The Ashbury Case
From a rural outback town in Alice Springs, failing Detective Dean takes the lost person case of 16year-old Ivy Ashbury, which everyone thinks to be a lost cause. It isn’t until Dean investigates the scene that the full terrifying story of the Ashbury family slowly unravels.
Augustus Brady Lachlan O’Brien
Thomas Perham
William Haines
Ruben Borg
William Polard
Dedication
We dedicate this book to our wonderful teacher Mr. Count Daniel Vamp. Kent IV, who constantly challenges us to do our best, inspires us to reach new heights, and instilled in us a lifelong love for writing (as well as extracting our blood).
Abigail (1966)
The threat was right behind her. Abigail’s feet pounded upon the pavement as she hurried along the dimly lit road. It had never rained like this before, and her freshly washed brown hair did not appreciate it. After taking some backstreets, she threw herself onto a streetlight, grasping at the pole to alleviate her throbbing legs. Her futile effort to spot her attacker left her even more worried. The adrenaline drowned her mind.
“Of course it’s you. It had to be you.”
The distant footsteps were dashing closer. That was her signal to run. She hurriedly lifted herself off the flickering light pole, but her ankle had given up long before her hope. Abigail fell to the curb, clawing at the asphalt in desperation, despite her fighting body. Hopelessly turning onto her stomach, she lets out a soul-crushing scream. Her attacker was standing just above her body, caressing their knife that glistened in the pouring rain. Then it slammed into her stomach. Gasping as the pain rushed through her like she was being torn apart.
They stabbed again. And again, and again. Abigail’s screams echoed throughout the neighbourhood. Then, silence.
Her body laid lifeless under another lone streetlight, blood pouring out of her torso. The shadow walked away, leaving Abigail forever etched in a state of terror.
Chapter 1
Detective Dean sat at his cluttered desk, his tall frame slightly hunched over the worn spreadsheet, fingers tapping methodically on the keyboard. His sharp features remained alert behind wire-rimmed glasses, framed by a tousled mane of dark hair that hinted at a neglected haircut. His usual calm demeanour was softened by the faintest hint of weariness, evident in the slight lines etched around his eyes, a testament to long hours spent chasing leads and untangling mysteries. His attire, a well-worn suit jacket hanging loosely over a crisp shirt, spoke of a man who valued practicality over fashion, each piece showing signs of frequent use rather than pristine condition. Dean's presence in the dimly lit office was one of stepped on authority, a detective known for his meticulous attention to detail and a penchant for delving into the obscure corners of cases that others overlooked.
The arrows of the clock revolve as his eyelids drip ever so closely to the floor. His fellow co-workers are always granted the privilege of itching at the newest case, making a name for themselves within Alice Springs while he remains denounced in their shadows. All the reason for the presence of the bottle of Absolut Vodka within the glove compartment of his scrappy Holden.
Dean, almost half asleep, typing away adamantly at his spreadsheet, gets abruptly interrupted by the insistent chime of his break clock. Startled, he stretches his stiff neck and reaches for the old-fashioned mechanism on his cluttered desk. Its piercing sound cuts through the quiet office like a call to action. As he shuts off the alarm, Dean notices a crumpled newspaper lying on the corner of his desk. Dean's fingers traced the creases of the newspaper, each fold a whisper of the story within. He leaned back in his chair, the faint scent of ink mingling with the musty aroma of old paper. The headline caught his eye:
'Mystery Surrounds Disappearance of 16-Year-Old Girl, Ivy Ashbury.'
With furrowed brows, Dean scanned the article, absorbing each detail as if they were pieces of a puzzle waiting to be solved. The photograph of Ivy stared back at him, her youthful smile a stark contrast to the uncertainty of her absence, her eyes holding secrets that begged to be uncovered.
A distant chime startled Dean, pulling him back to the present. He straightened up, his mind already racing with plausible scenarios and unanswered questions. Standing amidst the hum of the office, Dean's colleagues glanced up curiously as he approached.
Without preamble, he announced, “I'm taking on the Ashbury case.”
His voice carried conviction, but the response was a mix of raised eyebrows and doubtful glances that seemed intended to undermine his decision. Undeterred by their scepticism, Dean retrieved his coat from the hook by the door, feeling the weight of their doubt like an unwelcome burden. As he stepped outside into the bustling city, the noise of traffic and distant conversations faded into the background.
With each step, he focused on the task ahead unravelling the mystery of Ivy's disappearance, determined to prove that his instincts were right and that there was a plausible path to uncovering the truth.
Chapter 2
Dean’s old Holden spluttered down the long, paved driveway of the Ashbury residence as its grand Victorian mansion slowly revealed itself above the canopy of the palms. A tall, old man, perhaps seventy-ish with a bald head, stood by the entrance of the manor, draped in worn clothes, staring out towards the sky.
“Hello,” Dean inquired. The man jumped as he turned to face the detective. Somehow, he failed to hear the roaring engine of the rattletrap choking to a halt.
“Sorry, I don’t think you’re looking for me, I’m the Ashbury groundkeeper. Everyone calls me Gazza.”
“I’m a detective here to investigate the missing person case.” The man’s eyes flare with what I assume is sorrow.
“Of course, I’ll introduce you to my boss.”
Dean was led through the magnificent oak doorway and into the belly of the beast that was the Ashbury residence. Mr Murray Ashbury would’ve been quite the imposing man if not for his short stature and rotund body, which rather resembled that of a meatball.
“I’ve put the best detectives all the way from Sydney on this case. It’s been a month and none of them have found a thing!” He shouted with anger, resentment and iced with a hint of sadness.
“Look I’m desperate, so if you want to investigate then be my guest, but I’m not paying you unless you make a breakthrough.”
Murray gave directions to the Ivy’s bedroom, the site of Dean’s first investigation. The room was colder than the rest of the house, as if it itself was grieving the loss of its occupant, though it was a welcome refresher from the blazing Alice Springs heat. Dean spent no time waiting before he began sleuthing around in every crack and crevice he could find, but nothing stuck out at him, not even a crumb of a clue presented itself.
He was moments away from moving on to a different site when he was attacked by the sound of a sudden thud from the nearby wardrobe. Slowly, he inched his way toward the doors of the perpetrating cupboard. His fingers gently wrapped around the cool metal handles, and he swung the door open, revealing a figure contorted into its tight confines. The body tumbled out onto the cool tiles of the bedroom floor.
“Who are you?” Dean shouts. The body, who he can now see is a young man with a baby face who wore trendy Nike kicks and the ugliest blond mullet Dean had ever seen. He groaned as he pushed himself up, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Whoa, easy there, mate,” he said, his accent distinctly bogan. “Name’s Leroy. I’m not here to cause trouble, I swear.”
Dean kept his distance, eyeing Leroy suspiciously.
“What were you doing in the wardrobe?” Leroy sighed, looking around the room as if searching for an escape.
“I was hiding, alright? I didn’t want anyone to find me here.”
“Hiding from what?” Dean asked, his voice hardening. “And why Ivy’s room?”
Leroy’s face darkened, his eyes dropping to the floor.
“Ivy and I… we were close… but I swear to God mate, I didn’t abduct her!” Suspicion bubbled up like a broth inside of Dean. A boyfriend with a temper does sound like a potential culprit, even if it is a bit cliché. Leroy’s baby face flushes red and his eyes flare.
“This family is cursed! There have been three missing girls in this house since the 60s!”
Capitalising on Dean’s shock, Leroy glances towards the open bedroom door and bolts towards it. Dean rushes to chase after him but by the time he turned the corner of the mahogany doorframe the boy was nowhere to be seen. Leroy had vanished.
Chapter 3
Dean left the Ashbury mansion, Leroy’s desperate words echoing in his head. As his Holden sputtered through the dusty Alice Springs streets, he replayed the scene in Ivy’s room, the haunting phrase lingering;
The family is cursed.
He pulled up to the local bar, its neon sign flickering like a dying ember. Inside, the bartender, a grizzled man with a salt-and-pepper beard, looked up as Dean approached.
“Whiskey, neat,” Dean ordered, sliding onto a stool.
The bartender poured his drink.
“I’m investigating Ivy Ashbury’s disappearance,” Dean said, glancing around the dimly lit room. “Ever hear about the missing girls from that family?”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I’ve heard. Every first daughter, gone at sixteen. It’s been happening for generations. In the 60s, in the 90s, and now Ivy. Folks say the family’s cursed.”
Dean’s mind raced. It couldn’t be Leroy. The timeline didn’t fit. He finished his drink, left a tip, and headed back to his car.
The drive to the Ashbury mansion was a blur. Dean stumbled out of his Holden, the whiskey’s warmth barely cutting through his determination. Murray and Gazza the groundkeeper were outside, deep in conversation. Gazza was dismissed by his boss as Dean approached.
“Dean,” Murray called out, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s not Leroy,” Dean said, steadying himself. “The disappearances are too consistent. Always the first daughter, always at sixteen. This goes back generations.”
Murray’s face paled. He led Dean into the study, pulling out a stack of yellowed documents from a drawer.
“These are our family records,” he said, spreading them out on the desk. Names and dates, a haunting refrain.
Abigail aged 16, 11/02/1966
Olivia aged 16, 04/09/1994.
Dean’s eyes scanned the pages.
“Why does this keep happening?” Murray shook his head, tears glistening.
“I don’t know, but we must find out, for Ivy, and for every Ashbury daughter to come.”
Dean nodded, a grim determination settling over him. The Ashbury curse was real, and he was going to break it, no matter what it took.
Murray’s hands trembled as he flipped through the documents.
“There’s something else,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “My brother, Gordie... He was always strange, and incredibly ignorant regarding the disappearances.” Dean’s eyes narrowed.
“Where is he now?”
“He lives on the outskirts of town. We don’t speak much,” Murray admitted, a mix of shame and fear in his eyes.
“But if anyone knows more, it’s him.”
“Then we need to talk to him,” Dean said, resolute. Murray hesitated but then nodded.
“Alright. I’ll take you to his place, but be careful, Dean. Gordie’s... not like the rest of us.”
As they headed out, Dean felt a chill run down his spine. The Ashbury mystery was deeper than he had ever imagined, and the answers may lay with Gordie, a man shrouded in suspicion and shadows.
Liv (1994)
Liv walked along the side of highway, her long blonde ponytail falling to her hips. The isolated culture of Alice Springs bored her vivacious personality. Her 16th was supposed to be the start of her best years, but how could that happen when her surroundings were so uninspired. Luckily for her, there were whispers about a tubular rave outside of town that night, and, even without a ride, she just couldn’t help but go.
As her backpack got heavier and heavier, Liv heard the buzz of a car’s engine behind her. Nervous, but curious, she turned around to see a rusty turquoise Jeep approach her. A familiar face opened the car door.
“Headed to the rave?” he asks.
She had seen the movies, and despite her aching shoulders, she’d rather walk safely than risk any harm, especially with the stories she heard about her Auntie Abigail.
“Never heard of it. Just getting some fresh air thanks.”
She tensely continued walking.
“You sure mate?” he pressures. “You wouldn’t want a weirdo coming after you”.
“I said no” she proclaims.
“That’s a shame, Ms. Ashbury. Let’s hear what Abi has to say”.
“Abi?”
Before she had the time to form a sentence, the man lunges towards her with a large kitchen knife, etched with a single word reading ‘Abi’ on the centre of the hilt. He plunges the knife into her stomach, stabbing her again and again and again until her convulsing stopped. Blood flooded out of her body and stained the outback sand a deep shade of burgundy.
“Good job, Abi”, he muttered, running his lips along the knife starting at the heel and progressing to the spine, finishing with a soft kiss on the tip of the blade. He picked up the ravaged body and escaped into the dusty red of the desert.
Chapter 3
The drive to Gordon’s was treacherous. This was the first time Murray had gone to visit him after he had moved away. The death of Liv had forced distance between the brothers, mere shadows of themselves and their relationship.
“I know you’re home!” Murray pounded impatiently on the door of Gordie’s dodgy cabin. This isn’t the way he wanted to reunite.
The door suddenly slams open. Gordie was far older than Murray remembered, though he presumed Gordie likely felt the same about him.
“Murray! I haven’t bloody seen ya in years!” Gordie flew into his arms.
“Hey Gordie.” Dean held out his hand to shake, unintentionally leading to a dap up.
“Detective Dean. We’re here to ask some questions, Gordon, if you don’t mind.”
“About the disappearances? God, can ya just give it up Murray. I’m sick of-”
“Ivy’s missing, Gordie.” Murray interrupted, cutting Gordie off.
Gordie gasped. “Sorry for the jubilance. Come inside you two.”
The three discuss the disappearances, primarily regarding any possible leads with Ivy. Dean found discomfort in in Gordie’s oddities, but it seemed like Murray was well and truly used to it.
After questioning Gordie for a few days, Dean knew there was no chance for the culprit to be Gordie. He was quite the odd fella though. Dean walked back to his old Holden expecting nothing but a boring
car ride back to town, until his phone starts buzzing in his pocket, excited for a new revelation, he grabs his phone and answers the call. Leroy’s annoying voice speaks on the other end.
“Dean, right? There’s this guy that’s been following me around, just standing there staring at me, I don’t know what to do.”
Leroy’s confused arrogance seeps through the phone.
“Where are you?” Dean asked firmly.
“Just walking back near the graveyard, ya know the one near the Ashbury’s house.”
“I’m on my way.”
The sputtering of the engine abruptly halts as it parks nearby the graveyard. Dean opens the door and looks around. The air hits him, musty and cold as if death was breathing down his neck. Stumbling out of the car, he notices a muddy footprint nearby a gravestone.
‘Abigail Ashbury: 1950-1966. Gone but never Forgotten’.
Concerned, he follows the footprints to discover a nearby shed, covered amongst the dense Australian bush. The rusty shutter door creaked as Dean used the last of his willpower to throw it open, but once he saw what was inside, his willpower immediately returned. Dried blood strewn recklessly across the tin walls, and a stained knife holster on the wall, with the knife suspiciously missing.
“You shouldn’t be here.” A familiar voice called from behind him, sending chills down his spine.
It was Gazza, the ordinary groundskeeper.
“G-Gazza. This isn’t your shed, ri-”
Dean didn’t know what hit him. In the blink of an eye, his head began to throb, his vision blurred, and everything went dark.
Ivy (present)
Ivy plunged into the cold lake water completely submerging her pale body. Her short black hair stuck to her skin as she glided through the water. She did laps of the lake as Gazza watched her from a nearby bush.
He clenched Abigail in one hand while caressing the spine of the knife with the other hand. He crept forward closer and closer towards Ivy. Her slender body emerged from the water as she reached for her clothes. He waited in the bush, until she was so close that he could smell her flowery perfume. “Calm down, Abigial” he mutters, stroking the knife with the back of his fingernails. Ivy’s head flew around looking at her surroundings.
“Who’s there”, she cries out.
Gazza flew out of the bush, Abigail in hand, he grabbed Ivy and threw her into the water. One hand on Abigail and the other on Ivy’s throat Gazza raised his knife into the air and brought it down upon her. Ivy’s blood filled the water as Gazza and Ivy thrashed in the water but soon the thrashing stopped as Gazza rose out of the water with Abigail’s limp, lifeless body stained with blood. He had taken the life of his third victim.
Chapter 4
Dean awoke to a throbbing pain in the back of his head. His vision blurred as he blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings. He realized he was tied to a chair, his wrists bound tightly with rope. The dim light of the shed flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The smell of damp wood and rusted metal filled his nostrils.
“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice crooned. Dean’s head jerked up, and he saw Gazza standing before him, a twisted smile on his face that extended from cheek to cheek. Gazza’s eyes gleamed with a manic light, and he clutched a knife, its blade catching the glint of the weak bulb above.
“Gazza…,” Dean muttered, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing?”
Gazza’s smile further widened, and he began to pace back and forth, the knife held delicately as if it were a precious artifact.
“You wouldn’t understand, Dean. You see, Abigail was... perfect. She was my everything, but she rejected me. I had no family, no one. She was supposed to be my salvation, but she turned me away.”
Dean struggled against his bonds, his mind racing.
“Gazza, you don’t have to do this. Let me go, and we can get you help.”
Gazza laughed, a high-pitched, unsettling sound.
“Help? No one can help me. Not after what I’ve done. Abigail’s rejection... it tore me apart… but I found a way to be with her forever.” He held up the knife, caressing it like a lover. “She lives in this blade now. She guides me, tells me what to do. And I’ve done it, over and over.”
Dean’s stomach churned as he listened to Gazza’s deranged monologue.
“You killed Liv and Ivy too, didn’t you?” Gazza’s expression turned wistful, almost serene.
“Yes. They were like Abigail. Beautiful, pure. Each one, a tribute to her. They tried to take her place, but they could never compare. Only the first daughters, the purest, could come close.”
Dean’s heart pounded in his chest.
“Gazza, those girls... they were innocent. They didn’t deserve to die.” Gazza’s eyes flashed with anger, and he stepped closer, pressing the knife to Dean’s throat.
“You don’t understand! Abigail speaks to me through this knife. She tells me who to take, who to honour. They’re with her now, in a place where I can’t reach, but she’s here with me. Always.”
Dean swallowed hard, feeling the cold steel against his skin.
“Gazza, please. You’re not well. Let me help you.”
Gazza’s face softened for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of the man he might have been, but then the madness returned, and he stepped back, twirling the knife in his fingers.
“You’re just like the others, Dean. Blind to the truth. But Abigail sees, she knows.” He raised the knife, staring at it with adoration. “Thank you, Abigail. For everything.” He whispered to the blade, as if it were a living being. Dean’s mind raced, searching for a way out. He had to get free, had to stop Gazza before he could claim another victim. As Gazza continued his crazed monologue, Dean tried to work on loosening the ropes, determined to end the nightmare that had claimed so many lives, but it was no use. He was trapped.
Chapter 5
Faintly in the distance Dean heard a spluttering sound, which got louder and louder until the Holden, with Leroy in the driver’s seat crashed through the tin wall of the shed and smashed into Gazza.
“How do ya use the breaks on this thing?” Leroy screams as he crashes violently into a workbench, screeching the Holden to an abrupt stop.
He pulls out Dean’s bottle of liquor from the centre console and hits it against the corner of the bench, shattering its bottom half. Its serrated edges fray the rope holding Dean hostage until he’s free.
“You’re not going anywhere!” Gazza’s body, dimly lit by the flickering shed light, slowly creeps out from behind the crash.
“Abigail wants your life” he says, giggling manically as he flicks his tongue along the blade, drawing his own blood.
Gazza launches himself toward Dean who braces for the impact of the scarlet-rotted steel to be plunged into his heart… only it doesn’t. Leroy jumps out, bottle in hand, and counters the offensive attempt on Dean’s life.
“Abigail,” Gazza cries as the knife is knocked from his grip.
Leroy stands tall above him and violently swings the bottle down, driving it into his skull and twisting it in until it sticks in, making it resemble a Turkish hat upon his head.
“Abigail… Abigail… Abiiiiggaaaiilll!” He cries as his skin pales and dark blood trickles down his face, while he collapses to the floor with the grace of a gazelle piloting a blimp.
Dain, who himself had become quite pale, leaned down to check for life.
“He’s still breathing, we should call for an ambulance.”
“Nah, I called for help earlier,” replied Leroy calmly as if he didn’t just fill a man’s head with broken glass.
Right on cue sirens could be heard from the distance and it wasn’t long before four ambulances, a squad of police vehicles and a single fire truck arrived at the scene.
“I wasn’t sure which one to call” chuckled Leroy sheepishly and Dean laughed. He had put a stop to the exploits of the psychotic killer and while they weren’t able to save Ivy, the tangled string of mysteries surrounding the Ashbury family had finally been unravelled. Case closed.