by Amy Cross
"He was obsessed," she replies. "It seems like he believed there was some woman who could only come to the farmhouse when it was raining." She turns to me. "Don't you remember how desperate he was to get rid of us last time? He kept saying it was going to rain, like somehow that was a terrible thing. It's right here in the notebooks, too. He was scared of the rain. When it rained, she came... Whoever she was..."
"That was just an excuse," I tell her. "He wanted to get rid of us."
"Listen," she continues, reading from the book. "Storm last night. Heavy rain. She was in the house, making noise. I stayed in bed and in the morning both she and the rain were gone. Good riddance, but they'll be back." She pauses. "Even if it was all just in his head, it's still a fascinating insight into his emotional state. I mean, it's fair to say that he was cracking up, but the span of time... He spent more than forty years up here experiencing the same hallucinations, or whatever the hell they were. It's a miracle he wasn't a gibbering wreck by the time we got here."
"You think he wasn't?" I ask, taking the notebook from her hands and setting it down next to the bed, before leaning over and kissing her cheek. "We can take the notebooks with us," I tell her, "and you can go over them to your heart's content. Hell, you can maybe even turn them into a project -"
"I might just do that," she replies, with a serious glint in her eyes.
"I have no doubt," I continue, kissing her cheek again, "but right now it's getting late, and we should be up early." Glancing at the window, I realize that rain seems to be really setting in now. "That's if the recovery people even show up tomorrow," I add. "Maybe they'll just leave us to rot here forever."
"Don't even joke," she replies, settling down on the bed. "One night is as much as I can take."
"I'll protect you," I tell her as I settle next to her and put an arm around her waist. "If anyone tries to break in, I'll grab that shotgun and blow their -"
"Don't joke," she says firmly. "Please, Chris. I don't like this place. I mean, it's fascinating, and the notebooks are a goldmine, but there's a weird vibe to the whole house. I'd rather just try to get through the night as smoothly as possible, okay?"
"Okay," I reply, reaching over and switching off the bedside light, plunging the room into darkness.
"Do you hear that?" Didi asks after a moment.
"What?"
"The rain."
"Don't worry about the rain," I tell her.
"Martin worried about the rain," she replies. "He seemed scared of it, as if he thought it brought something bad."
"Martin was insane," I reply. "The guy was losing his mind, and I'm sure the notebooks helped him function, but I think it'd be a huge mistake to focus on them too much. They're the product of madness, and if you think about them too much, you'll start going crazy too. There's a -"
"What was that?" she asks, sitting up suddenly.
"What was what?" I ask, glancing across the dark room.
"I thought I heard something," she says, as rain continues to fall outside.
"I didn't hear anything," I tell her.
"It was a kind of double bang," she continues, her face silhouetted against the window. "I'm not joking, Chris. It was like someone banged the kitchen cupboards or something."
"Hang on," I reply, getting out of bed and heading to the door.
"Where are you going?" she calls out.
"To check," I tell her, before heading through to the kitchen. Sure enough, once I switch on the light, it's clear that there's nothing to see. The kitchen cupboards all look to be in order, and there's absolutely no sign that anyone has been in here since we went through to the bedroom. I double-check that the front door is locked and peer out into the yard for a moment, before turning and heading to the bedroom.
"You think I'm silly," Didi says as I shut the door.
"No," I reply, "I think you've read too many of those notebooks and you've got a very active imagination. I'm sure there was a bang, but it was probably just the wind outside, and I guarantee that there's no-one in here with us. It's just you, me, and a vague stink from all the pipes Martin smokes over the years. And maybe some ghost pigs in the yard, but they won't bother us."
"I know what I heard," she says as I get back onto the bed.
"Do you want us to sleep in the car?" I ask wearily.
"The car?" She pauses, as if she's actually considering the idea for a moment. "No. No, that'd be stupid. I just..." She pauses again. "You're right. I'm being paranoid. It was probably just the wind banging some wood outside. I mean, what else could it have been?"
"Exactly," I tell her as we settle back down. "Martin obviously spent his whole life in the thrall of some imagined horror, but I'd like to think that you and I are a little more on the ball that the old bugger. We can handle one night in this place, can't we?"
"Of course," she says quietly.
"It'll seem much better in the morning," I continue, kissing her shoulder. "Try to get to sleep and we'll be out of here in no time."
With that, I fall silent, and although I'm aware that Didi is wide awake, I'm starting to feel as if I might actually be able to sleep. For one thing, it's good to be away from civilization for a night; for another, the sound of the rain is comforting, and soon I'm starting to drift off. I put a lazy arm around Didi, hoping to comfort her, and I tell myself that she'll fall asleep pretty fast. Tomorrow I can take the piss mercilessly, but tonight I just want her to get some rest. I've got a feeling that tomorrow is going to be a long day.
Chapter Seven
"Chris! Wake up!"
Jolting awake, I sit up and find that Didi has turned the bedroom light on. She's sitting on the end of the bed with a look of absolute fear on her face, and I can immediately tell that this is no joke. She's terrified.
Outside, the rain seems to have really picked up now.
"There's someone in the kitchen," she whispers.
"What?" I look over at the door, but I don't hear anything.
"Where did you leave the gun?" she asks. "Please don't tell me you left it in the kitchen, Chris. Please don't tell me there's a loaded gun out there! We're not that stupid, are we?"
"It's okay," I say, realizing that I'm going to have to go out and take a look. Sliding to the edge of the bed, I pause again to listen, just in case there's a noise. "What did you hear?" I ask, turning to her. "Just try to stay calm and tell me exactly what happened."
"Footsteps," she replies. "Like proper, actual footsteps. Not a banging noise this time, not something that might be the wind or rain or anything like that. I heard footsteps! I know it sounds crazy, Chris, but I swear to God I'm right!"
"I don't hear anything now," I tell her.
"I swear to God, Chris," she hisses, "do you think I'd make something like this up?"
"No," I reply, figuring that she's not in the mood to be questioned. Getting to my feet, I walk over to the door and pause yet again to listen for any hint of noise out there. All I can hear, however, is the rain, which seems to be coming down all around us with increasing intensity. It's hard not to think back to Martin's notebooks and, in particular, his fear of the rain; I can't help but wonder if Didi's interest in the notebooks might have sent her imagination into overdrive, although I can't possibly suggest that to her.
"Do you hear it?" Didi whispers.
I shake my head.
"Please, Chris," she continues, with tears in her eyes, "you have to believe me! There's someone out there! You need to call the police!"
"Police?" I pause for a moment. "Just let me go and take a look," I say eventually. "When did you first hear the noise?"
"I thought I heard something a few minutes ago," she replies, "but I wasn't sure. Then I heard the footsteps, and I knew I had to wake you up! I thought they were coming to the bedroom at first, but they seemed to turn back and stay mostly in the kitchen!"
"So it's been a while," I point out. "If someone wanted to hurt us, they'd have come and done it by now, okay?"
"That doesn
't make me feel any better!" she replies. "You have to take me seriously, Chris! I swear to God, I heard clear, deliberate footsteps coming from the other side of the house. I'm sure it was in the kitchen!"
"Just wait here," I tell her. "Whatever you do, don't follow me. Let me see what's going on, okay? I'll be two minutes maximum, I promise."
"You can't go out there!" she hisses.
"What do you suggest?" I ask. "Should we just stay in here and wait to see what happens? I'll go and look, and I'll be careful, but you have to stay in here, okay?"
She stares at me.
"Okay?" I ask again.
"Be careful," she replies. "If they've got that gun..."
Taking a deep breath, I open the door and listen for any sound of an intruder. Once I'm satisfied that nothing seems to be around, I step out into the hallway and pull the door shut before making my way slowly along the corridor. The rain seems to be heavier than it was when I woke up a couple of minutes ago, but I still think I'd be able to hear if someone was moving about in the kitchen. Stopping at the end of the corridor, I take a moment to listen again.
There's a faint bumping sound.
It's brief, but it's definitely there.
I pause.
It didn't sound like a footstep. It was more like something nudging something else, like maybe a chair or a table. Frankly, it could have been anything, but given Didi's concerns, I figure I should be careful. I wait for a few more seconds, just in case there's any other sound, and then I slowly start to peer around the corner. Even though I don't really believe that there's anything in the farmhouse with us, my heart is still racing. I keep telling myself over and over that I should be calmer, but Didi's fears are somewhat contagious. She's not someone who gets rattled easily.
I take a deep breath.
There's no point delaying this.
I step into the kitchen.
The first thing I see is the shotgun, still on the kitchen counter where I left it. I have to admit, I'm relieved to see that no-one has come along and picked it up, and the sight of the damn thing makes me more convinced than ever that even though Didi genuinely thought she heard something, she must have been imagining it. Stepping all the way into the kitchen, I switch on the light and look around, and finally I start to relax. It's clear that there's no-one here, and as I head over to the door and check once again that it's locked, I can't help but smile as I realize how easily we were both fooled. To be absolutely certain that we're alone, I peer out through the rain-soaked window, but of course it's impossible to see anything.
Checking the clock on the kitchen counter, I see that it's only 3am. Still a long time to go before morning.
Sighing, I walk over to the gun and remove the two cartridges that Martin left in there. I guess it was pretty dumb to leave a loaded gun out, so I pop the cartridges into the cupboard before stowing the gun back on the wall-hooks.
I stand in the kitchen for a moment, just in case I happen to hear any other noises. I don't really know what I'm waiting for, but I figure Didi won't be satisfied if I stop looking too soon. The only thing I can hear, however, is the sound of the rain getting louder and louder all around the farmhouse. I swear to God, I can barely even hear my own thoughts.
Finally, I figure that it's time to go and calm her down.
As I make my way back through to the bedroom, I'm tempted to see if I can really spook Didi some more, but I figure it'd be mean to scare her. I doubt she'll sleep for the rest of the night, so I guess the best thing would be for us to stay up and maybe go through those notebooks or, even better, do something to take her mind off ghosts altogether. I never had her down as the impressionable, easily-scared type before, but something about Darken Croft really seems to have got to her, and as her boyfriend it's my duty to help her feel better.
"It's okay," I say as I open the door and step into the bedroom. "We're all alone and -"
I stop.
Didi's on the bed, more or less where I left her, but she's leaning back against the headboard and staring at the far wall with a horrified look on her face.
"What's wrong?" I ask as I hurry over, but she doesn't respond. "Didi, what's -"
Suddenly I realize that there's something unnatural about her expression, and her eyes haven't blinked once since I came over to her.
"Didi?" I continue, climbing onto the bed and reaching out to nudge her shoulder. "Are you okay?"
She doesn't respond.
I quickly check her pulse, but I can't find anything. I try the other side, but it's as if her heart has stopped beating. Placing her flat on the bed, I stare down into her terrified eyes and look for some sign of life.
"Didi!" I shout, giving her a shake. "Didi, can you hear me?"
No response.
She just stares back up at me with that same terrified expression. I don't know what she saw, but her face is contorted with fear.
"Didi!" I shout again, as I start giving her CPR in a desperate attempt to get her heart started again. After thirty seconds, I lean down and give her the kiss of life, and then I start the chest compressions again. Glancing over my shoulder, I look over at the corner of the room, which seems to be where she was looking when I found her. God knows what she saw, but it seems to have been enough to stop her heart.
"Didi!" I shout as I continue with the compressions. "Come back to me! Wake up! Didi!"
As my increasingly desperate attempts continue, the rain seems to be easing a little outside.
Part Seven
Blood Red
Chapter One
Kate
"I should go," I tell him, wiping a single tear from my cheek as I sit on my bed in the dark, cramped little apartment. "It's late, and you need to sleep. I think I'll take a bath and see if it relaxes me."
"You hate baths," he replies, his voice sounding so distant on the other end of the phone.
"Well, I want to take one now!" I tell him, trying not to let my irritation sound too obvious. Sighing, I realize I should just get the hell off the phone before I act like even more of a bitch. "I'm glad you don't hear anything," I add. "If you have to be alone in the house, at least you don't have to listen to the things Ellen and I can hear when we're there."
I wait for a reply, but once again he seems to have fallen silent. I swear to God, every conversation I have with him lately just ends up as a massive fuck-up. I don't know if I'm becoming less patient, or he's becoming more of an ass, but we just can't connect these days, not even on the most basic level.
"I'm sorry," I mutter, glancing over at the bathroom door as I hear a faint bumping sound. I guess it was just the pipes; this whole building is pretty new, but it's noisy as hell sometimes. "I shouldn't have called," I continue. "You were asleep. I shouldn't be such a bitch."
"You're not a bitch," he replies. "Do you want me to come over? I can be at your apartment in half an hour."
"No," I say firmly. "Of course I don't want you to come over. The whole point of me getting this place is that I want to be alone!" Sighing again, I realize that he still doesn't get it, and he never will.
"But if you -"
"Good night," I add, before disconnecting the call and tossing my phone onto the bed. A moment later, worried that he might try to call back, I grab the phone and switch it off, before turning and looking over at the window. I don't even know why I called Luke tonight; I knew I'd end up feeling angry and drained, but at the same time I feel the need to get him to talk to me. All I want is for him to understand that our relationship is over, that the house has soured everything. He needs to move on and take Wilbur far away from this mess, but he either won't or can't get the message. I swear to God, if he doesn't break up with me soon, I'm going to go crazy. Either that, or...
I take a deep breath.
Leaning across the bed, I open the desk drawer and take out a couple of razor blades I've been saving for a while, just in case I need them. Holding them up to the light, I find myself momentarily entranced by the edge of the blades,
and I can't help imagining how it would feel to have them slicing through my skin, freeing the blood. Back when I was studying nursing, I remember seeing a photo of a patient who'd tried to commit suicide; he'd slashed his wrists multiple times, but somehow he'd managed to survive for long enough to call for help. It was a hideous image, with pieces of flesh ripped open to reveal the meat and bone underneath, and I swear I've thought about that picture almost every day since. Sometimes, I think the one thing holding me back from doing something similar is the fear that maybe I'd change my mind partway through. Right now, I don't want to live and I'd welcome death, but once the blades entered my skin...
I couldn't bear to be the kind of person who fails at a suicide attempt.
I press one of the razors against the palm of my hand and close my fist, but no matter how hard I squeeze, it doesn't cut the flesh. Wrong angle, I guess, but still: it's disappointing.
Feeling as if I have absolutely no energy left, I haul myself to my feet and head to the bathroom door. When I told Luke that I wanted to take a bath, I was only half serious, but now I feel as if maybe it'd be good to soak myself in some warm water. I head through and start running the taps before wandering to the sink and starting to get dressed. I always watch myself while I'm removing my clothes; I don't know why, but for as long as I can remember I've performed a little striptease, as if somehow I enjoy watching the layers being peeled away. Sometimes, I feel as if I'm daring myself to go further, to strip away the skin once I'm naked, but I've never quite had the courage. Still, these dark thoughts have been with me since I was much younger, and I'm tired of holding them back.
Once I'm naked and the bath is full, I turn off the taps before setting the razor blades on the edge. I honestly don't know if I'm going to use them, but it feels good to have the option. The possibility of death is the only thing that calms me down these days.
I head out to the kitchen and grab a glass of water, but after a moment I realize that my hands are shaking. I hold them up and watch as they tremble, and although I try to hold them still, it's as if my body is scared of what my mind is planning. I wish I could peel my mind away and speak to my body directly; I wish I could tell my body why I'm sick of living, and maybe get it to understand. Instead, my body sometimes feels like a pet that can never truly understand anything. Even now, I can feel that my heart-rate has increased, and no matter how hard I try to calm myself down, it's as if my body is panicking at even the possibility that my mind might end things tonight.