Part 1 (1/2)
Simon Clark.
Darkness Demands.
For Helen Clark.
A wonderful daughter and an amazing source of inspiration.
This one's for you, hon!
CHAPTER 1.
1.
One day you might disappear.
It might be just another every-day kind of morning. You get out of bed, you dress, you eat toast and drink some coffee. Then you leave the house.
And you never return. As simple as that. You vanish. You're history. No body is found. No clues. No nothing. Gone.
OK. So it might not happen this week, or this year, or even this decade. But it does happen, sometimes men and women vanish, never to be seen nor heard of again.
And, yes, you know only too well, it could happen to you. It could happen today.
”Dad, can I play out in the field?”
John Newton turned away from the words on the computer screen to see his nine-year-old daughter leaning in through the doorway.
”OK. But no going out of the field and no talking to strangers.”
”All right, Dad. See you later.”
John Newton gazed at the computer screen for a moment before hitting the keys again.
”Dad?”
”Yes, Elizabeth?”
His daughter swung on the doork.n.o.b again, the breeze wafting papers on his desk. He held them in place by slapping both palms down on them.
”Dad?”
”What is it, hon?”
”Can I go out on my bike?”
”Hmm?” His attention had drifted back to the screen again. Maybe that first sentence could be punchier: One day you might disappear.
”Can I take my bike to the field?”
”No.”
”Why?”
”The gra.s.s is too long.”
”I can manage.”
”No. The gra.s.s gets all wound up round the cog. It'll make a mess.”
She considered this as she swung back and forth on the door handle. Her long hair brushed the wall with a whispery sound.
Dreamily, still gazing at the words on the computer screen, John murmured, ”Don't do that, hon, please. Dad's working.”
”A new book?”
”Yes.”
”What's it about?”
”It's about people who've disappeared.” He smiled at her, wiggled his fingers and imitated a Vincent Price voice-badly. ”People who have mysteriously vanished from the face of the earth.”
”Oh. So it won't be about Sam, then?”
”No. I don't think I could write a whole book about our dog.”
”How many pages?”
”Lots and lots.”
”Have you nearly finished it?”
”No.”
”Halfway?”
”No. I've just started the first page.”
”Can I read it?”
”Not yet, hon.” He shot her a smile. ”Would you like to finish off what's left of the cake?”