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C L Freire

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Member Since: Nov, 2007

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The Grass Tattoo
by Catriona King

The second in the DCI Craig Thriller series.Craig and his team discover a body at Stormont, the seat of Northern Ireland's Government. But the death has nothing to do wit..  
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By C L Freire
Thursday, November 08, 2007

Rated "PG" by the Author.

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Lilly is a woman who suffers the consequences of ignoring a point of destiny.


The October wind whipped against Lilly's skin without mercy as she made her way down Cove Street. Feeling as though something was looming overhead she tightened her tan coat and picked up her step. And then she heard something behind her; something like heavy footfalls. She glanced over her shoulder and peered into the darkness that hung over the street like a shroud.

There was nothing there; not a soul in sight; not a whisper of movement, save the rustle of the leaves that still clung to the oak trees; those determined little leaves blowing in the wind fighting to stay attached if only for one more night.

All Lilly could ask herself silently was why she had turned down the ride home Daniel had offered her. The party had long since died away, leaving in its wake an ocean of empty liquor bottles, a few drunken stragglers desperate to keep the party going, and the stink of whiskey upon Daniel's breath. No way she would have gotten into a car with him in his state, so she walked out into the night, alone.

But now…

She moved faster, looking back for the briefest of seconds, just long enough to make sure no one was following her; there was nothing there—nothing but the feeling that there was something there; a feeling that lingered like a song she couldn't get out of her head. Only shadows hung back, engulfing the lampposts that lined the old road; shadows that crept up the brick shops like phantoms.

Faster and faster she moved, her heart racing as though trying to urge her feet to keep up the pace.

"Lilly," a deep voice suddenly called out.

Lilly stopped cold. She turned back. Still nothing. Awash with a sense of impending danger, she ran, pushing herself harder than she had in all her years of hitting the treadmill.

And then the footsteps made themselves known, as though taunting her; and that voice—that voice that called out to her over and over.

"Lilly. L-i-l-l-l-y." And then it laughed; a sound that stirred every hair on the back of her neck.

Her house was just up ahead, salvation closing in.

The footsteps quickened, no longer taunting, but hungry.

Lilly didn't want to look back over her shoulder as she ran, but something inside her wouldn't let her refuse. And then she saw it; a figure leaning against a lamppost, staring at her from just up the street, its body twisted unnaturally. Lilly stopped running, unable to take her eyes of it. Frozen, her gaze lingered as though she was no longer in control of her own body. She felt hot tears pool in her eyes; felt the blood in her veins run cold; felt her heart thundering at a dangerous pace.

And then the figure reached out, and aimed a long blackened finger at her, and laughed again.

Lilly could feel herself shivering; she wanted to move; so badly did she want to get away. But she couldn't even lift her feet. Eyes wide and tearing more profusely, she saw the figure leave its lamppost. It floated over to her ever so slowly, bringing with it that laugh.

Its laughter was drowned out by the scream that ripped from Lilly's throat; a scream that was cut short with one swift flick of the figure's claw-like finger.

And all went black.

© 2007 C. L. Freire

       Web Site: C. L. Freire

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