Say Her Name

by James Dawson

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Thirteen Years Ago

  Present Day

  Chapter 1 Hallowe’en

  Chapter 2: The Summoning

  Day One

  Chapter 3: The Message

  Chapter 4: Sunday

  Chapter 5: Coincidence

  Chapter 6: The Olden Days

  Day Two

  Chapter 7: The Vanishing

  Chapter 8: Five Days

  Chapter 9: Cracking Up

  Chapter 10: The Intruder

  Chapter 11: Girl Talk

  Day Three

  Chapter 12: Asylum

  Chapter 13: Bridget

  Chapter 14: Stigma

  Chapter 15: Grave Matters

  Chapter 16: Friendly Advice

  Chapter 17: Apport

  Day Four

  Chapter 18: Judy

  Chapter 19: Immortal

  Chapter 20: Ever Closer

  Day Five

  Chapter 21: Unexpected

  Chapter 22: Phantom Pregnancy

  Chapter 23: Isolation

  Chapter 24: Losing You

  Chapter 25: The Truth

  Chapter 26: Ellen Price

  Chapter 27: Bobbie’s Run

  Chapter 28: Tales From The Crypt

  Chapter 29: On Reflection

  One Week Later

  Acknowledgements

  James Dawson

  Copyright

  For Erin and Faye

  ’Twas in the middle of the night,

  To sleep young William tried,

  When Mary’s ghost came stealing in,

  And stood at his bedside.

  O William dear! O William dear!

  My rest eternal ceases;

  Alas! my everlasting peace

  Is broken into pieces.

  I thought the last of all my cares

  Would end with my last minute;

  But though I went to my long home,

  I didn’t stay long in it.

  From ‘Mary’s Ghost: A Pathetic Ballad’ by Thomas Hood

  THIRTEEN YEARS AGO

  Drip, drip, drip.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  This was really starting to get on her nerves. Taylor Keane tightened the kitchen tap with all her might, even using a tea towel to gain a better grip, but the relentless dripping continued. Where was it coming from? Leaning over the sink, she twisted the handle and threw the window open, snaking her arm through the opening and into the balmy night air. She held out her open palm. It wasn’t even spitting.

  The strangest thing was, wherever she went in the house the volume of the drip remained consistent, like it was following her around. She may well have snoozed through Physics, but she was pretty certain that wasn’t possible.

  She opened the cupboard under the sink and, pushing past about a trillion bottles of bleach, disinfectant and furniture polish, found the U-bend. A quick swipe of her finger confirmed it was bone dry. No leaks there.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  This was so typical. Her parents only went out one night a week to their ridiculous salsa class and she was left alone with a plumbing emergency. She’d called and called but they weren’t answering their phones.

  Worst. Night. Ever. Bad enough that Jonny hadn’t come over like he’d promised. They were supposed to be watching a DVD/making out, but he’d cancelled, saying he felt ‘fluey’. The scummy liar was probably down the arcade with his mates. Taylor cursed her fatal weakness for big arms and blue eyes.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  ‘God, that is so annoying.’ She clutched handfuls of her tousled caramel-blonde hair and stomped out of the kitchen and into the lounge. Locating the remote control, she muted the TV.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  It seemed to be coming from above, perhaps the dead space between floors. She scanned the ceiling for bulges. Maybe she should just call a plumber … she was sure that’s what you were meant to do in a leak situation. Surely her mum and dad would only thank her for preventing the collapse of the ceiling. It was almost 9 p.m. though, and she shuddered at what an emergency out-of-hours plumber might charge. She didn’t even have ten quid in her purse.

  She padded barefoot across the plush beige carpet into the hall and peered up the sweeping staircase to the first floor. Maybe it was coming from upstairs – in fact the bathroom was the most likely source. It was worth a look.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  Louder, clearer than ever: thick, viscous drops landing on a solid surface. But where? She’d lived here her whole life (well, when she wasn’t away at school) but suddenly the house seemed alien and strange. It was super-lame, but she really wished someone else was in the house right now.

  Taylor put a brave toe on the first step. She arched her neck back, angling to get a look at the upstairs landing. The coast was clear. High above her head, the light fixture cast a claw-like shadow over the ceiling. She hesitated. A voice in her head whispered, Don’t go upstairs. ‘Get a grip, Tay,’ she muttered to herself. With that, she took the steps two at a time, showing the house just how unscared she was. This wasn’t some stupid horror film that Jonny had brought over to try to freak her out, it was real life and they simply had a leaky pipe.

  Emerging onto the landing, she peeked around the banister. Nothing to see here. The water tank was in the attic, but horror film or not, there was no chance she was going up there by herself, not with spiders the size of kittens. Yet the dripping persisted. If anything, the liquid splattered with greater frequency – tapping out an increasingly hectic rhythm.

  There were two possible sources on this floor: the main bathroom and the en suite in her parents’ room. Clenching her fists, she arrived at her parents’ room first. With dim streetlight filtering through the blinds, she found the room immaculate as always and with no evidence of flooding. She crossed to the tiny bathroom. Snapping on the light, she saw at once through the glass shower door that the dry cubicle was not responsible for the dripping. The toilet also appeared fine; there was no water on the tiles at all.

  One option remained. As she returned to the landing, she cursed. The leak was worse still. The drips were now almost a current, as if liquid were pouring onto the floor.

  She hurried into the main bathroom, pulling on the light cord. The bulb seemed to falter, wheezing and shuddering as it came on, only filling the room with a thin, stuttering, greenish glow. Taylor wondered if the leak was affecting the electrics. Everything else seemed normal, but the water was at its loudest. The shower curtain was drawn along the length of the bath. She suddenly felt exceptionally blonde. All that fuss and it was just the shower trickling into the bath.

  The lights flickered again. Even dimmer. The prickly feeling in her stomach wasn’t going away. It’s just the shower, she told herself. Taylor inched over the tiles, steadying herself on the sink pedestal, catching sight of her ashen face in the ornate mirror that hung above it. She reached for the shower curtain, teasing the edge of the plastic veil. Do it like ripping off a plaster …

  She yanked the curtain aside, only to knock bottles of shampoo into an empty, white bathtub. The showerhead hung expectantly over her, no water running from its face.

  ‘What the … ?’ Taylor groaned, stepping away from the tub. ‘This is insane!’ Drip, drip, drip. It was so loud. Where was it coming from?

  And then she saw. In the very corner of her eye, she saw something move in the mirror. Something that wasn’t her. Mouth dry, she turned to face the glass. It was impossible, but her reflection wasn’t alone; something else waited within the frame. Taylor screamed.

  The glass was no longer solid, more like a rippling silver pool on the wall.
A slender hand, as white as marble but slick with blood, reached through the glass and clutched the basin, pulling itself from the reflection into the bathroom. Glistening red rivers ran from the dead fingertips, coursing through splayed fingers. It pooled around the taps and in the sink. As the hand reached for Taylor, thick red beads splashed onto the mosaic tiles.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  PRESENT DAY

  Chapter 1 Hallowe’en

  Piper’s Hall School for Young Ladies aged 11–18 sat on the top of a rugged, exposed cliff-face, a cove much battered by high winds and higher waves. The school perched, gargoyle-like, high above the shore. Nothing about the architecture said ‘school’; towers and turrets were topped with vicious metal spikes, while even the sprawling green playing fields were the colour of slate in the midst of a storm. By day it was a nightmarish vision, by night it was worse.

  Locals referred to it by many names, some ruder than others, but all the townies in neighbouring Oxsley stayed clear. With good reason … it was every haunted castle from their childhood nightmares. Even from miles out at sea, you could see forked tongues of lightning reach down to lick the casements.

  Worse than the sinister appearance, it was full of posho, toffee-nosed, boarding-school brats. Well, that was certainly Bobbie Rowe’s verdict on why anyone with an ounce of common sense would avoid her school.

  The cold sawed through Bobbie’s bones, the pathetic rubbish-bin fire doing nothing to keep their party of seven warm. They were gathered in a squat PE shed at the outer limits of the hockey pitch, the shutters over the windows rattling in the howling gale. Clamping her jaw shut was the only way Bobbie could stop her teeth from chattering like a cartoon woodpecker.

  This whole evening was so lame. So lame she could cry. Bobbie didn’t even like most of these people, and she certainly wasn’t bothered about Hallowe’en.

  ‘And the noise grew louder … drip, drip, drip … ’ The fun-size bonfire cast a demonic red glow across Sadie Walsh’s ruddy face. ‘The babysitter oh-so-slowly reached for the shower curtain and, taking a deep breath, she flung it open!’

  ‘Oh God! What did she see?’ squealed Lottie Wiseman, nervously chewing her hair.

  Sadie narrowed her eyes in glee, building the anticipation until her audience was salivating for the grand reveal. ‘The poodle was hanging from the shower rail, its throat cut, and blood drip, drip, dripping into the tub!’

  The two guys on the opposite bench, who had no business being at an all-girls school at any time, let alone in the middle of the night, chuckled to one another.

  ‘And on the mirror … ’ Sadie continued, a twisted, manic look in her eye, ‘written in blood, were the words “Humans can lick hands too!”’

  Lottie and Grace managed a coy faux scream for the delectation of the smuggled-in boys. Bobbie did not scream, only shifting slightly to kick-start life in her gym-bench-numb buttocks. While boarding school turned some girls into ticking hormone bombs, it had only succeeded in making her excruciatingly shy around boys.

  ‘Whatever, Sadie.’ Sitting next to her, Bobbie’s best friend Naya spoke out. ‘I’ve heard that story a million times before, and FYI, it’s an old lady and a dog, not a babysitter … why would a babysitter be going to bed at someone else’s house?’

  Bobbie giggled and pushed her geek-chic-but-actually-necessary glasses back up her button nose. Thank God for Naya – she just about made Piper’s Hall tolerable. She noted that one of the local boys (the cuter of the two – the mixed-race one with closely buzzed hair) was also grinning but Sadie did not look thrilled at the negative review.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Naya. I forgot you were the expert on everything Hallowe’en related – my mistake.’

  Naya pursed her full lips. ‘I’m not saying I am, but you promised a true ghost story. Oh hi … is that Trade Descriptions?’

  Once more Bobbie laughed. Sadie was full of crap at the best of times, and in an institution where laxatives were traded like cigarettes in jail, that was really saying something. ‘Okay. You want a true story?’

  The circle chanted agreement. Except Bobbie. At Naya’s insistence she’d abandoned Pride and Prejudice and Zombies for this demented charade … ‘It’s Hallowe’en!’ she’d begged, ‘one night a year … live a little!’ Naya would pay for this. Bobbie didn’t know how, but she’d pay.

  ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you … ’

  ‘Sweet Jesus, Sadie!’ Grace Brewer-Fay, the final member of their illicit party and reigning monarch, finally spoke. She could not have looked more bored if she’d tried. ‘Can you just get on with it please? I don’t want to be here all night.’ The Head Girl delivered the last two words in precise, soap-opera seduction mode as she stroked the boy she was nestled against – the same cute Hollister model one. As Grace ran her fingers over the smooth, taut, brown skin of his forearm, Bobbie couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like. He was gorgeous, and even keeping the admission in her head made her cheeks flush raspberry red. It was so silly, he didn’t even know she was here; Bobbie was ever the chameleon, happy to fade into the wallpaper.

  Sadie puffed herself up like a particularly proud peacock. ‘Well this one really happened, right here at Piper’s Hall.’ Grace and Naya voiced instant disbelief. ‘It’s true! This all went down when my eldest sister was here! If you don’t believe me, I’ll ring her for you right now!’

  Bobbie rolled her head on Naya’s shoulder. ‘Can we go?’ she whispered, so only her friend would hear. ‘I have like two chapters left to read and I was just getting to the big finish.’

  ‘Are you kidding? We’re getting to the good stuff!’ Naya’s New York accent, somewhat watered down after three years in England, always strengthened when she was excited.

  ‘Who knows the story of Bloody Mary?’ Sadie once more leaned into the fire. Any closer and her face was sure to melt. Bobbie reluctantly raised a limp arm and so did a couple of the others. ‘You may think you know the story … but it’s been diluted and changed as it got passed around. The true story, the original, so to speak, started right here at Piper’s Hall … ’

  ‘As if!’ barked the second boy, whom she’d overheard the hot one call Mark. Bobbie always felt sorry for boys called Mark. Like who names a kid after something you wipe off a kitchen counter? It was just mean. He too was an Oxsley townie, muscular-stocky, and wore a gold stud in his left earlobe. Bobbie liked to imagine he was a farmhand or chimney sweep, but knew that was more her Oxsley snobbery than any truth. ‘I’ve heard that story loads of times!’ he went on. ‘There was a film about it!’

  ‘Yes, Mark, that’s because so many Piper’s Ladies have gone out into the world and spread it … the real story all started two hundred years ago when a Piper’s Hall pupil called Mary Worthington killed herself. It was a night just like this one … lightning lit the sky and thunder crashed!’

  Right on cue, the dingy storage shed shook under a mighty peal of thunder. Despite herself, Bobbie grasped Naya’s arm.

  Sadie revelled in the chance drama. ‘One Hallowe’en, she went to her lover – a local boy in the village – to ask him to elope. In those days, it would have caused a huge scandal – a young Piper’s Hall girl having an affair out of wedlock. When he refused, she begged, but he laughed in her face. He’d got what he wanted. So Mary ran back to the school in the pouring rain, found a length of rope, took herself to the bathroom and hung herself. The last thing she saw was her own reflection in the mirror as she dangled … ’

  ‘We’ve all heard that story!’ Grace scowled, flicking her shampoo-ad blonde hair.

  ‘Doesn’t Bloody Mary refer to Queen Mary because she killed hundreds of Protestants?’ Bobbie breathed in Naya’s ear as the dim recollection of a Year 6 History lesson swam through her memory.

  Naya grinned broadly. ‘I don’t think Sadie got that memo!’

  At the other side of the circle, Grace stood, hauling her beautiful boy bounty to his feet. ‘Caine and I are off. We have better things to be doing … ’
Ah, so his name was Caine. Caine. Cool name. ‘Bobbie and Caine’ had a nice ring to it. Yeah, that’s gonna happen.

  ‘Just wait!’ Sadie smiled sweetly, licking her lips. ‘That was just the background … ’

  ‘I wanna hear the end of the story.’ Caine plonked himself back onto the bench, much to Grace’s obvious dismay. Poor Caine mustn’t receive the Piper’s Hall newsletter … no one defied Grace Brewer-Fay and lived to tell the tale.

  Banshee winds threatened to lift the roof clean off the shed and Bobbie hugged herself tight. Sadie continued her yarn. ‘There are so many different versions of what happened next, but everyone agrees Bloody Mary can be summoned … it happened right here in the school. A girl did it, a few years ago when my sister was here. There are rules. It has to be during the witching hour – midnight. You have to light a candle to help Mary find her way from the Other Side. You need a mirror too; you see, Mary’s dying soul became trapped in the mirrors, unable to cross into the afterlife. And then, all you have to do is say her name five times … ’