As he got closer, Stephen could see her fragile, petite body. A pair of tight black leggings protected her slim legs and a baggy jumper covered her tiny chest and frail arms. The jumper consisted of a mixture of pinks and purples and appeared to be hand knitted. Hair was hanging limply down the girls’ back, that was rich and dark, yet looked unwashed and damaged by the abysmal weather. Her hands were covering her face as though she was afraid, crying or lost.
‘ I don’t want to get involved,’ Stephen decided. He was feeling more lethargic by the minute and awaited curling up in a ball in his king-size bed. As he approached her he couldn’t resist staring, yet somehow he still didn’t manage to notice what was to come.
The girl stood there, statue-like, until Stephen’s jade green Ford was almost in juxtaposition with her. Suddenly she sprawled her body out into a huge star jump, as she leapt in front of Stephens’ car. Stephen shouted random frantic words, as his bonnet emerged into her body. The thud was soft, but the impact, he thought, was strong. His wheels skidded to a halt and he lost control of his steering causing him to spin 360 degrees.
The car eventually stopped, as tears ran copiously from the eyes of the man. His heartbeat had almost tripled, yet his breath had almost stopped as he sat there stiffly, not moving. He knew the girl would be caught under the wheels of his car, yet he was afraid to get out and see the consequences. With a shaky gloved hand he reached for his mobile phone, which was tightly secured in the pocket of his jean trousers. His vision tripled as he dialled 999 and waited anxiously for a response.
The friendly sounding policewoman had a relaxed, comforting voice and reassured the panicky Stephen that she would be on her way with a team of others. On ending the conversation the frantic man entered the digits of his Fathers landline. He was breathing heavily down the phone and despite the shrill ringing, he could still hear and equally feel his heart beating rapidly. Someone picked up the receiver at the opposite end and after a few seconds of muffling, a docile voice answered.
“Mum! I’ve been in an accident! Get Dad to come down! Now! Please!” He shouted out in short, urgent sentences, without giving his Mother any chance to speak. In the background he heard his Mother call out to his Dad, who in turn, came to the phone. “Where are you, son?” he asked with a stern, sullen voice. After Stephens crying response, his Father announced that he’d be there shortly.
Many apprehensive minutes passed when the first car Stephen had seen since the accident came towards him from the horizon. It was a burgundy coloured Renault Safrane that belonged to his Father. He pulled up in a lay-by approximately 20 metres away from his son, and Stephen watched his plump body leap out the car and bounce towards him. He was waiting for his Father’s reaction to change as he saw the disfigured corpse of the young girl beneath his car, yet his expression remained indifferent. As Stephen explained what had happened, his Father adopted a quizzical look and eventually opened his mouth to speak. “There’s no body around here Stephen, “ he said. He was stood outside of Stephens car wearing an anorak, scarf and as Stephen noticed – his slippers. “Maybe it’s buried beneath some snow, we’ll wait for the police.”
As though he were psychic, the police arrived immediately after the utterances. They pulled up next to the Renault and two sturdy looking male police officers jogged up to Stephen. Stephens Father explained to the officers what had happened whilst a policewoman observed the area carefully with a powerful torch. The three police joined together and discussed something under their breaths, before one of the males turned towards Stephen. He had fierce eyes and jagged features dominated his ageing skin.
“Stephen Waynsford, we’d like to discuss more thoroughly what happened to you this evening, but at the minute we’d like to test you for alcohol. If the test proves that you have not consumed alcoholic beverages, then we will arrange for you to have a kind of… counselling therapy with us.” The policeman tried smiling warmly as Stephen squirmed angrily inside. ‘It was a ghost,’ Stephen realised, ‘and nobody is ever going to believe me.’
A month later on an icy February evening, Charlotte was having a relaxing drive in her dad’s car. She’d passed her driving test just a week ago, and couldn’t yet afford her own vehicle, yet the 17-year-old still enjoyed cruising around in her Father’s Fiat Punto.
She’d spent the day enjoying a shopping spree in the busy town centre of Hailsbury, and had then spent a subsequent hour and fifteen minutes in a Chinese restaurant with a close friend. She looked down and admired her new figure-hugging beige top, which was low-cut and revealing. ‘Not something my parents will like!’ She thought to herself, chuckling.
The dynamic teen held out a manicured and pampered hand to put the current song on full volume, as she threw her head about to the beat, whilst singing along. She loved being 17, and as far as she was concerned it was going to be like this forever; plenty of friends, steady boyfriend, a car whenever she wanted, money, and an enjoyable job – what more could anyone want, she asked herself?
As the song came to an end she switched to the contrasting, sensible Charlotte. She switched her radio off whilst throwing her deceased chewing gum out of the window, as she approached her home. Her car moved steadily down the last road before her house, as she gazed ahead, feeling alert.
A young girl was propped at the side of the road about 50 metres ahead, and she had her thin arms wrapped around herself for warmth and comfort. ‘Poor girl,’ thought Charlotte. ‘Maybe she’s lost?’ She reflected. The girl looked about the same age as Charlotte, yet seemed rather impoverished.
Her ill-fitting clothes appeared slightly grubby, and extremely old-fashioned. However, her large, pleading eyes melted Charlotte’s heart, as she decelerated, getting closer to the girl. The peculiar character seemed frightened, and it looked as thought she had been crying. She had great, soulful dark eyes, and long hair, that perhaps could look seductive to a male, if it were cleaner.
As Charlotte stopped the car, about a metre away from the girl, who remained in position, she wound the window down. “Would you like a lift?” She yelled. The girl continued to stare ahead of her, at the opposite side of the road, but gave a slight nod of her head in acknowledgement.
“Jump in then, I’m going to Meadsbury, is that where you’re going?” The girl gave the same nod in response, whilst slowly and carefully climbing into her car. As she sat down Charlotte noticed just how petite she was. Her legs were a lot longer than hers, yet were almost half the size. They were attached to a pair of unsightly black leggings.
As Charlotte began to restart the car she noticed her passengers long, claw-like finger-nails, making her shudder. She also became aware of the sudden drop of temperature in the car. She grabbed her denim jacket from the back seat and began to wrap herself in it, when something slashed her face.
She immediately put her hand to her face in absolute agony, as the stranger opened her mouth snaring her sharp, pointed teeth. Her claw-like fingernails were now smothered with blood from Charlottes face, as she stabbed her arm with them, and then dragged her hand right down to her wrist, leaving four elongated vertical wounds, each pouring with rich red blood. As Charlotte screamed for help she realised how isolated she was on the road that barely anyone used. She struggled to open her door and escape, as five fingernails appeared in front of her eyes. As she trembled with fear, a hand attacked her left eye, gauging out an eyeball. Her last memory was of redness, danger and blood.
As Stephen lay in bed half-awake, the loud shrill noise came from his bedside phone. He picked it up mid yawn. “’Ello?” He said, trying to disguise the fact that he’d been asleep at 6pm.
“Stephen, it’s Dad. I’ve got something to tell you. I think you were very lucky. That girl you…. ran over….”
“Yeh Dad, I tried forgetting about that, but carry on.” Stephen replied with an annoyed tone.
“Well, I, er, I think you had a lucky escape. She’s just killed someone. You know Charlotte Bartholomew, lives down the road from you? She’s dead. It happened exactly where your accident was. Stephen, something strange is going on. We’ve got to get out of here before she strikes again.”
“Yeh Dad, I didn’t hear any of that the doorbell went. Hold on a minute I’ll just let whoever it was in.”
As Stephen’s dad waited, he heard shouts and screams from the other end of the phone, before an elongated ‘help’ was heard. He paused in shock, stiff and rigid, as he realised that the phantom teen had struck again, this time in innocent Stephen’s house.
