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Back The Midnight Man
Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Contents
  3. Copyright
  4. Praise for Caroline Mitchell
  5. Also by Caroline Mitchell
  6. Dedication
  7. Epigraph
  8. Prologue
  9. 1
  10. 2
  11. 3
  12. 4
  13. 5
  14. 6
  15. 7
  16. 8
  17. 9
  18. 10
  19. 11
  20. 12
  21. 13
  22. 14
  23. 15
  24. 16
  25. 17
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. Epilogue
  68. Acknowledgements
  69. About Caroline Mitchell
  70. About Embla Books

They don’t want to hear your theories on the Midnight Man, Sarah. Do yourself a favour and leave them out of it. This is between you, me and Blackhall.

It’s waiting for you. Deep down, you know you have to return. Hasn’t enough blood been shed? It doesn’t want Jahmelia, or those other silly girls. It wants you. You can knock it to the ground if you want, but its essence will remain. The game will be replayed until you answer the call. There’s no shortage of candidates in Slayton … More teenagers can die. More innocent lives be ruined. That is, until you come home.

It’s not as if you have anything to live for. Even your cat has left you. He’s doing fine, by the way. I suppose you could go on talking to your husband, but he took the wise route out some time ago. So come, finish the game. You never know. You might even win.

I’ll be in touch with further instructions. Remember, I’m watching. If you share this with anyone, Jahmelia will die, and the game starts all over again.

The Midnight Man

A sick feeling encompassed Sarah as a cold realisation drew in. Someone had typed this on her computer. In her house. As for Sherlock … had he taken him? Not Sherlock. She loved that miserable little bastard. Her eyes snapped away from the screen. ‘Sher-lock!’ The word echoed around the stillness of her home. ‘Here, puss puss …’

Nothing.

Her shaking hand found her fringe as she imagined the intruder sitting at her laptop and spouting their bile. They were fearless, which made them dangerous. Part of her wanted to grab her car keys, leave this place and just drive. But she was rooted to the spot, just as she had been in the wardrobe of Blackhall Manor decades ago. Minutes passed as she stared at the screen, unconsciously tugging on her fringe. Should she call the police, or would she be giving Yvonne a bigger stick to beat her with? She could almost hear her condescending voice. Sarah was recovering from a breakdown. There was no sign of forced entry in her home. Sarah could have written this herself.

She sat in the creeping silence, digesting the words on the screen. ‘I suppose you could go on talking to your husband, but he took the wise route out some time ago.’ Each word was like a stab to the heart.