The Moors: Some secrets are better left buried Read Online Free Page B

suggested it had been there for some time, probably forgotten about entirely. Other than that and a selection of clothes hangers, the wardrobe was completely bare. Amanda reasoned that Margaret had cleared it for their arrival and probably failed to detect the radio as it was stored right at the back. Even she needed to stand on a chair to find it and she had a considerable height advantage.
    On the bed, Amanda opened her suitcase, removing a stack of neatly folded clothes to reveal a cluster of notebooks, pens and non-fiction books on Exmoor and various mental illnesses. She glided across the floor, climbed back on the chair and placed the items in her new secret hiding place. She walked back to her suitcase and from a special compartment hidden within its lining pulled out a small silver Dictaphone, perfect for recording short, sharp statements whilst they were still fresh in her mind. She considered the record button before looking ponderously towards the bedroom door. A quick glance into the first floor hallway revealed that nobody was in sight, but she was new to the house and therefore unsure of how far her voice might travel. Amanda took no chances and placed the radio on the dresser. She switched it on and adjusted the volume until satisfied it would distort her voice to any passers-by. Finally, she pressed record on her device and held it close to her mouth as she spoke under her breath.
    ‘Amanda Connors. Day one,’ she began.
    Everything about her changed when she entered work mode. She was always thinking, obsessive about details. Her tone was serious, as was the look on her face. She was a completely different person to the Amanda that the home’s occupants would get to meet.
    ‘I’ve just arrived at the residence. Initial meetings have been held with carers Walter Ambrose, Margaret Prince and Christian Prince. I’ve met Margaret before but she doesn’t remember me. She cared for me at Saint Matthews when I was young. I’ve also met residents Reuben and Georgina. Not much else to report so far. They’ve all been kind. Margaret, in particular, seems to have a special bond with the children, who suffer from more severe conditions than I’d anticipated. More to follow when I meet the others.’
    She clicked stop and closed her eyes, slowly rotating her head as she massaged the knots in her neck. Not until that moment had she absorbed the commentary on the radio, where a presenter interviewed a local farmer.
    ‘…a visit today from special guest, Wesley Grant, who needs no introduction to the listeners of Lantern FM. Hello Wesley, and thanks again for coming,’ greeted the presenter in the kind of exaggerated voice that everybody seemed to adopt on the radio.
    I bet you don’t sound that happy at home. Amanda thought.
    ‘No. Thanks for having me,’ came the reply in a strong accent that made Amanda envisage a short, dumpy man in a green vest-top and wellies.
    ‘Now, you’re a bit of a veteran when it comes to running campaigns, but some say your recent stories about the Exmoor beast are rather wild and fantastical,’ goaded the presenter.
    ‘They’re wild, alright… but there’s nothing fantastical about stepping out on your farm and finding half your livestock’s been ripped apart!’ quipped Wesley.
    ‘But surely as a farmer, road kill and attacks by foxes and other wild animals are all part and parcel of the job?’ reasoned the interviewer. 
    ‘Yeah, but what we’re talking about here is—’
    ‘What we’re talking about is, as one listener called it, sensationalist exaggerations of the truth that have frightened the life out of her two young children!’ interrupted the presenter, sternly.
    There was a momentary silence as Wesley considered his response.
    ‘I apologise for that. I really do,’ said Wesley, with genuine regret. ‘But it’s better to be scared and locked inside than to be out there at night. I’ve been on a farm all my life and what I’m seeing now, on a weekly