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Contents ( 89)
  1. The Secret of Cold Hill
  2. Table of Contents
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. 70
  73. 71
  74. 72
  75. 73
  76. 74
  77. 75
  78. 76
  79. 77
  80. 78
  81. 79
  82. 80
  83. 81
  84. 82
  85. 83
  86. 84
  87. Acknowledgments
  88. About the Author
  89. The Cold Hill Ghost Stories

‘No problem,’ Johns said.

Jason checked the sent folder on his phone email. There was one to Matt. He opened it. It was blank.

He checked his online album. Any screenshot he took should automatically be saved to this. But just like the vanished old couple in their cagoules, there was nothing.

‘I can’t see them,’ he said lamely.

‘Do you have the details?’ Johns asked. ‘I can do my own search.’

‘I’m pretty sure it said JDEAD and the numbers zero and nine.’

He ended the call, then focused on his blank gesso board. Sod the photographs; he could remember the couple so clearly. It was their stance he needed to get right. The woman prim and upright, the man – her husband most likely – brow-beaten, defeated by life, sitting all hunched in front of her. Worshipping at his own sad temple. The wife with her iron-grey hair who wiped the floor with him.

He set to work, sketching out their positions. The sanctimonious look on the woman’s face, doubtless a regular at the parish church. Defeat written all over her husband. Someone miserable as sin, who had left it too late to change anything in his life. Stuck, until death did them part, with a woman he clearly disliked and who clearly disliked him back, every bit as much.

Mr and Mrs Angry.

Yes!

He began to sketch with sudden, furious energy.

52

Wednesday 19 December

Jason was woken with a start by a cold draught on his face. Something clattered down below. He heard the wind gusting. Lying still in the darkness, he was momentarily confused, unsure where he was. He felt anxious; something was wrong. He heard a man’s voice, talking, close by. It was a low, coarse, creepy, leering voice.

Jason heard his own heart pounding.

Eyes wide open, he peered at the clock radio beside him. The green digits were flashing ‘00.00’ repeatedly.

There’d been a power cut.

The voice continued. Monotonous. Intoning.

‘Oliver, Caro, Jade, Johnny, Rowena, Felix, Daisy, Harry…’

A voice he didn’t recognize. In their house or out on the street?

Shit.

It continued. ‘Brangwyn, Matilda, Evelyne…’

‘Did they have burglars? What could he use as a weapon?’

His brain raced.

Was something moving in the room? A man’s shape? There was another blast of cold air.

The voice droned on, repeating, ‘Oliver, Caro, Jade, Johnny, Rowena, Felix, Daisy, Harry, Brangwyn, Matilda, Evelyne…’

Right beside him.

He held his breath, scared.

Then he realized. It was Emily, talking in her sleep. Except it wasn’t her voice.

She said the names over again, in a continuous loop.

He reached out his left arm, found the bedside table and, careful not to knock over his glass of water, felt for his watch resting in the charger. He picked it up and looked at it: 2.33 a.m.

‘PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT!’ Emily suddenly shouted out, sounding very frightened.

‘Darling!’ he said quietly.

‘Oliver, Caro, Jade, Johnny, Rowena, Felix, Daisy, Harry, Brangwyn, Matilda, Evelyne…’ she intoned again.