Writing for Fun
A Stormy Night - Jenni Bowers
October 2014
It was mid July; a hot day had been followed by a thunder storm which showed no sign of abating. Shivering, I looked at the clock, one in the morning and I couldn't sleep. Outside the wind was howling, rain lashed the windows and most of them were rattling. I could hear the waves as they crashed against the cliffs below and I hoped fervently that this old house really was built to withstand anything, as my father had insisted. I had arrived two days earlier for a much needed holiday, my parents were abroad and I was looking after Jody, their border collie. Now she was at the foot of my bed but as sleepless as I.
Was that a knock? Yes, loud rapping at the front door, who on earth would be out on a night like this, I wondered as I hurried downstairs in my dressing gown, Jody at my heels. Cautiously I opened the heavy front door to the length of the chain – a man of about fifty stood there with blood running down his face, he begged me to help him. Fear evaporated as I tried to remember my first aid course, I opened the door and helped him into the kitchen.
Settling him on the big old sofa near the fire I covered him with a blanket, he struggled to get his breath and tell me that his car had hit tree in the storm and rolled down the cliffs – his wife was trapped and could I get help to her. He had been stunned momentarily but when he'd come to and realised he couldn't get her out he'd run for help. A well known danger spot was described and I tried to ring for an ambulance and police to no avail, the line was obviously down. So, after bandaging his cut forehead I hastily dressed, the only solution was to walk to the village bobby's house. I found a torch and after checking the man was comfortable I left the house with Jody and a walking stick headed for the village.
The trek along country lanes now like rivers with water cascading off the saturated fields was difficult and as my coat became heavier with the soaking I prayed for the rain to stop. Nothing passed me and it seemed as though I was alone, just Jody, the windswept trees and I in this alien world. Lightning suddenly lit up the fields and I saw the village at last. Hammering on P.C. Evans' door my heart nearly jumped out of my chest when a huge thunderclap rent the air, Jody jumped closer to me and huddled against the front door.
P.C. Evans opened the door slowly and I babbled my story out. Dripping wet I was hustled inside, his wife pushed me into their living room and turned on the gas fire, took away my dripping coat and produced a cup of steaming tea in record time. Jody shook herself all over the spotless tiled floor of their kitchen and hastily I tried to rub her with an old towel Mrs Evans handed to me.
Feeling warmed and in a cosy duffle coat they lent me I followed the policeman to his car, he had called an ambulance to meet us as the crash site and with siren wailing, blue light flashing we raced along the winding lanes.
Arriving at the sharp bend in the road with a metal crash barrier, slight grass verge, a few trees and bushes sloping down towards the sea, as described by my visitor, we could see nothing, torches were shone over the cliff but no view of the car at all, just the raging sea – by now the mountain rescue team had arrived with ropes to help pull the car up the cliff so they began an extensive search, daybreak now giving much needed light to the scene – strangely there were no skid marks at the top of the cliff and although scuffed the barrier was not broken.
P.C. Evans took us home and we crept into the kitchen in case the man was now asleep, but the house was deserted – the policeman helped me search the house and outbuildings and we called loudly in the hope that if he had wandered off to try and help his wife we'd find him. By now the villagers was also joining the search teams in their hunt for car, wife and husband but nothing was found. After a week of searching, with the weather turning better and the beach being thoroughly investigated, no tyre marks, or damaged trees on the cliff where there had indeed been accidents in the past there was nothing anyone could do and I felt people were pointing at me and laughing – was it all in my mind after all?
Of course I couldn't rest and decided to look into the other accidents, the elderly proprietor of the local newspaper pulled out copies of old papers from the 1920's and a cold shiver ran down my spine as I read 'The accident happened on the night of July 15th 1925, James Ellison died of head injuries after going for help for his wife Sonia, who perished trapped in their new car when it went over the cliffs and slid into the sea.'