman in front of her and moved downwards to where her child still played on the stairs. He was crawling away from there. Two, no three feet from his box of toys and building up speed. Rose bent down, picked him up and replaced him at the foot of the stairs. The young boy began to cry. She scolded him instantly making his cries get louder. A hush descended upon the hall.

‘Stay there dear. Be a good boy.’

Ronnie looked up at his mother and slammed the car into the step smashing of a rear wheel. His mother in one quick movement snatched the car and took it from him. The cries and the sobs developed slowly first into a wail at his loss then a scream of anger. Rose attempted a nervous laugh then continued.

‘I appreciate your point Norma but please sit down, be patient. We are all here to try to come to terms with the situation.’

But Norma wouldn’t stop.

‘Come to terms? The situation? It is easy for you to stand up there in your new dress and new shoes and spout words you think we don’t understand. We are not all here. Where is Mrs Hammersmith? Grieving in her wheel chair that’s where. Three weeks ago a healthy thirty seven year old woman; today her hair is grey and she cannot walk. What have you done to help her? That little hike into the woods that Rowells organised. You may as well have taken picnic baskets with you. Her boy is gone, my boy is gone and what are you doing about it?’

Lou Pickton shouted from the rear of the hall.

‘My boy too. What about him?

Like a demon scorned Norma snapped her neck backwards lifted her finger and pointed accusingly.

‘Your boy chased mine into the forest. Your boy tormented mine these last three years, him and those other three brutes. Your boy killed mine. Who gives a damn about Dan.’

There were cries of agreement from Joe Brann.

Dan’s mother sat back down speechless. Chuck unfolded his arms and stood up next to Rose. He picked the hammer up and crashed it down not on the mat provided but on the table itself.

‘This has got to stop.’ he roared. ‘We are here as Rose has explained for a reason. We are here because there is evil in our midst. We are here to decide what action to take to find our children, the town’s children. I understand your point Norma, Pete was not my son. He was however a member of this community, a lad that was loved by this community as was Richie Hammersmith as was Dan Pickton. Sure Dan gave us a few problems but at the end of it he was one of us and that means a lot goddarn. We have to stop this bickering and move forward. We have to investigate these disappearances, discuss and then develop an understanding of what we can do to retrieve these children and also what we can do to stop it happening again. Are we agreed?’

Norma nodded and sat back on her seat. The young Grouch boy stopped his tears and sat up expectantly. At the back Joe Brann stopped his grumbling and once more became silent. Rose looked across at Chuck, nodded thankfully then turned back towards her audience.

‘Chuck is right. We have to do this together. I will proceed with the first matter of the meeting – what has happened. Officer Rowells has kindly taken the time out of his day to run up a presentation. I would appreciate it if you all stayed quiet till it is over and listened.’

Rowells got up hesitantly. Wiping the tiredness away form his face he pointed to one of the walls of the hall where a map of the town was now projected.

‘Richie disappeared here in his back garden. Two weeks later Norma’s son Pete never returned home. We are unsure where he was taken but we do have witnesses of his actions during the day. Jack Thornbill, Hank Simpleton, Corey Wrightwood could you all come to the front of the hall please.’

After a brief shuffle the three boys made their way form their various seats in the hall and walked together towards the policeman. As they passed various community members comments were whispered with angry tongues. The atmosphere was  electric. As the boys sloped past Norma she spat in Jack’s face. Jack turned with intent but Norma Bundy was no longer afraid. She lashed out and slapped him regaining her own spit then wiped it in the face of Corey Wrightwood. Tom Tunstal, an old man of sixty standing next to her tried to hold her back but she unleashed her fury reaching towards Hank who stood frozen on the spot. Her long nails dug into his face and Norma, with somewhat of a grin on her face pulled them down till she reached his neck. Four lines of red appeared, Hank began to scream the hammer fell once more and once again the booming voice of the resident carpenter rang out.

‘Can we stop this please. This is not helping. Please can we have order.’

The boys arrived at the side of Rowells who ushered them against the wall.          

Norma Bundy was still screaming, flying her fists in the air, scrabbling like a wildcat to reach the objects of her hatred.

‘They killed my boy. They have to pay.’ 

They took her to the back of the hall, five of them. She kicked one and bit another. When the door finally slammed shut Chuck returned to the front of the hall, stood before the boys and calmly questioned them.

‘Repeat for the council what you told Officer Rowells last night.

Jack stared at Chuck eyes and lips motionless while Corey put his head down and looked towards the floor. It was Hank that spoke, he spoke directly to the policeman and as he did he began to cry.

‘We were only messing officer. We didn’t mean no harm just scared him that’s all. We didn’t chase him into the forest he just went. All we wanted was to play with his boat.’

Rowells stared straight at Hank. If he was playing good cop bad cop, good cop had departed and bad cop had just rolled into town. Rowells held his expression.

‘You know something boy I can see it. What did you see that day at the pond? What did you see as you chased that poor frightened boy into the forest?

‘Corey chased him in sir?

Corey exploded in rage and denial. Jack diverted his glare to Hank. Rowells stayed calm and moved his questioning to the other boy. Back on the stage Rose Perrington looked at all three boys with an intense hatred. They had always been trouble, the village knew it, they knew it back on the street where they had grown up, where they had formed the plan. Rose looked across at the boys with a strange expectancy. Rowells continued his questioning.

‘and where did you see him last? Point it out on the map.’

Reaching over Hank touched the top of the pond with the stick that Chuck had given him.

‘He was here and he ran directly in.

‘and why did he run in the forest?

A voice came from the rear of the hall.

‘He ran in because he was scared.’

Hal Bundy entered the room followed by his now quiet wife who trailed behind him. His voice boomed as he walked down the aisle.

‘They took my son useless as he was and all I got in return was this carving of a boat?

Dan Pickton’s father stood up.

‘At least you got a boat. I got a goddam pepperpot. Found it on my drive I did. I only noticed that today myself. Thought my boy was at his uncles. I should have guessed those boys would get him in trouble.’

Nobody was listening they were all focused on Hal.

‘This boat took a lot of skill to make. My point is there is only one man in our village that has that skill and we’re looking at him now.

Chuck stood back. Rose looked at him accusingly. Every person in the hall waited expectantly for an answer that never came.

The door behind them swung open and behind it, in a wheelchair Mary Hammersmith sat crying tears flowing down her cheeks. Every person in the hall turned round in unison. Rose, dispersing the anger in her face, fashioned a greeting.

‘Ah Mrs Hammersmith, Mary, it is so good that you could make it.’

The tone was soft and welcoming but the words spilled out of the old ladies mouth with venom. The lady in the chair replied in a similar manner.

‘I’m glad to attend. As a matter of fact I have something for you Rose. I found it on the way here.’

‘And what is that Mary? What can you possibly have that would be of interest to me.’

Mary Hammersmith said nothing but wheeled her way down the aisle holding aloft in her hands the very copy of a Model T Ford fashioned in oak. The crowd looked at Mary as she came then looked in unison at the place where Ronny Junior had been having a tantrum moments before. The chair was there as was the original Model T. As for Ronny Junior, he was nowhere to be seen.







5, 6 + 7

If the disappearance of Dan Pickton had stirred the village the loss of Ronny Junior right before their eyes stunned them. Rose Perrington threw herself through the back door of the hall screaming his name and hammered down the steps while the remaining people in the hall stood in shock. Mary Hammersmith sat in the middle of the aisle in her wheelchair giggling. Rowells took his revolver from it’s holster, checked to see if it was loaded then pulled off the safety. The sobs of Ronny Junior’s mother could be heard outside but nobody moved. People seemed to be taking the time to process what had happened, to replay it in their heads and give it some meaning. True, it was a hot day and the door had been opened to let in air. True it would be possible that the young boy had crawled out while the attention of the hall was on his mother, the Warthogs, the assumptions of Hal Bundy and finally the arrival of Mary with the ship. Surely though the boy would not have been able to crawl far, surely Rose would find him quickly as she scoured round the hall outside. It was his time but surely whoever was taking the children into the woods would not dare to enter the village and make his way to the hall to complete the crime. There was one point that couldn’t be ignored. At the time that Ronnie Junior disappeared all the inhabitants of Pineville where there, in the hall. All but possible one. There was a moment when Hal Bundy was outside and Norma was in, there was also a moment when Hal was in the hall and his wife was outside. More assumptions were being made. Norma who now stood quivering at the back could feel the faces turn towards her. They didn’t look at Hal nobody dared. But they were thinking of him too Norma could tell. They were wondering if a woman hit by so much grief at the loss of her own who’s argument was directed at the unsympathetic ears of a council leader who moments later would lose her own child. Was this a coincidence? Could she have reached the other side of the hall, coaxed the child out, hidden him and returned to the front in time to re enter with her husband?

It was Rowells that shook people from their thoughts. He marched up to the stage and out of the side door. As he opened it the screams of their council leader wafted in. Rowells looked round and beckoned Chuck to follow him. Speaking to people in the village after the general concensus is that they all ushered out one by one some by the front, most by the back doors. The last light of the evening was settling around the fields and the trees whispered menacingly as the breeze lifted from the north and sifted through them.  Screams and intermitant sobs came from the bottom of the field. There sitting at the river bank looking across into the woods Rose Perrington sat wailing. She was pointing into the trees repeating the same words.

‘Bring him back, bring my boy back’

Molly Howard reached her first. She put her arm around her an arm that was thrown off initially till seconds later the poor woman relented and bent into towards her saviour for comfort. The men of the village piled around the building Rowells at the front, checking themselves for signs of the child. When they found none they looked themselves towards the line of trees across the water.

They ran hollering and shouting through the trees the light form Rowell’s torch dipping and diving among the trees.



It was only walking back towards the hall that the party noticed the pile of items standing on top of the stone cliff. When they walked up to inspect the pile they found it to be the clothes of Hank, Corey and Jack each pile wrapped neatly in a bundle. On further inspection they founds the gifts. In the bundle of Jack’s clothes there lay a wooden carving of a knife, in Corey’s two carbon copies of his Reebok trainers and finally in Hank’s a small carving of a harmonica.