by Amy Cross
“What the -”
In a flash, the figure turned and ran, but Sally was already certain that it had been a young girl. She stumbled to her feet and raced across the room, stopping once she reached the landing. She looked around. There was no sign of anyone, but the door to Jerry's bedroom was open and she felt certain that it had been shut when she'd made her way upstairs earlier.
“Hello?” she said cautiously, making her way over to the door and looking into the dark room. The first thing she noticed was a distinct aroma of cheap cologne, but she was fairly sure that wasn't caused by any ghost. “Is anyone here?”
She waited.
No response.
“Annie?” she continued, thinking back to the figure and realizing that it had seemed to be a young girl. “Hey, is there anyone named Annie in here?”
Again, she waited.
Again, she heard nothing.
“It's okay,” she said, taking a step into the room and turning the light on. There was still no sign of anyone, but she once again felt as if somebody was close. “My name's Sally and I won't hurt you. I only want to know what's going on. I can help you, if...”
As her voice trailed off, Sally realized with incredulity that she was actually attempting to negotiate with a ghost. Figuring that the little girl had seemed scared, she told herself that she had to find some way to connect with her, to make her feel a little more safe.
Stepping over to the bed, she looked around again.
“It's okay to be scared,” she continued. “Everyone gets scared sometimes, but you just have to be brave and face up to whatever it is that's upsetting you. And it's always easier to do that when you've got a little help. That's what I'm trying to do right now. I'm trying to help you and -”
Suddenly hearing a scratching sound, she turned and looked over her shoulder. The sound continued, and she realized after a moment that it seemed to be coming from over near the door, possibly out on the landing. She made her way over to look, but as soon as she left the room she realized that the sound was now coming from somewhere over her shoulder. She stepped back into the room, still trying to figure out exactly what was happening, and then she turned and looked at the door as she finally realized where the sound was coming from.
She hesitated, before reaching out and taking hold of the door, which had been left wide open with its handle bumped against the wall.
As the sound continued, Sally began to slowly pull the door open, even as the scratching became louder and more furious. She was worried about finding someone standing behind the door, but she forced herself to pull it all the way, and then – as the sound abruptly stopped – she let out a shocked gasp as she saw that a word had been scratched into the wallpaper:
DON'T
Staring at the word, unable to believe that it could possibly be real, Sally tried to figure out some way that it might have already been there. Sure, the rest of the room was neat and tidy, and she happened to know that Jerry had redecorated just a couple of years earlier, but she told herself that it was vital to keep from jumping to conclusions. Just because she didn't understand why the word was on the wall, or why she'd heard the scratching sound, that didn't mean that a ghost was responsible.
Reaching out, she ran her fingers against the torn wallpaper. As she did so, however, she felt something brush against her elbow.
Turning, she saw that she was once again alone. She looked all around, watching the shadows in case she might have a chance of spotting any hint of movement, but there was nothing.
“If you're here, you have to prove it right now,” she said, backing against the wall, looking across the room and waiting for some sign of the little girl. “I mean it, if you're here, show yourself. Come on, I'm not scary, I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. My name's Sally Cooper and if I can help you, I will. I just need to know what you want first.”
She hesitated, before making her way through to her room. She looked at the bed, but at that moment she realized she could hear the scratching sound again.
Turning, she looked back out onto the landing and saw that another word had appeared on the wallpaper:
DON'T LET
“Who's doing that?” she asked quickly, trying not to panic.
She stood in silence for a moment, before stepping back into the room. As soon as she was behind the door, she heard the scratching sound continue. Although she wanted to go out and see what was happening, she forced herself to instead try to peer through the gap between the door and jamb. Finding that she couldn't quite see around far enough, she listened as the scratching continued for a few more seconds, before finally silence returned.
She waited for a few seconds, and then she cautiously made her way back out onto the landing. She felt a shudder in her chest as soon as she saw the completed message on the wall:
DON'T LET HER FIND ME
Chapter Thirteen
“Great,” Matt muttered as the beer tap began to run dry, leaving only a few more drops to fall into his half-empty glass. He tried the handle a couple more times, before setting the glass aside and heading over to the door in the corner.
After fumbling for a moment with the latch, he pulled the door open and looked down into the pub's dark, cold cellar.
“I'm just going to change a barrel!” he called out.
He waited, but Sally was still upstairs and Jane was still in the garden, so he wasn't too surprised to receive no response. The cellar wasn't entirely appealing, and he knew he could just switch to a different beer, but he figured he might as well have the one he wanted. Besides, changing the barrel didn't seem like it'd be too difficult, and he couldn't resist the chance to practice his pub skills. The possibility of having to start a new career was weighing on his mind and he felt that running a pub might be one of the better options.
“I'm just going to change a barrel,” he muttered to himself, somewhat surprised, as he flicked a switch on the wall. “Little old me, a guy with absolutely no experience in the pub game whatsoever, is going to attempt to do something that even seasoned landlords sometimes completely screw up.”
A light flickered to life at the bottom of the rickety wooden steps, and as he began to make his way down Matt couldn't help but worry that the steps might collapse under his weight at any moment. He told himself to stop fretting about the tiniest little things, and as he reached the bottom he was more worried about the fact that the cellar was so cold. He stepped around the corner and saw the kegs all lined up, connected to the various lines, and he spotted some more kegs pushed up against the wall.
Stepping over, he took a moment to locate a keg of Bloody Gunpowder No 9, which everyone with any taste knew was the finest ale produced by the Hayes and Storford brewery. It was at that moment, however, that he realized he had no idea how to properly tap a keg, although he'd heard plenty of stories about people doing it wrong. He'd always laughed at those stories before; now, however, he was starting to think that there might be a little more to the job than simply switching a few hoses over. In fact, he wasn't even sure where to start.
Spotting a keg that looked to have perhaps been tapped already, he made his way over and began to examine the top section, which he supposed was the part that he needed to attach to the lines. He spotted a couple of valves, and he picked one at random to try turning. When this failed to produce any obvious result, he tried the other, but this too did nothing. He stepped around the keg and crouched down, at which point he spotted another valve. Figuring that he might as well try to learn something, he gave the valve a quick turn.
In an instant, beer began to blast out at him, spraying him in the face. Panicking, he pulled back and then ducked out of the way, before somehow managing to reach around and close the valve.
“Okay,” he said as he got to his feet again and wiped beer from his face, “I guess that's not the best start. What's a guy got to do around here to get a little -”
Suddenly the light switched off, plunging the cellar into darkness.<
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“Seriously?” he said, looking over his shoulder and seeing just a faint hint of light on the far wall, at the foot of the stairs. “Hey, did one of you turn that off? Would you mind turning it back on again? Some of us are trying to learn down here.”
He waited, but nobody replied.
“I'm in the cellar!” he continued. “This place is like a death-trap, can you at least turn the light back on so I can get out?”
Looking up at the ceiling, he figured that the bulb might simply have failed. He knew that meant he'd never be able to try changing the barrels now, so he turned to head back upstairs.
Stopping immediately, he saw a silhouetted figure standing in the middle of the room, seemingly looking straight at him.
“Hey,” he said, “you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
He waited, but after a few seconds he began to realize that this figure was neither Sally nor Jane. Something about the stature and height seemed all wrong, although he was just about able to tell that the person appeared to be a woman.
“Okay,” he said cautiously, “hi there, I don't know who you are but I just came down here to change a barrel. If you need proof, you can ask Sally, she should be right upstairs.”
When the figure failed to respond, Matt realized that he could feel a niggling fear in the pit of his stomach, a sensation that was slowly starting to rise up into his chest. He thought back to the spirit board, and to the apparent communication with a woman named Mildred Weaver, and he tried to figure out who else might have randomly entered the pub over the previous few minutes.
“So I'm just going to go back up now,” he continued, trying to plot the best way back to the steps, ideally one that would take him all the way around the edge of the room without having to go near the figure. “Feel free to stay down here, I really don't mind.”
He took a step to the right, but in the darkness he failed to notice a bucket on the floor. He flinched as the bucket clanged and tipped over, and he hesitated for a moment as he kept his eyes fixed on the dark figure that still stood just a few feet away.
“Sorry about that,” he muttered, before turning to head once more to the steps.
“Where is she?” a woman's voice asked suddenly in the darkness.
Stopping, Matt turned to her.
“I'm sorry?” he asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice.
The figure tilted its head slightly to one side.
“Where is she?” she gasped, and now her voice sounded even more frail and rasping than before. “You must know.”
“I don't have a clue what you're talking about,” he replied, taking a step to the side, hoping to edge toward the steps while keeping her talking. “That's okay, though, you can just hang out down here and relax or do whatever it is that you came down here to do, and I promise that no-one'll disturb you.”
He bumped against a bench, but this time he kept going. Glancing over at the steps, he realized that he was close, but he didn't want to risk running, not yet.
“Enjoy yourself, then,” he added, turning to the figure again, “and try not to -”
Stopping suddenly, he realized that she was gone. He looked around, convinced that she must have simply made her way over to a different part of the cellar, but there was no sign of anyone. Although he couldn't see into the darkest corners at the cellar's far end, he figured that there was no need to go hunting for the figure. He hesitated for a moment longer, just in case anything stirred, and then he turned to go to the steps.
“Where is she?” the old woman snarled, standing right in front of him and then grabbing his throat, pushing him against the wall.
“Stop!” he gasped, trying to get free, even though her grip was far too tight.
The woman leaned closer, and now Matt was able to see her angry, lined face. Her skin was pale, although dark, deathly shadows hung under her eyes as she opened her mouth to reveal black, rotten teeth.
“Sally!” Matt tried to call out, although he was barely able to make a sound as he felt the woman's hand crushing his throat. “Someone! Help!”
“You'd do well to answer my question,” the woman sneered, as her foul breath filled Matt's nostrils.
Unable to breathe, Matt reached up and tried to pull the woman's hand away. Her flesh was icy, and her skin was flaking in places, as she held him tighter than ever. Stunned by her strength, Matt fought for a moment longer to break free, and then he tried to push the woman back.
“Please,” he groaned, “don't hurt me. I don't know what you want, but I didn't do anything wrong! Please...”
“I've waited long enough,” she replied, as black blood began to run from her mouth, dribbling down onto the rough concrete floor. She leaned even closer. “Where is Annie Ashton?”
Chapter Fourteen
“Okay,” Sally said as she hurried down the stairs and then made her way through into the bar area, “something really freaky just happened to me upstairs, I think -”
Stopping suddenly, she looked around and saw that the room was completely empty. She turned to go over to the back door, but at that moment she heard a faint gasping sound coming from somewhere behind the bar, so he hurried over and saw that the door to the cellar had been left open.
“Matt, are you down there?” she asked, walking over to the door and looking down the steps. The lights were off, so she figured he couldn't possibly be poking about among all the pipes and barrels. She turned to keep looking.
At the last second, however, she realized that the gasping sound was becoming more persistent, and that it definitely seemed to be coming from the cellar.
“Matt?”
Stepping through to the top of the steps, she took a moment to flick the light on, and then she began to carefully pick her way down.
The gasps continued.
“Matt, is that you?” she asked, as the steps creaked beneath her weight. “Matt, you should be careful down here, okay? Believe me, I know from experience just how easy it is to bash your head against one of those low beams, or to trip over, or to damn near get yourself killed down in this -”
Suddenly she spotted Matt sliding down against the far wall, dropping onto the floor as he reached up and grabbed his own throat.
“Matt?”
She rushed over and crouched next to him, and she immediately saw that his neck was red and sore, with scratch-marks in the skin. He seemed to be in a state of panic, and for a moment he tried to push her away, almost as if he thought she might be somebody else.
“Matt, what happened?” she asked. “What are you doing down here?”
She looked over her shoulder, but she saw nothing untoward in the room at all. When she turned back to Matt, however, she realized that he was still trying desperately to get his breath back.
“I saw her!” he gasped finally. “She was right here!”
“Who was?”
Looking around, frantic with fear, Matt tried to spot the woman. Realizing that she was nowhere to be seen, he tried to get to his feet, although he immediately struggled and he had to accept Sally's help as she hauled him up from the ground. Wincing as he felt a pain in his shoulder, he leaned against the wall for a moment to try to get his breath back.
“She was right here,” he said finally, grabbing her arm and leading her to the steps. “She was trying to strangle me!”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Who do you think?” he snapped, turning to her. “Mildred Weaver, or whatever her name was. It had to have been her, right? It was this old woman, and she held my throat and she was asking where she could find someone named Annie Ashton. How can that not be her?”
Sally opened her mouth to reply, but for a moment she hesitated as she thought back to the little girl she'd seen upstairs, and to the message scratched into the wall.
“I saw something too,” she said cautiously.
“A ghost?”
He waited for an answer, and then he reached out and put a hand on the side of her arm.
“Sally,” he said, barely able to get the words out, “did you see something too?”
Before she could say anything, however, the back door opened and Jane hurried inside, still smoking a cigarette.
“Hey, guys,” Jane said, clearly trying to sound calmer than she felt as she headed to the table and grabbed her bag, “what's up? So, I was thinking that maybe it's time to shoot now. I don't want to stay up half the night, wasting time when I really should be asleep.” She started sorting through her bag, although her hands were shaking violently. “This has been fun, we should do it again sometime.”
“Are you okay?” Sally asked.
“I'm fine. Why do you ask?”
“You seem a little nervy there.”
“Well, I said I'm fine,” Jane added, as she slung her bag over her shoulder and began to make her way to the door. “Why do people always have to ask other people if they're fine? If someone's not fine and they want to talk about it, they'll talk about it, otherwise it's just another pointless question.”
“Did something happen to you out in the garden?” Sally continued. “Jane, something really weird happened in here and -”
“Nothing happened in the garden!” Jane snapped, stopping and turning to her. “I didn't see anything, okay? So stop going on about it!”
“What did you see?” Matt asked.
“I just told you, I -”
“Because I think I saw Mildred Weaver,” he added.
“And I think I saw Annie Ashton,” Sally said. “You know... the little girl.”
“No, neither of you saw anyone,” Jane replied, no longer able to hide her sense of extreme agitation, “because they're long dead, you see? And the thing about dead people is that they stay dead, and you don't just find them wandering around in buildings, and they don't start talking to you or showing up in places. Don't you guys get it? This is just some immature game that makes you feel a little better about death. There's no such thing as ghosts!”
“You seem really rattled,” Sally pointed out.