Darkened Wings Flutter

By Lou Yardley

"The end is nigh when darkened wings flutter…"

The small town of Crow's Foot Hollow is thrown into turmoil when a local boy called Dwayne goes missing. For teacher Beth Harwood, it soon becomes clear that the nearby forest is connected to his disappearance. Clouded in mystery, scary stories and haunting nursery rhymes, that forest seems like just the kind of place to swallow a young boy whole.

But the forest isn't the only thing you have to worry about in Crow's Foot Hollow. Sometimes the dangers are much closer to home. Chuck Graves lives next door to a family with their share of problems - a couple that always argues, a little girl called Imogen who creeps the hell out of everyone - but they appear to be held together by little Ryan who keeps on smiling regardless of what's going on. Everything appears normal, but Chuck can't help but wonder what's going on behind closed doors.

Crawling with monsters big and small, "Darkened Wings Flutter" wants to get under your skin. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lou Yardley
• Release date: Apr 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393797142

Book preview

1

‘CHUCK!’ The slightly muffled voice travelled into the kitchen, disturbing Chuck from his coffee. He jumped at the sudden intrusion, almost spilling his drink. Recognising the owner of the voice immediately, Chuck smiled and got to his feet. His bones creaked and ached as he moved, and his chair made a moaning noise against the floor as if in sympathy. He knew better than to sit for too long at his age. He knew what would happen. That didn’t mean that he didn’t occasionally let himself be swallowed by the plot of a good book or lose himself in a TV show. He’d simply lost track of time. And his coffee was cold now anyway. After popping a bookmark into his paperback, he placed it on the table and made his way to the door. The kitchen overlooked a simple, yet well-kept garden. Even though Chuck was getting on in years, the lawn was still neatly cut. A clear path ran from his kitchen door, through the grass, to the small shed at the end. Several years ago, Chuck had contemplated making the shed into a summer house of sorts. Somewhere to sit and watch the world go by while the sun streamed in. But now that his wife was gone, he just couldn’t find the motivation. What was he going to do? Sit down there by himself?

‘CHUCK! YOU THERE?’ the voice shouted. Chuck unlocked the backdoor. Feeling the warmth of the morning sun on his skin, and ignoring the slight chill of the breeze, he stepped into the garden. Autumn was here, but the last vestiges of summer were still clinging on stubbornly.

‘CHUUUUUCK!’ the voice called again, a slight impatience starting to creep in.

‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ Chuck said, his tone cheerful. He was always cheerful when it came to talking to Ryan. As well as being one of his next-door neighbours, Ryan was his little ray of sunshine. The young chap was always smiling. Always happy. His excitement and positivity were contagious; it was impossible to wear a frown around the boy.

‘CHUCK!’ the boy said, once he’d seen Chuck’s head appear over the wooden fence. ‘I didn’t know if you could hear me, so I kept shouting.’ Ryan was one to point out the obvious, but he was adorable with it.

‘I always hear you,’ Chuck replied. ‘You’ve got a massive voice for such a small boy.’

‘I’m not a small boy! I’m nine and a half now!’

‘Practically a man,’ Chuck agreed. ‘What can I do for you today?’

‘I kicked my ball over the fence again,’ Ryan replied. Just like his tendency to point out the obvious, his habit of kicking his football over the fence was a regular occurrence. Sometimes Chuck thought he did it on purpose, just so that they could have a little chat, but he didn’t mind. After all, talking with Ryan was usually the highlight of his day. He didn’t think it was possible, but he’d learned so much from the boy. Mostly about superheroes and cartoon characters, but it was still knowledge that he hadn’t possessed before.  Smiling, Chuck looked around the garden for the missing ball. Sure enough, it was waiting for him by the shed. It was almost always by the shed. It was like Ryan aimed for it.

‘Don’t worry,’ Chuck said. ‘I’ll get it for you.’ With a smile, he strode towards the shed and bent over to pick the ball up. His back screamed in protest, but he kept the smile plastered onto his face. It wouldn’t do to have the boy see him in pain like this. Ryan seemed like a sensitive soul and Chuck didn’t want to worry him. Chuck bit back on a swear word that was trying its hardest to escape and straightened himself. As subtly as he could, he massaged the small of his back with one hand, while the other kept hold of the ball. If the boy noticed the older man’s discomfort, he didn’t say anything. Chuck was grateful for that. Talking to Ryan always made him feel decades younger, but his bones and joints were always on hand to remind him just how advanced his years had become. The universe was cruel like that.  ‘Here you go,’ he said, gently throwing the ball over the fence. It bounced a few times and ended up on the other side of the garden.

With an eagerness that Chuck couldn’t help but envy, Ryan ran after the ball, pumping his young legs as fast as they would go. Chuck’s knees ached, reminding him that there was no way he’d be able to accomplish such a feat.

‘What do you say?’ a voice said, and both Chuck and Ryan looked towards the source of the words at the same time, jumping slightly at the intrusion. Neither of them had heard Ryan’s mother approach, but that was nothing unusual; she had a habit of just appearing. Usually when Ryan was doing something that he shouldn’t. Standing next to her was Ryan’s twin sister, Imogen.  Imogen was the complete opposite of her brother. Where he had blond hair, she was dark. Where he was chatty and approachable, she was quiet and reserved. Chuck didn’t think the little girl had ever even spoken to him. The most he ever got was an awkward smile while she tried her hardest to avoid giving eye contact. She was a strange one and, if Chuck was being completely honest, she gave him the creeps. The way she stared blankly made him wonder what was going on in her brain. Was that the look of a serial killer in waiting? How did you know? Were there signs that you had to look out for? Probably. Even though he hoped it wasn’t the case, Chuck wouldn’t have been surprised to find dead squirrels and the like in the garden sometime soon.

‘Ryan!’ his mother, Shirley Brodie, said, reminding both her son and her neighbour that she was still there. Her voice had a sharp quality to it, a tone that suggested that she meant business. A tone that carried through their adjoining wall most nights. ‘What do you say to Mr Graves?’

‘No, no,’ Chuck said, ‘I’ve told you before, you can call me Chuck.’

‘Okay, what do you say to Chuck?’ Shirley said his name but acted as if it felt uncomfortable on her tongue. Chuck didn’t understand why she always tried to be so formal around him. Usually, she’d be swearing like a sailor and calling everyone ‘babes’. Perhaps he resembled an authority figure in her eyes. He supposed he’d never know. Whatever the reason, her act was pointless, he knew the real her. At least, he thought he did.

‘Thank you, Chuck,’ Ryan said.

‘There’s a good boy,’ Shirley said, before returning to the house. Rather than follow, Imogen stayed outside.

‘Good morning, Imogen,’ Chuck said, trying once again to engage the small girl in conversation. She simply nodded in reply and wandered up to the end of the garden.

‘She doesn’t like talking,’ Ryan said, and Chuck wasn’t sure if he was just pointing out the obvious again or if he was trying to make the old man feel better at his twin’s apparent snub. Perhaps he was just trying to fill the awkward lull in the conversation. Chuck nodded, unsure of what else to say. ‘It’s not your fault,’ the boy continued. ‘She doesn’t really talk to anybody. Not even at school.’

‘I see.’

‘Everyone thinks she’s weird,’ Ryan said, a tinge of sadness seeping into his voice. ‘And she is… but, she’s not a bad weird.’

‘Of course not.’ Chuck had a feeling that he knew what bad weird was and, despite his assurances, he wasn’t entirely sure that she wasn’t. Imogen did possess a very odd quality. Very odd indeed.

‘Some of the other kids pick on her. They call her names and stuff.’

‘Have you told the teacher?’ Chuck asked.

‘Yeah, she knows,’ Ryan replied.

‘Has she done anything about it?’

‘Yeah… but only when she sees it happen. Sometimes they say things to Immy when no grown-ups are around.’

‘It’s probably because they think they can get away with it then. Make sure you tell the teacher every time it happens,’ Chuck said, and the boy nodded.

‘She’s just different,’ he said, sneaking a look over his shoulder at his sister. She was crouched under a tree, digging in the dirt with a twig. Focused entirely on whatever it was she was doing, she didn’t notice that she was being watched. Either that or she didn’t care. ‘Mum says that makes her special. She’s destined for great things.’ Ryan recited that last part as if it was something he’d heard countless times before. Perhaps he’d even said it countless times before in an effort to make his sister feel better.

‘I can’t argue with that,’ Chuck replied, feeling guilty for his earlier thoughts. She was just a child – and a vulnerable one at that. Even so, he could imagine the names the children at school shouted at her. He could imagine their taunts. None of them seemed like they were calling their classmate ‘special’. At least, not in a good way.

‘I need to go in now,’ Ryan said with some reluctance.

‘Homework?’ Chuck asked.

‘No, chores,’ Ryan replied. ‘Boring chores. Like tidying my room.’

‘What about Immy, does she do chores?’

‘She’s probably already done hers,’ he replied.

‘Ah, you’d better get to it then.’

‘Yeah, s’pose,’ Ryan said.

Shortly after that, the boy disappeared into the house, but it was a long while before Chuck returned to his. The story of Imogen’s bullies played on his mind. Kids could be so cruel, couldn’t they? Was she quiet because of their taunts? Or did they taunt her because she was quiet? Maybe she wasn’t that creepy after all, she just had to deal with a lot. But why was she like this, while Ryan was so well adjusted?

Rubbing the small of his back, Chuck made his way back into his house. A weird feeling crept over him as he reached the door that would take him into the kitchen. It was the feeling of unseen eyes studying your back. The feeling of being watched. ‘Immy?’ he whispered. There was no way that she would have been able to hear him, but there was no way that she’d be able to look at him from here either; the fence was just too high. ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ he muttered to himself. Refusing to look towards the fence again, Chuck stepped into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Even though the day promised to be bright and warm, he locked the door. He wouldn’t be going out there again today. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right.

*****

Sometimes Chuck found the ticking of the old clock on the mantelpiece to be comforting. No matter what happened in his life, the ticking of that clock was almost constant. The world could fall apart and that little clock would still continue to do its thing, ticking away, oblivious to any carnage or disarray that surrounded it.

Yes, sometimes Chuck found that clock to be comforting, but today he found it irritating. And, if he was honest, he was more than a little jealous of it. It just kept going. No matter what. Chuck wished that he had resilience like that. Instead, Chuck found himself stopping more frequently than he used to and, as the years trundled by, it became harder and harder to bounce back.

The latest setback had come in the form of news of his estranged brother. The pair hadn’t spoken for a number of years – perhaps even decades – but that didn’t stop the news of his sibling from hitting hard. Gravy was missing and presumed dead; apparently killed by a homicidal maniac who was killed by another homicidal maniac in a hotel room. At least one of the homicidal maniacs got their just desserts.

The brothers may not have spoken in years, but there was no bad blood between them. They’d simply drifted apart; their lives taking different paths. Gravy had taken on a life of crime, while Chuck had opted for a quiet life. Married, but with no children. Nancy was long gone now though. Unlike his brother, Nancy’s death had been expected. Illness had taken her and – as much as it pained him to admit it – he was a little relieved when she went. Watching the pain constantly line her features during her final months had become too much towards the end. A burden that was almost too heavy to carry. Even though almost ten years had passed since she’d died, he could still remember it all like it was yesterday. He remembered the annoyance he’d felt whenever a friend or neighbour had approached him.  Deep down, he’d known they meant well. But it always went the same way. Other people’s tragedies, while interesting, newsworthy, and probably a little bit juicy, were exactly that; they belonged to other people. Those that listened to your account of heartbreak, grief, or any other loss had no desire to live in it. Their words of concern quickly turned into no words at all. In the times when they did want to talk to him their eyes glistened. Chuck was never sure if they were wet from tears they were trying not to shed on his behalf, or if they were alive with an eagerness to feed on his misery. It was hard to tell.

And Chuck couldn’t blame them. He had been exactly the same. At least, he had been, until his own tragedy came banging on the door with a grim and violent determination. He’d tried to ignore it – of course he had – but it didn’t take long for it to break the door down and take over every part of his life.

After a while, other people started to keep their distance. Concern slipped into muttered greetings. Muttered greetings slipped into awkward nods of acknowledgment occasionally coupled with sympathetic smiles. Even those nods would soon dry up. No-one wanted to get too close. It was as if he had carried an infectious disease. They couldn’t get too close for fear of catching it themselves. What if it touched them? What if it stained their clothing? What if they took it home with them? Grief was contagious.  It didn’t matter if you tried to drown it in whiskey, it still resurfaced the next day – usually with the mother of all headaches. It didn’t matter if you tried to outrun it, it was always there when you had to pause for breath, resting its icy cold hand on your shoulder. You can’t get rid of reality.

But that had been then. Even though grief had stained him, Chuck had found a way to carry on. Just like he knew he would now. His brother’s suspected death would be a hard hurdle to overcome, but Chuck knew that he could do it. Maybe he’d be spared the well-wishers and handwringers this time. He didn’t have to mention it to anyone. This was his grief. It was private. And, besides, most of the people around here didn’t know that he even had a brother. He could only hope that if they read about it in the news they wouldn’t put two and two together.

Not having moved from his spot in the sitting room all day, Chuck’s stomach rumbled. Hunger pangs reminded him that he’d missed lunch.  A look towards the garden outside told him that it was going to be a late dinner too. Darkness had fallen. He’d lost most of the day.

With no real enthusiasm, he wandered to the kitchen and started to boil the kettle. A cup of tea would set him right. After that he could raid the cupboards for something substantial to eat. As the kettle boiled, he looked out at the garden. Everything was as it should be, there was even a football down by the shed. It was strange; Chuck hadn’t heard Ryan calling for him. Then again, he hadn’t been paying much attention to anything today.

‘Better throw that back. Otherwise, the kid will be up at the crack of dawn calling for me,’ Chuck said to himself, even though he knew that no matter how much sleep he got, he would be up bright and early too. It’s just the way he was. He found that he was rising earlier the older he got. Still, he felt like he could do with a bit of fresh air.

Chuck looked through his reflection into the darkness beyond. He wasn’t one for dramatics or for unwarranted fears, but a chill crept down his spine. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that there was someone there watching him. Studying him. Someone standing in the darkest of shadows.

He could never see properly when it was like this.  Although the twilight made it possible for him to see the features of the garden that he knew so well, the neat garden took on another personality at night. It seemed almost sinister. It seemed… hungry. Chuck didn’t know how a garden could possibly seem hungry, but it did.

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ he told himself, as he reached for the door handle. Ryan’s ball was still out there, and it wasn’t going to throw itself back. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped outside. Even though the day had been relatively warm aside from that breeze, the night was cold. Almost unseasonably so. It was like autumn was trying to claw its way into the final days of September. Dead leaves and brisk mornings were just itching to move in; some already had. Not that Chuck had anything against autumn – it was probably his favourite time of year – he just didn’t understand why summer was in such a hurry to move on. Everyone was in a hurry these days. That was the modern world for you.

Chuck took a few steps into the garden and immediately stopped. There was definitely something out there. Could be a man. Could be a fox. Whatever it was made damned sure that it was staying out of sight.

‘The ball can wait,’ Chuck thought, and abruptly turned around. Small, delicate wings beat next to his ear. ‘Bloody moths,’ he muttered, blindly batting them away.

Fear drove him back into the house, forcing his feet back towards the door. His pace was quick, a little too quick for Chuck’s liking. If anyone was watching him, they’d know that he was running scared. In an effort to throw them off the scent, Chuck made a point of checking his watch as he made his way back inside. Maybe they’d think he was running late for something. Although he struggled to think of a single appointment that he’d have after ten o’clock at night.

Without looking back, he entered the kitchen and shut and locked the back door behind him. Whatever was out there was staying out there.

Whatever was out there.

Why was he thinking of it as a ‘what’ rather than a ‘who’?

It would certainly be easier to believe that he had just caught the interest of a curious fox or cat, or an especially nosey hedgehog. The idea that ‘a someone’ was watching him was rather more sinister. Chuck felt violated just by thinking about it. His skin started to crawl and, even though he was back inside, the feeling of being watched – no, the feeling of being studied – remained. Chuck reached for the light switch and flicked it off.  Feeling like less of a target, he felt his shoulders relax a little. The only issue was that he’d now let the darkness inside. and he wasn’t sure if it was a friend or foe. The darkness had never really bothered him before. Well, not since he was a small boy and he and his brother used to scare each other with ghost stories and tales of monsters lurking in the shadows. The thought of his brother tugged on his heart as he made his way upstairs. It was a shame that they’d never got around to reconnecting. No, it was more than that, it was heart-breaking. And now, if Chuck’s suspicions were correct, it was far too late. That was the thing with life, wasn’t it? You always thought you had more time. An endless stream of tomorrows. You could always put things off to do another day.

Until you couldn’t.

That was another thing with life; there were no guarantees. Anything could happen at any time to anyone. No-one was safe. You could pray to and worship every deity known to the human race, but it still wouldn’t make a difference. Just because you lived a good life, it didn’t mean that you were free from heartbreak and tragedy. Meanwhile, you could be a complete arsehole and have the best luck in the world. Chuck had long ago come to the conclusion that there was no God and no karma. They were just fairy tales used to make sense of a world that didn’t make any sense. Chuck still tried to live a good life, but not because it would get him fast-tracked through the Pearly Gates. He did it because it was the right thing to do. The world was shit enough as it was; there was no need for him to make it worse for himself or anyone else. ‘If only everyone thought like that,’ he muttered before wondering how his brother had been living his life. Were his activities as nefarious as Chuck suspected? If they were, did it matter? Probably not.

Standing in the darkness at the top of the stairs, Chuck paused. The eyes he’d felt on him outside had slipped away. He breathed a sigh of relief. In the bedroom, he drew the curtains closed before turning the bedside lamp on. A warm, orange light covered the room, elongating familiar and harmless shadows and helping to put Chuck’s mind at ease.

After completing his bedtime routine, he climbed into bed. Propped up pillows supported his head as he started to read. With every word read, he found the fear and uneasiness start to slip away. A welcome weariness fell over him; he wouldn’t be reading many chapters tonight.

Then it happened.

A light, delicate tapping at the window.

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, a bizarre image of the Grim Reaper flashed across his mind. Could it really be Death gently tapping on the window? Was that how Azreal announced his arrival?

‘Just spooked myself, that’s all,’ he said, his voice a little too loud in the stillness of his bedroom. Moving slowly, as if any sudden movements would alert the mysterious window tapper to his whereabouts, Chuck carefully placed his paperback onto the nightstand and switched off the lamp. Darkness claimed the room. For long moments, Chuck stared into its inky depths and listened with only the sound of his own slightly nervous breathing for company.

The tapping did not return. Chuck eventually drifted off to sleep.

At around 2am, Chuck’s eyes snapped open.

Disorientated, he tried to work out what had woken him and what was going on. The memory of a dream (or perhaps ‘nightmare’ would have been more appropriate) receded from his mind. Although it left him feeling uneasy, he knew that wasn’t the reason he was awake. The reason was still happening.

Muffled shouts forced their way through the wall. The neighbours were arguing again. ‘This can’t be good for the kids,’ he thought as his mind turned to Ryan and Imogen. His heart ached for them; they had school in the morning, they’d be knackered. No wonder Imogen seemed a little off most of the time; she was probably in a state of constant exhaustion. Even so, she still gave him the heebie-jeebies. The way she stared at you was more than a little unnerving.

Something crashed against the wall and Chuck tried to picture it. Was it a shoe? A toy? It didn’t sound heavy enough to be a frying pan or anything like that – although he was sure that he had heard that in the past. He always promised himself that he would intervene when it got violent. Did this count as violence?

The promise now felt empty and useless. What could he do anyway? He was getting on now, an old man compared to his neighbour. Kev would be able to knock him out without any effort… and so could Shirley for that matter. What good would that do?

There was that word again. ‘Good’. Stepping in would be the good and right thing to do. Taking action now could change the lives of those children. But what action could he take? Banging on the wall would achieve absolutely nothing. They probably wouldn’t even notice it over the sounds of their own voices. Should he knock on the front door? Ring the doorbell? They’d probably just ignore him. Even people caught up in the midst of arguments probably wouldn’t answer the door at this time of night. What should he say if they answered? They’d probably just tell him to fuck off and mind his own business.

Or Kev would knock him out. There was that.

Maybe it would be a two for the price of one kind of deal and they’d do both.

Chuck thought about his brother again. Gravy would have known what to do in this kind of situation. He probably would have taken the law into his own hands. Well, into his fists at any rate. Those potential actions wouldn’t have been legal, but would they have been right? Would they have been ‘good’? Chuck wasn’t sure, but it would have been something. All Chuck was currently capable of was listening. A voyeur. A spy listening in to the private exploits of his neighbours.

The argument stopped.

For a few moments, Chuck listened for any tell-tale signs that it was about to start up again. There was nothing. ‘Maybe they’ve killed each other,’ he thought, almost wanting to laugh and then feeling guilty for making jokes about such things, even if they were just in his head. ‘They’ve got one more chance,’ he decided. ‘They kick off like this again and I’ll call social services.’

Having come to his decision, Chuck closed his eyes and went back to sleep almost instantly. Nightmares continued to plague him, but he didn’t remember them come morning, the rising sun having performed its usual dream memory wipe.

*****

The next morning, Chuck woke up late. Sun, that up until a moment ago hadn’t bothered him at all, now urged him to get out of bed. ‘Shit,’ he muttered as he checked the clock on his nightstand. ‘Half the day’s gone already!’

His joints clicked and groaned as he got out of bed; it was as if they were determined to cling to the last remnants of sleep for as long as possible. Reluctantly, Chuck’s legs allowed him to walk over to the window. From up here he could see for miles, and Crow’s Foot Hollow