Edward had just returned to his village after a three-week haul across the country in his lorry, and as usual, he stopped first at the pub to catch up with the locals and hear the latest news before heading home to see his wife. He parked the lorry by the roadside and, bundled in his waxed jacket to shield himself from the pouring rain, pushed open the door.
“Evening, lads!” he called as he stepped inside.
Being a Friday night in October, hed expected the pub to be bustling with men playing cards, greeting him with rowdy banter about his mother or his manhood. But tonight, only two people acknowledged him with a nod: the barman and an old man warming himself by the fireplace. Edward, puzzled, walked up to the bar and asked,
“Whats going on, Tom? Where is everyone? Someone pass away?”
The barman slid a pint of bitter across the counter and sighed. “Worse than that, Edward, far worse… young women have gone missing.”
“What? Local girls?” the lorry driver asked, struggling to believe it.
“Three so far,” Tom said, holding up a finger. “First was Emily, the chemists daughter.” A second finger joined the first. “Then Charlotte, the mayors niece.” He raised a third. “And lastly… Olivia, the schoolteacher.”
“Bloody hell!” Edward gasped. “Did they vanish all at once?”
“No, one every Friday since youve been gone,” the barman said after a pause. “Folks reckon theres a serial killer about. All three were between twenty and thirty, and… they were expecting. Can you believe it? Absolute monster…” He shook his head in disgust. “And since its Friday again, some have formed armed patrols to hunt him downothers are barricaded at home, holding their wives and daughters close.”
Those last words sent Edward sprinting home, the unease hed felt on the drive back now taking shape. He had to check on his young wife. He cut through the dark moor, adrenaline coursing through him. He knew this path was quicker than taking the lorry, and if his fears were right, every second counted. As he ran, his thoughts spiraled into a storm of dread. Visions of his wife bleeding, suffering, flashed through his mind, each more horrifying than the last. His heart pounded harder with every step.
He ran until his legs ached and his lungs burned. Finally, his house came into viewcompletely dark. Gasping for breath, he pushed forward, then froze when he spotted a shadowy figure in black slipping away from his doorstep.
Without hesitation, Edward lunged. He wrestled the figure into the house, fumbling in the dark until he managed to flip the light switch.
Under the dim glow of the bare bulb in the kitchen, relief washed over himit was his wife, Eleanor.
He released her, and in an instant, Eleanor threw her arms around him, kissing him fiercely, her lips trembling with emotion.
But Edwards relief quickly turned to alarm. “Eleanor, youve got to be more careful. If I hadnt made it back tonight, you couldve been next. Do you know how terrified Ive been? What were you thinking, going out today? Tom told me half the village is hunting a killer…” He paused, then added, “Besides, dont you think three women wouldve been enough meat for the winter?”
His words hung in the air like a curse. Eleanors smile vanished, her hands flying to her stomach.
“What did you just say?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Edward blinked, realizing his mistake too late. “II didnt mean it. Just the fear talking,” he muttered, but her eyes had already darkened with suspicionand something worse. Understanding.
Slowly, she rolled up her sleeve. Faint scratches marred her forearm, half-healed, as if from thorns… or desperate fingers.
“Edward… where were you every Friday night when you were ‘working’?”
The lorry driver froze. His mind raced back to the pub, to Toms trembling fingers counting one, two, three… pregnant women. And he remembered. His routes. The stops. The lies hed told himself about “lonely company” and “momentary weakness.”
His stomach dropped as Eleanors eyes filled with tearsnot of fear, but of terrible clarity.
Outside, the rain hammered down, drowning the silence between them. The barmans words echoed like a knife in his chest:
“Something worse, Edward, something worse…”
And in that moment, Eleanor knew: the missing women had never been taken by a stranger. The monster had walked through her door, reeking of diesel and deceit.
Softly, almost to herself, she whisperedjust loud enough for him to hear
“And tonight wouldve been the fourth Friday.”
