Free Wake Wood by KA John Page A

name?
    The man walking about Wake Wood with the woman he loved, who so obviously loved him too.
    Had he returned from the dead? Had Deirdre?
    That simply wasn’t possible. The dead were dead. Gone for ever from the living. Never to be seen again.
    They didn’t walk the streets arm in arm. Gaze lovingly … longingly at one another. Was she going insane? Had the loss of Alice finally tipped her into madness?

Seven
    LOUISE RETURNED TO her shop after the procession had disappeared from view. It was empty. She looked at the boxes of stock waiting to be put out on the shelves and returned them to the stockroom. The last thing she was capable of was working.
    Not wanting to dwell on the question of whether or not she was going mad, exhausted by speculating as to what had prompted Deirdre’s comment about Alice’s ‘lovely voice’, Louise decided to pay Mary Brogan a visit. She knew where Mary lived because her town-centre address had been on the prescription Mary had given her.
    The more she considered it, the more she thought it strange that Deirdre’s prescription should carry Mary Brogan’s address. Surely any mother would ensure that her asthmatic daughter would pack more medication than she needed before visiting a relative.
    She closed the pharmacy, locked the door and walked to Mary’s home. It was a neat terraced house in a street peppered with dilapidated buildings. Most of the doors were boarded up. Mary’s was freshly varnished with a polished lion’s-head brass door knocker.
    There was no answer to her knock. She checked her surroundings . The street was empty, which wasn’t surprising. The procession had been a large one. She hadn’t counted heads but she began to wonder if everyone in the town had joined it and, if so, why.
    The more she thought about the noise they’d been making and the almost trance-like state of the participants, the less it made any sense. Was it a religious occasion? An anniversary of some kind? Had something traumatic happened in the history of Wake Wood; if so, why was it being celebrated? Was it somehow connected to the offerings tied to the circle of standing stones she and Patrick had stumbled across on their night trek after the car had broken down the night before? Or the strange happenings she’d witnessed in Arthur’s yard?
    The more Louise mulled over events, the more unanswerable questions she came up with. She left Mary’s door and took refuge from the rain that was now melting the snow, sheltering in the porch of a derelict house a few doors down.
    Half a damp, bone-chilling hour later she saw Mary Brogan approaching. She was wheeling a bicycle. Given Mary’s long flowing skirts and scarves, the bicycle appeared somewhat incongruous. Two bags of shopping filled with the staples of bread, milk and coffee hung from the handlebars. Louise wondered if Mary was wheeling the bike because she was afraid of her clothes getting caught up in the wheels. If so, why even take the bike to the shops?
    It was then that Louise realised she was beginning to look for odd and sinister aspects in all her neighbours’ movements . Why shouldn’t her neighbours march in an unmusical procession down the main street of Wake Wood if they wanted to? Why shouldn’t Mary Brogan take a bicycle with her when she shopped? And why shouldn’t Arthur visit them at the cottage early in the morning, especially if he was concerned about them? After all, he was Patrick’s business partner. And Patrick’s ability to do his job was one of Arthur’s legitimate concerns.
    Louise waited until Mary unlocked her door. When Mary picked up the bags of shopping Louise rushed down the street, in through the open door and into the tiny hall after her. Mary dropped the bags, spun round and tried to close the door against her. But not to be thwarted, Louise forced her way through. Mary retreated. Grabbing Louise’s clothes in a futile attempt to steady herself, she fell backwards on to the stairs.
    Louise’s