Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1 by Sue Nicholls (primary phonics .txt) 📕

and dropped out of sight, and Maurice crawled after them. On the brow, he was in time to catch sight of them disappearing into woodland beside the lakeside beauty spot. He followed their route and crunched onto a path of stone chippings that led deep into the cover of the trees.

A strip of tape blocked his way, and he climbed out to pull it to one side, replacing it behind him and crawling further into the woodland until he was out of sight of the road.

Leaving the car, he crept on, keeping his ears open and placing his feet with care on the uneven ground. Soon, he heard their voices and dived into the bushes. They were not far away. He forced his body to stay still and waited.

How long he crouched there, he did not know. But his knees were killing him. Despite the fine weather, it was cool in the undergrowth, and he shivered, part in fear, part from the cold.

The man murmured something, and Twitch’s laugh chimed through the thicket. Maurice clenched his jaws and gave a constricted swallow. Then their chatter stopped and Maurice, half anticipating what he would see, inched forwards, praying they would not hear him rustling. Between the twigs and leaves of a thicket of hazels, he saw them. In an opening, at the water’s edge, his tart of a wife lay on her back on a plaid blanket. The remains of a picnic were scattered about her, and a wineglass lay on its side, dribbling a spreading stain onto the grey earth. Her naked breasts rose from her open blouse, their nipples erect, and her skirt was hiked up round her waist. Cast off garments and shoes lay in a crumpled pile on the dirt. The man, muscular, attractive, his open shirt hanging from his sides, placed his body between her open thighs and arched his back to enter her. Maurice gasped as the man began, slowly at first, to thrust in and out. Their copulation grew more urgent and the male’s feet, still in socks, jerked about, scuffing the dust. Muscles like ropes flexed in his thighs, pumping his taut buttocks up and down. Maurice could not tear his eyes away and soon, to his shame, an erection pressed against his fly. He swallowed and forced himself to think about his next move and his excitement subsided.

His hand landed on a rock protruding from the earth. It fitted his palm, and he wriggled it free and tested it for size. When Twitch’s scream split the air, he looked up to catch her face contorting into a climax. The man grunted and collapsed on top of her, his legs straight out, hers still wrapped around his hips.

Soon, they disentangled and lay on their backs panting up at the branches. The man sat up and pulled down Twitch’s skirt and reached for his trousers. His appearance was somehow familiar, but Maurice did not give this much thought. He was in a state of anxiety, and adrenalin pumped in his blood. Decent once more, the guy pulled Twitch to him for a final kiss before they gathered up their picnic and headed back, pushing their cycles past Maurice in his hiding place, talking in low voices, their wheels tick ticking. The man asked Twitch when he might see her again, and her reply was non-committal - something about other appointments. This was good, Maurice thought. It meant that the fellow would not be calling her anytime soon.

Once the pair were a safe distance ahead, Maurice slipped from his place and followed, hefting the rock in his grip. They neared the road and ducked under the tape and after a last long kiss, the stranger scooted his bike and swung onto the saddle. Then he was gone, leaving Twitch checking her chain.

Maurice weighed up his next move. He could let her mount her bike and then mow her down with his car as he had originally planned, but now he was here it would be so much better to finish her with this rock before she left. As if to help, Twitch propped her bike onto its stand and stooped to adjust her socks. With a furtive look in both directions, Maurice tiptoed up behind her. She was humming under her breath, and the smell of sex rose from her body. For several seconds, he hovered, frozen by the enormity of what he was about to do. All around, the woodland rang with sound. A blackbird trilled a repetitious melody, and from somewhere in the distance, amid the chortling of ducks, a woodpecker drilled and stopped, drilled, and stopped. From every direction, hedge sparrows, finches and tits chirped and whistled. Maurice raised his arm and closed his eyes. The rock hung in the air then plunged down and connected with Twitch’s skull. There was a wet crunch, and her singing slurred to a groan. There was a thud as her body landed on the pathway.

With blood thumping in his ears and a churning stomach, Maurice dared to open his eyes. Twitch lay on her side, facing him with her eyes closed. Blood and brain matter spilled onto the ground from a deep cleft in her skull, but she was not dead. Dust from the dry earth danced in and out of her nostrils, and her breasts, still naked under her shirt, rose and fell almost imperceptibly. He rejected the horrible idea of hitting her again, but he knew he must move her, so he gripped her by the ankles and heaved her along the gravel path, leaving a snail trail of blood and brains in her wake. When she was hidden from the road, he went back over his route, kicking at the stones to cover their tracks, his breath racing in and out. Then he pelted to the car. The cart landed with a rattle on the footpath and he fumbled underneath for the rope