“Might be rats,” Machen said, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. He was terrified, but more terrified of showing it. He noticed Lucy staring at him and snapped, “So where's this locked door of yours?”
“At the other end of the corridor, I think. A bit farther up.”
“Come on then, lets get this over with.” Machen took the lead now, pushing past Lucy in his haste to prove her wrong.
On this occasion, Lucy was happy to fall behind. “Hope you remembered to bring that key with you,” she said as he passed.
The landlord didn't rise to the bait, but instead marched directly to the end of the corridor and stood there with his arms out-stretched, candle in hand. In the subtle yellow glow, his pose had an almost religious flavour. “See!” Machen said triumphantly. “No door here. Just like I said. I'd hate to say I told you so, but I did. I did tell you so.”
Shit. He was right. There was a doorway, but no door. Never mind a locked one. Unless she and Dale were the victims of an elaborate hoax and Machen had somehow fit a door up here then sneakily removed it without them knowing, the only alternative was that she must have dreamed or hallucinated the whole thing. Even so, the memory she had of standing in this very spot trying to gain entry into a locked room was almost overwhelming.
Could she be sure this was the same room? They all looked the same in the dark.
Yes, she was sure. This was the room. She couldn't prove it, but she felt it. Except it was different now. Without a door, the dark, chilly space beyond the threshold was more like a walk-in tomb than a guest room. Before, she could think only of getting inside, convinced it held the key to the mystery. Now the promise was about to be realized, she wasn't so sure she wanted to go in there.
“Go on, then,” Machen urged. “Have a good look if you want.”
Lucy took a solitary step inside, still shielding her candle with her palm, and peered around the room. It was completely bare.
What did you expect?
Wait a moment. No. The room wasn't empty. There was movement in the far corner, quick and fleeting. Something dark and fluid. On the wall.
The realization came just as she was shoved rudely from behind and sent sprawling forward. She staggered a few feet into the room then fell, landing roughly on her hands and knees. As she hit the ground for the second time that day, the candle flew from her grasp and darkness descended.
*
Machen stood in the doorway, horrified at what he had just done. In all his life, he had never laid a hand on a woman before. Not even when his marriage was falling to pieces. He had been brought up believing only cowards hit women. The shock of his own actions made his thought process deteriorate into a rapid-fire question and answer session with his own conscience.
What did you do?
Shut that hoity-toity bitch up, that's what.
Pushed her from behind.
Fuck off. She's lucky I didn't put the boot in.
That's assault.
So tell someone who gives a crap.
Why did you do it?
Because she was driving me mad, that's why. All her smarty-pants shenanigans.
Not good enough.
The girl's been getting right under my skin since the moment she walked through the door.
Eventually, the argument subsided and the red mist retreated. However annoying the girl was, it wasn't legitimate grounds to push her over. Machen's rational part, which was slowly wrestling back control, knew that. Putting up with annoying people was a life skill he'd had ample opportunity to learn. He never had a problem with his temper before moving to Sker. People used to call him placid.
Excuses.
This power cut wasn't helping his nerves any, and those fucking wall-bangers were especially loud tonight. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't get a moment's peace. It was overwhelming. Everything combined to make him forget his responsibilities, just for a split second. But that was all the time it took for someone to get hurt.
Oh well. What's done is done. Can't change the past...
No, but mistakes can be rectified and you should never let the past ruin your future. All that really mattered now was what he did next. Swallowing his pride, Machen stepped into the room and knelt beside Lucy, who was now sitting up on the floor looking dazed. By the light of his candle, he could see that hair had fallen over her face, and she either didn't know or didn't care enough to brush it away. “Luv?”
What was her name? He had it just a minute ago, he held it tight, then it was gone again. At the sound of his voice the girl's head snapped around and she said, “If you make me stay here, I'll starve myself to death. I swear to God I will. I'll die right here in this room. And let that be on your conscience!”
Machen blinked several times. “Starve to death?” Of all the abusive things he had been expecting her to say, that would have been near the bottom of the list. “What on earth are you talking about? We had dinner not two hours ago. Not much chance of you starving to death with Mrs Watkins around, is there?”
“It's not you doing these evil things, father. I know that. It's this house. The things that come out of the cellar.”
Father? Did she just call him father? Machen was nonplussed. “Don't tell me you want to go down the cellar next. I'm not a bloody tour guide, you know.”
The girl stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Can't we get out of this house? Can't we just leave, father? Please?”
There it was again. Father. Just what was this girl playing at. “Look luv, I know the 'lectric's off and I apologize for that, but I'm sure it'll come back on again soon. Until then, can't you find your own entertainment? You can still play pool, probably. I'll open the coin slot so you can play for free. How's that?”
She didn't answer. If the promise of free pool didn't appease the girl, then he didn't know what would. He should leave her here, on the floor in the dark, while he went to find her boyfriend. Maybe he'd know what to do with her.
But then, she got unsteadily to her feet.
Oh, relief! Not hurt after all.
She looked stupefied, as if waking from a dream. “Are you okay?” he asked, now more concerned than ever.
“What happened?” the girl asked, her voice slow and thick. “What was I doing on the floor?”
Machen located her candle and relit it, handing it to her like a peace offering. “I'm not sure,” he lied. “I think you tripped over something. I told you it was dangerous up here, didn't I? Didn't I tell you that?”
“Was I just... speaking?”
Seeing how panicked and confused the girl was, all Machen could feel was pity. “You said a few things, like. None of it made much sense, to be honest. Mumbling, you were.”
“What was I talking about?”
That almost struck Machen as funny. What a ridiculous thing to say. If the situation hadn't been so desperate, and the girl so frightened, he might have laughed right out loud. How could she not remember what she said not a minute earlier? As it was, there was nothing he could do but answer the question.“The cellar,” he said. “You were talking about the cellar.”
The girl didn't look surprised. “Well, do you have one?”
“Of course.” Another stupid question. Many more like that and she might be falling over again.
Stop that! Behave yourself.
“Then I guess that's where we're going next,” the girl said as she set off marching down the corridor.
Before Machen could protest, a shrill scream cut through the night. The girl stopped, and Machen felt his own blood turn to ice in his veins. A long time as a publican had taught him screams were never good. The only good thing about this particular scream was that it trailed off after the climax because it was allowed to, and not cut short. Even before the scream ended, the barking and howling started.
Champ! Something had the dog in a right state. He rarely got himself worked up these days. Most of the time he barely even moved. The sound of Champ's barking had an even more profound effe
ct on Machen than the scream. He grabbed the girl by the arm and yanked her. “Come on! Something's wrong!”
Chapter 31:
The Cellar
Lucy was still reeling from the shock of hitting the floor when the sensation of being taken over came upon her. She could still see and hear everything around her, but suddenly had no control. It was as if everything that made her Lucy was being subdued, and another more forceful character was exerting its will on her. She knew Machen was standing over her, and could see the fear etched onto his face. But it was like seeing it through somebody else's eyes. More alarming than that was the sense of despair that swept through her like a black flood. She felt ruined, destroyed. As if her whole world had just come crashing down around her. She wanted to die.
Then she was talking. She could hear her voice. But the words sounded too far away, and she had no idea what she was talking about.
Keep it together, she thought. Ride it out.
And then she was back. Just like that. The invading presence simply left, allowing Lucy's true self to return. Machen was telling her she'd been saying something about the cellar, but she didn't trust him. There was something about his demeanour. He looked guilty.
That was when the scream sounded, followed by the dog's howl. She had never seen the landlord move so quickly as he did when he thought there was something wrong with Champ. Before she could even properly identify the doggy-in-distress sounds above the cacophony of other sounds, Machen was dragging her down the corridor.
By the time they arrived downstairs, the shouting and commotion had subsided. Dale and Old Rolly were already there, having evidently just arrived on the scene. It seemed as though Izzy was the screamer. No surprise there. She was whimpering and clinging to Ruth, who held her in a motherly grasp as they both huddled over a solitary flickering candle. The rest of the candles had been extinguished.
The biggest immediate concern was Champ, who alternated between running around in circles and getting down on his haunches as if preparing to attack, barking and growling at some invisible adversary. He seemed confused, as if he didn't know which direction posed the most threat. There was fury in his eyes and spittle sprayed from his mouth as he bared his incisors and snapped at the empty air in front of his face.
“What's up with you, boy? Calm down, is it?” Machen said.
Lucy's first thought was that there must be an intruder. But that didn't appear to be the case. All the doors and windows were secure and apart from two frightened women and a dog, the bar was deserted. She went over to where the girl sat weeping with her hands over her face and asked what had happened.
Izzy glanced at her with teary eyes and instantly looked away. It was her Ruth who did the talking. Judging by the tone of her voice she was just as shaken as her daughter, but probably had more experience at keeping her emotions under wraps. Voice trembling, she said, “A bloody wine glass came flying at us from outta nowhere, it did! Smashed right there on the floor by our Izzy's feet. Didn't it, Iz?”
The traumatized teenager nodded emphatically.
“Did it hurt you?” Asked Lucy.
Again Ruth answered on behalf of her daughter. “No, but frightened us all half to death, it did. Champ, too. Lookit him...”
Lucy did. Machen was now having more luck restraining his guard dog. Champ had stopped barking and was instead looking up at their faces almost apologetically.
“Where did the glass come from?” It was Rolly who posed the question.
Ruth shrugged, “Dunno. From somewhere over by the bar, I think. Couldn't tell for sure, it's too dark. And neither of us were looking over there, were we, Iz?” This time Izzy shook her head.
Lucy looked over in the direction of the bar. “There's nobody there,” she said, more to herself than to the group.
Dale stepped forward and put a hand on her arm. “Someone could be hiding under the counter. Are you sure nobody else came in here while we were upstairs?” he asked Ruth and Izzy. This time they both nodded their heads at the same time. Unanimous, then.
“Somebody should go look, just in case.” Even as she spoke Lucy found herself edging forward, the candle she held casting a small semi-circle of light in her path. Her heart was thudding in her chest loud enough to be audible. To her, anyway. Either realizing her actions were in the group's best interests or recognizing the fact that this was something she had to do by herself, nobody tried to stop her.
Arriving at the bar, she stood on tip-toe to provide enough elevation for her five-feet four frame to peek over the counter. As suspected, there was nobody hiding there. She quickly scanned the racks of wine glasses on display above her eye-line, and noticed one missing. None of the others seemed to be dislodged, indicating that some external force had acted selectively and exclusively upon the glass that was thrown.
If not a human being, then what? Lucy asked herself. Suddenly some inner part of her reached up and slapped her hard across the face. Look, it's a ghost, okay? A fucking ghost did it. There are ghosts here. Why are you even still questioning it? The quicker you accept it, the quicker we can all move toward some kind of resolution.
It suddenly occurred to her that with all the far-out things that had happened to her already that weekend, a flying wine glass shouldn't really strike her as very unusual. “All clear over here,” she called. “Where do you keep the dust pan and brush? Someone should clean that glass up before Champ sticks his paw in it or something.”
“Yeah, good idea, luv. It's right there under the counter,” answered Machen.
Lucy saw the dust pan and brush and reached for it, when suddenly she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Something skittered in the dark, murky corner. Similar to the thing she had seen upstairs, before she fell over. She instinctively flinched and pulled her hand back. Whatever it was moved with such speed it looked almost like a cat, but it was half way up the wall! However, by the time she registered it the shape had already slunked away into the shadows, leaving nothing but an empty void where it used to be. She contemplated going behind the bar to look, but that would just be inviting trouble. Half the people watching already thought she was batshit crazy.
“What's wrong?” Dale asked, apprehension creeping into his voice.
“Nothing,” Lucy called back over her shoulder. “Just coming.” She took the dustpan and brush over to where the others were gathered, bent over and started sweeping up the debris. She wouldn't be able to get all the pieces by candlelight, but she could at least get the worst of it. The wine glass had been thrown with such force it didn't just break, but was obliterated. A short, splintered length of stem protruded rudely from the wreckage, most of which was little more than powder.
As she swept, the silence was broken only by the tinkle of glass, Izzy's child-like whimpers, Champ's yowls, and the muted strains of the storm raging outside. Eventually, Old Rolly said, “If we're going, the sooner the better.”
Lucy stopped sweeping. “Going where?”
“Down to the cellar,” Dale replied. “Rolly thinks that's where the message we had is telling us to go. We were just on our way there when we got sidetracked by all this fuss.”
Lucy gasped. Another coincidence? Surely not. “I'm coming with you,” she spluttered. “When Machen and I were upstairs I had one of those... I don't know... episodes. I blacked out, and apparently started talking about the cellar.”
“What did she say about it?” Dale asked, turning to the landlord.
All eyes turned to Machen, who threw his arms up in exasperation. “How the hell should I know? Rubbish, it was. Gobbledegunk. Gook.”
“Can't you remember anything? It might be important.”
The landlord was quiet for a moment. Lucy noticed that his attention kept flicking towards the bar. Was he perhaps looking for that shape she had seen? Or was he just eyeing up his next tipple? Eventually he said, “Let's see... Thought I was her father, she did. As if! And there was something about starving to death. She said she'd starve hersel
f to death if I made her stay. That was it.”
“Was she talking to you?”
“I s'pose so,” the landlord shrugged. “I was the only person there. It was in the room up on the fourth floor. The room that wasn't locked after all, I'd like to add. Didn't even have a door. And I'm still waiting for an apology of some kind. Dragging me all the way up there for nothing.”
“You have no memory of this?” Rolly asked Lucy, who shook her head. “It sounds to me like someone was coming through you. Using you to communicate.”
“Who?” Lucy asked, even though she already knew the answer, she needed to hear someone else say it.
“Perhaps Elizabeth, the original Maid of Sker?” the old man said. “She's the only person I know of who starved to death here. And it would fit in with her chastising her father. What else did she say?”
Machen's brow creased and his eyebrows pulled together as he concentrated. “After that she said something about those things from the cellar making him do it.”
“So there's something in the cellar, Lucy?”
“I don't know,” she replied. “What are you asking me for?”
“Well, the excitement here seems to be pretty much over with now,” Dale said, surveying the scene around them. “So let's get going. Lead the way, Mach.”
To Lucy's surprise the landlord didn't protest, probably knowing it would be useless. Even more surprising was Izzy being the first to get up. “What?” She said upon noticing Lucy's quizzical stare. “I'm not bloody staying in here on my own, am I? Not now. Might get a pint glass in the face next time.” There was a steeliness about the teenager that hadn't been there before. Ruth was also on her feet, and even Champ was hopping around in anticipation of adventure.
“Wait,” Rolly said. “We don't know what we are going up against down there. Maybe we should go equipped.”
“Equipped with what?” Lucy asked. “Shall we take knives or something?” That was the Southampton girl coming out in her again.
“That's just the thing. I don't know. It doesn't seem as though this is a physical creature we are facing, so conventional weapons won't be much good.”
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