First Soul

Chapter One

Amblewood

Population: 839

Amblewood, far more populated than any other hamlet in the whole of Britain, was a quaint, quiet place. It sat in a green valley of connecting streams of cobalt blue that trickled through it like tiny veins giving life to the flamboyant maple trees that were dotted around the large patchwork of rolling farmland and hills.

At this time of year, the cool breath of autumn caressed the once green leaves, creating what looked like a sweeping fire. The fierce reds and glowing ambers added warmth to the now brown, slightly dead looking landscape.

A small cluster of thatched cottages sat within the valley, subtle pastels, and vibrant whites amongst the popular colours used. In the richly cobbled centre of Amblewood stood a single war monument where only two names were etched into the grey stone: Michael Spencer and Liam Wilkins.

Some would say that Amblewood was the perfect picturesque village. On the outside looking in, it was, but it was the opinions from within that differed greatly.

Many of the people living in Amblewood were over seventy, which meant they spent the majority of their days watching This Morning and gossiping over their waist-high fences, their silvering hair still housing curlers whilst tattered dressing gowns hung off tired bodies.

To the teens, it was a prison of hills and overbearing parents.

My two friends and I were three such teens who hated living in Amblewood. We made our way to the cemetery as part of our Friday night jaunt. We'd survived Amblewood for sixteen years, and the taste of freedom on the tips of our tongues was too much to handle. Friday night meant danger night. We had to do something to alleviate the boredom.

I'm just your average sixteen-year-old who'd shot up in height during the previous summer, making my body skinnier. I had broad, wide shoulders, and despite my rather scrawny look, my shoulders could tackle you to the ground. I wasn't captain of the rugby team for nothing. I'd also hoped that the build would help me fight against my father.

It would.

One day.

My dirty blonde hair, cut into a jagged mess so the strands stuck out at odd angles, was purposefully styled with Amblewood's very own styling mousse. I had to use the entire bottle for it to work.

"I don't see why we have to go to the cemetery tonight."

I glanced at Phillip, lines creasing my brow line as we walked with our hands stuffed deep into our pockets in an attempt to ward off the vicious bite from the wind.

Why did Phillip hate the cemetery so much? It wasn't like his mother's body rested in this cold place. Plus, the dead couldn't hurt you. It was the living that did that. Within our group, there was such a thing as the bone counter. Phillip was an overly cautious person. He didn't push himself, which meant he wasn't popular.

The bone counter put you on the map.

Phillip had only broken two bones in his life.

To be fair, they were good breaks.

His first broken bone had been my fault, in all honesty. One glorious summer's afternoon had found our small group enjoying the sun at the back of the school. We'd grown restless, so I'd decided to start a game of rugby. Five seconds into it, Phillip was shouting at the top of his lungs in pain because I'd taken things too far.

The second breakage was a little more exciting.

In my opinion.

I was sure Phillip would view it differently eventually. We'd been climbing the trees in the cemetery for fun.