by T J Podger
Many hours later, Adrian finally arrived at the small village pub he’d booked to stay in.
Chapter Three
For the first couple of days, Adrian wandered around the property on his own, making notes as he did. He listed all the areas of concern and what was immediately required to allow them to move in quickly. No matter how many times he wrapped a scarf around his neck, he couldn’t shake off the chill that descended as soon as he walked through the front door. The wind still whistled through the windowpanes, making eerie sounds as if the rooms contained whispered voices. As a horror writer, Adrian was sure his imagination was in overdrive and vowed to use the experience in the next book.
Each evening Adrian joined diners in the bar for a meal and a pint of local ale. He made friends with some locals who baulked at the idea he was taking on the house and warned him of a dreary past. Every house as old as North Berwick House would have a past, he reasoned, and bearing in mind that past was during the war for part, he was sure there were some horror stories to hear. As much as it was the genre he wrote and loved to read, he wasn’t convinced there were spooks and ghouls walking among the living. It was fantasy and overactive imaginations he’d scoff.
“Mark my words, young Adrian, there is nothing evil about that house,” he’d been told. Mack was an elderly man, a farmer whose land bordered the grounds the house sat in. He had been rolling his eyes as stories had been told.
After the warnings, the chaps played a round of darts. Despite being fairly good, Adrian lost and handed over a crisp pound note towards the next round of drinks. He enjoyed his time with his new friends, despite their reservations toward the house. Once it had been renovated, decorated, perhaps had a couple of children running around it, the house would take on a new life and a new feel, he convinced himself.
Once the landlady had discovered Adrian was an author, she had taken it upon herself to ensure everyone locally knew they had a famous writer in their midst. The pub became a little hub for those wanting to meet him and this, of course, buoyed both Adrian and the landlady’s till.
It had been near sunset when the first of a few remarkable events happened. Adrian was discussing the kitchen renovations with a builder when the builder stopped mid-sentence.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
Adrian strained his ears. “All I can hear is the wind coming down that chimney,” he replied.
“No, something other than that. Do you have a cat?”
For a moment both stood still and quiet and, surprisingly, Adrian heard a faint meow. Both men looked to the floor. The sound seemed to seep up from between their feet.
“There must be one in the basement,” Adrian stated, then started to walk to the wooden door beside the range.
It wasn’t a room Adrian liked to visit, he had a distinct dislike of all things dark and damp but he had company, and he was, after all, the famous horror author, he had to show some gumption. He made his way down the wooden steps, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness as he went. Thankfully, behind him came a beam of light as the builder turned on a torch. They descended to a moss-covered damp floor with puddles.
“There’s water coming in here somewhere,” the builder stated, an obvious fact Adrian could have easily worked out himself.
“There is a lake nearby, perhaps this house is on a water table?”
The builder hummed in that annoying way that meant a large estimation was on the horizon. “I think it might be you’re sitting on a well.”
Both men scanned the room for a cat. Although empty, there were some shelves built onto the back wall that held some boxes. Adrian slopped through the water, trying hard not to get his new brown brogues sopping wet. The boxes were made of cardboard and none had a locked lid, he didn’t believe a cat could be stuck inside one but he tapped the sides just in case. Not a peep was heard.
“I don’t know. I don’t think the sound came from down here, but I’m glad we’ve come to take a look,” Adrian said, watching the builder lick the end of his pencil and make notes.
Soon enough it became too dark to take any more notes, but it was decided that Adrian would need to see if there was indeed a well under or near the house. The more time he spent with that builder, the more he actually liked him. He certainly liked his idea of tapping into the well for water instead of buying from the supplier. As they made their way outside, Adrian instructed the builder to start work on the kitchen so there was at least one useable room.
Adrian decided another evening in the company of the landlady and a pint of ale was in order. He should have been writing, he’d admonished himself, but the little freedom he was experiencing seemed to overtake his rational thoughts and the deadline he was under.
The following morning and with a heavy head, Adrian decided to spend the day at the house. He was sure he could clean up some areas, perhaps get a couple of fires going if he could find some wood, and make some minor repairs. In the boot of his car he travelled with a small tool kit, enough to change a tire if needed, but he was sure there would be one or two items he could use. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and opened the front door.
The same eeriness curled itself around him but he shook it off. It felt damp, he was writing a horror story in time for Halloween the following year, it was an old house, and he’d listened to daft folklore. He listed all the reasons to ignore his gut. Since the kitchen was to be the hub, and the first room for the builder, he’d decided to start there. He was sure he could remove old shelves and cupboards, limit the time the builders would need to ‘prep’ the room before decorating and rebuilding cupboards. He wanted to take a good look at the range, and he’d hoped it might be fixable. Agnes had always wanted a range after spending many an evening sitting in front of her aunt’s on a winter day. She’d raved on and on about one but their cottage kitchen simply didn’t have the room. Adrian decided to surprise her with a working range by the time she came to visit.
He was pleased to see, finally, the electricity had been turned on. The utility company had dragged their feet, insisting the whole house needed to be upgraded first. As Adrian had argued, the house couldn’t be upgraded without any form of power for tools. Back and forth they’d gone until Adrian had got past the jobsworth to someone who agreed. He chuckled as he flicked the light on and off. He stopped chuckling when the light continued to flicker even after he moved away from the switch.
“Damned wiring, I bet,” he mumbled to himself.
An hour of cleaning later, Adrian at least had a table and chairs to sit at and worktops bare of dust to make tea on. He slapped his hands together to brush off the dirt before deciding on a nice cup of tea. Perhaps a refrigerator ought to be one of the first purchases. While his tea brewed, Adrian crouched down and opened the large door of the range. With a shriek, he fell back onto his bottom. Two eyes stared at him, he wanted to slam shut the door but couldn’t reach. It took a moment for his brain to register what he was seeing. He reached in and pulled out a naked doll, charred and melted in places. The doll had no hair but two startling green eyes that looked remarkably clean in comparison to the rest of the grubby body. He threw the doll into the sink and shook his head.
“Who would put a doll in an oven?” he asked out loud. Perhaps a breath of fresh air would settle his racing nerves.
Adrian took his tea and opened the back door. He walked to the corner of the property and between two trees spotted a little wooden hood above a stone wall.
“The well, I bet,” he said, excitedly. He raced across the lawn.
Looking down, all Adrian saw was darkness. He placed his mug on the wall and looked around. Locating what he was after, he dropped the stone into the middle of the dark hole. It took a while before he heard a satisfying plop. A well with water could be a useful thing, he thought. He reached out to grab the rope that also fell into the water and started to pull. The handle it was attached to had long since deteriorated and was stuck firm. He pulled and pulled until he saw the shape of the buck
et coming up through the gloom. As it got closer he shrieked again. Inside was a skeleton, a small one, possibly a cat or dog. He wrenched the bucket over the side and tipped the contents onto the ground. Bones scattered and he prayed it was pure coincidence that had the trees rustle at the same time.
“Get a grip, Adrian,” he said, giving himself a firm talking to.
Obviously, an animal had sadly fallen into the bucket and perhaps the weight had then sent it spiralling down as far as the rope would go. Whatever had happened, it seemed to have been a long time ago. Adrian used the toe of his shoe to gently shuffle the bones, looking for some sort of collar; he found none. He’d need to remove those before Agnes arrived, she was a sensitive soul and would weep and mourn the loss of the animal as if it had just happened. Adrian took his tea back into the kitchen and started to remove the rest of the kitchen cupboards.
A nice pile of wood had started to form and Adrian decided he might try to light a fire. In the kitchen, the library, and the main parlour were open fires. He was sure the chimneys would need to be cleaned at some point. The chill and dampness wasn’t helping his joints, so he was sure it wasn’t helping the house. It felt like it needed to dry out. He broke up more pieces of wood; small enough to use as kindling and searched for matches. Some of the kitchen drawers contained utensils and he hoped to strike lucky. He didn’t but decided to check the boot of his car. Agnes was ace at packing for all eventualities on some of their many trips.
Adrian would have kissed her had Agnes been there when he happened upon a large box of kitchen matches stored in a small side pocket of the boot. In addition, he found a newspaper from a week or so previous. As he made his way back to the house, he looked up. The weak autumn sun glinted off an upstairs window creating a shadow. He laughed, the shadow moved as if someone had stepped away out of sight. He checked the sky, indeed the sun had just moved behind a cloud. It was time to rid the house of its coldness, although he suspected to start with, he might have to fan the smoke up the chimney. The wooden doors he wanted to use for firewood also had dampness about them.
It took some effort, with Adrian on his knees blowing into the crackling kindling and newspaper, before a flame arose. Once it did, Adrian piled on some wood. For a moment, all went well. The wood had been burning nicely until a pile of black ash fell down the chimney smothering the flames and coating Adrian and part of the kitchen floor. That was the gamble he’d taken when lighting the fire, what was to come, wasn’t. The sound of squawks and hisses rose in volume until a flock of black birds swirled around him. He covered his head with his arms, for fear of being pecked, as he raced for the kitchen door. It was jammed shut, something that had happened before but with a little effort had been easily released. No amount of pulling and cursing was having it open.
The sound was deafening. Adrian tried to run to the other side of the room and stumbled on the debris he’d left after dismantling the kitchen cupboards. Birds flew around his head, pecking at his hands in anger at being smoked out of their home. The crescendo of their caws had started to hurt his ears. He waved his arms, shouted, and fought his way through the flock to the window. He reached over the sink and grabbed the handle however, the window was wrenched open from the outside and the birds managed to escape.
“Whatever are you doing, man?” he heard. Adrian had slumped over the sink.
“I thought a fire might be a good idea,” he replied weakly, while inspecting the small cuts to the backs of his hands. He finally looked up to see Mack standing outside.
“I have some brushes, I’ll be back shortly,” he said, before heading back to the small van parked alongside Adrian’s car.
It took all of the time Mack had been gone for Adrian’s heart to calm down, although there was still a shake to his hands when Mack presented him with a pint of milk and asked for a cup of tea.
“I don’t know the last time these would have been cleaned. You had a whole nest of them damn crows up there,” Mack said, as pieces of nest fell to the hearth.
“I know, they bloody well attacked me,” Adrian replied, to which, Mack chuckled. “I found a dead animal in the well bucket earlier. Do you think that might have polluted the water?”
“Was the bucket wet?” Mack asked.
“No…I don’t think so. So I’m guessing it hadn’t lowered enough to hit the water,” he said, answering his own question. “Anyway, was there a reason you called? Not that I’m not extremely grateful, of course.”
“Ay, I was thinking. I don’t like you being here on your own, so I thought you could do with some help and company.”
“I very much appreciate that, Mack.”
Adrian sat and continued to watch Mack clean the chimney with his brushes and then, finally, relight the fire. The black soot coating the floor would have to wait for another day. Eventually, the two sat to enjoy a cup of tea. Mack started to laugh.
“If you could see yourself,” he chuckled and shook his head.
Adrian had no doubt he was covered in soot and decided the only thing for it was to raise his woollen tank top and wipe. He began to chuckle along with Mack. “I guess I ought to stick to writing books,” he said.
The room was warming nicely, but in doing so, the building was cracking and creaking as the plaster walls and wooden beams started to dry out a little. Adrian added more wood and he and Mack finished removing all the shelves and rotten cupboards. Mack questioned Adrian on the doll and threw it out the window when told it was found in the oven. He mumbled something and Adrian was sure it was a curse word.
Once again, as the sun began to set, Mack took his leave and Adrian finished the last clearing up before leaving himself. It was as he walked back to the car that he remembered both the doll and the skeleton. He grabbed a paper grocery bag from the boot and headed back. Although he scoured, he couldn’t find the doll and assumed he had been wrong when he thought Mack had simply thrown it out the window. Perhaps he had collected it for disposal when he’d left. Adrian sighed and walked towards the well. He stood staring at the ground. Not one bone could be seen, however, in the watery mud were small animal footprints. Adrian shivered. The ground hadn’t been wet before, it hadn’t rained and there should have been the skeleton of a cat or small dog in place of the footprints. He could only assume something had come along and perhaps eaten the bones. As ridiculous as that sounded, it was what he firmly placed into his mind.
Two days later the kitchen was ready for Stan, the builder, to start work. Adrian had telephoned Agnes the previous evening and brought her up to date on developments. He didn’t tell her about the crows, the skeleton, or the meow that had he and the builder investigating a very damp basement. Agnes was full of joy, she wanted to post up a sketch of how she’d like the kitchen to be set out, and Adrian promised to meet the postman and hand the sketch to the builder. Adrian deliberately failed to mention how uncomfortable the house made him feel, how he had started to keep the radio, that he had borrowed from the pub, on loud to drown out the creaks, whispers, and meows he still believed he could hear. He had scoured for the damn cat, convinced it was in the house somewhere. The fact it was able to make a noise told Adrian that at least it could get in and out, and once he’d come across some mice droppings, he welcomed the cat.
Stan had broken down the critical work and the cost had Adrian wince. If the roof wasn’t repaired it didn’t matter what he did inside, come the winter it would be ruined. So the first of a long list of repairs was started.
Adrian spent the day at the house and the evening sharing a pint with the locals before dinner and attempting to write. He’d received notification from his publisher, enquiring as to the whereabouts of his manuscript. He was at least a few thousand words from completing and now a week over the due date. Thankfully, he wasn’t easily contactable. Although he had given the telephone number of the pub to Agnes, she was under strict instruction not to pass it on. He’d told her he was too busy with the house to take calls and she had accepted that. As long as her p
recious house was being worked on, she didn’t seem to care what fallout was happening around it. Adrian had moaned to the landlady the previous evening about Agnes’ infatuation with the house. He remembered her placing her hand kindly on his arm and giving a gentle squeeze in commiseration. He liked Joan, and by the way she laughed at his pathetic jokes, he guessed she liked him, too.
Chapter Four
Adrian was confused by the sense of anger and disappointment that flowed over him when he learned Agnes would be joining him soon. The house had been let to a lovely young couple, the husband was still recovering from losing a limb in the war, and Agnes felt sorry enough to allow them a cheaper rent. Her constant ‘taking over’ of their lives had begun to irritate him greatly. He was the man about the house and perhaps it was time to put his foot down a little more. Maybe it was time to have a frank conversation. Adrian nodded his head, although a small thought niggled him. He wouldn’t be having the stern talking to he would like because he loved and respected his wife. It was the early 1950s and women were becoming more dominant. He secretly loved that idea but would have liked to have been part of the process in his own home. He fluctuated between frustration and admiration where Agnes was concerned. He chuckled to himself.
“What you laughing at there, Adrian?” he heard.
Adrian sat at the bar sipping on a pint, his second of that hour, when Mack came to join him. They had become firm friends in the time Adrian had been in North Berwick.