Earthed

By Maz Marik

ENGLAND, 1978: The discovery of a woman's heavily mutilated body in the Surrey countryside leads Detective Inspector Paul Sinclair into the most bizarre case he has ever faced, in which the stories he hears are at least as bewildering as the seemingly unconnected people being slaughtered all around, even after the prime suspect is himself found dead.

Most confusing of all is the note left by the dead woman, written in her own blood:

HE IS BACK. HE IS STRONGER....
STAY IN THE LIGHT!!

The deaths seem to be linked to a troubled youth, Martin Webb, who disappeared off the grid after a childhood in foster care. Webb's former social worker, Ian Sayers, is approached by the police, but when they treat his testimony as the rantings of a madman, he sets off to seek out Martin himself.

Events come to a dramatic and devastating conclusion as a dark secret finally comes out of the shadows.

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EARTHED is the second novel in the End Storm Saga. Make sure to read Book One, END STORM, and the short stories that accompany it!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maz Marik
• Release date: Oct 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301304509

Maz Marik

Maz Marik is a horror author from England. Born in the small town of Threapwood, he grew up in the Midlands and has also lived in the USA, the Caribbean, Spain, Mexico, Turkey and Egypt.He currently lives in the south of England, a setting he has employed for his debut novel End Storm, which was published as an e-book at Amazon and Smashwords on December 1st 2012.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

October 1978

My dear Becky,

I hope you are well. You were always the best at looking after yourself. That is why I am sending this to you ahead of any other. The time has come for you to do just that.

Do not stop reading. I know you dislike me, and the things I have done and the life I have led, but I also know you have the sense to hear me out. Maybe now there is more than just yourself to worry about, you will pay closer attention.

And besides, I am a different person now. I have not touched a drop for six months, and have been completely clean for over a year. I’ve changed, Becky, and now I know what I must do.

So I beg you, even if you continue to curse my name and scream insults at my memory, pay heed to this: WE ARE ALL IN DANGER. Your whole family is in danger. Everyone around you is in danger.

He is back, Becky, just like I always said he would be. I know you dreamt of him too, but he is not just a dark figure in our nightmares any longer. If you simply check the newspapers over the last few weeks you will know that what I write is true.

I have spent a lifetime preparing for this, dreading this, being mocked for this, so I do not say it lightly. Run. Run for your lives. Hide yourselves away. Always keep a light on. Stay out of the shadows.

I am going to find an old friend, someone who believed me, and I will seek to end this before it even gets a chance to reach any of you. But I promise, I will take matters into my own hands before I let him do to me what he did to Mother.

This may be the last you hear of me, so take care of yourself and your family and, if you can find it in your heart, take care of mine.

May we meet again under a friendlier sky.

Love,

T.

Folding the letter carefully as the taxi turned the final corner, Tracy placed it into the envelope and checked the address she’d written in her spidery, uneven hand. A lazy fly buzzed around the back seat and landed on the postage stamp, sitting on the Queen’s face like a ghastly wound. She blew on it, and the insect flew away for a moment before returning and settling on the address, crawling across each letter meticulously.

One final stop, one more task to complete, and then onto the main event.

The cab drove slowly along a tree-lined avenue, the late evening sun dappling the gold and copper leaves on the pavement. Tracy carefully sealed the envelope and watched the autumn colours flash past.

Whereabouts, love? the driver asked, interrupting her daydream. He had been very eager to talk at the start of the journey, cursing the coward Mr. Callaghan and the lazy, good for nothing trade unions and praising Mrs. Thatcher, but he soon gave up as his words were met with sullen silence. She had withdrawn from the world many years previously, and had little interest in society and its institutions.

She snapped to attention. Just stop here, please.

The driver nodded. Right you are then. He pulled up in the shade of a clutch of tall fir trees which obscured the sunlight.

Tracy stared around her, and her heart rate increased momentarily. No, not here. Drive on a little.

There was a disapproving sound. Make your mind up, love.

The fly landed on her arm and she brushed it away in irritation. Just a little further on, if you don’t mind.

No problem. He moved the taxi forward a short distance. This do you?

She blinked in the suddenly dazzling light. That is perfect. Please wait here. I shan’t be long.

The driver gave her a calculating look. No offence, but I’ll want paying for the trip so far if you want me to wait. I’ve had enough people do a runner on me recently.

Tracy nodded. Of course. She reached into her bag and brushed the fly away again. I’ll give you fifty. That should cover the whole trip, I trust? And a handsome tip for yourself.

That’s very generous of you, madam. Have you just won the pools or something?

You are probably the nicest person I’ve met in the past five years. She tried to smile, unfamiliar muscles straining with the effort.

Very nice of you to say so.

And it’s not like I have a lot of people to name in my will, so it’s your lucky day. Now, please, wait here.

She climbed out of the taxi, took a deep breath and walked away, leaves crunching beneath her feet, checking each door as she passed. The private investigator had not only provided a house number but also a description of the front garden and details of the occupants’ movements, and she felt a brief jolt of delight as she realised it was money well spent: there was no car.

Perfect timing.

The gravel drive made stealthy movement difficult, but she had grown adept at disguising everything about herself. She tiptoed past the potted plants and a small flowerbed and crouched down in front of the bay window.

A pause. Silence. A deep breath. The prickle of tears in her eyes. A fly buzzed around her ear for a moment then settled on the window.

Another deep breath and she shifted her weight, sharp stones digging into her knees as she peeked into the room. It was a homely scene: an open fire in the hearth, a cat snoozing on the arm of a sofa and, in the middle of the room, two children.

The elder child was unfamiliar, but the younger caused her to choke back sobs.

How could I have made such a mistake? How could I have screwed up so badly again?

The boy was neatly dressed in a red sweater and brown corduroy trousers. He also wore an eyepatch on one eye and was attacking the other child vigorously with a small stick until both collapsed to the floor in a mess of giggles.

Tracy watched them play, transfixed, for what seemed like hours, her expression alternating between pride and despair, her thoughts drifting across the decades.

*****

She finally emerged from her reverie when a fly landed on the window directly in front of her staring eyes. Blinking, she noticed the garden as if for the first time, the gloom and the spreading shadows, and terror seized her. With a final glance at the boys, and with insects buzzing all round her head, she jumped up and half-ran, half-stumbled back towards the road.

Please let him be there, please let him be there.

The taxi sat where she had left it, and the driver gave her a wave.

You took your time, love, he said, as she took her seat.

I’m sorry. I was… occupied.

None of my business, I’m sure. Are we still heading for the same destination?

Tracy nodded. Very much so. I can’t believe we’ve been delayed so much.

Soon make the time up. We’ve missed the worst of the rush hour, anyway.

Excellent. Is there a light in the back here?

The switch is just next to you.

She flicked it on, then shuffled over in the seat until she was hunched in the small puddle of light. Thanks. And thanks for waiting.

The driver smiled back at her as he started the engine and pulled away. I’m the nicest fella you’ve met in five years, remember?

*****

The houses gave way to trees just as the twilight began to fade and Tracy left Crawley behind. The driver had insisted that the country lanes were a shortcut and she had been in no mood to argue. Tears glistened on her face, dripping onto hands clasped together so tightly that the bracelets on her wrists scraped against each other.

Why are you heading down there, anyway?

She blinked and rubbed her eyes, surprised by the words in what had been a silent journey. I’m meeting a friend. We have business to attend to.

Ah, right. What line of work you in?

There was a pause as she contemplated how best to describe the strangeness of her entire life in a few words. In the end she gave up trying. I’m a researcher, she lied.

My nephew does that. Very smart kid. Looking into mushrooms or something like that. Don’t understand a word of it. What are you researching?

Will he ever stop asking questions?

She opened her mouth to answer when the courtesy light flicked off. Panic rose within her, but the driver clearly hadn’t noticed and carried on talking when she failed to answer.

Me, I’d love to study space. Spend my life looking through a telescope. That would be heaven for me. He laughed. No pun intended. I’ve got a telescope in my…

There was a clattering sound, and his voice tailed off. The growl of the engine died, replaced by a low hum, and then the headlights failed. The taxi coasted limply to a halt at the side of the road. There were no streetlights on the lanes, and the only illumination was tiny pinpricks of light from distant towns and villages.

The middle of nowhere.

What’s going on? Tracy demanded, and she noted the tremble in her own voice. Why have we stopped?

Sorry, miss. Seem to be having a little trouble here. I’ll have it sorted in a jiffy.

She watched as he climbed out and lifted the bonnet, the light of a powerful torch just visible around the edges of the car. There were a few muffled curses and the droning sound grew louder.

Tracy leaned back in her seat, extending her field of vision, and pulled a slim torch out of her bag. She was on edge, every muscle in her body tensed to fight, to run, to make a break for it.

What’s taking him so long?

She opened the door an inch. The strange sound was clearer, but all else was still. Inhaling deeply, she stepped out of the car, still twitchy, still poised for flight, and swung the torch beam towards the front of the vehicle.

Just before the light died, she saw the driver charging towards her, an expression of twisted rage on his face, and she ran.

TWO DAYS LATER

CHAPTER ONE

Joe hurried down the alleyway, away from the youths who had followed and mocked him relentlessly since they saw him in town. Leave me alone! he shouted.

Radio Joe is a poof! one of the youths called back, and the others laughed as though it was the funniest joke in the world.

He did not reply, instead walking towards the spot where he usually slept. It was away from the main road, and people rarely passed nearby for fear of being mugged, meaning he had peace and quiet, if not a roof over his head.

The youths had given up their pursuit, and were heading in the opposite direction.

"Bastards", he muttered.

He walked over some bricks, the remains of a wall which had long ago collapsed, and sat down next to his latest cardboard box. He was pleased with this one; it was the carton for some large household appliance, which meant he could stretch out in it. Luxury, at least until the rain came, when it would provide temporary protection before turning into a mulchy, mushy mess.

There were a few clouds in the sky as night drew in, but apart from a cold wind the weather seemed promising.

With the last match in the box, he lit one of the cigarette butts he had picked up from the ground at the bus station. It glowed gently, and he shook the match out then tossed it over his shoulder.

The cigarette relaxed him slightly. Tomorrow would be much the same but, with a bit of luck, perhaps he would find some more coins on the ground, or the local butchers would give him some leftover meat to stop him hanging around nearby.

A sudden glow in the corner of his eye startled him. The pile of rubbish he called home was burning; small, flickering flames eating away at the cardboard foundation.

"Shit."

The main cause of his unease was the rising smoke, certain to alert the youths or the police. He stood up to try to stamp out the flames but they caught the pile of dry cardboard, causing a miniature inferno. Tiny bits of ash and rubbish were spewed up into the night sky.

Great, he thought, but at least it will keep me warm for a while. He moved his luxury box away from the fire and gave a heavy sigh, then sat down amongst the bricks, feeling the warmth, and puffed on the cigarette.

The day had been long enough even before this.

He peered through the flames. Movement? Who's there? he demanded, standing up, peering at the wall beyond the fire. A silhouette moved slightly then stopped, as though watching him.

I have a blade! he said, hoping it would be enough of a threat to scare off any potential troublemakers.

The shape shifted again, and Joe stood up, ready to fight as well as he could. Turning around slowly on the spot, he waited nervously for the attack.

Suddenly he was grabbed from behind, and struggled in the attacker’s grip. They spun round and round like dance partners heading directly for the fire, and Joe thought one or both of them would burn.

Then he felt his strength desert him and the man’s hands tightened around his throat.

*****

The rain pattered gently onto the ground. A young man watched, perched on a rock, as the tiny labyrinth of streams flowed among the blades of dampened green grass. The wind, lazy and feeble, seemed reluctant to disturb the leaves from their wet slumber, and instead danced gleefully with the falling raindrops.

The sun was long gone. The clouds, heavy with rain, had crept in with the evening, and his day was over. The darkness among the trees all around intensified. He walked over to a nearby oak, bare feet squelching with each step on the sodden ground, and sat down. Leaning against the old tree he rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes.

The sounds of the forest at night played off each other like a symphony of tiny echoes, weaving in and out of the trees and bushes. It was never the same, yet it was always the same.

He picked up a fallen twig and prodded gently at the water around his feet. Ripples reflected the dark shades of night as a stronger, colder wind howled across the surface.

A small animal rummaged in the undergrowth out in the darkness and then,