The Evil Within

by S M Hardy

  I briefly thought about calling Jed and asking him to stop by to take a look and almost immediately thought better of it. I would look a right idiot and I could imagine it being all around the village that the ‘townie’ had only been in residence five minutes and was already imagining things.

  I went back downstairs and thought about methods of locking the hatch shut. A bolt would do it, except I didn’t have any tools. Another brass ring screwed into the ceiling and secured with a padlock might work. I could probably manage to screw a ring in by hand, though if someone was up there and wanted to get out they would simply smash their way through.

  Hell, what was I thinking? Did I really believe there was someone hiding in the attic? Why would they, for Christ’s sake? I took a deep breath; I needed to get a grip. There was no one in the attic and if there was anything up there at all it was probably a squirrel or a bird and it had knocked something over in its panic to get out.

  Then why no scrabbling of claws or flapping of wings? a little voice inside my head said. I pushed the thought away. I was a grown man, not some little kid scared of the bogeyman.

  I sat back down at the kitchen table and, although I tried to tell myself differently, as I flicked through the local newspaper I was waiting for another thud from above me.

  For the rest of the day I wandered around like a lost soul waiting for something to happen and when nothing did was curiously disappointed. I wasn’t really hungry, so I skipped lunch and when it came to dinner time I had cheese on toast with pickle. I did consider washing it down with a can of lager, but decided to wait and perhaps wander into the village and try out the pub. I was going to have to show my face at some time or other so it might as well be somewhere that I had at least half a chance of seeing someone I knew. Jed said he usually got there about eight. I would arrive at ten past.

  As it happened, by the time I had washed up, showered and changed it was nearer twenty past and it would probably take me about ten minutes to walk into the village’s centre.

  Now that it was getting dark the mist had finally disappeared and it was a fine, balmy autumn evening.

  Once out of the lane and walking on a proper pavement my footsteps seemed inordinately loud as I strode along. The post office, which doubled as the village shop, was in darkness. I had thought it might stay open late, being the only shop for miles, though when I checked the times on the door, I saw it closed every day at six o’clock except for Sundays, when it didn’t open at all.

  As villages go it was sparse. Usually there is an obligatory antique shop and sometimes a store selling crafts and knick-knacks just in case a tourist happened by. Slyford St James didn’t even have a phone box, and when I passed the church it looked sadly neglected, the grass between the old, toppled tombstones long and uncut.

  The ginger and white cat was sitting on the doorstep of the pub watching my approach, and as I pushed the door open he got to his feet, turned and slipped inside, slinking past my legs.

  The man behind the bar was the same rotund gentleman I’d seen earlier marking up his chalkboard. He gave me a nod as he finished polishing a pint jug with a red and white striped tea towel.

  ‘What can I get for you?’ he said with a West Country burr.

  ‘A pint of Jail, please.’

  The cat hopped onto the stool next to me and stood there, his front paws leaning on the bar. He gave a yowl and began to paddle the polished wood with his paws.

  ‘You’ll have to wait,’ the publican said to the cat as he pumped my pint.

  ‘Your cat?’

  He gave a snort. ‘He sort of adopted me and the wife when his owner died,’ he said. ‘He comes in every evening as regular as clockwork. Stays until chucking out time and leaves with the last customer.’

  ‘Where does he sleep?’ I asked.

  ‘Buggered if I know,’ he said handing me my pint then tapping the price into the till. ‘Do you want a tab?’ I looked at him. ‘Most of my regulars do and pay at the end of the evening, unless they’re too many sheets to the wind, then they pay me in the morning.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘if you’re sure.’

  ‘No skin off my nose unless you do a runner, and as you’re renting the Morgan place for the month, I can’t imagine you’d be doing that,’ he said. ‘I’m George, by the way.’

  ‘Jim,’ I said, shaking the offered hand.

  The cat yowled again and reached out a paw to pat George’s outstretched fingers. ‘All right, all right,’ he said, turning to the shelves of liquor and grabbing a bottle containing a thick, yellow liquid. ‘Advocaat,’ he told me, pouring some into a wine goblet.

  The cat started to purr and hopped onto the bar to sit in front of the glass. It then dipped the tip of its paw into the liquid and with delicate flicks of the tongue licked off every drop before repeating the process.

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’

  George leant on the bar watching the cat as he slowly but surely devoured the glass’s contents. ‘I was making a snowball for one of the youngsters a few Christmases ago and slopped a bit. Old Ginge was there like a shot. Now, as you can see, he expects it.’

  The front door opened, and while George saw to his next customer, I glanced around the place to see if I could spy Jed. I didn’t have far to look; he was in the corner nursing a pint of ale, with what was probably a whisky chaser waiting by his elbow. He gestured with his head for me to join him.

  ‘So how’s it going?’ he asked as I sank down on the seat opposite his.

  ‘OK,’ I said.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t sound too sure.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, embarrassed that he could see right through me so easily, ‘it’s nothing.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  I hesitated. How exactly was I going to put this so I didn’t sound like an absolute arse? ‘I think that maybe something has got stuck up in the attic,’ I told him, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘There was a loud bang and I thought it was from upstairs, and when I went to check I heard it again. I’m pretty sure it came from the loft.’

  He stared at me for a long time. I took a swig of my drink and tried not to fidget like some naughty kid. ‘I’ll come and take a look on my way home.’

  ‘Are you sure? I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

  ‘Will you get a wink of sleep if I don’t?’ he asked, knocking back half his pint.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I thought not.’

  ‘I’m probably being stupid.’

  Jed shrugged. ‘If there is something up there you don’t want it causing any damage or scratching about all night.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘I’ll—’ He broke off and frowned over my shoulder, then gave a sigh and took another swig of his drink.

  I glanced behind me. Two young girls who couldn’t have been much more than teenagers were standing a few yards away. They were both dressed in Goth black with so many piercings I wasn’t sure how they kept their heads from slumping over onto their skinny chests. One was scowling around the room as though daring anyone to speak to her, while the other chewed on her lip gazing at Jed with black-lined, doe eyes.

  When I looked back at Jed, he had finished the ale and started on the chaser. He threw it back in one, then glowered into the glass before slamming it down on the table.

  ‘Can I get you another?’ I asked.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, but his mind was clearly elsewhere and it wasn’t a happy place.

  As I walked to the bar the girl who’d been watching Jed slipped past me, and when I glanced over my shoulder, he jerked his head towards the chair I’d just vacated and she slumped down.

  George was already pouring the drinks when I reached the bar. ‘You ready for another?’ he asked.

  I nodded and leant back against the bar to watch Jed and the girl. I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell she was talking as Jed was shaking his head. The other girl was watching them too, arms folded across her chest and lips c
urled downwards in a sulky pout.

  George put my pint next to Jed’s ale and chaser and when I went to pick them up said, ‘I’d give them a moment, if I was you.’

  ‘Who is she?’ I asked.

  ‘Julie Finch; comes from the next village,’ he said, then ducked his head when the girl’s friend cast a glare his way.

  ‘Come on outside,’ I heard Jed say, and when I looked, he was on his feet and walking towards the door. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said to me as he passed. The girl, Julie, was trotting along behind him. Her friend gave an overloud, affected sigh, and followed them both outside.

  George shrugged and made a fuss of the cat who’d finished his advocaat and was purring away happily and it did cross my mind that Old Ginge was perhaps a little drunk. There were a few questions I would have liked to ask George, but didn’t feel I could − after all, it was none of my business. It didn’t stop me wondering; Jed was old enough to be the girl’s father, though if he was, she must have inherited her looks from her mother.

  I carried the drinks over to the table and sat down. By the time Jed returned I’d finished my first pint and was halfway through the second. He dropped down onto his seat with a grunt and threw back half his jar of ale without drawing breath. He rubbed the froth from his lips with the back of his hand and slouched down further into his chair.

  I sipped at my pint, not saying a word until the silence between us began to get a mite uncomfortable. ‘So,’ I asked, ‘have you lived here all your life?’

  He gave a nod and drained the rest of his pint. He was clearly not in the mood for talking and I was beginning to wish I’d stayed at home.

  ‘Look, you really don’t have to come back to the cottage tonight. I’m sure it can wait.’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘It is probably only a bird or a squirrel.’

  ‘And what if it isn’t?’

  I frowned at him. ‘What else could it be?’ Now he had said what I’d been thinking, I must admit it did sound ridiculous; what else could it be?

  ‘You know.’ I shook my head and he stared at me long and hard. ‘You really don’t?’ he said, his expression puzzled.

  ‘No, I really don’t.’

  He blew out air through puckered lips and reached for his whisky. He knocked it straight back and lumbered to his feet. ‘Come on,’ he said.

  I drained the last of my beer and followed him to the bar. ‘I’ll pay for his,’ I said to George.

  ‘Got any whisky back at yours?’ Jed asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, I think you’re probably gonna need it.’ He gave George a nod of farewell and made for the door while I collected my change.

  ‘Don’t let him play with your head,’ George whispered under his breath as he dropped a pile of coins into my palm. I frowned at him, but he had moved along the bar to serve another customer.

  Jed was waiting for me outside on the pavement in front of the pub. The two girls were standing with a lad maybe a few years older than them. He had his arm around Julie’s shoulders in a protective hug and was scowling at Jed. If Jed noticed he didn’t show it as he dropped into step beside me.

  ‘Oy yow,’ the boy shouted. I glanced back over my shoulder, but Jed kept on walking. ‘Yow, ald-timer, I’m talking to yow.’

  Jed hunched his shoulders and muttered something under his breath. There was the thud of feet on pavement and Jed was spun around as the lad grabbed his arm.

  Jed stared at the lad and then at the hand on his arm. The boy flushed pink but didn’t let go.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

  ‘Yow mate is filling her head with shite, that’s what,’ the lad said, his face twisted into a sneer. ‘Superstitious ald twaddle.’

  ‘Leave him be,’ Julie said as she and her friend joined us. ‘I asked him, he didn’t want to.’

  ‘Want to what?’ I asked.

  The lad glared at me and back to Jed. ‘Keep out of my way, ald-timer, and if yow know what’s good for yow, stay out of her way too.’

  Jed shrugged his arm out of the boy’s grip and turned his back on him. ‘Fucking arsehole,’ the lad said.

  ‘Takes one to know one,’ Jed muttered to himself, but loudly enough that the kid could hear.

  I gave the kid a look. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ I said. The kid’s lips curled into a sullen scowl, but he left it and I followed Jed along the road. As I fell into step beside him it occurred to me that the evening wasn’t getting any better.

  When we arrived back at the cottage I let us in, and Jed headed straight upstairs and into the bathroom. When he reappeared he had a pole with a hook on the end in one hand and a torch in the other. In a matter of seconds he had opened the trapdoor and pulled down an aluminium loft ladder.

  He handed me the pole and after turning on the torch clambered up the steps. His shoulders disappeared inside the hatch and he stood there a few minutes, I assume shining the torch about.

  ‘Nothing much up here but empty space,’ he said as he climbed down.

  ‘I heard something.’

  ‘I didn’t say you didn’t,’ he said and then disappeared back in the bathroom. He didn’t close the door, so I peered inside to see where he hid the torch and pole. He looked over his shoulder and gestured inside a cupboard at the far end. ‘If you need it again it’s in here, but I wouldn’t be going up there if I were you.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  He just looked at me, then gestured that I should go back downstairs. ‘I’ll be having a glass of that whisky,’ he said.

  He sat himself down at the kitchen table while I went to get the whisky and two tumblers from the cupboard in the living room.

  ‘What was all that about at the pub?’ I asked as I poured us both three fingers of the Scotch.

  He leant back in the chair and stretched out his legs. ‘I’m not sure you’d want to know.’

  ‘The kid said something about “superstitious old nonsense”.’

  Jed took a sip of his drink and grimaced as the alcohol hit the back of his throat. ‘Nice drop of whisky.’

  I nodded. ‘My boss used to give us each a bottle every Christmas and I acquired a taste for it.’

  He picked up the bottle and studied the label. ‘You didn’t get this down the village shop,’ he said with a laugh.

  ‘Do you think whatever was up in the attic has gone?’

  He peered at me over his glass. ‘I doubt it, but I’d advise you to ignore it.’

  ‘Ignore what?’

  ‘Ever have a near-death experience?’ he asked, the sudden change of subject making me blink.

  ‘No, have you?’

  He gave a laugh. ‘Plenty of times, lad, but they had nothing to do with the way I am. I was born this way. Maybe you were too; I just wondered, that’s all.’

  ‘Jed, what the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘You know why this cottage is empty?’

  I frowned at him. ‘The owners are overseas.’

  ‘That’s true. Mr and Mrs Morgan moved to New York to be close to her parents. It’s doubtful they’ll be coming back, and if you decide to stay, I suspect you’ll get this place real cheap.’

  ‘I’m here for a month; two at most.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure,’ he said.

  ‘The estate agent didn’t say anything about them moving away long-term.’

  ‘She wouldn’t.’

  I shivered, the saying about someone walking over your grave springing to mind, making me shiver again. I took a sip of my drink. ‘You’re talking as though there’s some big mystery.’

  ‘No mystery about it. Do you know why Charles and Yvonne Morgan moved to New York?’

  Now I was more than a little puzzled and frustrated by Jed and his cryptic comments and questions. ‘You said to be near to her parents.’

  He looked at me over the rim of his glass. ‘But why?’

  I shook my head. ‘How the hell should I know?’

  He
took another sip of his drink. ‘They had a daughter, Krystal, six years old, cute kid. A few years back she thought she’d go searching up in the loft for her Christmas presents, at least that’s what they thought she was doing. Anyway, she fell. Broke her neck.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Neither of them was ever the same and as soon as they could they moved out.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ I said.

  His eyes met mine. ‘She’s who you heard.’

  I stared at him for a moment. ‘That’s not funny.’

  ‘Don’t I know it. I’ve been seeing and hearing this kind of thing all my life.’

  ‘What kind of thing?’ I was getting angry now. The last thing I wanted was some drunk old man winding me up with tales of ghoulies and ghosties. Maybe this was what George meant about him messing with my head.

  ‘The girl, Julie,’ he said as though he hadn’t heard me, ‘her dad worked on the oil rigs. Died a few months ago in a freak accident.’

  I frowned at him; he was making no sense at all and I began to wonder whether he’d been in the pub a lot longer than half an hour by the time I’d arrived.

  ‘She’s having trouble coping so she comes to me.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, and a whole load of nasty scenarios started to roll through my head. Was Jed the local drug dealer – or worse?

  ‘For messages.’

  Now I was completely flummoxed. ‘Messages?’

  He stared into the bottom of his glass, swirling the liquid around and around before lifting it to his lips and chugging it back in one.

  ‘Aye, lad, messages from her dear departed father.’

  Then the penny finally dropped. ‘Are you telling me you’re some kind of psychic?’

  He looked at me, his eyes staring into mine. ‘You say it as though you don’t believe it and yet you and I share the same curse.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said, and I could feel my expression turning mean.

  He sucked air in through his teeth and was about to say something, then thought better of it and got to his feet. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘You will?’