Even with four people in it, the house felt strangely empty. She counted the doors up and down the hall. The house would easily accommodate ten people; compared to their old apartment, the Folcrofts’ home was a mansion. But the air felt still, and although noises echoed from the kitchen below, the upper level seemed too quiet. Tara moved to her room with quick steps and released a held breath as she crossed the threshold. She closed the door and turned back to the space that was supposed to be hers.
The suitcase lay on its side. Tara frowned, put her new camera on the dressing table, and picked up the suitcase. She’d seen Peter place it on its end, she was sure.
She set it upright again, tilted her head, and waited to see if it fell. It didn’t. She nudged it with her foot—first in one direction then the other. It didn’t even rock.
Weird. She looked towards the closed door. Was someone up here while I was talking to Kyle? I didn’t hear anyone, but then, I wasn’t listening…
A shudder ran up her back. She snatched the suitcase off the ground, laid it on the bed, and opened it to unpack. Her wardrobe was a little more varied than her brother’s, but still basic and embarrassingly outdated. Before the accident, she had an allowance and a part-time job at a fast-food outlet but was using her earnings to save up for a new computer. Kyle had good grounds to tease her about her blog, but Tara didn’t care. She’d grown an immense network of friends through it. On the internet, no one cared how she spoke, what clique she fit into, or whether her jeans ended two inches above her ankles. She was proud to be a part of the misfits.
Tara finished her unpacking quickly then shoved the suitcase under her bed. She flopped back on the quilt and stared at the wooden ceiling. Peter had said the room had once been her mother’s. How many times must she have looked at the same patterns in the boards? Then the idea occurred that the ceiling might be hers for the next three years, until she was old enough to move out. Her throat tightened. She rolled off the bed, returned to the hallway, then turned to the stairs. Company—even awkward company—was better than being alone.
3
Games
May and Peter were speaking in hushed tones as they washed the dishes but startled as Tara entered, giving her the impression they’d been talking about her.
Shifting on her feet, Tara rubbed at her forearm. “Can I help with anything?”
“You’re such a sweet girl.” May dried her hands on her towel and flipped it over her shoulder. “We were just finishing up dinner. Would you like to set the table? Cutlery is in this drawer here.”
Tara opened the indicated drawer and fished out four knives and forks. “Sorry, this is a weird question, but did either of you go into my room a little earlier?”
May tilted her head to one side as she strained vegetables. “No, honey. Why do you ask?”
“Oh. Just—my suitcase was knocked over. I’m trying to figure out how it happened.”
“Sorry, yes, that was my fault.” May chuckled and moved the empty pans into the sink. “I went to check the window was closed. I must have kicked it over. So sorry.”
Tara frowned. Why did she say she hadn’t been in there when I first asked?
“You’ll find this is an old house,” May continued. “Lots of creaks. Lots of breezes. It might take a few days to adjust to its quirks. But it’s built solidly, and it has a lot of love in it. I hope you and Kyle will be happy here.”
“Thanks.” Not knowing what else to say, she hovered by the tableside while May ferried a small roast into its centre. Peter disappeared up the stairs to call Kyle, and May nodded towards an empty chair.
“Settle in and help yourself. The both of you could do with a good feeding. You’ll have to tell me your favourite foods, as well. I’m not so good with the modern, foreign kinds, but I can make anything as long as I have a recipe.”
Tara caught a glimpse of a stack of ancient cookbooks on a shelf above the fridge. May seemed to prefer classics over experimentation.
Kyle arrived and took his seat at Tara’s side, and for a moment, the room was quiet save for the clatter of cutlery as they served themselves.
Then May said, “It’s good to have a few more people in the house. It’s been just Peter and me for such a long time. The place dwarfs us.”
“It is big,” Tara agreed. “We spent last night at Mrs. Jennings’s and had to share a room with her twins. It’s a bit of a system shock to have separate rooms.”
“When this house was built, it was nearly bursting. Peter’s parents, his aunt and uncle, four siblings, plus eventually, myself. Family has always been very important to us Folcrofts.”
Tara wondered if May knew that her daughter had legally changed her surname. From the very brief conversations she’d had with Chris about her grandparents, Tara had gotten the idea that May and Peter weren’t interested in seeing their grandchildren. After meeting the couple, though, she saw that was blatantly untrue. That meant there must have been some kind of fallout to create such animosity. She dearly wanted to know what had happened but wasn’t sure if it was the best conversation to have during their first night together.
“When was the last time you saw Mum?” She tried to keep her voice light.
May and Peter glanced at each other.
“A very long time, dear. Too long.” May hesitated then placed her cutlery back on her plate. “She went through a bit of a rebellious phase. Travelled a lot. We had trouble finding ways to contact her. This was before mobile phones, of course. When she did finally settle down, we made contact, but she was busy a lot of the time, the drive was long, and we never seemed able to find the time to meet up.”
Tara nodded, but an uncomfortable sensation had settled over her. May’s eagerness to explain the prolonged distance left her with the impression that there was more to the story.
“Could I call the hospital after dinner?” Tara kept her eyes on her plate. “Just to see how she’s doing.”
“Of course, dear. I’ll show you where the house phone is.”
“Thanks, I can use my mobile.”
“Oh.” May bit her lip. “I’m afraid mobiles don’t get reception in this old place. Why don’t you give them to me? I’ll put them somewhere safe, where they won’t get broken.”
Tara hesitated, but May was already holding out a hand, so she slid her phone out of her pocket and handed it over.
“Do you have a mobile, too?” May asked Kyle. His hesitation was enough of an answer for her to extend a hand. “I’ll look after it.”
May took both phones and put them in a wicker basket on one of the kitchen’s higher shelves. She sighed as though pleased and settled back at the table. “Yes, I’m afraid technology doesn’t often play nicely with this house. We don’t have a TV or a computer because of that.”
“Oh.” Tara’s heart dropped. She’d been counting on her blog to keep her connected with the outside world. Again, the idea that they might need to spend more than a couple of days at the house flashed through her mind, and she bit her lip.
May leaned forward, a nervous smile tugging at her lips. “Is something the matter?”
“She can’t survive without the internet,” Kyle said, surprising Tara. He shot her a brief, wicked smile, and she scowled in response.
For a second, May’s happy expression folded into one of deep worry, then she brightened again. “Oh—there’s a computer in town. In the library. I can take you there tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Tara was almost ashamed of how relieved she felt at that small allowance.
She finished dinner and, while May and Peter began washing up, fished the hastily scribbled hospital number out of her pocket and went to use the living room’s phone.
The call was brief, and most of the time was spent being transferred and put on hold. Chris’s condition hadn’t changed, but the nurse promised she was taking good care of her.
Tara hung up and turned to find Kyle waiting in the living room’s doorway. He must have seen her expression, because he
didn’t ask any questions. Instead, he nodded towards the kitchen. “May and Peter want to play a board game.”
“Sure.” Trying to sound happier than she felt, Tara followed her brother back to where the small table had been cleared and an old game Tara didn’t recognise was set up.
“How’s your mother?” May asked.
“No change.”
She made a murmuring, comforting noise and ushered Tara into a chair. “Let’s try to take your mind off it for a little while. This is one of my favourite games—I’m sure you’ll love it, too.”
The game was simple, but Tara found it easy to sink into the moment. Kyle became chattier as his innate ability to calculate probability gave him an advantage. Tara had the impression that both grandparents were deliberately losing, but they looked happy, so she let them get away with it. By the time Kyle had won the second game by a long margin, it was nearly nine.
“That’s bedtime,” May said, rising and brushing down her skirt. “We’ll have a busy day tomorrow, so get some sleep. Who wants a hot water bottle?”
Kyle sent a pained look towards the clock. “Can’t I stay up a bit later?”
“Young boys need lots of sleep. Go on, up you go.”
Tara didn’t argue. Unlike Kyle, who seemed to become more alert the later it grew, the day had exhausted her. For once, she was grateful for an early bedtime.
May pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads then waved as they climbed the stairs. Tara stopped in at her room to fetch her toothbrush then met Kyle in the bathroom.
“They’re so nice,” he said, squeezing out too much toothpaste. The words almost sounded like a complaint.
Tara laughed. “That’s a bad thing?”
“Naw, I just mean—I was expecting to be put up in an attic somewhere and ignored. I wouldn’t have minded that. I’ve got enough books. But they’re spending all this time with us and wanting to take us fishing and play games—it’s like they want to be our family.”
“They are our family.”
“You know what I mean.”
She did. “It’s not like they want to replace Mum. If anything, they’re probably trying to make up for lost time. Maybe they think this is a chance for reconciliation.”
“That’s what bothers me. They say they wish they hadn’t grown so distant from Mum. So why didn’t they visit her in the hospital?”
Tara’s hand fell still mid-brush. That hadn’t occurred to her.
Sensing he’d made a strong point, Kyle continued. “They were so eager for us to stay here, so why didn’t they drive down to collect us and visit Mum at the same time? She’s their daughter.”
Tara shook her head. “Okay, I get what you’re saying, but don’t build this into a big conspiracy. They’re old. They probably didn’t want to drive across the country. A lot of old people don’t like travel.”
“She’s their daughter.” Kyle spat out a mouthful of toothpaste.
“I’m pretty sure there was some kind of falling out. Maybe a lot of old hurts that haven’t healed yet. But they’re happy we’re here, they’re looking after us, and they’ve gone out of their way to make us feel at home. Stuff could be a lot worse.”
“I still wish we could’ve stayed at home,” Kyle grumbled.
A door farther down the hallway creaked. Tara’s heart skipped a beat. She hoped May and Peter hadn’t heard too much of the conversation; she didn’t want to give the impression they were ungrateful.
She quickly rinsed her mouth, propped her toothbrush in an empty cup by the sink, and went back to the hallway. She wanted to say something to express her gratitude, but all she could think of was, “Goodnight, Grandma May. Goodnight, Grandpa Peter.”
Two voices answered as one. “Goodnight.” Then May said, “Sleep well, my dear!”
Tara raised her eyebrows. The voices had come from the ground floor, where she’d last seen her grandparents. Maybe they hadn’t come upstairs, after all? May said it’s an old house with lots of breezes. The doors probably move on their own.
Even so, she felt slightly unsettled as she returned to her bedroom. She shut the door firmly, making sure the latch had caught.
4
The House Wakes at Night
Tara held on to a spare pillow as she stared at the ceiling. The little clock on her bedside table said it was after eleven, but she couldn’t sleep, no matter how tired she felt.
Animals screamed in the forest. Their shrieks cut through the cooling night air like a knife. They were wildcats, Tara thought, or possibly birds she’d never heard before. Every few minutes, the noise was punctuated by an owl’s mournful hoot.
The night was clear, and the half moon washed her room with light. Her window had curtains, but she didn’t want to close them. When she’d been a child, her mother had once read her a story about a man who sat on windowsills during winter nights and peeked through holes in the curtains, and ever since then, she’d been careful to keep her view of the outside unobstructed.
She rolled over to face the window and saw a burst of either birds or bats shoot out of the treetops. The black shapes circled for a moment then descended one by one to dive back into the inky woods.
A door creaked as it opened. Tara tried to guess where the noise had come from, but the house was too disorienting. She listened as light footsteps moved down the hallway and stopped outside her door.
“Tara?” Kyle knocked softly. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah.” She rolled out of bed, shivering against the cold air, and opened the door to let him in. His face, pinched and pale, was sweaty despite the chill. She gave him a small smile. “Can’t sleep?”
“No. I keep hearing things. Can I stay with you?”
“Sure, come in.”
Kyle went to the window, arms wrapped around his flannel-covered torso as he shook. He’d only stopped using a nightlight the year before, and he still seemed unusually susceptible to nightmares. Tara thought for a moment then said, “Want to build a fort?”
His eyes brightened. “Can we?”
“As long as we keep quiet, sure.” Tara quickly assessed her furniture. There wasn’t much, but she could make it work. She slid the thin mattress off the bedframe and laid it flat on the floor with the bedside table on one side and a chair on the other, then draped a quilt over the arrangement to make a cave. Kyle crawled inside while Tara turned her bedside lamp on to give them light.
An animal shrieked in the forest, and Kyle shuddered as he pulled a blanket around himself.
“It’s just a cat.” Tara sat at her brother’s side and pulled her knees up under her chin. “If they frighten you, imagine them as fluffy kittens screaming at the moon. It’s not so scary that way.”
His pale face cracked into a smile that quickly lapsed. “It’s not just that. Did you hear the footsteps? Someone’s been walking around the house.”
“Might be Peter. I didn’t hear him or May go to bed—they might have farm work they need to finish tonight.”
He made a non-committal noise. Something crunched through the woods not far from the window. Tara ruffled Kyle’s hair to distract him. “Did you start on your new book?”
“Yeah.” Finally, he offered her a proper smile. “It’s really good. It’s about these three different clans warring over a seaport…”
Tara listened as he rambled through the plot. She was always amazed at how quickly he could devour books; he seemed to inhale them more than read them. It made birthdays and Christmases easy, at least—his list of desired titles was always at least three feet long.
It took nearly forty minutes, but Kyle eventually dozed off, curled in a foetal position. Tara made sure he had enough blankets to keep him warm then stretched out and tried to get some rest herself.
Feet moved through leaves below the window. Tara rolled her head in its direction, but her room was on the second floor, so she couldn’t see anything. The footsteps passed then returned a moment later, travelling in the opposite direction.
&nbs
p; They must have had a lot of work to catch up on. I saw a vegetable garden. I wonder if they have animals, as well? I always wanted to own some chickens.
The footsteps moved past a third time, and uneasiness dug at Tara. It didn’t sound like someone who was busy with a task. It sounded like someone who’d become lost. That was impossible, though—there was nowhere to become lost in.
She slipped out of their tent, careful not to disturb Kyle, and crept to the window. Tiny crystals of frost had started to grow over the panes. Tara’s breath plumed as she leaned nearer the cold glass and peered into the lawn below.
A tall figure walked across the sparse ground. It was a man, but while Peter stood straight and balanced, the figure below had bent shoulders and moved with pained, shuffling steps. Tara frowned and leaned so near the window that the tip of her nose touched the glass.
The man turned, and moonlight caught on his eyes, making them flash. His gaze met Tara’s, and fear doused her like water. She scrambled away from the window, not stopping until she was back inside the fortress. Kyle shifted but didn’t wake. Tara stayed frozen under the quilt, her eyes fixed on the small part of the window she could see, her breathing frantic and tight.
That wasn’t Peter. It couldn’t be.
She didn’t know what to do. Was she supposed to call for her grandparents? She couldn’t confront the stranger herself, could she?
The footsteps passed under the window, faded until they were nearly inaudible, then returned.
Tara took a sharp breath to stabilise herself and crawled out of the tent. She kept her body low so that she wouldn’t be visible through the window as she hurried to the door. The handle grated as it turned, and Tara cringed. She shifted into the hallway.
“May?” She kept her voice quiet—it was barely more than a whisper—but May must have heard. Scuffing sounds came from down the hallway, then the door opposite Kyle’s room opened.
May’s long grey hair hung loose about her shoulders, and her white nightdress seemed to glow in the moonlight. She tilted her head to the side as she smiled. “Is something wrong, honey? Would you like that hot water bottle, after all?”
The Folcroft Ghosts Page 2