Haunts

by Stephen Jones

  “But they’re my friends,” he said.

  “There’s always another day.”

  “I want to see them.”

  “You don’t think they’ve been frightened away, do you?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Ghosts,” she said.

  He shook his head.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made a joke of it. It must have been very frightening.”

  He made no response, and she said, “You must not blame yourself for being afraid. It was bad enough having a ghost outside the house, but to have one inside as well…”

  “There was only one. The footsteps inside were the only sounds an old house can make. And telephones eventually have to stop ringing. They can’t go on forever. The only ghost was the one outside, trying to get in.”

  “But it didn’t. And it went away and never came back.”

  He seemed not to have heard. “I should at least have opened the curtains.”

  “Why do you blame yourself?”

  “I could have learned something. All I had to do was open the curtains. But I was too afraid.”

  “You missed nothing, my darling. It was only a tree tapping at the window.”

  “There are no trees that close,” he said.

  “A creeper?”

  He shook his head.

  “It was a moth, or something, attracted by the light.”

  But he was striding on now, and she had to run a pace or two to catch up. He was gazing ahead.

  “They’ve gone,” he said. “They’ve all gone!”

  Lights burned in every window, laying patches of brightness on the paving of the terrace. There, was no car. Not even the sound of a motor in the distance. At the heart of the avenues the house spread its own radiance like a silent star.

  “I’m glad,” she said. “We don’t need anybody.”

  “They’ve deserted us.”

  “I don’t care. We’ve got it all to ourselves.” She walked across the gravel to where the light from the open door folded itself down the steps and reached out like a carpet to greet her. The hall was beautiful, full of dazzling light. Within it there were many doors leading to the intricacies of the house itself. The staircase curved away to the momentary darkness of the landing. There was so much to explore, and now she could do so because it was all hers. She paused on the steps. “Let’s go in together,” she said.

  But he had crossed the gravel to gaze into the tunnel of trees into which the cars must have disappeared. He did not answer. A tiny spasm of annoyance at his neglect crossed her mind, and she stepped into the hall alone.

  It was then that she saw that history was repeating itself—the quarrel, the drawing apart which put one inside the house and the other outside—and she acted to prevent it.

  She held the door to stop it swinging to if a gust of wind should funnel through the house, and she turned to beg him to come with her. But already he was entering the blackness of the avenue. No matter. She was in control. She could decide what happened next. She opened her mouth to call out and bring him back.

  At that instant, as though to obliterate any sound she could make, the telephone on the little table behind her began to ring. She started and swung round. The door, reacting to her sudden movement, slid away from her and slammed shut. She reached for the lock, but it was stiff and complicated and as she fumbled at it the phone dinned at her from its perch—like a black goblin, scolding and shrieking.

  She left the door and went towards it to silence it. As she moved, a little more of the landing came into view. Matching her, pace for pace, there seemed to be a figure moving towards the head of the stairs. Yet all the guests had gone.

  She spun and ran into the nearest room. The second door slammed behind her and she was alone. She remained where she was, her back against the door. Thank God for all the light. She sat down. He was only just outside. He would soon be back. She heard, through the ringing of the phone, his steps in the hall. Then, mercifully, the phone fell silent.

  She breathed deeply, twice, and let her head fall forward. In a moment, when her heart steadied, she would get up and go to him.

  The hall was quiet now. It must have been the light shining up through the railings of the landing that had persuaded her there was a figure there. She smiled and let her mind explore the hall, and beyond it to the other rooms. They were all bright, empty, and calm. She breathed easier and raised her head. It was time to go to meet him.

  She was still sitting when, beyond the closed curtains, something tapped on the glass.

  <>

  *

  The Bridegroom

  R. B. RUSSELL

  R. B. RUSSELL runs the award-winning Tartarus Press with his partner, Rosalie Parker, in the Yorkshire Dales in the North of England.

  He has had two collections of short stories published, Putting the Pieces in Place and Literary Remains. A story from the first collection, “In Hiding,” was short-listed for a World Fantasy Award. A further collection, Leave Your Sleep, is forthcoming from PS Publishing.

  “‘The Bridegroom’ is a story that unfolded as I put down the words, without any planning,” explains Russell. “What the result reveals about my unconscious mind will be left to others to explain.”

  JULIET HYLAND WAS thoroughly bored with the company of Harriet Dot, but too polite to simply get up and walk away from the older woman. Well over a generation separated them and they had little in common. Juliet recognized the only thing that had brought them together was their singleness, perhaps even their loneliness…

  … And Juliet resented this, just as she resented all of the many readjustments she had been forced to make since Nicholas had died. She had deliberately chosen the secluded seat in the gardens of the hotel so as to be on her own. She had been trying to work out why she had made her annual visit to Easthaven, and all that she could think of was that it was a defiance. Why should she not stay at the hotel, just because her husband was no longer able to accompany her?

  Harriet Dot had not stopped talking, and Juliet decided to listen to her, if only to drag her thoughts away from widowhood.

  “Easthaven was a very popular resort in Victorian times,” the old woman explained. “And back then the Albert Hotel provided accommodation for only the wealthiest visitors. The private pleasure gardens were the envy of the other hotels, you know. The small ravine running down to the beach is natural. It’s the result of centuries of erosion by a stream through the local sandstone. Well, something like that might’ve been a problem, but not to the Victorians. The hotel planted it with rhododendron and azalea bushes. There’s a whole series of pathways and steps that go down to the beach.

  “And I do believe,” Harriet added, with an authority that was confident that it could not be gainsaid, “that the design of the ravine gardens was the work of Capability Brown.”

  The absurdity of the comment rang loud and discordant. Juliet asked, without thinking: “Are you really sure about that?”

  It was a mistake to question Harriet’s authority on such an unimportant matter. The regular rhythms of her monologue had been soothing because they hadn’t required any engagement. Now, however, Juliet found that she had to talk with the woman.

  “I’m sure I read it in a leaflet produced by the tourist board,” Harriet replied.

  “I’m sorry; perhaps you’re right. It’s just that I’ve always associated Capability Brown with the century before.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, and with rolling landscapes created for country houses.”

  “Have you ever walked down through the ravine gardens?” Harriet asked, as though direct experience would be proof enough.

  “Yes,” came the unwilling reply. “Quite often.” Juliet hoped that the woman would simply resume her inane chatter.

  “Really? On this stay? Or have you been to the Albert Hotel before?”

  “I’ve been before.”

  “Oh, you should have said! You shouldn�
��t have let me talk on so! Then you probably know all about it, and how there used to be a narrow cast-iron bridge across the ravine, and an open funicular railway down into it? And there were little kiosks apparently.”

  “Most of those would predate my first visit,” Juliet smiled weakly. “Though, I’m sure the bridge was still in place when I came the first time. It was nearly twenty years ago.”

  “Really?” Harriet laughed nervously. “Well, they were all Victorian fancies, you know. I expect you’ve seen the photos in the hotel bar. The funicular probably wouldn’t be allowed today, not with all the ‘health and safety’ we have to put up with. The European Union’s probably why they finally took down the bridge.”

  Juliet had been on the point of offering further information about her very first visit. However, Harriet was already talking about another local hotel, and then changes she had observed in the seaside town, all of them for the worse, so far as she was concerned. Juliet looked down at her hands and at her wedding ring. Before she had stopped listening to Harriet Dot, she had heard just how and why the woman had never been married. Juliet thought it odd that Harriet, who had offered so much information about herself, had never once asked about Juliet’s husband. Not that she really wanted to speak about him to somebody so unsympathetic.

  As Harriet started to talk about her sister, Juliet’s boredom grew once again. After another diplomatic ten minutes of appearing to listen, she announced: “I think I shall go back to my room. I want to have a bath and a change of clothes before dinner.”

  “Perhaps we could dine together?” suggested Harriet. “As we both seem to be staying here on our own.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Shall we say seven?”

  Harriet Dot had taken the equivocal reply as positive. “It’s a little early for some people, I know, but I can’t eat too late. It’s my indigestion; I’ll never get to sleep before eleven unless I eat early.”

  Juliet promised to book a table for two, but as she walked back across the lawn she seriously considered checking out. There were so many better reasons for leaving early than simply escaping from the tiresome Harriet Dot, but she did not know when the trains would leave for London, and finding her way across the capital on a Friday night and getting a connection back home would be exhausting. It would make more sense to depart the following morning so that she could have the whole day ahead of her.

  In the reception it seemed unaccountably busy and she had to wait to book the table for dinner. Then she went up to her room with a heavy heart. She remembered how over-awed she had been by her first visit to the hotel with Nicholas. She had been going to explain to Harriet Dot that the place had seemed so sophisticated that she had told her new husband that perhaps they should leave because they were not “good enough.”

  Juliet considered her own discomfort quite amusing, but she actually smiled as she remembered how Nicholas had risen to the challenge. He had previously sought the advice of his father and believed that he then knew how to act in a smart hotel. Juliet remembered how he had asked the waiters for recommendations as to what to eat and drink so casually that he had almost hidden his own ignorance. He had even tipped the staff as though it was second nature to him!

  *

  Juliet took far longer bathing, selecting and putting on her clothes, and applying her makeup than she would normally have done. She rarely wore jewelry, but that night she put on a silver necklace and earrings that had been a recent impulse purchase. When she was ready to go down to dinner she looked in the full-length mirror on the back of the door and saw herself all dressed up in the setting of the small, single room. Her entire appearance seemed wrong. The necklace and earrings were too showy and she removed them. She carried them back to the dressing table, and then carefully took off all of the recently applied makeup. She had used a little moisturizer and now removed her wedding ring so as to rub the remains of it into her hands. When she picked the ring up, that too felt inappropriate. She put it with the rest of the jewelry, and then left the room before she could think about what she had done.

  There were a number of guests arguing with the maitre d’ about their reservation when Juliet arrived at the dining room. It was busier than she had ever remembered it, but she could see Harriet Dot sitting alone at a table on the far side of the room. As Juliet was wondering how to negotiate her way past the group in front of her, she had a premonition of the dull meal she was about to endure. Without any further thought she decided to walk out through the reception.

  She had no idea of where she was going. Her shoes with a small heel were unstable on the gravel, so she walked over to the grass and removed them, deciding to carry them. The grass was cold on her feet, but soft, and she continued on over the lawn, her eyes slowly adapting to the lack of light. The cloudy sky above was oddly silver, almost phosphorescent, and everything against it was black. She was tired, but glad to be walking and not sitting, listening to and resenting an old woman who was simply like her—lonely. Juliet considered that she didn’t actually dislike the woman. If anything, she was afraid of her; she was afraid that she was destined to become a Harriet Dot herself.

  She continued on with these depressing thoughts until she reached the ravine. She wondered whether Nicholas felt as lonely as she did, wherever he was now. She felt for the comfort of her ring and remembered why it was not there. She would put it back on, she resolved, as soon as she returned to her room.

  By that time she could see quite clearly, aided by the curious light in the sky. Through the black trees and bushes she glimpsed the sea and that, too, was quite bright. She wondered if it reflected the light in the sky, or whether it was the sky that reflected the light of the sea? It was an odd effect, although Easthaven, whose streetlights could not be seen from that part of the gardens, probably contributed. She looked back and immediately the lights of the hotel itself spoiled her newly acquired night vision.

  Juliet looked away. She leaned against the low fence and stared down into the impenetrably dark ravine. She wished that she might have seen the gardens as they had been in their heyday, when the paths had been lit by small gas lamps and there had been brightly lit kiosks selling sweets and hot chestnuts. Like Harriet Dot, Juliet had once read in a leaflet all about the hotel in Victorian times.

  As time passed her eyes were adapting once more to the lack of light. She could make out the individual petals on the late-blossoming flowers around her, although the leaves of the rhododendrons were still black.

  It was then that Juliet noticed, to her left, the footbridge over the ravine. Her first reaction was to laugh. How could she have not realized that it had been so recently replaced or restored? Had she not told Harriet Dot that it wasn’t there anymore? Why hadn’t the woman contradicted her? Juliet was concerned that she had probably ended their conversation too abruptly and had been rude to the old woman. She glanced back at the hotel where poor Harriet would still be waiting at the table, perhaps telling the annoyed waiter that her companion really would be joining her very soon. By being late for dinner Juliet was compounding her rudeness.

  She resolved to return to the hotel and apologize. She took one look back at where she had seen the bridge and suddenly it was no longer there. She closed her eyes tight for several seconds, and then looked again. Her vision was still not as good as it had been previously, but it was better. No, there was no footbridge over the ravine.

  Juliet walked back to the hotel wondering just what had caused the illusion. Tiredness, no doubt, and the uncertain light; she was suddenly overcome with fatigue, and would have gone straight back to her room if it was not for her obligation to Harriet. She put her shoes back on when she reached the hotel entrance, and was pleased to see that it was much less busy.

  In fact, the hotel was almost empty. In the dining room one solitary couple was finishing their dessert and Harriet Dot was nowhere to be seen. Juliet reasoned that she had been outside for longer than she had realized, but had so much time really passed? It
was busier in the bar and she looked in there, hopefully, for Harriet. It was then that she noticed the long-case clock was showing that it was a half past eleven.

  Juliet was willing to believe that a half an hour had passed since she had left the building, perhaps even a whole hour, but over four? She asked a man beside her what the time was and he pointed at the clock. He was amused by her insistence that he check his own watch, which he did, and he confirmed the late hour. Thoroughly confused and disoriented, Juliet turned to leave the bar and then saw the photograph of the cast-iron bridge over the ravine.

  The image was in sepia tones and included ladies and gentlemen in Victorian clothes, but it was still the footbridge she remembered, and believed that she had so recently seen. This odd illusion didn’t bother her so much as what had happened to four hours of her evening. And of even more concern was what Harriet Dot would be thinking of her.

  *

  The next morning Juliet awoke ravenous and remembered that she had not had dinner the night before. She tried not to think about the evening, but dressed hurriedly and went down to the busy dining room. By an unfortunate coincidence Harriet Dot arrived for breakfast just as she did.

  “I am so sorry about last night,” Juliet apologized.

  “Were you unwell? You left the garden in a hurry and I was worried about you.”

  “I was, rather,” she lied. She was about to say that she had stayed in her room but there was a danger of being found out. “I made myself come down for dinner,” she explained, believing it was the kindest thing to do. “But it was so full in here that I had to go out for air. I started walking, and then couldn’t face seeing anyone.”

  “I did wonder,” Harriet nodded. “There’s a wedding party here, you know. And, unfortunately, they’ll be back for the reception later this afternoon. No doubt it’ll go on into the evening, which is unfortunate.”

  They were shown to a table together and Juliet said that she found it hard to be annoyed by wedding parties, no matter how boisterous: “The first time I came here was for my honeymoon,” she was finally able to tell the woman. “And every year after that we celebrated our anniversary here; familiarity has never quite removed the sparkle for me.”