by Amy Cross
“I'm sorry,” I tell him, but he's already heading to the door.
I want to run after him and explain that I'm not being a complete bitch, but at the same time I guess I should just let him go. He doesn't know about the letter yet, so that'll fill him in later. Then again, maybe the letter was terribly presumptive on my part. Finally I realize that I just need to step back and let this whole situation go, and then try to forget it ever happened. I always screw things up.
“I hope you have a very pleasant drive tomorrow,” Anthony says, stopping in the doorway and turning back to look at me. “Thank you for your company today. I had a very enjoyable time.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “You were very generous.”
And with that, he's gone.
I hear his footsteps heading away across the gravel road, and a moment later I hear his car start up. This entire mess is entirely my fault, and when I look over at the landlady I see that she's watching me with a hint of pity in her eyes.
“He left the photo for us,” Kate says, reaching up and sliding the Polaroid picture off the bar.
Heading over to take a look, I see that she's right. The photo's pretty good, showing me sitting with my two girls, and I actually think it might be worth saving. This whole holiday has been crazy, but we might be able to take a few good memories with us when we head back home. And honestly, that's all I want right now.
I want to take my girls home.
Chapter Forty-Three
Alice
Today
An hour after leaving the church, having made my way back into town, I stop outside Dora Ohme's cottage and look toward the sea. The long pebbly beach stretches as far as the eye can see, in two directions, while the white cliffs rise up to the south. Given that the entirety of Curridge is basically just the beach and three rows of cottages, I really don't see what Father Redman meant when he said that a person can get lost here.
I don't think I could get lost in Curridge, not even if I tried.
***
“Graham?” I call out, stopping at the bottom of the stairs and looking up toward the top floor. “Are you here?”
I wait, but there's no reply. Since the front door had been left unlocked, I'd assumed Graham would be here somewhere, still sorting through Dora's possessions. Then again, as I wander through to the front room, I realize that Curridge is maybe the kind of place where people routinely leave their houses unlocked. I stop for a moment to look over at the bookshelves, and then I head to the kitchen, where I see that Dora's laptop is still resting on the table.
I walk over and take a seat, before pulling the laptop closer.
And then, just as I open the lid, I realize that I'm sitting in the exact spot where we found the dead body.
I immediately get to my feet and shift to a different seat, although I still feel a little creeped out. Turning the laptop around, I see that I'm at the password screen, which means that there's no way to get any further. I'd desperately like to know what Dora got up to with this computer, and I'm starting to think that maybe I could take the laptop back to London with me when I leave. There has to be someone up there who could get into the thing, or who could at least extract the files.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I check the notifications panel, but there's still nothing.
Dora hasn't reviewed my short stories at all.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, unable to shake a sense of impatience. “I want to know what you -”
Suddenly I hear a loud bump from above, and I look up at the ceiling just in time to hear a set of loud footsteps marching through one of the cottage's upstairs rooms. Startled, I listen to the sound of a door swinging open, and then the footsteps storm through into another room.
Getting to my feet, I hurry back into the hallway and look up the stairs again.
“Hello?” I call out. “Graham?”
The footsteps continue for a few more seconds, before finally stopping as suddenly as they started.
“Graham?” I whisper, but I'm already starting to realize that there's no way Graham could be responsible. He always creeps about like a mouse, whereas the footsteps sound more like somebody stomping about angrily.
In fact, they sound exactly like the footsteps I've been hearing from the pub's other guest.
“Mr. Goodman?” I call out. “Is that you? I'd really like to talk to you, if you've got a moment.”
I wait, but now the cottage is completely quiet.
Could I have been wrong? Could the footsteps have come from one of the neighboring houses? I guess it's possible, although deep down I know full well that they were in the room right above the kitchen. I hesitate for a moment, just in case there's another sound from upstairs, and then I start slowly making my way up the narrow, steep staircase. I watch the landing, half-expecting a figure to suddenly emerge from one of the rooms, but finally I reach the top and stand in silence once again.
“Hello?” I say cautiously, looking at each of the open doors in turn. “Is anybody here?”
I wait.
Silence.
Stepping over to the nearest door, I look through and see nothing but a single bed and several stacks of books piled against the far wall. Dora Ohme certainly seemed to like books, and the cottage is full of dog-eared paperbacks, many of which have penciled prices indicating they were purchased from charity shops and second-hand stores. I head through to the main bedroom, where I find a larger bed and even more books. Some of the piles actually looks a little unsafe.
I listen for a few seconds, but all I hear now is the very distant sound of waves against the shore. Looking out the window, I see a gray sky stretching to the horizon, and the wind seems to be picking up.
Maybe we're finally going to get that storm.
Turning, I head out into the hallway and over to the spare room.
Suddenly I freeze as I see an open book fall to the floor in the center of the room.
The book bumps as it lands, but the room immediately falls still again. Still, my heart is pounding and I can't help but notice that the book seemed to drop from mid-air, as if it was being read by somebody just a fraction of a second before I reached the doorway.
I stare at the book, which has landed with its pages open.
There's nobody here.
After a moment I step forward and look down at the book, which turns out to be an old, hardback copy of something called Coastal Rituals. The cover is heavily scratched, and I can already see that the binding looks to be coming loose. Still, when I reach down and pick the book up, the spine just about holds together, and I find myself flicking through musty, discolored pages.
And then I see those two words again.
Soul auction.
“Little is known of the soul auctions,” I read out loud, “other than that they leave behind marks on the world. It's said that if one knows where and when to look, one can determined whether a soul auction has taken place recently, and where its victims fell. Estimates from the sixteenth century suggest that soul auctions are comparatively uncommon, taking place only ever eighty or ninety years. For more on soul auctions, curious readers are advised to read Tramelfacht's notes.”
I flick back and forth through the book, but there seems to be no more mention of a soul auction. In fact, that stray paragraph is included only as part of a list of rarer, less well-known myths and legends, and I get the impression that the book's author judged soul auctions to be worthy of no more than a passing mention. Even when I check the index, I find only a single entry leading back to the page I already read, although in the list of further reading at the back of the book I spot a familiar name.
“Observations,” I whisper, “by Marcus Tramelfacht.”
Looking around at the other books, I figure there's a good chance this Tramelfacht book might be hidden away somewhere in Dora Ohme's collection, although I have no idea where I'd start trying to hunt it down. She seems to have kept her books in no particular order, and it's apparent t
hat she never even bothered to separate fiction and non-fiction titles. I crouch down and take a look at one pile, just in case I might be lucky, but all I find are various titles about plants, history, geography and several other unrelated topics.
Either Dora Ohme didn't really mind how her books were stored, or she simply knew their locations by heart.
And she sure seems to have collection a lot of books about the occult.
Just as I'm about to take another book from the nearest pile, however, I hear a bump over my shoulder. I turn and look toward the doorway, but there's no sign of anyone else here in the cottage.
“Hello?” I call out. “Graham?”
Getting to my feet, I head out to the hallway, but the cottage is completely quiet.
And then, as I turn to look at the books again, I suddenly hear loud footsteps downstairs. I hesitate for a moment, before rushing down and reaching the kitchen just as the footsteps fade into the distance. Heading to the front door, which has been left wide open, I look out along the road, but there's no sign of anyone.
Chapter Forty-Four
Lizzie
Thirty years ago
“No, I'm just putting some stuff in the car now,” I tell Kate, as I carry my suitcase out through the pub's front door, “so I don't have to do it in the morning. I'll be right back.”
She was worried we'd be leaving this evening, but I've promised her that we're staying until tomorrow morning as originally planned. Heading toward my car, I look out across the sea and feel a pang of sadness as I realize that the sun is starting to set not only on this beautiful little town, but also on the holiday itself. Sure, things haven't gone smoothly, but I was looking forward to this trip for so long.
When we get home, I'm going to start saving for another holiday. Maybe even to somewhere further away.
“Have you seen him?” a familiar voice calls out suddenly.
Stopping next to the car, I can't help sighing as I turn and see Dora Ohme hurrying this way.
“Have I seen who?” I ask, before realizing that I'm too tired and too busy to deal with her right now. “I'm sorry, but I have to get on.”
“I've sensed him!” she continues, grabbing my arm. “He's been right here in Curridge!”
“Who has?”
“I've been doing some research,” she continues, taking a tattered book from her pocket and waving it in my face. “I think there's a demon here!”
“Are you serious?” I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
She lowers the book before I have a chance to see the title.
“God forgive me for reading such sacrilegious works,” she stammers, trembling as she starts flicking through the book, “but when that awful disaster struck the cliff, I was reminded of something I'd heard a long time ago. I know it sounds utterly unbelievable, but I think -”
“I don't have time for this,” I tell her.
“I think there might have been a soul auction!”
“A what?”
“Oh, it's too awful to contemplate,” she continues, making the sign of the cross against her chest. “I think a demon is afoot, right here in our beautiful little town, and the only explanation that makes any sense is that there has been a soul auction, and a soul here in town has been marked.”
“Are you drunk?” I ask, even though I don't smell any alcohol.
“It's all in here,” she explains, holding the book up in her trembling hands. “I don't want to believe that any of it's true, but it's all described in here!”
“Are you high?”
“I know there's a demon here!” she continues. “He'll be disguised. They do that so well, you know. They don't advertise their presence. They can walk among us, and we can't know until it's too late!”
“You're talking a load of nonsense,” I reply. “That thing at the cliff was just a rockfall. It was a big rockfall, and it was dramatic, but that's really all it was.”
Turning, I open the boot and slide my suitcase inside, before swinging the door shut again. When I turn to Dora, however, I see that she looks genuinely terrified.
“Have you seen this demon?” I ask.
“I don't know! I'd like to think that I'd recognize such an abominable creature, but I can't be sure. Perhaps I've seen its face and it fooled me!”
“Yeah, perhaps,” I say with another sigh.
“It could be anywhere right now,” she continues, turning and looking around. She seems stark raving mad, as if she expects some kind of horned beast to suddenly leap out from behind one of the beach huts. “It could be watching us and listening to us and waiting for its moment!”
“Sure it could,” I reply, “and then maybe -”
Suddenly I feel the pain in my head again. Gasping, I step back and bump against the car, while instinctively reaching up to touch the side of my head. This time the pain lasts longer than before, coursing above my ear and onto my forehead before finally dissipating again. I freeze, worried that movement might set if off again, but then finally I look at Dora and see that she's staring at me with an expression of utter shock.
“Don't even think about it,” I tell her breathlessly.
“Are you suffering?” she asks.
“No!” I say firmly. “And before you start trying to link this to your goddamn demon bullshit, let me assure you that I'm absolutely fine!”
She steps back, almost as if she's scared to get too close to me.
“Have you seen him?” she stammers after a moment. “Think, woman. Have you seen the demon?”
“I think I'd remember,” I point out.
“I was right!” she continues, with tears in her eyes. “Oh, this is worse than I ever imagined! Now I shall have to read all these blasphemous books, in case one of them contains the information I need! Why would the Lord allow such a terrible thing to happen right here in the middle of our calm, pleasant little town?”
“I have to get back inside now,” I tell her, although my knees feel weak as I start heading toward the pub. “Just don't let my kids hear any of this nonsense, okay? The last thing I need is for my daughters to start worrying about demons.”
“You're the one who should worry!” she snaps.
Stopping in the doorway, I look back at her.
“I beg your pardon?” I ask, fighting the urge to tell her to go to hell.
“You're the one who should worry,” she continues. “You must leave Curridge at once. Take your children and get out of here immediately!”
“What do you think I am?” I reply. “Some kind of witch who needs to be driven out of town?”
“It's for your own safety!” she insists. “Why won't you just listen to me? You might still have a chance if you turn around and get out of Curridge this instant!”
“Oh, get stuffed,” I mutter, “you insufferable prig.”
I wait for her next barrage of nonsense, but instead she simply turns and runs off to one of the nearby cottages. Honestly, she seems more and more insane each time I meet her, and I wouldn't be surprised if she goes completely over the edge at some point soon. Still, her emotional instability isn't my problem, so I simply roll my eyes and head back into the pub, where I find Kate sitting in one of the booths.
“Doing some more drawings?” I ask, but as I get closer I see that instead she's simply looking at the Polaroid photo. “You like that, huh?”
She looks up and me and nods.
“Well, hang onto it,” I continue, ruffling the hair on the top of her head. “Put it somewhere safe, and make sure you don't ever lose it.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Alice
Today
“It's not a coincidence that somebody targeted Dora Ohme's house last night,” I point out, as I sit with Graham in the pub's bar area. There's a plate with a sandwich in front of me, but I'm not hungry. “Somebody chose her cottage on purpose, right after her body was discovered.”
“I agree,” he replies, “but there's no way of telling who it was.”
“I
t was somebody from Curridge.”
“What about the other guest who's staying here?”
“He was in his room all night,” I reply. “At least, as far as I can tell. I almost feel as if...”
My voice trails off for a moment as I try to put my thoughts together.
“As if what?” Graham asks.
“This might sound crazy,” I continue, “but I almost feel as if the dog on the cottage door was meant as a warning. Maybe somebody realized that we were looking into Dora's life, and they wanted to scare us away.”
“They picked a pretty dramatic way to send a message,” he points out. “They couldn't have been more theatrical if they'd tried. And why did they trash the church at the same time?”
“That's the part I don't understand,” I reply, leaning back in my chair. Hearing footsteps traipsing across the pebbles, I turn just in time to see a figure flash past the window, heading for the main door. I glance back at Graham. “I think we need to start by talking to this Mr. Goodman guy. I think this might be him coming inside now.”
“No,” he says, looking past me as the door opens, “it's a woman.”
“Huh?” Turning, I'm shocked to see a very familiar figure standing in the doorway, glaring at me with real anger in her eyes.
“We need to talk,” Kate says firmly. “Outside, Alice! Now!”
***
“What are you doing here?” I ask as we walk away from the pub. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming down?”
“What am I doing here?” she replies, stopping ahead and turning to me. “What the hell are you doing here, you stupid...”
Sighing, she tucks some stray hair behind her ear, as a strong morning breeze blasts against us both.
“What's this all about?” she continues. “And please, Alice, don't bullshit me! I want to know why you came to this crappy little town, and I want to know why you're still here right now!”
“It's going to take a while to explain,” I reply. “Dora Ohme -”