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Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

    Episode 20 part 1

As Mary drove closer to Trenthamville, unaware of the horror that lay behind her, she once again began to mull over ideas about how she would go about getting closer to Joseph.   Her being in the village would probably seem like more than a strange coincidence to him if she simply arrived on his door step, in a manner of speaking, when she arrived at the farm, or should they accidentally bump into each other in the street beforehand.  

   But she would have to make eye contact with him at some stage and it would be far better for her if she did so under her own initiative, rather than by an unexpected accident.   And she knew that she needed to find out more about his reason for going to Trenthamville.   All she knew at the moment came from what she had heard the night before when she was eavesdropping, and she knew instinctively that there was a lot more to what was going on than what she had heard  – and she also realised whatever was happening may very well hold the key she needed for her to gain access to Joseph’s confidence and trust.   But she had to come up with a plan … and she had better try and do it before she arrived in Trenthamville.

********

Joseph, however, was oblivious to Mary’s worries, thoughts, and fears … never mind her presence on the road.   He had his own problems to deal with as he sat quietly on his own in the back of Martin’s car while Rosetta rested her head against a pillow pressed against the front seat passenger window in an attempt to have a short sleep on the journey.   Regardless of her need to find her father as fast as possible, early mornings weren’t part of Rosetta’s daily routine and she was having trouble adjusting to what she described to  Joseph as an ungodly hour of the morning when he first got in the car, and thirty seconds later he could hear the soft sounds of her sleeping,  

   Martin, meanwhile, had been driving without saying a word for virtually the entire trip.   Martin had explained to Joseph that he found it hard to concentrate when he drove, especially on long trips, and rather than to have conversations that weren’t necessary, he preferred to let classical music wash over his mind.   This situation suited Joseph’s needs.   He had things that he needed to mull over in his own mind and a full blown conversation would not have given him much chance to do so … and it may even allowed something to escape from his lips without thinking, something that would give Martin or Rosetta cause for concern regarding his authenticity in their presence.   And a second problem had suddenly arisen in Joseph’s mind as he realised that he would somehow have to find some time alone to call in sick to his place of employment without making it obvious to Rosetta and Martin that his ‘cover’ was in fact genuine, and he was the fake.     

   There were company rules in place at Johnson’s and he was not about to start pushing his luck.  In normal conditions Joseph was a by-the-rules sort of person, and to take a ‘sickie’ on the day before a public holiday weekend was not the normal behaviour management expected from him.   Under normal conditions he would have had to just about be on his last legs to do so in their minds, so presumably they would believe him when he rang.   But he still had his reservations about the feebly thought out reasoning that had allowed his mind to justify taking a day off in the first place.   And as his brain reminded him of the need to call in, it also managed to make him think twice about what it was he was getting himself into – and how easy it would be for things to go wrong for him.

   Unfortunately for Joseph the resulting thoughts concerning the many possibilities that could take place once they arrived at the farm brought about an unexpected battle for control of his mind.   A battle royal quickly began to reach fever pitch inside his head as common sense fought desperately to regain control, rather than have it taken over by either panic, which was definitely on the cards … or his egotistical adventurous side which was the current favourite.  

   Joseph knew his currently befuddled brain had developed an increasingly addictive taste for adventure in the past twenty four hours… and for Rosetta’s company.   But what was intriguing him even more was the increasingly repetitious subliminal message that constantly tried to convince him that he was needed where he was going for much greater reasons than just to locate the statue … much greater.    His head began pounding with the confusion in his mind of what he was feeling in regards to Rosetta and the story she had told … and the guilt he was feeling in regards to lying to Martin and Rosetta, or, at least, not admitting to the truth of his false involvement in the situation.   Eventually the inner conflict in this mind became too much for him.   He was on the verge of getting a severe headache as a result of his brain’s inconsistent dealings with the problem.   Joseph finally decided it was time to step up to the plate.    He cleared his mind of everything connected with Rosetta, the statue and her father for the moment.    As far as he was concerned whatever fate awaited him in Trenthamville … awaited him, and there was no going back now.

   For the rest of the trip Joseph managed to keep his eyes on the passing scenery as they headed closer and closer to their destination, letting the peaceful serenity of the green countryside allow his mind to do whatever it felt it needed to do without any interference from him.  Something was telling him that things would work themselves out in the correct manner … so he set the paranoia inside him free … and hoped that he had made the right decision.

********

One hour and thirty five minutes after they had started out, the light-grey Mercedes pulled off the highway and onto the main road leading to the quiet country village of Trenthamville.   Three minutes later Martin wheeled the car into a garage situated just prior to the village centre in order to seek directions to the farm.

********

Mary arrived on the scene shortly afterwards and was just about to follow suit when she noticed the Mercedes in the driveway.   She quickly put her right hand in front of her face, pretending to be guarding it against the morning sun which was streaming like a machine gun down the main street, and drove straight past the garage.   She was far too nervous to take the chance to look in the direction of the Mercedes in case they were watching the road, and drove on for several hundred yards before pulling over and digging in her bag for her phone.

********

While Martin was still chatting with the garage attendant, with Rosetta close in attendance, Joseph took advantage of the situation and excused himself for a call of nature.  

********

If they had been two different people suspicion may have been raised when Joseph and Mary sequentially rang in on their mobile phones, on a Friday prior to a holiday weekend, to say that they were sick and wouldn’t be coming in to work.   But in their case it was accepted as pure coincidence.   In fact nobody at the office even noticed the coincidence.

********

Mary squirmed in the motionless car for the umpteenth time.   The increasing brightness and warmth of the morning sun burst down on the vehicle’s windscreen like a ray lamp on a tan seeker.   The still rising sun was far too bright to look at, but there was nowhere for her to shade her eyes against it, and it was beginning to make her feel ill.    As the minutes ticked away Mary decided that she definitely needed a new car, and preferably one with tinted windows and a working air-conditioner.  

   Small beads of sweat had begun forming on her forehead and Mary was beginning to have grave doubts about her own sanity in regards to this impetuous adventure she had undertaken – when, with a deep sigh of relief, she noticed the first flicker of movement in the rear vision mirror she had been using to monitor her quarry, and as soon as she realised that they were on the move she picked up the road-map lying on the passenger seat and placed it so that it completely covered her face until she heard the car pass by, and once it had she threw the map back on the passenger seat and slowly began pulling out – only to find the Mercedes stopped just in front of her, at the only set of traffic lights in the entire village.

   Mary was too committed to pulling out to stop the action, and she knew that she had to catch their attention if she followed them again, so she checked for oncoming traffic, completed a u-turn and headed back towards the garage.   In her mirror she saw the lights changing to green, and Joseph and his friends disappearing out of sight.

   Mary shook her head in disbelief at her luck as the small green Mini traversed the two hundred yards back to the garage, but two seconds into the short trip Mary jumped so hard with fright she banged her head on the roof of the small car as Gizmo’s calm, but exceptionally loud voice roared through the car.  

   “Are you going in the wrong direction, or are you giving up the chase, Mary?”   Gizmo asked.

   “Oh, god – you frightened the life out of me, Gizmo,” Mary replied once she got her breath back.   “Neither.   I need to stop at a garage to get my bearings, and perhaps a few pieces of information.”

   “Then everything is all right?”

   “Yes, thank you.”

   “Then I will turn myself off and wait for you to reactivate me.   Good Bye, Mary.”

   “Bye, bye.”   Mary replied with a sigh of relief that she had kept control of the car as she placed one hand over her heart in a futile attempt to slow it down from the pace it had set for itself at Gizmo’s unexpected arrival.   Then surprised herself more when she realised she had just reached the entrance to the garage.   Mary wheeled the car into a parking bay alongside the building, and once her legs stopped shaking she went inside.

    “Good morning!”  She called out as she entered.   Somehow she had managed to make her voice bright and cheery, despite Gizmo’s disruption to her nervous system and it brought a reciprocal smile from the garage attendant who stood behind the counter.

   “Morning, Miss!” he replied. “Wasn’t expecting city folk this early.   Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

   “What makes you say that?”  Mary asked in surprise at his question.

   “I don’t get many strangers in here normally,” the attendant replied, “at least not on a Friday morning.   I often have my hands full on a Sunday when they are going home … anytime of the day they might come in, sometimes six or seven at a time, but this time of the morning on a Friday … and this time of the  year … ,”   The attendant left the sentence hanging in the air, but failed to dismiss his thoughts entirely.  “They usually go straight to the hotel when they arrive … and that’s usually not ‘till around lunch time … or later.   But you are the second stranger that’s been here this morning.   In fact you are the only other car I have seen all morning that’s not from around here.   The traffic has been really scarce this morning.   I wonder why?”

   “The second visitor?”    Mary asked in a soft, innocent, but inquisitive tone, hoping that the attendant would spread some light on the conversation that had taken place between him and Joseph and his friends.  

   “Had a fellow in a Mercedes only a minute or so before you arrived,” the attendant answered without hesitation, surprising Mary with the readiness of his reply, “with another man, he was, and a young woman – real pretty thing she was.   Trying to find their way to Forster’s farm, they were.   It seems like that’s fast becoming a tourist site by itself, with so many people going there ever since the incident.”

   “Forster’s farm?”   Mary held herself in check trying to not show the excitement that began to flow through her body.  It seemed to her that Joseph was definitely involved in something special and she couldn’t wait to find out more, “So it’s a pretty popular spot is it?”  She asked as casually as she could.

   “Fast getting that way,” the attendant replied with a smile, “A couple of days ago it was those foreigners asking all sorts of questions, and then that little chubby fellow in the big fancy car, he was a foreigner too, and today it was the three in the Mercedes.   I couldn’t see any of that lot being farmers.   What about you, Miss, that where you’re going?   Are you a farmer?”

   “I’m certainly not a farmer,” Mary replied with a smile, “Did something happen at the farm?   Did aliens land there?    Are ghosts haunting the cows and making their milk curdle?”    Mary’s voice retained its innocence through her flippancy, even though her sense of excitement was on the rise.  

   But before the attendant had a chance to answer, a car horn honked outside taking his attention to the driveway and once he saw who his customer was he turned back to Mary.   “Sorry, Miss, was there something that I can do for you before I attend to old Laurie?”

   “There is, but I would like to hear more about the farm. Would you mind if I waited?”  

   “No, that would be fine. I shan’t be long.   There’s some free coffee and tea in the machine over there.   Feel free to help yourself … back in a minute.”

   The attendant went out to attend to his customer and Mary waited patiently at the counter.   ‘It can’t take very long to put some petrol into a car,’ she thought to herself, as she stared aimlessly around the room.

********

  But the minutes ticked by at an extremely slow rate and Mary began to wonder if perhaps he had gone home and forgotten her.  However, as she looked out through the driveway window she could see the attendant leaning into the window of a vehicle, his back arched and his arms resting on the window frame … and it was obvious he was having a good chat with the car’s driver.   She had no idea what type of vehicle it was, but it looked old.   Not something you expected to see running through the streets of London, she thought.   And it was with that train of thought in her mind Mary remembered that she was not in the big city now and a different set of rules applied with country hospitality.  The attendant had not disappeared; he was simply applying himself to his trade: washing the car’s windscreen and having an idle conversation with the driver as he performed his chores.   ‘Ah well,’ she thought as she looked at her watch,” I hope Gizmo will be up to all of this time delay, but my instincts tell me that it will be worth my time.”  

   Eventually Mary decided to take the attendant’s kind offer and made her way to the small self service coffee machine that stood at the end of the counter and examined the small receptacle bin that stood on the floor beside it.  Nearly half a dozen used cups lay in the bin.   An extremely small bar fridge supported the coffee machine and Mary opened the fridge door to examine the contents, pleasantly surprised to find not only some milk inside, but it was fresh milk.

   Mary looked back towards the driveway window and she could still see the outline of the garage attendant.  ‘Why not,’ she thought as she pressed the appropriate buttons … and shortly she was glancing through a magazine she had removed from a display rack as she sipped ever so gratefully on her surprisingly good tasting coffee … and then five minutes later, ‘Just one more,’ she thought guiltily, ‘after all, they are rather small,’ and once again pressed the buttons and smiled as she watched the creamy brown liquid fill her cup to the brim.

*******

    Mary left her second magazine on the desk as she walked over to make her third cup and was in the process of pushing the buttons when the attendant walked back inside.

   “Oh, I am glad you found the coffee, Miss.   Sorry about taking so long.  Old Laurie likes a chat now and then.   But just when he was leaving I heard something clunking in his engine so I thought I had better take a look.”  The attendant apologised, a cheesy grin encasing his face, and then, as if to prove himself to have been telling the truth, he walked over to a small sink near the entrance to the garage workshop and began cleaning his hands.   Mary could see the black grease and oil that covered his hands glistening in the lamp on the bench beside him as he scrubbed and had no doubts that he had done what he had said he had.

   “That’s alright, did you fix the problem?”

   “No.   I’ve booked it in for Wednesday.   It should be alright for a day or so, as long as he doesn’t go rushing off to London or Scotland in it.

   “Is he likely to go rushing off to London or Scotland?”

   “No … not Old Laurie.”   The attendant said with a chuckle,   “Only drives between his home and the village … and that’s not all that often.

   “Well let’s hope he gets home safely this morning.”  Mary said, the smile not once showing any hint of leaving her face.

   Slightly confused at what Mary was alluding to, he answered with the only reply he could think of.  “Well, there’s no reason to think he won’t, Miss.  Why would you think that he wouldn’t make it home?”

   “Oh,” Mary replied sweetly, “I was just thinking how disappointing it would be if you had to go to work on his car again just when you were about to tell me all about what happened at Forster’s Farm the other night … or whenever it was.

   “Oh, that was strange that was.   Hold on a moment,”   The attendant said as he suddenly reached under the counter.  “Just turning on the bell in case anymore customers arrive and I don’t hear them while I am talking.   It was lucky Old Laurie knows to beep his horn in case I forget to turn the bell on.   Now, where was I?”

   “You were going to tell me what happened at the farm.”  Mary reminded him gently.

     The attendant nodded his head in agreement, his eyes began to light up as his mind travelled back over the events that had happened over the last few weeks and his head began nodding in agreement with some memory that had surfaced.   It was as if, inwardly, he was retelling it all to himself.   Without thinking Mary rolled her eyes in frustration, but before she could attempt to bring him back on track the attendant suddenly commenced the telling of his tale.

   “Sorry, Miss,” he apologised, “Just needed to get my facts in order.   Yes, it was very strange,” he began, “though it really began a few months ago.   Some professor, Italian I think he was.   I don’t really know his name, but he rented the old Forster Farm up on the highlands – a few miles out of town it is.   I don’t know what he was doing out there, but a few of the locals here say that there was some strange goings on up there some nights.

   Mind you I never saw anything myself, but there were those that said that they did.   The professor and his off-sider never mixed with the people around here very much as far as I know … so nobody ever got the chance to ask them any questions about things that they did up at the farm.   If somebody did know then they have kept it secret to themselves for all this time.    Word usually gets around here very smartly if queer things are happening.   Though, mind you, the professor sometimes stayed at Missus O’Shaughnessy’s on Kingston Street, but he never talked much to anyone even then according to her.  Just had his meals sent up to his room and stayed put inside it on his mobile and computer, so she says.”

   “Why did he rent out a room if he was also renting a farm?   Couldn’t have had sheep on the farm if he couldn’t sleep there, I suppose … nothing for him to count.”   Mary said, laughing at her own joke as she attempted to keep up the pretence of her light-hearted interest in the background story to the events at the farm as only being out of curiosity, and not with an agenda.   But the minute she heard the name of someone who she presumed to be Rosetta’s father being mentioned she didn’t want to become too pressuring in her questions, lest he became suspicious of her interest and clamped up.    If Joseph had needed to go to the farm  for something to do with Rosetta’s father – then she needed to know everything about the farm and Rosetta’s father’s connection with it, and at this stage the information that the garage attendant provided her with was her most solid starting point.

   The garage attendant grinned at her city humour and went on,   “Went there for the reception on his phone, or his computer, Missus O’Shaughnessy said.   The signal at the farm was very iffy and he had said a lot of his work involved communication and on-line research.   Spent most of the time he was there locked in his room working till the wee hours of the morning, she reckoned.   Said she could see the light from his room shining out onto the yard at the back of the boarding house.   She reckoned on some nights he didn’t go to bed at all.

   When he was not staying at Missus O’Shaughnessy’s he had meals delivered to the farm, but even then there was never anyone to meet James at the gate.  So, like I said … nobody knew very much about what they did at the farm.”

   “Who was James?”   Mary asked, needing to know every single detail.

   “James was Mister O’Shaughnessy’s brother.   All he had to do was place the meals in the mail box and pick up the old dishes they had placed there for him … when they remembered to put them there, that is.   Some days he collected a weeks worth in the one day.    Oh, and then he had to blow a whistle three times or four times until he saw somebody pop their head out of the house or around the corner of the barn.   But that was as far as he got to have any communication with the two of them.”

    “The letter box … he had his meals delivered to a letterbox?”  Mary asked in disbelief, “What was it that he ate … sandwiches?   Bread rolls?  Cheese on crackers?   I hope he had better meals at Missus O’Shaughnessy’s.”

   “No, he ate better than that,” the attendant replied in a slightly flustered, defensive tone, “the mail boxes on a farm are bigger than the ones they use in a big city.   They are used to store things like farm parts that are delivered to the farm, or being sent back to the supplier; big milk containers; all sorts of things, including mail.   They have shelves where the plates were put, both incoming and outgoing.   But the meals were always hot meat and vegetables or chips on china plates and covered in aluminum wrapping, as were the desserts which kept them hot or cold as need be.

   And Missus O’Shaughnessy is the best cook in Trenthamville.   Used to be the chef for ‘The Rat and Mouse’ until she retired and opened the B’n’B about ten years ago … when her husband died.    I’ve had dinner at the B’n’B and The Rat and Mouse on special occasions like Christmas dinner and birthday parties quite regularly over the years and they were the best meals that I have ever had.  No, they were proper meals that the professor and his friend got up at the farm, Miss.

   “Sorry, no offence meant.”  Mary apologised, the tone in her voice in complete agreement with her words.

   “None taken, Miss.”   The attendant replied, the smile returning to his face.

   “The Rat and Mouse,” Mary asked in curiosity, and as a chance to change the subject for the moment, “what is that … a restaurant?”

   “Sort of … it’s the hotel in High Street, just up the road a bit.   Can’t miss it – it’s the only pub we have in Trenthamville.  I thought that was where you were heading when you arrived.   That’s where most people stay when they come to Trenthamville.   It’s the only place that you can stay, outside of Misses O’Shaughnessy’s B’n’B, that is.   But it fills up quickly.”

    “Why did the delivery man, what was his name, oh yes, James.   Why did James have to blow the whistle?   If they were expecting him with their meals why couldn’t he just knock on the front door?   It would seem to have made more sense.”  

   “They do a lot of their work in the barn, and they don’t like people prying, though I have no idea what it was they did, but some seem to think it was something to do with mummies.”

   “Mummies – like in the old horror movies?’  Mary asked in surprise.

   “That’s right, Miss … Boris Karloff and Peter Cushing and their friends.  They say that some nights the lights in the barn are still turned on when the sun rises the next morning.   But whatever it is they do there – it is kept a secret – nobody is allowed inside … which is why James has to use the whistle.  One of them usually comes out from the barn when the whistle is blown within a minute or so.   But if nobody makes an appearance within five minutes James would pull the flag up and leave them to their own devices.

   “Sorry … a flag?”   Mary questioned in bewilderment

   “It’s a little triangle shaped piece of metal that sits at the end of a piece of piping around nine inches long.   It normally lays parallel with the top of the letter box, but when the postie, or someone like James, makes a delivery and nobody comes out of the house of the barn they raise the tubing up and the triangle looks like a flag and the occupants know that there has been a delivery.”

   “Oh, fair enough, but what happened there that caused all the fuss?   Was is something to do with the professor’s mummies?”  

   “What happened that night isn’t really about the professor himself, but I thought it to be important that you were aware that secret things happened on the farm before that night.   And it is because we know so little about the goings on at the farm before that night, we still don’t know what actually happened.   Maybe whatever they were doing there caused what happened to happen, or maybe it had nothing to do with them.    Maybe they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

   Anyway, one night – just over a week ago it was – there was a terrible noise up at the farm.   It was a still night; not a breath of wind; not a car on the road.   You could hear the noise miles away – which is what most of us did.   And it wasn’t the kind of noise that one likes to hear in the night.”

   “What sort of noise?”  Mary asked, the blood in her veins already beginning to flow a little faster; the hairs on the nape of her neck rising in anticipation of what might be coming.

   “They were screams, Miss!   They were the most horrible screams that you have ever heard.   They were like Banshees, squealing and wailing as loud as you please.   I think that everyone in the village ran out of their houses when the noise started.   You could see the farmhouse silhouetted by the fullness of the rising moon.   Some had said that witchcraft or devil worship was being practiced up there.   I don’t know if that was true or not, but I do know that there were strange lights flashing inside the farmhouse along with all that noise, and all that unearthly screaming didn’t help to ally fears that maybe the rumours were true.

   And then there was the long light.   It was shooting hundreds of feet up from the ground into the sky.   It was lucky that there weren’t many trees on the farm, or there could have been one hell of a fire, if you’ll pardon my French.   The tree closest to the light burnt to the ground as it was standing,” he paused for a second and looked her straight in the eye, “It was burning from the middle to the top – and the bottom to the middle – at the same time.  Weird it was.”

   It took Mary a second or two to take in what he had just said, but she didn’t really understand what he was telling her.   “This light – was it like a flame?   Something like a welder’s flame perhaps?”  She finally asked.

   “No, Miss.   Miles bigger than that; it was a light; not like a torch, but it was a light, not a flame …yet it still extruded heat: incredible heat.   But it wasn’t a flame.   It seemed to come right out of the ground, and went straight up into the sky, getting wider and wider the further up that it went.   Like a searchlight it was, only it never moved from the one position.   It just went straight up into the sky.”   He paused for a moment, as his eyes became transfixed by the memory, then his voice shook slightly.

   “And the heat … you could feel the heat here in the village.   Marianne Hopkins was one hundred yards away from the light and she suffered third degree burns on her face and arms.   Old Harry’s shirt caught fire, and we found a few birds on the ground the next day; they were char grilled.”  

   “Oh, my god,” Mary exclaimed.   Mary was finding this story incredible, but extraordinarily hard to swallow at the same time.   “So what happened next?”   She asked impatiently as she motioned for him to go on.

   “We’re not too sure,” the attendant replied, “the sky above suddenly exploded in a burst of light.   It bathed the entire farm in its glow and we were all temporarily blinded by its brightness.   It must have been five or six minutes before most of us could see again.   That’s an awful long time when you can’t see a thing.   Some were terrified that they had gone blind.    One old woman started screaming and running around, until she tripped over a garden gnome, and ended up needing a dozen stitches in her head.   She was lucky that she hadn’t bled to death before somebody eventually found her.   It was terrifying to be honest.

   When we could see again, the farm was in darkness, it was almost pitch black, yet it had been a perfectly clear night before all of this.   There had been stars in the sky, and it had been a full moon – yet now the night sky had become covered in a dark cloud.   There was no moon and no stars.   Just blackness!   It was eerie!”

   The look on the attendant’s face as he spoke sent shivers down Mary’s spine, and regardless of her scepticism of the tale he was telling she was hooked, and needed more from him in order to feed the adrenaline that had begun to race uncontrollably through her veins.   Almost as if in fear of missing a single word emitting from the man’s mouth, Mary subconsciously leaned in as hard as she could against the bench that was separating them.   And as the attendant talked, Mary’s mind moved deep into a mental vision of what she was being told; into the darkness of night that he spoke of.   In her eyes she saw people; old; young and some in between, and all with the same fear masking their face as they moved cautiously through the dark, their arms stretched forward like they were zombies lest they walk into something unkind to them and their bodies.  Eventually some fell and had unbelievable difficulty in getting themselves back on to their feet.    The night become darker and darker in her mind the more the attendant told her … and then a new fear sent the hackles rising even further up the nape of her neck when a noise began emitting from somewhere in the shadowy world her mind  was conjuring up.   “But why?”, she wondered, ‘the attendant had not made mention of this intrusion.”   Mary became more and more nervous as the noise increased in volume and wondered if something big and dangerous was approaching because the noise seemed to be getting closer and closer.   Within seconds she had assured her self that something big … heavy … threatening, was drawing near.   She knew it.   But now it was no longer in the darkness of the night at the farm her mind had been visiting …it was here in the garage.   Panic began to set into her mind … images of fire and smoke flashed throughout the blackness inside her mind.   A huge claw suddenly slashed through the air only inches from her face.  Suddenly a strong overpowering smell emerged into her dark world … a strange, monstrous face glared menacingly at her …then it roared, and the suddenness of the noise caused Mary to fall backwards as she screamed out in terror.

EPISODE 20 CHAPTER 22 PART 2 (next)