Secrets and Shadows of the Missing: Living Dreams, #3

By E.M.G Wixley

The enticing and stately façade of the English Boarding School promises a place of enchanting wonder for its young residents. Its perfectly manicured playing fields, the quaint 'chocolate bar' courtyard, and the mysterious ancient oak wood create a tapestry of endless adventures and dreams. Yet, beneath its captivating elegance, the school hides a much darker history—a buried Tudor mansion teeming with secrets and shadows that few dare to uncover.

Eleanor, along with her inseparable friends, the twins William and Leo, revel in the timeless magic of the building and its grounds. They spend their days weaving stories of heroes and dragons, exploring every corner of their secluded world. But when Eleanor learns that her parents will abandon her to the school's care over the summer, her joy turns to bitterness and betrayal.

On the last day of term, driven by a mix of anger and desperation, Eleanor decides to escape through the weakest point in the school's boundaries—the ancient oak wood—with the aim of returning home. Instead, she vanishes into its depths, leaving her friends behind to grapple with her sudden disappearance.

As William and Leo embark on a frantic search, they find themselves pulled into a vortex where the boundaries between the present and the past blur. Each step leads them deeper into the mysteries hidden within the very foundations of the school, where forgotten lives and untold stories are waiting to resurface.

What secrets lie beneath the surface of this seemingly idyllic school? What happened to Eleanor in the shadowy depths of the oak wood? As the twins peel back layers of time, they uncover a haunting legacy that threatens to unravel the fabric of their own lives.

"Secrets and Shadows of the Missing" is a riveting journey through time and memory, where the past is never truly gone, and the echoes of history can still be heard whispering in the woods.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.M.G Wixley
• Release date: Apr 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386792758

E.M.G Wixley

Elizabeth Wixley was born in Hertfordshire in the United Kingdom but has moved many times during her childhood. She attended the Camberwell Art School and joined a design studio in Convent Garden. Moving to Bristol, some years later, she worked full time for the Local Education Authority supporting children suffering from emotional and behavioural difficulties, whilst ensuring that the transition into a mainstream school was done in a supportive and nurturing manner. Whilst providing children with a safe haven for learning, she raised two sons as a single parent while studying for a degree in education at the University of the West of England. Her love of fiction started at the age of six when Elizabeth’s grandmother died of cancer and to ensure that the rest of the family was safe, she would spend the nights roaming the house looking for the 'C' monster to make sure that he did not claim any more victims. One sunny bright day, her sister told her that fork lightning would come and strike her down after which she would spend her days hiding in the garage and when she heard that the sun was falling out of the sky, well needless to say, she very seldom ventured out. With trial and error, Elizabeth soon realized to fight her foes, she had to stare them straight in the eye, explore them and conqueror the inner demons in order to stand righteous. This helps fuel her love of horror and the many mysteries of the world. Creating a why and what if scenario that runs prominent in her fascinating fiction. Throughout Elizabeth’s life, creative arts have been her passion whether it is visiting galleries, painting or writing. She enjoys nothing more than sharing a compelling horror story with others and holding the sanity of her readers in the palm of her hand.

Book preview

Chapter One

Rosie had erected a barricade against the extending darkness of her black years. Tears would gather in her emotional heart for the dead only she remembered; they trembled on the rim of her eyes and froze in their dropping just as the cries of pain were muffled before they left her lips. Inside, she kept everything to herself as she knew the guilt would have to be lived with and endured. Rosie had sneaked away from the harbour of the past and prayed the searchlights of horror would not strike her again. The fragments were still there, the scars and bruises lying deep beneath her façade of courage. She’d reduced the shadows to nothing, trampled on them as it was the only way to manage.

Rosie had re-invented herself, kept her space uninvaded to the point of seeming unapproachable to strangers, only ever engaging with her family. To other’s, she appeared unflappable, able to manage the chaos of the most turbulent situations while remaining calm.

Methodically, she cleaned the twin’s room. She stopped by their bedroom window and gazed down to the garden to watch them playing. From the moment they were born, she’d felt they had always been there, existing somewhere else long before they were conceived. They were always meant to be; she’d recognised them from the moment of birth. They were her focus, her life. The airy twinkle in their eyes, the laughter and their secret conversations. They were different, and she’d known it from the start. Were their strange abilities to become her punishment? Had the insidious personality of all the drugs Luke and she’d taken invaded their DNA? The pendulum was swinging, and she could hear the ticking of the clock whenever she observed them playing. She tried to reassure herself that it was the nature of twins to be intrinsically linked, but each day, she watched the pages turn with dread. The future was slowly unfolding, and their uniqueness was more pronounced. Their lives were a labyrinth of possibilities, but was this where the spotlight had come to rest, and was this to be Luke’s retribution?

The three bright blue fountains squirted high into the air from the sparkling pools and the low, marble, curved steps that climbed towards the house. The old Victorian building had been purposefully built as a progressive boarding school on the foundation of a much older stately home. Each child that looked upon it saw a beautiful golden giant towering high into the sky, finally ending with its hood of blue-grey slate and chimney pots finely decorated with coiling snakes and lizards.

However, it was not the house that fascinated the children but the grounds that stretched out from its base. There were the endless, perfectly manicured bright green lawns surrounded by fragrant pine woods. Then further on, at the far end of the fields beyond the rougher long grass, was a dark deciduous wood that was the home of the sturdy, creaking old oaks. The children, being instinctively scared, rarely ventured there even though they were free to roam through any part of the grounds, and they were equally not tempted by the soft carpet of bluebells that whispered to them in the summer breeze.

That particular day had been scorching, and the late spring air had cast a spell over the magical playing fields. Each child lived at the centre of every long moment; the transitory world of waiting that adults inhabited had not yet come into existence. Their fantasies were real, not disappearing dreams.

In the cool shade of the pines, they hunted for sticks in the shape of guns or swords. Both girls and boys shot or fought each other with equal relish and pretended death without any knowledge of its true significance, although they were aware of the need to play these games away from the adults.

It was a secret amongst them and somewhat forbidden, but behind the house was what they called the chocolate bar courtyard since the tiles on the ground resembled the segments of a bar of chocolate. It was here, for those who dared, that one could find slithers of slate that had slipped off the roof and which, when shaped, made perfect arrowheads. The bows were made from any bendy wood they could find, like the willows that flourished by the marble summerhouse.

It was a museum of dreams where everything you touched became something else loaded with importance and meaning. Everything was exaggerated, either very large or very little, and the child’s mind was free to wander without boundaries. Therefore, they all knew about the colossal dragon that lurked on the roof, scowling down at the children with her hard ruby eyes, searching for those children hiding in the woods who had stolen her babies and who would burst out and run so fast, the moment she swooped down. Of course, when an adult drew near, she would become invisible, not wanting to be captured by a more dangerous foe. Gallant heroes rode their horses into treacherous lands, and when evil giant monsters tried to hunt them down, the small folk once again knew how to disappear into the long grass or behind trees.

They were all aware that they shared this world with even smaller beasts, such as ants, ladybirds, worms, beetles and daddy long legs, but all of them hoped to find the real prizes, which were the slowworms, frogs and lizards. At times, brightly coloured butterflies fluttered by, but you weren’t to catch them because it would take the salt off their wings, and they would perish. When the children grew tired of running around, soft petal flowers were picked, and hours were spent trying to create the most beautiful crowns or bracelets.

The other humans mostly inhabited the building: the domain of the masters and punishers. They silently lurked in the corridors, listening and watching, ready to leap out onto any offending child. In the classroom, they were strict. The small people were told to stand upright in line while their fingernails and hands were checked for cleanliness, and if they were not up to standard, the proceeding roar was terrifying.

At mealtimes, it was expected that every last scrap of food would be cleaned off the plate, causing young lateral devious minds to go to great lengths to outwit their superiors, anything to avoid hearing that roar. There were worse things, such as being made to stand on a chair so that you were ready to receive a stinging slap around the thigh. For older children, the ruler or the slipper was used.

Eleanor, then at the age of six, had grown used to all the rituals and routines of the day and had mostly learnt how to avoid the wrath of the adults. She had found it very difficult to adjust when, at the age of three, she arrived at the school. She would always clearly remember her first day as a pupil and one incident in particular. She had hated baked beans, and when a sour-faced dinner lady insisted that she eat them, she had felt quite indignant and thought her response of throwing them at the wretched witch was quite appropriate. She remembered clearly how the whole room stopped and how everyone held their breath, waiting for the blast of anger that tore Eleanor from her seat and on towards the headmistress’s room.

Then there was the time when she played forwards and backwards with the twins in front of the fountains and deliberately manoeuvred William in such a way that he fell back into the water. She had thought it funny but immediately regretted her actions when she saw the look of devastation and humiliation on the bedraggled child’s face.

Lastly, there was the occasion, on a sweltering day, when she and her little friend had quite innocently decided that the weather was not right for clothes and had stripped off in the shade of the fir trees to relieve their discomfort. Unfortunately, the headmistress, who rushed towards them with all the venom and horror of a spitting demon, had spotted them and, grabbing both of Eleanor’s arms, shook her until she was dizzy. The woman screamed, Don’t ever do that again! The humiliation of that event stung her for many years, sealed her reputation as a troublemaker, and caused all her rulers to believe that the scanty child was one to watch, a child with behavioural issues.

On that particular day, as Eleanor sweltered under the midday sun, she knew to keep her blue-checked gingham dress on. Her arms were bare, her cardigan tied safely around her waist and, on her back, was her pink bag within which she kept all her important items. Her friends, William and Leo, accompanied her, as they made their way down to the long rough grass that led to the oak wood.

Some way off to Eleanor’s left, she glanced at the neat rows of flowers and vegetables in the garden and spotted the gardener bent double, tending to some seedlings in front of his shed. Eleanor had ventured out of bounds before, into the gardens, where, rather than receiving a fierce response from the old man, she had been surprised by his gentleness. He spoke with her about his plants and had shown her how to pot the tiny seeds. What she remembered most of all was a beautiful poem he quoted for her, and although she could no longer remember it, the words ‘live each day as though it’s your last’ became embedded in her mind, as though they were being stored away for some future use.

It’s not fair. I had a letter saying that I have to stay in school for the whole summer holidays. I can’t stand it. She sulked, genuinely upset about the prospect of endless drawn-out days following the old people’s rules. Eleanor slumped down onto the bank that dropped away into the darkness, and William stared mesmerised at her hair, which glistened silver-gold in the sunlight, as blond as theirs was black. It made him think of a picture of angels and demons he had seen in his mother’s antique shop.

Why don’t you phone up your mum and tell her that you have been invited to stay with us? Leo said excitedly. Eleanor’s mother, Mich and his mother, Rosie, had always been best friends, more like sisters.

They won’t let me. My mum and dad are going abroad, and your mum works all the time.

Yeah, but our mum wouldn’t mind. You know she would say yes, Leo continued, certain that he was correct.

I have already tried, Eleanor added.

Boys of that age often couldn’t be bothered with girls, but the twins had always made an exception for Eleanor, who was, in fact, as tough as any boy they knew. Although William and Leo were four years older than Eleanor, they couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t there, except on the odd occasion when she was left behind in school. Today, they were lingering around Eleanor because, in her box of treasures, she had a thick bunch of football cards, and William knew how much she coveted the troll with the tangerine-coloured hair that he had found in the basement of his mother’s shop.

I’m going to go home. I am not staying here, and when I get there, they will have to take me away with them. I’ve saved my tuck money so that I can get a bus.

What about the swap you promised? William asked.

Have you got the troll? she replied. William took the beloved object out of his pocket and presented it to Eleanor. She, in turn, took a rattling tin out from her bag and lifted the lid to reveal layers of intriguing buttons, jewellery, and a variety of other found or swapped items. There, held together with an elastic band, were the cards. Both boys were excited because they had agreed to sort them out and see which ones each other still needed, which meant a night of hard bargaining. Once the exchange was completed, the twins immediately began to shuffle through the cards while Eleanor, no longer seeming to care, shoved the troll into her pocket and placed the tin back into the bag without stopping to check her collection, as she would have typically done.

Eleanor abruptly rose and lightly tiptoed through the long grass as grasshoppers jumped out of her way. William quickly gathered the cards together, sprung to his feet, closely followed by Leo and trampled the long stems, causing them to bend and break. Not far into the trees was a green wire fence, a weak place in the school’s defences, as there was a high brick wall around the rest of the grounds.

Eleanor rushed forward to a place where the wire had been stretched and lifted it up. Then she paused and peered up at them, standing a few feet away, silhouetted against the backdrop of light.

Are you two coming?

You can’t go under there. It’s out of bounds. William, the most sensible one of the group, shouted.

The bell’s going to go soon, Leo added.

The twins stood transfixed with disbelief. They knew that no amount of pleading would prevent their friend from embarking on her journey. After all, they wouldn’t want to stay in school for the holidays either. They watched the tiny shape which captivated their attention as she moved deftly through the undergrowth, over roots, brambles, and stones. She was dawdling like a person without any specific aim, creeping further and further away until, eventually, she vanished into the darkness that lay behind the trees.

Many moments passed. The twins waited, expecting their friend to come running back through the thick greenery, crushing the carpet of blue. Leo stood brandishing a stick in case she was followed into the light by some kind of mythical beast. They were aware that the bell had gone. They were already late, and it dawned on them that their young companion wasn’t coming back. She was probably far away by now. It was time to abandon their role as protectors. Leo dropped his weapon, and in the same instant, both boys ran as fast as they could back up the field. Once inside, they took the steps to their room, two at a time.

Panting and dripping wet from their exertions under the fierce sun, they entered their class and were immediately confronted by the wrath of their master, who was standing in front of his pupils, directing a music lesson. They were comforted a little by their familiar surroundings. Dust particles danced in shafts of lights that cut across the room, looking too welcoming for the seriousness of the circumstances.

Where have you boys been? Look at the state of you. I hope you fully understand the punishment for being late for the bell. The man was a giant, and his face was red with rage. William, not normally brave, puffed up his chest, realising the seriousness of the situation, while his brother cowered behind him, playing the role of the younger sibling, which was how he often felt.

Eleanor has run away, William blustered.

The class suddenly faltered in their prosaic preparations; instruments were carefully placed back down on tables as the small group of children turned their attention to the more interesting commotion that was occurring by their teacher’s desk.