Haunted Shadows 1: Sickness Behind Young Eyes Read Free

me to go here and there to investigate some
mystery. If I followed them all I'd be running round like a blue-arsed fly. And
most are just shite.”

“And this one?”

“This one’s real.”

He picked up the book and turned to the back. He pulled out a letter from
between the pages. It was lined paper torn from a notebook. I couldn't see the
words but the handwriting was unkempt, like that of a child's but with a slight
maturity that came from a man’s hand.

Outside the sky was starting to turn. The clouds hung low, and there was a dark
grey mix in the air as though the sky were trying to hold onto the light. It
was a battle it was losing, and one it would fight and be defeated on every
night in a cycle that would last long past my life and the life of any children
I had. A sliver of silver moon cut a pale shape.

Jeremiah started to read.

 
    3
     
    “I know you’re not the sort of man to
mince words, so I won’t mince them meself. From what I read you’re a travelled
man, and you’re learned, but you’re grounded to boot. I never got the idea that
you were anything more or less than exactly what I saw. That’s why I like
reading about you.
     
    Well I got something for you. Have
you ever been to Scotland? You’d like it, I think. Don’t go to Glasgow. Edinburgh’s
alright, if you want to do the tourist thing. I’ve got a much better place for
you. You could come to my village. I think you’d find it interesting. I’ll tell
you the tale of why, but you’ll have to forgive me setting it on paper like
this because I know it will seem hard for you to read. I’ve found that you
can’t control your emotion on paper the same as you would with a face. Don’t
you agree?
     
    There was this lass. Seven years old,
black hair, good mum and dad. A nice little village girl. She’d grow up to be a
bonnie-un. But there was something sour about her. You got a sense that
something was off, like she were empty. Other folks apparently thought the
same, but I'm not here to give their opinion.
     
    You might be reading this knowing
exactly who im talking about. Or you might not have a clue. It didn’t make many
newsrags, for some reason.
     
    But a seven year old girl killing
herself is pretty news worthy if you ask me.
     
    I know I know, you didn’t ask me.
     
     Her folks haven’t said much about
the whole thing. Can’t blame them. Meself, I didn’t dare talk to them. I wanted
to. I wanted to tell them how sorry I was, and that things would get better,
and that for what it was worth I didn’t think their girl was bad for doing what
she did. Suicide is a sin is some folk’s eyes but I say the sin lies with the
people around them, the ones who should be watching for those little signs
that’s everything not alright.
     
    I’m getting worked up now, and I
didn’t mean to do that here. Because I know you’re a rational man and you
wouldn’t come if you thought I was being emotional. But we need you to come,
Jeremiah.
     
    The girl would be seventeen now.
Since then my body’s sagged a bit. I’ve been engaged and then found myself
single. I’ve had a dog that I got as a puppy and then buried him when he was
seven years old. The village is a little bit darker, the buildings older. Lots
of folk have forgotten about her. They’re the lucky ones.
     
    Some said that she killed 'erself
because she hated the world and everything in it, and she wanted to wipe every
trace of herself from existence. Pretty deep thinkin’ for a seven year old eh?
There was something going on behind those young eyes. Something very old and
very sick. Something there that shouldn’t have been.
     
    Years on, those of us who still
remember her are the ones in trouble. Because she comes for you. People have
died, Jeremiah. Anyone who’s acknowledged her existence in the light of day or
dead of night, has died. They say she comes at night. She knocks on your
bedroom door.
     
    Knock, knock, knock.
     
    She’ll carry on all night