Chapters (156)
- A DATE WITH DEATH
- Also by Mark Roberts
- A Date With Death
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- The Past
- 1977
- Day OneWednesday, 1st December 2021CatoptrophobiaFear of mirrors
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- The Past
- 1979
- Day TwoThursday, 2nd December 2021OneirophobiaFear of dreams
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- The Past
- 1980
- Day ThreeFriday, 3rd December 2021MonophobiaFear of being alone
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- The Past
- 1982
- Day FourSaturday, 4th December 2021ThanatophobiaFear of Death
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
Looking directly up at the faltering light, The Ghoul wondered how long it would take the next woman held captive here to show the first signs of despair, to stop screaming for the light to be turned off and demanding absolute darkness. And then, when that happened and the entire basement was flooded with impenetrable darkness, how long it would take before she screamed for the light to be turned back on again.
The Ghoul stepped back into the adjoining room.
Extending across the length of the room was a washing line.
The Ghoul lifted a hand and ran an index finger along the line, listening to memories of their screams, of their silence, of their hysterical sobbing, of their voices straining to appear normal and offering all kinds of wild promises in exchange for mercy.
And the most loved sound of all, after they had delivered on their promises, and they realised mercy was not forthcoming, the animalistic groan deep in their throats, a key note of hopelessness from the centre of their beings.
Finger hovering on the washing line, The Ghoul came to three eyeless faces hanging in the air, their scalps clipped into place by pegs buried in their hair.
The Ghoul pictured them in life, felt the softness of their skins, the silkiness of their hair and the hollowness of their eyes.
Love. Was it real?
Was it real?
Love. Love. Love.
The thing that inspired the things that came to pass for Sandra and Annie and Amanda.
Love that gave The Ghoul the right and the freedom to pursue wild dreams and act on them.
Love… Love… Love.
The writing on the wall came into The Ghoul’s heart like divinely inspired poetry.
‘And, so, off she floats to nowhere. Love… Love… Look at me!’
Love. The thing that the basement was all about.
21
4.54 pm
In the back of PC Woodrow’s marked police car, parked on the grass verge on Menlove Avenue, the caller sat huddled with her Westie now asleep on her knee.
Clay approached the constable and asked, ‘Who is she and how is she, PC Woodrow?’
‘Her name’s Jackie Graham and her dog’s called Oscar. She’s articulate but shock’s setting in fast.’
Clay walked around the police car to the back door and the empty space next to Jackie Graham. She tapped on the window and, as she opened the door, the dog shook from his sleep and whimpered.
She sat next to the witness, closed the door and, seeing how dark it was, was glad that Jackie didn’t have to speak in cold light. Outside the car, tall sodium street lights on the grass verge in the middle of the dual carriageway cast down a dull amber glow.