by Amy Cross
“There might be an old bottle of sherry in the cabinet,” John told him.
“Then fetch it, my boy!” Graham roared, his cheeks rosy red with enthusiasm. “Go! Go! Bring me that sherry, and two glasses to go with it! You'll have some, even if I have to pour it down your throat myself!”
Smiling awkwardly, and already wondering why he'd even mentioned the sherry, John turned and headed to the front room. He could hear his father bumping about in the kitchen, and as he opened the cabinet door and reached inside, he felt the bottle of sherry at the back. Pulling it out, he saw to his relief that at least it was half empty, so he grabbed two glasses and made his way back to the kitchen.
“I really don't think I like this stuff,” he explained. “I never got why -”
Stopping suddenly in the doorway, he looked around the kitchen and saw no sign of his father. A moment later, with a sudden sense of horror, he realized that the hatch leading down to the basement had been opened, and he could hear his father drunkenly stumbling about down there.
“No!” John called out, setting the bottle and glasses on the counter before rushing to the hatch and making his way down into the dark basement below, where he almost collided with his father in the darkness.
“What the bloody hell's going on down here?” Graham asked, his beer-soaked breath filling the damp air as he pushed past John and made his way toward the far end of the basement. “Was this place always so small?”
“What do you mean?” John asked, feeling a sense of panic that he couldn't quite explain. He'd mostly stayed out of the basement since his grandmother had died, and now he was filled with a surprisingly strong level of fear. Taking his phone from his pocket, he used the screen to bring a little light to the room.
“Is this wall new?” Graham continued, running his hands over the breeze-blocks. “I swear it wasn't like this when I bought the house.”
“I think it's always been there,” John told him. “Nothing's changed. Why would it have changed?”
“Doesn't make any bloody sense,” Graham muttered, stumbling drunkenly to the other end of the wall. “This definitely seems new. I can smell the cement still.” He leaned closer to the wall to give it a sniff, only to bump his nose against the rough surface. “I know a freshly-laid wall when I find one,” he muttered. “There definitely used to be more to this basement. Someone's put this wall up in the past day or two.”
“I think she had some work done a few months ago,” John replied, still not sure why he felt so panic-stricken. All he could think about was that he had to get his father out of the basement as fast as possible, but when he grabbed his father's arm and tried to lead him back to the stairs, he realized physical force wouldn't be enough. “I don't remember exactly what it was about, but there was definitely a builder down here for a few days.”
“She didn't mention it to me,” Graham grumbled, crouching in the corner and bumping his fist against one of the breeze-blocks, which turned out to be slightly loose. “She was supposed to let me know about any work she had done on the house. After all, I'm the one who owns the damn place.” He sighed. “Then again, the old cow wasn't exactly keen to give me a call, was she?” He bumped the loose breeze-block again. “Whoever she got in to do this, it definitely wasn't anyone who knew what they were doing. Some of these aren't in place properly.”
“I don't know who did it,” John said, “but I think -”
“Bloody hell!” Graham said suddenly, pulling back slightly. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Graham paused. “Must be rats. Christ, what kind of job has she had done down here? She's obviously hired some complete amateur. Hell, aren't these the breeze-blocks that were out in the garden, behind the greenhouse? Why's she sectioned off half the effin' basement? Mad old bat.”
“I think there was a leak,” John replied.
Graham turned to him. “So she just sealed it off?”
“She got it fixed and then... Yeah, she got it sealed off.”
“A leak of what? All the pipes are on this side.”
“I don't know,” John replied, “but why don't we go up and try the sherry? I found the bottle and -”
“Can't have rats running free,” Graham continued, turning and pressing his ear against the wall. “I can hear the buggers scurrying about in there. Christ, if they get settled, they could overrun the whole bloody house, not to mention chewing through the wiring. I bought this place as an investment, but rats are gonna really scupper my plans.” Muttering something else under his breath, he started tugging on the loose block. “Let's get to those rats, eh? Bring the sherry bottle down here, boy, and I'll show you how to kill a rat with your bare hands.”
“Dad -”
“Go on. Get the bottle.”
“Dad...”
“What?” With the breeze-block already partway out of the wall, he turned to John in the darkness. “Why are you -”
Before he could finish, John brought a metal pole crashing down against the top of his father's head.
***
“Oh...” Graham muttered, opening his eyes slowly and finding himself sprawled across the sofa in the front room, with morning light streaming through the window. “What...”
He began to sit up, before feeling a splitting pain in his head. Letting out a faint gasp, he reached up and felt dried blood in his scalp, and a moment later he realized his gut was churning. He was hungover, that much was certain, but as he continued to run his fingers through his hair he felt a shallow cut that had already begun to heal.
“What the bloody hell...”
“Hey.”
Turning, Graham saw John sitting nearby in one of the armchairs with a faint smile.
“What happened?” Graham asked, looking around the room with a frown.
“Are you okay?” John replied. “I almost called an ambulance, but then you started snoring so I just dragged you through here and figured you needed to sleep it off.”
“Sleep what off?” Graham muttered, wincing at the pain in his head. “How much did I drink last night, exactly?”
“Don't you remember?”
Graham paused, before shaking his head. “I remember going to that pub, and we had a few beers, then we went to that rubbish little club and then we came back here and...” He paused again, waiting for a few more memories to surface through the fog that was filling his thoughts. “It gets a bit hazy after that,” he added, before spotting the empty bottle of sherry nearby on the carpet. “Did we drink that?”
“You did,” John told him. “I had a sip, but I didn't really like it. You drank half a bottle.”
“Oh Christ,” Graham continued, putting his head in his hands for a moment. “I don't even like the damn stuff most of the time.”
“And then you fell down the stairs,” John added.
Graham turned to him. “I what?”
“Only from halfway. You were heading up to the bathroom, and then I heard you cry out, and then there was a loud bump and I found you at the bottom. I think you hit your head on the corner of the table in the hallway. There was some blood but, like I said, it didn't seem too bad. You were pretty lucky.”
“I don't remember any of that,” Graham muttered, struggling to his feet and swaying slightly. “Still, my stomach feels like...” He paused, as if he was on the verge of throwing up. “It's been a while since I've managed to get quite so wasted. You might not be much of a drinker, John, but you're a hell of a wing-man when it comes to these things.” He frowned. “It feels like my stomach is upside down.”
“So you really don't remember anything from after we got back to the house last night?” John asked.
Graham shook his head.
“Nothing at all?”
“I always get blackouts when I mix drinks,” Graham muttered, stumbling toward the door. Checking his watch, he sighed. “Christ, I have to leave for the airport in a few hours.”
“That's a shame,” John replied calmly. “You won't
have time to do very much at all, will you?”
“I need to shower,” Graham replied, stopping for a moment, “and I need to...” He paused, before wincing slightly. “Oh God, I think I'm gonna hurl!”
John sat and listened as his father raced upstairs, and then he heard the sound of loud, painful vomiting in the bathroom. Although he knew he should go and ask if there was anything he could do to help, he could only think about the fact that he'd managed to get his father out of the basement. He couldn't remember why he'd been so worried about the wall down there, and he felt as if his thoughts didn't quite make sense, but he figured he could work that out later. For now, he felt calm again, as if everything was back to normal.
Upstairs, his father was still throwing up after all the sherry that had literally been poured down his throat the night before.
Chapter Twenty-One
Today
“Who's Hannah?”
Looking up from his laptop, John saw that Sarah was standing in the doorway.
“John,” she continued, with a worried expression, “two guys are here, they want to talk to you. They say some girl named Hannah is missing, and they think maybe you're the last person who saw her.”
***
“Hang on,” Gary said, interrupting Louis, “let's just stick to the facts. The last time either of us saw Hannah is when she left the flat the other night, to go and talk to you some more, Mr.Myers. We haven't heard from her since.”
“Wait a moment,” Sarah said, as they all sat in the kitchen, “rewind slightly. Who's this Hannah girl, exactly?”
“Gary's friend,” Louis replied.
“No,” Gary said, turning to him, “she's your friend.”
“You're the one who brought her to the flat the first time, a few weeks ago.”
“No, you did.”
“Dude,” Louis continued, “I'd never met her before!”
“Neither had I!”
“Then -”
“Hold up,” Sarah said firmly, interrupting them both. “You can argue about the details later, that's not the most important thing right now.” She turned to John, and it was clear she was worried. “Did this Hannah girl follow you home the other night?”
“I...” He paused, before taking a deep breath. “Yes, she did. I got back and suddenly she was right behind me.”
“She took my wine,” Gary added. “And my corkscrew.”
“So that empty bottle was hers?” Sarah asked. “John?”
“She said she wanted to talk about my books,” he replied cautiously. “It was late, the last thing I wanted was to talk to anyone about anything, but -”
“So you invited her in?”
“She invited herself in,” he continued. “She more or less barged inside.”
“More or less?”
“She didn't seem like the kind of girl who takes no for an answer.” Sighing, he turned to Gary and Louis. “You guys know what I mean, right?”
They nodded.
“So she wanted to talk about my books,” John explained, turning back to his wife and seeing the look of confused concern in her eyes, “and then she wanted to talk about ghosts and haunted houses, and she kind of just went on and on. I mean, the girl could talk for England, really she could. If talking was an Olympic sport, she'd be a gold medallist.”
“While drinking wine,” Sarah added.
“Yes,” he admitted a little reluctantly, “while drinking wine.”
“So you were alone here in the house with some teenaged girl,” Sarah continued, “drinking wine all night?” She paused. “And you didn't mention this to me until now?”
“I know it sounds bad...”
“Kind of, honey. Kind of.”
“It wasn't like that, and she's not a teen. She's early twenties, something like that. I checked.”
“Oh, you did?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And why did you do that?”
“It was a completely innocent encounter.” He sighed. “She wanted to hang around and see if there was a ghost here, and I couldn't exactly talk her out of it, so I decided to humor her.”
“Go on,” Sarah said darkly.
“We sat in the room and waited.”
“Which room?”
“The room where I found my grandmother.”
“Which room is that?”
He sighed again. “The room the kids slept in last night. There was nothing there, nothing happened. No ghost, no nothing, until...” He paused.
“Until what?” Sarah asked.
“There was a noise later on,” he continued. “It sounded like something was downstairs, I told her it wasn't anything to worry about but she seemed convinced we were on the verge of seeing a ghost so she came down to look and I followed her.”
“And did you see anything?” Gary asked.
“Just an empty kitchen. Anyway, the noise actually seemed to be coming from -” He stopped suddenly, before looking over at the hatch that led down to the basement.
“It came from down there?” Sarah asked.
He nodded.
“So did you go and look?”
“We...” He paused, before offering a faint, cautious smile. “I told her it was locked and that I didn't have a key.”
“Which isn't true,” Sarah pointed out.
“I just wanted to get rid of her by that point,” he continued. “I was tired, it was late, and I didn't exactly fancy spending the rest of the night on some amateur ghost-busting mission. I told her we couldn't go down there, and fortunately she accepted that.” He waited for another question. “And then she left,” he added finally. “We didn't go into the basement. I swear.”
“She left?” Sarah replied. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“And that was the last you saw of her?”
He nodded, even though he wasn't entirely sure it was true.
“She's missing,” Gary said. “She didn't come back to the flat the next day, and no-one's seen her since.”
“Have you contacted her parents?” Sarah asked.
He shrugged. “We don't really know anything about her. She left some stuff at my place, though. Like, some food and a bag, so I think she was planning to come back.”
“Have you been to the police?”
“Isn't this an over-reaction?” John asked. “Do you even know this Hannah girl's surname?”
Gary and Louis looked at each other, and it was clear that neither of them had an answer.
“So she was some kind of drifter,” John continued. “I just assumed you guys were friends with her, she seemed to know you pretty well. I mean, she was in your apartment!”
“She was just, like, outgoing,” Louis replied.
“She talked her way in a few weeks ago,” Gary added. “We don't get many girls doing that. Usually we're the ones who have to persuade them to come inside.”
“You barely knew this girl,” John pointed out, “and you don't know a damn thing about her, so it seems to me that she isn't really missing at all. She's just moved on, and if she left some stuff at your place, that doesn't seem particularly unusual. I'm sorry, she didn't say anything to me that might help, she just said goodbye and walked out the door. It never occurred to me that she wasn't going straight back to your place.”
“If she's missing,” Sarah replied, “we have to do something.”
“She's not missing,” John said firmly.
“Then where is she?”
“So you want to go to the police?” he asked. “Seriously? And say what, that a girl whose name you don't even know didn't go back to the flat of two guys she'd barely even met? I'm pretty sure they've got more important things to investigate than something like that.”
“It just seems off,” Gary continued. “Something about this doesn't feel right, it's like...” He paused. “Well, no offense Mr. Myers, but it's almost like the plot of one of your books.”
“I don't think I've ever written a book about a girl going missing.”
“No, but... I mean, the whole haunted house element.”
“There's no haunted house element,” John replied with a sigh, getting to his feet and heading to the door. “Look, for all I know, this is some kind of prank. What happened, did you think it'd be funny to try to conjure up some kind of real-life mystery involving a guy like me? Is it all some kind of sick attempt to get attention or notoriety? I wouldn't be surprised if Hannah's in on the whole thing, she's probably waiting around the corner so you can all go and laugh your asses off at my expense.” He turned to Sarah. “This is exactly why I don't usually do public appearances. I should never have changed that policy.”
“We just want to make sure she's okay,” Gary said. “I swear, that's all.”
“Have you tried calling her?” Sarah asked.
“We don't have her number.”
“Have you tried emailing? Is she on any social networks?”
“We..” Gary paused. “We don't really know. Like I said, we'd barely met her.”
“I met her at that cafe on the corner,” John said, opening the door and stepping back, as if he was inviting them to leave. “The one by the pier. I don't know how long she'd been working there, maybe it's no help, but it's the only thing I can think to tell you. Now, if you're really worried then I suggest that you go to the police and let them take it from there, but I'm pretty damn sure your so-called friend is long gone by now. I'm sorry, but there's nothing else I can do for you.” He paused, waiting for them to take the hint and leave. “Fun time is over,” he added finally. “Please. I'm not interested in whatever game you're playing.”
***
“So,” Sarah said with a faint, cautious smile as John pushed the door shut a few minutes later, “what was all that about, huh?”
“Honey -”
“It's a good job I trust you so much,” she continued, stepping closer and putting her hands on his shoulders. “Not many wives would be so happy about their husbands bringing random girls home late at night, drinking wine with them, and then sitting around waiting for ghosts. As stories go, it's not one of your better ones.”