The House We Haunted and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  "Sorry to disappoint," Martin says, looking up at the clouds for a moment as an icy wind blows through the yard, "but I'm still very much alive. You can tell my dear brother he won't be inheriting this place any time in the near future. I might be in my sixties, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna drop dead at the first provocation. You'd do well to remind my little brother that our father lived into his nineties, and he was up and about 'til the end. I intend to replicate that feat and maybe even surpass the old bastard."

  "Dad just wants to know that you're doing okay," I reply. "If you just replied to letters every so often, he wouldn't ask me or anyone else to drop by. Better still, if you got a phone line installed -"

  "Why would I want a phone line?" he asks, turning and trudging back toward the farmhouse. "Who'd I phone anyway? My pigs?"

  "We just -"

  "As you're here," he calls back, "I suppose you'll be wanting something to eat, won't you? God forbid you'd go back to my brother and tell him I didn't feed you. I'll see if I can rustle some grub up, but you'll have to be gone in a couple of hours. There's rain on the way, and you can't be here when it rains."

  "We don't want to inconvenience you!" I reply.

  "Too late for that," he mutters, pushing the door open. "Come on in, but mind the step. And the smell. I'm not used to visitors, so I haven't mucked the place out for a while."

  "Mucked it out?" Didi whispers, her eyes widening with horror. "Does that mean -"

  "It's a joke," I reply hastily. "It has to be."

  Although I'm trying to reassure her, I can see the pained look in her eyes. She'd rather be anywhere else, but she's heard enough of my parents' stories over the years to know that Uncle Martin is very 'special', and not only in good ways. He's stubbornly refused to leave the croft all his life, and it's pretty clear that the loneliness up here has been slowly driving him insane. Still, I know that Didi can be trusted to keep up some good humor for a couple of hours while we sit with the old man. She knows that family is important to me, and she also knows that in the grand scheme of things, it's not too much of an inconvenience to spend a couple of hours making sure Uncle Martin's doing okay.

  "Come on, then," she says with a faint smile. "I guess we should try to get this over with, but you owe me a double gin and tonic at the first available opportunity, mister." With that, she stomps through the mud, prods me in the middle of the chest with a finger, and then smiles as she leans closer for a kiss. "You're bloody lucky I love you," she adds after a moment, taking a step back. "Bloody lucky. Most girlfriends would just sit in the car sulking during this whole bloody experience."

  "You coming?" Uncle Martin shouts from the doorway. "I haven't got all day, you know! There's rain coming!"

  Taking Didi's hand, I lead her through the mud as we make our way to the farmhouse. It's hard to believe that I'm back here, more than twenty years since my parents first brought me up to this ramshackle old place as a kid. I've heard enough tales about Darken Croft, and about Uncle Martin, over the years to know that this definitely isn't the kind of place I'd ever want to stay for very long. Feeling a single drop of rain land on my hand, I glance up at the ominous sky. We'll just sit down, have a cup of tea, and then get on our way. Nothing could be simpler.

  We'll be gone well before the rain sets in.

  Chapter Two

  "I haven't seen a soul up here in almost a year," Martin says as he pours a cup of tea from a rusty old steel kettle. Glancing out the window, he seems preternaturally obsessed with the darkening clouds, as if he's scared that it might start raining at any moment. A few spots have already fallen on the window, and there's clearly more to come.

  "It seems very isolated," Didi says with a smile.

  "That's just the way I like it," he replies, sliding the cup of tea to Didi before turning to me with a scowl. "It's been nearly five years since I went into town, and that was only 'cause I had to deal with the bureaucrats who wanted to open a public footpath across my land. Soon told them where to go." He gives a snort of pride. "I've always been a man who can get by on his own, and I don't see nothing wrong with preferring my own company. If a man doesn't like his own company, how can he get on in life?"

  "No-one said there was anything wrong with it," I reply, noticing the large rifle hanging by the door. "Dad just wants to know that you're okay."

  "Why wouldn't I be okay?" he asks, pouring a cup of tea for me. It's hard not to notice the way his hands are trembling, and when I look over at Didi, I can see that she's picked up on the fact as well. "You town people are all the same," the old man continues, pouring a cup for himself. "You think those of us out in the sticks are incapable of surviving. I'll tell you something for free, though. I can look after myself better than any other man you could ever meet. Been doing it all my life, and I'll be doing it 'til the day I keel over."

  "I'm sure," I reply politely, watching as he places the kettle back on the stove.

  "You'll be well-placed for the zombie apocalypse," Didi suggests.

  Martin frowns.

  "Not that there's like to be one," she adds.

  He stares at her, and it's clear that his sense of humor isn't particularly well-developed.

  "It's a lovely place you've got here," she continues brightly, clearly trying very hard to improve the mood in this dark, dingy little room. It's a nice effort, but Darken Croft has always been - and will always be - a cramped, depressing place. If Martin wasn't still clinging to the place, it'd be left empty or sold. No-one else in the family wants it, and while the land is good, the farmhouse itself is a decrepit pile of stones that could only suit a misanthropic old man.

  "What's lovely about it?" Martin asks, wincing a little as he slowly takes a seat. He's clearly in pain.

  "It's so..." She pauses. "Untamed. It's almost poetic."

  "Didi studied English Literature at university," I add. "That's where we met. I was studying political science and, well, one day I walked into the student bar and there she was!"

  "Beer goggles," Didi says with a grin.

  "So you're an educated girl, are you?" Martin says, his jaw trembling a little, as if he might be displaying the first symptoms of Parkinson's. "I left school at the age of twelve. Did the rest of the family tell you that?"

  "I don't think so," Didi replies, glancing at me with a forced smile.

  "Went down the mines," Martin continues. "That's where I got my education, and I've never needed to learn nothing else since. I learned about the world and how it works, and that was more than enough." He glances out the window again, and there's a strange look in his eyes, almost as if he's scared of something. "There's nothing that surprises me no more. Even the things I don't like, I've learned I can't change 'em, so I just deal with 'em. This is my lot in life, and I don't need to go any further than the boundary of my land. Suits me just fine."

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  "Good for you, though," he continues, turning back to her. "When I was a kid, women didn't get themselves educated. They didn't have the chance. It'd better for your generation. You're lucky."

  "David said you've got pigs," Didi says brightly. "Is that true?"

  "Not anymore," he replies glumly. "The buggers were more trouble than they were worth. Stank the place up, too, and I don't need 'em, not really. I grow what eat, and I catch hares out in the fields, sometimes pheasants. When a man can't catch and cook his own food no more, there's not much point to him being alive. That's the problem with the world. Too many people left hanging on when they might as well be down in the ground, helping the soil to get richer."

  As Martin turns to look out the window yet again, Didi and I exchange a quick grimace.

  "Rain's coming," Martin says after a moment. "Won't be long now. You'll have to be out of here by the time it comes."

  "You don't like the rain, do you?" Didi asks.

  "Like it?" He pauses. "It's not a matter of liking it. It's a matter of knowing what it means. Living up here, you learn to understand all the
little signs the world throws at you. I don't see anyone else, and I don't have much to do during the days, so I've started to notice things that other men would just ignore. It's..." He pauses again as he seems momentarily overcome with some distant thought. "Rain's coming from the south this time," he adds eventually. "Which way are you headed when you leave?"

  "To Bridlington," I tell him.

  "That's north," he replies. "Good."

  "Do you mind if I ask a question?" Didi says suddenly, pointing at the gun on the wall. "Do you ever use that thing?"

  "Use it?" Martin turns to look at it for a moment, before turning back to her with a faint smile on his face. "Back in the day, I used to use that thing to kill the pigs. Just put the barrel against the back of their necks while they're feeding, and blow their heads open. It might sound extreme, but they never suffered. I used to prepare the carcasses, and then Jim Borren from the next valley would come and cart 'em off to his butcher's shop. When Jim died, no-one else wanted to buy 'em, so I stopped replacing 'em. It was a sad day when the last pig died on this farm, but there was no way I could keep 'em." He pauses, and again he seems to be lost in the past for a moment. "The gun still works," he adds eventually, "but I ain't got no pigs no more."

  Smiling politely, Didi gets up and walks over to take a look at the weapon. After a moment, she glances back at me with a faint hint of concern in her eyes, but she doesn't say anything.

  There's a tapping sound at the window as more drops of rain fall.

  "Don't take this the wrong way," Martin says, getting to his feet, "but the rain's moving in faster than I expected, and you two need to be on your way. It was nice of you to drop by, but as you can see, I'm fine. If I drop dead, I'll be sure to write everyone a letter and tell them. Until then, I'd rather be left alone."

  "I'm sure Dad will be relieved," I reply, as Martin leads us to the door. "You know, if you really don't want unexpected visitors, you should start replying to your mail every so often. Otherwise, we might just show up here again in five or six years."

  "Aye," he mutters, "I'd better get on that then, hadn't I? Wouldn't want you dragging this lovely young lady up to this run-down old place again. You'll be lucky if she doesn't run a mile after seeing Darken Croft."

  "It was lovely to see it," Didi replies diplomatically as we head out into the yard, where the rain has begun to fall steadily.

  "Aye," Martin replies, looking up at the sky with an expression of concern. "Just get on your way and don't be bothering about this place no more. I'm fine, and I don't need no-one checking up on me." He stares at the sky for a moment longer, before turning to me. "It's good that you're going north. This isn't the kind of place where you wanna be when it rains."

  Once we're back in the car, we buckle up in silence and I watch as Martin heads back into the farmhouse. It's sad to think of him sitting around this place alone, but in some strange kind of way he seems happy. I guess some people just don't like mixing much, and he'd probably hate it if he was down in the town and had to meet people all the time. He might be a little strange, but I don't think he's crazy. His health's a problem, though, and I can't help wondering if those shaking hands are signs of something ominous.

  "There was no dust on the gun," Didi says suddenly.

  "Huh?" I reply, turning to her.

  "Everything else was covered in dust," she continues. "You must have noticed. It was half an inch thick in places. But not the gun. No dust at all."

  "Maybe he sits around cleaning it," I reply.

  "Or he uses it," she says with a faint smile.

  "Shooting phantom pigs?" I ask as I start the engine and reverse the car back out of the yard.

  "He probably hears ghostly oinks all night," she says. "Seriously, though, he's not that bad. You built him up to be some kind of monster, but he's just a bit prickly, that's all. I quite envy him, really. It's good when a man can live in unison with the land."

  "Maybe we should move up here one day," I reply.

  "God no," she replies with a look of amused alarm. "Quick, speed up! I never want to come back here again!"

  As we head north, I glance in the wing mirror a couple of times and see that the sky to the south is darkening faster than ever. There's a hell of a rain-storm headed toward the farm, but I guess Martin'll be happy enough, sitting there with his stove burning as the elements batter the entire valley.

  Chapter Three

  "Okay," I say, as I sit in the hotel lobby, talking to my father on the phone. "I'm sure that's what he would have wanted. I doubt too many people would have come anyway."

  "Solitary old goat," my father replies. "I've never met someone who was so determined to be by himself. He sure as hell wasn't interested in other people, and by and large they returned the favor, didn't they? If we held a big funeral, it'd just be embarrassing. Can you imagine all the empty seats? Your mother was worried we'd have to pay people to come, just so it doesn't look too bad."

  "It's still a shock," I continue. "He seemed fairly lively the other day. I mean, his hands were shaking, but I didn't think he was sick or anything."

  "Shaking hands?" My father pauses. "That runs in our family," he adds after a moment. "Poor old guy. I would've helped him, but I knew he'd never accept."

  "Do you know what happened?" I ask.

  "The coroner says his heart just gave out," he replies. "It was a complete fluke that anyone found him at all. The council had sent a man out to check all the properties after the storm. There'd been reports of flooding, so they had to make sure there were no major problems. Also, they needed to access some of his land while they were doing some drainage work, so they wanted him to sign some forms. But the old bugger was dead on the kitchen floor, with a loaded shotgun next to him. Seems like he'd blown a hole in the wall some time before he collapsed."

  "Huh," I reply. "I hope it was a quick way to go."

  "Doubt it," he mutters. "Martin's one of those people who starts dying from the day he's born. Besides, the chap who found him said he had an awful look on his face, like he was terrified of something."

  "I'm glad I saw him one last time," I reply. "I'm glad he knew the family still cared."

  "I need to ask you a favor," he continues. "I know you might not like it, but I figured you're going to be passing close by on your way back from the airport -"

  "You're not serious," I say, interrupting him. "Dad, we dropped by on the way here -"

  "Someone needs to collect a couple of personal items from the place," he continues. "I can email you a list. Please, Chris, if you won't do it, your Mum and I'll have to go up, and it's so far." He waits for me to acquiesce. "My knees are playing up lately," he adds, affecting a mournful tone, "and a big journey like that'd damn near take it out of me. I'd really rather not have to do it."

  Sighing, I realize that I really don't have any way out of this situation.

  "That's great," my father says after a moment. "Check your email in about half an hour, and you'll find a list of what I need you to fetch. All you need to do once you've got the stuff is lock the door and forget about the place. We've already spoken to a guy from the next farm over, and he's interested in buying all the land. Says he'll bulldoze the farmhouse, but that's probably a good thing. There's good land up there, and Martin was letting it go to waste."

  "I should go," I reply as I spot Didi coming in from the pool area, with a towel wrapped around her bikini to preserve her modesty. She's grinning from ear to ear, and it's clear that she's enjoying the holiday. "And Dad," I add, "I'm sorry. I liked the old bugger."

  Disconnecting the call, I try to smile, but I can't help thinking about poor old Martin.

  "Hey," Didi says as she reaches me. Leaning down, she kisses me on the cheek. "You okay? I thought you were coming out for a swim?"

  "I will," I reply, "but first... My Dad just told me something. Uncle Martin died."

  "What?" she says, clearly shocked. "When?"

  "It looks like it might have been just a few hours aft
er we visited him," I explain. "He just keeled over. They think his heart gave out, but there'll be an autopsy so they can be certain. If we'd turned up a day later, we probably would've been the ones who found the body."

  "Oh God," she continues, sitting next to me. "That's awful. The poor man, all alone up there..."

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  "There's something else," I say tentatively.

  She turns to me.

  "Dad needs us to do him a little favor," I continue, trying to work out the best way of breaking this particular piece of news. "And... I swear, Didi, it'll just be an hour at most, and it's pretty much on our way from the airport..."

  Chapter Four

  "It looks exactly the same," Didi says as we pull up in the yard. "Like... nothing's changed."

  "It's only been just over a week," I reply, cutting the engine before opening the door and stepping out of the car. Above us, the sky once again seems dark and foreboding; it's a far cry from the cloudless blue skies we've been enjoying in Malta, but I guess the weather in this part of England is always a little temperamental. Staring at the farmhouse, I almost expect Martin to come grumbling out, but of course there's no chance of that. In a strange, unexpected way, I actually miss him.

  "Smells the same," Didi says as she gets out of her side. "The pigs might be gone, but they left their stink behind."

  "Maybe it's ghost pigs," I reply, heading to the door. I reach down and take the spare key from behind a loose tile. "Ghost pigs leaving real poo," I add. "You're right, though. It does stink."

  Behind me, I hear Didi let out a faint groan. Turning, I see that she's stepped ankle-deep in a muddy puddle. I can't help but smile as she tries to delicately make her way across the yard without getting even dirtier. There's something about Didi that really doesn't seem to fit in a place like this; she's a city girl through and through, although I can't deny that she looks very fetching as the wind blows her hair across her face.