Haunted

by Amy Cross

  “And did anyone else see her, apart from you?”

  “I don't know. Mommy didn't see her. Can I go to Mommy now?”

  “Not right now, Alexandra.”

  “Can I go to Daddy?”

  “I'm sorry, but that's not possible.”

  “I don't like it here. I want to be with Mommy and Daddy. I want to go. Can I go?”

  For a moment, the only sound is the faint hum of the camera.

  “Is Daddy out of the house now?” my voice continues finally. “Mommy said we couldn't go back for him, but I wanted to go back. If he's still there, I want to go back and get him. Please, you have to -”

  Harry stops the video.

  “That was the one and only interview session where you were able to recall anything,” he explains. “After that, your memory was gone. Several child psychologists interviewed you, but they came to the conclusion that amnesia was your way of dealing with the trauma. At least you were able to function, though. Not like...”

  His voice trails off.

  “Not like my mother,” I whisper.

  “I understand they've still got her at Impingham.”

  I nod.

  “I know I'm asking you to believe a lot,” he continues, “and I'm sure you'd like to tell me to take a hike, but I've spent the past twenty years investigating what happened that night.” He pauses again, eyeing me with concern. “Alex, I have to ask you something. Since you returned to Railham, and to that house, have you experienced anything unusual? Has anything happened that might make it easier for you to believe what I'm suggesting?”

  “I don't know,” I whisper, but even as those words leave my lips, I'm remembering the touch of two icy hands on my neck.

  “Five people died after Mo Garvey was killed,” he points out. “Neil Bloom, Lenny Johnson, Matt Beamish, David Trelawney and your father. I believe those five people died because Mo blamed them for what happened, but I also believe that she isn't finished yet.” He grabs some more papers from the desk and starts sorting through them. “The more I've looked into the case, the more I've begun to notice gaps where another person fits. I don't think Neil Bloom acted alone when he killed Mo.”

  “You think he had an accomplice?”

  He nods.

  “Who?” I ask.

  “It'd have to be someone who Mo wasn't able to get to back then,” he continues. “Either that, or someone she left alone for some other reason. I struggled for a while, but then I had a breakthrough when I realized that the sedatives Neil used were not readily available. He had to have sourced them from somebody with a medical license and -”

  “A retired doctor lives next door.”

  “Exactly. Tom Milford. He lived there when your father died, too.”

  “You think Tom Milford was involved?”

  “I'm certain he was part of the group that covered up Neil's involvement,” he explains, “but I also think he might have been with Neil when Mo Garvey was kidnapped and murdered. I think he supplied the sedatives, and I think he probably even helped to do those awful things to the poor girl.” He pauses. “The only question left, in my mind, is why Mo Garvey's ghost didn't go after him. She killed all those other people, so why would she let Tom Milford stay free for all these years?”

  “I felt her hands,” I reply. “She was so cold.”

  “What if she wants the truth to come out?” he asks. “What if Tom Milford is the last person left alive who can reveal what really happened? After all, Mo can't talk, so she needs someone else to say the words. Maybe killing him isn't enough. Maybe she needs to force him to talk, and maybe she hasn't been able to do that yet. Maybe she's been waiting all these years for something to change, or for...”

  I wait for him to continue.

  “Or for what?” I ask cautiously.

  “Or for someone to come back,” he continues, keeping his eyes fixed on me. “Someone who can give her what she wants.”

  I open my mouth to tell him that he has to be wrong, but then suddenly I remember my phone conversation with Brad earlier this evening.

  “I have to get home,” I whisper, feeling a slow sense of dread rising through my chest. “Tom Milford was at the door earlier, and I think Brad let him inside.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Alex Roberts

  “I still can't get hold of Brad,” I mutter, as I'm put through to his voicemail yet again. Hanging up, I start typing another message, telling him to call me as soon as he can. “He's not replying to my messages, either.”

  “You have to get him out of that house,” Harry says as he steers the car through the rain, taking us along another dark street. “If I'm right, Tom Milford must know about Mo Garvey's ghost. He won't want the truth to come out, not after all these years.”

  “But ghosts aren't real,” I reply, turning to him. “I know that. Ghosts can't exist, so how is this happening?”

  “I was like you once, Alex. I thought any talk of ghosts was just a load of hogwash, but as my research progressed, I began to see that there was only one explanation that made sense. What happened to Mo Garvey was horrific, and I think she's found a way to come back. She wants people to pay for what they did to her.”

  “But if -”

  Before I can finish, I spot the house up ahead, and I immediately see that all the lights are off. Checking my phone again, I realize that since it's barely 10pm, Brad should still be up. In fact, I find it hard to believe that he'd have simply gone to bed without even sending me a message first.

  I immediately unfasten my seat-belt, and then I climb out of the car as soon as Harry brings it to a halt.

  “Alexandra, wait!” he calls after me. “We should call for help!”

  Ignoring him, I hurry along the path that leads to the front door. I know he's right, I know that I should be careful, but at the same time I'm scared that Brad might be hurt. That fear only increases when I reach the front door and find that it's been left slightly ajar, and then I push the door open and step into the dark hallway. Fumbling for the light switch, I flick it before stepping over toward the stairs, but then I stop as I realize that the lights have stayed off.

  “Alexandra!” Harry hisses, having finally caught up. “This isn't safe!”

  “Call the police,” I reply.

  “My phone's in the car.”

  “Then go back and get it.”

  I step toward the bottom of the stairs, and after a moment I hear Harry following.

  “Brad!” I call out, desperately hoping that he'll call back to me. “Brad, it's me! Are you here?”

  I wait, but there's no reply.

  “Please,” Harry continues, grabbing my arm, “let's play this safe. It's obvious that something's not -”

  Suddenly he falls silent. Turning, I see fear in his eyes, and then I follow his gaze until I find myself looking at the top of the stairs.

  “What did you see?” I ask, feeling a flicker of fear in my chest.

  “I don't know,” he replies, “but just for a moment I thought...”

  His voice trails off.

  “Never mind,” he adds. “I'm jumpy, it was probably just a trick of the light. The important thing is that we have to get out of here right now and call for help. I'm sure your husband wouldn't want you to go charging in like this.”

  “I have to find him. You can wait outside if you want, but I have to make sure Brad's okay.”

  “I'm not leaving you alone in here,” he replies. “I've made enough mistakes in my life to know what they feel like, and walking away from this house now – walking away from you – would be a mistake. Besides, it's finally time for me to keep that promise to your -”

  Before he can finish, I hear a loud banging sound from upstairs. I open my mouth to call out, but something about the sound seems familiar, and for the first time in over twenty years I think I'm starting to remember the night my father died. I remember strange men forcing their way into our house, I remember my mother being terrified, and I remember heari
ng sounds coming from upstairs. Even now, as I place a hand on the banister, I feel as if I've been in this exact position once before, when I was a little girl.

  And I remember -

  “I'm going to call the police and you're coming with me,” Harry says suddenly, filled with panic as he grabs my arm.

  “I have to find Brad.”

  “The police will find Brad!”

  “No!”

  I pull away and start hurrying up toward the landing, but Harry grabs my arm again.

  “Alexandra, listen to me!” he hisses. “Somebody isn't happy about you being back in town! We have to let the police deal with this!”

  “My husband might be in danger!”

  “The police -”

  “Call them!” I say firmly. “Tell them to get here as fast as they can!”

  “You can't just go charging in like this!” he points out. “You're making the same mistake your father made, thinking you can fix everything!”

  “But my husband -”

  “Your husband wouldn't want you to rush into danger,” he continues. “Alexandra, be smart! If there's someone here who wants the truth about little Mo Garvey to stay hidden, then there's no telling how far they're willing to go. Let's just get to the car and call the police, and let them handle it.”

  I open my mouth to tell him that we can't wait, but deep down I know that he's right.

  And then suddenly I hear Brad cry out upstairs.

  “That's him!” I yell, turning and rushing up toward the landing, filled with panic.

  “Alexandra, wait!” Harry calls after me.

  “Call the police!” I shout, as I reach the top of the stairs and see that the door to the master bedroom has been left shut. As I get closer, I realize that for the first time I can remember, the mention of my father didn't make me start simmering with hatred. With each step, I can feel more and more of my old memories starting to come flooding back.

  I remember Mom being knocked out.

  I remember a man leading Dad upstairs.

  I remember the men running away.

  I remember running up to help Dad.

  I remember the bedroom door opening.

  I remember looking into the cold room and seeing a face staring down at me.

  I remember seeing Mo Garvey.

  Not just that night, but other times too. I saw her in my bedroom, standing in the corner and staring at me. I even remember sitting out on the landing, playing with my toys on the floor because I was too scared to go into my room. All these memories are flooding back to me as I start making my way toward the master bedroom, but now I finally remember all the times I used to see that dead, ravaged little girl. Either I was completely out of my mind as a child, or she was really here.

  “Brad!” I call out as I reach the door and hear more bumping sounds from the other side. “Brad, it's me! Can you hear me?”

  The sound continues for a moment, before suddenly stopping.

  “Brad?”

  As I reach for the door's handle, I'm starting to remember every last detail from that night twenty years ago. My mother wanted me to get out of the house, she said we had to leave Dad behind, but I was determined to make him come with us. I was so scared, and I tried to get to Dad, and I couldn't reach him and he died. I blamed myself. Before I forgot, and before I let other people poison his memory, I blamed myself for not saving him. I almost forced the door open, but I was just a little girl and I wasn't strong enough.

  Trying the handle, I find that although it turns, something on the other side seems to be pushing to keep the door shut.

  Just like last time.

  “Brad?” I call out, trying again. “The police are coming! If anyone's in there with my husband, you should know that the police are on their way, so you really need to let him go! Tom Milford, if that's you, you have to realize that it's over!”

  I try the door one more time, before realizing that I can't afford to wait any longer. Taking a step back, I pause for a moment to gather my strength and then I rush forward, throwing all my weight at the door and slamming hard against my shoulder. The door shudders and opens a few inches, but something heavy is still holding it tight and I still can't slip through.

  Again, just like last time.

  “Let me in!” I yell, taking another step back and then immediately trying again. Filled with panic, I throw myself against the door, and this time I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder as something on the other side continues to push back.

  He's in there.

  I might have failed to get through and help my father all those years ago, but I'm not going to let the same thing happen to my husband.

  Throwing myself against the door again and again, I try to force my way through, but each time I only manage to push the door open by another half-inch or so. Whatever's on the other side, it's pushing back with huge force, and I have to hit the door again and again until finally I push it open a little further, just enough to see through. I can only make out the dark bedroom, however, so I take a few steps back before launching myself at the door one more time.

  Finally, I manage to push the door open and tumble through into the bedroom.

  Tumbling to the ground, I land hard and roll onto my back, and when I look up into the darkness I see a face looming above me. For a moment, I think I might have found Brad, or that maybe Tom Milford is here, but I blink and suddenly I realize the truth.

  The air is freezing in here.

  It's her.

  It's Mo Garvey.

  “No!” I stammer, getting to my feet and stepping back, even as I feel a throbbing pain in my shoulder. Wincing, I drop down for a moment before turning and looking over my shoulder.

  There's no sign of Mo now, but a moment later I spot a figure slumped on the floor next to the bed. Rushing over, I drop to my knees and roll Brad over, and I find that he's unconscious with a thick, bloodied wound on the side of his head. Somebody must have knocked him out and left him here, but there's no sign of anyone else in the room as I look around. My heart is pounding, but I'm certain that Tom Milford has to be nearby.

  “I'm getting you out of here,” I stammer, reaching down and starting to gather Brad into my arms. I've never tried lifting him before, but I figure I should be able to manage.

  When I try, however, I immediately feel a crippling pain in my shoulder, and I fall back as I realize that I must have fractured something.

  Filled with panic, I grab Brad's arm and start dragging him across the floor, pulling him toward the door. I can only use one arm, since the pain in my right shoulder is getting stronger by the second, but I manage to kick the door open and drag Brad all the way out onto the landing. Maybe sheer terror is giving me the strength I need, but I quickly get him to the door that leads into my old bedroom, and then I glance inside and see to my horror that there's a figure standing in the darkened corner.

  Mo Garvey.

  She's standing where she always stood before.

  When I was a little girl, I saw her several times and no-one ever believed me. I was even so scared once that I refused to be in my room, and I remember my father finding me playing out here on the landing. I forgot so much, but now the memories are all flooding back and as I stare at the girl now, I feel all my doubt starting to fade.

  It's really her.

  She's dead, and she's here.

  But why is she just standing there? Why isn't she doing anything?

  “Harry!” I shout, filled with panic. “Help!”

  Grabbing the handle, I pull the door shut before hauling Brad further along the landing. I just have to get us the hell out of this house, and then I can try to understand everything else later. As I reach the top of the stairs, however, I spot movement down in the hallway, and when I look down I'm horrified to see Harry Bischoff on the floor. His dead eyes are staring toward the wall, and a figure is crouching over him, holding the handle of a knife that's embedded in Harry's back.

  Slowly, Doctor Tom Milford tu
rns and looks up at me.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Alex Roberts

  “Alex!” Tom Milford calls out as I start dragging Brad back toward the master bedroom. “Wait, let me explain!”

  Pushing through the pain in my shoulder, I manage to get Brad into the room and then I slam the door shut. Switching the light on, I hurry to the dresser and start pushing it along the wall until it covers the door, and then I start looking around for something, anything, I might be able to use as a weapon. A moment later, as I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, I rush back over to Brad and reach down, frantically checking his pockets in case I can find his phone.

  “Come on, come on,” I stammer, trying not to panic. “You have to be in here somewhere. Brad, please -”

  Suddenly the door handle turns, and I throw myself against the dresser, forcing it to stay in place as Tom tries to get the door open from the other side.

  “Alex!” he says firmly. “Please, just let me in. Let me talk to you.”

  “The police are coming!” I yell, with tears in my eyes. “They know about you! They know everything you did!”

  “Harry didn't call the police,” he replies. “And if he didn't, then I doubt anyone else did. If you scream, it'll still take several minutes for the police to arrive, but I'm hoping you'll be a little smarter than that. You want this nightmare to end, don't you? For that to happen, you need -”

  “Help!” I shout, stumbling to the window and pulling it open, only to find that the latch has been left locked. Figuring that I don't have time to find a key, I start banging on the reinforced glass. “Somebody help me!”

  Outside in the dark, all the other houses have their lights off.

  “Help!” I yell again. “I'm in here! I need help!”

  “Nobody's coming, Alex,” Tom says suddenly.

  Turning, I rush back to the dresser and put my weight against its edge, making sure that the door can't be opened.

  “All these tightly sealed windows have quite the muffling effect, don't they?” he continues. “It'll be a while before anyone hears you.”

  “I know what you did!” I hiss, still trying to think of some way to escape. “You were one of them! You were one of those bastards who helped cover up what really happened to Mo Garvey!”