Henry had just got back to his village after a three-week haul across the country in his lorry, and as usual, he headed straight to the pub for a chinwag with the locals and to catch up on the news before popping home to see his wife. He parked the lorry by the kerb and, bundled up in his wax jacket to keep out the lashing rain, made his way inside.
“Evening all!” he called as he stepped in.
It being a Friday night in October, hed expected the place to be packed with blokes playing cards, ready to greet him with a rowdy joke about his mum or his manhood. But that night, only two souls gave him a nodthe barman and an old codger warming himself by the fire. Henry, baffled, walked up to the bar and asked, “Whats going on, Tom? Where is everyone? Someone kick the bucket?”
The barman slid him a pint of bitter and sighed. “Worse than that, Henry, far worse… young women have gone missing.”
“What? Village girls?” The lorry driver couldnt believe his ears.
“Aye, three of em,” Tom said, holding up a finger. “First was Emily, the chemists daughter, then Charlotte, the mayors niece,”he raised a second finger”and lastly… Grace, the schoolteacher.” A third finger went up.
“Bloody hell!” Henry gasped. “Did they all vanish at once?”
“Nah, one every Friday since youve been gone,” the barman said after a pause. “Folks reckon theres a serial killer about. All of em were between 20 and 30, and… all expecting. Can you believe it? Proper monster.” He shook his head, grim-faced. “And since its Friday again, some lads have formed armed patrols to hunt the bastard down… while others are locking their doors, holding their wives and daughters close.”
Henry bolted home, his gut twistingthe unease hed felt on the drive back had just snapped into focus. He had to check on his young wife. He cut through the dark moor, adrenaline surging. It was quicker than taking the lorry, and if his fears were right, every second counted. As he ran, his mind spun with dreadvisions of his wife bleeding out, helpless. Each nightmare worse than the last. His heart pounded harder with every stride.
He didnt stop until his legs ached and his lungs burned. Finally, his house came into viewcompletely dark. Nearly out of breath, he forced himself forward, then froze. A shadowy figure in black was slipping out of his front door.
Without thinking, Henry lunged. He wrestled the shape into the house, fumbling in the dark, and finally dragged them inside. Eternity passed before he flicked the light on.
Under the dim glow of the kitchen bulb, relief washed over himit was his wife, Lily.
He let go, and in an instant, Lily threw her arms around him, kissing him hard. It was a kiss full of love and relief.
But Henrys relief turned to worry fast. “Lily, youve got to be more careful. If I hadnt made it back tonight, you couldve been next. Dyou know how scared I was? What were you thinking, going out today? Tom told me half the villages out hunting a killer…” He paused, then added, “Besides, with three women, weve got enough meat to last the winter, havent we?”
The words hung in the air like a curse. Lilys smile vanished, her lips trembling. She stepped back, hands clutching her stomach.
“What did you just say?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Henry blinked, realising too late what had slipped out. “I… didnt mean it. Just the fear talking,” he mumbled. But Lilys eyes were already dark with suspicionand something worse. Understanding.
Slowly, she rolled up her sleeve. Faint scratches marked her forearm, half-healed, like shed fought back.
“Henry… where were you every Friday night when you were on the road?”
The lorry driver went still. His mind flashed back to the pub, to Tom countingone, two, three… pregnant women. Then his routes. The stops. The lies hed told himself about “a bit of company” and “weak moments.”
His stomach dropped as Lilys eyes filled with tearsnot of fear, but of realisation.
Outside, the rain hammered down, drowning the silence. The barmans words echoed in his head:
*”Something worse, Henry, something worse…”*
And in that moment, Lily knewthe missing women had never been taken by some stranger. The monster had walked through her door, smelling of diesel and deceit.
Softly, almost to herself but loud enough for him to hear, she whispered, “And tonight wouldve been the fourth Friday.”
