PEEL-BEHIND THEIR EYES. Book 1 (Complete)

Chapter 1. The lane

The suburbs of Great Grimsby were quiet early Sunday morning. It was bright, dry and a little blustery down Grovener lane. Cars sat coldly along the roadside, paths were awash with autumn's golden fall, and houses on either side were still fast asleep. Curtains were drawn, morning tabloids hung from letter boxes like comical cigars, and bottles of milk sat alongside family cats who were waiting to be granted entry.

"An idyllic scene that middle-class families dreamed of on days like this" the dark-clad stranger thought whilst leaning against one of the old oak trees that lined the curb. The roots of the tree had grown deep and fat until eventually, the stone path hadn't been able to contain them any longer. The tree had become an up thrust monolith of wood with an inverse crown of upturned slabs at its base. The old man tree stood proudly, it had been there before this dark stranger had arrived and it would be there long after the day's misdeeds.

Sitting down on the iron framed bench, avoiding the white streak of birds dropping that marred the backrest, the stranger settled down for a long wait. Pulling up the collar of a very long raincoat against the windy chill and tugging down the peak of a flat cap, the stranger became a pool of darkness where there should be none, a shadow.

Unfolding the recently acquired newspaper, courtesy of number 13, the stranger began to read. The usual dreary stories graced its front cover, of political unrest, murder, and sexual scandal of the rich and famous. Tucked down in the corner on page 8, barely of any interest, was the story of a young girl, 14-year-old Rebecca Hanstead, of Surrey Crescent, Grimsby. The poor girl had gone missing only the day before, thought to have run away after an argument with her mother and stepfather. As always the article had the girl's mother pleading for Rebecca to come home. The dark stranger smiled.

"If only they knew, soon they will" a chuckle dripped from the shadow of the cap,

"Not just yet, though there's still another who has to run away from home" then more chuckling.

Shaking the paper out as all readers did when turning the page; the shadow crossed legs and slid sideways to rest an elbow on the backrest. With the mimicry of a child's shrill voice, a rhyme sang out.

"One-two- three -four-five, once I caught a girl alive,

Six-seven-eight-nine-ten, will I give her back again,

Why would I let her go, because her parents need to know,

What do they need to know, how much I love her blue eyes so"

Content, the stranger continued to read the paper as Grover lane woke; curtains were drawn open, newspapers retrieved from the doors, milk fetched and cats allowed into the warmth of the kitchen, where they wound around ankles in anticipation of being fed. Early morning joggers set out, children were allowed to ride their bikes as their mother's cooked breakfast and their fathers relax with the Sunday morning broadsheets. All were oblivious to the nondescript shadow that sat nonchalantly by the side of the road, watching, studying them as they all went about their business as if nothing was amiss.

That was the strangers talent, it wasn't a super power, but it was a power that could be held over people nonetheless, the power to blend in so well, so seamlessly, as to fade into the background, to become a blind-spot in people's vision, until the stranger was no longer visible, to no longer be before their eyes, but to hide in plain sight behind their eyes.

The morning progressed on, the sun rose higher in the sky; the neighborhood grew busy as people went about their business. The stranger continued to sit alone on the bench, every now and then looking up over the paper to see the hubbub, patiently waiting for the girl to make an appearance. The stranger knew she would turn up sooner or later, but did not know who she was or where she was, neither had the stranger met or seen her, she could be anyone, behind any of these doors, but she was here; she just needed a little time to show herself. And when she did, she would be known instantly; one look in her eyes and the stranger would know. Eyes dropping back to the paper the stranger began to whistle the rhyme, the happy rhyme that was always whistled when a new girl was found. Several likely candidates had come and gone, but none had felt right, they had been allowed to carry on, unaware of their temporary yet lethal audition.

On hearing a car approach and slowly pass by, the shadow looked up to see a dark blue Mercedes Benz E-class turn and pull into a driveway a little further up the road. The car's driver and passenger doors swung open and its occupants climb out. The driver, a tall middle aged balding man, carrying a newspaper tucked under his arm, waved his key fob wand like, at the car. Hearing the double beep of its lock and alarm systems activate, he stomped off with a face of thunder into the house, not waiting for his companion. The passenger stood still, her arms wrapped around herself, halfway between the front door that had already been slammed shut, and the street. Even from the bench the stranger could hear the quiet sobs coming from the young girl, and guessed from her disheveled clothing and hair, that she had been out partying, and the driver, more than likely her father, wasn't too happy with her.

Folding the newspaper precisely four times and depositing it onto the seat, the stranger stood up, smoothed down the long coat, and stepped out onto the road. Crossing quickly, but without drawing any unwanted attention, walking steadily along well-tended hedges, past several more of the evenly spaced oak trees, the shadow stopped beside a tree only arms distance from the young girl. She began to walk sobbing, her head bowed, towards the recently slammed door. The shadow by the tree frowned as she moved away towards the front door; she was too close to the house to attempt anything. Then the shadow sighed with relief, she had halted and raised her head, with a huff a spark of anger lit her face, and she turned. Within moments she had stormed out of the driveway and had marched off down the street. The shadow followed.

Placing a hand in the pocket of the long dark overcoat, and raising the arm, the stranger flapped out the coat like a large terrible black wing, and with a comfortably smooth welcoming voice, said, "Excuse me, Selena isn't it?"

The tear streaked young girl slowed, turned and began to say "What, no, I'm Macy..." seeing the dark menacing shadow with its open wings, she froze, just for a fraction of a second, before it registered that she needed to scream and run, it was a moment too late.

Before Macy had a chance to in-hale and expel a breath as loudly as her vocal cords knew how and scream her horror for all to hear, the black winged coat enveloped her in darkness. A gloved hand clamped over her mouth to quelled her screams and arms held her tight to still her flailing arms. In seconds she felt light headed and collapsed into the shadows arms. The stranger smiled, the smooth voice became hard and dangerous,

"You have beautiful eyes Macy, beautiful eyes. Eye's ripe for the plucking"

The last thing she saw was the dark box, its doors closing and shutting out the light. As she drifted off to dark unforgiving places, Macy heard a terrifying child like voice.

One-two-three-four-five, I have another girl alive

Six-seven-eight-nine-ten, Rebeca has a bestest friend

Now it's time to have some fun, I'll take their baubles one by one

Then I shall let them go, and finally, their parents will get know

Grover lane remained lazily quiet as the small white box van drove slowly away. The front door of a house opened and out stepped the middle-aged balding Mercedes driver. Looking around for his absent daughter, his eyes washed unfixed over the passing van and its occupant, the look of anger on his face gone, replaced with concern.

Unlike the stranger that had spent the morning watching them, Mr. Mercedes and his neighbors of Grover lane had seen nothing out of the ordinary, not even a dark stranger and a simple plain white van, nothing at all.

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