“And that's when you fell?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I don't think so.”
“Maybe you should come in for a check-up.”
“I was just on my way. How did the EVP experiment go?”
“Status unknown. I haven't played the recording back yet. Thought I'd wait for you so you can offer some expert analysis.”
“Very gentlemanly of you. And probably wise. So why did you call?”
“Just to see where you were, and if we needed to send out another search party?”
“Nope. Not at all. Be there soon.”
“Well, okay. If you get lost or something, call me.”
“Lost? Dale, I can see Sker from here. I won't be long.”
Not wanting anyone to see her dishevelled state, when she arrived back at Sker House Lucy elected to use the side entrance. Her route took her past a tiny enclosed patch of land adjacent to the house being tended to by the woman she had seen earlier. The side entrance was open. She was about to sneak up the stairs to their room, when something made her stop. Raised voices. Raised voices always commanded attention, that was why people raised their voices in the first place, wasn't it? It was two men. Dale?
Lucy stopped and listened. No, not Dale. Both talkers had strong Welsh accents, whereas Dale's had become less pronounced since he'd been away. Besides, she would recognize his voice anywhere. Then it must be Machen and... Old Rolly? She couldn't remember hearing the old man talk before, but while one sounded like the landlord, the other was deeper and more weathered. They appeared to be midway through a heated discussion.
“Sandra understood the way things are around here,” the older man was saying, an accusatory note ringing in his voice.
“That's why she bloody left!” came the terse reply.
They must be talking about Machen's absent wife. So he didn't murder her and bury her in the garden, after all! The fact that she felt more relief than disappointment told Lucy that her moral compass still pointed in the right direction, and hadn't been totally distorted by almost three years of journalism training. Not too much, anyway.
She put an ear to the door.
“Listen to yourself, will you? You're like a big kid. Its always somebody else's fault, isn't it? Don't forget you're the one she was married to, nobody else.”
“How can I forget it? I love that woman!” Machen's voice trembled with emotion. “It was all that rubbish you told her about this place that did it. Got her believing all sorts of stuff, you did. By the end, she was like a different person.”
The two men were in full throttle now, and didn't sound a million miles away from firing pistols at dawn. “Maybe you were the one that changed, not her. I only told her what she needed to know. Don't you think people should understand the dangers of living in Sker?”
Dangers? Did he say dangers of living in Sker? Lucy swallowed hard. The voices were now hushed as if, mindful of being heard, both men were making an effort to contain themselves.
“There's no danger here. I wouldn't stay if there was, would I? And I certainly wouldn't bring my wife here.”
“You just can't see it. You're judgement has been clouded by the lure of the almighty dollar, just like every other owner Sker's had.”
“And you've been driven senile by old age, mun! What makes you such an expert, anyway?”
“My family has been here or hereabouts for generations.”
“And you think that gives you the right to have a say in what goes on? It doesn't work like that. Don't forget that the only reason you're tolerated around here is because you're a paying customer.”
“See! It all comes back to money with you.”
“I have to make a living, same as everyone else. And what have you ever done for Sker? I didn't see you step up to save it when the place was going to ruin.”
“As you said, I'm a paying customer. I do my bit. My family has done more for Sker than you are ever likely to do.”
“But I brought it back to life!” Machen was almost shouting. “This is my dream, not yours. Your dream is something else, and you're welcome to it. Without me, Sker House would still be a crumbling wreck.”
“Maybe that's how it should have stayed. Kicked a hornets nest, you have. Some things are better left alone. One day you'll see that. I just hope it won't be too late. Sker has suffered enough tragedy.”
After that, the conversation petered out. Or carried on at a more respectable volume that Lucy couldn't hear. She continued on her journey.
When she arrived at their room, she found the door open and Dale sitting on the edge of the bed holding his Dictaphone. “There you are,” he said. “Oh my God! You look like you've just fought for the heavyweight title.” Catching her glare he quickly corrected himself, “Sorry, I mean featherweight title, or pubeweight title, whichever's the lightest. You know, 'cos you're so slim and everything...”
“Good boy. Is there such a thing as a pubeweight title?”
“I don't know. But if there isn't, there should be. And you'd probably win it. So what happened?”
“I told you, I fell off a tree. I'm fine, really.” Before Dale could object she made for the en suite bathroom and hurriedly shut the door behind her.
“What were you saying about finding a secret garden?”
“I'll tell you about it later,” Lucy answered. Already her recollection of events had become hazy and she was beginning to wonder if she had knocked herself unconscious and dreamed the whole thing. On seeing her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she was relieved to find that she wasn't too badly beaten up. There was a little graze on her chin, and maybe the beginning of a bruise high on her right cheekbone. Some blood from her nose had run down to her lip and been smeared everywhere, making her condition look far more serious then it actually was. She cleaned herself up as best she could using water and cotton swabs and tied her hair into a ponytail. As she studied her reflection in the mirror, it began to cloud over, misting up like a car windscreen on a frosty morning.
Strange, while the hot water tap was running there was no condensation, but now...
A part of her mind cried, it's the misty stuff from the photographs!
Whatever it was, the greyness encroached from all sides until it perfectly framed Lucy's face in the centre of the glass. Then, the first tendril of mist crawled across her cheek, closely followed by another, this one thicker and faster than its predecessor, and then another. The wispy forms twisted and contorted into one big swirling mass and her features melted away into nothing. Lucy was transfixed by what was unfolding before her. She couldn't tear her eyes away, and as much as she squinted and peered into the grey swirls, she could no longer see herself.
Then how do you know you're still here?
Of course I'm still here, where else would I be? You can't simply vanish into thin air before your own eyes.
Then the greyness slowly began to disperse. Amidst the thinning grey swirls she could make out the outline of a head, framed just as before. But...
What's wrong with this picture?
The face in the mirror looking back didn't belong to her. It was someone else.
There were similarities. They were both girls, and around the same age. But this face was narrower than hers, the features sharp and well-defined, and the eyes smaller and darker with dark bags beneath them. This new face was pale, drawn and haggard. A mask of tragedy. As Lucy struggled to comprehend what she was seeing, she stared at the person in the mirror. The sad, defeated eyes seemed to call to her, implore her.
What do you want me to do?
Lucy felt dizzy, and gripped the wash basin for support. Whatever was going on, she would like it to end now, please. Enough of this weird shit.
Stop the world, I wanna get off!
Before she could stop herself, she bent over the basin and vomited, the hot noxious fluid burning her mouth and throat as it came up.
It's shock. You're in shock.
Her mind scrambled for an explanation. A trick mirror? A dream? Was she still lying unconscious under the tree? Or was she having a brain embolism or something? She pinched the skin of her forearm between her thumb and forefinger, making herself wince. She knew she winced because she felt the muscles in her face contract and her lips pull back over her teeth, but the face in the mirror didn't flinch.
That was when she started screaming.
Chapter 21:
Changing Destiny
Whilst Lucy did her thing in the bathroom, Dale took the opportunity to change into his good jeans (good in the sense that they were worn-in enough to be comfortable, but still new enough to be considered smart) and a black shirt. His options were limited in that department, as it was the only shirt he owned. His social activities didn't often call for formal wear.
As he carefully gelled his hair into spikes and groomed himself in the dressing table mirror, he thought about how excited he used to be when he first discovered the forbidden world of pubs and clubs. In those halcyon days he would start getting ready at least three hours before he had to leave, then endure an anxious extended wait either sitting in his room or standing outside a pub waiting for his friends. He had since learned the art of restraint, and though the mere prospect of getting drunk still thrilled him, it no longer sent the same waves of anticipation through his body. Nothing ever felt as good as it did when you are young.
It was as if his senses had been deadened by Barry's suicide. Dale was pretty sure that if it hadn't been for that, he wouldn't even be here now. He would never have made it to university. Either directly or indirectly, Barry was the reason Dale decided to leave Wales and see what else the world had to offer. His friend's death was the catalyst, the one momentous event that changed everything. The thing that made him get up and do something. He didn't want to end up swinging from a tree.
Working at the factory, he could see his life stretching out before him like a long, featureless road. Doomed to a life of mediocrity, putting things in boxes day after day. If he was lucky and kept his job for ten or twenty years there was a chance he might make supervisor or even floor manager, but that was as far as he would go. There was more chance of career advancement at MacDonald's. If he was lucky, he'd meet a nice girl along the way and fall in love. A job and a girl, that was enough for most people. But Dale knew it would never be enough for him. That kind of simplified existence would drive him crazy. Too many people in the world made do with a job they hated and a partner they clung to for fear of never being able to find anyone else. He saw it happen on a regular basis; the factory was an endless procession of life's victims. Sometimes you saw the light in their eyes simply wink out.
Click.
The fire inside that kept them going, kept them hungry, suddenly died. It was like seeing them give up. It couldn't be that far removed from the look of a Death Row inmate en route to the execution chamber. Given enough time, factory life can crush anyone, cruelly snuffing out any last vestiges of hope that lingered after you were spat out by the state education system. There were times when Dale thought Barry had the right idea. Opting out seemed like a viable alternative to slaving away lining other people's pockets for half your life. But that would be the easy way out. Selfish. And tough on the family. Not long after Barry's suicide, his mother and father separated and his little brother was taken into care. The village gossip-mongers said they blamed each other for what happened.
Barry's death had galvanised Dale's thoughts and ambitions, make him more focused and determined to follow his dreams. Giving him the gift of appreciation was the greatest thing Barry had ever done for him. Since then, he had come to find solace in the fact that his friend's last act on this earth, his parting gift, was to teach him a valuable lesson; live life to the fullest. Treat each day like it was your last. Because one day, it will be. The days run out, and the clock is ticking for all of us. A line from an old Alarm song ran through his mind:
If a man can't change the world these days,
I still believe he can change his own destiny.
But the price is high, that has gotta be paid
For every one who survives, there are many who fail.
The message in the song was simple. You can't just sit around hoping for a lucky break. That's not enough. You have to make it happen Everyone is responsible for their own happiness. You have the power to either succeed or fail, and you can't always rely on other people to help you out. Why should they? You have to formulate a plan for yourself, then find the skills, courage and belief to make it work.
Writing was Dale's avenue. He wasn't fooling himself into thinking he could be a famous novelist (though that remained a distant ambition) but a job on a newspaper or magazine wasn't beyond him. He was still learning the trade, but writing is a skill you never stopped learning. The main thing was he had discovered something he enjoyed, was reasonably good at, and could make a decent living from. He was lucky. And he wasn't like most of the pretentious knobs at his university who deluded themselves into believing they could change the world when most of them couldn't even change their own underpants. Not that it mattered too much, most of them would be absorbed into daddy's company where they probably wouldn't even have to change their own underpants.
Suddenly, there was a scream and Dale's attention snapped back to the here and now. Heart thudding furiously in his chest he bounded over to the bathroom door and hammered on it. “Lucy? Lucy!”
No answer.
Shit!
Dale was preparing to kick the lock off when the door opened and Lucy casually strolled out.
“What's wrong? Why all the screaming?”
“What? Oh, nothing. There was a spider.”
“Haven't you seen a spider before?”
“Yeah, but this one was BIG.”
“Okay. Where is it? I'll throw it out of the window.” Dale said, striding purposefully into the bathroom.
“Too late, his ass is grass. He went down the toilet.”
Dale was sceptical. He couldn't believe a spider caused all that fuss. It wouldn't be the first time in history an impromptu encounter with an insect had made a girl scream, but he knew Lucy was lying. He knew her too well. There was something else going on. And what about her falling out of a tree today on top of everything else?
Why all these things together? Why now?
Was Lucy going nuts?
She hadn't been herself for a while. But Dale was under the impression it was something to do with Steve, the guy she'd been seeing. Lucy had terrible taste in men. That was well documented. If she had any taste at all, she would be on his arm by now instead of going off with idiots who just wanted to use her. But it was her life. All Dale could do was stick around and pick up the pieces when she fell apart. Which, by all indications, was right now.
A quick inspection proved that there was no spider loitering in the toilet bowl. If it had been flushed he would have heard it, which proved Lucy was lying.
Chapter 22:
Talking to the Dead
Lucy needed a lie down. That was all. It had been a trying day. How often do you wake up in a haunted house and fall out of a tree whilst trying to gain access to a secret garden? Sitting on the edge of her bed, she slipped off her shoes and flexed her toes. As she did so, she noticed something lying on the bedside table. Something that hadn't been there before. It seemed so foreign, so alien, that it demanded attention. “Dale? what's that?”
“What's what?” Dale said, emerging from the bathroom. He was looking at her in a way she didn't much care for, as if he was angry or disappointed. Like all this craziness was her fault. She pointed at the object on the table.
“Oh that,” he said dismissively. “It's a key.”
“Yeah, I can see that. I mean, where did you get it?”
“I found it,” Dale replied proudly. “Over there behind the radiator. I don't think it fits anything in the room, so I'm going to hand it in it to Machen later. Maybe the last guests left it her or some
thing. Why?”
“Just wondering.” She picked the key up and examined it. It was heavy. Placing it back on the table, she saw that it left a brown residue on her fingers which she wiped on her jeans. “Ew, dirty.”
“Dirty key, yes. Are we going to listen to this tape, or what?”
“Oh, I forgot all about your little experiment.”
“My little experiment? Can I just remind you that this whole recording ghost voices thing was your idea?”
“But it's your machine. Hence, whatever happens is your fault.”
“Oh, right. Like that, is it?”
Lucy sat on the bed next to him, and Dale hit the PLAY button. She noticed his hands were shaking ever-so-slightly. There were a few seconds of empty static, then the sound of his voice.
Can you hear me? Who are you? What do you want?
After every question there was a short, almost hopeful pause.
“Very professional.” Lucy said. “You sound like a TV reporter doing his off-air warm-up.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“If you like.”
“Oh, then ta very much!”
“Welcome. Is this as clear as you can make it?”
“'Fraid so.”
“No offence Dale, but I think your equipment needs to be updated. When are you going to invest in a new Dictaphone?”
“Do you know how much these things cost? I'm an impoverished student, remember.”
“Is there any audio enhancing software we can download from the internet to clean it up?”
“Probably. But I don't have any.”
“Great.”
“Yeah, well. A good craftsmen works with the tools he is given. You should be thankful I brought the Dictaphone at all. I was going to just bring the notepad and pencil. Without which, I might add, we wouldn't even be on our way to solving this mystery. Now, just listen, will you?”
Did you write in my notebook? Recorded Dale asked.
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