The Haunting of the King's Head

by Amy Cross

  “You said it'd be this week.”

  “Something came up, something... unexpected. The girl confronted me, and I saw something in her eyes that worries me. It's all under control, but I need to make sure that Muriel doesn't have any nasty surprises up her sleeves. Fortunately I have a plan.”

  Hayes turns and looks around. I pull back from the crack, worried that I might have been noticed, but then I look through again and I see that they still seem oblivious to my presence.

  “Let's just say,” Hayes continues, “that I finally understand the need for more extreme measures. Sometimes it's possible to forget the importance of tradition in a town like Malmeston, but those traditions exist for a reason. Getting rid of Muriel Hyde and The King's Head has turned out to be a little more difficult than I expected, but don't worry, I have a way to deal with the problem.”

  “You still talk about Muriel Hyde as if she's around somehow,” the landlord replies. “You know that pub as well as anyone, you've been there plenty of times. You don't actually believe the stories, do you? You don't think Muriel's somehow still in there, like a ghost... do you?”

  I wait, but Hayes seems reluctant to answer.

  “It's complicated,” he says finally, as I squint in an attempt to get a better view of his features, “but I've recently acquired the original -”

  Suddenly a face blocks my view, and I see an eye staring straight at me through the crack. I let out a gasp and fall back, landing hard on the rocky ground below, and a moment later I hear footsteps stomping across the room above.

  “What is it, Matilda?” Hayes asks. “What are you doing on the floor?”

  Scrambling to my feet, I turn to hurry away, only to let out another gasp as I feel a burst of pain in my ankle. I must have twisted something, because I'm in agony as I start limping back along the tunnel. I have absolutely no doubt that Gary Hayes' weird little kid must have seen me, although she might not necessarily have recognized me. My injured ankle slows me down considerably as I hurry along the tunnel, but when I glance over my shoulder I at least find that there's no sign of anyone following me.

  “Damn it!” I mutter as I stop and reach down to touch my ankle, which is flickering with pain.

  I lean back against the wall of the tunnel and take a deep breath, and then I turn and keep limping back toward the space beneath The King's Head. My mind is racing as I think back to everything I just head Gary Hayes saying, and I'm certain now that Dad and I have been being sabotaged right from the start. The brewery obviously wants the pub to fail, and they're putting extra obstacles in the way now that Dad's actually showing signs of success. I don't know much about how the pub industry works, but I'm pretty sure that what Hayes is doing has to be illegal.

  Finally I reach the space under The King's Head, although I immediately realize that climbing back up isn't going to be too easy with my damaged ankle. I twist around and try to support myself on my other foot, but it takes a moment for me to even reach the opening. I push my phone through first, before starting to lift myself up.

  And then I look back along the tunnel, as I realize I can hear a faint bumping sound.

  Without my phone, I'm unable to see anything except darkness, but a moment later I hear the sound again. It's as if someone or something is coming this way.

  “Bonnie?” I whisper, hoping against hope that the dumb dog has somehow made her way back. “Hurry!”

  I wait, but there's no sign of Bonnie.

  “Bonnie!”

  No reply.

  A moment later, I hear something that sounds very much like a footstep.

  “Bonnie?” I say cautiously, staring into the darkness, praying that I'll soon see a smiley dog face and a wagging tail.

  I wait.

  I want to prove to myself that there's nothing out there, that the supposed footstep sound was just caused by, I don't know... the tunnel settling somehow? Isn't that the excuse people always make for creaking noises in old houses?

  “Come on, Bonnie,” I whisper, trying not to panic. “It has to be you. There's no -”

  Suddenly I spot what seems to be a human figure in the darkness, and I immediately haul myself up through the open hatch. Ignoring the pain in my right ankle, I clamber out of the way before reaching back and slamming the hatch down, and then I freeze and listen.

  There's a faint bumping sound far below, and then silence.

  As I rest breathlessly on the floor, I think back to the sight of the figure, and I can't shake the feeling that it was someone small. To be more specific, I think it might have been that creepy little kid Matilda Hayes. And if that's the case, I guess her father already knows that I overheard his plan.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Muriel Hyde

  1910...

  As I stand at the bar, staring blankly at the door, I start to realize that perhaps The King's Head will never see another customer again. Perhaps I have failed, and the almighty Randolph Hayes has won, and all that is left now is for the pub to wither away until it dies.

  “You think I'm a crazy old man, don't you?” I remember Richmal saying one evening, not long before he died.

  “Not at all.”

  “I wouldn't blame you. I've gone to such extremes to make sure that you take on that pub. You must wonder why some little place in the south of England means so much to me.”

  “You explained,” I told him. “You grew up there, it means a lot to you.”

  “You don't frequent pubs much, do you?”

  “I confess, I do not.”

  “Then you don't understand their value. You don't know what it's like to walk into a room and be greeted instantly by ten, twenty people who are glad to see you.”

  I tried for a moment to imagine what that would be like, but I confess that I was struggling. I have always preferred to stay back from sight as much as possible, so in truth the idea of having lots of people acknowledge me was... somewhat discomforting. Even now, I struggle with the idea; back then, fifteen years ago, I was positively horrified.

  “I could have got someone else to do it,” Richmal told me. “There were plenty of people who'd have taken my money and gone to run a quiet little pub, but I wanted it to be you, Muriel. I think that you, of all people, will come to appreciate these things in time.”

  “I am sure,” I replied.

  “You don't believe me.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “You'll understand eventually,” he replied. “When you run a place like The King's Head, you can't help but be at the heart of a little community. You've never had that, have you?”

  “I think not.”

  “Then trust me, Muriel. Take the money, go to The King's Head, and live. Please, it would make me feel so much better on my deathbed to know that you're out there doing this.”

  And so I promised, and I kept promising every time we talked, until finally he did indeed fall onto his deathbed. Even then, I had to promise him several more times, and then eventually his family refused to let me into the house. I had been Mr. Foster's faithful servant for so many years, and I think that in some ways I am still working for him today. After all, he paid me to do a job, and I am doing that job.

  Which is why I can't leave with Jack. Can I? I keep going back and forth on this matter, never able to settle for very long on any one opinion. My name is most likely being dragged through the mud by now, more than ever, but I shall simply have to stay here and stick to my work. And who knows? Perhaps Randolph Hayes will tire of punishing me for my involvement with Jack, and the pub will pick up again. One thing is clear: I am not the one who will turn this place into a roaring success. Rather, I am keeping The King's Head running until, one day, somebody arrives who really knows how to make it a success.

  In that way, at least, I shall be keeping my promise to Richmal.

  Wherever Jack has gone, then, I can only hope that he is safe. That he has escaped the clutches of the brewery and gone far away. No longer shall I stand at the window and pray f
or his return, for I realize now that I was being selfish. No, I shall pray for him to be happy in some distant place, perhaps even out of the country. The sooner he forgets about me, the better. I shall never forget about him, of course; I shall think of him always, until my dying day, and I do not know how I can get through long, sleepless nights without imagining what our lives together could have been like. I simply love him enough to hope that he finds happiness elsewhere, without being weighed down by any promises he might have made to me.

  “May the Lord protect your soul, my darling,” I whisper, as I hate the tears that roll down my cheeks. “Wherever you are, be free.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Charley Lucas

  Today...

  “Dad, I need you to listen to me!” I say as he carries another crate of sparkling water in from the car and through to the cellar room. “I'm not making this up!”

  “Do you seriously expect me to believe some kind of conspiracy theory?”

  “It's not a conspiracy theory,” I tell him, “it's all true. I heard it!”

  “There must be some kind of fungus down there in those tunnels,” he says with a sigh, turning to head back outside. “You sound paranoid, Charley.”

  “And you sound complacent!” I snap, blocking his way. “Dad, will you at least just sit down with me and listen? Let me set it all out so that you understand.”

  “I understand just fine,” he replies. “I've heard of people blaming the brewery for their problems, Charley, but this is taking it to an extreme. I admit, they haven't been fair with us, but I'm still looking into ways we can keep the pub. I have a few more days in which I can come up with something.”

  “That won't work,” I reply. “Don't you get it? Even if you work yourself to the bone and somehow overcome this hurdle, they'll just throw another one at you and another and another until eventually you break! They're going to do everything in their power to make this pub fail so they can tear it down! There's something to do with Muriel Hyde, something about the past, and they won't let it get out!”

  I wait, but he's staring at me with a shocked expression.

  “Was that little speech supposed to make you sound less paranoid?” he asks finally. “Because if it was, it really didn't work.”

  “Dad -”

  “And that's the end of the discussion!” he adds angrily. “I'm trying here, Charley. I'm really trying! What I don't need, on top of everything else, is to have you blathering on about this crap! Now I'm off to another wholesaler and I won't be back for a few hours. Jennifer's doing the evening shift, it should be pretty quiet so she'll be fine.” He turns to go back to the car, but then he hesitates for a moment. “When I get back,” he continues, “I want all this nonsense to be over, okay? I'm not going to listen to it anymore!”

  With that, he turns and storms away, leaving me feeling utterly helpless as I stand in the doorway. How am I going to persuade him that the brewery's working against us?

  ***

  Feeling utterly exhausted, I sit on my pile of duvets and lean back against the wall. My mind is spinning and I refuse to accept that I'm being paranoid, but it's quite clear that I need proof if I'm going to make Dad believe me. Why didn't I use my phone to record Gary Hayes earlier? That would have settled everything.

  I'll have to go back through the tunnel.

  I'll have to wait down there and hope that I get another chance.

  “Damn it, Dad,” I mutter, closing my eyes as I try to pull myself together. “Why can't you see what's right in front of you? We're being sabotaged and you're just gonna let¨them walk right over us. You're not even going to stand up for yourself.”

  Reaching down, I touch my damaged ankle and I immediately let out a gasp of pain. That thing's gonna take a while to heal properly.

  I take a series of deep breaths, and finally I feel the panic starting to subside. I need to stay calm if I'm going to figure out a way to make Dad take things seriously. On top of that, I also have to come up with a way to lure Bonnie out of the tunnel system, because she could end up starving to death down there. I refuse to accept that we can't get out of this mess. I know, deep down, that there's a solution somewhere, somehow. I just have to be smart enough to figure it out.

  A moment later, I hear footsteps on the stairs and I realize I was starting to nod off. I open my eyes and look over toward the open doorway, but the footsteps are already in the kitchen now. I know Dad's not due back yet, so I figure Jennifer must have come up in search of something.

  Getting to my feet, I start heading through to see if I can help.

  “Hey,” I call out, “do you need something?”

  Reaching the kitchen, I find that there's nobody here. I step forward, certain that someone came in here and that they didn't have time to leave, and now I'm starting to wonder exactly what's happening. Seconds later, however, I hear more footsteps coming up the stairs, faster this time, and I turn just in time to see a handsome, scruffy-looking dark-haired man stopping in the doorway.

  “Who are you?” I ask, worried that someone from downstairs has accidentally wandered up here in search of the bathroom.

  “You need to rethink your decision,” he says firmly.

  Staring at him, I realize that maybe he's insane.

  “You can't seriously think that they're going to leave it at that, Muriel,” he continues, his eyes wide with fear. “You can't stand up to them, they will take everything from you and then they might even...”

  His voice trails off, and then he steps forward.

  I step back, bumping against the table. I don't want to scream, but I think maybe things are getting to that point.

  “You're making waves,” he says. “That's the worst thing a woman in your position can be doing. Don't you get it? These people are powerful and they didn't get to their position by playing nice. The brewery runs the town, Muriel, and they don't care who they have to destroy in order to maintain their power. Do you think I want to be working for them? Hell, no, but I do it because I know what's best for me. I do it because, right now, I need to be in their good books.”

  “You're not supposed to be up here,” I stammer, convinced that he must be some kind of historical re-enacter. After all, his clothes look filthy and old. “Please, you have to leave and -”

  “Is this place really worth fighting for?” he asks, coming closer. “I know you have money, Muriel.”

  “My name's not Muriel,” I tell him.

  “Use it. Take it. Get out of Malmeston, go somewhere far away, somewhere they'll never be able to find you. Once you're out of town, they won't care anymore, not so long as you keep your mouth shut. That's all you have to do. It's all any of us must do. Leave, Muriel. Please. You can't and you won't bend to their will, so do the next best thing and walk away.”

  “My name is not Muriel,” I say cautiously, and now I'm starting to wonder whether this is some kind of trick. Is someone from the brewery trying to drive me round the bend? “My name is Charley Lucas and -”

  “You don't have long,” he says, interrupting me, almost as if he didn't hear what I just told him. “They'll be coming for you, Muriel. They'll be coming soon. When they get here, there'll be no reasoning with them. You have to get out of here tonight. Tell me you'll do that!”

  “If you don't leave,” I reply, “I'll call the police.”

  He sighs and turns away, as if he's going to leave, but then he hesitates. He seems to be struggling to contain his anger, and I'm starting to get genuinely scared. If I scream right now, I'm sure Jennifer will hear me, but will she be able to help? I look around, but there are no knives on any of the benches, so I figure my best bet is to try to run past this nutter and get down the stairs.

  Three.

  Two.

  “Would it change anything if I came with you?” he asks suddenly.

  I hesitate again.

  “We could make a fresh start together,” he continues, turning to me again. “You know I've always loved you, Muriel
. I might be a little rough around the edges. Certainly nobody's ever looked at me and said that I'm cut out for much. In truth, no-one from my family's very impressive, the whole wretched Farnham line is rotten, but I'll do my best.” He hesitates, before taking a step closer and reaching out to touch the sides of my arms. “I love you, Muriel Hyde,” he adds, “and, if you'll have me, I want to take you away from Malmeston and make you safe. It won't be an easy life but -”

  “Get away from me!” I gasp, taking a step back. “If you touch me, I'll scream! This part of the pub is private! You have to go! Now!”

  “Think about it, but not for too long,” he replies. “I know they're keeping an eye on you, Muriel. They're watching the both of us, they already suspect me of being an informant. Smuggling's just the way things work around here, you can't fight that. All you can do is walk away.”

  “This isn't going to work,” I tell him. “I don't know who paid you to dress up and pretend to be some kind of ghost from the past, but you're completely out of your mind. If you don't leave right now, I'll call the police and I'll have you charged with trespassing.”

  “I'll come back tomorrow,” he tells me. “I'm begging you, Muriel, see sense. There are times to fight and times to run. This is a time to run.”

  “Get out!” I say firmly, before taking a chair and holding it up, ready to smack him around the head if he tries anything. “I'm serious! Get out of my -”

  “Charley!”

  Suddenly someone shakes my left shoulder. Startled, I blink a couple of times, and then I find that I'm still on the floor in my room, sitting on the duvets. I must have fallen asleep, which means that the whole encounter with the man in the kitchen was a dream. Still feeling totally flustered, I look up and see that Jennifer is touching my shoulder.

  “Charley, we need to go right now,” she says, clearly worried about something. “The police are downstairs. They say your father's been in some kind of accident.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight