The Corruption of Innocence

Chapter 3

The morning sun streamed through the window on to the pale, sickly face of Oliver Walling, who lay asleep, body twitching, still restless even in unconsciousness. He'd scoured Wiltshire for a week, asking here and there, looking in woods and in old buildings, retracing the steps of Jack Edgar when he was alive, but his ghost was nowhere to be seen. The locals claimed he appeared at many different sights, but all these leads had taken Oliver to a dead end every time. By the seventh day he was sick and weak, and exhausted, fell asleep not long after forcing down his breakfast.

Neither had noticed each other; Oliver hadn't noticed the boy stood at the window, a blue glow surrounding him, and the boy hadn't noticed the man as he threw himself through the door, slammed it shut and snored loudly on the bed a few seconds later.

When his eyes opened, Oliver was facing the window where the boy stood, and it took a while for his brain to alert him to the visitor. Then, his nervous system kicked in and he jumped up, heart banging against his chest, making him feel ten times sicker than he already was.

The apparition had been frightened by the sudden movement of bed sheets and his small head shot around like an owl to face the wondering man on the bed. Then he let out a small noise like a scared dog and backed up against the window, eyes wide with panic.

"What are you doing in my room, lad?" Oliver asked. He had not realised who the boy might be, as he had expected Jack to be a traditional ghost– something like a floating white sheet. The boy at the window looked fully human, apart from the blue around him that Oliver took to be some reflection of the sky outside. In addition to that, the boy described had red eyes and bloody clothes, an evil thing to behold, but the boy in the room was handsome and angelic looking, with wide, wondering brown eyes, silky dark brown hair and a pale, slim, long youthful face.

"I asked you a question, boy. What are you doing here? Where is your mother, your sister?"

The words hit Jack like a sharp dagger through the heart and he bent over, hugging himself, breathing rapidly. Then he shot his head up and looked at Oliver with cold eyes.

"Leave me alone!" he screeched, putting him hands over his face as though to protect himself. "I said leave me!"

He started to cry, and the sound made Oliver feel immensely guilty, so he got up, walked towards Jack, and appeared to want to embrace him or offer some comfort. The boy shrieked again, grabbing on to the windowsill and shrinking back until the back of his head slammed against the glass and made him jump.

"It's alright, lad. I didn't mean to make you upset."

"Don't come any closer!" Jack said through teary eyes. "How dare you ask me about my sister! She was stabbed you know, and I saw it!"

Oliver was immediately reminded of his missing daughter and empathy came over him. He smiled sadly.

"Well, I'll tell you something, lad. My daughters disappeared and I can't find her anywhere. I don't know if she's still alive or not."

"That's sad," Jack said unsympathetically, a cold, dark tone in his voice, one that made Oliver frown. Then the boy snuffled and wiped his nose with his sleeve, seeming to have calmed down slightly. After a long pause, Jack gazed over to Oliver thoughtfully, before realising who he was. A rush of excitement flooded through him, accompanied by anticipation. He realised that if he were to reveal the truth, it was then. Despite his desperation to do so, an uncertainty and anxiety plagued him and stopped him from speaking. He scolded himself; he had fantasised about the moment he told his story to someone willing to listen repeatedly, but he wasn't brave enough to say it in person.

"I can't help you, but Jack Edgar might do," Jack said quietly. Oliver looked at him anxiously.

"Well I've been looking for his ghost – "

In a sudden swing of mood, Jack snorted.

"What?"

"His ghost to help you find a missing person. Are they the rumours that go around these days?"

"The rumours," Oliver replied, an anger stirring in his voice, "are that those two bastards murdered a little boy years ago in an awful way without mercy. Then they got what they deserved – death."

That usually would've sent Jack into a flying rage, but something stirred in him that held his fury back, and instead of bawling he laughed, bitter as it sounded.

"What?" Oliver asked, disgusted at the boy's lack of compassion for such a horrifying tale.

"You don't know much about the Devils of Wiltshire, do you?"

"I suppose you do?"

Jack nodded. "Do you want to know the truth?"

"The truth?"

Another quick, tense nod.

Oliver frowned again, and then shook his head and sat down on the bed.

"Go on then, tell me what you know. It might help me track the murderer down."

Jack blinked slowly. "Maybe."