Читать книгу The Forgotten Room: a gripping, chilling thriller that will have you hooked - Ann Troup, Ann Troup - Страница 8

Prologue

A clutch of people had gathered to see the breaking of the earth, their breath mingling in the cool morning air where it lingered and collected as a cloud of light mist. They watched as giant metal teeth bit into the ground, tearing it asunder in the name of progress. Some clapped, others thrust their hands deep into their pockets and huffed out stale air in small wet puffs as that thing called progress made its mark on dead land.

A single watcher stood firm and still, refusing to show reaction and wondering how long it would be before old, long-extinguished life would be revealed. Her bones had been planted long ago. Her flesh had nourished the earth and made gluttons of the worms while maggots had grown fat on the meat and the memory of her. The watcher wondered if any human remembered her now. If they didn’t, they would soon. The metal teeth were chewing the earth a mere fifty feet from where she lay; it was just a matter of time. When she saw the light of day again she would be greeted with an urgency she had never known in life. They would want to know all about her then. The watcher was sure of it.

A glance towards the proud developer, who oozed abundance in his expensive coat, who rubbed his hands in anticipation at what he believed would come. Wealth, recognition, kudos. The watcher smiled with a wry twist of the mouth. The man might as well build his houses out of glass and pray that no one would cast the first stone. It was all as fragile as that. They were standing on a teetering precipice between past and present, on earth as crumbling and friable as that which fell in crumbs and clods from the bucket of the JCB.

The watcher turned away and began to walk. All things must come to an end and the peace of Essen Grange would come to an end too. The watcher could feel it and hear it in the grind of the machinery. Everything that was familiar and safe was breathing its last in the screech of metal and gears.

The watcher was as broken as the ground that was succumbing to change. Everything had to alter eventually and the bones would mark the beginning.