Restless Dead (Harry Grimm Book 5)

by David J Gatward

  ‘You’re just angry, Dad,’ Ruth said. ‘That’s normal. How can you be anything else? It’s okay, really it is.’

  ‘Angry?’ James laughed, the sound of it twisting his voice into a manic cry. ‘I’m absolutely bloody livid, is what I am, Ruth! Raging inside like you wouldn’t bloody believe! So, don’t you go expecting me to stand over your mother’s body and send prayers to Heaven! I begged for help, I begged for her life! I even offered mine in her place, did I tell you that? Well, I did, and yet here we are!’

  James watched as tears rolled down the pale cheeks of his daughter’s face. He turned around to climb into his vehicle, only to hear another voice join in.

  ‘You can’t just leave, Dad. It’s wrong. This is Mum’s funeral. It’s important.’

  Patricia’s voice was all knives and ice, James noticed as he sat down behind the steering wheel. He made to pull the door shut behind him, but Patricia was in the way now, Ruth standing behind her.

  ‘Best you just let me go, lass,’ he said. ‘Please. I don’t want an argument. I just want to go home, back to where Helen is. Where I can still feel her, that’s all.’

  ‘No, Dad,’ Patricia said. ‘I won’t. It’s like Ruth said, we need you! And even though I know you won’t admit it, you bloody well need us, too! I mean, why on earth do you think Dan and I have given up our time? It’s not for fun, it’s to help! So you need to listen.’

  James tugged at the door, but Patricia had her whole body against it now and was leaning in close. Then Ruth joined in.

  ‘Mum loved you, Dad,’ Ruth said, and James heard the tears and pain in her voice. ‘And you loved her. You need to say goodbye.’

  ‘No,’ James said. ‘I won’t. I can’t.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Patricia said, backing up her sister. ‘Mum loved you more than anyone ever could. But she’s gone and we need to deal with that, deal with it together. So come on, out of the car, and back to where you should be. Everyone’s waiting.’

  James tried again with the door.

  ‘I loved her so much,’ he said. ‘She was my everything. I don’t know what to do. I just don’t!’

  ‘Then come back with us,’ Ruth said. ‘You have to, you know that, don’t you? For Mum’s sake, for your own?’

  James turned to get out of the car, but then his eyes saw what lay behind his two daughters, the graveyard, the mourners, and all he could see then was himself falling into that grave, tumbling down into the musty, damp darkness, Helen somewhere off ahead of him, both of them falling now, and him just screaming, desperate to reach her, to bring her back, and that darkness just going on and on and on, never ending, a bleak nothingness swallowing them both whole.

  Overcome with rage and grief, James slammed the car door too hard. Patricia stumbled back into Ruth, who lost her footing, then tumbled backwards and fell onto the road. She stared back up at him, confusion and hurt in her eyes, as Patricia went to her aid.

  James paused, thought about helping her up, but then the grief crashed in on him once again, and the next thing he knew he was heading back down into Hawes, and on towards home, where memories waited for him in every room like ghosts.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The funeral was over and done with, and now, on the evening of the very same day, James knew exactly what the rest of the family were thinking about him, about what they were doing, but right there and then he simply didn’t care. Not in a mean way, more that he just didn’t have the space in his head right now to be dealing with it. They were all dealing with the shock of Helen’s death in their own way, and this was his, wasn’t it? So, the best they could do, as far as he was concerned, was to let him get on with it.

  It was certainly healthier than Patricia’s approach, he thought. As she had done with everything throughout her whole life, she’d simply buried whatever she was feeling good and deep, and that was where it would stay. James often wondered if at some point his eldest daughter would suffer a nervous breakdown, on account of everything she had bottled up over the years, like a bottle of fizzy pop, shaken up so much that it finally just explodes.

  As for Ruth, she was probably the most normal of them all, wearing her emotions for all to see. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d found her crying. Anthony was being strong for his mum. He was sad, that was obvious, but the death of a grandparent was still a little distant, wasn’t it? And looking after his mum, well, that was a good thing.

  Dan, James just couldn’t read. He was all concern and sincerity on the surface, but he’d never really got to know the man. That probably had little to do with him and more to do with Patricia’s urge to live as far away as possible from the dales and to only visit if she really had to. And he was very interested in the house, this time, wasn’t he?

  ‘So, what happens now, then?’ Patricia asked, her voice as warm as the grey ash of a long-dead fire, damp from the rain and hidden in the sweet darkness of the trees.

  They were all in the lounge, sprawled out on various sofas and chairs. Anthony was lost in a game on his phone, plugged into his wireless headphones.

  ‘We’re just waiting for Beverly,’ James said, looking at the clock above the fireplace. ‘She’s due at eight.’

  ‘And I’m sure she’ll be fashionably late,’ Patricia said, ‘and blame it on some nonsense like her chakras being out of alignment or something.’

  ‘If you don’t want to be here, then you don’t have to be,’ James said. ‘I’m not forcing you to stay.’

  ‘Oh, I’m staying alright,’ Patricia said. ‘I want to make sure that whatever this woman is here to do, that she doesn’t get one single chance to make a fool of you, or any of us, for that matter.’

  James wanted to say more but knew there was little point. Patricia was an expert at sitting in any room and absorbing all the light and warmth. It was hard to believe that she could ever have been born of someone as warm and caring as Helen. He loved her, of course, he did, he just didn’t understand her, and that bothered him. And it probably always would, he thought.

  A knock at the front door had everyone looking to James.

  ‘Right on time,’ he said, heading out of the lounge.

  ‘And why does she insist on using that door?’ Patricia said. ‘Everyone uses the one around the back. Everyone! It’s like she wants to make some kind of grand entrance, isn’t it? And did you see what she was wearing? All those bangles and scarves. Ridiculous! She may as well just wear an enormous I Talk to The Dead badge, for goodness sake!’

  James came back into the room with Beverly behind him.

  ‘Everyone’s here,’ he said. ‘So long as that’s okay.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Beverly said, then said hello to everyone else, before walking calmly over to the windows. She stood there for a moment, staring out into the darkness, before drawing the curtains closed, shutting the night out completely. She then walked slowly across the floor back to join everyone else.

  ‘Look, I can’t say that I understand any of this,’ Ruth said, walking over towards Beverly as she came back from the curtains, ‘but if it helps dad deal with what happened? Then, I’ll support it.’

  James smiled a thank you to his daughter.

  ‘Where do you want us?’ Dan asked.

  Beverly looked around the room then pointed at the coffee table in front of the fire. ‘If we could pull the chairs around that, I think we’ll be fine.’

  ‘Anthony?’ Ruth said, reaching over to tap her son on his head. ‘You joining us?’

  He pulled his earphones out and looked up at Beverly.

  ‘Are we doing a Ouija board?’ he asked. ‘Awesome!’

  Beverly laughed. ‘Too many horror films, right?’

  ‘No Ouija, then?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, no,’ Beverly said.

  James asked for Dan to help and they shuffled and moved the chairs and sofas until they had them in a rough circle around the coffee table.

  ‘Do you have those items I asked for?’ Beverly
asked.

  ‘I do,’ James said and pointed at a sideboard on the other side of the room. ‘In the drawer, over there.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Beverly said. ‘Now, if you could all just give me a couple of minutes alone, that would be great.’

  ‘Alone?’ Patricia said. ‘Why could you possibly need to be alone in here?’

  James watched as a patient smile slipped across Beverly’s face.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘it’s nothing to do with getting rid of negative energies and auras or anything like that. I just need a moment to myself, to collect my thoughts, so that I’m fully focused on why we’re here.’

  ‘Dad?’ Patricia said. ‘Are you really sure about this?’

  ‘I am,’ James said. ‘So come on, let’s give her a couple of minutes, shall we?’

  Out in the hallway, no one said a word and James noticed how everyone was avoiding catching someone else’s eyes. When Beverly called them back in, it was clear that everyone was relieved just to be getting on with it.

  ‘Right then,’ Beverly said, ‘if we can all take a seat, I think we’ll get started.’

  James was first to sit, taking a seat closest to the fire, with his back to the window, followed by Ruth and Anthony, then Dan. Patricia stayed on her feet. He saw that the coffee table was covered in a white cotton shawl covering three items.

  ‘Honestly, if you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be,’ James said. ‘It really doesn’t matter.’

  Beverly said, ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’

  At this, James watched his daughter’s eyes almost pop out of her skull.

  ‘Afraid? Why the hell would I be afraid? Are you mad?’

  ‘Then just sit down, please,’ James said. ‘Or go. But decide.’

  At last, Patricia sat down, thumping herself onto the sofa beside Dan.

  Beverly took a seat in the last remaining chair. And it didn’t escape James’ notice that it was the one she had sat in earlier that day, the one Helen had so often fallen asleep in, over by the window.

  ‘I need everyone to join hands,’ Beverly said, and reached left and right, taking hold of James and Patricia’s hands.

  James was fairly sure that Patricia was about to snap her hand back, but he saw a nudge from Dan stop her.

  Around the circle, hands were joined.

  ‘Excellent,’ Beverly said, then she released the hold she had of James and removed the shawl from the table to show the items which were hidden beneath it.

  ‘Mum’s wedding ring,’ Ruth said.

  ‘That’s a great photo of Nana,’ Anthony said.

  The other item was the book she had taken during her previous visit.

  ‘I asked James to provide these for this evening,’ Beverly said. ‘It will give us all something to focus on.’

  ‘Now what?’ Patricia asked. ‘We just stare at them, do we, while you mutter some mumbo jumbo and pretend you’re communing with the dead?’

  ‘Something like that, yes,’ said Beverly, ‘but without the mumbo jumbo I hope.’

  James was impressed with how Beverly was so totally unphased by his daughter’s attempts to scupper what she was here to do. It was almost worth having her here just for that. Almost.

  ‘I need to ask everyone to close their eyes,’ Beverly said. ‘I’m not going to do anything to you, and I can’t anyway, because my hands are being held. It will just allow us to not be distracted.’

  ‘But we can’t see what’s on the table,’ Dan said.

  ‘No, you can’t,’ Beverly said, ‘but you know they’re there, don’t you? And when you close your eyes, you’ll be aware of them, more so, actually. Because of what they represent, and whom.’

  James closed his eyes, intent on leading by example, but then opened them again just a few moments later, to make sure everyone had followed suit. And, to his surprise, they actually had. Even Patricia.

  ‘Now,’ Beverly said, ‘what I want everyone to do, is to try and empty their minds—’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake . . .’ Patricia sighed.

  ‘Patricia, please!’ Ruth said. ‘Just go with it, okay? For Dad?’

  James squeezed Ruth’s hand and felt a squeeze in return.

  ‘As I said,’ Beverly said again, her voice calm and soft, ‘I want everyone to empty their minds, and to focus on Helen. A mother, a wife, a grandmother, a friend. Just think about what she meant to you, who she was, her voice, the times you spent together.’

  James heard a sniffle at his side from Ruth.

  ‘Good,’ Beverly said. ‘Now, if we can all just think about what we would say to Helen if she were here now, how we would greet her if she came into the room to join us . . .’

  James’ mind wasn’t empty, it was full. Bursting with memories of Helen. He could see her and feel her, and there, yes right there, wasn’t that her perfume? And oh, that laugh! It was music, wasn’t it? God, he missed her. How could he ever be expected to live without her? It was impossible! But these memories, they were so rich, so wonderful, that he didn’t want them to stop, and the only way for that to even be, was for him to continue, wasn’t it? He had to live, surely, to experience them?

  ‘Now,’ Beverly said, ‘I want you all to keep your eyes closed, to keep your minds focused on Helen, and to let go of each other, and to sit back, to relax, to just sink into those memories . . .’

  James let go, sat back, felt the tears warm on his cheeks.

  Then came the sharp sound of something tapping at the window, and even Patricia screamed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘What the bloody hell was that?’ Dan said, his voice like the sharp bark of a dog.

  ‘Keep your eyes closed!’ Beverly snapped back, and Anthony, who had said he’d join in, not just to support his mum, but because it all sounded like a bit of a laugh, something to actually talk about at school, maybe even make him a little more popular—though that wouldn’t exactly be difficult, would it?—was now not too sure about any of it. He almost considered heading back to the cottage and to his room, because there was always Call of Duty to play, wasn’t there? But something kept him in his seat—a mix of fear, not wanting to leave his mum, and just enough inquisitiveness to have him wondering what might happen next.

  ‘But what was it?’ Anthony asked.

  ‘Please,’ Beverly said, ‘if we can all focus on Helen, that would be really helpful.’

  Anthony wanted to open his eyes, not just to look at everyone else, but to also make sure that there wasn’t some hideous apparition floating around the place. Though seeing that really would be something to chat about on the bus to school, wouldn’t it?

  The tap came again, this time not just one single knock, but a quick rat-tat-tat.

  ‘Is that Helen?’ James asked and Anthony heard the desperation in his Granddad’s voice. ‘Is that her? It can’t be, can it? But is it? Is it really her?’

  ‘We need to all be quiet,’ Beverly said, ‘so that I can hear if someone is trying to come through from the other side,’ and Anthony noticed that the cheery, relaxed voice she’d entered the room with earlier, had now been replaced with something a little more on edge. And that didn’t exactly make him feel good about what was happening.

  For a moment, everyone was quiet and Anthony found himself focusing now on every tiny sound in the room and the house beyond. He heard creaks and taps he’d never noticed before. The wind outside was howling around a fair bit as well, and then he was thinking back to the numerous horror films he’d watched, most without his mum knowing. And if there was one thing he’d learned, other than to never go into a dark cellar to investigate a strange noise, was that séances, contacting the dead in any way at all, well, that was never a good thing in the movies, was it? Creaking floorboards, squeaking doors, taps against the window, usually all meant the same thing: someone was about to die. And horribly.

  Anthony took a deep breath and tried to get his imagination back under control. But it wasn’t easy.
>
  ‘Helen?’

  The voice was Beverley’s, but there was something else about it, Anthony noticed, an echo maybe? No, that was stupid, of course, there wasn’t an echo! But it didn’t sound quite right, did it? It was Beverley, but also not, and that thought made no sense to him at all.

  ‘Helen, are you there?’

  Beverley’s voice was back to normal now and Anthony figured he’d just been hearing things that weren’t really there. Which was a relief.

  ‘This is a safe place, Helen,’ Beverley continued. ‘A place of love, of family.’

  Was the room getting warm? Anthony thought. Or was he making that up as well? It was entirely possible. But he did feel warmer, he was sure of it.

  ‘Helen . . .’

  Another tap, then another, and another, coming from the window, and whatever warmth Anthony had just been feeling disappeared in an instant as a raking shiver drove itself up his spine, goosebumps sending his skin into an uncanny tingle.

  ‘I’m going to have a look,’ Dan said.

  ‘No!’ Beverley shouted. ‘Do not break the circle!’

  ‘Don’t you dare move!’ shouted James, and Anthony noticed that desperation again in his grandad’s voice for whatever it was they were doing to actually work.

  Dan didn’t move and Anthony was relieved that his uncle had decided to listen to his granddad. It was because of him they were doing any of this after all, wasn’t it? But that was something he’d always noticed about his uncle and aunt, and that was how they really did seem to think that world revolved around them.

  ‘It’s probably just a bird,’ Anthony said, attempting to help keep Dan sitting down. ‘They tap at the windows sometimes, eating bugs and stuff.’