Page 3 - As the Cold Wind Blows Mark Jones

CHAPTER 1

Screaming as she ran through the narrow streets, the blood-soaked figure of a young

woman by the name of Imelda Hart was drawing much attention from the local people of the
village of Silwall. They stood by their doors and at their paint-peeled windows, her attacker
had not been seen or heard approaching by Imelda herself or anyone else who had left the

small, cosy, lively inn called The Widow Nell. Imelda fell to the ground as onlookers stood by,
unhelpful in their curiosity, just staring at the young woman. Imelda held out a hand in search

of help and comfort, whispering, “Help me, please help me!” Suddenly she slumped and died
from deep, gaping wounds to her head, face and body.

Some of the onlookers spoke of a wild beast on the loose while others talked quietly about

an axe-wielding maniac, none of them knew for certain, the true cause of poor Imelda’s
demise, but there was nothing that they could do to help her now. Imelda wasn’t the first
woman from the village to be murdered in such a terrible way; she was preceded by Mabel

Bright a month earlier. Both women were in their early thirties, had dark hair and were the best
of friends. Many people took them for sisters as they were so alike; they shared the same

interests in life and grew up only a few doors apart and attended the same school. Just before
their horrific and untimely deaths they had worked at an above-top-secret facility in an

undisclosed government-run location. Imelda and Mabel had, in many local people’s opinions,
discovered something of great national importance and whatever it was had now ultimately

ended with their shocking and brutal murders.
The people of the quiet, sleepy village soon turned their heads away from Imelda’s cold
and lifeless body, as they had with Mabel, and went home to their mundane, everyday lives,

fearful as ever of becoming involved in this bizarre turn of events. Some watched still from
behind twitching curtains, cowering as a long black estate car with blacked-out windows

mysteriously drove alongside Imelda’s body. Two men in dark suits lifted her into the back.
The car, with no lights or registration plates, then disappeared out of sight. Obviously, no one
saw a thing. The locals knew better than to speak out of turn at certain times. They believed

that someone was listening, something in the atmosphere they thought, as the feeling just after
poor Mabel’s death was identical to the one they were experiencing now after Imelda’s. It was

peculiar, a murder had taken place and yet all evidence and reason was swept away within
minutes, leaving a sense of fear and quietness that was overpowering. No one was around,

but everyone felt a chilling and dangerous presence. A thin layer of frost covered the ground
and roof tops like an icy sparkle; it was as though the village had died along with one of its

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