by Laura Rahme
“Oh, yes. I saw. I mean, I know she is sleeping.”
Still wary, Vera studied the young maid. She recognised her. It was that simpleton Mrs. Cleary had told her about. Vera smiled.
“You may return to your quarters. You are not to disturb Mrs. Nightingale until the morrow.”
“Yes, Miss Vera. I won’t.”
Satisfied, Vera closed the door behind her.
She failed to notice the glistening trail Ovee had smeared along the floorboards upon entering the room.
As Mary hastened down the stairs, holding Willy in her tiny arms, Vera returned to her room, still astounded by Calista’s claims.
Alexandra Hall was plunged into silence. Beneath the celestial sky, where the roses and peonies bloomed on the wallpaper, Ovee extended a limb from behind the drapes. Reaching out, slowly, in dread, it felt Calista’s cold hand. Crawling along her arm, it tasted every pore on Calista’s skin. Entangled, firm, intense, it sensed every nerve impulse of Calista’s last moments. And then suddenly, it let it go.
An indistinct shape, hideous, of changing colours and gradients, rose up on the bed to face the lifeless Calista. Two lidless eyes found her sweet face. An endless second followed as Ovee took in what it saw.
Then came a wide sweep as the creature flung its limbs about, and in its rage, the tiny porcelain figures by the bedside, were smashed to pieces.
Chapter 14
Monday
MAURICE’s eyes snapped open. A flood of memories came rushing back. Aaron’s mistreatment of Ovee, Vera’s murder of Calista, Calista’s angry spirit… Aaron had used his wife for her extraordinary gift. He’d never loved her. Taken from her village, far from her home island, she’d lived with a man who wronged her daily.
Maurice felt the hard surface beneath him. He tried, but could not move his legs or arms. They felt heavy. He blinked, trying to piece together the last moments before he had blacked out. He remembered being dragged down into the cellar. Mrs. Cleary had spoken to him. In his semi-conscious state, he’d imagined it was Therese. Mrs. Cleary sounded just like his mother and somehow, the housekeeper had found the strength to lift him up. She’d hoisted him on some kind of table.
Strewn atop the wooden panel, he had felt her work at his limbs. She had found some concoction from that oriental cabinet and forced it down his throat. He saw her hideous features above him and heard her words, “You stay right here, Mr. Leroux. I have to attend to Mary. She’ll raise the devil with her screaming.” Then she was gone and he passed out again.
Maurice attempted once more to free his limbs but he felt a tightness round his wrists and ankles. He seemed to be stretched out and tied. A deadening fear crept through him as he understood. There was only one place where he could be. He looked around in fright. She had known about Aaron’s laboratory. She had found a way to strap him down in the manner Aaron had dealt with those poor creatures. To his right, towering above him, was the medicine cabinet with its gilded handles. And to the left, he distinguished the greenish gleam of dozens of sealed jars.
Maurice worked at the left strap. He had to inch his way out of them. There was no telling what she would do once she returned. It was her. It had been her all along. Mrs. Cleary, whose real name was Louise March, had known of the presence of drugs in Aaron’s laboratory. When Calista’s spirit had begun haunting Alexandra Hall, the distraught Louise had lost her mind. Disobeying Aaron’s wishes, she had entered the cellar. By trial and error, she had begun to use the capsules.
She’d fallen into such erratic behaviour, it had scared Gerard. Then Sophie Murphy caught her entering the cellar door. Sophie had known of the housekeeper’s secret past and made the grave mistake of blackmailing Louise March.
The left strap had loosened. Maurice pulled out his hand, his fingers were torn and twisted as he tried to remove them.
She was not done. Now that she knew he suspected her, she would return to kill him. He had to free himself and get to Aaron’s gun. It was his only hope.
It was easy for her to kill. She had fatally clubbed Sophie then dragged her dead body to the stair landing to make it look like a fall had caused the maid’s death.
The cellar door slammed open. Louise March’s heels clattered down the steps.
Maurice wrenched at his right hand, tearing skin. He reached forth to untie the straps around his ankles.
The glow of a candlestick swept through the chamber.
She was here, in the cellar.
Maurice leapt to his feet, hiding behind the table.
“Maurice,” she called out. Her voice almost sounded sweet as she dragged out the last syllable of his name.
The last time he’d heard his name spoken this way was… Maurice shuddered. Still weakened by the drug she’d forced upon him, he crouched down the side of the table and tugged clumsily at its drawers. He’d seen the gun there on his first visit. He just hoped Aaron kept it loaded.
“Maurice…”
He saw her tall silhouette edge towards the trunks. She shone her candlestick on the deserted operating table, then across. The candlelight found Maurice just as his hand felt the empty drawer. The gun was gone.
She grinned.
“Too late, Maurice.” She banged the candlestick on top of the table. “I thought it prudent to get rid of Aaron’s toy when I tied you up. You wouldn’t want to hurt anyone now, would you?”
She glided past the table. She seemed to be carrying something heavy in one hand.
Maurice blinked, horrified by her appearance. Her eyes were black marbles where a vicious light blazed. She wore an old nightgown, her long grey hair loosened down her back. The thin fabric barely concealed the jutting bones of her hips.
There was a devilish grin on her face as she brandished the axe. “I hear you French enjoy a good blade.”
And then she drew near and he saw the furious red of her eyes and the familiar dilated pupils.
Gasping, breathless, Maurice scrambled to his feet, and all but slammed into the oriental cabinet. The axe swung past, cleaving into lacquered wood, narrowly missing his shoulder. Pills poured out of compartments, scattering across the floor.
Maurice lunged blindly towards the trunks. He weaved through the high stacks, his head throbbing, his legs, cotton under his weight. And in his foggy mind, it was not Mrs. Cleary or Louise who, axe in hand, chased him. It was no other than Therese, the woman he dreaded most. Therese, drunk and revengeful, returning from her work shift, more hateful of her little boy every day.
“I know you are here,” chanted Louise. She chuckled. “Come out, boy, I’ve got some scones for you to eat.”
Heart pounding, he moved deeper behind the stacks of trunks, holding his breath, praying to himself in the way he would pray as a boy. To disappear. To dissolve into vapour. Why could he not disappear?
“Big mistake you made in coming here. You ought to have remained in France. Why did you come here? Well that’s too bad, Mr. Leroux. We’ll just have to tell Mr. Wilson the ghost scared your little heart and that you ran off.”
She gave a deep throated cackle and moved among the trunks. She could not see him but Maurice knew it was just a matter of time.
He huddled behind a stack of sea chests, just opposite the candlestick which had remained on the operating table. He eyed the top most chest, promising himself he would throw one at her once she drew closer.
“Well, well, well, Maurice.” She was searching for him, peering behind every stack nearer to the stone staircase. Her voice echoed in the underground.
“I know what we’ll do with you. We’ll light a bonfire on your bones and forget you were ever here. Nothing will stop me, Maurice. I’ve given up so much already. I’ve saved years for my new life in Australia. You think you could come here and ruin it all? Sophie tried that too. The little tart thought she’d eat up my savings.”
“She didn’t deserve what you did to her.”
Upon hearing Maurice’s voice, Louise whipped her head round to the left and retrac
ed her course.
“Wrong. She got what she deserved. You don’t understand, do you? Of course not. You’ve never in your life grovelled for a living. That’s all I do. Well, no more. I won’t put up with being anyone’s servant any longer. I’ll settle in my Queensland home while the crows pick at your bones.”
It was his best chance. She was closer…
“You’ll be right at home with the convicts, Louise.”
Louise’s nostrils flared at the sound of her real name.
“Foolish Frenchman.”
It was now or never. Maurice erupted from his hiding spot. Seizing the highest most sea chest, he lifted it and hurled it with all his might. Louise screamed. She spun just in time, smashing against a tower of boxes. The thrown chest tumbled past the operating table and skidded across the floor.
“You missed!” she hissed.
The blood drained from Maurice’s face. It was his last chase and he’d failed. Slack-jawed, he stepped back, horrified by the demonic expression on Louise’s face. But he had to know. The words shot out of his mouth: “What then, Louise? You’ll just kill me, like you murdered Aaron and Vera?”
Louise’s upper lip curled.
“You imbecile! I never killed them. Never!”
Maurice hurled himself towards the light, knocking over a stack of trunks. He rose to his feet and tried to run to the stairs but skidded on the wet floor.
Her laughter rose up behind him.
“Well that’s too bad, Mr. Leroux. I shan’t miss you this time.” She hefted up the axe above him.
Maurice gave a pitiful cry. Already he’d closed his eyes, his arms raised above him. He expected the full force of the blade. He waited for the pain to surge through him like fire, but nothing came. Instead Louise March tottered back, wide-eyed. She opened her mouth but no sound came out of it. Maurice’s eyes blinked open, confused by her sudden retreat.
He glimpsed the look of horror on her face and his mind was set alight. A truth he’d dared not consider revealed itself at last. No. Louise had never killed Vera, nor Aaron. She might have wished to avenge her beloved Calista, but someone else had got to Vera first. He thought back to the strange moist film Dr Hart had found on Vera’s body. Somebody else… Something else that lived in water. Ovee.
There was a violent tug and he realised something was pulling at Louise. She fell forward, dropping her axe. Flat on the ground, she was dragged away from him, her high-pitched screams resonating in the chamber.
Maurice rose. He stared in disbelief. Something he’d never seen, something he could not name wrestled with Louise March in the dim light, right there, before the operating table.
By the glow of the candlestick, he saw limbs that were at once unfurling and snakelike but also steady and strong. An undefined form, viscous, and glistening wet, heaved itself, its limbs deployed to frightening length. It fought off Louise’s flailing arms, coiling itself around her wrists and then her neck.
Gripped by sheer terror, the housekeeper cried out in breathless moans. The creature thrust a limb down her throat, blocking her screams. Maurice could not take his eyes from the devilish sight. Louise’s white gown turned a darker colour as urine trickled between her legs.
Maurice could still not identify what had taken her but he knew it was not Medusa. Nor was it a vengeful spirit. This was a living creature. Whatever its nature, its body now slid atop Louise’s chest, then inched towards the housekeeper’s throat until it had covered her entire face with its still mass.
Maurice held his breath. He knew now what had happened to Vera. Louise would die in the same way, gasping for air.
Louise kicked. Her entire body convulsed. An agonising scream rose from deep in her throat, echoing through the underground as though all the souls of the animals that had died here were screaming to be heard. It was a sound so monstrous, Maurice would have rushed to her aid but what he witnessed was so astonishing, he remained transfixed, unable to react. Like taut leather, the creature’s limbs tightened around Louise’s neck. Then it went completely still.
Minutes passed and the screams ceased. The housekeeper’s limbs fell inert to the ground.
Only then did the creature writhe anew, pulsating with frightening motions. Its aspect had altered and where previously, as it fought its victim, it had adopted a virulent black colour, now it slowly took on a whitish hue.
“Ovee…” whispered Maurice. His lips trembled as he spoke its name.
Now the creature slid off Louise’s inanimate corpse, and its swollen form glistened with a curious moisture.
Silence filled the chamber.
The candlestick light flickered over Ovee’s shimmering body. It stared at Maurice who could barely blink. Then it began to retreat. It moved slowly as if weakened. It crawled towards the Power cage and by its limbs, which clung to the glass, it climbed to the edge of the Power cage. Ovee slid into the water. Maurice seized the candlestick. He ran to the Power cage and shone the light onto Ovee.
Stirred by the creature, the cage’s waters turned murky. Disturbed particles swirled round a large grey form huddled in the far corner, directly beneath the steel pipes. Ovee had gently curled within itself– and it was strange – but to Maurice, it now resembled a rock, as though it had forever been here, inside this cage, unseen and still. The limbs that had seemed Medusa-like, and elicited such horror, were tucked away, rendered almost invisible, while their owner appeared to have shrivelled. With its lidless blue and black eyes, it was staring straight back at him.
Maurice pressed his hands against the glass, captivated by the creature’s eyes. A jolt passed through him as he recognised the gaze he had seen through the keyhole many nights ago. Where those eyes had appeared fierce, now they seemed almost gentle and weary.
“You are ill,” said Maurice. And then he recalled what he had read in Aaron’s journal, how it was doomed to not live long at all. Ovee was dying.
It dawned on him why Aaron had suddenly changed his will. If no one entered the cellar for a period of six months, Ovee would have died and could do no harm. Yet Aaron had never realised that Ovee, undaunted, could roam the house at it wished. His precautions had been in vain.
Maurice frowned. Something eluded him. Why would Aaron suddenly feel threatened by Ovee so as to change his will and prevent anyone from entering the cellar until his subject had died? Aaron could not have suspected that this creature could kill. Unless…
Maurice wondered again how Aaron had died. He brushed away an idea, in disbelief.
In his mind, Ovee had only killed twice.
The first time, had been to avenge Calista’s death. Somehow, it must have been inside Calista’s room when she was murdered. It had witnessed everything. Later, it haunted Vera, changing its shape and form so she would not see it, but watching her every move. It could recognise her face. It knew her for what she was. It had waited patiently to take her life one night. A few spoons was all it had taken to make her trip. Then it smothered Vera’s breath in the same manner in which she had murdered Calista. It had left a thin film of moisture on her face and inside her nose.
And now it had killed to protect Maurice…
Maurice remained in awe. The secret of Alexandra Hall had been unveiled at last. “I don’t believe there was ever a ghost,” he whispered through the glass. “It was you. You crept out of the Power cage. Like Willy, you discovered the hidden opening linking the house to the cellar. You moved through the house. Everywhere you went, you left a trail of moisture. It was you who rattled my door at night. It was your eyes that stared back at me through the keyhole. You came into my room. You coiled yourself round my arms as I slept… Unbelievable… Of course! You crept inside Calista’s locked room by the dumbwaiter shaft. Once inside her closet, you shoved at the doors. It was always you…I know it. When I was down here the first time, you were outside the Power cage. You wished to frighten me so you could return to the water. So you rattled those crates and threw those objects at me…”
He sm
iled. “There was never a ghost. It was you who ransacked Gerard’s kitchen. You took those spoons and used them to entrap Vera. And when you had no need for them, you… Of course. Is that why you left those spoons on the operating table, near Aaron’s murderous instruments? You were trying to tell me you no longer wished to kill.”
Maurice’s breath came fast on the glass. He pushed his hands against the cage’s walls. “Ovee… if then, it is true that you can hold spoons… then you can hold a pen…”
But as he recalled the writing in his journal, he was uncertain. “But how could you write your own name?” he asked. For no creature he knew could recognise symbols, let alone reproduce them.
And at this moment, a wave of childlike wonder washed over Maurice and it seemed to him that Ovee might be more extraordinary than any spirit who might restlessly roam the house.
For hours, Ovee remained still, while the waters gently lapped at its dying body. And as Maurice stared at it, oblivious to time, he knew that he beheld a creature of immense intelligence.
Months earlier, Aaron Nightingale had also discovered this. Aaron, man of learning, man of order, calculating being who planned for years, who exerted such masterful control on others, and on how those others saw him – Aaron did not like being humbled. He did not like losing. He must have been furious. He rotated Aristotle’s bust, for he could no longer face the Greek philosopher. Aristotle had been wrong all along. Wrong beyond imagining. Oh, the trick played upon him! For Ovee was a clever creature. More so than the Greek philosopher could have guessed.
For hours, Maurice stared through the glass, holding Ovee’s gaze, never averting his eyes. And in that time, which felt to Maurice like he had been reborn, the life drifted out of Ovee.
There was a flurry of sounds from above. Then excited murmurs reached the chamber through the opened cellar door. Rapid footsteps began their frantic descent. Animated voices, those belonging to Madeleine, Alfred and Gerard, filled the staircase. Then at last, a blinding light was shone into the underground, laying bare all its terrible secrets.