“No. More dark and mysterious.” He laughed too.
I had a question that had been bugging me. One of many in my current confused state of mind. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Charlie. Why is your brother Pete so afraid of this floor? He refused to even come up here when I asked him to quote for decorating.”
Charlie looked down at his boots. “Pete can be a complete prat at times. I mean, he’s my brother and all, but when he gets superstitious, I lose patience with him.”
“I’ve heard the rumors about satanic rituals in this house. I can’t believe my aunt would have anything to do with such nonsense.”
He met my gaze. “I would never go so far as to say it was nonsense. Too many bizarre things have happened in this town. But Pete is an idiot for turning work down. The old man’s long gone and buried and Miss Grant isn’t… Oh, I’m sorry, Maddie. I shouldn’t pass comment on your aunt.”
“By ‘the old man’, I assume you mean Nathaniel Hargest? Nasty piece of work by all accounts.”
“Did your aunt ever mention him to you?”
I shook my head. “Only a little, in passing. He died before I started coming here anyway.”
“Memories are long in a small town where people have lived for generations. Stories get passed down, and embellished along the way.”
“That’s what Shona said. What is it you were going to say about my aunt?” I hoped my smile would encourage him to be candid. It didn’t.
“Oh nothing. Just that she isn’t with us anymore either.”
I stared at him, but nothing else was forthcoming. He’d broken eye contact and the silence was becoming awkward.
We moved on and passed the open door of the rehearsal room. I pulled it shut and remembered. I had closed it earlier, but I couldn’t have latched it properly. I gave the handle an extra tug and pushed back on it. It held firm.
“I’m trying to warm that room up. The drama group is here tonight.”
“Do you want me to install a couple of radiators in there? If you carry on using those convectors your electricity bills are going to soar.”
I thought for a moment. “Yes, please. I think that would be a good idea after all. It’ll save a lot of messing about too.”
“I’ll get onto it tomorrow.” He opened the door of the junk room. Oddly this one wasn’t as cold as the previous room. It smelled fusty. Damp. I hadn’t noticed that before. And there was another smell I couldn’t put my finger on.
We agreed where the new light fixtures should go. “I’ll leave you to it,” I said to Charlie. “Give me a shout when you want a coffee or tea.”
The doorbell rang again and a couple of minutes later, the house clearance man followed me up the stairs. I introduced him to Charlie, who was clearing a space for himself at the far end of the room. The sheets he had removed revealed antique chests of drawers, wardrobes and chairs, even an old rocking horse.
“This is Harry, Charlie. He’s come to clear all this mess out of your way.”
I went back down the stairs, with housework on my mind. The living room needed a really good dusting. Fifteen minutes later, I was polishing Aunt Charlotte’s fine, old mahogany table.
Rapid footsteps thudded down the stairs, into the hall. I dashed out, to see Harry looking as if the devil himself was chasing him. He glanced at me and made for the front door, with nothing in his hands.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Chambers.”
I followed him out to his van. “Whatever’s the matter?”
He was already climbing into the driver’s seat. “That room.” He shook his head as if he was trying to rid himself of the memory. “There’s something in there. Haven’t you seen it? Them?”
Panic reared up inside me. “What are you talking about? Charlie’s up there. Just Charlie.” Who was I trying to convince? Harry or me?
Harry stared at me, slammed his door shut and started up his engine, crunching the gears. His window was open and I grabbed it. “Please, tell me. What did you see up there that scared you so much?”
He hesitated, stared at me for a second as if about to say something. But nothing came. He shook his head and looked away. The van began to move and I dropped my hands. He gave me one last look. Surprisingly, I read pity in his eyes. His tires squealed. He couldn’t wait to get out of there. First Terry, now Harry. Both had been scared witless by something in my house. Charlie was still up there. Maybe he could tell me what had scared the poor man.
He climbed down off his ladder. “I’m as baffled as you are,” he said, as he selected a smaller screwdriver. “Pleasant enough chap. Don’t think he’s local, is he?”
“He’s from Rokesby Green. I found him online.”
Charlie nodded. “He’d made a start, as you can see.” He pointed to a tidy pile of old and threadbare curtains, next to some furniture which had been reduced to firewood, ready for transportation downstairs.
“He was smashing away there with his hammer and then he suddenly stopped and backed away. I asked him what was wrong and he didn’t say a word. He just pointed at the cupboard over there.”
I glanced over at the recently unveiled tall wardrobe. Maybe Charlie’s presence gave me courage but, without thinking, I marched over to it and flung the doors open.
Empty. Nothing but a bad smell. Like rotten eggs. Sulfur. I covered my nose and slammed the doors shut, “Oh God, that’s awful. That’s what I could smell in here earlier. What’s caused that?”
Charlie shrugged. “It is nasty, isn’t it? I’m afraid I haven’t a clue.”
“Well I’m going to have to find out and get rid of it.” I examined the outside of the wardrobe. Still the foul stench polluted the air, though not as strong now the doors were shut again. It was like any other, ugly, freestanding piece of early twentieth century bedroom furniture. Dark wood of indeterminate origin, standing a few inches off the floor on four, solid rectangular feet. It towered a good couple of feet above me.
“I can’t understand how that smell could have got in there,” I said, as I peered at one side of the wardrobe. It stood a good six inches from the wall. “Maybe Aunt Charlotte kept something in there that went bad and the smell lingered. I suppose if no one’s opened it in a long time, it’s possible.”
“That’s probably it,” Charlie said, climbing his ladder again. “Anyway, the smell’s almost gone now.”
“Or maybe we’ve grown used to it.”
He gave a quick smile. Gone almost before it had begun.
“You haven’t seen anything…odd, have you?”
“Not a thing. Apart from that chap’s behavior. That was definitely strange.”
“Thanks, Charlie. I’ll let you get on.”
As I passed the rehearsal room door I closed it and went back to my dusting. A wafting aroma of cigarette smoke drifted past my nose. I stopped polishing, heard a masculine cough behind me and turned. On the edge of my vision, something moved so fast I couldn’t be sure I’d seen it. But somehow I knew I had. And something told me I recognized it—however impossible it might seem. Tom.
My hands trembled so much I dropped the duster. My mouth dried up so I could barely swallow.
Charlie was in the house. I wasn’t alone. I must remember that. And later, the drama group would be coming. The house would be filled with noise. Laughter. Chatter. Normality.
In the kitchen, I poured a glass of water and stared out of the window. The willow tree had shed almost all its leaves, and it was naked. Vulnerable.
A sudden whining of rusty hinges made me jump and I turned to see the cellar door swinging open.
Whispers. Coming from down below. I had nowhere to run, except outside. And then where? I must get past the door. Back into the hall.
I set the glass down on the draining board and forced one reluctant foot in front of the other, moving silently. The door was a few fee
t away to my left, half open. The whispering grew louder, the closer I came. Childish whispers, and a couple of older ones, their words indistinct. In a few seconds, I would pass them. I readied myself. I put my hand to the door and flung it with all my strength. It slammed shut, the noise echoing through the hall. I ran to the stairs and sat down on them, hugging myself and rocking back and forth, trembling.
I’d heard one clear word. A name. The name they would use for me if they were real.
Kelly.
* * * * *
Shona followed me out of the rehearsal room as the cast enjoyed their break. I was halfway down the stairs when she spoke. “Let’s go and have a little chat in the living room. They don’t need me for the rest of the rehearsal. I can see something’s wrong and I want to help. Will you let me?”
I looked into her clear green eyes. Here, surely, was a woman I could trust.
“Yes, please. I need to tell someone. You see, I think, somehow, they’ve come alive.”
She recoiled as if I’d slapped her, but recovered herself. There was no going back. I told her everything, ending with, “I’m certifiably crazy, aren’t I?”
Shona had listened patiently throughout. Now she sat back and raised her eyes. “What’s that famous expression of Sherlock Holmes? ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth’? Perhaps that applies here. We know there was no one but you and us cast members that night, so no one could have directed Cynthia to the bathroom, but she is adamant that someone did. More than that, she is positive that the description she gave was an accurate one. She’s mentioned it more than once since. You say it fits this imaginary sister of yours and that you have seen the younger one—Veronica— more than once?”
I nodded. “And then there’s the cigarette smoke.”
“But you’ve not actually seen the boy—Tom?”
“I’m not sure. I thought I saw something earlier tonight. In here.”
“Maddie, in my life I’ve seen and heard all sorts of things. Believe me, your story isn’t half as strange as some. A few of the people who’ve left those flats in the High Street told me the most extraordinary tales.”
“The black dog? I think I may have seen it a few days ago when I went up the High Street, shopping.”
“And did it have blazing red eyes?”
“No, but it looked like no breed of dog I’ve ever seen. And it was big. I mean, we’re talking St. Bernard proportions here but with some features I’ve never seen before. The eyes were piercing, not doleful as so many dogs’ are. And its haunches…the muscles were bulging.” I shuddered at the memory. “I was on the other side of the street to it. It stared at me. Even when I’d passed it, I knew it was watching me.”
She smiled and gazed into the distance. “I must be the only one in Priory St. Michael not to have seen it. Now why would that be, do you think? Who’s to say? Only the dog, presumably and he’s not talking.” She laughed, in a vain attempt to lift my mood I was sure.
“I think what I’m saying, Maddie, is that I have learned enough in my time to keep an open mind about anything that cannot be readily explained. You’ve had some scares, but has anything actually threatened you?”
I didn’t answer straightaway. I thought over all the strange events, half-sightings, the whispering from the cellar, the doors that seemed to open by themselves, those damn roots. Shona was right. Despite everything, nothing had threatened me.
“No. Frightened me half to death though. And scared the life out of my ex-husband, a tree surgeon and a house clearance man.” I managed a light laugh.
“Your ex-husband?”
Of course, I hadn’t told Shona about Neil’s uninvited, nocturnal visit. I didn’t want to get into a long conversation about it now either.
“Oh, he turned up, wanting to get back with me—or my money, more like. I sent him away, but not before he’d allegedly had a close encounter with something he couldn’t explain. The trouble with Neil is I never know when to believe him or not. Mostly I’ve learned to treat everything he says as suspect. Honesty was never one of his strengths.” I managed a light laugh. “But I have to confess, this time he did seem genuinely upset.”
“I think we have to be open to the possibility that you and he really did see and hear those things. The question remains why?”
“Have you any ideas?”
Shona shook her head. “Not one, I’m afraid.” She paused. “Charlie’s lived here all his life and he’s a sensible sort of chap. Maybe have a word with him about anything he knows about this house. His reaction when you asked him about Pete shows he’s not one to give way to superstition and hearsay.”
The sound of chatter came from the hall. The rehearsal was breaking up for the night.
Shona looked at her watch. “Good gracious, is that the time?” She stood. “Try not to worry, Maddie. I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it. But I won’t promise a logical explanation this time. I know better than that.”
I followed her out into the hall. Most of the cast had already left. A chilly blast of air blew through the open door. “October’s with us all right,” Shona said as I helped her on with her coat. “It’ll be Christmas before we know where we are. I see the shops have got their Halloween paraphernalia out already.”
Halloween. The thought of it set my heart pounding.
* * * * *
I settled in bed for my first night’s sleep at Hargest House since Sunday. I reached to switch off the lamp but stopped. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to plunge into total blackness. Tiredness overwhelmed me and my eyes closed. I pulled the duvet close around my shoulders to keep out the chill in the room. Apart from the cheerful, warming fires here in my childhood, I’d always been brought up to sleep in a cool, if not cold, bedroom. Over-heated rooms kept me awake.
A sudden noise jolted me from my near-sleep state. It came from overhead. Something had fallen down upstairs. I should go and investigate. I sat up. No, whatever it was would surely keep ’til morning. I lay back down again. Closed my eyes.
The crash was louder this time. I shot up in bed.
My mind raced with possible explanations. An intruder. In which case, investigating could be dangerous. I should call the police. I scanned the room, flinching at the shadows in dark corners, not illuminated by my bedside lamp. Silvery fingers of moonlight pierced the gaps between the curtains. I realized I was holding my breath and exhaled, wishing my breathing didn’t make so much noise.
I cursed silently. My phone was in my purse, downstairs in the living room. In future I must remember to bring it up with me when I went to bed. Fat lot of good that would do me now though.
I listened. Minutes ticked by. I got out of bed, went to the closed door and put my ear against it. Nothing. Above me was the junk room. Maybe Harry hadn’t stacked the stuff too well and it had worked loose and toppled over. Yes, that was it. Surely after all this time, any intruder would have realized there was nothing worth stealing on the upper floors and have made his way down. The key was in the lock and I turned it. He would have to break the door down to get to me. I lost track of time as my feet and legs grew colder by the second.
Not a sound.
Nothing was going to make me turn that key until daylight. Tomorrow I would also arm myself with something I could defend myself with. A baseball bat. Or a cricket bat maybe. Those umbrellas of Aunt Charlotte’s had vicious spikes, but they were so old, they were falling apart.
I was shivering. As certain as I could be that I wasn’t about to be killed in my own home, I climbed back into bed and pulled the covers tightly around me. Eventually, sheer exhaustion overcame me and I slept for a couple of hours.
I awoke at eight thirty. A gray, rain-soaked morning greeted me as I pulled back the drapes. I was hit by the feeling of profound sadness I always felt when autumn began taking its inevitable to
ll of the weather, leaving dankness and death in its wake. With a sigh, I moved away from the window.
By the time Charlie arrived, I was showered, dressed and drinking coffee, but still hadn’t plucked up courage to go and find out what had caused the crashes the night before. I’d almost managed to convince myself I’d dreamed it. Almost.
Charlie went upstairs and I followed. At least with him in the house, I felt less vulnerable to whatever I would find when I opened that door. Charlie disappeared into the rehearsal room, while I summoned up every ounce of courage I could muster and turned the door handle of the junk room.
I scoured the room for any sign of disturbance but, with everything in such a mess anyway, how would I know? Harry’s cleared area looked the same as before. For the first time, I paid close attention to the individual items that were stacked and strewn around the untidy room. The old, broken rocking horse leaned drunkenly up against one wall, the paint cracked and peeling. Try as I might, I couldn’t remember ever playing with it. It was probably broken even when I was a child. That appeared to be the only child’s toy and I wondered fleetingly who had owned it. Surely there had been no other children in this house but me? As I approached it, I saw the rockers were broken, hence the odd angle. No one had played with this in a very long time. Maybe it had been a favorite toy of Aunt Charlotte’s and she had brought it with her. Maybe it had belonged to Nathaniel Hargest himself when he was a boy.
Then I saw it—the wardrobe that had given off the sulfurous stench. It lay, face down. That’s what I must have heard crashing to the floor. I picked my way around it. There was no smell now and I could see the back, sides and feet. Solid, heavy wood. How could something so big and heavy have toppled over? Unless someone strong had pushed it.
Something glinted and distracted my attention. A tall, cheval mirror, partially covered by a sheet which I pulled across. Like others in this room, the glass was crazed and mottled, but otherwise it looked in good condition. My reflection stared back at me. I looked tired, and in need of a good night’s sleep. My eyes appeared dull and lusterless, my lips dry and pale. I pushed my untidy hair behind my ears and blinked.
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