James had just returned to his village after a three-week haul across the country in his lorry, and as usual, he stopped first at the pub to catch up with the locals and hear the latest news before heading home to see his wife. He parked the lorry by the roadside and, bundled in his waxed jacket to shield himself from the driving rain, pushed through the door.
“Evening, lads!” he called as he stepped inside.
Being a Friday night in October, hed expected the pub to be bustling with men playing darts or cracking crude jokes about each others mothers or manhood. But that night, only two people acknowledged him with a nodthe publican and an old man warming himself by the fireplace. James, baffled, walked up to the bar and asked,
“Whats going on, Tom? Where is everyone? Someone kick the bucket?”
The publican slid James a pint of bitter and sighed.
“Worse, James, much worse… young women have gone missing.”
“Youre having me on! Local girls?” the lorry driver asked, hardly believing his ears.
“Aye, three of them,” Tom replied, holding up a finger. “First was Emily, the chemists daughter, then Charlotte, the mayors niece,” he added, raising a second finger, “and finally… Beatrice, the schoolteacher,” he finished, lifting a third.
“Bloody hell!” James gasped. “Did they all vanish at once?”
“No, not all at once,” the publican said after a pause. “Since youve been gone, ones disappeared every Friday… Folk reckon theres a serial killer on the loose. All three were between 20 and 30 and… pregnant. Can you believe it? Right monster,” he muttered, shaking his head. “And since its Friday again, some have formed armed patrols to hunt the bastard down… while others barricade themselves at home, holding their wives or daughters tight.”
James bolted for home, the dread that had gnawed at him the whole journey now solidifying into panic. He had to check on his young wife. He cut through the darkened moors, adrenaline surging through his veins. He knew this path was quicker than taking the lorry, and if his fears were right, every second counted. As he ran, his mind spiralled into a storm of terror. He pictured the worsthis wife, bleeding, helplessand despair clawed at his chest.
The image of her, broken and suffering, seared into his thoughts. Nightmares bloomed in his mind, each more horrifying than the last. He feared the worst, and with every step, his heart pounded harder.
He ran until his legs ached and his lungs burned. Finally, his house came into viewutterly dark. Half-dead with exhaustion, he pushed himself harder and stifled a cry when, as he drew nearer, he spotted a shadowy figure slipping away from his front door.
Without hesitation, James lunged. He wrestled the figure in the dark, grappling blindly until he finally dragged them inside. The seconds stretched like hours until he flicked on the light.
Under the dim glow of the bare bulb in the kitchen, relief flooded himthe figure hed caught was his wife, Lily.
He released her, and in an instant, she threw her arms around him, pressing a desperate kiss to his lips. It was a kiss of fear, relief, and overwhelming love.
But Jamess relief turned to alarm. “Lily, youve got to be more careful,” he scolded. “If I hadnt come home tonight, you couldve been next. Do you have any idea how terrified Ive been? What were you thinking, going out today? Tom told me half the villages out hunting a killer…” He paused, then added with a dark chuckle, “Besides, dont you think three women wouldve been enough meat for the winter?”
Jamess words hung in the air like a curse. Lilys smile vanished, her lips trembling. She stepped back, clutching her stomach.
“What did you just say?” Her voice was barely more than a breath.
James blinked, realising too late what had slipped out. “II didnt mean anything. Just the fear talking,” he muttered, but the look in her eyes had already shiftedfrom shock to something far worse. Understanding.
Slowly, she rolled up her sleeve. Faint scratches marked her forearm, half-healed, as if from thorns… or from fighting back.
“James… where were you every Friday night when you were on the road?”
The lorry driver went rigid. His mind flashed back to the pub, to Toms trembling fingers counting one, two, three… pregnant women. And he remembered. His routes. The stops. The lies hed told himself about “lonely company” and “moments of weakness.”
His stomach dropped as Lilys eyes filled with tearsnot of fear, but of terrible clarity.
Outside, the rain hammered down, drowning the silence between them. The publicans words echoed in his skull:
*”Something worse, James, something worse…”*
And in that moment, Lily knewthe missing women had never been taken by some faceless killer. The monster had walked into her house, reeking of diesel and deceit.
Softly, almost to herself, she whisperedbut loud enough for him to hear:
“And tonight wouldve been the fourth Friday.”
