Dark Places

by Dawson, H A

  ‘Sam, quick, come look at this.’

  He turned his head. Michaela was standing in the doorway. Her eyes shone and her mouth was wide, her earlier anguish forgotten.

  ‘Come on.’ She rushed across the room and reached for his arm. ‘But you’ll have to be quiet.’

  She dragged him along the hallway to the living room, but rather than dashing into the room, she stopped at the door. Sam bumped into her.

  Her voice was quieter now, a whisper. ‘No sudden movements.’

  Sam obeyed, and together they stepped into the room and looked through the window. Outside, on the patch of trodden grass at the edge of the concrete was a cat eating bread. It was a dirty white with black patches and was scraggy and undernourished. It gulped down the food, all the time turning its head watching for danger.

  ‘Poor little mite,’ she whispered, ‘it must be hungry to eat bread.’

  ‘It looks like it only has one eye.’

  She relaxed her taut grip on his arm. ‘Aw! I think you’re right. We have to coax it inside.’

  ‘We could try. Have we any fish we can offer it?’

  She dashed to the kitchen. ‘I think so.’

  Waiting for her return, he watched the hungry creature finish the bread. Then, it moved towards the bush with its stomach close to the ground and its head moving from side to side, watching and vigilant. It reminded him in some ways of a young foal, leggy and spindly. Unfortunately, the cat did not share the same joys of life and appeared scared witless.

  ‘Where’s it gone?’ Michaela asked, holding a dish of sardines.

  He pointed to the bush. ‘Under there. It’s terrified.’

  After voicing her sorrow, she hurried to the door and stepped outside. The moment she appeared the cat retreated further into the undergrowth, causing her to voice more distress.

  ‘Just leave it on to the concrete,’ he called out.

  She placed it down, stepped back indoors and joined Sam at the window. After a few moments, the cat approached the dish.

  Michaela could not contain her glee. ‘Poor little mite. It must be ravenous. It’s so skinny.’

  ‘I wonder where it’s come from.’

  ‘It looks like it’s been stray for a while. It backed away when I was outside. It looked terrified.’

  ‘And it’s not had a wash. The fur’s all matted.’

  The cat stood over the dish and guzzled the food, eagle-eyed and alert to potential movement at its rear. It was both a distressing and heart-warming scene.

  ‘I want to get hold of it,’ she said.

  ‘I doubt it’ll let you.’

  ‘But what if it doesn’t come back?’

  He placed his arms across her shoulders. ‘It will. If it is a stray, it’ll come for food.’

  The cat slinked off towards the bushes disappearing under the thick leafy branches. After spending a couple of minutes without a sighting, Sam kissed Michaela on the cheek and turned to leave. Since she seemed happier than she had been at the start of the day, he decided it was the perfect opportunity to broach the subject of the continuing work.

  ‘I’m sorry the kitchen’s going to be a while,’ he said, ‘I am trying to get it done as quickly as I can.’

  ‘I know. I’m impatient, that’s all.’

  Me too. But these things take time. If we rush we could make errors, and I don’t want that.’

  Fine.’ She turned to face him. There was a twinkle in her eye. ‘I think we should go out tonight.’

  ‘Okay. Any reason?’

  She grinned and scampered away. Nope.’

  Tingling with nervous excitement, Michaela and Sam stepped out of the car, walked through the car park, and entered the Royal Oak Inn. Situated within the village, the seventeenth-century farmhouse had been restored to its original state, yet was welcoming with modern facilities. Stepping inside, the slate floors, wooden beams, and the large stone fireplace were eye-catching. There were reconditioned church pews around the edge, and pristine wooden tables with padded upright chairs in the centre.

  They arrived at the centrally located bar, allowing Michaela to glance into an adjoining room. It was larger and more luxurious and had comfortable seating with lower tables, yet the slate floor and stone fireplace remained a feature.

  A middle-aged female bartender approached.

  ‘A pint and half of lager please,’ Sam said.

  ‘No. I’ll just have a pineapple juice.’

  He passed her a curious look.

  ‘Are you passing through?’ The barwoman asked.

  ‘No,’ Michaela replied, ‘we’ve moved into the old house on Church Lane.’

  The one next to Grace?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s not been occupied for years. I didn’t think it was up for sale.’

  ‘It wasn’t, we inherited it.’

  The bartender placed the glass of lager onto a mat and reached for a bottle of juice. ‘Good for you.’

  ‘I didn’t know my uncle. The inheritance came as a complete surprise.’

  ‘A good one I suspect.’

  Absolutely. I’m Michaela by the way, and this is my husband, Sam.’

  ‘Petra.’ She offered her hand. ‘I think most people would have sold the place. I think you’re brave.’

  ‘We’re not afraid of hard work,’ Sam said, smiling at Michaela and reaching in his pocket for some money.

  ‘Good for you.’

  Having paid, Petra edged along the counter to serve another customer, leaving Michaela to scan for somewhere to sit. There was a vast range of folk within, from family groups and a breastfeeding woman, to pairs of elderly men playing board games. Ideally, she wanted to sit near an approachable group and socialise with the locals, so she decided they should occupy the table next to an amenable looking middle-aged couple. Within seconds, a conversation ensued.

  Alan and Janice were involved in local committees and clubs and fascinated by their project. Michaela explained how the renovations were progressing, and enthused over their plans and expectations. In contrast, Sam took a more cautious approach and suggested that the work may take longer than the few months she had suggested. Michaela was quick to self-deprecate, explaining, with laughter in her voice, that she was a bit ditsy. They appreciated her attitude.

  ‘Have you seen the ghost of Catherine yet?’ Alan asked.

  Michaela jolted, and her jaw dropped. ‘It’s haunted?’

  ‘So they say.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘No, he’s kidding you,’ Janice said, glaring at Alan.

  ‘I don’t mind a ghost or two, so long as they’re friendly.’

  ‘You will have your work cut out then. She’s often seen wielding an axe.’

  ‘Alan!’

  Michaela’s gut tightened and her pulse raced. The image she had seen of Catherine had not seemed threatening, quite the contrary. Catherine had appeared more the victim than a person making everyone else’s life hell.

  She glimpsed at Sam.

  ‘I don’t believe in all this nonsense,’ he said, ‘you’re winding us up.’

  Alan grinned, ‘maybe just a little. But there are a few stories I could tell you about that place. Children have died.’ He folded his arms. ‘It’s a long time ago now - about thirty years. The sceptics say there are other explanations.’

  Michaela swallowed a lump in her throat. That was when her father and Jim lived there. It would explain his warning.

  ‘I don’t buy it myself,’ he continued.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘One kiddie was ill, another drowned in the pond. That’s all I know.’ He paused. There was a gleam in his eye. ‘Some people do claim to have seen Catherine, and they blame her for the bad vibes that surround the place. You must have felt it.’

  ‘Alan!’ Janice screeched.

  ‘We’re happy there,’ Sam said, ‘only good things have happened to us.’

  ‘As it should be,’ Janice said. ‘Just ignore him, h
e’s talking nonsense. He loves winding people up.’

  Michaela stared at her empty glass, her head spinning. Someone had drowned at the pond, just as she had imagined. How was that possible? She glanced to Sam, hoping for a consoling word or gesture. But he was chattering to Alan, apparently unconcerned.

  ‘Drinks anyone?’ Alan asked.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Sam said.

  They walked to the bar, leaving her alone with Janice.

  ‘Who was Catherine?’ Michaela asked.

  ‘She lived in your place about a hundred or so years ago. If you’re interested in the history of the house, there’s a man in the village, Roy, a historian, who’ll be able to tell you what you need to know.’

  Her eyes brightened. ‘That’s great.’

  ‘He’s down to earth and will only tell you the facts. In my opinion, it’s better that than you listening to gossip.’

  ‘I only want the facts.’

  ‘And take no notice of Alan. He’s just winding you up. It’s just a house like any other.’

  Janice reached for her mobile phone, accessed Roy’s number, and read it out.

  ‘Thanks,’ Michaela said, ‘but can I just ask one small favour?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Can you keep this between us? I don’t want Sam to know. He’ll think I’ve lost it if he knows I’m worrying about a ghost.’

  Of course.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Once the men returned, the conversation changed direction and Michaela’s tension dispersed. She was able to enjoy the rest of the evening with her new friends and hit it off immediately with Alan, sharing jokes and laughter until the tears rolled. Janice was far more serious, and moderated the mood, preventing the silliness from hitting the extreme. With their bellies cleansed and the evening nearing its end, they said their goodbyes in the car park.

  Sam started the car.

  ‘I’ve had such a fantastic night,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of them.’

  They left the village, weaving through the silent, dark streets.

  ‘Everything is so perfect Sammy. I’m so happy.’

  ‘You don’t believe this nonsense about the ghost of Catherine then?’

  She forced a steady voice. ‘No, don’t be ridiculous. It doesn’t worry me at all.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  They headed down Church Lane. In the distance, two houses came into view, illuminated by Grace’s dazzling outdoor light and their own more discreet kitchen light.

  He reversed the car into their drive. ‘It’s not like you to have soft drinks. Is there something you are not telling me?’

  A smile burst onto her face. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  Chapter 5

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, Michaela looked through the rear house window in search of the dirty little cat. Despite his absence from her immediate view, she knew his arrival was imminent, as each evening during the last week he had appeared just as the first stars twinkled.

  She filled up a stainless steel dish with cat food, stepped outside into the mild air, and searched the garden for movement. No insects hovered, no birds flew, and no cars drove along the lane. There was complete stillness and silence.

  Puss, puss,’ she called, ‘dinner time.’

  She crouched down and was about to place the dish in its usual spot on the edge of the concrete away from the house when she hesitated. She should place it a little closer to the house; it may encourage him inside.

  Just as she was placing it in its new location, a flash of movement caught her eye. With his ears pricked, the one-eyed cat watched and waited, hiding under the safety of a low-growing shrub. His body was emaciated with grey and matted fur. It was disheartening.

  She edged closer, moving in slow motion so as not to scare him, and squatted in front of the cat. He retreated deeper into the shrubbery, out of arms reach. Deciding she was not going to win his trust, she withdrew into the house and stood at the window.

  After a few moments, the cat left his cover. With his belly low to the ground and his head rotating watching for danger, he stepped onto the concrete. However, he did not walk to the dish, he walked to the place his food was normally located and then stopped. The cat stared at the dish, situated metres away, and sniffed the air. Speaking under her breath, Michaela urged him forward. Driven by terror, he slinked back into the darkness.

  She turned to Sam. ‘He won’t eat. I’ve moved the dish closer to the house, but he’s too scared to approach it.’

  He lifted his gaze from the building manual. ‘Then move it back.’

  ‘But I want to encourage him into the house. He needs a home.’ Michaela pressed her eyes closer to the window. ‘He’s back again.’

  The cat looked at the dish but seemed unable to make that final move.

  ‘I wonder why he’s so scared.’

  Sam joined her at the window. ‘Maybe someone harmed him. After all, we don’t know what happened to his eye.’

  ‘You think someone injured him?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  Michaela’s face scrunched. ‘How can people be so cruel? He’s just a defenceless little creature.’

  Sam pressed his face to the glass, covered his eyes from the intrusive indoor light, and searched for the cat.

  ‘I think you’ll have to move the dish,’ he said.

  Reluctantly Michaela did just that. Back inside, she watched and waited, and soon the cat approached the dish and ate with a familiar urgency.

  ‘It’s strange that we don’t see him during the day,’ she said.

  ‘I guess he’s sleeping.’

  ‘But I wonder where he goes. He has not been in the barn or outbuildings, I would have seen him.’

  ‘There are lots of places he could be hiding.’

  ‘And he never comes for his breakfast.’ Michaela joined Sam on the sofa. ‘I’m going to keep trying, though. He should be having two meals a day.’

  ‘You are like a mother hen. Stop worrying about him.’

  ‘I just care. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘Are you going to be like that with our little one?’

  Michaela’s stressed face evaporated and she smiled broadly. ‘I can’t believe I have a new life growing inside of me. It’s unreal.’

  ‘You’re going to be a fantastic mother.’

  He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her head. ‘I love you, Michaela.’

  ‘I love you too Sammy.’

  The following day, Michaela held her stomach and gathered her breath, fatigued from the manual work she continued to endure. She was only a few weeks pregnant and had not suffered the dreaded morning sickness, but her energy levels had deteriorated. Nevertheless, she continued with her task of digging holes and planting potatoes.

  She had stopped taking the contraceptive pill only a matter of weeks ago and had expected a lengthy wait, but the opposite had happened and her pregnancy had come as a welcome surprise. It was a remarkable experience, and one she struggled to comprehend. There was a tiny life developing and growing inside of her, and it filled her with an overwhelming sense of glee. She felt unique, special. She wanted to tell the world, spread her joy. Could people tell? Did her expression tell her secret?

  She longed for her stomach to swell, and wanted to feel the beat of her baby’s little heart rhythmically pound her body. She wanted to feel its legs kick out and hear its cries. She wanted to cradle it in her arms. Would it be a boy or girl? Would it look like her or Sam?

  Kneeling on the warm, dry soil and wrapped in cosy thoughts, she planted the remaining potatoes and started to press the small onion sets into the finely raked ground. A pair of swallows soared high above the house and barn. The skies were a pale blue, the clouds billowy, the air crisp and the visibility clear. She scanned the meadow and hills, absorbing the natural beauty, and gazed along the length of her land. Grace was tending her garden.

  With an onion p
inned between her thumb and forefinger, Michaela studied her neighbour. Wearing slacks and a body warmer Grace looked every bit the part of countrywoman. She pruned her roses, and then, as though attracted by the force of her stare, she turned, hesitated, and waved. Sensing a mini breakthrough, Michaela walked to the border.

  ‘Not a bad day for gardening,’ she called out.

  Grace continued to prune her roses. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘I’ve just been planting some potatoes and onions. Do you grow any vegetables?’

  She moved to the next rose and turned her head. Her expression was stern, her body language hostile. ‘You’ll never be able to grow anything in there. It’s been weeds for thirty years.’

  ‘I’m still going to try.’

  She stepped towards the adjoining hedge. ‘You will have to be selective with your purchases. Not a lot will tolerate that soil. It’ll need nourishing. You really should apply a potent weed killer and leave it for a year. It’ll be endless weeding otherwise.’

  Overwhelmed by a sense of negativity, she scanned her plot. Maybe she was taking on too much, but she had to try. She had dreams of a manicured lawn and scented flowers. She wanted a play area for her children, and she wanted to revitalize the pond to encourage wildlife. She had to start somewhere, and couldn’t afford the privilege of a landscaper gardener and machinery, nor did she want to wait.’

  ‘Foolishness runs in my family,’ she said. ‘We’re all a bit mad. You’ll get used to it.’

  Grace held her deadpan expression, keeping her lips in a firm horizontal line. Evidently, her sense of humour was lacking.

  ‘That blossom is gorgeous. Is it an apple tree?’ Michaela asked.

  ‘Yes. I have a pear and peach tree as well.’

  A peach tree! That’s fantastic. ‘What are the fruit like?’

  Her shoulders relaxed and her left hand dropped into her pocket. ‘Like any other.’

  ‘I would love a peach tree. Are they easy to grow?’

  Given the right conditions.’ Her eyes lingered on their weedy patch of land. ‘I have a couple of plants that I’m throwing away. You can have them if you like.’