Free Hailey's Story--She Was an Eleven-Year-Old Child. He Was Soham Murderer Ian Huntley. This is the Story of How She Survived by Hailey Giblin Page B

grounds, towards and then across the playing field. There was the main entrance, but we didn’t walk that way, we walked right across the far side of the field, where there was an open walkway.
    As we passed my school, the scheming Huntley lured me deeper into his trap, exploiting the false sense of security he had already created within me. After spotting some trees, he gawped at them, chuckled and said, ‘Oh, them bloody trees are no good.’
    After all, what would a little girl of 11 think was wrong with a grown man of 23 wanting to climb trees?
    Then, as we got across the other side of the field, where there were houses, we followed a series of winding roads. We ended up at the Grosvenor pub, in Cleethorpes, where people were gathered outside having a drink. There were wooden benches with people sitting on them, and many more drinkers standing about with beer glasses in their hands. I can remember thinking that I was thirsty, but I didn’t sayanything to Huntley, as I didn’t want to delay our tree-climbing expedition.
    We passed through the mass of people milling about in the garden, round the side of the pub and to a fence at the far side of the car park. Huntley beckoned me through a gap in the fence and, behind it, in contrast to the other, bustling side, was a secluded orchard, like a secret garden. We two were the only ones there, although it seemed to be part of the pub’s grounds.
    The thickly wooded area that greeted us was not at all frightening or displeasing to the eye. Ferns sprouted from the shaded areas beneath the moss-covered trees, their leaves fanning out in a welcoming wave of green tasselled arms. Looking like a picture postcard, sporadic clumps of dense bracken fused together with dead wood and leaves, as brambles battled their way through to reach the light. Beneath the aged branches of the trees, where the wind had blown the bullion from them, lay a carpet of golden leaves, strewn across the untouched ground. As we walked, twigs broke beneath our feet, making cracking noises before being silenced by the spongy earth.
    Huntley looked at me and prompted, ‘Go and pick a tree.’
    Swept along by his charm, I struggled to contain my excitement and eagerly pointed to an octopus-limbed tree by the fence at the far end of the orchard. ‘All right then, what about that one?’ I said, seeking his approval.
    â€˜You won’t be able to climb that,’ he challenged me with a chuckle.
    â€˜I will, I will,’ I insisted.
    He looked at me in astonishment, then gasped cheerfully, ‘Do you think you will?’
    â€˜Yes. All right then,’ I said confidently.
    I scampered through the wild undergrowth, got my foot up on the fence behind the tree and clambered up on to one of its branches. Just as I was reaching out for a more secure hold, waves of shock and fear swept through my body as I became aware of Huntley’s mucky, searching hands grasping my waist roughly and with some force. I knew something was not quite right; this wasn’t a friendly hand helping me up the tree. For some inexplicable reason, I was paralysed with fear. Although I didn’t swear, I knew what it was, and in that fleeting moment I thought, Oh, no! Shit, I mean, what’s all this about? I shouldn’t have come here.
    My survival instinct kicked in, warning me something was wrong. I didn’t know what it was, but the feeling was uncomfortable and not one I was used to. In that split second, as I held on to the safety of the friendly-looking tree, wide-eyed panic took over as Huntley’s grubby fingers blindly and wildly groped me in places they should never have been.
    I looked around at him in abject horror and I asked, ‘What’s the matter?’
    With ease, he spun me around towards him, awayfrom the last vestiges of safety offered by the branch I was clinging to. As my hands slithered off the branch and I faced him, his eyes pierced deep into mine.