The animal scrambled beneath the rotted obstacle while Emma struggled over the top, nearly slipping off. Sherry was panting excitedly as Emma unhooked her leash.
'Off you go, girl,' she said, and the dog bounded away into the field, leaping about like a lamb in spring. Emma leant against the stile for a moment watching the dog, then she began to walk around the perimeter of the field.
The trees crowded in on her from one side, kept back to a certain degree by a high fence of rusty barbed wire. The fence was broken in numerous places, the lengths of wire hanging down in the mud.
The wind combed through the branches creating a sound which reminded Emma of sheets blowing on a washing fine.
She jumped back as a low branch, propelled by a gust of wind, snatched at her face. She decided to move further away from the trees, perhaps even to join the dog in the centre of the field.
There was a loud snap as a branch broke behind her.
She spun round, her heart thumping. There were scuff marks around the base of the bushes and beneath her lower strands of barbed wire, wliich she took to be the work of rabbits.
Or rats?
The idea of being in a field with rats made her shudder and she looked across towards the dog, anxious now to get home. Back to the warmth of the fire and the comforting glare of electric light. She looked up at the moon, suddenly covered by a bank of thick cloud. The field was plunged into momentary darkness and Emma felt suddenly, unaccountably, afraid… She rebuked herself as the cloud cleared and cold white light once more flooded the ground. Nevertheless, she pulled the leash from her pocket and prepared to call the dog.
There was more movement in the bushes behind and she turned, convinced that the creator of the disturbance was much too big to be a rabbit or a rat. Perhaps some kids messing about. She tried to fix that idea in her mind, her eyes glued to the source of the disturbance. She stood riveted for long moments then turned slowly back to call Sherry.
The dog was crouching in the centre of the field, its head resting on its front legs, whimpering quietly. Even from as far away as fifty yards, she could see it was quivering, its eyes fixed on something in the bushes behind her.
She turned, the breath catching in her throat.
The thing that had once been Ray Mackenzie hurtled at her from the cover of the bushes, a shower of leaves accompanying his charge.
Emma opened her mouth to scream, her eyes riveted to the contorted face, now lit obscenely by the moonlight. The feral grin showing discoloured teeth, the three deep scratch marks on one cheek but above all, and this was the last thing she saw before he was upon her, the glowing red orbs that were eyes, burning with the fires of hell.
Mackenzie launched himself at her, cleared the fence and slammed into her, knocking her into the soft mud.
Emma screamed, the sound finally choking away as Mackenzie fastened both talon-like hands around her throat and lifted her off the ground. He held her up at arms' length, her legs dangling uselessly, trying to kick him, trying to ease the grip which was killing her. Through eyes clouded by pain, she saw him grinning, those terrible red eyes burning madly. Then he flung her, as an angry child might fling a rag doll. She crashed into the barbed wire fence, the cruel spikes gouging her flesh and ripping her cheek. She tried to rise but he was upon her again, his weight forcing her down, one hand clamped across her face, pushing her head down as if he wished to drive it into the very earth itself. She struggled vainly, striking feebly at him, her tear-filled eyes catching sight of his other hand. A hand which reached for a length of broken barbed wire. Ignoring the barbs which tore open his palm, Mackenzie snapped the wire free as if it had been thin string. He released his grip, momentarily, on Emma's face, holding the two foot length of barbed wire above her. She made one last desperate attempt to get up and did, indeed, manage to stagger a few feet from him. But her legs gave out and Mackenzie caught her, looping the barbed wire around her neck and using it like some kind of spiked garotte. He pulled with all his strength, watching as Emma raised one hand to ward off the attack. It was useless.
The barbs tore her flesh, puncturing the twin carotid arteries sending spouting fountains of blood spraying into the night air. Blood filled her mouth and, mercifully, she blacked out. But Mackenzie kept pulling, those insane red eyes glowing like beacons, yellow spittle dribbling down his chin. He jerked the body up, hardly realizing that she was dead, failing to appreciate that the wire was embedded so deep it had practically severed her head. He dropped the corpse and stared down at it for a moment.
The eyes were still open, glazed and wide with terror and agony.
Mackenzie dropped down and bent over the head.
In the middle of the field, the dog watched silently as its mistress was killed. Fear pinned it down as surely as if six inch nails had been driven through its paws. It had seen the man emerge from the woods, seen the awful struggles of its mistress. Then finally it had seen the man bend over her, his hands groping at the lifeless face with frenzied movements before he disappeared once more into the woods.
Only then did the dog wander slowly over to the lifeless body, its nose twitching at the stench of blood and excrement. It whimpered, nuzzling against the corpse as if trying to stir it into life. It stood there for long moments, howling up at the moon, then it scampered off, leaving the body of Emma Reece alone.
'You stupid sod,' yelled Gordon Reece, shaking his fist at the television screen, 'I could have put the bloody thing in from there.' He flopped back in his chair, watching as Liverpool mounted another attack.
'Five hundred pounds a bloody week and he can't score,' grunted Gordon.
It was approaching half time and the scores were still tied at one all. He hoped Liverpool would win. He had a lot of money riding on it, both in the betting shop and at work. Besides, he'd never live it down with Reg Chambers at work, a bloody Arsenal supporter. He'd really rub it in if Liverpool lost. But more importantly than that, Gordon had a fiver bet with him on the result. He didn't tell Emma about his little flutters at work, it would only worry her. She sometimes asked him how he got through his money so quickly. He couldn't tell her it was because he was fond of using that well worn phrase 'Put your money where your mouth is'. Unfortunately, just lately, Gordon's mouth had got the better of his wallet. He'd been losing a lot recently. Still, never mind. The reds would do it in the second half. He hoped.
Half time came and with it the commercials. He pottered off into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Emma should be back soon. The least he could do was make her a cup after having been out in that freezing wind. He lit the gas beneath the large whistling kettle and retired to the living room.
It was then that he heard the scratching.
At first he thought it was the beginning of rain against the windows, but as it became more insistent he realized that it was coming from the front door.
Emma, he thought. Forgotten her key probably. He flicked on the hall light and opened the front door.
The labrador stood on the doorstep, its baleful eyes dark with the horror it had witnessed. Silent testimony to a secret beyond death itself.
Gordon looked at it, shivering before him. It was only a second before he noticed that the dog held something between its jaws and a second more until he realized what it was.