Echoes in the Woods Read online

  Echoes in the Woods

  Georgina Scott

  Austin Macauley Publishers

  Echoes in the Woods

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Copyright Information ©

  Acknowledgement

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  Georgina Scott was born in the county of Norfolk, England, to Thomas and Sylvia who relocated from London in the early 1970s. She grew up surrounded by the beauties of East Anglia.

  Joining the Royal Air Force in her late twenties, where she met her husband Charlie, also a serving member of the Royal Air Force. Both now settled in rural Lincolnshire with their beloved pets, Rose and Muggs.

  After leaving the Royal Air Force and continuing to work within the aviation industry, her old passion for writing was reignited.

  Dedication

  Charlie, with love.

  Copyright Information ©

  Georgina Scott (2021)

  The right of Georgina Scott to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788480109 (Paperback)

  ISBN 9781398433960 (ePub e-book)

  www.austinmacauley.com

  First Published (2021)

  Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

  25 Canada Square

  Canary Wharf

  London

  E14 5LQ

  Acknowledgement

  First and foremost, I would like to say thank you to my darling husband, Charlie, for believing and encouraging me to fulfil my dreams in becoming an author. My dear friend Nick Lund, thank you also for giving me the encouragement to persevere. To Greg Browne, you know what you did. I would also like to thank Austin Macauley for taking a chance on me. Thank you all.

  Chapter 1

  “One of these days, I am going to kill you, kill you slowly and before I bury you, I am going to watch you burn!”

  Jake thought to himself, as he sat strapped, sore and naked, to a crate in his own mess and blood, in a dark, foul, stinking room, just off the basement: his punishment for the night along with ten lashings of his father’s belt.

  This morning, he was caught killing a lamb. He was curious and wanted to know what it felt like, compared to insects and amphibians. The slippery warmth of flesh against his skin felt extraordinary, exhilarating. Hearing the lamb choke and gurgle, gasping for air as he slit its throat, then cut all the way down to its stomach, it took about thirty seconds for the lamb to die. Pulling the skin apart, the first thing he noticed, was how warm the inside of the body felt, pressing deeper inside, feeling his way around the rib cage, organs and muscles. He was in total ecstasy. Heart pumping out of his chest as the adrenalin rushed around the body. It was the first time he felt a sensation within his groin. He felt excited!

  The moment wasn’t long lived as he felt a hand grab the back of his neck, shaking him back to reality. “You bloody fucking little bastard!” he said, dragging Jake back to the house, in his deep, gravelled voice and cursing the boy as they crossed the field.

  His mother, Faith, was a good-looking woman, with an hourglass figure and naturally curly dark shoulder length hair; she was exceptionally kind, friendly and very funny. People were naturally drawn to her. She knew what to say, and how to say it. Men drooled over her and women were envious and jealous, but they all loved being around her. She didn’t have a nasty bone in her body. In her boys’ eyes, she was exceptional.

  She was hanging out the washing when she saw Jake being dragged and punched by his father and came rushing to his aide, only to be pushed and thrown to the ground. You could hear her cries and screams as she begged him to let the boy go. He grabbed her by the throat whilst covering her face with spittle and said, “Stay out of this and shut your mouth woman, or else so help me.”

  “Please John, he’s just a boy, you are hurting him, let me see to him,” she said in a trembling shaky voice.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, again pushing her to the floor.

  He throws Jake, front forward, over some hay bales, removes his belt and starts lashing. On the third strike, Faith drags herself up from the ground and throws herself on top of the boy, with the belt striking her face, she screams in pain in floods of tears. “For god’s sake woman!” he shrieks, getting angrier by the minute. He grabs her arms and pulls her off of him. “I won’t let you hurt him, I won’t John I won’t,” she says, inconsolable. Fighting him with her fists and kicking with her feet. He grabs her by her hair and punches her, knocking her unconscious.

  His eyes changed to cold daggers as he looked upon the boy, who can feel the anger, the hatred, the rage, and should be scared, but he is not. The disdain he has for his father cannot be explained. It took eight lashings before he whimpered and that seemed to appease his father as he looked down on the boy with a grin. Jake never showed really how much he hurt. His father grabbed his skinny, tiny arm and dragged him down to the basement, told him to take his clothes off and then strapped the boy to the crate with rope and here he sat strapped, waiting for the door to open, waiting for his mum, but she didn’t come. He didn’t even look at Jake or say anything to him, just turned and walked away closing the door behind him. Jake didn’t give his father the satisfaction of pleading and begging like he had done in the past; there was no point, as it always fell on deaf ears.

  The room was big enough to accommodate four people comfortably; it was cold, dark, dirty and dank. The mould odour was enough to make you sick; there was no light, natural or otherwise. It was a place where wooden crates and other materials were stored. The only person that would come down to the basement was his father; his mum always said the basement gave her the creeps and went down there as little as possible, and even then, would take one of the boys with her.

  The basement scared Jake to death; he swore blind there was something else in that room with him. He would have nightmares and bed-wetting for weeks afterwards, waking up in the middle of the night in sheer terror after feeling a coldness of breath against his neck, unable to move, paralyzed to the bed.

  John walked up the stairs and closed the basement door mumbling and cursing the boy under his breath. He walked to the kitchen and took two swigs of Jack Daniels. He looked out of the window and saw Faith still lying unconscious on the ground. He exhaled a deep brea
th and walked out of the house over to Faith and carried her back into the house and up to the bedroom.

  After tending to her face, he sat on the edge of the bed bent over, with his head in his hands. Faith started to stir; she placed her hand onto his back and started to cry, “Where is he, where is Jake?”

  “In the basement,” said John, in a slumbering voice.

  “You can’t keep doing this John. You’re hurting him, this is getting out of control, and you’re not like this with the other boys.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help myself. I have tried to love, accept him, but I can’t. I just can’t. Every time I see or look at him, all I see is Robin. He has to go; I want him out of the house. I have said it before and now I am saying it for the last time.”

  “Let me speak to my parents first.”

  “You do that; either they take him or he goes into a care home. Either way, he has to go.”

  “Please, let me bring him up from the basement? I can’t bear him being down there all on his own, in that horrible place,” said Faith in a quiet, whispering voice.

  He nodded and looked into her eyes, “I’m sorry.” Tears ran down his face; she pulled him to her and they kissed. Their tongues entwined. She pulled him on top of her, running her fingers through his hair. He kissed her sore face. “You are so beautiful; I am so sorry, I love you so much!”

  He spread her legs, running his fingers up her inner thigh, her knicker gusset was moist. He applied pressure to her clitoris whilst entering her with his fingers. Her soft groans stiffened his cock. He removed his white t-shirt and dark blue jeans. He cupped the back of her legs and pulled her to him. Ripping her cotton knickers off, exposing her soft flesh, moist with anticipation, he separated her outer lips with his fingers; he kissed and licked her vulva, drinking in her scent. She tasted of peaches, nibbling and sucking her clitoris, her groaning deepened, asking for more as her fingers ran through his dark blonde hair. “Come up to me, baby!” said Faith.

  Removing her clothing, he made his way up her body, kissing and touching as he went, exposing her hard erect nipples. Seeing them made him smile as he said to himself, “Nipples like scammell wheel nuts,” massaging her pert breasts with his hands whilst licking, flicking and sucking her nipples. His cock was so hard now, it throbbed and ached for her juicy wet pussy.

  Their mouths touched hungrily as he slipped his hard throbbing cock into her very wet tight pussy. They groaned in unison as he pumped. Her hands slid down his back and cupped his buttocks, squeezing and smacking his butt cheeks, her finger reached and inserted into his anus. He became even more excited and pumped harder, deeper and faster into her delicious pussy.

  With her body shaking and grinding against his, “More, John, more,” was what Faith said. Together they rolled and he was on his back with her straddling him. Riding his shaft, his hands squeezing her breasts, her hand cupping his balls, gently squeezing and massaging, he brought himself up to her and placed one of his arms around her, with his hand on her butt cheek caressing her anus and the other holding her face with his fingers, holding her hair back. She came down to him and their mouths entwined. Both their bodies climaxed and orgasmed together, John spilling his seed inside of her and Faith gushing, soaking him and the sheets.

  Faith lay there in his arms, listening to him fall asleep, as his breath slowed and deepened. She carefully got off the bed, so she didn’t disturb him, and then placed the duvet over him to keep him warm from the cool breeze entering the bedroom from the slightly ajar window. She got dressed as quickly as possible and made her way down the stairs to the basement.

  Before she opened the door, she got a fleece blanket from the closet. She opened the door and saw Jake, tied to a crate, naked, with tears flowing down his face. Her heart saddened and broke. She rushed to him and wrapped him in the fleece. “I’m sorry, Mummy,” said Jake as she untied the ropes on his legs. She pulled him to her and hugged him and they both cried together as she wrapped him in her arms.

  “It’s me that should be sorry; I should have taken you away from this place a long time ago. O, my baby boy, I am so, so sorry! I love you so much,” she said, as she kissed, cradled and rocked him in her arms.

  Faith carried him upstairs to the bathroom, where she ran him a warm bath. She tended to the wounds on his ankles, where the ropes had been tied too tight, leaving sore broken skin. She tenderly applied a wet cloth to his bruised and battered body. He whimpered and flinched at every touch she made, which brought tears to her eyes.

  She passed him his toy boat, hopefully to try and take his mind elsewhere, away from the pain. “I am going to take you away from here,” she said wiping his face with a flannel. “I am going to call Nana and Gramps to come and get you. Jake, would you like to live with Nana and Gramps?”

  “Will you come too, Mummy?”

  “No baby, I have to stay here and look after your dad and brothers, but I will visit you often,” with tears in her eyes knowing she was lying to him. John would never allow a visit. She dried him off and put some fresh pyjamas on him and put him to bed; he was asleep in moments.

  Faith called her father. After an hour of an argumentative conversation, he agreed to come and get Jake, and said he will be with them by tomorrow morning.

  It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon and Faith was late in leaving to go and collect the boys from school. She phoned the school and apologised to Mrs Rose who agreed to stay behind with them until she got there. It took forty-five minutes before she pulled up at St Benedict’s Catholic School. Faith got out of the car and thanked Mrs Rose, a tall thin woman, always dressed in bright florals, colourful from top to toe; she was pleasant, amiable enough, but always looked at you like she had shit under her nose. Faith hugged and kissed all three boys, apologised again, then returned to the truck.

  Matthew, the eldest of the four boys, would be fourteen this year; he had his fathers’ ocean blue eyes and dark blonde hair with an adventurous nature and loved the farm, always helping out, wanting to know the ins and outs of everything. He noticed straight away her marked face, but didn’t say anything; he just gave her a big hug and helped his mum put Henry and Mark into the truck and then they set off back to the farm. “Jake is going to live with Nana and Gramps,” said Faith, holding back the tears.

  “O,” said Matthew, then paused and continued to say, “maybe it’s for the best mum, the house has been in a turmoil since he was born.” He said staring out of the window.

  “That is not fair Matthew. What happened was not his fault!”

  “Maybe not, but Mum, he’s not right!” said Matthew looking at her.

  She pulled the truck over to the side of the road, “You explain that, Matthew!”

  “All I am saying is, he isn’t like us, or like any of our friends.”

  “He is only eleven years old. How can you say that about him!” said Faith, trembling, knowing it is true but not wanting to come to terms with the idea that Jake is different.

  “He hurts things, mum,” said Mark and Henry looking at each other.

  “What things? What are you saying? Oh my god, he is only eleven years old!” Faith said in disbelief.

  Finding it very hard to accept what her boys were telling her, she learned of the killing of insects, frogs and birds. Mark and Henry told her that he hurt them by pinching, biting and kicking them when no one else was around and that they are afraid of him. “You’re both lying and making all this up. What you are telling me is that Jake, my son, your brother, is some kind of monster,” said Faith placing her head in her hands, shaking her head in disbelief, unable to digest what was being said to her.

  “Mum, what we are saying is that he needs help, not Nana and Gramps, that won’t help him,” said Matthew, but all three boys together said, “He needs the people in the white coats.” Then, in unison, significantly, waved their fingers in a circular motion at the side of their head.

  She restarted the ignition and they made their journey back to the farm; the truck w
as quiet all the way with no one saying a peep until they got home. She told the boys to sit at the kitchen table and do their homework. She made her way upstairs to the bedrooms, firstly, to check in on Jake who was still fast asleep. She stroked his hair and kissed him on the forehead then told him she loved him. Then she checked in on John who wasn’t in bed. Making her way back to the kitchen, she heard the tractor in the distance and asked Matthew to go and tell his father that dinner will be ready in one hour.

  Matthew ran from the house towards his dad and caught his attention; he saw him ploughing the top field. His father waved out of his window and told Matthew to stay put in hand signalling. He turned the tractor off and got out and made his way over to Matthew. When he was close enough, Matthew ran to him and wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight. “I love you, Dad,” said Matthew.

  “I love you too, Son,” he said, squeezing him tight.

  “So, what has happened, Dad? Mum is upset and she says Jake is going to live with Nana and Gramps,” said Matthew, looking up to his dad.

  “It’s not been a good day, Son.”

  As he sat on the ground next to Matthew, both stared at the half-ploughed field, talking about the day’s events, with his arm around one shoulder. “I’m glad he is leaving. I do love him; after all, he is my brother, but I just don’t like him. I’ve tried to like him, get on with him in fact, include him when we play. It’s hard, it’s just so bloody hard,” said Matthew.

  His dad looked down at him and it dawned on him that his fourteen year old was growing up and way too quickly for his liking.

  They picked themselves up, dusted off and headed back to the house. Teasing and wrestling with each other as they went and not realising that in the distance looking through a window was an eleven-year-old boy watching them. Emotions ran full throttle through Jake’s body, envious, jealousy, hatred, longing and wishing for that same contact, but he knew deep down it will never be; it will never happen.