On the morning of April 13th, 2004, police were called to a house on the outskirts of a small village in central England by neighbors who had heard a sound that had chilled them to the bone: a single strangled scream with an abrupt cut-off.
They knew little about the woman who lived next door, only the rumors they had heard in the village shop and over the bar of the Black Lion pub on the corner.
They had heard that she had moved to the village to escape her memories: her daughter had been gone for several weeks before she would believe what the police had been telling her, but still her mind shied away from the truth and she kept the room ready for her return, the bed made and toys laid out; every morning she would run to the room half expecting to see her lying there, teddy bear in her arms and a sleepy smile on her face as she awoke.
After her husband left her, torn apart by grief and his wife's slowly slipping grip on sanity, her family had bought her the new home, wanting to give her a chance at a life, a new start.
She had been living there for three months now, but had never spoken to anyone. She hardly left the house; in fact, groceries were delivered and left on the porch and she would scurry out, pale and disheveled, avoiding the eyes of any who might look her way.
When the police broke the door down and went inside what they found was to put more than half of the village bobbies into psychiatric care so that they could sleep again. The worst thing of all was not the contents of the house, it was the contents of the camera lying on the floor in a pool of blood...