Free The Secret of Crickley Hall by James Herbert Page A

while Eve and Loren held one bag each.
    'I'm beginning to have doubts about this place,' Eve said to Gabe, a little out of breath with the climb.
    'You mean the village or the Hall?'
    'Both.' She looked at him from beneath her hood. 'Hollow Bay is, I don't know—depressing somehow. And it shouldn't be. It's a picturesque village even if jaded by time and wear, but there's something…' She was lost for the correct word. Then: 'I don't know… mournful about it.'
    Keeping his voice low so that the girls, who were several yards ahead, wouldn't hear, Gabe said, 'I felt it too. Nothing you can hit on, but the place is kinda depressing.' He gave a short, forced laugh. 'Maybe it's just the weather getting us down. And well, you know…'
    He didn't have to say the words for her to understand. Perhaps it was because they were still grieving that everything seemed so joyless to them. It was a new place, yet it had none of the excitement of a new place, nor of a new beginning. Perhaps if they knew for certain that Cam truly was dead, and not just missing, things would at least have some kind of closure.
    Eve pushed the worst of those thoughts away and faced her husband. 'I don't think I can stay here too long, Gabe.' Her voice was cold rather than plaintive.
    He came to a halt too and leaned into her, finding her eyes beneath the hood. He spoke softly.
    'Hey, it's only for a coupla months, probably a lot less if things run smoothly. It'll pass in no time.'
    Even in the shadow of the hood he could see the misery in those deep brown eyes of hers.
    'Oh Gabe, why did we have to come here?'
    He gently shushed her, his face only inches from hers. The cops know where to find us. DI Michael said if he found anything new he'd contact us immediately. They're not gonna stop looking 'til they get a result.'
    Cam… missing… no sign of him for nearly a year. Was that good? Or was it bad? Surely if Cameron were dead they'd have found his body by now.
    The detective inspector had let them both know he wasn't hopeful, but Eve clung to the belief that if their son had been murdered then they'd have some evidence of it by now—like his body. She could not let go of that thought. And in a way, neither could he, Gabe. There had to be some hope, otherwise… otherwise there was nothing .
    They began walking again, the girls well ahead of them by now. On their left, the gorge's swollen river hurtled down to the bay, its level not far below the grassy, shrub-filled bank; the waters were brown and angry with spume. The thick naked limb of a tree swept by. The sky was leaden, dark cloud masses promising more rain to come. The girls had realized they were walking alone, their parents some way behind. They both turned and waited for Eve and Gabe to catch up.
    'Come on, slowcoaches,' Loren complained. Cally was studying the wet shine on her colourful rubber boots, her shoulders drooping; she was growing tired of the hike. As they approached she pointed over her shoulder.
    Raising her voice over the rushing noise of the river, she called out, 'Look, Mummy, that old church again.'
    They had passed the ancient Norman church on their way down to the harbour earlier and Eve had suggested they visit inside for a few minutes, but the girls were hungry and totally uninterested. Gabe had half promised they'd go in on the way back, but he knew his wife would hold him to it. Since the loss of their son, Eve had attended Mass regularly every Sunday (she had mostly been a Christmas and Easter worshipper before) and often during the week when their local church was usually empty. He was aware of what she prayed for; she still believed.
    The church was built with grey, probably local, stone, as was the irregular wall around its boundary. It was a small but solid structure, with a square tower surmounted by a short steeple, a weathervane at the steeple's apex. The escarpment, lush with the deep greenery of trees and thick scrub despite the late season, rose up majestically