Capture - Flora Dain

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decorated with seaweed.

      It’s beached well above the water line and beyond the reach of the waves so it’s not decorated by chance. There’s been no storm.

      Someone has looped festoons of it along the sides. All at once I hear a low, roaring boom.

      Fear prickles along my back. I stand very still and peer into the mist. Now I sense sounds, little shuffles in the grasses along the path, small rustles from further away. A clank, like someone’s moving something heavy, made of metal.

      ‘Hello?’ My voice falls short in the stifling fog. It seems to reach no further than I can see. ‘Anybody there?’

      The boom comes again, a terrifying, hollow sound, like an echo but louder. All at once there’s a flurry of movement and a crash as somebody lands on the shingle behind me.

      I spin round to see a leather-clad figure in goggles peering at me out of the mist.

      If I had any voice I’d scream. As it is I’m paralysed for a whole two seconds, unable to speak, squeak or even run as the figure before me slowly removes its goggles. ‘Ms Dean? I came to warn ya.’

      It’s Chet Newson, his eyes wide and scared.

      He’s not nearly as scared as me. Shakily I gasp air.

      ‘Kin you hear it?’ He’s leaning towards me, his face contorted. ‘That’s him. That’s the cave troll. He’s here. You don’ wanna mess with them things, miss. They’s real dangerous.’

      The boom comes yet again, louder than ever now. He shrinks back and starts to jabber.

      Now I’m scared too, but I’m also puzzled. I don’t believe in ghosts – even though, right this minute, some part of me wants to jabber too.

      ‘Calm down, Chet,’ I snap. ‘It’s probably nothing of the sort. Anyway, what are you doing here? You came all the way out here just to tell me that?’

      It occurs to me that I’m alone here and he may mean well but he may have – urges. I swallow.

      Suddenly he slips his hand into his jacket and I take a nervous step back.

      ‘They say you’s a poet, Miss. I writ you a poem. Here.’

      He stuffs a card in my hand. I stare at it for a moment. It’s a Wolfe Security business card, like the one Darnley left me once, a long time ago. As I turn it over I see something scrawled on the back.

      ‘Wel cum home fokes!’

      It’s the same message we found splashed on the wall in crimson paint.

       And the same spelling.

      As I look up the boom comes again. This time Chet shrieks and scrambles back up the shallow sloping cliff, sending rocks and loose stones pattering down as he scrabbles for a foothold.

      ‘Wait,’ I shout. ‘Chet? Come back here. Did you write this?’

      He’s already halfway up, clawing at tufts of sea grass and dipping ledges where seabirds have worn holes. He looks down, his face contorted, as he shouts down. ‘Who, me? No’m, I cain’t write. It wus him. He did it. The cave troll.’

      The mist is lifting now. As he reaches the top, scrambling the last few feet in his panic to get away, I see the fuzzy silhouette of a motorcycle emerge from the mist. It’s parked on the top of the headland.

      He springs onto the seat, kicks the motor and with a roar the powerful machine curves away in the direction of the highway and disappears into the mist.

       CHAPTER SIX

      I’m still staring at the card when I hear a shout from the house. Darnley’s back. My heart leaps as he strides down the path to greet me. I race into his arms and fling mine round his neck. ‘How’s the car?’

      ‘Back tomorrow. Miss me?’ He breathes in my ear before finding my mouth. When he does, we kiss for so long I almost forget my stunning news. As he pulls away a little I beam up at him and his eyes glow.

      He pulls me closer. ‘Needs a new door and a respray. When I found you gone I wondered where you were.’

      ‘You could have let Bullen take it.’ I give him a play-frown, but his smile fades.

      ‘I had business to see to.’

      In San Francisco? His tone is calm but I sense trouble.

      I decide not to pry. Instead I tell him my exciting news. ‘I think I’ve found your culprit. Chet Newson? He was here just now. He came here on a motorcycle. And he gave me this.’

      Darnley frowns at the card. ‘Weird.’

      ‘Pretty damning, surely. Will you have him arrested?’

      He’s still frowning when he looks up with a sigh. ‘He’s an employee, not a recruit, so you won’t see him in class. But he’s an illiterate. He’s a keen mechanic so Freda lets him work in the garage. But he’s not capable of writing this.’

      I stare at him. ‘But the motorcycle yesterday – that must have been him.’

      He’s still frowning as we turn and walk slowly up the beach. ‘Must it? You saw him when we got back to the complex. Freda said he’d been there all afternoon. And those engines were cold – we felt them all. If he used a bike it wasn’t one of those. And why should he take another? He’d no way of knowing we’d turn back and ask. Anyway, Freda said –’

      ‘Freda? She said what?’

      My fury must show in my face. His instantly contracts. ‘For fuck’s sake, Ella, will you –’

      He breaks off as the boom comes again, fainter now but still terrifying in the rapidly dissolving mist.

      I feel my blood chill. ‘What is that? Chet thinks it’s a troll. That’s what scared him.’

      Darnley eyes me, his eyebrow arched faintly. ‘And you a teacher? You’ll be telling me you believe in fairies next. There’s a cave just round the headland. You can’t see it from here. You can only get there by boat. At high tide the waves set up an echo.’

      He glances at his watch. ‘It was high tide about twenty minutes ago. So by now the sound should be easing off a little.’

      I frown. ‘But surely the tide’s up roughly twice a day round here? So why haven’t I heard it before?’

      He shrugs. ‘How do I know? Maybe the conditions vary. Maybe it depends on the wind or the height of the waves.’ He nuzzles against me, his hand reaching down to fondle my butt. ‘Maybe you should go ask the cave troll.’

      I laugh, feeling happy and safe now.

      Much later I realise I forgot to tell him about the seaweed on my boat. But by then we’re so busy it hardly seems to matter any more …

      Later Darnley assures me he’s had a word with Freda and Chet is grounded for a while. I’m glad to hear it, but I wish he left out the part about Freda.

      * * *

      Next morning, I tune into the news again as I bolt my cereal. The sex attacker’s still in the area, the day’s set to be unusually warm and sunny for the time of year and high tide’s expected around noon.

      Darnley’s busy over at the complex today, and it’s my last day of freedom before I start work with my new students and meet some of my colleagues. I’ve made what preparations I can. Brushed up on some stuff about more obscure special needs. But today’s a lovely, sunny day and I have plans. I’m going to make the most of my new present and try out my beautiful little boat.

      Plus I’m going to hunt some troll.

      My thoughts are interrupted by

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