Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1)

by Noordeloos, Chantal

  Freya frowned, the words stuck in her throat, and she fiddled with the nails of her left hand. Part of her wanted to believe Oliver. The world would make a lot more sense if there was no haunting, if Bam had just slipped and fallen in the bath, if her aunt in the car had just been a hallucination. But what of the woman she’d seen the first time they’d broken down the wall to the East Wing? How could she explain her? And the nosebleeds? Could it really be some sort of virus? Suddenly she wasn’t sure.

  “If we are sick, then the people exposed to us need to be checked out.” Oliver took another bite of his food and looked at her over his bowl. There was something in his eyes that she didn’t like. Do I see victory? Does he know he has me? She turned to Logan, but she saw doubt in his face too. Oliver’s truth sounded more plausible than anything supernatural. Why wouldn’t he doubt?

  “We can’t just stop building, not even because of Bam’s death. We’ll mourn her, and we’ll have to make do without her share of the money, I know. But come on, think about what you’re saying, think about what you want to throw this all away for? For a hunch? A superstition? You’re suggesting we stay behind in a house that’s unfinished… a builder’s project. It’s dangerous, and we can’t finish it ourselves.”

  “He has a point.” Logan pulled on Freya’s arm, urging her to sit down, and she obeyed.

  “We can’t risk the guys being here.”

  “The boys have been here for several weeks now and they’re fine. Like Oliver said, there’s no real proof that anything is happening in this house. Could be that we really did get some weird virus, or maybe it’s the stress. Who knows?” He rubbed his chin and then placed two hands on her cheeks. “I’m not saying you’re not right, I’m saying… we just don’t know yet. And we need to do a bit more research before we make any decisions. It’s not fair on the guys either. This is a big chance for them. These guys come from abusive homes, have been involved with petty crime, and some have nowhere to go back to. Being here is good for them.”

  “What about your two missing boys?”

  “They didn’t have nosebleeds as far as I know, and they were runaways. Let’s not make more of this than what we’ve experienced.”

  “It just feels so wrong.”

  “Think of it this way: If nothing’s happened so far, why would something happen now? Let’s get some more information first. How does that sound?”

  “Yes.” Oliver’s voice was eager and there was a hunger in his eyes. “Let’s at least try to make it through September.”

  Logan looked from Freya to Oliver, his face nonplussed “Eh… yeah.”

  “If they’re going to stay, maybe they can put up those walls again?”

  “No, let the house be as it is now,” Oliver snapped. “I don’t want to put the walls back up.”

  A sigh escaped Freya’s lips, and she felt like she was losing any ground she’d had at the beginning of the conversation.

  “What about you, Logan? You’re as trapped as we are?”

  “I say get that doctor in here before we do anything drastic. Maybe there are other things we can do, like research the history of this house, perhaps talk to some of the locals. I’m sure there are plenty of stories.”

  “Well, maybe, if you all believe that this house is haunted, we could get some experts in?” Oliver sounded nonchalant, but Freya had a sneaky suspicion there was more to his words than he was saying.

  “Only a minute ago you were telling me that I was insane for even suggesting ghosts… and now you’re telling me we should get ghost experts in? Make up your mind, Ollie. You’re acting weird.”

  “I’m acting weird? Look at yourself. I’m only accommodating your crazy.”

  “My crazy?”

  “At least then we’ll have answers.” The smile on his face was smug, and Freya narrowed her eyes, but she had to admit there was some sanity in his words. If there was something wrong with this place, she wanted to know about it.

  “Fine, Bam did some research on psychics.” She walked towards the drawer and pulled it open. Her fingers ran through the clutter of band-aids, matches and other little knick-knacks until she found the piece of paper she was looking for. She fished it out between her thumb and forefinger. With a triumphant smile, she held the piece of paper up and waved it about. “I’ll call this lady. It’s what Bam wanted all along.”

  “Let’s get on that as soon as possible.”

  “Whatever. I’ll call her in the morning, shall I? To get you your confirmation. And if I do… we’re having this conversation again.” Freya pushed her bowl of food away from her and got up from the table, her voice tight and her stomach swirling with hot acid. “I don’t know what’s going on in that mind of yours, Ollie, but you’ve been acting weird lately. I don’t know how to deal with it.” She wanted to lash out more, to fight against the defeat she felt, but part of her knew that she couldn’t outwit Oliver, not with the arguments he had. She was defending ghost stories for fuck’s sake. How could she ever sound sane?

  Oliver knew it too, but his slight smile changed to a frown when he looked at her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to search the house and see if I can find that diary Aunt Miriam was talking about in her letter. Maybe that can clear some stuff up.”

  Logan pushed his chair away from the table with a loud screech, his food also forgotten. “I’ll come with you. Best not to wander around the house alone. Everything seems pretty solid, but you never know.”

  “Thanks.” She turned to Oliver again, who was staring into his food with a distant smile on his face.

  I don’t like how he’s acting. I don’t like it one bit.

  ***

  “Why did you agree with Oliver to leave the guys here longer?” Freya flicked on her torch as they entered the south corridor. “You could have shipped them out tomorrow.”

  “I can’t just tell them that this project is over… especially not because of a ghost story. I need some time to sort this out.”

  “I get that.”

  “Besides, I wasn’t kidding when I said most of these boys don’t have a good place to get back to. I need to give them time to make arrangements. They were expecting to be here the better part of a year, not the lesser part of two months.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t fully disagree with Oliver either. Nothing has really happened as far as we know. There are too many variables. Quitting a project is very expensive.”

  Freya shrugged. She wanted to say something clever, but she was too busy feeling stupid.

  “My story sounds pretty crazy, huh? Maybe Ollie is right. Maybe the stress of losing Bam, and the guilt I feel… it… well, I suppose it could be getting to me. Maybe I’m just losing the plot.”

  His warm hand landed on her lower back, sending jolts of energy through her body.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m a little suspicious too. The ‘feeling sick’ thing, I’ve never encountered anything like it before.”

  “Is it strange that I feel relieved that you at least partially believe me?”

  He smiled and his hand rubbed softly against her lower back, and a spark of longing exploded between her thighs. Freya jumped away from his touch.

  “What?” Logan took a step back, his eyebrows arched, and he held up both hands in the air. Freya could feel from the heat in her cheeks that her face was most likely beet-red.

  “I… it’s just…” She struggled to find the words to explain. “That part of my back… when you touch it… I mean… I feel… um… you know…”

  “Ticklish?”

  “Yes…” she mulled the word over in her mind. “Ticklish will do.” The beam from her torch painted his face with light and shadows. His presence had become so familiar to her over the past few days, as if she had known him all her life, and she wondered if the attraction she felt for him was mutual or if he just thought she was nice. She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her skin even though he was no
longer touching her, and the arousal she’d felt lingered softly. Logan cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at her, a curious smile playing around his lips, but he didn’t say anything.

  Freya cleared her throat, the blood still pulsating in her cheeks.

  “We should go about this logically. I don’t think the diary would be in any random place. My aunt mentioned it in her letter, so she must have assumed I already had it. So what place could I have got it from?”

  “Her inheritance lawyers?” Logan moved towards her, the light from her torch spreading across his chest like a blooming night flower.

  “Well, yes, that would be logical. But seeing as I didn’t get any diary from the lawyers, we should stick to searching the inside of the house.”

  “You lead the way, I’ll follow.”

  Chapter 20

  “Weekend’s coming up, guys. Anyone want to go home?” John pushed his Stanley knife into a spotted yellow apple. The skin curled against the side of the blade and fell into his hand, its sweet fragrance escaping into the air.

  “Can we go do something else instead?” Angus Reid grabbed one of the apples and sank his crooked teeth into it. “I don’t fancy going home much, but I’d like to get out of this house for a bit.”

  “Yeah. Maybe get a few pints somewhere, you know?” Gary piped in. His skin was greasy and pocked with acne, and he was missing one of his front teeth. Mousy brown hair hung in dirty strands across his shoulders and forehead.

  “You can get a few pints in Edinburgh.” John watched the young men’s body language. They didn’t want to leave, he could tell. There was a peace and harmony to the group since they’d come to Angel Manor. It was as if something had clicked with them, that the thought of a new future somehow seemed more promising. Perhaps it was the fresh air that had done them good, or perhaps it was just being away from it all. They had behaved so well over the past few weeks. Even without television, computers and phones they’d been all right. No shenanigans at all. They played card games, read books or listened to their I-pods, or whatever the damned things were called.

  It’s like the air is filled with tranquilizers or something, John mused, and chuckled at his own joke. It helped that the biggest troublemaker had run away, and that the second biggest seemed keen to turn over a new leaf, though he felt a little worried by how peaky the Jones boy had been looking.

  This was the first time the guys had said anything about entertainment. They hadn’t complained at all so far. Come to think of it, he hadn’t really felt as homesick as he thought he would either. There was no way of calling the missus every night like he usually did, and he didn’t really mind. The house had a homey atmosphere, and John felt a pang of guilt for not missing his own home more than he did.

  “We’ll see what we can do. You’ve behaved very well so far, so I don’t see why we can’t go out sometime.”

  Mason, a geeky-looking boy with glasses, pulled out a deck of cards and held it up. “Who’s up for a game?” Two of the three hands shot up; only Terrence looked uninterested. He put the ear buds in and fiddled with the dial on his mp3 player. John was always amazed at technology. He remembered having a Walkman when he was a kid, and that was at least twenty times the size of the little white device. The melancholy look on Terrence’s face bothered him, so he got up from his seat and sat down next to the kid.

  “How about you go with Jim this weekend? Go home, check out your brother. I know you’re worried about him.”

  Terrence pulled one of the ear buds out and turned to John. “I don’t want to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I’m right and my brother is dead, I’d rather just not know for a bit longer.”

  John slapped the young man’s shoulder. “I get that. But he’s not dead. Those were just dreams. Nothing more, I promise.”

  “You know, in my dreams he tells me to get out of this house?” His deep brown eyes were round with worry. “He tells me to get out while I still can. But I can’t go. I don’t know why, but I just can’t bring myself to leave here. There’s something very comfortable about this place, like I belong here or something. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah.” The word popped out of John’s mouth before he had time to think. He felt it too. As if the house was asking him to stay. Of course this was a ridiculous thought, and yet… somehow… it wasn’t.

  ***

  The attic was cast in the soft glow of moonlight and stars shining through the large bay windows. During the day it was filled with light, but now it looked desolate, and frankly, a little creepy. Freya contemplated turning around and heading back down the thin wooden stairs, only coming back when the sun had chased away the dark shadows. Logan stood right behind her, leaning over her shoulder. His body was warm against hers, and she felt the butterflies flutter in her stomach once again. He reached past her to something dangling in the darkness, and with a firm yank, he brought an array of light-bulbs alive. The light chased away some of the shadows whilst deepening others in the corners. Dust particles danced elegantly in the light beams.

  “At least the lights work up here.” Logan grinned.

  The attic was gigantic, spreading out over the entire house and splitting off over the different wings. Most of it was empty, but in the centre they found a cluster of old furniture, covered by large white sheets giving it the appearance of fat ghosts.

  “Maybe we should come back here in the morning.” Her voice faltered a little.

  “Aren’t you curious?” His breath was hot on her cheek, and she was awkwardly aware that she just had to turn her head and her lips would be on his. Her need to get away from the attic was suddenly overpowered by her longing to spend time with Logan.

  “I am, but I’m also creeped out.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?” He pushed his way past her, his body pressed against hers, and she wondered if he’d done so on purpose. “Besides, I’m here with you. What could happen?”

  “Well, I’d rather not tempt fate, thank you.” She wrinkled her nose at him, but the scent of his body made her head spin.

  “Even if this place is haunted, I’ve never heard about a ghost harming a person, have you?”

  “I’ve heard of possessions.”

  A look of worry crossed Logan’s face. “Oh right, yeah, there are those. Did anyone ever die from those?”

  “I don’t know. I think some exorcisms might have gone wrong.”

  “Well, if we see a ghost, we’ll run. Besides, if there are ghosts up here, what’s stopping them from getting into the rest of the house? As far as I know, ghosts won’t be stopped by walls.”

  “You’re really not helping.”

  “I’m really not, am I?”

  They both laughed, though their laughter was laced with a nervous shrillness. One of the light bulbs flickered slightly, making the shadows dance, and Freya took an involuntary step towards Logan.

  “Is it me, or did we just land in a horror movie?”

  “If you’re real quiet, you can hear the ominous background music.” Logan hummed a tune from a slasher film that sounded very familiar, a wicked sparkle in his green eyes.

  “Oh, stop it. I would have to at least be in my bra and knickers, running around and calling out ‘Billy? Is that you?’ Maybe fall down a couple of times.”

  Logan pinched his chin between thumb and forefinger and gave her a scrutinizing look before nodding in approval. “I’m liking this bra and knickers thing. We should try that out.”

  She gasped and laughed at the same time, and punched him in the arm. Suddenly the attic didn’t seem so frightening, not with him here. He’s flirting with me, she thought, or, at least I think he is. Doubt whispered in her ear.

  “You, sir, are no gentleman.” She winked at him, secretly afraid he would back off.

  “Well, you’re making it difficult to be a gentleman if you’re talking about running around in your delicates.”

  She giggled. She hated herself for it, but she giggled
. Her legs felt lighter, as did her heart, as she walked further into the attic.

  “I wonder what’s stored up here.” She pulled one of the sheets off the furniture with a loud swishing noise. A snowfall of dust whirled down on her, tickling her nostrils and filling her mouth with the taste of old cotton. A cherry-wood secretary desk gleamed darkly in the sickly yellow light, the wood smooth and polished. Logan grabbed another sheet and pulled.

  “Okay, that’s more than a little sinister.” His voice was quiet, and her skin broke out in goose bumps.

  “Sinister?” The lump in her throat made her voice sound high, and she took a few steps in Logan’s direction. Her gaze fell onto a faded white lace bassinet, decorated with a large, faded pink bow.

  “What’s creepy about it? It’s just an old cradle.”

  The corners of Logan’s mouth turned down, creating thick creases in his skin, and his eyebrows knotted above his nose. He took a step back from the bassinet and pointed a finger at something inside. Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. In the shadow of the brittle lace curtains, withered with age, lay a porcelain doll. One of the eyes was missing, leaving a dark hole. The remaining eye lay deep within the socket, its pale blue iris and pinprick pupil staring back at Freya. A cobweb of tiny cracks ruined any sweetness on the childlike face, and the side of its mouth was completely blackened. The doll had black hair, perhaps once dressed in curls or another pretty coiffure, but now the hair was thin and stringy, like that of an old woman, and it started too high on the forehead. It was dressed in a white high-collared dress, which was in remarkably good shape compared to the rest of the doll.

  “That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.” Freya was about to say more when she saw the doll move. Two large, black, hairy legs poked out from the eye socket, and Freya fell backwards against Logan. More legs followed as a fat spider crawled out from the doll’s empty eye.

  “Nope, I was wrong… that was the scariest thing I have ever seen.”

  “Not a fan.” Logan grabbed the white sheet from the floor and chucked it over the bassinet. “Let’s never look at that again.”