“Ravenmeols Hospital has a long history,” Roy began, “but few people are aware it opened its doors as an orphanage in the late nineteenth century. At its peak, over one thousand orphans were being assisted, but the orphanage wound down as war took hold and by the 1950s it had been sold to the Ministry of Health.
“It began its second life as a mental hospital in 1954 and admitted patients with severe mental disorders. It was a place of almost world renown, treating many patients successfully and leading the way with pioneering research into mental health.
“But its success wasn't enough to protect it from the scandal that rocked the institution in 1997. You've surely heard of that. If you were living close as a child, it can't have passed you by.”
Seth shrugged. “Too busy playing with friends and doing homework. Was never that interested in the news.”
“The hospital never recovered from the fallout. It closed within months.”
“So, what was the scandal?”
“There was a devil-worshipping cult operating from inside the hospital.” Roy paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “It was only when a former patient persuaded an investigation into the hospital’s administration that the misdeeds were uncovered.
“It transpired that many of the staff and patients were being brought into occult rituals, and those inside were doomed to stay trapped there.”
Seth knew of the cult. After what happened with Kelly, he’d researched Ravenmeols thoroughly. How could he not? The cult Roy was referring to was a little-known group called the Adherents of the Fourth. No one had ever heard of them before the scandal and now, years later, few remembered. The cult’s architect, Adam Cowl, had been found dead in his home in 1918 but his teachings and legacy had proven to have far-lasting consequences—at least amongst the paranormal circles Seth mixed in. The Adherents were spoken about in hushed terms, almost mythically. Over time, the stories of what they’d accomplished had taken on a life of their own and Seth now believed much of the tales had been exaggerated out of all proportion. How successful could they have been if they’d resorted to hiding in a mental institution?
“It all sounds rather far-fetched,” Seth answered.
Roy snorted, and the laughter quickly turned into a terrible coughing fit.
“Can I get you something?” Seth asked, glancing at the door, wondering if he should fetch his wife.
A hand raised. “No…I’m fine.” More coughing, but it quickly settled. Eventually, Roy straightened. “You’re right, it’s definitely far-fetched, I don't doubt it. It also has the distinction of being true. I've done my research, I've seen the papers.”
Alarm bells sounded for Seth. Why would a man with a successful security business waste his time investigating something so out of his area of expertise?
“You're probably asking why I care about this?”
“No, not especially,” Seth lied.
That threatened to bring on another fit but Roy managed to stop the coughing in its tracks.
“Like I said, I have a son, Johnny, and he's taken an interest in Ravenmeols, and that’s got me worried. He wants to launch a new business, using the hospital as our pilot site. Tell me, have you ever heard of these ghost hunt parties?”
“Yes,” Seth replied cautiously, “they're all the rage. Ever since that tv show started its investigations.”
“Johnny’s ambitious and has already lined up another four sites he says would make excellent tours.”
“Excuse me for saying but isn't it all a bit…” Seth fumbled for the least offensive way to put this. “Tacky,” he settled on.
The smile was back.
“It’s a good money earner if my son’s forecasts are to be believed. Guests paying to wander around abandoned buildings at night. All that's needed is a guide and a medium.”
“You want me to go around as a medium accompanying a ghost hunt?”
“Exactly. You’ll be the specialist, and I'll pay you well and depending on how successful the pilot is, there's the opportunity of a full-time job.”
Seth didn't know what to say.
Roy swirled the remains of his drink around the bottom of his glass before downing the contents and putting the drained glass aside. His eyes didn't waver from Seth’s.
“No,” Seth said. “I'm afraid I’m not the right man for the job.” He stood. “But thanks for the drink.” He set his own glass beside Roy’s and he turned and was about to leave the room when Roy said one final thing that held him there.
“Tell me about your sister.”
3
The bench was cold and hard and there were too many pigeons fluttering around the square. Seth sat facing the library looking up at the late morning sun striking the edges of the clock tower and he felt a moment of peace. With a delicate breeze chilling the backs of his hands, he felt alert, attuned to all his senses. His conversation with Roy Oswald still fresh. That man had really made an impression. And it wasn't just the fancy home and the arrogance he had in assuming that Seth would want to come and work for him, it was something more. The man had a… not quite a charisma, but something deeper. A power. Seth told his mind to shush, and he looked up as he sensed his friend approaching.
Malc was walking towards him, a cup of coffee in each hand from the cafe in the centre of the gardens that ran along the front of the town hall. As Malc sat, Seth noticed the tip of his friend’s dog collar and pointed it out to him.
“You’re showing,” he said.
Malc adjusted his jacket to mask the white band. “Thanks.”
“Why don’t you leave it at home?” Seth asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But why hide it?”
“I’m not hiding it. I just don’t want to be bothered by anyone, right now.”
“Nor ever.”
“Don’t.” Malc sighed and closed his eyes.
This was new. Malc was usually full of enthusiasm about everything. Even on his off days, he’d hide it so well that most people wouldn't notice.
“What's up?” Seth asked.
“Listen. You can hear it can’t you?”
“No.”
“Close your eyes.”
Seth sighed, placed his cup beside him on the bench and did as he’d been told. Cars rumbled behind him, people chatted at the cafe to his left, the pigeons at his feet pecked and cooed.
“It’s all there,” Malc breathed. “Just waiting for the right person to listen. All our Lord’s work, just waiting for someone to pay attention and be here now, in this moment.”
Seth opened his eyes. Malc had a tear running down his cheek.
“What's happened?”
Malc wiped his cheek. “Georgia had a miscarriage. I’ve spent the morning at the hospital with her whilst they—”
Malc’s shoulders heaved, and he bent forward like he might be sick, his body shaking with the sobs. Seth put his arm around his friend and gripped tightly, leaning against the man's shoulder, feeling the grief pouring out of him.
“You’re OK. It will be OK.” Seth heard the platitudes leave his lips, but he didn’t know whether Malc could even hear him or whether it was the right thing to say. “I’m here. I’m here.”
After a while, Malc drew a deep breath and sat upright, his face red. Seth withdrew, giving his friend space. They sat like that for a few minutes, neither speaking again. Malc took a sip from his drink and held the cup between his hands.
“How is she?”
“Coping. She always seems to cope. She wanted me to get some fresh air. We’ve been stuck in the hospital most of the morning.” Malc held his coffee to his lips but didn’t drink.
“Georgia’s strong,” Seth said. “You both are.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure.”
“It’s the Almost Door,” Malc said and Seth’s heart reacted like someone had just crushed it.
Malc pulled a camera out of his pocket and offered it to Seth. The photos
he showed him had been taken in the front room of the vicarage. The daylight didn’t quite hit that part of the house and second-hand light bounced around making the picture pixilated, rather than sharp like he’d prefer. But, the lines on the wall were there. No mistaking. If a child had taken a pencil and marked out the outline of a door, it would look something like this.
“It hasn’t changed?” Seth asked.
“You tell me,” Malc replied, “I can barely see it as it is. I only know it's there because you pointed it out. Georgia and Joe have never seen it at all.”
“It looks the same. I can come round if you like. Easier to tell in person.” Then he remembered that Georgia would be in bed and that his childhood friend had just lost a baby and he felt ashamed. His cheeks burned “I’m sorry. I know—I didn’t mean today.”
“Do you think the door is the reason she lost the baby?”
Seth paused then stared at his friend.
“No,” he replied, “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No.”
“But you don’t know for sure.”
He was at a loss what to say. Malc was staring at the ground, watching the pigeons foraging. Seth sighed, took a sip and enjoyed the painful heat of the coffee. Anything to take him away from this moment. “Does it make it easier?” he said, eventually.
“Come again?”
“Having something to blame. It makes it easier right? Dealing with the grief.”
“You bastard. Trying to tell me how to deal.”
“I’m not. It’s an observation.”
“An observation?” Malc said, his voice rising.
“You’ve never got over the fact of that door being in your home. A part of you blames me for it being there. You’re looking for answers in the wrong place though. I don’t know why that door is in your house. I don’t know why I can’t get rid of it, and I sure as hell don’t know why Georgia lost the baby.”
“If I wasn’t a man of God—” There was real vitriol in his words now.
“You’d what? Punch me? Go ahead if it makes you feel any better.” Seth waited but the punch never came. Instead, Malc slumped back.
“I tried praying when it first started. I mean I saw the distress she was in, we’d spoken to the doctors and all they said was to let it take its course and call for help if there were any complications. I prayed then, but He didn’t answer.”
Seth had known Malc since school, had laughed when he said he would become a vicar but ultimately respected all the choices he’d made. And he’d made good choices. He had a beautiful wife, son, house, was admired in the community and underlying everything was his unshakable belief in his god. This was the first time he’d ever heard anything approaching a shaking of that belief.
“Condemn me if it helps,” Seth intoned. “Do whatever you need to help take the pain away. I’m your friend, always will be. I’ll be there for you when you need me, but if it helps, tell me it’s my fault and walk away. Go back to Georgia and take all the time you need. He will be there for you when you’re ready to listen. I’ll be here too.”
Malc sucked in his cheeks and the faintest of smiles appeared. “I know.”
After a few minutes, Malc showed no sign of leaving.
“I got offered a job this morning,” Seth said cautiously.
Malc looked intrigued. “Like a regular job?”
Seth frowned. “Look at me. Who’s going to offer me a regular job? No, this was something far worse. They want me to be their regular medium on their ghost hunts.”
Malc shook his head gently, raising his cup. “Right up your street.”
“It’s at Ravenmeols.”
The cup froze on the way to Malc’s lips and he lowered it.
“They're starting ghost tours,” Seth continued.
“That place is open?” Malc queried. “I thought the developers had moved in.”
“The developers own it, but they’re still waiting for permission to convert it. This is the security firm that's looking after the site in the meantime. It’s regular money. It will get me out of the caravan.”
“You can leave that caravan whenever you want. I’ve always said there’s room at the vicarage.”
But perhaps not now, were the unspoken words.
“What are you thinking?” Seth asked.
“I'm thinking you're even more desperate than I realised if you're considering taking this job.”
“It's good money. And easy. I don't even have to make shit up. They're happy for me to act as a guide and take it as it comes. They're not after the next Derek Acorah.”
“But… Ravenmeols.”
“I know.”
“Jeez, and I thought I had a complicated life.”
“You don't know the half of it.”
“When did you last go there?”
Seth shifted on the bench, the wooden slats were digging into his backside. “It's been a while?”
“You've still not seen them?”
“They don't want to see me. I'd say we share the blame on that one.”
“Whatever mistakes they made, they're still your parents.”
“And they're doing just fine without me.”
“That's what you want to believe.”
“Just don't. You know how I feel.”
“But Ravenmeols. What do they want you to do?”
“We didn't discuss it in depth but he said he doesn't want me to pull any fast ones. I'll be taking small groups of people around the hospital, telling them about the history of the building and letting them know should I feel any spirits. Then we’ll do some vigils.”
Malc frowned. “What kind of vigils?”
“I guess it's the usual. Ouija board, table tipping.”
“You're not serious. Ouija boards?”
“What?”
“It's all a bit tasteless, isn't it? I mean, that place didn't have the happiest of endings. A lot of people suffered. You don't think going around with Ouija boards is bad taste?”
Malc sounded annoyed. He had a way of making Seth feel childish like this.
“The church doesn't approve?”
“I don't approve.”
“They're not dangerous.”
“They make people make irrational choices. Trust me, you don't want to go into that place encouraging any more hysteria.”
“I get that you don't think I should do this, but the money's good. And I need it. I need to do something. I can't afford to live off the back of the handful of clients I've got. There are only so many private readings I can encourage my regulars to take.”
“Don’t go. After what happened with Kelly…” Malc poured his unfinished coffee on the ground. “I know you think you’re responsible for what happened.”
“I don’t.”
“I’ve known you too long to know that isn’t entirely the truth.”
Seth watched the coffee drain away, neither of them saying anything. Why did Malc have to be the voice of reason here? He hadn’t expected him to be delighted at the idea but a little more support could have helped.
“Don’t suppose to know how I feel about this. I was only a kid. I know it wasn’t my fault.”
Malc nodded. Seth didn’t think he believed him. It would have helped if he’d believed it himself.
“OK,” Seth said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, OK. I’ve listened.” Seth smiled.
“And you won’t go?”
“I won’t go. I’ll turn it down. Get back to your family. They need you right now more than I do.”
Malc put his hand on Seth’s arm. Gripped it. “You’ve made the right decision. You should never go back to that place or it will turn your world upside down—again.”
4
Malc was right. He was always right. Going back to Ravenmeols was the wrong thing to do, but it was undoubtedly the right thing to do as well. He'd spent a long time, many beers, and several good therapists trying to
forget about that place. Leaving home should have been the end of it, except after all this time, it had learnt how to cling to those dark spaces of the mind, surfacing routinely like a patrolling submarine, before slinking back into the depths.
Impossible to forget. And yet he continued to try.
And whenever he dreamed of that brooding building, he thought of Kelly, his sister, and finding her that night. Roy had asked him about her. He’d known about Seth’s connection to that building and much as he’d wanted to storm out of Roy’s office at the very mention of Kelly’s name, he’d found himself riveted to the spot, telling Roy about what had happened that night. It was a relief to talk to someone about it, even after all this time.
Forget it. Let it go.
Sleep hadn't come easy that night.
The caravan was at the edge of the farmer’s land and was well away from the light from the main farm buildings. Surrounded by a band of trees on the left and back he was shielded from any light from the farmhouse.
But, somehow, against the odds, he'd slept through the night, his dreams disturbed by moving shadows that broke away from the walls to stand by his bed.
When he woke, he counted the doors in his bedroom out of habit, then shifted in his bed and dragged the duvet up over his head. Daylight poured in through the flimsy curtains.
A loud banging shook the caravan on its base and an angry shouting pierced the thin walls. There was no way he was already behind on his rent. No way.
He crawled across the bed, found his hoodie on the floor where he’d left it and dragged it over his head.
More banging.
“OK, OK,” he yelled.
Probably a mistake.
“Don’t you be shouting at me you bloody layabout,” the voice from the other side of the door shouted.
Seth’s breath led the way as he crossed the kitchenette to the main door. He flicked the catch and was confronted with Miserable Geoff. The farmer’s face was red and plump, and the ginger beard made him look like he’d been eating red candyfloss.
“I paid you last week,” Seth said.
The Dark Corners Box Set Page 2