Six Scary Stories

Elodie has been making her living from storytelling for the last ten years in TV and radio current affairs. She is currently a reporter and presenter for ITV Anglia in the East of England. It’s a part of the country she particularly loves, not least because it has its own drowned village – the medieval town of Dunwich off the Suffolk coast.

Before working as a journalist Elodie graduated from Oxford University with a first class degree in English and spent a couple of years employed as an actress. This included filming the ITV drama Jekyll and Hyde in Lithuania, where this story is set. She never went diving in any Lithuanian reservoirs, but has been wild swimming in the Lake District. Though unlike her heroine Chrissie, she found the sense of endless depth beneath her feet a bit too spooky.

Elodie is married with a young son. Her debut novel The Binding Song, a gothic thriller set in a Norfolk prison, will be published by Hodder’s Mulholland Books in 2017.

‘I love so many of his books. His work has shown me the importance of the story – and how the supernatural can be used in different ways. The Shining is an exceptional novel, not only terrifying but also unique for the way Stephen King uses the supernatural to give the reader an insight into alcoholism. Jack is such a tragic figure, somebody the reader really likes, and what happens to him is not just frightening but heartbreaking. Night Shift is my favourite collection of stories by any writer. Each one is a self-contained world – a joy to read.’

WILD SWIMMING

From: porpoise1swimit@gmail.com

To: barflysuse@gmail.com

Date: 29 May 2015, 20:03

Dude!

Can you believe this place has Wi-Fi! Finally back in contact . . . How are you?

I’m in Vaiduoklis, this tiny little place next to a massive reservoir, a couple of hours’ train ride from Vilnius. The capital was very pretty, in a John Lewis, biscuit tin kind of way, all cobbled streets, pastel colours and gilded spires. Great market selling just about EVERYTHING amber you can think of – not just necklaces and jewellery etc., but cutlery, key rings, doorstops (!) the lot. Only downer was somebody in the crowd nicked my phone, hence the lack of messages, sorry. It’s insured so can get another, but going a bit crazy not being able to chat to anyone.

Anyway, Felix has been delayed by a few days (problem with the new flat he says, but I think problem with his new boyfriend is more likely . . .) so I decided to explore a bit on my own. Not much point to a wild swimming trip with no swimming! We’re due to go to Lake Lusai, so I thought it would be good to put in a couple of days somewhere different. The guy at the tourist office suggested this place, not much to do, but very unspoiled. In fact, there’s only one place to stay near the water, a guest house run by an old lady called Asta Jakovleva. It’s not going to make it into the boutique listings any time soon – the amount of linen doilies is amazing (in a bad way) – but it’s just a short walk to the edge of the lake, so perfect from that point of view. And the Wi-Fi is a bonus!

If I’m honest, the reservoir isn’t the prettiest I’ve seen. Not much like the photo on the tourist office leaflet. For a start, although it’s huge, the level’s quite low, so you’ve got this ring of mud round the edge, which will make getting in and out a bit tricky, and it certainly spoils the look of things. And the landscape is flat, like a dull day on the Norfolk Broads, only with lots of fir trees.

Then there’s Mrs Jakovleva. Given I’m her only guest, you’d think she’d be a bit friendlier. Things weren’t too bad until I started asking her if she got many swimmers staying here, any advice about the water, safer spots etc.

‘You can’t swim here!’ she barked, as if I’d just threatened to murder her budgie. (Yes, she really does have a budgie, a green one. It lives in the breakfast room, and is watching me right now as I type this on her ancient PC.)

I tried to explain about wild swimming, that the whole point is to pick open water that most people don’t swim in, that I’m fully qualified and experienced, but she cut me off with what looked like a rude hand gesture.

‘No swim,’ she said. ‘Shows disrespect. Dangerous.’

Then she walked off which was . . . helpful. So I don’t know if it’s just the idea of a twenty-something cavorting in a bikini that outrages her, or if there’s anything about the reservoir I should know.

I guess it will all be clear tomorrow when I go for my first swim! Perhaps the sight of a wetsuit will mollify her. Though I doubt it.

Loads of love Chrissy xxxxxxx

From: porpoise1swimit@gmail.com

To: barflysuse@gmail.com

Date: 30 May 2015, 16:57

So good to hear from you!

Particularly nice after the weird day I’ve had. Really glad the new job’s going well and John is behaving himself. We’ll all have to meet up at that new place when I’m back, sounds fab.

Still here in Vaiduoklis . . . Well, maybe I should have kicked my heels in Vilnius till Felix arrived. It’s not awful, just odd. Will try and explain.

This morning, I got up really early for a swim, hoping to sneak past our scowling landlady. But she must have heard me creaking down the stairs, as she shot out into the hallway.

‘Breakfast,’ she said. It was more a statement than a question.

I didn’t like to be rude so followed her into the dining room. She had laid out a monster amount of food. All that stuff they do on the Continent: boiled eggs, salami, ham, yoghurt, plastic packets of toast bread. And she was smiling away. Very different from last night.

There was no way I could eat all that – the last thing I wanted was to load up on carbs and get cramp in the lake, so I decided I would have to delay the swim for a while. You can’t just ignore somebody making all that effort.

She poured us both coffee and sat down opposite.

‘So, no swim today,’ she said.

I didn’t want to argue so hedged a bit. ‘What’s wrong with the water here?’

‘Water fine, is what’s beneath.’

‘Was it a quarry then? I’m used to that, I know they can be deep.’

‘Not industry. The old village. Still down there.’

‘They flooded it? We’ve got a few of those in the UK, like at Haweswater. They don’t really do that now.’

‘Vaiduoklis not like anywhere else,’ Mrs Jakovleva said, shaking her head. ‘All still there.’

I’ve always been a bit intrigued by these sorts of stories. Like that whole village sunk off the Suffolk coast, Dunwich, where legend has it you can hear the old church bell ringing when the tide’s low.

‘How old is it? Do you get divers going to explore?’

Mrs Jakovleva looked at me as if I were mad. ‘No diving! Worse than swimming. Terrible disrespect.’ She had her sucking lemons face on again, and the green budgie was twittering.

‘Well, I’m not a diver,’ I said, sipping some of her coffee, which was far too strong. She looked a little reassured, so I pressed on. ‘And what about the new village here? Is there much to see?’

The smile came out again at that. ‘All modern,’ she said proudly. ‘Restored. You should see the church, beautiful glass.’

And that, I’m afraid, marked the start of a long, tedious monologue about the new village, to which I had to nod along with a fixed smile. When she finally ran out of steam I headed back to my room, to wait a bit before sneaking out again for a swim. I can’t pretend that she hadn’t made me feel a little uneasy, but having trudged all the way from Vilnius to Boringville, I couldn’t face the thought of not getting in the water.

I started to trot out towards the lake, a coat over my wetsuit. She must have heard me, because the next thing I knew, there was a thump, thump, thump and she was banging on the glass of the kitchen window, waving frantically for me to stop. I pretended not to understand and waved cheerily back, then made it as fast as I could to the fir trees without actually running.

The reservoir is a serious challenge to get into. It seemed to be even lower than it looked yesterday. I found a place where some tree roots helped me in (and more importantly would help me out) and slithered down the side, holding on to clumps of reeds as I went. By the time I hit the water I was caked in mud. But then, the joy. I know you’re not a fan, Suse, but there’s nothing like the adrenalin rush of hitting ice-cold water.

Even at the edge, the reservoir is really deep, metres of black below. I cut out sideways, not making for the middle, to make sure my body acclimatised. The place is vast, but, oddly, it doesn’t give you that sense of empty space and wide horizons you normally get in a big lake. Maybe it’s the steep sides, hemming you in, but with the flatness and the firs it felt a bit claustrophobic, like I was a fly swimming in a giant’s soup bowl.

I headed into the middle to see if that would give me a better view. There’s nothing like seeing Helm Crag reflected in the water from the middle of Grasmere, and although this place is flat, I thought distance might lend it a little majesty. It did look prettier further in, the wavering green and black lines of the trees matching their sturdy frames above, so I trod water for a bit, absorbing it all.

I’m very used to lakes, the fact that there’s nothing but the dark below you, going down tens, often hundreds of feet. That’s never bothered me. The sense of emptiness beneath, I even quite like it. But that’s not what I felt here at Vaiduoklis. Rather than nothing-ness beneath me, I felt a something-ness. That it wasn’t empty space, that there was something there. I peered down, and I swear I thought I saw something move. Not a fish, much bigger than that. It looked like someone was swimming several feet below me. I even saw a flash of pale flesh.

Becky Adlington couldn’t have made it to the shore faster than I did. I shot up that root like a rat. At the top, I stood holding on to the tree, gasping for breath, looking out over the water, half expecting to see something burst to the surface. But once the disturbance I’d made died down, the water returned to its glass-like state, rippling slightly at the edge, reflecting back the dreary firs and grey sky.

I felt annoyed that Mrs Jakovleva must have got to me, and tramped back to the guest house.

She was standing at the door and for a minute I thought she was going to hug me with relief. That didn’t make me feel any better. ‘You not long,’ she said. ‘All okay?’

‘Yes, lovely thanks, really nice swim. I’ll go check out that church you suggested now,’ I said. She looked surprised, and I could sense her watching me as I went up the stairs.

I felt a bit better when I was warm and dry, but the new village soon knocked that out of me. The church she had been on about looked like a 1970s municipal library, and all in all, the place was fantastically dull. There was one shop, selling groceries, some awful-looking floral frocks and, bizarrely, postcards. I couldn’t believe that anyone would have printed a card of such a town. But instead of the place I’m staying, it showed a black and white photo of a pretty village in a valley, part of it clinging to the side of the hills.

‘Is this the old village?’ I asked the man behind the counter.

‘Vaiduoklis,’ is all he said.

‘When was it sunk?’

‘Soviet days. The villagers, they object. Some never left. Still there.’

‘The Soviet Union drowned them?’ I asked. I had seen the KGB museum in Vilnius, but this seemed particularly chilling.

The man shrugged. ‘Bad times,’ he said. ‘Water low now, Vaiduoklis must be near the surface, maybe even possible to see, if you look.’

I thanked him and bought a handful of cards. Despite my scare this morning, I’ve got to say the idea of seeing some of the old medieval village cheered me up. A sort of Lithuanian Dunwich. It must have been a bit of that I saw today, not another swimmer at all. From the shape of the reservoir map I printed out at the Vilnius tourist office, I think the church might be quite near the exact spot where I got into the water this morning.

Anyway, I’d better go as I’m feeling a bit bad about hogging the computer in Mrs Jakovleva’s breakfast room all this time. Although she seemed to be out when I got back.

Will update you on the hidden village hunting! Chrissy xxxxxx

From: porpoise1swimit@gmail.com

To: barflysuse@gmail.com

Date: 30 May 2015, 17:24

Okay, me again. So I just had to get this off my chest. I went up to my room after emailing you, and would you believe the bath was running, with the plug in. Any longer and it would have overflowed and flooded the place. It DEFINITELY wasn’t me who left it on. I don’t know what Mrs Jakovleva is playing at, there were even wet foot marks from the bath to the window. Nothing missing, thank God. Do you think she’s been hanging out in my bedroom?!!

Gross

From: porpoise1swimit@gmail.com

To: barflysuse@gmail.com

Date: 31 May 2015, 16:48

I’m so frightened, Suse, I have to leave this place, I have to leave, and I don’t know how. Everything is shut in the town, there are no trains tonight and I don’t know where Mrs Jakovleva has gone.

I wish to God I’d never come here.

I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know what to think.

The day started all wrong. I slept in late this morning and when I came down, there was no landlady and no breakfast.

I thought maybe I’d pissed her off by going for a swim yesterday, and after that stuff with the bath, she’s obviously odd. I walked into town to see if I could find something to eat there. But it’s Sunday and the place was a ghost town. All shuttered up and nobody on the streets. I passed the church. The lights were on and there was singing inside and I had this mad thought of going in, but for what? I ended up going to the train station instead. There was nobody in the ticket office, and the snack kiosk was shut, but I did manage to get some sweets and crisps from the vending machine, along with a really sad-looking sandwich.

I checked the timetable and saw there was only one train out that day. To Vilnius in about half an hour. I had this sudden feeling that I ought to rush back for my bag and take it, but then I thought that was ridiculous, and how would I pay Mrs Jakovleva?

Back at the guest house, I had the sandwich and went through the guidebook again in my room. There’s absolutely nothing on this place. I looked up Lusai and decided to head there first thing in the morning. Felix or no Felix, I’ve had enough of Vaiduoklis.

The tourist office map of the reservoir was still on the bedside table. For some reason I didn’t fancy going hunting for buried villages quite so much today; there was something weird about being here without Mrs Jakovleva. But then there was absolutely nothing else to do, and I thought, While I’m here, it was really worth trying to spot a bit of the old town.

I got my goggles and headlight out, and togged myself up in the wetsuit. It was so quiet walking to the water, I sort of missed the sound of the old woman thumping on the glass behind me.

The reservoir looked even lower today. There was a light wind, breaking up its reflective surface and I walked round the edge, peering down the sides, trying to see if there was anything that looked like masonry down there. I thought there might be a pale shape, about a ten-minute swim from my root stairway, not far from the edge.

The climb down felt more difficult. I swear it looked as though some of the roots had been broken off, but once in, I got that familiar high from the cold, and adrenalin soon took me to the spot I had scouted out. There was definitely something down there.

I plunged under and at first nothing. But after surfacing and then going a little deeper, finally I saw something. The torch on my forehead picked out some red brick in the gloom, covered in algae. From the carving work it looked like it might be part of a church tower. I got a bit closer and saw the remains of a green dome at the top, smashed in on one side with reeds blocking the hole. I didn’t want to get tangled up, and knew I’d have to surface for air soon, but it was amazing to think I’d found a medieval church underwater, so I swam a bit nearer.

I looked into the hole, shining my headlight into the black. The reeds got in the way, and I went to move them aside without getting my arms tangled. I pushed my face towards the dark and felt something soft brush against my lips. I drew back, thinking it might be a carp. And that’s when it happened. A face bobbed up out of the broken dome. It was a person, Suse, all bloated and rotting, the eyes white and sunken like a dead fish when it’s been left out in the sun. It had swollen lips, lips that had just touched mine. Terrified, I pushed it away, and its jaw fell open. Half the tongue was gone.

Then a hand floated – or reached – towards me.

I screamed, losing precious air in the bubbles. I made for the surface, but something grabbed me by the ankle. In blind panic I kicked hard, hitting a round, soft thing, which buckled and gave against my heel. I kicked again and felt the grip slacken on my foot, then by some miracle I broke free.

I don’t know how I got back to the tree root, I don’t know how I didn’t drown from fear; it must have been the training kicking in. I ran back to the guest house, crying my eyes out, calling to Mrs Jakovleva. There was no answer. I sprinted to my room and, crazily, locked the door behind me. It was only when I sat on the bed, still hyperventilating, that I saw there was a mass of reeds wound round my ankle, the one I thought had been grabbed.

And so now I’m really confused, Suse, I don’t know what to think. It must have been reeds, dragging me under. It can’t have been anything else. It can’t have been the body I saw. The dead are dead, aren’t they? They don’t come back.

I wish to God I knew where Mrs Jakovleva was. I wish it were already tomorrow and I was on that train.

From: porpoise1swimit@gmail.com

To: barflysuse@gmail.com

Date: 31 May 2015, 21:18

Dear God, Suse, be online, please be reading this, please be online.

You’ve got to call the Foreign Office, call 999, anything, please, you’ve got to send somebody to help me.

Mrs Jakovleva’s dead. I thought I heard footsteps on the stairs. I thought it was her. I called for her, followed the muddy trail of prints to the top of the guest house where her room is.

The door was half open.

I had a really bad feeling, Suse, I had a bad feeling something had happened to her. I shouted and bashed on the door. Inside her bed was made up. Bottles of perfume laid out neatly on a linen doily covering the bedside table. Beside it was another closed door. Her bathroom door.

And I just knew she was in there.

I pushed it open and she was lying at the bottom of the bath, her eyes wide open. Drowned. Her clothes were the same ones she had on yesterday, which means she has been here, under the water, all that time. Wisps of grey hair floating round her face like reeds.

There was a phone on her dressing table. I ran to it, picked it up, but there was no dialling tone. So I’m going to try and get help in the town, I’m going there now.

They came for her, Suse, the people in the lake, I woke them up and they found her, and now I think they’re going to come for me.

Please God, get hold of the Foreign Office, Suse, tell them I’m here. Please send the police to Vaiduoklis. Please help me.

From: brian.heddler@ukforeignoffice.gov

To: Elaine.Griffiths@ukforeignoffice.gov

Date: 10 June 2015, 11:14

Subject: CONFIDENTIAL

Elaine,

The investigation into the death of Christine Miller is ongoing, but having now visited the reservoir and spoken to local police myself, I wanted to bring you up to speed.

There is a need to be sensitive with this case, as the family remain convinced she was murdered.

The landlady, Asta Jakovleva, was a widow with no children, and her business was doing badly. The most likely scenario, police believe, is that she committed suicide by drowning. According to medical records, she had a history of depression.

The local superintendent tells me a fingerprint search of Asta Jakovleva’s bedroom suggests Christine Miller must have discovered the body and tried to raise the alarm. In panic she then fled the premises, leaving the door open in her haste. It was dark at this time and the landscape unfamiliar to Ms Miller, who in her fright seems to have taken the path to the reservoir, rather than the one into town. Both are through woodland areas of fir, and not impossible to confuse.

Ms Miller’s body was found in the lake, fully clothed and tangled in reeds. Markings on the banks show she had clearly tried to claw her way out of the muddy sides of the reservoir after falling in, but there were no signs of violence to indicate forcible drowning. Like so many tragic cases of people swimming in open water each year, Ms Miller became caught up in reeds and drowned. It was night, she was frightened, and out of her wetsuit; even her training as an experienced wild swimmer was unable to save her. I hope in time the family will be able to accept this.

There is one anomaly in the case. Muddy footprints have been found throughout the house, as if somebody ran from room to room. The owner of the footprints could conceivably have been an intruder, but the police are confident that these must have belonged to Ms Miller who perhaps ran in panic through the property, looking for a working telephone. The footprints eventually lead to the front door.

Also, I finally have an explanation for our difficulty at the Foreign Office in locating the place from Christine Miller’s friend’s description. ‘Vaiduoklis’ is in fact a local nickname for the village, not its actual name. It is the Lithuanian word for ‘ghost’ and seems to refer to the original village, sunk in the reservoir.

I will of course keep you updated on further developments.

Regards,

Brian