by Amy Cross
For the next few minutes, I wander from room to room, still searching for Helen's elusive folder. I almost feel as if I'm completely alone in the house, and I can tell from the vast amount of dust on the floor that I'm the first person who's come this way in quite a while, but finally I get all the way around to the library and I realize I can hear voices in the distance.
Arguing voices. People shouting. Something's wrong.
Chapter Eight
“Nothing happened!” Toby says firmly as I finally get back to the hallway and find him standing at the front door, as if he's about to head back outside. “That's the whole point! I'm getting out of here before something does happen!”
“Like some kind of coward?” Helen replies. “Are you serious?”
“What's wrong?” I ask, stepping into the room. “Toby, where are you going?”
“Yes, Toby,” Mac says suddenly, and we all turn to see him coming down the spiral staircase with a yellow notebook still in his hands. “Where exactly are you going? Please, enlighten us.”
“Mac,” Toby replies, “please, you've gotta understand. We've all heard the stories about this house, about what happens to people when they stay the night. Hell, if it wasn't for the stories, none of us would even be here in the first place, the stories are the reason the house is so well-known. And I get it, there's a kind of fascination about what might or might not be here. But be sensible, man, it doesn't do any of us any good to tempt fate.”
“He wants to leave,” Helen continues, turning to me and then back to Mac. “As soon as it starts getting dark outside, the pathetic little coward decides he can't hack it after all!”
“Watch who you're calling a coward!” Toby hisses, but it's clear that he's freaked out about something.
“What's wrong?” I ask, making my way over to him. “Did something happen while the rest of us were gone?”
He sighs.
“Just tell me,” I continue. “I won't laugh. Did you see something or -”
“Why won't anyone listen to me?” he mutters, interrupting. “Nothing happened to me, and I'm getting out before that changes! Come on, all four of us know the stories about Blackwych Grange. Do we really want to sit around here and wait until we become another of those stories?”
“Let me guess,” Helen says, rolling her eyes. “You heard a scary creaking door and -”
“Nothing happened to me!” he shouts, taking a step back. “Get that through your thick head! It's just the feeling of the house!” Breathless now, he turns to me. “Come on, Paula, you must have noticed it. The whole house just feels wrong, it feels like...”
He pauses, and after a moment he looks toward the spiral stairs.
“There's something here,” he continues, his eyes filled with fear. “There's something watching us, and whatever it is, it's waiting for night to come. At first I told myself I was imagining the whole thing, but all day the feeling has been getting stronger and stronger. Sometimes it's really close and sometimes it's further away, but it never entirely stops. There's someone else in the house with us, and I for one do not want to set eyes on the damn thing. Whether it's Elizabeth Marringham or someone else, I want out!”
He pauses again, and this time he seems to be waiting for us to agree with him. There's a hint of real desperation in his eyes, and fear too.
“Go, then,” Mac says finally, still standing at the bottom of the stairs. “I've always been very clear that you're all free to leave at any moment. One of the vans belongs to you anyway, Toby, so get out of here and let the rest of us work.”
“You guys aren't staying, are you?” he replies, turning first to Helen and then to me. “Paula, come on, I know you were gonna quit yesterday but you chickened out. Let's go together.”
I open my mouth to reply, but I'm suddenly aware that Mac is watching me.
“You know I'm right,” Toby continues. “Paula, don't be an idiot. You're a smart girl, you know it's not a good idea to stay here!”
“I'm...” I take a deep breath. My chest feels tight. “I'm staying,” I tell him.
“Paula, please -”
“I'm staying,” I say again, even though I'm a little surprised by my decision. I guess now I'm actually here at the house, I feel as if I can't turn back. I glance at Mac, hoping to see that he's impressed, but he's still watching Toby.
“Jesus Christ,” Toby mutters, “you people are nuts!”
“We don't have time to stand around discussing this,” Mac continues. “Toby, you've made your decision. Please leave now, so that the rest of us can get back to work. I'm sure you'll respect our project sufficiently to understand that we can't let your doubts get in the way of our schedule. I hope you'll take the time to read our report, though, when we finally get back and have a chance to write things up.”
Letting out a sigh of frustration, Toby grabs his backpack and heads out the door. After a moment, framed against the darkening sky, he turns back to me.
“Why are you staying, Paula?” he asks. “For the love of God, this isn't the time to be stubborn. You want to come with me, I know you do, so what's keeping you here?
I shake my head. He's right, there's a part of me that does want to leave, but at the same time I feel as if I need to face my fears. Blackwych Grange is just a house, and I need to be more professional.
“Don't say I didn't warn you, then,” he continues. “And Mac, you're in charge here, so anything that happens to Paula and Helen is on your head. Just to make that clear. They're here because of you, and deep down you know full well that it's not safe to have people in this house. But hey, don't let that stop you obsessing over Josephine Pullman and trying to figure out what drove her nuts, eh?”
“You're wasting everybody's time,” Mac says firmly, and I can tell he's simmering now, ready to explode. “If you're leaving, then please... Leave.”
“You don't get -”
“Leave!” Mac roars suddenly, taking a step forward. I've heard about his infamous temper, and about how it can flare up suddenly with no warning, and now I'm seeing it for the first time. “If you're so scared, what the hell are you still doing here? Get out of my sight! You make me sick, you goddamn little imbecile!”
Toby takes a step back. “You're just -”
“Or do I have to throw you out myself?” Mac yells. Always a large, hunched man, he somehow seems even bigger now. I honestly believe he could lift Toby up and toss him out the door.
“Screw this for a game of soldiers,” Toby mutters, turning to me as if to give me one final chance to go with him, and then shaking his head. “You're all crazy if you're actually thinking of staying here tonight. Totally crazy.”
With that, he steps out of the house and disappears from view. Figuring that I can maybe change his mind, I hurry after him, but then I stop in the doorway and watch as he throws his backpack into one of the vans. He seems so determined to leave, as if he's genuinely scared, and I simply wait as he starts the engine. He glances at me one final time, his eyes filled with fear, and he seems to hesitate, almost as if he's expecting me to change my mind and join him.
Finally he starts driving away, and I watch as his van disappears into the distance.
“Well that was unexpected,” Helen mutters finally. “I knew he was an idiot, but I didn't think he'd freak out before we've even spent one night inside the house.”
Turning, I watch as Mac slips the yellow notebook into his pocket.
“This doesn't change anything,” he says, although I can see that he's concerned. “It'll be dark soon. I want all the equipment up and running within the next hour. We've got a busy night ahead of us.”
He flicks through the book for a moment, before glancing at us.
“Well? What are you waiting for? Get back to work!”
***
A few minutes later, having left Helen in the hallway for a moment while she continues to search for her folder, I make my way through to the library and stop as soon as I see Mac sitting at the desk. He se
ems completely absorbed as he continues to read the yellow notebook, but after a moment he glances at me.
“Do you need a job, Paula?”
“No,” I stammer, “I just...”
I hesitate, already feeling as if it was a mistake to disturb him, but finally I step into the room and make my way cautiously toward the desk. Reaching into my pocket, I take out the coffee-stained notebook I found earlier.
“This was on the floor,” I tell him, and I can see from the look in his eyes that I've immediately caught his attention. “There's not much in it, but I think... I think maybe it belonged to Doctor Pullman.”
I place the notebook on the desk and slide it toward him.
“I think so, anyway,” I continue, worried that I'm making a mistake. “I mean, I took a look through it and...”
My voice trails off.
For a moment, Mac simply stares at the notebook, and I'm starting to think that I might have done something wrong. Finally, however, he reaches over and picks it up, although he doesn't open it to look at the pages.
“This has been wet,” he mutters.
“Coffee, I think. That wasn't my fault, though. From what I can tell, it looks like Doctor Pullman abandoned writing in it after some kind of spillage. I guess she switched to a new notebook, which is probably the one you already have. I mean, that's my theory, anyway.”
He hesitates for a moment, before nodding slowly.
“I was aware that some of Josephine's earlier notes seemed to be missing,” he mutters. “I wondered why, and now it seems that we have an answer.” He glances at me. “Thank you, Paula. I suspect this will prove to be very useful.”
I wait for him to continue, but he looks down at the notebook and starts peeling the coffee-stained pages apart. It's clear that he has no further use for me, so I turn and head back to the door, figuring I should help Helen again. Just as I'm about to leave the room, however, I look back at Mac. I know I should leave him in peace, but this is the first time I've ever really managed to get him alone, and I want to ask him why I'm here. Out of all the students who applied to join his team, why did he pick me?
“Mac?”
He doesn't even look up from the notebook. “What?”
I hesitate, before realizing that I can't ask the question. I'd just sound like some kind of self-absorbed idiot. Damn it, I need to think of something else to say.
“Um... I was just wondering about Doctor Pullman's notebooks,” I continue. “I was wondering what she wrote about her team's first night in the house.”
He glances at me. “And why would you want to know that?”
“Well, just...”
My voice trails off.
He watches me for a moment, as if he's trying to figure me out, and then he looks back down at the yellow notebook.
“Time will tell,” he mutters finally. “If you're worried about Toby's abrupt departure, don't be. I anticipated that one of you would leave. I wasn't necessarily sure it would be him, but...” He pauses, and although he doesn't look at me, a faint smile crosses his lips. “It's getting dark. Make sure all the equipment is up and running, and check that Helen doesn't need any more help. And for God's sake, help her find that folder. If I have to hear one more word about it going missing, I'll...”
He finishes the sentence under his breath, but I can tell that he's annoyed.
I turn to leave the room.
“Did you read it?” he asks suddenly.
Glancing back at him, I see that he's still holding the yellow notebook I gave him a moment ago.
“I... Yes,” I stammer, worried that I might have made a mistake. “I'm sorry if I shouldn't have.”
He stares at me, before finally shaking his head.
“No,” he mutters. “No, that's fine. Thank you, Paula. That will be all.”
I hurry back through to the hallway, where I see that the portable lights are finally working. Just as well, since the window shows nothing but darkness outside, and I feel a faint tightening sensation in my chest as I realize that we've finally begun out first night at Blackwych Grange.
Part Two
Sir Edward Marringham - 1788
Chapter Nine
“Sir! Over here!”
The man has a brutish, uneducated voice. As I step out of the carriage and lean on my cane, I look across the muddy field and spy a ruffian waving his cap at me. I immediately feel a shudder pass through my chest, and I quickly determine that I must under no circumstances respond to this commoner in any manner. If he has the temerity to address me, he shall quickly learn that men of my stature do not converse with men of his.
I turn to walk away, but Charles immediately places a hand on my arm.
“That's just Percy Wiggins,” he says with a faint smile. “Grandfather, he's in charge of the building work.”
Again, I turn to get back into my carriage.
“Grandfather,” Charles continues, “please... This will only take a few minutes.”
“Why is he waving that cloth thing at me?” I ask. “It's unseemly.”
“He is merely enthusiastic.”
“No doubt, but tell him to stop. And tell him to refrain from addressing me directly. He's a commoner and it simply won't do. Doesn't he know who I am?”
“I shall go and remind him,” Charles replies, although he seems a little amused by my instruction. “I think he always wants to ask about the foundations, he's worried about the wooden supports beneath the brickwork. If you'll wait here for a moment...”
He starts making his way through the mud, heading toward the infernal cap-waver. Left alone next to the carriage, I take a moment to look out across the site and study the work that has been completed so far. When I purchased this plot of land several years ago, it was my immediate intention to begin construction of a house. Certain other matters have detained me since then, but finally last spring I was able to give the go-ahead, and now I have been dragged out to the site because my grandson thinks it important that I...
Oh, I don't even remember anymore. These young people have so many awful ideas, and they're always so determined to push the world onward rather than savoring tradition. Even now, I see Charles laughing as he converses with the cap-waving brute. My grandson is an intelligent and educated man, and I do not understand why he enjoys the company of commoners. There are still some aspects of our old British values that he needs to learn. If the wealthy and the poor start mixing, this entire country will swiftly fall to ruin.
After several minutes, Charles comes trudging back over to me, and as usual he seems jolly pleased with himself.
“Grandfather, they're ready for you,” he explains. “All you have to do is lay the first stone, and then they can get on with the job of building the new house.”
“Why do I need to lay the first stone?” I ask, even though I am already letting him lead me across the muddy field. I know better than to resist. “What difference does it make?”
“It's symbolic.”
“Nonsense. It's a waste of my time. And I must -”
Before I can finish, I break into another coughing fit. Stopping for a moment, I take a handkerchief from my pocket and wipe my lips, and I still feel a rumbling, furry discomfort in my lungs. I start walking with Charles again, even though I do not feel well.
“You intend this to be the Marringham family home for many generations to come, do you not? It would be fitting if your hand laid the first stone.”
“Because you think I'll die before the house is finished?”
“That's not what I said.”
“Oh, rot!” I mutter, yet still I do not turn back. “I am only doing this to amuse you, Charles. Frankly, I find the whole matter to be rather unedifying. I pay men to build the house, so why should I have to come out here in person?”
He smiles, and I can tell that he is merely humoring me. I suppose that to him, I must seem like some kind of old fool, a relic of a time gone by. At least, as we reach a certain spot in the mud, the ruffian b
uilding workers have stepped back to a respectful distance, which shows that they have some degree of respect. After all, I am from a great family, and it simply will not do for them to get too close. The smell alone is quite hideous.
“Let us get on with it, then,” I say with a sigh, trying to hide the fact that the short walk has left me breathless. “Where is this infernal stone that I am supposed to lay?”
“I shall help you,” Charles replies, picking up a foot-long gray stone and holding it out for me. “It's rather heavy.”
“Oh, I can manage,” I tell him, reaching out and taking the stone in my trembling hands. As soon as I feel the weight, I can tell that I shall struggle, but I take the stone nonetheless and then I turn away. I can barely keep hold of the damn thing, and the swollen joints of my fingers are burning with pain. Just as I fear that I am about to drop the stone, I lean down and set it in the mud, and I feel a rush of relief as I take a step back. Still, I fail to understand why I was dragged all the way out here to do something so utterly simple.
“Grandfather,” Charles says cautiously, “I think actually -”
“It will do right there,” I reply. “I have no intention of moving it now.”
“But -”
“And that,” I roar, “is the end of the matter! So help me God!”
“Okay.” There's that infernal smile again. “I'm sure the men can work with the stone in this position. Do you perhaps want to give a little speech?”
“Eh?” I turn to him. “What are you on about now, boy?”
“To mark the start of work. It might encourage the men.”
“I'm paying them already!”
“Still, it would seem fitting.”
Sighing, I realize that he seems to be serious. I cannot fathom what will become of the world once I am gone, if men such as my grandson are left in charge.
“I hereby...” Pausing, I try to think of some concoction of words that might mollify the ever-enthusiastic boy. “I hereby name this place Blackwych Grange,” I mutter, taking a step back and looking around. For a moment, I try to imagine how the site will look in a few years' time, once the mighty house has been built. I shall most likely be dead by then, of course. “Home to the Marringham family for all eternity. Let all men look upon this house as they pass and know that we are a family of influence. Let our name stand for honor and decency, and all good things. In times of calm and trouble alike, let Blackwych Grange serve as a beacon of hope, shining its influence across the land. That is all I ask.”