The House We Haunted and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  "I guess that's all we need from you," he says. "I'm sorry I had to drag you down here, but I thought it was important to get a positive identification before we went too further. It's not like there's a load of other missing girls, but still, I always like to be on steady ground."

  "I should get back to my surgery," I reply, turning to him. "If there's anything else I can do to help, anything at all, please let me know. And please tell Lisa's parents that they can call me if they need anything."

  "That's very kind of you," he replies. "I will absolutely tell them, and I'm sure they'll be in touch."

  I turn to walk away, and although the details of Lisa's death are undoubtedly shocking, I can't help but let a faint smile cross my face. The convenience of this whole situation is utterly baffling, and Lisa's decision to run out into the wilderness just as a huge storm arrived was, in my opinion, tantamount to suicide. In fact, I wouldn't even be surprised if she intended to die, at least on a superficial level, although that's not something I'd ever say to anyone else.

  "Dr. Maynard!" the officer calls out suddenly.

  Stopping, I turn to him.

  "I wasn't going to tell you this," he continues, with an awkward look on his face, "but I guess it's going to come out in the official report anyway, so..." He pauses. "Based on some tracks we've found, and a couple of personal items that Lisa appears to have dropped, we're pretty sure she did somehow manage to make it to your cabin. I guess she stumbled upon it in the snow, but the door was locked so she tried to get back to town. You mustn't think that any of this was your fault, though. We can't all go leaving unlocked cabins dotted around, can we?"

  I stare at him for a moment, but I'm not really sure what to say.

  "Thank you for telling me," I reply eventually, before turning and heading toward my car. My heart is racing as I realize that Lisa might very well have survived if the cabin door hadn't been locked when she arrived. It's just sheer luck that I happened to go up there, and that I happened to lock the door for the first time in years. It's not my fault that she died, however; I'm not the one who made her go out into the snow, and I was perfectly entitled to lock that door.

  My conscience is clear.

  Chapter Nine

  John

  When I get home, the house is almost empty.

  There's a note on the coffee table, and I know what it says even before I've opened the envelope. Kelly and I have been going through the motions for a couple of years now, and it was only a matter of time before one of us ended the relationship. This seems like a strange day for her to make a decision, but she seemed unsettled last night and I guess that she simply didn't want to waste any more time.

  The note explains that she's been unhappy for a while and that she knows I've been feeling the same way. She talks about feeling isolated since we came to live here, and she mentions that she's decided to go back and live in London. In the second paragraph, she says that she found my reaction to Lisa Barnes' disappearance to be somewhat troubling, and she goes on to accuse me of being bad at showing my emotions. She's certainly not the first woman to have said such a thing, and she probably won't be the last. I learned a long time ago to keep things under wraps, and I won't have a happy relationship until I find someone who can understand that I don't need to share everything all the time.

  The note is long and I can't be bothered to read it all right now, so I drop it on the coffee table and head through to the kitchen. Kelly would usually have a pot of coffee bubbling away around now, but I guess I'll have to make it myself.

  And that's when it hits me.

  Something that has been bugging me ever since the first time I went up to the cabin.

  Lisa's earring.

  I stand completely still, staring at the coffee-maker as I try to work out if my concern is valid. The last time we went up to the cabin, Lisa complained that she'd lost an earring. I remember telling her that she was just imagining things, but she was absolutely adamant that it had gone missing. At the time, it didn't seem very important, but I'm suddenly filled with worry at the thought that the police might decide to search the cabin and maybe, just maybe, they'll find the earring inside.

  I'm not sure how I'd be able to explain that, and even though I had nothing to do with her death, I could still be struck off and lose my job if our affair was exposed.

  I pause for a moment, trying to work out what to do, and finally I realize that I only have one choice. It's dark outside and I doubt the police are keeping an eye on the cabin right now, so I figure I have to go up there and check one more time that there's absolutely nothing that could link me to Lisa. Hurrying to the door, I stop for a moment as I desperately try to come up with an alternative plan, but finally I realize that this is my one and only option. The police clearly don't suspect anything at the moment, but if there's even a chance that they could find that earring, I have to take action.

  After checking that I've got the key, I head out the door.

  Chapter Ten

  John

  It's getting late by the time I get close to the cabin, but I have to move carefully. I can't be absolutely certain that there won't be any police around, and I don't want to have to explain why I'm out here so late. Fortunately, I don't see another soul as I drive out of town, and eventually I park up near the forest before completing the final couple of miles on foot.

  A fine rain falls as I trudge through the muddy fields.

  When I reach the cabin, it's clear that the place is deserted. I'm too jumpy to hurry, though, so I keep looking over my shoulder as I make my way through the moonlight. I know that this is probably a foolish and unnecessary journey, but I can't risk that earring being discovered. There are a thousand other places that Lisa could have lost it, and even if it's at the cabin, I doubt the police would bother looking inside. Then again, my whole life and career would be on the line if the worst happened, so I have no choice but to take a look. If all goes well, I can be in and out in less than an hour, and no-one will ever have to know.

  I use the torch function on my phone to illuminate the lock, but of course the key won't go in straight away. I have to wiggle it about, but finally it slips into the hole and I get the door open. Once I'm inside, I pull the door shut again and instinctively lock it, before using the phone to light up the small, bare wooden room. It looks exactly the same as the previous time I was here, and I can't help thinking that this search is ludicrous. Nevertheless, I get down on my hands and knees and check under the bed, just in case that earring might be here.

  It takes barely twenty minutes to carry out a pretty thorough search of the whole cabin. Apart from the bed, there's only a desk, a couple of chairs and the large cauldron that holds wood for the burner. I've never really bothered to make the place cozy, so there are only a few places where an errant earring could have fallen. Finally, I sit on the bed and try to force myself to relax. That earring, as incriminatory as it might be, clearly isn't here. Hell, I probably took more of a risk coming up here than I would have taken if I'd just stayed at home tonight. The last thing I needed to do was -

  I look over at the window as I hear a creaking sound outside. It sounds like a tree branch snapping, except there aren't any trees within a few meters of the cabin, and any branches on the ground have surely become too wet to snap quite so cleanly.

  I wait.

  Moments later, there's another snapping sound, but this time it seems to be a little further around the cabin, as if it's moving toward the door.

  I take a deep breath.

  This is just my mind playing tricks on me.

  There can't be anyone outside.

  I wait.

  It seems to have stopped.

  I don't -

  Then it happens again, right outside the door this time.

  I wait.

  There's a faint bumping sound.

  I stare at the door handle. It's locked, of course, but I still don't like the idea of someone being outside. If one of the police officers ha
s followed me up here, I'm not sure how I can explain myself.

  Silence.

  I wait.

  Should I call out? If I just sit here quietly, it might seem suspicious.

  I open my mouth.

  No words.

  I should just wait. There's no point doing anything when I don't have all the necessary facts. This is just some kind of trick.

  There'll be -

  Suddenly the door handle turns and someone tries to get inside. The lock remains in place, however, but whoever's out there, they keep trying, pushing the door again and again with increasing force.

  Then silence.

  I wait.

  My heart is racing, but I figure this can't be a police officer. They'd just knock and announce themselves, so I guess some kid must be playing a joke.

  Suddenly there's more banging on the door, as if someone is desperate to get in.

  I wait.

  The banging continues for a few seconds, and then stops abruptly.

  I hear the creaking sound again.

  Getting up from the bed, I listen to the sound as it slowly moves around the outside of the cabin. Finally, it stops outside the window, but it's too dark for me to see anything. I lower my phone so that the light doesn't illuminate me, and I stand in darkness for a moment as I listen out for any hint of someone outside.

  I guess it could be an animal.

  After a few minutes, I remind myself that it's foolish to just stand here. Taking a deep breath and forcing myself to confront whatever's out there, I start walking toward the door, but I pause as I reach out for the handle. I've been assuming that the person out there must be someone I know, but there's also a chance that it's a complete stranger. I look over at the window, and it occurs to me that I should take a look outside before I unlock the door. Making my way over, I cup my hands over my eyes and get as close to the glass as I can, but it's impossible to see anything out there.

  I raise my phone and try to aim the torch outside, but the glass only reflects the light back at me. I try a few different angles, but I can't seem to do much until, finally, the light suddenly falls on a face.

  I stare for a moment.

  The face stares back at me.

  I tell myself that it can't be Lisa, that this is all just a figment of my imagination. She has the same cold, pale skin color that I noticed when I identified her corpse, and her eyes are fixed on me with grim, unrelenting fervor. Slowly, she turns her head a little, and I hear her neck creaking, as if it's still frozen. Snow has begun to fall again, settling slowly on her stringy black hair.

  Taking a step back, I lower the torch.

  "No," I whisper, trying to convince myself that somehow I imagined her.

  Moments later, there's a faint knocking sound on the window.

  I raise the phone, and the light from the torch picks out her face once again. After a moment, she turns and disappears from view, and I hear her creaking, icy body making its way back toward the door. A few seconds later, she tries the handle again.

  Turning the torch off, I sit on the bed and tell myself that all I have to do is wait. There's no way she can get inside, and in a few hours morning will come and I'll be able to see properly. For now, I just need to sit here and remind myself that this whole experience is just some kind of hallucination. I take a deep breath, trying to focus on staying calm, but it's not easy.

  She keeps banging on the door, desperate to get in, and although I keep trying to ignore her, eventually I start to feel as if I should just face my fears and go out there. I should, but I don't. All I can do is sit here and hope that eventually she'll leave me alone. I try to stay quiet, to ignore the growing pressure in my head, but I feel as if I need to scream. Although I hold it in for as long as possible, her incessant pounding on the door is starting to drive me over the edge.

  "Leave me alone!" I shout eventually. "Go away!"

  I put my hands over my ears, but it's not enough. She's out there, still banging on the door and trying to get in, and I don't think there's anything I can do to make her stop. All I can do is sit here and wait, and hope to God that she can't get through that door.

  Part Six

  The Ghost in the Rain

  Chapter One

  "Oh God," Didi mutters as we park next to the farmhouse and a crumpled figure wanders toward us, trudging through the muddy yard. "He looks insane!"

  "He's not insane," I whisper, watching as Uncle Martin gets closer and closer. "He's just a little eccentric. My Dad says he banged his head a few too many times when he worked in the mines and he's never been quite the same since. Apparently he was quite a nice guy when he was younger, but he's a little screwy these days. You'll get used to it."

  "I'd rather get used to our hotel in Malta," she replies with a faint smile. "If we'd gone straight to the airport, we'd be there by now, relaxing by the pool and sipping cocktails while the Mediterranean sun baked our skin." She pauses, clearly lost in her own daydream. "Instead of here," she continues finally, "on a muddy pig farm in the middle of nowhere."

  "It's just for a couple of hours," I reply. "My Dad just wanted me to drop by and see how he is. He and Mum don't hear from Martin very often, and they get worried. The family's a bit weird and scattered, so there's kind of this thing about us all looking out for each other. You know how it is." Reaching over, I put a hand on her knee. "This time tomorrow, we'll be at the airport, flying off to the sandiest beaches in Europe."

  "If we don't freeze to death first," she mutters, grabbing a thick woolen jumper from the back seat and slipping it on. "Or drown in the mud. Or get attacked by pigs."

  "Chin up," I reply, leaning over and planting a kiss on her neck before turning, opening the door and forcing myself to smile as I step out into the muddy yard. My foot immediately sinks several inches into a deep puddle, and I feel cold brown water seeping into my shoe.

  "Step in something?" Didi asks with a smile, having evidently noticed the look on my face.

  "Martin!" I say, trying to sound as if I'm pleased to see him as my nostrils are assaulted by the smell of manure. "How are you doing?

  Instead of replying, he stops next to the car and stares at me. It's not the warmest welcome I've ever experienced, but then again Martin looks like he hasn't been disturbed for quite some time. Wearing faded old clothes and with a thick white beard, he comes across as the kind of person who doesn't even own a mirror. To be fair, that's pretty much how I remember him being twenty years ago, when my parents used to bring me up to Darken Croft so I could enjoy the fresh countryside air.

  "It's been a while since I was here," I reply, "and the place isn't listed in the GPS system. We almost couldn't find you!"

  "In the what?" he asks with a frown as he holds out a muddy hand for me to shake.

  "Never mind," I reply, glancing over at the rundown farmhouse. Nestled in the middle of a remote valley, under brooding skies that threaten rain at any moment, the place doesn't look to have changed much since my last visit. In fact, it doesn't look as if it's changed since it was built a couple of centuries ago. "It's just how I remember it," I continue, trying to put on a brave face as Didi gets out of the car's passenger side. "So... old-fashioned. Very rustic."

  "There's nothing old-fashioned about Darken Croft," he replies glumly, fixing me with a cautious, suspicious stare. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

  "It's me, Uncle Martin," I reply. "Chris. Chris Johnson."

  He frowns.

  "Your nephew," I continue, starting to worry that the old man's mind has gone completely. "Trevor's son, remember? I... used to come here a lot with my parents."

  "Oh," he mutters, as a hint of recognition reaches his eyes. "Aye. Of course. You're Trevor and Diane's lad. What the hell are you doing up here in the middle of nowhere?" He turns to Didi, who has just about managed to splodge through the mud and come around the car to join us, although she looks very much like a fish out of water. "And who's this?" Martin asks, eying her cautiously.

  "I'
m Didi," she says, doing a good job of not looking like she's hating every second of this visit. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Howard. I've heard so much about you, and about the farm."

  "You have, have you?" he replies. "Didi? What kind of a name is that?"

  "It's short for Deidre," she says with a brave smile. "My parents... I don't know what they were thinking, but this is the name they saddled me with. I try to make the best of it."

  "Deidre," he mutters. "Huh. Well, Deidre, I'm afraid you've been dragged up here for no good reason. There's nothing to talk about, nothing to see, and I'm fine."

  "We were driving past on our way to the airport," I tell him, stretching the truth a little, "and my parents asked me to drop in and see how you're doing." I wait for him to reply, but he merely scowls at me. "I think they've sent you a couple of letters over the past few months," I continue, "but they didn't get a reply. I think, in the last one, they told you they'd get someone to come and say hello if they didn't hear from you." I wait for him to say something. "You didn't write back," I continue after a moment, "so..."

  "So they sent you to check up on me, did they?" he asks, sounding a little annoyed. "Make sure I haven't popped my clogs during the winter?"

  "No!" I reply, keen to avoid his famously confrontational side. "They just thought it'd be good if someone popped by to see you, that's all, just to check... I mean, just to make sure everything's okay." The truth is, my parents did ask me to check up on the cantankerous old bastard; in fact, 'check up' were the precise words they used. My father has always been worried that one day Martin would be found dead up here, with no-one having discovered the body for years. Although they were never very close as brothers, my father still feels some responsibility for Martin, and he worries about him constantly.

  My mother just worries about the potential scandal if the family is seen as uncaring. She's convinced that people are already gossiping about Martin, although the truth is, I'm pretty sure she and Dad are the only ones who even remember him.