Trembleath

Trembleath

TREMBLEATH is the first of a paranormal series following the story of Amelia Scott, a young woman who is re-building her life in Southern England following a disastrous relationship. It was going to be an adventure, but when news of a young girl found dead and another goes missing, she quickly begins to learn there is more to Creek Bay than she could ever imagine. A village hiding a dark secret, two families at war, newcomer Amelia Scott gets caught up in a murder investigation with dire consequences.

PROLOGUE

As she ran down the cobbled street into the misty darkness, clouds consumed light cast out from the waning moon into the night sky. Her heartbeat filled the streets, filled their nostrils; they were hungry for the kill. Footsteps echoed the pounding of their large feet, slapping against the cold wet stone. She tried to ignore the sound and focused on making it to the village, where she knew she’d be safe. The pounding continued from her pursuers bringing new life to her tired legs humming from the pain, now fuelled with adrenaline. She could make out a light in the distance, and another, and another; the village she grew up in; people she called friends, family, loved ones were just within reach. The thought of being in the warm embrace of her parents arms spurred her on, that she didn’t see the obstacle beneath her feet and tumbled hard onto the floor. Her kneecap shattered sending waves of agony down her leg and with an unprecedented counter measure her spine followed suit. The girl howled as pain coursed through her body, muscles convulsed tightening her limbs, crushing her body together against her will. She rolled on the ground folding her arms around her legs in fetal position panting out the pain. Tears ran freely down her cheeks. The rain didn’t register until she saw the ripples in the puddle beside her. With a sigh she raised her head skywards watching the fine mist descend. But she knew she had to keep moving, had to get away, put some distance between her and…

Silence. Deathly silence. Like someone had clicked the mute button on life. And then she felt it. The hairs all over her body stood to attention; down her spine, rising up the back of her neck; she shuddered. The stench of death had her in its wake and there was nothing she could do about it. She thought of her mother and father at home waiting, her little sister who would stay awake in bed ready for her bedtime story. But there would be no bedtime story. Not tonight. Not any night. She knew she would not survive. She hung her head low in submission and waited for death’s grip, a prayer forming on her lips Bless me father for I have sinned.


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