BEGIN REPORT:
FILE 010: LITTLE ASHBURY
I've been considering calling Joan Stark for some time now. But she helped me and I don't want to put her in any more danger or betray her trust in me. Just another lead that's more or less been cut dead from me.
I managed to get some sleep, in case you're wondering. I parked up at the train station in Halifax and I'm now sat in McDonalds eating a bagel and drinking some bad coffee. I long for my coffee machine. I long for so many home comforts these days.
So, Little Ashbury.
I'd never heard of the place. That whole area of the country was pretty much off my radar. Never visited it before, but it was not too far away from Lincoln. The drive from Cambridge took me just over two hours. Two hours of sat there zoning out to overly-repeated songs on the radio and wondering just what had happened to my little girl.
The village itself was pretty hard to find, but find it I did. A quaint place nestled between a huge expanse of woods to the west and rolling hills to the east. I had to travel through Lincoln to get to it and it was nearly dusk when I finally arrived at the church - St. Christopher's. The fog had descended and the church looked ominous, looming out of murk like a dark, stone beacon design to ward travellers away.
I was met by a gruff, small Scottish woman at the entrance of the church who ushered me away from the building and into the picturesque little vicarage just off to the side of the building. Once inside the vicar, Joan Stark, greeted me with a handshake and a concerned face. She looked like she'd seen some things in her time. An ancient face sat underneath a shock of short, white hair. But there was a twinkle in her blue eyes as well. I asked her how she had found Eleanor, but she told me to not bother asking her questions as it would only get myself in deeper.
She took me upstairs to her spare bedroom where I found Eleanor sleeping under the covers. She looked peaceful, but different. Almost like there was no life left in her. Stark told me that she had been found wandering near the edge of the woods - the aptly named Ghostwood - whilst she and her verger had been out scouting the area in the early hours of the morning. Naturally I'd asked what they had been doing out at that time, but Stark had again reminded me not to ask questions.
Jesus, just thinking about that night now...It's hard to piece it all together. The relief at having her there again. The fear of what I'd found. The unknown. The darkness. And I remembered what Freya McCormack had said about the night climbing into her and Eleanor's tent. The night certainly climbed into the vicarage that night.
Stark offered me a room for the night, and part of me wishes to God I hadn't taken her up on the offer.
I need a moment. This is all bringing back too many screwed up memories. I'll be back.
END REPORT
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