by Cross, Amy
I keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Waiting.
What if...
“I'll fetch you some more,” Nana continues, and the legs of her chair scrape against the wooden floorboards as she gets to her feet. As she passes the dresser, she reaches out and turns a dial on the radio, and music starts playing. “That's better, isn't it?” she adds as she disappears into the kitchen. “We don't want to sit in silence all evening.”
She heard.
I'm sure of it.
She heard the creaking sound, and that's why she's suddenly making lots of noise. I want to go over and turn the radio off, so I can listen again, but I suppose she'd only insist that we listen to more of this old-fashioned music. She's even making lots of noise in the kitchen, singing away to herself, and I get the feeling that she really doesn't want to hear any more silence in the house.
And yet, as the music continues to play, I swear I hear another creaking sound coming from upstairs. I look up at the ceiling again, and I can't shake the feeling that it sounds like someone's very slowly creeping about up there.
Chapter Seven
Diane
“Where's Daniel?”
Mum turns to me, and for a moment she seems startled that I've come to intrude during her post-dinner sit-down. She's got the Radio Times in her hands, and old dance-hall music is playing at low volume on the radio. There's an almost-empty bottle of red wine on the floor, next to the chair, and an almost-empty glass on the coffee table. I guess some things, and some people, never change.
“He went outside,” she explains. “He washed up first, like a good boy, and then he asked if he could go out and play. You were still... Well, you were still wherever you were, so I told him he could play outside until it gets dark.”
“I'm sorry I had to leave the table,” I reply, stepping over to the window and peering out.
There's no sign of Daniel, but that's fine. He's a smart boy, and he won't have gone too far.
“Were you feeling sick?”
“I'm fine.”
“Do you remember when you used to go out and play after dinner, Diane?” she asks. “It's funny how children take after their parents, isn't it? You know, I'd bet any money in the world that he's playing in that little ash house, just like you used to. The imagination of a child is a wonderful thing. In his mind, that dull little stone house is probably a great castle, or a spaceship of some kind. Anything but what it actually is.”
She continues to go on and on, talking about when I was a child, but I zone out a little as I continue to watch the forest. I can still taste a little blood in my mouth, and I'm not entirely sure my latest bout of nausea is over and done with, but the last thing I need is to spend the entire evening leaning over the toilet bowl, especially when I really need to get some answers from Mum. She's still rabbiting on and on, and I can't help thinking she's trying to control the conversation so that I can't steer us onto a less comfortable topic.
Finally, however, I hear a distant creaking sound, and I look up to the ceiling for a moment before turning to Mum again.
“Are you sure Daniel's playing outside?” I ask.
“I'm sure, darling,” she replies, looking back down at the Radio Times. “Why, do you think it's too cold for him? You can always go and make him come inside. Be a parent. Exercise a little discipline.”
I watch her for a moment, and I can tell she's nervous.
“Mum,” I say cautiously, “do you remember some of the things that people said happened here?”
“I remember a lot, dear,” she replies, turning to another page in the magazine. “I'm not senile, you know. Oh, I haven't done the crossword yet.”
She takes a biro from the table.
“But the things people said they saw here,” I continue, finally bringing up something I've been wanting to mention for a while. “Do you remember Uncle Pete said -”
“Your uncle said a lot of things.”
“I know, but there were a lot of weird noises in this house.”
I wait for her to reply, but of course she doesn't say anything. Instead, she's muttering away to herself, something about 1 across.
“When I was growing up,” I continue, “I was very aware that people had some ideas about this house. People heard things, and a few people even said they saw things. Sometimes... I know this is going to sound weird, but sometimes I felt like I was the only person who never saw anything.”
Again I wait, but she simply continues to mutter about the crossword, as if she's trying to make it very clear that she's not interested. My mother has many special and remarkable talents, and one of them is the inability to hear anything she doesn't want to hear.
“You've been living here alone for ten years now,” I point out. “Mum, in all that time, have you ever heard anything that might -”
“Let's turn that up, shall we?” she mutters, leaning over and turning the radio up, while conspicuously not looking at me. “That's better. Now, are you going to help me out with this crossword or not?”
“When you're here all alone,” I continue, “do you ever hear footsteps in the middle of the night? Or outside? Or do you ever hear, I don't know, coughing? It was coughing people said they heard, wasn't it? Someone coughing.”
I wait, but now it's very clear that she's ignoring me.
“Uncle Pete saw someone once, didn't he?” I add, as the music continues. “What was it he said, again? He saw a little girl, but something wasn't right about her. Not long before he died, but when he still had all his marbles, he told me he'd once seen a ghost here at the house. He said he'd seen a little girl at the top of the stairs, just sitting there on the floor. He said he wasn't scared, he said it was just like meeting someone from -”
“I like this song,” Mum says suddenly, interrupting me as she leans over and turns the radio up. “Don't you like this one, Diane? It's a very pretty melody.”
“Mum, can we please talk about this?” I ask with a sigh. “It's important right now.”
“I always listen to the radio after dinner,” she continues, jotting an answer down. “It's a good way to unwind, isn't it? You should try it some time. Music calms the senses, you know. They're done studies on that.”
“And red wine calms them even more,” I point out. “Between the music and the wine, I bet there could be a hundred ghosts here and you'd never notice. But maybe that's the whole point.”
“They've made it harder this week,” she mutters. “Much harder.”
Realizing that she's determined to change the subject, I head over to the table in the corner and switch the radio off. I feel bad and rude, and ordinarily I wouldn't be so pushy, but I feel as if time is running out. When I turn to Mum, I see that she's still looking at the magazine, and then she clears her throat as she enters another answer into the crossword grid.
“Have you ever seen or heard anything while you've been living here alone?” I ask.
“I've seen and heard lots of things, dear. There's a forest nearby, and the most wonderful wildlife with -”
“I mean in the house. Or in the yard, maybe.”
I wait.
No answer.
“Have you ever felt like you're not alone here?” I continue. “Have you ever heard little noises in the night? Coughing, maybe. Have you -”
“Oh, you are being tiresome,” she replies, still not meeting my gaze. “You know, when you visit somebody's home, you should try a little to fit in with their routine. I don't like having serious conversation in the evenings, Diane. They interfere with my digestion.”
“Uncle Pete said he saw things,” I point out, “and I know a few other people did too. Uncle Pete even said that you'd heard a few noises over the years.”
“Your uncle said a lot of things,” she replies archly. “The man could be rather fanciful.”
“Mum -”
“Oh, does it matter?” she snaps, lowering the Radio Times as she finally turns to me. “Does it? Really?”
; “It does.”
“Why? You never believed in any of that nonsense when you were younger.”
“I never said I didn't.”
“You told me it was rubbish,” she continues. “I remember you in this very room when you were a teenager, going on and on about how your uncle was just trying to scare people with his stories. And everybody else, too. You said they were just making up ghost stories to scare themselves, and that it was a load of hogwash. You were utterly dismissive of the whole thing.”
“Yeah, well that was then,” I reply, “and this is now. I just want to know if you've noticed anything while you've been living alone, Mum. Can't you just answer that question? Or do you keep the radio on too high all the time, so you can't hear?”
“Why does it matter?”
“I just want to know if -”
I catch myself just in time.
“You never fussed about this sort of thing when you were a child,” she continues, looking back down at the crossword. “I always admired that about you, Diane. While your uncle and certain other people were allowing themselves to get wrapped up in foolish notions, you were always steadfast and sensible. I hope that isn't changing as your get older.”
“Maybe I didn't need to believe in ghosts back then,” I whisper.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“There's a new Midsomer Murders at nine,” she continues, squinting a little as she looks at the page. “I think I'll watch that. Will you and Daniel be joining me?”
“Maybe,” I mutter, “but -”
Before I can finish, I hear another very faint creaking sound from the ceiling. It's almost certainly just the boards adjusting to the cooler night air, but I can't help glancing up anyway.
“And let's have this back on until then,” Mum says, leaning over and turning the radio back up. “There, it's nice with some music, isn't it?”
“Mum...”
Sighing, I realize that she's never going to actually talk to me about this, at least not tonight. Figuring that there's no point beating my head against a brick wall, I head to the hallway. I guess it was crazy to think I could get Mum to have a normal conversation on this topic, but I had to at least try.
“Don't forget Midsomer at nine,” she calls after me. “It's a new one!”
“Yeah yeah,” I whisper under my breath, stopping at the window in the hallway and looking out at the darkening forest.
There's no sign of Daniel, but I know he'll be fine out there. After all, I was always fine when I played outside by myself. And maybe he'll see or hear something unusual. Daniel's a good boy. If he told me he'd seen a ghost, I'd believe him.
Chapter Eight
Daniel
After jumping down off the little wall at the side of the house, I trample through the dead leaves as I make my way around to the front. Nana told me I can only play outside for a little while, but although the sky is definitely turning a darker shade of blue, and the air is getting colder, I reckon I'm allowed to be out here for at least a bit longer.
Anyway, if she wants me to go inside, she can always call for me.
Reaching the front of the house, I start making my way toward the driveway. The forest out here looks much the same as the forest at the back. Everything is bathed in a kind of low blue light, and I think I can just about see my own breath as the temperature continues to drop, but I suppose I'll need to explore if I want to find anything interesting. Nana was right when she said the house was far from anywhere else, though, and I can't help thinking that somebody could scream and scream and scream here without being heard.
And then suddenly I stop in my tracks as soon as I see the ash house.
Someone's in there.
I can't explain how I know, but I just know that there's somebody inside. I hesitate, waiting for the sensation to pass, but if anything it grows stronger. I didn't see or hear anyone, but as I continue to stare at the little house's stone wall and higgledy roof, I feel absolutely certain that someone crawled inside just a fraction of a second before I turned to look. It's almost as if I can see the disturbed air they left behind.
I hesitate for a moment, before starting to cautiously make my way over.
When I reach the ash house, I reach out and touch the cold stone. I've been thinking about asking Nana if I can sleep out here some time, maybe in the summer, but right now I'm starting to wonder whether the ash house ever gets warm. The stones feel so cold, much colder than the air, and as I look down at the nearest entrance I still feel that niggling sensation in my gut that tells me somebody is inside. The air still feels disturbed, as if somebody very recently passed this way.
And there are little carvings in the stone.
I lean closer and take a closer look, and I see that I'm right. In some of the cracks between the stones that were used to build the ash house, there are little letters and numbers that have been carefully carved. There are even some little crucifixes. They're very faint, very easy to miss, but when I run a fingertip across them I feel their rough little ridges.
Glancing back toward the main house, I see that there lights are on in the living room. I guess Nana's in her chair, listening to music after dinner. She likes doing the Radio Times crossword.
I look back down at the ash house, and then I take one more cautious step toward the entrance.
“Hello?” I say out loud, even though I feel a little silly. “Is anyone there?”
I wait, but there's no reply.
“My name's Daniel,” I continue. “I live here. Or at least, I think I'm going to live here. It's complicated. Who are you?”
Stopping at the entrance, I listen for any hint of movement from inside.
“This is Nana's land,” I add, “but I think it's okay for you to be here. Does she know you come and play in her ash house, or do you hide from her? I don't mind either way. I was just wondering.”
Silence.
“I think I saw your earlier,” I continue. “From the upstairs window. Where do you live, anyway? What -”
Stopping suddenly, I realize that this is crazy. There's probably nobody inside anyway, which means I'm just standing here talking to myself like an insane person. Sighing, I crouch down to take a look inside, but all I see is the dirty stone floor with lots of twigs and mud all over the place. In the low light, it's difficult to really make much out at all, but I can definitely see a few chunks of stone and some twisting tree roots poking up from the ground.
And a hand.
It takes a moment before I even register properly what I'm seeing, but after a moment I realize that there's a hand poking into view, as if someone is hiding inside the ash house and only their hand is in view. Whoever it is, they must be backed all the way to the wall, as if they expected me to peer through this entrance.
I stare at the hand and see that it seems pretty small, as if it belongs to a child. It's also dirty, with bits of mud caked along the side.
It's the same hand I saw before, from upstairs.
And then, as I watch, the hand slowly slips out of view, as if its owner suddenly realized it could be seen.
I wait, but now there's no sign of movement. If I hadn't seen the hand, I'd never suspect that anyone was inside. I can't even hear anyone breathing.
“Hello?” I call out. “I know you're in there. You might as well come out.”
No reply.
“I saw your hand.”
Just as I'm about to duck down and go inside, however, it occurs to me that it might be funnier if I sneak around to the ash house's other side and go in through that entrance. I can make the person jump, which they totally deserve if they're sneaking about on Nana's land. Besides, it'd be funny.
Taking care not to make any noise, I make my way around the rear of the ash house until I reach the other entrance. Then I hesitate for a moment, getting ready to make this person scream, and finally I duck down and crawl inside.
“Gotcha!” I yell, before stopping as I see that there's no
sign of anyone.
I look all around, but the ash house is empty.
After a moment, I look down at the spot where I saw the hand. For a moment I try to think of anything else it might have been instead, but I quickly realize that I know I wasn't wrong.
Somebody was in here.
And then, suddenly, I hear footsteps rushing away across the dead leaves outside.
“Wait!” I shout, turning and struggling to clamber out.
It's not exactly easy to leave the ash house in a hurry, but finally I get to my feet and look out toward the forest. The footsteps are gone, but my heart is pounding and I know there was someone here. I guess they just got lucky and managed to creep out a few seconds before I crept inside.
But someone was definitely here. I saw a hand. I think it was a little girl's hand.
Chapter Nine
Diane
“So what do you think of the place?” I ask as I tuck Daniel into bed. “It's nice, isn't it? Nana's got a really lovely, really big house.”
“I suppose.”
“You don't think so?”
“It's alright.”
“Did you have fun playing outside?”
He stares up at me, and for a moment he seems poised to say something, but then he just shrugs. I can see from the look in his eyes that he's tired, but also that he's got questions. He must be wondering why we're here, and I imagine he's sensed some of the things I haven't managed to tell him yet.
“Your scarf is loose,” he whispers finally.
“It is?”
Reaching up, I realize that he's right. My headscarf is slipping slightly, so I take a moment to tighten it up. As I do so, my fingers brush against a few wisps of hair that still persist around the back of my head.
“I loved living here when I was a little girl,” I tell him once I'm done. “It was the best place ever to grow up. There was so much freedom, and so much nature, and all that wild forest to explore.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“Well, eventually I was all done growing up, and I wanted to go out and explore the world a little bit. I wanted to go to Africa, and India, and America and the Middle East and Asia and everywhere. I even had this tattered little guidebook I used to read over and over again, from cover to cover, and I made notes about all the places I wanted to visit.”