by Cliff McNish
15th November. That was a week ago. I wrote everything down and told Mum and Dad. I got Janey to talk to them as well. Did they take us seriously? Yes. Sort of. They asked a few locals about the history of the house and, apparently, though there aren’t any details, there were deaths long ago, and Vincent Cullayn was held responsible for at least one of them.
‘So you believe Janey, then?’ I asked Mum.
‘I believe at least one person was murdered here, yes,’ Mum said, choosing her words carefully. ‘That Janey believes Cullayn’s evil spirit is still here as well … yes, I can see Janey believes that, too. But I’m sorry, Theo. I know she’s convinced you, but as for Eve, all that strangeness over the East Wing’s stopped, hasn’t it? I’ve never seen her having more fun. She loves it here. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her happier.’
And the trouble is that Mum’s right. Eve’s totally changed. She’s drawing nice happy pictures again. No more wandering off to the East Wing, either. She’s even taken to joining Mum in the lake every morning for a swim. Eve always hated water before but lately, even though it’s cold, she keeps wanting to paddle in the shallows. All this week she and Mum have been out there, splashing and laughing away.
Feeling a weight on his shoulder, Elliott glanced down. Ben was asleep against him. Perhaps the warmth of the room had made him drowsy. Or perhaps there were other reasons he would rather sleep than read on.
Elliott felt a force drawing his face to look up at the portraits on the walls. He resisted it, turning back to the last page of the diary.
24th November. Janey was forced to go away for a week to visit relatives with her parents. As soon as she got back I told her about Eve’s new interest in swimming. She immediately rushed me up to an annex on the second floor of the main house. There’s a portrait of Cullayn up there in a side room. I’d never seen it before. In the painting Cullayn’s wearing long striped shorts, and proudly holding up a swimming trophy.
‘His own competition,’ Janey scoffed. ‘He held it every year. He tended to win. Cullayn swam every day on the lake. Sam Cosgrove says he often went for a swim before a hunt as well. A cleansing ritual.’
I found myself peering closely at the picture. It was fascinating the life-like way the water was dripping from Cullayn’s red beard, the drops glistening, clinging to his chin, almost as if …
‘Don’t!’ Janey stepped in front of me. ‘See? See!’ She snapped her fingers in my face. ‘I told you it’s not just Eve being influenced. He’s doing it to you as well. Don’t you get it, Theo? He’d love to have you in his power, doing his killing for him.’ She waved her hand in front of my face. ‘He wants to cast a spell over you.’
She knocked the swimming portrait off the wall. When the fragile old wooden frame hit the ground it broke. I gasped, scandalised, but before I could stop her Janey went further, jabbing a sharp fingernail into the canvas and deliberately tearing at it, ripping away Cullayn’s face.
‘The paintings are worth a fortune!’ I roared, fighting her for the picture. ‘They’re—’
‘Shut up!’
‘But they’re not ours!’ I shouted. ‘They belong to the property. You can’t—’
‘Listen to you!’ Janey danced away, keeping the picture out of my reach. ‘Look how much you want to protect it! You can’t even bear me touching it, can you?’
‘Just give me the picture!’
I was furious. All I wanted to do in that moment was mend the portrait and hang it back on the wall. I couldn’t stand the thought of anything else damaging it.
Janey refused to hand it over. ‘I’ve told you all about him and you still want to protect it,’ she said. ‘Strange, eh? But it’s not just you. It’s everyone. Look at the East Wing. Filthy, ugly place it is, everyone’s terrified of it, but it’s been preserved. The ghost children tell me that not one portrait has been moved inside it since Cullayn died. Don’t you think that’s odd, Theo?’
I breathed in heavily, forcing back my anger. Even now I wanted to make sure no more harm came to the swimming portrait. Janey finally handed it back to me, and I managed to patch it up, jamming the frame joints together again.
Janey leaned back, watching me closely as I repositioned the picture on the wall. It was only then, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, that I noticed something unexpected. I saw that Janey wasn’t half as calm as she pretended to be. Both her hands had a white-knuckle grip on the wall. She was having to make a real effort to look away from the canvas. Her gaze was drawn towards it just like mine was and, though she spat on it when she saw me looking, and smiled defiantly, I knew then that even Janey wasn’t immune to Cullayn’s influence.
12
UNTIL MY WILL MATCHES HIS
The diary extract ended with that line. Elliott flipped the page over, desperate for it to continue.
Ben, wide awake again, was reading over his shoulder. ‘There are a few more,’ he said.
‘A few more what?’
‘Pages of the diary.’
Elliott raised his eyes.
‘I found them just after these,’ Ben said.
With a sense of dread, Elliott turned to face him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the new pages before? Why didn’t you just add them together?’
‘Dunno.’ Ben shrugged. ‘Forgot, I suppose.’
‘What do you mean, you forgot?’
‘I don’t know, all right?’ Ben said, matching Elliott’s growl. ‘Look, I can’t remember where I found them, OK? Do you want to read them or not?’
Elliott saw from Ben’s expression that he genuinely couldn’t recall where he had found the latest set of diary pages. He watched anxiously as Ben reached into his jeans pocket for the four sheets of paper. ‘I put them here,’ he said. ‘To make sure I didn’t lose them,’ he added, as if that made perfect sense.
Are we being fed this diary in dribs and drabs? Elliott wondered. Not finding it accidentally, but being given it to read in pieces? If so, why?
‘That’s all I have,’ Ben said, handing the sheets over.
Elliott felt a shiver leap through him as he studied Ben’s calm, relaxed face. Then he opened the first crumpled page.
30th November. I’ve spent the week trying to persuade Mum and Dad to leave. I’ve started a nightly rant about it, and even though Mum likes it here, and seems almost as much in love with the portraits as Eve was, she’s weakening. The trouble is that Eve seems completely fine again. She’s behaving perfectly. No more following the portraits in a merry-go-round the house. But after what Janey told me, I’m more worried than before. I found a damaged portrait hidden away on the fourth floor earlier today as well. It’s a horrible study of a teenage boy in muddy boots with a slash through the middle of his head.
‘It’s Sam,’ Janey told me, when I asked her about it.
‘You cut it, didn’t you?’ I said.
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Sam told me to. He doesn’t want people to see the look of fear on his face. That’s what Cullayn wants.’
5th December. After all the scariness of the last few weeks, today was different. Janey came hopping into the garden as excited as a puppy. She was dying to show me something.
‘Come here,’ she said, laughing as she dragged me to the entrance of the East Wing. ‘Watch. A trick the ghost children showed me.’
Lifting her left hand, she slowly splayed her fingers. For a moment nothing happened. Then the air spluttered and crackled around her fingertips. ‘Keep watching,’ she said. ‘That’s not it.’ Steadying herself, holding her arm away from her body, she reached forward and thrust two fingers inside the East Wing.
As soon as they pierced the stale, dry air there was a faint apricot gleam. ‘See?’ she said. ‘I’m finding a way in. Cullayn’s hiding in the dark of the East Wing. No torch is going to find him the way he cloaks himself. But this’ – she clicked her fingers, and with each click the light expanded – ‘gets into his corners, shows me where he is
.’
Her hand stirred the air like a spoon. ‘Cullayn’s not like us,’ she said. ‘He can dissolve himself, slip like dust into the pores of walls. Or do the opposite, make a solid form, like a fist.’ She laughed, made a fist of her own and spread her fingers to swirl the air. Then she grunted ‘Ouch!’ as her apricot light was abruptly snuffed out.
She yanked her hand back. ‘Mm,’ she mused. ‘Cullayn doesn’t like me invading his little kingdom. Good. I don’t care. I’m going after him. Someone has to.’
‘What are you thinking of doing?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure yet. But what do you reckon to this?’ She gave me a mischievous smile. ‘Alice taught me this trick. I can use it to stop Cullayn, or at least slow him down if I get close enough.’
Janey swung her wrist lazily back and forth inside the East Wing. She looked like she was casually summoning a servant. ‘I’m fishing,’ she said, grinning. ‘Casting a line. Let’s see what’s there, shall we? See if we can attract his attention …’
At first nothing happened. But Janey kept at it, flicking her fingertips until her wrist suddenly jolted.
‘Whoa!’ she said, and I could see she was surprised. ‘I guess I hooked something!’
‘Hey,’ I said, concerned for her.
‘It’s all right,’ she told me. But her eyes widened as she tried to withdraw her hand and found she couldn’t.
‘Janey,’ I said, moving closer to her. ‘Tell me how to help.’
‘It’s OK,’ she answered testily. ‘I’m fine. If I can just get my hand out again …’ She grinned fiercely. ‘It’s Cullayn himself, casting his own net,’ she said. ‘If I just keep doing this, I’ll be … I’m sure I’ll be OK …’
I think Janey was trying to impress me with a show of bravery, but of course Cullayn didn’t care about that. And while she kept tugging, pushing out her slim fingers, gripping and ungripping, the owner of Glebe House reached out for her. It was terrifying what I saw next, and not only because it was the first time I’d seen Cullayn, but because it happened so fast.
A gap came first. It flashed open in the air between Janey’s shoulder and her uplifted arm. Then, from the rip of air, a thickly-haired male forearm tore itself from some kind of no-space between the realms of life and death. The owner seized Janey’s arm. Two shades of light sparked, competing: Janey’s apricot hue, and Cullayn’s dark orange-red light. Where they crossed the light curdled into a dirty yellow, but Cullayn’s light was stronger, and so was his grip, and he started to draw Janey inside.
Janey fought him. She didn’t really know what she was doing, I could see that, but for a moment her sheer determination to stand her ground against Cullayn kept him back: her considerable will opposing his.
But it wasn’t enough, and only two things enabled her to break away. First, I threw myself into her, knocking her down. Second – and I think this was more important – another light appeared, a blaze of blue, and I heard a gruff man’s voice bellow in pain as the blueness stabbed into Cullayn’s wrist, making him let go. For a moment the face of a boy – Sam’s face – appeared in that fog of blue, and he was looking not at me but at Janey.
‘I know, I know,’ Janey muttered to Sam from the floor. ‘I need to be more careful. Yes, yes. I know!’
Muttering to herself, she led me back into the garden, holding her wrist. ‘I’m OK,’ she said, when I tried to look at it.
‘You’re not OK,’ I told her. ‘Cullayn was dragging you into the East Wing! If Sam and I hadn’t been there …’
‘It wasn’t … quite what I expected,’ she admitted, cursing under her breath. ‘I’ll be more careful in future. But what you don’t understand is that if I go in the East Wing I won’t be alone. You saw the way Sam follows me everywhere. The ghost children just need a bit of a push. I’m sure they’ll follow me inside if I go after Cullayn. And against all of us I don’t think he stands a chance.’ She smiled tensely. ‘He’s only one to our five, Theo. And then, once he’s gone … well, something wonderful might happen.’
‘What do you mean, wonderful?’
She folded her arms under her chest. ‘The ghost children will be able to leave. They’re only staying here because of Cullayn. They won’t leave until he does. That’s my dream – to help them reach the other side. If I can get rid of Cullayn, they’ll be free to go at last.’
Ever since then Janey has been practising in private for her battle with Cullayn. She won’t tell me what she’s planning. She says Cullayn may be listening. But in truth I don’t think Janey knows herself. She’s determined to go through with it, though. I don’t know whether to try to stop her or not. She already looks tired.
‘That’s what Sam says,’ she admitted. ‘He says I’m not ready to face Cullayn. But don’t worry, I won’t do anything until I’m prepared.’ Her chin hardened. ‘Until my will matches his.’
13
A RIVER OF MOONLIGHT
‘I’ve found her!’ Dad cried, striding into Ben’s bedroom. ‘Her full name is Jane Amanda Roberts and she lives locally.’
‘She still lives here?’ Ben said.
‘Yep.’ Dad looked pleased with himself. ‘In the village itself. Very active in the community, apparently. I couldn’t find anyone with a bad word to say about her. And that impression was confirmed when we talked on the phone.’
Elliott gazed up. ‘You spoke to her?’
‘Surprised, eh? She’s ever so quietly spoken. Tiny little voice. Had a neighbour over when I called. Gladys. They were having tea and cakes. Lots of clinking china.’ When Elliott looked doubtful, Dad said, ‘I know. Doesn’t sound much like the girl in Theo’s story, eh? But maybe that’s because she isn’t. She explained the mystery. Says the diary was something she and Theo made up. An elaborate hoax.’
‘You believe her?’ Elliott asked.
Dad shrugged. ‘She was convincing enough. She’d forgotten about the past disappearances in Glebe House, though. Couldn’t remember the name of the little girl who used to live here. Said her memory was like a sieve these days.’
Elliott’s openly contemptuous expression made Dad raise an eyebrow.
‘You think she’s lying?’
‘Make up your own mind,’ Elliott said. ‘Read this.’
He handed over the latest fragments of the diary. Dad read them slowly all the way through.
‘Still believe it’s a hoax?’ Elliott asked.
Dad rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his confidence dented. ‘I’ll admit it’s described in more detail than I’d expect. But look, Elliott …’ He hesitated, shook his head. ‘If this diary is real you’re asking me to swallow a whole lot more than the fact that Jane Roberts is lying. There’s all this other stuff about ghosts and, frankly … it might help if I could come up with a single reason why a lady who’s been living quietly in the village all this time would lie.’
‘Unless she had something to do with it,’ Elliott said. ‘Unless she was part of the reason Eve disappeared.’
‘The elderly woman I talked to didn’t sound dangerous.’
‘She was younger then, Dad. Plenty strong enough to deal with a seven-year-old girl.’
‘But there’s nothing in the diary to suggest it, either,’ Dad argued. ‘If the diary means anything, it’s obvious she was trying to protect Theo and Eve, not harm them.’
‘Maybe things changed,’ Elliott said. He didn’t even know what he meant by that. He was just reaching out blindly. But the image of Janey as a forgetful tea-and-china-cups lady didn’t ring true. He turned to Ben. ‘What do you think?’
‘What?’ Ben shook himself. He’d been staring blankly at the wall all this time.
‘You OK?’ Dad asked him.
‘I’m fine.’ Ben smiled, gazed out of the window and back again. He had nothing to add. No opinion on events. Or Janey. Or anything.
Elliott looked at him a moment, then said to Dad, ‘What about Glebe House? Did you find out any more details about what happened here?’
&nb
sp; ‘Yes. Some.’ Dad wavered. ‘I’m really sorry to have to tell you both this, but … children did go missing here around Theo’s time. Two of them.’
‘Two?’ Elliott glanced up, his pulse rising.
‘I know,’ Dad said quietly. ‘I didn’t expect that, either. Not the news any of us wanted to hear. But I didn’t only get that from Janey. I rang the post office and the woman who runs it confirmed the children’s names: Eve Stark and her brother, Theo.’
Elliott felt like he’d been struck in the face.
‘I guess that’s the tragedy the current owners didn’t want to talk about,’ Dad murmured. ‘Children disappearing.’
‘I think Janey’s lying,’ Elliott said. ‘I think the diary is the truth and that she knows exactly what happened.’
‘Maybe,’ Dad conceded. ‘In any case, I’m not spending any more time here figuring it out. We’re leaving tomorrow.’
Ben, for the first time, spluttered into life. ‘But why?’ he piped up. ‘I’m getting used to it here. It’s OK. It’s fine. I want to stay.’
A cold feeling crept through Elliott. ‘When did you start liking it here?’
‘I didn’t say I liked it,’ Ben protested. ‘It’s just that we can’t leave. We need the money, and—’
‘We don’t need the money that much,’ Dad cut him off. He gave Elliott a curious look, then faced Ben. ‘Let me worry about things like money, all right? We’re getting out. I’m sealing the house back up. Then we’re off.’