She was distracted by the light suddenly going off upstairs. Lydia backed away and moved to the arch-shaped hedge beside her. She dropped to her knees, keeping hidden. The light came back on, and a few seconds later, a shadow appeared. Lydia saw a woman with long hair, wearing a nightdress. She came forward and seemed to look out of the window.
‘Oh, thank God. Help me. Call the police. My husband’s been taken, and we need help.’ Lydia was ecstatic, waving her arms and jumping up and down on the grass. The figure tilted their head.
She called out, louder this time. ‘Ring the police. My husband’s been kidnapped. Help me.’
The figure stepped back from the window. The light went out, and a few seconds later, the front door opened.
‘Oh, thank you. You don’t know how happy I am to see someone out here.’
Lydia moved towards the front door, peering behind to make sure she was alone. She smiled, intending to call the police as soon as she stood inside the cottage.
This was it.
They were safe now.
She pushed the front door slightly wider. As she stepped into the downstairs hallway, she saw the house was in complete darkness. ‘Hello. Thank you so much for opening the door.’
The smell hit her instantly – a moist, pungent odour like wet clothes. Lydia concluded it was damp. The woman she’d seen at the window seemed elderly, she probably lived here alone and struggled with the upkeep of the place. She wondered how anyone could live out here; the seclusion would drive her mad. She moved her hand to the wall, frantically searching for a light switch. ‘Hello. Are you there? Please don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you.’
Come on. There must be something on the wall to light this place. How can this woman live like this? The middle of nowhere in the pitch dark?
Her hand brushed across a square plate, protruding from the wall. She found the switch and clicked it downwards. Nothing happened. Lydia tried again, pressing one way then the other. She fumbled in the darkness, patting the pockets of her skirt, needing her phone torch and remembering the caller had taken their phones. She needed a light, something to help her see.
Lydia closed the front door and stepped further inside, swinging her arms, jabbing forwards, her hands trying to feel through the bleakness of the hallway.
‘Are you there? I’m not going to harm you. I just need to borrow your phone. See, my husband was taken earlier, we were on a coach. It’s a long story. Anyway, if I could call someone to help us, they can find him.’ Lydia listened; she expected to hear something. The shuffle of the woman in one of the rooms, maybe her footsteps on the floorboards as the woman hid. Lydia felt a pang of guilt. This poor woman was probably living alone and not used to visitors. She was so sweet and trusting to open the door for her, realising her distress. Lydia needed to find her, let her know she wasn’t threatening. All she wanted was a phone; then she’d be out of her hair.
‘Don’t be frightened. I’m not going to hurt you,’ Lydia called out.
She stood for a moment, then walked forward, her arms in front, her eyes wide, preparing, tensing and ready if she banged into something.
Lydia reached the end of the hallway, then turned around. She wanted to open the front door, let the light hanging on the wall outside show her where she was going. She couldn’t chance it. The caller had taken off earlier; if she left the front door open, he could get inside. She couldn’t take that chance. It was much safer this way.
Lydia reached her arms out, pawing for a handle or a switch. She felt the cold brass handle then turned it slowly and pulled the door towards her. Again, she fiddled on the wall, dabbing her hand to find the light switch.
Click.
Click.
The bulb failed to illuminate the room.
For Christ’s sake. This is ridiculous. ‘Hello. I need help. Can you hear me?’ Lydia was losing her patience. She’d seen the woman at the window, shouted to her for help. She’d opened the front door to let her in and had now gone.
She pawed her way around the kitchen, arms extended, feeling her way along the large room. She had to find something. Anything to aid the safe return of her husband. She suddenly had a weird feeling about this place, trying to understand how this woman could see Lydia calling for help, come down and open the door, then hide. Why open the door? Why leave the place in complete darkness? This was her idea of abnormality. The old woman. Out here. Alone.
Lydia needed to hear life, people walking past her house, the sound of communication. Although she rarely left her home these days and trusted only Jack, she felt safe in the knowledge people were there. It was a comfort.
Lydia turned suddenly. She finally heard something – a noise coming from the front of the cottage. Like a shuffle of feet being dragged gently along the floor. Lydia’s heart quickened, now galloping in her chest. She stood frozen to the spot in the kitchen, unable to see. She felt the presence of someone ahead, standing by the front door. She could sense the shape, standing there, watching. The woman was fumbling about, like she was searching for something in a cupboard.
‘Can you help me?’ Lydia whispered into the darkness, waiting for an answer. ‘Hello. Are you there? Really, there’s no need to be frightened.’ Lydia waited, peering towards the front door. She tried to see if the figure was moving, listening for the old lady making her way towards her. She couldn’t tell. She waited, closing her fists into small balls, sensing the sticky sweat coating her hands.
The lights came on, causing Lydia to jump. The loud clunk penetrated through her body.
At last, she could see. The old woman stood still.
‘Hi. I’m so sorry to intrude. I just need to use your phone, and I’ll be on my way. Thank you for opening the door,’ Lydia said. She stared, then slowly edged towards the woman. ‘I need your phone. Can you please help me? My husband–’
Lydia saw her face. The rugged complexion, the rough, weathered skin. The frame, tall, solid, strong-looking. She recognised the person now – the same person who’d taken her and Jack, who had held them on the coach. The same person she’d seen in the barn. Lydia backed away, grabbing the kitchen door and slamming it hard. The lights went off. The cottage was again a mass of blackness.
She screamed, pulling at her hair with both hands, then fell to the ground. ‘Leave me alone. Please, I want to go home. Leave me the fuck alone.’ She crawled on her hands and knees, banging against the leg of a table. Lydia needed to get out. Her heart was rushing uncontrollably, like it would burst at any second.
She made for the corner of the room and crouched by the wall. She waited, her eyes struggling to find the kitchen door. She watched the blackness across the room, needing a way out. She wanted to hide forever, to sink into a hole in the kitchen and never be found.
She was too frightened to function and terrified of what she’d seen in the hallway. The only sound now was the sharp pants thrusting from her mouth. Her lips were dry; she needed water.
Lydia stood, hearing Jack’s voice in her head. He’d know what to do, how to cope. His deep, calming voice was all she needed to make things better. She took deep breaths, feeling as if her head had been separated from her body, her windpipe blocked.
Lydia pawed along the kitchen worktop and found the sink. She turned the tap on the right, letting it gently run, then reached forward, cupping her hands under the stream. She threw the water onto her face, gulping, swallowing as much as her body could manage. It felt so good, it had a calming effect on her sweltering body. She was distracted by a creak, a low groan from the other end of the room.