by Carrie King
Erica hesitated, watching the last of the red-colored water disappear down the drain. After a restful night’s sleep nestled in her husband’s arms, she had woken this morning feeling bright and energetic, the creepy events of yesterday were almost forgotten. But now this had brought back her sense of unease.
“Erica?” Nigel trailed his fingertips teasingly across her bare back. “Come back to bed. I’ve got something for you.”
Erica glanced down. She was left in no doubt about exactly what her husband had for her. She grinned. “Okay, but just for a while. The delivery truck is due here at 9:00.”
When the delivery truck had not arrived by 10:00 a.m., Erica began to feel a little anxious. What had happened? Had there been an accident? Could the company not find their address? They didn’t yet have the phone connected to the house, so she was unable to call and check.
Nigel didn’t seem concerned. He spent the morning tinkering with the pipes in the bathroom, and now he trotted downstairs, announcing proudly that the shower was working well and rust free.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door, and Erica pulled it open quickly, relieved to see the uniformed figure of a large furniture delivery man. “Oh, there you are. I was beginning to worry.” Erica stopped, taking in the man’s expression. “Is everything all right?”
Nigel walked over to join them, looking at the man curiously. His face was pale and drawn and he was shaking. “I thought I hit someone in your driveway just now. A nun.”
“A nun? Are you sure? Where did this happen?” Erica stepped out onto the porch to stand beside the man and looked over to where he was pointing, past the back of the furniture truck that now stood outside the house and over to the end of the dirt driveway.
“It was just over there. One minute the road was clear, and the next minute I could’ve sworn a young lady in a nun’s habit ran across in front of me. I braked right away, of course, and I got out to check, but there was no one there.” The man shook his head. “Frightened the life out of me, but when I checked there was nothing there. I guess it must have just been a shadow from the trees.” He rubbed his hand across a sweaty forehead.
“How peculiar.” Erica stepped down from the porch and stared over at the patch of lawn and dirt as Nigel and the delivery man began to unload furniture from the back of the truck. She blinked. Was that a haze of yellow mist she could see undulating over the grass toward them?
“Erica? Where shall we put this?”
Erica turned to see Nigel and the man holding each end of a chest of drawers. “Oh, that’s for the room next to ours. Up at the top of the stairs.” She looked back to where she’d seen the mist, but there was nothing there. She had to stop doing this. Her imagination was working on overdrive. She followed the men inside.
Two hours later, everything was unpacked and in its place, and Nigel tipped the delivery man before shutting the front door and leaning back against it. “Phew, that was hard work.”
“Thank you darling; you did that in double time.” Erica walked into the living room and looked around, pleased with the effect now it was filled with furniture. With their own couch and armchairs placed around the room and the big patterned rug taking pride of place in the middle of the floor, everything looked neat and homie. The bedrooms upstairs now contained beds and dressers, and their big wooden table and chairs now resided in the kitchen. She still had plenty of boxes to unpack, of course, but already the house felt different. More like their own.
“I’m going to make coffee. Do you want some?” Nigel called from the kitchen.
“Yea, that sounds great.” Erica moved across the room, toward the door, and stopped. Something had caught her eye out the window. She was sure that she’d seen someone run across the yard. She leaned on the windowsill and stared through the pane of glass. There was no one there. She scolded herself crossly. She had to stop thinking like that. This was their home now, and spooking herself was doing her no good at all. She hurried to join Nigel in the kitchen.
They sat down at the kitchen table, mugs of coffee in front of them, and grinned at each other. “Welcome home, baby,” Nigel said.
“Welcome home to you, too.” Erica smiled back.
“I have to go back to work tomorrow. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?” Nigel watched her face carefully.
Erica hesitated just for a moment. She had to dismiss all her fears and just get on with being a grownup. She nodded. “I’ll be fine. I have a lot to do. There are several boxes to still be unpacked, and I want to set my painting easel up in the downstairs office. And I was thinking of beginning to strip back the wallpaper in one of the spare rooms.” She laughed. “Don’t worry about me. I have more than enough to keep myself busy.”
Nigel sipped his coffee. “Good. I just want you to be happy, Erica.” He looked at her seriously.
Erica held his gaze but did not say anything, though the unspoken words hung in the air between them. Since the miscarriage six months ago, Nigel knew his wife had not been her normal self. He could tell that she hoped the move to the house here in Briar Park would be the strong new beginning she needed to set her on the road to happiness once more.
She looked down, playing with the handle of the coffee cup. She hadn’t said it out loud, but the room she intended to start renovating was going to be a nursery. She knew in her heart that one day soon she would be pregnant again.
“Now that the refrigerator has been delivered, we should go into the village and get some groceries to stock up. I’m not sure whether I feel like tinned spaghetti for dinner again tonight. And the only thing this cup of coffee is missing is the chocolate cookies to go with it. It will be an ideal opportunity to have a look at the shops and see what the local area has to offer,” Nigel said.
“I’d like that. I want to look around too, and yes, I need to buy supplies. Drink your coffee, sweetheart, and we’ll go.”
Nigel placed his coffee cup on the bench once he’d finished his drink. Then he dropped a light kiss on the top of Erica’s head. “I’ll just use the bathroom before we leave. I’ll see you in the car.” He turned back, remembering something. “I tried to open the door leading to the basement, but I couldn’t get it open. It’s jammed tight, and none of my tools will shift it. I guess we don’t need it for now though. There’s plenty of room for storage throughout the house.”
He left the room and Erica stood up. She picked up her handbag and walked to the front door, stopping suddenly. She cocked her head. There was that whispering noise again. She looked around, but she could see nothing. Frowning, she opened the door and walked down the steps.
Each day something happened. Sometimes it would be the swirling yellow mist in the garden. Sometimes it would be the feeling of eyes watching her. Once she could swear she saw red eyes in the darkness but when she flicked on the light there was nothing there.
Then there was the moving objects. Cups, plates, dishes were always falling and getting broken. Or if not, they would move from room to room or across the room.
Erica feared that something was wrong with her so she visited the doctor and came away with a prescription of anxiety medication but nothing changed.
Then of course there was the whispers. At first they were just behind her. A sibilant sound just at the edge of her hearing. The hair would stand up on her arms and neck and she would hear this whisper. It was like two people hiding things from her. Only the murmuring, muttering, murmuration became louder and more intense and as the days turned to weeks and months it never stopped.
Sleep eluded her as she lay awake trying to shut out the sound and also trying to hear what they were saying. It was all in vain. Whenever she thought that she would get it, they would stop, the silence was then threatening for she never knew when it would end.
Many times she tried to talk to Nigel but he just laughed and pulled her close. Telling her it must be the whispering of the leaves on the trees. Telling her to just relax, all was well. Only as time went by, she found
his assurances less persuasive and didn’t know if it was him who no longer believed them or her.
“We have to leave,” she said one night when the whispering had her pulse racing and her heart pounding against her chest. Every time she closed her eyes to sleep she could almost feel lips against her ear and the whispering began.
“We can’t,” was all Nigel had said. “We can’t afford to.” So he pulled her close and she fell asleep in his arms and for one night the whispers had stopped.
Chapter 12
Three months later.
“Toby! Here, puss!” Erica set a plate of food down for the cat and looked around for the animal. He had been a clingy creature and never far away from her feet. It got to the point of being an annoying trip hazard most of the time, ever since Nigel had brought him home for her as a surprise. And the cat certainly never missed dinner time. “Toby!” she continued calling for the creature, walking through to the living room to check his favorite spot on the sofa.
“Oh, there you are. Come on, you fat old thing; your dinner is ready.” The cat didn’t look up. Instead it stared fixedly at a spot at the side of the wide fire hearth. Erica sat down on the couch beside the cat and followed its gaze.
She frowned.
There was something on the hearth, something wet and viscous. She leaned forward and touched the puddle, pulling her finger back to look at the red substance. Was that blood? She sniffed it cautiously and pulled an expression of distaste. “Yuck, Toby. Have you killed a mouse or a bird and dragged it in here? I thought you were too fat and lazy to go hunting.”
Erica stood up and went to fetch a cloth from the kitchen to clean up the mess. She heard Toby jump down from the couch, his soft paws thudding onto the wooden floorboards, and as she walked back into the living room he ran out to meet her. She bent and rubbed his head absently, and he twirled himself around her legs, purring, before continuing into the kitchen. Erica walked over to the hearth and bent to mop up the bloodstain. She stopped. It was gone. She looked around, bewildered. Had Toby licked the spot clean? A low whispering started up and then stopped. Erica walked back to the kitchen, frowning.
Toby was not in the kitchen. His plate of food sat by the refrigerator, untouched. Erica shook her head. What was wrong with that crazy cat today? She placed the cloth on the bench and opened the refrigerator. Nigel would be home any minute and she hadn’t even begun to think about what to prepare for dinner.
Right on cue, she heard Nigel’s car pull up outside and the vehicle’s motor was switched off. She knew his routine by now. He would walk over to the woodpile and collect some wood for the woodstove before coming inside. The old stove had proved to be an excellent cooker, and the young couple enjoyed making their dinner on the stovetop each night. The fact that it heated their water too was an added bonus.
“Erica! Erica! Are you all right?” Nigel’s voice was frantic. He ran into the kitchen and grabbed her by the shoulders, scanning her face. “What happened here today?”
Erica was puzzled. “Nothing happened. It was just an ordinary day. What’s the matter with you?”
Nigel’s face was pale. “It’s Toby.”
Erica looked around the kitchen. “He was here just a minute ago. Though he hasn’t eaten his dinner, which isn’t like him …”
“No Erica, listen to me. Toby’s dead.”
She stared at her husband for several long minutes, not understanding what he was saying. Toby had been right here just moments ago. She had stroked his fur and spoken to him.
“He’s dead. His body is by the woodpile,” Nigel said gently. “I’m sorry, Erica.”
“But, how? I want to see him,” Erica demanded.
“I don’t think that is wise. It looks like some kind of wild animal has gotten to him.”
“I want to see him,” she repeated firmly.
Nigel swallowed hard and took Erica’s hand, drawing her out the back door and to the stack of wood by the porch.
Erica gasped as she saw poor Toby’s tattered and bloody body lying limp beside a log. She dropped to her knees, tears running down her face. “Oh God, Nigel. It wasn’t a wild animal that did this. Look!” She pointed a trembling finger to the stick that protruded from Toby’s body.
Erica pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. Nigel had buried Toby under a rose bush in the garden and then lit the woodstove. Despite the relative warmth of the day, Erica was still chilled.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Nigel’s voice was gentle.
“I think so. But who could have done such a thing? It happened so quickly. Toby was here, and then he was gone. It could have only been a matter of minutes. Something happened just before he died, too. There was a bloodstain on the hearth in the living room. I went to get a cloth to clean it up and when I returned it was gone. And I heard the whispering again. I hear it often. It sends shivers down my spine.”
“I’ve been hearing the whispering too.”
Erica stared at her husband. “You have? You never said anything.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. I’ve heard it in the house and also outside in the yard. And do you remember that yellow mist you saw when we first arrived?”
Erica nodded, pulling the blanket more tightly around her. “Yes, I do. I’ve seen that again several times.”
“Me too. It moves in a way that is almost alive. It scares the shit out of me. There is something wrong with this house. I thought you were imagining things, but after today… Erica, I don’t think it was a person who did that to Toby.” Nigel looked drawn and worried. “I’m concerned about your safety here when I’m not around. This is the first violent thing that has happened, but what if there is more to come?”
“What do you mean, you don’t think it was a person who killed him?”
Nigel took a deep breath. “As I buried him, I saw that his heart had been torn out. It hadn’t been cut out. I doubt that a person would have had the strength to reach through an animal’s fur and muscle to tear its heart out.”
Erica felt sick. The room spun dizzily around her. She shut her eyes for a moment.
“Yvonne never told us about the history of the place, did she? Do you think something awful happened here? The house feels wrong to me, but I’ve never dared say anything and I guess I got used to it. Something evil hangs over the house. I’m sure of it now. Perhaps that is the reason we got such a good deal on the property.” Nigel looked thoughtful.
Erica wanted to agree. She too had felt and seen things. Items were moved and at first she thought she was tired but it still happened, and then with the mist, the whispering and occasionally the temperature would just drop, she was worried.
“I’ll go into the village tomorrow and see Yvonne. She must know something,” she said.
Chapter 13
“There is something wrong with that house you sold us. There’s something there—I don’t know, something evil. I want to know the history of the place,” Erica was speaking, the words rushing out of her, before she’d even shut the door to the estate agents office.
Yvonne looked up from her desk in surprise. “Oh, Erica, how lovely to see you again. I’m sorry; did you have an appointment? You see, I have a very full schedule today.” Yvonne looked a little shifty. She quickly stood up and reached for her handbag.
“Sit down.”
Yvonne sat back down again quickly, the young woman’s tone leaving no room for argument. “I don’t know the history of the house,” she said quickly.
Erica slumped down into the chair opposite Yvonne and leaned across her desk, staring directly into her face. “I’m sure you do,” she said firmly.
Across the room another agent, a man had been staring at them. Erica watched as the suited man cleared his throat and looked away. Yvonne fiddled with the papers on the desk in front of her.
“Yvonne? I want to know. I have a right to know. If the house has a bad past, a history, I have to know what it is.”
Yvonne sighed. She suddenly
looked a lot older than her years. “All right. Give me a few minutes.” She stood up and walked over to a large gray filing cabinet standing to one side of the office.
Erica waited, her body once more full of energy. Adrenaline had her coiled and ready for fight or flight. Taking a deep breath she clenched and unclenched her fists and told her body to be calm. It helped a little. If she was to get the most information out of the situation she needed to be rational.
Yvonne was clearly hiding something, and she was determined to find out what it was, what was wrong with the house. After Toby’s death and her conversation with Nigel the previous evening, she now knew for a fact that she had not been imagining things. She was exhausted, hardly having a full night’s sleep since they arrived at the house. All the strange goings on and the unexplained happenings had been slowly driving her to breaking point and all the time she had told herself it was nothing. It wasn’t, and she needed to be given a reason for everything that had happened.
Yvonne glanced at the man at the other desk and Erica saw them exchange a look. Once more he turned away as Yvonne walked back to her desk carrying a sheaf of papers. Dropping them on her desk she sat down heavily. For a few moments she shuffled through the pages, her eyes fixed down at her desk, and then she looked back at Erica and swallowed.
“The house was built in the early 1800s for a childless couple, Mr. and Mrs. Forsyth. He was very wealthy, and after he died Mrs. Forsyth remained in the house. She had beautiful gardens and well-tended lawns and always kept the property looking immaculate. There was a monastery not far from the property, and as she grew older the monks would often help her out with the gardens. She was very appreciative of their support, and when she died she bequeathed the estate to the monastery to do with it as they saw fit.”