The Corruption of Innocence

Chapter 1

Slowly trudging through the thick muddy pathway that ran like a stream through the forest, the man breathed in the cold, winter air. He could smell the damp oak trees that surrounded him, concealing him and the path from the outside world where horses whined, drivers whipped, and children laughed.

Crossing an old, wooden bridge, the water below was frozen solid and lay still as though holding its breath as Oliver Walling stared glumly down on to the icy blanket covering it. His fingers ran across the stone of the bridge and hurt with the sensitivity the cold had brought his skin. Jack Frost bit at his cheeks, his nose, and his lips, laughed at his low looks and wondered at his determination in such low spirits. Oliver brushed the cold off, shuddered, and turned away from the frozen stream and down the woodland path. Stopping, he looked down to the girl stood next to him and frowned.

"Come on now Charlotte," he said with a hint of impatience. He had come all the way to Chippenham from Manchester and wanted to get the matter in hand sorted out as soon as possible. Yet his daughter wasn't so keen to go ahead, and she began sucking her thumb as her father bent down to her.

"I don't wanna go," he was told. Smiling, he lifted the girl up and held her in his arms.

"Daddy just needs to get this job done and then we can go," he promised her, before swiftly kissing her cheek. "Come on now love."

"No!" she shrieked, looking surprisingly unsettled.

"Enough now, Charlotte," was the stern reply, and Oliver marched forward with her, not wanting her to create a scene.

As they passed through the forest, Charlotte looked anxiously around her and nestled her head deeper into her father's neck. When they passed a marking stone on the side of the walkway, Charlotte cried out again and began sobbing, thrusting her arms around. Frustration took hold of Oliver, but also a feeling of perplexment. He patted her on the back and reminded her that they would be on the way home soon. At that she didn't calm herself, but when a large house came into view as they emerged out of the forest, she seemed to quieten a little.

Putting her down at the top of the steps, Oliver placed his suitcase at his side and knocked on the large wooden door. The banging echoed inside, but no one answered him. It was growing colder, the mist was thickening, and, growing impatient, he brought the case over to his daughter and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm just going to look around the corner to see if I can fetch someone to let us in," he said, and she nodded, thumb still in her mouth.

"Hello?" Oliver called out, wrapping his arms around him. He listened, but heard nothing, and swore quietly at the thick fog that blurred his vision. Sighing heavily with all hope seemingly lost, he turned back around and strode back down the gravel.

"You won't find them here. Family died many years ago."

Seeing Oliver jump, the voice laughed and called out to him.

"Did I frighten you, mister? Up here."

Looking up, the startled man saw a young boy sitting on a balcony of the house that was not too far from the ground. Grinning, the lad swung his feet and looked with scrutiny at his new acquaintance through muddy brown eyes. He looked around ten years of age, yet there was something in the boy's demeanour that made Oliver think he was older.

"I was written a letter by an occupant of this house informing me I had inherited it as next of kin to one George Smith," he shouted up to him. The boy's eyes flashed, and he let out some sort of growl, but then paused and smiled sweetly. "Do you know the Smith family?" Oliver asked.