Thom smiled genuinely to Beth’s compliment. I offered him a seat, and there he sat with us. Beth bounced Eloise on her lap while engaging him in conversation.
‘Alex tells me you live down at Halton Cray?’
‘I do.’
‘I never imagined anyone actually living in that old house before,’ she remarked. ‘We used to ghost watch there at all hours of the night. Did you tell him that, Alex?’
‘She never tells me anything,’ he answered before I could. ‘I might as well be of spirit form myself for all the notice she pays me.’ He tried carefully, but failed miserably not to cast a look my way. ‘Except of course when she’s plain impudent; in which case she’s got more sauce than a burger bar.’
Beth laughed and whispered loudly to me, ‘I see what you mean!’ To which Thom shot me a look of surprise.
‘So, Beth,’ he began, though still with eyes glued on me. ‘Did you ever encounter anything supernatural on these ghost watches?’ He directed his eyes back to her. ‘But you’re far too sensible for all that I suppose?’
‘I’m sure we thought we saw things. I don’t remember to be honest.’
‘We never saw anything ghostlike,’ I interjected, shaking my head.
‘I’m surprised,’ he said.
‘Why?’ Beth posed.
‘The place is a riot for apparitions, amongst other things.’
‘So I hear – poor Stacey! But she is prone to seeing things. Seriously, though, have you seen any? I’ll be pretty jealous if you have. The amount of trouble we got into for sneaking down there. If only it’d been worth our while. Then again I’d probably have fainted, especially if we saw Sir Halton’s ghost. Although it’s meant to spell trouble for anyone living there. So I guess that means you’re safe for now.’
‘Do you really believe it means that, if you saw him?’
‘Not really.’ Beth shrugged. ‘It’s just a story. Why, have you ever spotted Sir Halton?’
‘On occasion,’ he began, folding his arms, and leaning slightly forward. ‘If you stand just within the grounds of Halton Cray, at the north end after dark, and you listen very, very carefully – you’ll hear nothing.’ He sat back. ‘But if you go about your own business in the same area – happening to be there between midnight and 3 A.M. – you’re likely to think you heard the faint gallops of a distant horse. It’s in that moment that you heard him. And I’ve never noticed any calamity to follow.’
‘So you really believe in ghosts?’
‘Oh, it’s no ghost. It’s merely a haunting.’
‘A haunting?’ Her expression changed from amused to intrigued. ‘What’s the difference?’
‘A ghost is a deceased human or other intelligent being. The spirit of someone usually caught between planes of existence, between this world and the next. These ghosts are capable of interacting with the living, perhaps because it is unnatural for them to become trapped and they are perchance asking for help. A haunting on the other hand is a recording – an echo – of a consequential event repeated. It could be described as one of Life’s memories projected on to the fabric of our reality and faintly replayed before our eyes. You can’t disturb the echo or change it in any way. Only it can vary its ritual slightly. If you’re able to tune into it, you can watch it, admire it even, but there’s nothing to fear about it.’
‘You’re pulling my leg!’
Thom made that classic face where neither Beth nor I could tell whether he was being serious. Eloise was at this point trying to get my attention.
‘Addicts? Addicts?’ She pointed to her mouth to indicate the want of a drink.
‘Addicts?’ Thom laughed hard looking over to me. ‘That explains a lot!’
I reached into the buggy and passed Eloise a fresh bottle of her juice.
‘What’s your secret then, Thom?’ Beth picked the subject back up. ‘How do you see a haunting? I know that people report seeing strange things at the Cray, so you must be in some club. The ghost appreciation society is it?’
‘You want membership?’
‘Depends how much it cost.’
‘Ah, well, maybe I’ll just give you a tip. You probably focus too hard. You’re more likely to see something in the periphery, something only visible when you’re not paying attention to it.’
‘And he calls me crazy!’ I said, turning from Thom to Beth. ‘Don’t let him wind you up, Bee.’
Dan made his way over. ‘All done. Is there anything else you need up here, Rues?’
‘No, I’m all set.’ He got up.
‘It was nice to meet you, Beth,’ said Thom, waving to Eloise. Dan said and did much the same, but Eloise groaned and turned her head into Beth’s shoulder.
Thom gave me a smile as a goodbye. I said nothing for fear of embarrassing myself. They were soon walking away. Amid giggles, Beth agreed that they were nice enough guys, and that she was glad to have finally met Thom. Although I caught a look of disquiet in her eyes as he moved out of sight. I’d seen a similar look times before when complete strangers met him. I didn’t understand it, but she brushed it off as if nothing was wrong. She only said, ‘All you really want to know, Alex, is whether or not he likes you. In my opinion, he does – a lot.’
I shook my head but no words came out.
‘He sat there for thirty minutes,’ she continued, ‘staring at you for half of it and goading you the rest.’
I might have enjoyed this teasing if I didn’t know of his interest in someone else and that he was leaving the Cray.
Twenty-one
THERE ARE DEMONS
‘What is your substance, whereof are you made, that millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since every one hath, every one, one shade, and you, but one, can every shadow lend.’
– William Shakespeare, Sonnet 53
Stacey returned the next day for work. Evans decided the best thing was to walk around the entire house with her straight off, showing every room was free of ghosts and goblins. She even got her into the shop – after a few unsuccessful attempts – to show her afresh the faces carved on the ceiling, demonstrating how the darkness had carried them all away.
Everything returned to normal, except that Stacey soon dropped me for lunch on Saturdays, ever since Darren changed jobs and could meet her at the Cray each week. Thom had been right concerning my friendship with her. We continued to grow apart despite working under the same roof, which as it turned out gave a more rapid and consequential effect. I saw now that our shared job venture had introduced a ‘make or break’ situation. It had re-introduced that truth that our differences outweighed our commonalities, which were born in a time of finding ourselves. There was no coldness between us, just a shortage of interest on both sides. When I did see her, which was only at work, we chatted generally, as either of us would do with any other co-worker. Even after months, Stacey still occasionally referenced Thom as a ghost or fiend of some kind. This no longer annoyed me as it once did; it hurt to hear him spoken of like that. She grew ever fonder of Evans, more so than anybody else there, which I could not fathom.
Since the blackout nobody had reported hearing the strange noises. I heard nothing myself, but seemed to be the only one surprised by the fact they’d stopped. Everybody else at the Cray bought into Thom’s fabrication of events, which the newspaper article conveniently backed up. I knew the escaped mental patient hadn’t gotten into the Cray at all. However, I did see a figure dash behind Geoffrey in the shop, which was too small to be Thom or the stranger.
In spite of the secrets Thom and Halton Cray shared, my attachment to them both increased. Every other day that I wasn’t at the Cray was stagnant. It felt something akin to sitting in a waiting room, impatient to hear my name called. My working days at the Cray were all I looked forward to, most especially since Thom had begun giving me lessons in pen spinning. This was chiefly during my breaks, or any time I could sneak away to see him. I probably began it, somewhat subconsciously, as a way to strengthen our bond so that he wouldn’t
leave, or at least he wouldn’t hurry to. But every day I saw no evidence of him going. I saw and heard nothing more of Carla-Louise either. I began to think that Thom never intended to leave at all, but that he told me in order to keep me, shall we say, passive. For instance, if I wanted him to stay then I was hardly going to keep pestering him about the blackout incident. I was hardly likely to keep asking about the disappearance of the stranger. In short, I was more likely to let him get away with murder – figuratively speaking. If there were other reasons for him leading me to believe he would soon go, which were whispered about in the back of my mind, I never alluded to them. It certainly worked if this was his aim. I no longer bothered him with too many questions. I spent more time happily with him, as if we didn’t have long together.
Occasionally Thom would find me to begin a lesson in pen spinning, magic, or something else of interest he wanted to share. Compared with Thom’s skill at juggling the pen or ball, even those proficient at it seemed wholly amateur. I watched tutorial videos on the Internet too, in order to surprise him with my progress – and much to his dissatisfaction I found, since he enjoyed teaching me, or rather correcting me.
‘So easily frustrated!’ he would rib, before grasping my hand eagerly to show me again. His face lit up whenever I made a mistake. I couldn’t tell if this was because he enjoyed being more skilled than me, or that it gave him an opportunity to dominate me.
It was during one of these lessons that he mentioned the mud-eyed stranger. That pregnant-bellied oddity I thought he’d never speak of again. It surprised me to hear him bring it up of his own accord. How I longed to hear more of the history he’d once promised me.
‘It seems to have a will of its own and defy gravity.’ I was commenting on how the pen ringed his hand. He laughed at me. I’d grown fond of it.
‘What if I said it did defy gravity? What would you say to that, Alex?’
‘I think I would believe you.’
‘I think you would, too. It’s just another thing I’ – he smiled – ‘like so much about you.’
‘And what exactly is that?’
He spun the pen boastfully and talked energetically. ‘How you don’t shy away from different; how you notice things, and seem to be quite open to preternatural phenomena. It gives me hope.’
‘Hope of what?’
‘Of telling you those things you wish to know. Of confessing, Alex.’
I was never surprised to hear him talk this way, at least not in the last three months. I told him, ‘I’ve always considered myself open-minded. Perhaps I need testing.’
‘Perhaps you do.’ He fell silent for some minutes. ‘Let’s say arguendo that the stranger, as you termed him – you remember him of course! What if he was to resurface after all?’ He emphasized this word as a dark joke. ‘And just show his face around here again? I’m hypothesizing, of course. Now let’s also say, just as an illustration, he begins doing something fantastical. Something that would seem to any regular individual a little out of this world. You know what I’m talking about, Cassandra. You thought he was a real oddball. But anyone else – Dan, for example – would find it too difficult to believe that there was something of the preternatural about him, even if his eyes were to dance about his head as this pen does around my wrist. He would try to reason with himself. He’d simply deny outright what he saw. But not you, I think. You’d dwell on it and only wonder if you were dreaming.’
I stared at him. I was sure he just said that the stranger’s eyes might dance about his head. That very scene I once saw in Spring Meadow. But how could Thom know I’d seen that?
‘Humour me, Cassandra! I’m merely prodding for your thoughts.’
‘Why is it I don’t believe you when you say you’re hypothesizing? Am I about to see him reappear or what?’
‘You might.’
‘Well, yes, I’d wonder if I was dreaming. I imagine that people go a bit mad if they keep seeing things out of the ordinary and can’t explain them.’
‘I’ve never thought of you as a sceptic, Alex, but now how can I be sure, when you’ve barely seen anything to really test you?’ he said seriously. ‘Or have you?’
‘I’ve seen strange things – but I know I’m not mad.’
‘Things concerning the stranger?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what did it put into your mind? What did you think when you saw those things?’
‘I was torn between a few thoughts, which actually have a bit of linkage, considering they’re worlds apart.’
‘And what were those thoughts?’
‘My first was that I was dreaming, but I found I wasn’t. My next was that the stranger was’ – I held my breath a moment – ‘possessed by something supernatural. My last thought was of that modern and very real Prometheus, Dr Oliver Sacks.’
‘What, the famous neurologist?’ He frowned.
‘Yes, well, he once likened a neurological disorder to being possessed – in a study on Tourettes Syndrome, I think it was. I suppose my last thought was trying to cling to science in order to explain something so surreal. But I don’t know of any medical disorder that can make a man do what I saw him do.’
‘Alex, do you believe in demonic possession? Or would you rather cling to science?’
‘What difference will my answer make until you properly test me?’
‘You are agnostic after all! It could be real, but I’ll be damned before I believe it without seeing evidence!’
‘Well, some things are just harder to believe without solid evidence to back them up. I’ve never believed in Santa.’
‘Impossible! You can’t tell me you don’t believe in overweight, unsociable alcoholics who–’
‘–But,’ I continued, without rising to his sarcasm. ‘Since you asked about demons; I knew someone who thought he was possessed.’
‘For real?’ His eyes narrowed on me. ‘What happened?’
‘He said that most nights when he went to sleep, just as he was beginning to drift off, the bed would start shaking. He said it felt like it moved under him. Stuff like that. He said he felt freezing cold and heard things in his head. Engines roaring. Voices. All angry at once, telling him awful things.’
‘Like what?’
‘They’d repeat his name, shouting it at him. They’d laugh saying “they had him” – things like that.’
‘It certainly sounds demonic.’
‘He thought so. He said he felt paralysed while all this was happening. Nobody else experienced it in his room, so he thought he was possessed. Anyway, he looked it up on the net and found a few forums with people giving advice. He followed a lot of it. Tried different ways of cleansing the room and himself. Nothing worked.’
‘Hang on. What things were people suggesting he do?’
‘One was about washing his sheets in holy water, and turning around three times before bed and spitting on the floor.’
‘Nice!’
‘I forget what else. But it was a–’
‘– load of crap?’
‘Exactly.’ I nodded. ‘He just grew more scared and concerned because nothing was working. Eventually he got an exorcist to come round–’
‘Intense!’
‘Yes, but that didn’t work either. Then by chance, after all that time, he told his girlfriend’s mum about it because she was interested in that sort of thing. He told her he was either possessed or completely crazy.’
‘Crazy?’ Thom smirked profoundly. ‘This friend, it’s you isn’t it?’
‘No–’
‘Now let’s not have any secrets, Alex!’ He laughed darkly.
‘It’s not me! It’s a guy I used to know called Jimmy.’
He smiled. ‘Please continue.’
‘So, he told this woman everything and she said it sounded like he was overdosing on caffeine.’ I laughed. ‘Imagine that! He was drinking too much cola or coffee, or whatever it was, right before bed. Anyway, he cut it right down and the caf-fiend went away. So my point is
people often jump to conclusions and just go with it. I guess out of ignorance or inexperience.’
‘Just so. As your example demonstrates. If this single experience of another person’s supposed demonic possession is all you’ve ever come across in your life, then it makes sense that you would find logical explanations for such things in the future.’
‘I’m not clinging to the science, Thom, it’s just an example. What if I told you I have seen a ghost before?’
‘We all see ghosts. The question is do you believe it was the spirit of a dead person?’
‘Yes.’ I chortled, jumping up from my lesson of pen spinning, which on this occasion hadn’t improved my skill one bit. ‘I need to get back to work. See you later!’
It was the last Saturday in February. Despite the weather being mild over the past couple of weeks – warm enough that early spring flowers were blossoming – the air turned chilly today.
I had the following week booked off work completely. I’d promised to spend a few days in London with my mum, before honouring the promise of a favour to Adrian. He was moving flats, but hadn’t taken any time off work to pack. He asked to borrow me for a day, just to help box things up before he and friends shifted it all. I could think of a good thousand things I’d rather be doing on a Friday night than packing up my stepbrother’s crockery. But as a way to saying thank you, he offered me two complimentary tickets to a sold-out show at the Barbican theatre. I thought about asking Thom to go, but I knew it was one Beth wanted to see, so naturally I asked her.
Evans was late back from her tea break, so gave me mine at just gone five o’clock. Knowing I wouldn’t see Thom all next week made me more eager to see him one last time today. I went to his office but hung back when I saw him talking with a man in the gallery. They quickly finished their conversation with a friendly handshake. I advanced only as the man left the gallery and headed in my direction. He was of an average height with a young face, dark hair and chocolate-brown eyes. He had this happiness about him – on second thought, it wasn’t happiness; it was relief. It was evident in the way he sauntered. His smile expressed that he’d been divested of some burden. Traces of shock in his eyes conveyed disbelief that something was over with, as if he’d woken from a terrible nightmare to find it was just so. Turning his slim frame round he gave Thom a final wave goodbye. He looked at me for a moment as he came close, and did it a second time with an air of painful familiarity before passing by. He looked at me as if I was a ghost from his past, as if I’d featured in his nightmare. There was no mistaking a touch of horror in his face. His expression almost mirrored my own, because likewise I recognised him. He turned the corner and was gone.
Halton Cray (Shadows of the World Book 1) Page 22