Footsteps in the Dark

Chapter 1

Helen pulled up her coat collar, feverishly trying to defend herself from the terrible gale that had been building up all evening.

  Glancing around nervously, she tried to reassure herself that there was nobody observing her from the dark shadows of the trees and undergrowth that surrounded the rocky and uneven driveway.

  Honestly, she thought to herself, with all that money you would have thought that Mr Bence would be able to get proper gravel on his drive. 

    Rounding a sharp bend, the house suddenly came into view, the dull glow of the lights shining through the thick, heavy curtains making it seem almost luminous.

  It was not an exceptionally large house, it had an upstairs and a downstairs, a cook and a housekeeper. Although it was on the outskirts of the town, it was quite isolated up it's long, dark drive.

  Helen shuddered as a dark cloud hid the crescent moon, plunging her into darkness, and the sinister rumble of thunder growled through the air. Quickening her pace, Helen soon reached the front door, at which she knocked heartily. A torrent of warm air his her in the face as it swung open, revealing the sour-faced Mrs Staton, housekeeper of Hillside House.

  "Ah, Helen, you've arrived," were her greeting words. "I was afraid you would be frightened by the storm and not come."

  Helen smiled disarmingly.

  "It's 1930, Mrs Staton. It'll take more than a storm to frighten a girl nowadays."

  Glaring, the housekeeper led her through the hall to the cobblestone kitchen, warm and cosy from the firing range. While Helen extracted herself from her soggy coat and hat, Mrs Staton proceeded to wrap herself firmly in her yellow oilskins.

  "It's cook's night off, and the Master and the Mrs are out, so you'll be all alone, looking after young Miss Nell."

  The words 'all alone' made Helen's blood run cold. Looking down at the large oak table, the centerpiece of the kitchen, the headlines of the local newspaper caught her eye.

  "Another murder," she said, indicating to the paper.

  "Yes," Mrs Staton said, indifferently.

  "That makes six now," Helen continued, desperately trying to spark a conversation on her favourite subject.

  "Well, you'd better be sure to lock all the doors and windows firmly then, my girl."

  Helen started.

  "Oh, but you don't think he'll come here do you? Not on a night like this!"

  Mrs Staton snorted. 

  "Take more than a storm to stop this maniac if he's out to get someone."

  There was an awkward silence, with nothing but the eerie, screaming wind to be heard.

  "You'd better go up and see to Miss Nell. After all, that's what you're being paid for. I'm going now."

  As Helen strode over to the kitchen door, the words:

  "And remember, don't take any of her nonsense about the storm," were called to her.

  Mounting the stairs, Helen decided firmly that she would be sympathetic to little Nell's fear of the storm. After all, she was only seven, and even Helen, at the grand age of twenty-two still hated the flash of lightning, and the echoing rumbles of thunder. But that wasn't what made her feel nervous as she walked across the dimly lit landing. It was the dangerous murderer that was on the lose…

Mrs Staton was just about to leave the house through the back door when a noise caught her attention.

  Damn! That imbecile cook has left the cellar ventilator open. In this wind, it'll keep the whole house awake.

  Collecting a candle from the dresser and lighting it, she walked confidently out of the kitchen and into the hall, and paused for a moment. Although she would never admit it, especially to Helen, she had been terrified of storms since she was a little child.

  Mrs Staton sighed impatiently at herself and opened the wooden door leading to the cellar, revealing a pit of icy blackness. Shielding the flickering candle with her hand, she started down the cold stone steps, her feet making a shuffling echo as she did so.

  The cellar was cold and pitch black, apart from the small island of light surrounding the housekeeper's candle.

  A sudden gust of wind shrieked, and to her horror, Mrs Staton saw the door leading to the hall swing shut, and her candle extinguish itself, leaving her submerged in darkness.

  "Damn!" she repeated.

  She started to make her way towards where the steps had been, arms stretched before her like a sleepwalker.

  Suddenly, she froze.

  An icy hand gripped her shoulder.

 Mrs Staton didn't have time to scream.