The night was unusually calm, one of those rare moments when the memories of my mother didn’t haunt my dreams. The silence was so profound, so serene, that it left me unsettled, as though the absence of her presence was somehow more disconcerting than her usual visits.
The next morning, just as I finished packing for the boys’ gathering, the sharp blare of a car horn pulled my attention outside. Damien Ellis, my lawyer friend, sat waiting in his car, a familiar grin on his face. It was just the two of us for now; the rest of the group would be meeting us at the venue.
After several hours of driving, we finally reached my hometown. As we cruised along the quiet road, with open plains stretching on our right and the dense forest looming on our left, I found myself murmuring, "I think I’m ready to face my fears." The words felt heavier than I expected, but the time had come.
It wasn't long before we reached Ham Street, just a few kilometres from our destination, Ham House and Garden. Suddenly, the car sputtered and came to a halt. The engine failed, leaving us stranded with only a few parked cars in sight. The street was eerily quiet, amplifying the frustration as Damien tapped the steering wheel, trying to coax life back into the car.
“Maybe your townsfolk can help us,” Damien suggested, motioning for me to approach the nearest person. Though reluctant, I stepped towards an elderly man who had just exited his car. His pet golden retriever sat inside, stubbornly refusing to budge, its eyes fixed ahead as if determined to stay put. The old man noticed my approach and raised an eyebrow, curious but patient.
“Excuse me, can—” I began, but before I could finish, the old man reached out, shaking my hand with a firm grip and offering a warm smile.
“You came back,” he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “You’ve got your father’s looks. But those eyes—your mother’s, unmistakably blue.”
I recognized his familiar aura, but the faces of the people and the details of the town had faded, deliberately locked away in the recesses of my mind. "Our car malfunctioned, and my friend here forgot to bring the tools in his haste," I explained, trying to sound casual.
He nodded, calmly closing his car door before retrieving a toolbox from the trunk. As he worked on Damien’s vehicle, I let my gaze drift across the area, trying to keep my mind busy. It wasn’t long before my eyes landed on something that made me freeze—a missing person flyer, slightly weathered, with the name Isabella Stanford in bold letters. Something about it pulled at my memory.
“All well now,” the man said, giving my shoulder a gentle pat that jolted me back to the moment. I blinked, momentarily shaken from my thoughts, and offered him a grateful smile.
“Thank you so much, sir,” I said, my voice sincere. “How can we repay you?”
“No need to pay me. I'm just happy to help others,” the man replied with a warm smile.
“Thank you,” Damien added, his gratitude evident in his tone.
“May I ask where you two are heading?” the man inquired.
“Ham House and Garden, sir,” I replied. I remembered hearing stories about that place when I was little, but since my childhood home was far from here, I wasn't sure if the tales held any truth.
“Staying for the night, are you?” the man asked, his smile fading. Just as he was about to return to his car, he suddenly clutched his chest and sank to his knees, his back facing us.
“Is… Is there a problem, sir?” I asked, hurrying toward him. The moment I touched him, a jolt surged through my mind. The words I had seen before—“They are coming”—struck me like a bolt of lightning. Images flooded my mind: three faceless girls, their silent cries echoing in my ears. The weight of their sorrow pressed down on me, intertwining with the distress of the moment, leaving me disoriented and anxious as I tried to make sense of it all.
Squinting against the haze, I glimpsed glowing red eyes, and then a child appeared, screaming at the top of her lungs, blood trickling from her mouth as she rushed past me.
As I stood there, another image flashed before me—a piece of paper soaring through the air. It drifted closer, revealing the name Elizabeth Holland before it swooped away, pulling me back to reality. I gasped, struggling to catch my breath, my heart racing from the unexpected visions.
I suddenly found myself in a different scene—a room infused with 17th-century charm. Damien sat in a chair near the large window, gazing at me with concern evident on his face as I struggled to sit up, attempting to calm the turmoil within me. The soft light streaming through the window cast gentle shadows, but the weight of my recent visions lingered, refusing to fade.
“Dude, what’s going on with you?” he asked, concern etched on his face. “You just suddenly lost consciousness, and the boys and I had to move you here.”
Friedrich, our doctor friend, stood there with a look of genuine concern etched on his face. His mixed heritage gave him an intriguing appearance, with smooth, almond-shaped eyes that reflected his Asian lineage, framed by soft curls of dark hair that hinted at his British roots. Beside him was Trevor, a tall man with rich, dark skin, who works in IT.
“What exactly happened?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly as I tried to piece together the fragmented memories.
“Well, you and Damien arrived at the entrance, and when I was about to reach for your hand for a shake, you collapsed,” Trevor explained.
“And just now, you seemed to be having a nightmare,” Damien added, his voice laced with worry as he glanced at me, clearly still unsettled by the situation.
“Hey, have you been sleeping late recently? Are you neglecting yourself because you’re a well-known officer now?” Friedrich asked, his teasing tone attempting to lighten the mood, though concern still lingered in his eyes.
I paused, contemplating what had transpired. “Did we happen to meet an old man when our car malfunctioned?” I inquired.
“No,” Damien replied, his tone serious and devoid of any joking demeanour. “It was smooth sailing until we arrived here.”
My heart raced, and I couldn't comprehend what to think. “You know what?” Friedrich said, taking Damien’s arm and leading him towards the open door. “We'll let you rest here for now, and you can join us later for our first-ever stag do tradition as a group.”
“We'll wait for you in the backyard. We’ll take a peaceful walk in the garden first,” Trevor said, watching as the two moved out of sight. Once they were gone, he leaned in closer. “Don’t worry, he’ll have a little surprise there that he won’t expect,” he added with a chuckle before dashing off to catch up with them.
I watched them disappear from my sight, feeling uneasy and unable to sleep. Taking my phone, I searched for the latest cases in Richmond. That was when I stumbled upon the news that the 1978 case had been reopened. My heart sank as I read that three young girls with the same names had gone missing again, all vanishing in the autumn: Isabella on September 6, Elizabeth on October 6, and Dianne just last night, November 6.
As I scrolled through the news online, a text message from an unknown number flashed on my screen, making my heart race. “Save them! They need you, and you are the only one who can help them!”
YOU ARE READING
Usurped
HorrorBenedict Aldridge was a great detective, but behind his success lay a dark past. From the mysterious death of his mother to his father's baffling obsession with the case of three missing young girls in 1978, his life was steeped in haunting memories...
