Every Little Breath: A Tense Psychological Thriller Full of Twists

‘B ut what if Arthur is right?’

Poppy Cooper wiped at her snotty nose, looking to Amanda for reassurance that Annabelle the creepy doll from the popular horror movies would not be hiding inside her wardrobe when she went to bed that night.

Arthur Norton’s parents had apparently allowed him to watch the film over the weekend and he now had a YouTube clip on his phone that he was using to scare some of the other kids.

‘I promise you, nothing will be hiding in your wardrobe tonight or any other night, sweetie. It’s just a scary story. Monsters aren’t real. They don’t exist, I promise.’

Poppy blinked her wide blue eyes and nodded. ‘Do you really promise, Miss Haines?’

‘I promise, I promise.’

It was a lie. Amanda knew better than anyone that monsters were real, though not in the form that Poppy thought. She didn’t need to be afraid of a doll hiding in her wardrobe or a werewolf outside her window. The real monsters had human faces and human voices and they could smile and laugh and talk to you, pretending everything was okay while they sliced you open with knives and taped up your nose and mouth to stop you from breathing. The real monsters enjoyed themselves as they watched you bleed. And once they had you in their clutches, even if you managed to escape, they still had power over you, still invaded your dreams, and still made you fearful that the nightmare wasn’t actually over. You might think you were safe, but they were still out there, watching and waiting for you.

Amanda Haines had met one of those monsters once. Back when she had been a twenty-one-year-old student, just wanting to hang out with her friends, full of hopes and dreams for the future, thinking she had her whole life ahead of her.

Meeting Steven Noakes had altered her path and, despite knowing that he was in prison, despite having reconstructive surgery and years of therapy, she knew she would never be able to go back to being the girl she was before.

Steven Noakes and his cruel knives had taken away the chance for her to have children, the chance for her to lead a normal life, the chance to ever trust another man enough to form an intimate relationship with.

She had tried so hard, but dating had brought on panic attacks and eventually she had resigned herself to a life of celibacy. Instead, she lived alone in the home she had turned into a fortress.

It was a wonder that she managed to hold down a job, but the innocence of the children she helped teach were the only bright light in her day. She didn’t socialise outside of school, had few friends, never left her home after dark, had her shopping delivered, didn’t answer the door to the postman or any cold-callers, and spent every night with the lights on and the TV playing in the background. It was the only way she could get any sleep.

She often wondered if it would have been easier, better even, if she had died on that table.

When Casey Fallon had discovered her, she had been ready to give up.

Noakes had grabbed her while she was out running. She remembered seeing his van passing, though never saw him. He had grabbed her from behind, knocking her unconscious and she had awoken bound and gagged, with a hood over her head, aware she was in a moving vehicle. He had kept her tied up and blindfolded on that torture table for the best part of two days before the police arrived and they had rescued her, but really, what kind of freedom had she returned to? If Casey hadn’t found her, Noakes would have killed her. Perhaps a little more suffering to have it finally stop would have been worth it.

Amanda had tried to end her life twice. The first time had been with a bottle of vodka and several sleeping tablets, the second occasion she had slit her wrists in the bathtub. Both times she had been found and rushed to hospital, and it seemed she was damned to live through this hell on earth.

That was why she had chosen to work with children, figuring if she could bring anything good into their lives then at least hers would have some purpose.

As she dried Poppy’s tears, watched her run back to join her friends in the playground, Amanda knew she was going to have to ask the head teacher to speak with Arthur’s parents again. It wasn’t the first time he had bragged about watching unsuitable films at home or scared the other kids. It wasn’t on. Mrs Thackeray was away until Friday, though, so unfortunately it would have to wait.

At the end of the school day, she packed up her things, made her way out to her car, keen to get back home.

She lived out in the countryside, in a small village a few miles north of Norwich. A quiet location with a handful of neighbours. It was remote enough that she didn’t feel claustrophobic, but equally, knowing there were people close by in case of emergency also reassured her. Over the years she had got to know them all by name and face, and she believed she was as safe as could be.

She had gone a couple of miles, was almost home, having already turned off the main road into the network of quiet country lanes that led to her village, when her car started to splutter, then ground to a halt, the engine cutting out. She tried the ignition, but nothing happened.

For fuck’s sake. Her little Corsa might be ancient, but she looked after it, had it serviced regularly to ensure it stayed reliable.

Her heart pounding, Amanda unfastened her seat belt and climbed out of the car. She glanced up the empty road, knew it was about a mile-and-a-half walk back to the village. She couldn’t just leave her car here though. She would have to call for roadside assistance.

As she went round to the passenger door and reached inside for her handbag, the sound of an engine came from behind her. Years of paranoia meant her first reaction was fear and her head shot round as a van pulled up.

The fear quickly manifested itself into panic that clawed its way up her throat and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Steve Noakes had drove a van.

He had kidnapped her while she was out jogging down country roads not dissimilar to this one.

Breathe, Amanda, breathe. It’s probably someone from the village.

She didn’t recognise the van though. And she was careful enough to know every one of her neighbours’ cars. She squinted at the windscreen, but the way the light was bouncing on the glass prevented her from seeing the driver.

It was going to be okay. She was overreacting. Whoever it was had seen she had broken down. They were probably stopping to see if they could help. It was most likely a delivery driver. That made sense. Lots of people had deliveries.

Still, as the door opened, she trembled all over, a scream caught in her throat.

And then she saw the flared skirt, a flash of long hair, the door shutting to reveal a woman. She was older than Amanda, probably by twenty or thirty years, her grey hair loose and curling over her shoulders.

Amanda relaxed a little. She told herself off for overreacting and managed a smile for the woman who was approaching.

‘Having car trouble, dear?’ The woman’s voice was soft and deep.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong. It just spluttered to a halt. When I turn the ignition there’s nothing.’ Even as she was saying the words, it was registering in Amanda’s mind that something seemed a little off.

She squinted against the late-afternoon sun that was hanging low in the sky, sheltering her eyes with her hand as she studied the woman with the thin lips and wide sunglasses.

And then the woman smiled. It was a predatory smile and in that split second, Amanda understood.

The monster was back.