Tell Tale by Mark Sennen Read Free Book Online

she intended to leave Russia. ‘Different seas,’ he’d said. ‘Different salt in the water. You either like the taste or you don’t.’ Certainly her first taste had been sour, but after a nightmare few weeks things had improved, and over time some of her faith had been restored. She had a nice room in a shared house and a part-time job in a cafe. The winters were warmer, if wetter, than Moscow, and this year the British summer had been a scorcher. She’d had a brief fling with a lifeguard who’d taught her how to surf and although the relationship had ended she’d enjoyed herself while it lasted. The UK, all in all, wasn’t so bad.
    Until now.
    Although Ana Róka had only come to Devon half a year or so ago, the Hungarian girl had quickly become Irina’s best friend. She guessed it was because they shared a common experience in making the physical and psychological journey from East to West. When Ana had gone missing, Irina had been distraught. But the police had seemed uninterested. They had carried out a few checks and then told her they could do nothing more. People went missing all the time, they had said. Especially foreign immigrants. She’ll likely as not turn up. That story seemed to have changed now.
    Irina screwed up the paper tissue and lobbed it into a nearby bin. She stood and weaved her way across the Hoe, dodging the picnickers. Perhaps in the UK people did go missing all the time, she thought. But in Russia, when somebody went missing you knew something very, very bad had happened to them.

Chapter Four
    Colours whirl on the huge outdoor screen, most people on the plaza paying little attention as the soundless pictures flash by. Chubber’s paying attention though. Chubber’s
interested
. The newsy news is always interesting, but today’s is especially so.
    The screen shows a presenter talking to the camera. Behind him cars and vans. People in uniform. The blue of water. Trees and granite tors. Moorland.
    Moorland, Chubber? We don’t like the moor, do we?
    That’s not right, Chubber thinks. The moor is fine – as long as it’s not dark and you avoid stone circles and the man with the antlers on his head. That’s when things get scary. When the man starts talking and Chubber starts listening and the man tells Chubber things he doesn’t want to hear about demons and ghosts and the devil and people who get hurt if they open their mouths to tell stories to anyone who might listen only they won’t listen because the stories are just stories so it’s better to keep quiet and do what they say than be caught and suffer for ever in the fires of h … h … h …
    Don’t think about it, Chubber, don’t!
    Chubber opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. A rush of panic fills his chest. He checks the sky for the sun. The big ball of fire is up there, hot and yellow and high and a long, long way from the horizon. Chubber breathes deep. No need to worry. He’s done exactly as Antler Man asked. Everything is OK. He focuses once again on the huge screen and the subtitles that scroll along the bottom.
    Breaking news: police searching Dartmoor reservoir after clothing of missing waitress found …
    Chubber stares. Reads the words. Feels excitement tingle across the back of his hands. Feels a swelling
down there
.
    Chubber! That’s naughty!
Down there
is very bad.
    ‘Hot chocolate?’
    Black and white blocks Chubber’s view for a moment. The black of a dress, the white of an apron, more black flows like liquid down legs cosseted in sheer hosiery. He looks up, smiles, and meets the eyes of the girl as she places the drink in front of him.
    ‘Thank you,’ he says. Nice girl. Lovely girl. Beautiful girl. ‘Thank you very much.’
    The girl half smiles back but there’s a sadness behind her expression. Chubber wonders if the girl has been crying. Wonders if she needs comforting. Maybe the smile is an invitation. Does she want him to reach out and touch her thigh? Her leg is so close, clad