Bury Them Deep Read online

  bury them deep

  Written by

  marie o’regan

  Hersham Horror Books

  Hersham Horror Books

  Logo by Daniel S Boucher

  Cover Design by Neil Williams 2017

  Copyright 2017 © Hersham Horror Books

  Bury Them Deep – copyright Marie O’Regan 2017

  Ssshh… – copyright Marie O’Regan 2017

  Suicide Bridge – copyright Marie O’Regan 2001

  ISBN: 978-1547185863

  All rights belong to the original artists, and writers for their contributed works.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Primal Range First Edition.

  First published in 2017

  Also from

  Hersham Horror Books:

  The Primal Range

  Becoming David by Phil Sloman

  Paupers’ Graves by James Everington

  Laudanum Nights by Stephen Bacon

  The Factory by Mark West

  Also available from Marie O’Regan

  The Curse Of The Ghost

  In Times Of Want

  Dedication:

  For my beloved Paul, who knows me best and always has my back. All my love, always.

  bury them deep

  There’s beauty in bone; and strength. More than Maddie would have thought possible at one time, although she’d learnt by experience.

  She looked down at the skull that dominated her bedside table, remembering how she’d found it; the moisture reflecting off the freshly uncovered bone staring at her – the yellowing artefact that contained the essence of her mother; everything that had made her what she was. It had laid there, in the mud and rain, the water sluicing dirt from the empty sockets, providing tears as it emptied out the spaces inside. Her mother’s murderer had barely covered it, leaving the remains in the shallowest of graves.

  Had it called to her?

  Maddie had reached down, gently eased the dirt away from its surfaces, and only recognised it for what it really was when she saw the tarnished locket that lay in the earth beneath it; the locket that she knew so well, knew to be silver. This was her mother. All those weeks spent wondering where she was, what had happened, and finally it was clear. Maddie sat back on her haunches and wiped the sweat and dirt back off her face, and let the tears flow. Her mother was here, buried in the shallow dirt behind an anonymous gravestone in the now mostly disused west side of Highgate cemetery. A willow loomed over the grave, its fronds wafting to and fro in the stiffening breeze, matching Maddie’s distress. She picked up the locket and wrapped it in a tissue before placing it gently in a pocket, ready to be cleaned and shine once more.

  A familiar voice echoed inside her. It doesn’t matter.

  “Of course it matters,” Maddie muttered. “You’re dead.”

  There are worse things, sweetheart.

  She laughed. “I can’t think what, to be honest. I mean, you’re dead! It’s not like you can come back from that.”

  Silence returned. Maddie knew she’d hurt her, and had left her to it, whatever it was. She felt bad, but what was worse than being dead? She couldn’t hug her anymore, couldn’t curl up on the sofa and watch a movie with her, tell her about her day. She was just gone. Maddie dug around some more, found some other bones; fragments, really – a few fingers, perhaps a rib – not much to show for a whole person, and certainly not enough to make a whole skeleton. The bones gleamed as if freshly washed, and Maddie tried not to think of how her mother’s killer had got rid of the flesh, or where he’d left the remaining bones – the pelvis, the long bones of the arms and legs. Had he kept them, as some sort of sick trophy? Her mother had only been dead for a few weeks, if that, but already these fragments were all that was left, and they weren’t even hidden that well.

  Maddie retrieved the locket from her jacket, opened it and moaned when she saw the familiar picture of a five-year-old Maddie laughing up at her beloved mum, who was smiling back down at her in delight. Her killer had left it there for Maddie to find, left it so she’d know what he’d done, where her mother was – what he wanted to do to Maddie. She hauled her backpack off her shoulder and set it down on the ground beside her, taking off her jacket so she could wrap her mother’s skull safely inside it. Then she laid it gently inside the scuffed canvas bag and took her home.

  Maddie smiled as she climbed the creaky stairs up to her attic room in a ramshackle Victorian house converted to equally ramshackle flats, just at the back of the cemetery. The hall was dark, olive green paint flaking off in chunks that revealed the decaying plaster beneath. The room itself was small, threadbare, painted iron grey and smelling of damp (only slightly preferable to the hall’s permanent odour of boiled cabbage), but no one bothered her and she could see the cemetery through the filth of her bedroom window. She dumped the rucksack on the bed and winced as the ancient springs on the iron bedframe protested – then moved to the window, eager to make sure it was quiet, that she hadn’t been seen.

  There he was, staring up at the building, almost directly at her window.

  Maddie lurched backwards, her breath caught in her throat. He was standing there, staring down now at the earth she’d tried to put back more or less as she’d left it, lank silver hair hanging down and obscuring his face. A puff of smoke wafted above his head, and she watched as he stubbed a cigarette out on the gravestone and stamped the butt into the soil, twisting his foot around to make sure it was out.

  Come away.

  “I am, I am. Do you think he saw me?”

  There was silence for a moment, and Maddie felt more than heard the backpack shift, ever so slightly.

  No. I don’t think so.

  “You don’t know?”

  Her mother was silent for a moment, then Maddie heard her loud and clear. I can’t be sure, Maddie, but I don’t think so.

  So she couldn’t see everything. Maddie wasn’t sure if that would be useful at any point, but it was knowledge she probably needed, anyway. She chanced another peek out of the window, staying when she realised he was still standing with his head bowed, as if praying.

  Maddie…

  “He’s not even looking, Mum. Promise.”

  The silence that followed was overwhelming, Maddie could feel the disapproval emanating from the remains in the backpack.

  The man looked up, and this time he smiled.

  Maddie hissed and stepped backwards again, knocking over her one rickety wooden chair as she did so. She swore, and rubbed her ankle. That was going to bruise.

  Maddie waited a few moments, and then moved back to the window, feeling slightly sick. The man was gone, and she could no sign as to the direction he’d taken. The cemetery was empty, the haphazard gravestones rarely big enough for someone to hide behind, especially as most of them were tilted to some degree – could he be behind the willow tree? Maybe. She watched, waiting to see if he’d move out from behind its protection, even while trying to keep an eye on the horizon, to see if she could catch sight of him walking away.

  Nothing. Somehow, he’d just disappeared.

  He’ll be back. She sounded anxious; and Maddie felt her fear spreading into her.

  “I know, Mum. I’m sorry.”

  You know what thi
s means.

  And she did. She sighed, leaning her head against the glass, trying not to cry. “We have to move again.”

  There had been three, or maybe four moves since then. Each a touch more tawdry than the last, only stayed in long enough for Maddie to start to feel he was close, and she’d kept moving only until she’d felt safe enough to return to this one, the bedsit in Highgate that looked out on the cemetery that housed what could be found of her mother’s remains. Bleak as it was, it felt like home, to be so near her. She’d been here for a few weeks now, and each day was spent staring out, wondering when he’d find her. He always did.

  It’s safe here.

  Maddie snorted with laughter. “We don’t know that.”

  “Of course we do.”

  “Why? Because we’ve been here before? What if he figures that out, Mum?”

  We’ve never returned to a previous hideout before. He won’t expect it.

  Maddie said nothing; it wasn’t as if she knew for sure her mum was wrong, so what use was it to contradict her? She laid her head on her forearms as they gripped her knees, and wept. She wanted a home, somewhere that was hers, where it didn’t matter if anyone found her and she could have more things than fit into a rucksack. She wanted a place where she was safe.

  Frank was wandering the streets, waiting for some sighting, a hint that he was on the right track – that he was near to finding this perfect girl at last. She was the one; the final piece he needed to complete this, to get her back.

  Something shifted, behind him; he heard the dry rasp of decaying skin on bone in his head – she was wringing her hands together again, strong enough even now to make him hear it, how it felt, regardless of the fact she had no body.

  “We’re nearly there,” he said. “She’s the one, I know she is.”

  Silence, while he listened to the voice that dwelt forever in his head – that urged him on, begging him to finish his job, to make her complete once more. He closed his eyes, imagining how her body would feel once he’d restored her, the touch of her skin against his, the sensation of her breath against his cheek as she whispered to him – whispered in fact as well as in thought, the warm air of her breath softening his heart as it always had towards her. He thought back to before all this, when he could sweep her into his arms and swing her around, just for the joy of hearing her laughter, and longed to hear it again. He wondered if she’d still look like this new host, or whether her personality was strong enough to change that, to overtake the girl’s features as it had before – overlay them with her own, so he could forget the differences. He thought again of the feeling of her in his arms, and of the girl, and he decided he didn’t care.

  Then his thoughts turned to the one who’d ruined everything, the tall dark youth who’d flirted with his Elsa, turning her head and trying to lure her away from him, when anyone could see she belonged at his side. The old, familiar jealousy rose like bile and he swallowed it back, tears starting to fall as he remembered the inevitable consequence of his ire; the act that had led to all this… to all those girls lying buried in various graveyards, hidden in plain sight, behind or beside the older tombs contained in them. He hadn’t even tried that hard to hide them, half-hoping they’d be found and someone would put him out of his misery – because it was misery, this life. He was alone, but tormented by Elsa, and couldn’t rest until she let him – until she was back. Whatever that meant for him.

  He groaned as he remembered the flat, wet splat of her head hitting the concrete as she fell, the dark wet halo that bloomed around her. He’d watched the light go out of her eyes, the recognition dialling down until he was staring into ice-grey balls of glass, nothing more.

  But she hadn’t left him; not entirely, or he wouldn’t be in this mess. Over the years she’d cajoled, threatened and finally – forgiving him – teased him into doing her bidding, eager to return to this world and make it fall at her feet, either in submission or death, she didn’t mind.

  Bizarrely, he realised he didn’t mind either. Not anymore.

  Maddy was sitting up in bed wearing a dark blue chunky-knit jumper that had seen better days, with pulled threads and sleeves that had long ago stretched to cover her hands, the lumpy duvet wrapped snugly around her as she rested her head on her knees. Her head was thumping, and she felt sick. Her stomach rumbled, and she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten, shocked to realise it had been two or three days earlier. She looked at her bedside table, and reached across to fumble with the small pile of coins by the lamp. There weren’t many. She had two pounds and change, maybe three in total, and she felt tears threaten – she knew that wouldn’t go far. She couldn’t even sign on in case it led her pursuer to her somehow (she didn’t know how it could, but had long ago had it instilled in her by her mother that she couldn’t take the risk of showing up on any system, and hiding was now second nature). Rent was always paid in cash, which she earned by doing various menial jobs – or occasionally she stole it. But she never took from someone who looked as if they’d miss the money. She was very careful about that.

  Glancing out of the window, she saw the day was overcast but at least dry, so far – heavy grey clouds scudded quickly across her view from left to right, the occasional leaf blown high into the air by a particularly strong gust breaking the unrelenting gloom as it danced across her field of vision. It was going to be cold out there. She sighed and reached for her coat, pulling it around her as best she could – like everything else in her life, it had seen better days. She rummaged under the bed and found a decrepit flat cap, so old you couldn’t even tell its original colour anymore; at some point it had faded into the colour of mud. She shook it out, wincing in disgust at the cloud of dust that billowed up towards her. She picked up the change off the bedside table and dropped it inside the cap, then folded the cap over it to form a pouch before shoving that into her voluminous pockets. Time to go find a street corner and wait for someone to feel sorry for her. Tears prickled as she acknowledged the truth of her situation – it probably wouldn’t take long. People tended not to judge little blonde waifs wearing what looked like the remnants of their dad’s coat too harshly, especially when their faces were tear-streaked. They were real, though, that was another rule; she’d never once faked tears. She had more than enough reason to cry.

  An hour and a half later she was wondering what had happened to people. So far, all she’d managed to accrue were two pound coins, a Kit Kat, and a condom. She sniffed and huddled deeper into her coat, scowling at the darkening sky and daring it to rain. She was already frozen, if she got soaked too then today looked like being a total loss.

  Something heavy thudded into the silk lining of the cap, causing the coins in there to jingle. She heard footsteps moving away, fast, and chanced a look at whoever had dropped the brown paper bag into her flat cap begging-bowl. A woman was moving off, high heels tap-tap-tapping on the pavement in a staccato as she increased her speed. She looked over her shoulder, just once, and Maddie gasped. The woman bore a strong resemblance to her mother.

  It’s not me, Maddie.

  “I know that, don’t I,” she muttered in response. “Unless someone’s pulled a Lazarus on you it can’t be, can it.”

  There’s no need for that tone.

  Maddie giggled in spite of herself, and sensed the warmth of her mother surrounding her. Even dead, she knew how to lighten her daughter’s mood. A thought occurred to her, and she frowned once more. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

  I might be gone, love, but sometimes I can tilt the scales a bit. Why don’t you open it?

  Maddie eyed the bag curiously, then leant forward, sniffed, and smiled. She picked the package up and gasped. “It’s warm.” She sniffed again. “Can I smell chicken?”

  The package, when unwrapped, turned out to be a cooked chicken from the supermarket up the road, already cut into portions. Maddie grinned, wrapped it again as tightly as she could, and shoved it into the depths of her backpack. When she turne
d back to the cap once more, she was amazed to see it held notes now – two or three fivers, a couple of ten pound notes… and underneath those, a twenty. There were also several pound coins and an assortment of silver.

  Maddie looked around her, hoping to thank at least one of her benefactors, but the street was deserted now; she was alone. A big fat raindrop splashed to the ground in front of her and she pulled the cap towards her, tipped its contents into the backpack alongside the chicken and forced herself upright with a groan. She wrapped her coat tightly around her, and shivered in the rising wind.

  Get some bread, some fruit, milk. You can eat properly now.

  Maddie nodded, blinking away tears. Her voice was gruff with emotion as she answered her mother. “Thanks, Mum. Thank you.”

  Silence. Her mother wasn’t about to answer her now, Maddie knew that – she’d leave her be while she shopped for food and got back to her bedsit, but she’d be watching as always. Feeling lighter suddenly, less alone, she headed for the corner shop just up the road from her bedsit.

  Frank stood in the shadows that enveloped the pub entrance in the afternoon light and watched her go. He knew he should follow her, find out where she was living now, but something told him he had time. Let the girl eat, she looked starving. She’d be no good to him as weak as she looked right now, and if he tried to grab her in that state and she collapsed he’d have drawn attention to himself and Elsa – for what? She could wait, for now. He stepped back into the pub and ordered another pint, found an empty table in a dark corner and lost himself for a while. Even he had to rest, whether Elsa believed that or not.

  His mind turned back to the first girl he’d killed for the love of Elsa. What was her name? Annie, that was it. He could see her now: seventeen, long blonde hair, and a smile that lit up the sky. She was always smiling, Annie; always laughing. He’d lost Elsa a few months before, and thought he’d never meet anyone else who could make him feel so good. Then Annie had walked into the pub with a couple of her friends (funny, he couldn’t remember a single thing about them other than that they’d been girls, Annie had eclipsed them in every way) and everything had changed. He’d sat on his own at a table in the far corner of the bar from the one Annie and her friends chose, and as he sipped his pint (and several more, after that) he’d watched the way her eyes danced with joy, the way she tossed her head to flick that long hair back out of the way, and felt the warmth begin to rise in him as her laughter pealed out and filled the pub. He felt alive again, whole; but even as he realised that, the reality and burden of his loneliness came crashing down, rendered unbearable by his remembering there was, in fact, something else.