by Tony Walker
Amy went and packed her Tarot cards into their box. She put it in her bag and then looked around for Jill. Many of the group, including Iris, had gone. She saw Jill standing with a woman in a brown dress. The woman had her back to her. She went up to Jill and said, “I’m nearly ready. Just need the ‘loo.”
The woman turned round and Amy’s eyes widened. It was Joan Smith, her client.
“Ah, Amy,” Jill said, “Let me introduce Mrs Jones, the owner of the Hall.”
Joan Smith smiled at Amy.
Amy frowned. “But you’re Mrs Smith. You come to me.”
The woman nodded. “I do.”
Amy’s brow furrowed deeper. “But how come you are Mrs Jones? How come you own this Hall?”
Jill said, “Amy, get to the toilet and come back. I can’t be hanging around here forever.”
Amy, still frowning, walked towards the Hall door. She had already been to the toilet once in the evening and knew where it was. At the door, she paused and turned round. Joan Smith was staring at her.
Amy hurried to the toilet. She dilly dallied over washing her hands and adjusting her hair. She hoped that when she got back, Mrs Smith, or Mrs Jones, or whatever she was really called, would have gone and she could just go home with Jill. Finally, she pushed open the toilet door and stepped out into the corridor. She tapped her bag where her takings were. At least that was real enough — some benefit from a thoroughly strange night.
When she got back to the Baronial Hall, it was empty. That was odd — where had Jill gone? She went out of the Hall, back to the main doorway. She thought maybe Jill was waiting for her in the car outside, but when she got to the door, it was closed. She reached for the black iron handle and tugged at it. The door was locked. A slight panic began in her belly.
Then she sensed someone behind her. She spun round and saw Joan Smith standing there. Amy gave a little gasp then said, “Where’s Jill?”
“Jill?” Joan said.
“My friend. She’s giving me a lift.”
“Oh, Jill.” Joan smiled. “Yes, she had to leave.”
“Leave? Without me? She wouldn’t do that.” Amy shook her head vigorously as if to persuade herself what she said was true.
Joan Smith shrugged. “Yes, she’s gone. I’m sorry.”
“Well, how am I going to get home?”
“I can give you a lift if you like.”
Amy felt relief, but also suspicion. She just wanted to get out of there, but she would do whatever it took to get the woman to open the door. She knew how clever she could be. If she had to be sweet, she would be. If she had to threaten to call the police, she’d do that too. Then she remembered she had no phone signal. She frowned. The walls of the place were so thick she could make no calls from there. So she had to be polite. She said, “Thank you, Joan. Are you still Joan?”
The woman said. “I can be Joan, if you like.”
Amy said petulantly, “It’s not what I like. It’s what you’re really called.” Amy knew she needed to be calm. She forced herself to smile. “It’s just I need to get home, you see?”
“I know you don’t have anyone waiting for you at home though, Amy.”
“No. But I’m tired. I need my sleep.”
“Of course. We’ll go soon. But first would you like a proper look around my home?”
“I’ve seen it,” Amy said. “I’ve been here all evening.”
Joan smiled. “You’ve only been in the Hall. There are other floors and other rooms.”
“I could come back another time.”
Joan laughed lightly. “Come and look now.”
Amy paused. She was getting sick of this. But if that’s what it took. She sighed. “Okay, but then you’ll take me home?”
Joan nodded. “Of course. But first, come this way.”
She half turned and stepped towards the hallway that led back to the Baronial Hall. Amy didn’t follow at first. Joan looked at her as if she were a stubborn child and said, “Please, Amy. Come.”
Amy followed but lagged behind as Joan walked through to the Hall. The place felt echoey and empty now everyone had left. Some of the candles in the pumpkin lanterns had gone out. Amy smelled their smoky smell. Joan’s shoes clattered on the wooden floor.
“Do you live here alone?” Amy said, still behind her.
“No,” Joan said. She started to mount a staircase.
Amy followed. “Who do you live with?”
Joan ignored the question. She paused on the half landing. There were some paintings of cavaliers and roundheads on the wall. “There’s supposed to be the ghost of a little girl here,” Joan said. “But I suppose you can feel her.”
Amy hadn’t attempted to feel anything. The memory she had of when she had opened up was of a dry, scuttling thing, and she didn’t want to feel that anymore.
“Where are we going?” she blurted.
“Just to the first floor. I wanted to show you the bedrooms.”
“I’m really tired. Can’t you just give me a lift?”
“Soon. Soon. Let me show you the bedrooms.”
Amy sighed and followed her. Joan flicked the lights on as she went. They walked along long corridors with locked doors on either side. Always Amy held back. Joan saw her glancing suspiciously at the locked doors. “I don’t need all the rooms. I never go in them.”
“Is there anything in them?”
Joan ignored her again. They walked on a little further then Amy stopped. “I’m not going any further,” she said. “Just open the front door. You needn’t give me a lift. I’ll walk.”
“Don’t be silly, Amy. It’s very damp outside. The fog’s down. You’ll catch your death.”
“I don’t mind. Just let me go.”
Joan shook her head. “Indulge me. Just come and see the bedrooms.”
Amy sighed again. Then, feeling she had no other option, walked on.
Eventually they got to the end of the corridor. Joan opened the door and put on the light. “This is my bedroom.” There was a magnificent four-poster bed with drapes. Pretty pink silk sheets were thrown back as if Joan had only recently got up.
“You live here with your husband?” Amy said.
“No. I’m not married.”
Amy was puzzled. “Don’t you have a husband who owns a gold mine in Brazil? Or did I imagine that?”
Joan shook her head. “I’ve never been to Brazil.”
“But you told me you got your necklace there.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.” She frowned more deeply. “But if you’re not married, how come you had a son - John.”
“James, I said. But I lied. He wasn’t my son.”
“Why would you lie about that? That’s awful.” Amy crossed her arms across her chest, as if to protect herself. Her hand went to her throat. She was very nervous now.
“I wanted to test your powers, Amy.”
“My powers? Why?”
Joan said, “I sensed you had a delicious energy. I said that, didn’t I?”
Amy nodded.
“And I meant it,” Joan said. “Delicious.”
“So who do you live here with?” There was a tremor in Amy’s voice.
“Come. I’ll show you the tower.”
“I don’t want to go to the tower.”
“There’s a wonderful view.”
“Tonight? It’s dark. And foggy.”
Joan laughed. Her laugh was a sweet tinkle that echoed in the hollow silence of the place. “True, true. But it’s very special. Come.”
She walked off. Amy followed. Joan walked more quickly than she did and Amy struggled to keep up. “Please let me out of the front door. Please.”
“Soon. Soon,” Joan said. She began to mount a spiral stone staircase. The sandstone was worn as if by a thousand feet and hands over a thousand years. They went up. The air was becoming colder and Amy could see her breath. Her heart beat faster. They passed by a door in the wall. There must be a room behind it, Amy thought, and it made h
er nervous. Then they got to the tower’s top. There was a bolt across the door. Joan drew it back. She said to Amy, “Do you believe in monsters?”
Amy shook her head vigorously. “Monsters? No.” She rubbed her forehead. “No. I don’t believe any of that stuff.”
Joan arched an elegant eyebrow. “Really? Are you a fraud then? Are you deceiving people?”
Amy stared at her and said coldly. “Give me a lift, as you promised.” Then a shudder came over. Against her will, she said, “What kind of monsters?”
Joan threw open the door with a flourish and the cold damp night air flooded in. Amy could see the roof of the tower but not much further because of the fog. She guessed it had been a battlement in medieval times. She said again, “What kind of monsters?”
“Don’t you want to go out on the roof?”
Amy said, “No. I want to go home.”
Joan shrugged. “Very well.” She pulled the door closed.
“What kind of monsters?” Amy repeated.
“If I told you there were things that ate energy, would you believe me?”
“But you said monsters. You and me both know this is bullshit. I don’t know what you’re trying to do. If you think you’re scaring me. You’re wrong. I eat idiots like you for breakfast.”
Joan smiled. “You’re a little fraud Amy. You’re a deceiver and a liar. And what’s worse is that you had talent once. You could have been honest.”
“Please. Shut up. I’m not interested.”
“Do you know what spiders eat?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re insane.”
“No. I’m not. I’m like a policeman if you like.” Joan laughed at her own joke.
“Police? What are you talking about?”
“We police people who lie and cheat and prey on the sadness of vulnerable people.”
“I’m going to leave.”
Joan ignored her. “Now, I want to show you the cellars.”
“I don’t want to see the cellars.”
“You said that about the roof and you quite enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t enjoy it. Let me go home.”
“After we see the cellars.”
“No. Let. Me. Go. Now.” Amy snarled. She wished she hadn’t worn them. She couldn’t run.
“Don’t struggle like that, Amy. We need to go to the cellars.”
Sudden fear struck her. Amy frowned. “That’s a funny word to use - struggle. What do you mean? Makes me sound like I’m tied up in something.”
Joan ignored her again. “Come on. All the way down.”
Joan made her way down the stairs. Amy thought about not following. She thought maybe she could go on the roof and climb down the wall. But it was dark and wet. She would surely fall to her death. She had no other choice, so she followed after Joan. On her way down the spiral staircase, she passed by the door she’s seen before. She was just going by it when she heard a noise from beyond it. There was something or someone in there. Her heart hammered. She ran down the stairs, almost tripping. Joan was waiting. “Down further,” she said.
“Who do you live with, anyway?” Amy said.
“My friend,” Joan said, without looking round.
“And who’s your friend?”
“My special friend. We’re nearly there now.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Joan switched on the electric light. There was one dim bulb for the whole place. It illuminated a damp cellar with sandstone walls. The cellar looked like it had been there since the Middle Ages but there were rusted Victorian pipes running through it and in a corner an old newspaper and a broken chair. There was an opening in the far wall that led to another cellar. It looked like there was a further cellar beyond that. The place smelled cold and musty. Suddenly, Amy sensed it again. The dry, scuttling thing was near. She moaned with fear.
“What’s that?” Joan said, turning, smiling.
“There’s something here.”
“Oh yes, I know.”
Amy felt the sweat on her lip and she shivered. Her fingers felt numb and tingly with anxiety and her throat pulsed as her heartbeat became rapid. Her mouth was dry, but she said, “You were talking about monsters. What kind of monsters?”
Joan said, “From under the ground.”
“From Brazil? From mines in Brazil?”
Joan smiled. “No, from here. They’re not thousands of miles away. They’re here, under your feet. They always have been.”
“What are they? These monsters.”
Joan grinned. She played with her silver necklace. “Don’t you know? Can’t you sense them?”
Amy began to cry. “I want to go now. Please let me go.” She put her head down. “Please,” she said, “Please just let me go.”
“Come on. I want to show you the room at the end.”
“I don’t want to see it.”
“But Jill’s there.”
Amy felt like someone was choking her. Panic filled her. She said, “She’s not. You said she’d gone home.”
“I lied again, Amy. I always lie — just like you.”
Joan walked off down the centre of the cellar towards the doorway that led to the room beyond. Amy stood. She thought of turning and running, but she knew she was lost. She would never find her way out through the corridors and halls. She glanced at the disappearing Joan and then back at the door that led to the stairs.
And then she heard it. She felt its awful presence and in her mind heard the dry scuttling of its many legs. She jerked round. She sensed it behind her. She saw that the cellar went back into gloom and there was another door. It was there. The door hung open and she couldn’t see into the darkness, but she knew it was there; she felt its hunger. She felt it start to move.
Joan grabbed her arm with fingers like a steel vice. She dragged her forward, then stopped and turned. She said, “Here you are. Jill will be so pleased you’re here.”
“Jill’s not in there. She can’t be.”
Joan shook her head. “My friend said her energy was very good. But I’m sure it won’t be as tasty as yours.”
“Please, let me go.” Amy tugged at Joan’s arm.
“Oh, no, Amy. I can’t do that.”
“Why not? Why can’t you?”
“Because my friend is hungry. And I made her a promise.”
Joan walked forward again, dragging Amy. As much as Amy struggled, she couldn’t get free. Amy’s heart was hammering. Jill couldn’t really be here. “Where’s Jill?” she said suddenly. “You said she was here, but I can’t see her.”
Joan stopped and pointed ahead. “Through that door.”
Amy stared where she pointed. A dirty black wooden door stood at the far end of the furthest cellar. There was an iron bolt on it but it was drawn back. The door was open.
Amy said, “But it’s dark in there. There’s no light.”
Joan said, “Jill doesn’t need light. She can’t see any more.”
The door opened. The room had been a coal cellar originally, but the coal was all gone. Instead, on the floor, Amy saw an untidy shape. It looked like a bunch of rags at first with something in it, and then in the poor light she recognised Jill’s expensive black dress. But now the dress was wrapped with something grey and pale. From the door, Amy peered forward. Jill was wrapped in cobwebs. She had been wound tight in spider silk.
And then Amy saw things were moving all over Jill. She looked harder and saw that where Jill’s throat should be, and in the hollows of her eyes, were holes. Little black things were scurrying and moving all over her, going inside her body, into the moist darkness.
Joan was at her shoulder. She said, “My friend is a lady. She wanted Jill for her babies.”
Thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of spiders were burrowing into Jill’s corpse, going about their business, eating her from inside out.
Amy gasped in horror. “Oh, no!” she said. She turned. Joan was between her and the entrance. Somet
hing horrible and dark was scuttling across the cellar behind, coming for Amy.
“She wanted Jill for her babies,” Joan said, “But she wanted your liar’s skin and meat for herself.”
10
Fiends Fell
Looking out of the window, I could see the wind was the worst — though the rain, slanting in, fine and raw, would not be much fun either. George warned me not to go: over breakfast at his charming little pub in Garrigill, he said this was no weather to be climbing up Cross Fell, especially alone, especially at the end of December, especially in this weather.
As I ate my full English breakfast with Alston Sausages, local bacon, black pudding and free-range eggs from the farm in the village, he tried to talk me out of my very last journey of the year.
‘Listen, man, you must be crazy,’ He said, as he brought more brown toast with luscious local butter that already lay, yellow and tempting on the white china plate itself a decoration on the scarred wood table in front of me. It was early in the day but dim. I knew there was so little light on these days between Christmas and New Year, especially with the grey clouds sitting low and blanketing out the sun like wet wool, as they had done week after week since October.
‘Have you seen the rain outside?’ George said, thumbs in waistcoat pockets now he’d put the toast down in front of me. He nodded to the window. The curtains were drawn back, but it was so gloomy out that you couldn’t see anything other than the streaming rain on the dirty glass pane. A wire of Christmas lights still flashed around the window frame but their cheer didn’t distract from the heaviness outside.
I shrugged, biting my freshly buttered toast. ‘It’s my last one. I was thinking of doing Cross Fell but I should have enough time to drop into the Eden Valley to stay tonight. I’ve got a B&B booked at Dufton. That’s what I’m planning.’
George rubbed his stubbly chin. ‘It’s a hell of a slog up there, even in good weather.’ I looked at his belly. It would be for him on the freshest day. Then he narrowed his eyes. ‘You know why they call it Cross Fell?’
I smiled. I’d read something about this somewhere, details now forgotten. I ventured, ‘Because it’s got a cross on the top?’
He wagged a finger. ‘Yes, but why did they put the cross on the top?’ Before I could answer, he said, ‘They put the cross on the top to drive off the Devil. He used to live up there.’