The Dark Corners Box Set

by Robert Scott-Norton

  “Tired,” she replied. “Finding it difficult to sleep.”

  Seth looked up but Judy’s attention was elsewhere. It took him a moment, but he realised what she was doing. “You’re counting doors?”

  She didn’t stop tracking around the room until her eyes had made a complete circuit. “You were gone for over a day. I thought you were dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And you’ve never once told me what happened to you. How you survived that fall from the hospital roof.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “What happened to you? All I could see was you falling off the roof, and you were about to hit the floor but you vanished.”

  “I don’t know if I can explain it,” he said eventually.

  “Try.”

  Seth rubbed his neck. “The doors are portals. Doorways leading through to this other dimension. The one place we can never go and only the damned can ever return from. I went through one.”

  She looked flustered. “You said that it was impossible.”

  “I thought it was impossible.”

  “You said you’d die. That no one could travel to the other dimension and survive.”

  “And I was wrong.”

  She flashed a look of anger at him, irritated by his flippant answers, but what else could he tell her?

  “What was it like?”

  “Which bit?”

  “What do you think which bit? The bit where you crossed over into this dimension place that you said was impossible to reach. What was that like?”

  Seth didn’t blink. “I can’t recall. All I remember is waking up at the vicarage.”

  “Back at the hospital, you said that you could close the doorways. You said nothing about making them appear.”

  “That’s because I can’t.”

  “Then how did this doorway appear at the best moment for you?”

  “I can’t explain it.” Seth leaned back.

  Judy wasn’t giving up. She had his full attention for the first time since the hospital and it didn’t seem that she would give him the opportunity to wriggle out of any explanations. “You know that you shouted on the way down. Everyone heard you. You were shouting for your sister. Do you think she opened the doorway for you?”

  “I’ve no idea.” Seth didn’t like thinking about this. If Kelly had opened this doorway just to save him, did that mean that she was trapped in this dimension with all the shadowmen and characters like Adam Cowl? She was meant to be in a better place.

  “You seem different,” Judy said. “Like changed different. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “I’m not feeling a hundred percent, that’s all. I just need a chance to get back to full health.”

  “The Almost Realm is where the shadowmen come from,” Judy started, “and if you travelled there, that means you were trapped with them, at least for a while. How come you were able to survive?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  Judy tilted her head and leant in. “You’ve got to let me help you. You don’t have to do this on your own.”

  But that wasn’t true was it? He opened a new browser tab and in the search bar typed:

  The Vigilance Society

  Upon hitting Enter, the search results page appeared with dozens of hits, but on closer inspection, none of them were exact matches.

  Why were there no matches?

  He tried again with a different search.

  All the Darkness

  The results page indicated several thousand hits. This was more like it. Seth clicked the Images tab and Judy gasped at something she’d seen.

  “What the hell?” she said, a slight tremor in her voice.

  Seth didn’t need to ask what had upset her. The image results page was laced with thumbnails of the painting that had been taken from his uncle’s collection. Seth clicked on the first in the list and the image expanded to fill over half the screen. On the monitor, it had an unsettling quality to it that hadn’t come across in the photograph that Claire had given him. The red eyes blazed from the screen and the mist that enveloped the shadowmen, seemed to writhe and cloak the figures.

  “These are from the hospital. The shadowmen that came after us. What are these results? What does ‘All the Darkness’ mean?”

  “It’s the painting that was stolen from the collection.”

  “But how can someone have painted those things? Why?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  Judy turned away from the monitor, looking up at the rest of the library. Seth clicked on a couple of links and switched to the new pages. “This is the artist. Kain Scardovi.” Seth scanned through the website, listing a short biography of the artist. “He’s dead. He died twenty-one years ago.”

  There was an image of the artist beside his biography. He had slicked-back dark brown, or maybe even black hair and appeared to be in his forties. But what Seth found most unsettling was the look he was giving to the camera. It was as if he were trying to reach out into the eyes of the observer, and those eyes were sharp and earnest.

  “This is the artist?” Judy asked. “I don’t like the look of him.”

  “No, he seems kind of intense.” Seth scrolled down the page. “Oh, that’s not good. He was accused of sleeping with some of the students at Liverpool university when he did some guest lectures. One of them accused him of rape.”

  “What happened?”

  “She retracted her statement. The case didn’t go to court, but it became a minor scandal at the university.” Seth read on. “His wife was Joceline. In Lamont’s journal he had Joceline Scardovi listed as the seller of the painting. Perhaps she’s still alive.”

  “You want to meet her?”

  “Why not?”

  Judy sighed. “You’re not making any sense. This painting was stolen. So what? Why do you want to see the artist’s widow? You think she took it? What do the police say? Was it valuable?”

  And that was something Seth couldn’t answer. Many occult artefacts generated interest in the right markets. Lamont’s ledger indicated that he himself had paid over three thousand pounds for the painting, but then he would be prepared to pay beyond the market price for the painting to ensure it was taken out of circulation and kept somewhere safe.

  “It wasn’t valuable enough to kill anyone over,” Seth answered. “Whoever has stolen it, stole it for very different reasons.”

  “You said it was connected with the occult,” Judy said, and she shivered. “I can see why with the subject matter, but I don’t understand why you aren’t just leaving this to the police. They won't take kindly to you interfering in their investigation.”

  “I’m not planning to,” Seth lied. “I’m only interested in that painting. When I find something worth sharing with the police, I will. Trust me.”

  And he thought that perhaps she might trust him. He’d helped her survive the night at Ravenmeols, why wouldn’t she believe him now?

  “We need to find out where he lived though,” he said. Seth typed in some more searches and eventually got lucky with an address and a photograph of the artist’s house. A wooden cladded building sited in the middle of a forest clearing. Ancient trees blotted out the sky with huge branches, clawing into the blue and making the house look like it was from a dark nursery tale.

  “That’s where he lived?” Judy said. “What was wrong with this man? It looks like it belonged to the Adams Family. No wonder he painted such awful things.”

  Seth jotted down the address in his notebook, double-checking the details and then glancing at his watch. “It’s about an hour away. Did you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

  14

  They almost missed the house. The satnav took them off through some country lanes and then it crashed on them so Judy had to pull over whilst she reset it. The sky was darkening with clouds and Seth could sense the rain swelling up inside them, ready to unleash a downpour the moment they stepped outside. The track they’d pa
ssed was hidden behind several overgrown trees reaching out into the road like woodland sentinels warning people away.

  “This surely can’t be it,” Judy said, but she turned the car around and through the entrance regardless, wincing as the chassis scraped the kerb.

  They passed a discrete wooden sign, nailed to a tree, declaring this to be the Scardovi home. The track led them through a small piece of woodland. Rain from the previous night had flooded potholes, and the car bounced along until the track opened up into a wide clearing.

  The Scardovi house was an unusual build for this part of the country. It was a grand wooden structure, once painted cream with forest green accents for the window frames. Seth got out of the car and closed his door gently. A light breeze worked its way through the trees, swishing the long bony boughs and branches like a Mexican wave.

  “It’s unusual,” Judy said next to him. “I guess they liked their privacy.”

  “I guess so,” Seth agreed. The windows were dark, but it didn’t stop Seth from feeling he was being watched. A sound behind him in the undergrowth caught his attention, and he turned to see a robin bouncing out of a bush and onto the track before flying off again.

  The front door opened, and a woman emerged, presumably Scardovi’s widow, Joceline. She wore a black dress with long sleeves and a stole that Seth suspected was made from fox fur. Her hair was blonde, turning silver, and kissed her shoulders. Her thin-lipped expression told them her attitude to strangers before she even opened her mouth.

  “I’m not buying anything. Didn’t you see the sign?” she hollered.

  Seth had no idea what sign she was referring to. Was she living here as a recluse? He hadn’t seen a car, and it was a hike to the nearest footpath.

  “That’s OK,” Seth replied. “We’ve nothing to sell.”

  “Get back in your car and turn around. This is private property. You’re trespassing.”

  “I’m sorry. Are you Joceline Scardovi?”

  “Never heard of her,” came the dour-faced reply.

  Seth paused and regarded his companion. “We’re art students from the university. We were hoping to talk to you about your husband’s work.”

  “My husband is dead,” she said, but her face tightened at the mention of his name.

  “We know that,” Judy said. “We’re doing a project on unrecognised artists of the twentieth century. I came across Kain’s work and found it remarkable. As soon as I saw it, I knew that I wanted to study it, maybe even shape my final year project around it.”

  Seth smiled. Judy had correctly detected which buttons needed pressing to get Joceline’s attention for she took a step closer, peering at them. Then with controlled elegant motions, she withdrew a cigarette from a clutch bag she’d been holding and lit it, taking a long hard drag.

  “My husband never needed the establishment. He had his work and he had me. That was all he ever wanted. When he passed, the world lost a great artist, but now no one will ever appreciate what a loss that is. Come in.” She made a wide-sweeping gesture, as if she were scooping the visitors towards her. Seth ignored the hammering heartbeat in his chest. He glanced at Judy, wondering if she was feeling as nervous.

  Joceline led the way inside, and as soon as Seth crossed the threshold, it felt like he’d plunged from dry land to the bottom of a well. The temperature change hit him first—it had to be five degrees colder than outside. The gloom and darkness struck him next. Shadows owned this house. The hallway was cramped and almost completely painted in black and shades of grey. On the wall heading up the staircase, a dark-patterned wallpaper with swirls and flowers sucked up any remaining light. Seth shivered and was reminded of the sensation he’d experienced stepping into his uncle’s basement.

  Something was very wrong about this house, and it made Seth want to turn tail and leave.

  He counted the doors. One to his right and one to his left. At the end of the hallway, another open door leading into what Seth guessed was the kitchen. He peered up the staircase but could only see one door from this position. If he had a chance, he’d like to check out the whole house for activity but that would have to come later, once they’d established a level of trust with Joceline.

  Judy was clutching his arm and her face was taut. She smiled at him but he recognised the uneasiness in her eyes. He patted her hand and together they followed their host into the back room. “Stay close,” he whispered. “Be ready to leave in a hurry.”

  “This isn’t right,” she hissed, but she released Seth’s arm as they entered the kitchen. The windows were open and the chill air from outside was breezing in.

  “What university are you from?” Joceline asked. The burning cigarette hung from her lip and upset her diction. She was fussing with a kettle at the sink, trying to prise the lid free.

  “Liverpool,” Judy blurted, not missing a beat.

  “Kain visited there several times. He was friendly with the head of the art faculty. For a while. Until—” she cut herself off. “They wanted him to do more regular lectures, but it just wasn’t his style at all. The students didn’t understand him.” The kettle lid popped open, and she filled it and replaced it. She flicked her cigarette ash into the sink with a flourish and it fizzed as it hit the damp surface.

  “That’s a shame, Mrs Scardovi,” Seth said, trying to ignore the sensation of someone walking up behind him. “It must be hard, living up here all alone.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Why do you think I’m alone?”

  “Oh, I just assumed,” Seth replied.

  “This is the first house we bought after we were married. I never feel alone here.”

  Seth wondered whether she’d even seen how dilapidated the building appeared from the outside. Joceline stubbed out her cigarette on the draining board before depositing it on an overflowing saucer by the sink.

  “You’re students, you say?”

  “Yes,” said Seth.

  “Mature students. And you what—both want to be artists?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  She shook her head. “Artists are born, not made. If you were any good, you wouldn’t need to go to art school. Kain never went to any school. That’s the way of greatness.”

  “You think much of your husband. I’m so glad we came to see you.”

  Her face remained impassive. “I’m still not clear why you’ve come here. If you’re after an interview, I’ve got nothing to say. The establishment abandoned Kain and I’ll be damned if I will do anything to service their needs now.”

  “I understand how you feel,” Judy said. “And if an interview is too much, perhaps you could share a little of why he was so important. Maybe show us around any works of his you still have.”

  “My dear, I’ve all of his works here. I won’t let anyone else have them.”

  “What about the ones he sold?”

  “I bought them all back.” Her face darkened. “After what happened, it was easy. I probably made a profit.”

  “What happened? Why did people change their opinion of him?”

  “Because people are fools. Because people wouldn’t recognise true talent if it walked up to them and spat in their face. Don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

  “It’s not true then?” Judy asked. “About the girls?”

  The temperature of the room plummeted. Joceline’s hands were turning white as she gripped the edge of the worktop she was leaning against. He thought that was that, and they’d be turned back out, conversation over. But then a curious thing happened. A smile began to form on Joceline’s face. A thin crack in her facade that grew into a howling chasm that was at once both hilarious and terrifying beyond belief. Laughter should not sound like the noise coming from Joceline Scardovi. Seth thought they might need to call an ambulance as her coughing drowned the laughter and she was struggling for breath. Judy reached out but Joceline battered the hand aside and straightened, turning to the sink and spitting a great holy glob of viscous brown spit into the
basin.

  “Kain had an eye for beauty,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “He saw beauty in those girls. But he never touched them, never even talked to them. What he painted was done with his mind’s eye. Their parents should have been delighted.”

  Seth tried to think how violated the families must have felt. Kain had been extremely lucky to avoid a prison term.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up such a disturbing history.”

  She wagged her finger. “I think you did. I think you knew exactly what you were hoping to find when you got here. The freak show that is Kain Scardovi’s widow. Well, ladies and gents, here she is, in all her fucked-up glory.” And she bowed.

  “Perhaps we should leave,” Judy said, and tugged on Seth’s sleeve to follow her into the hall.

  “Wait, you haven’t seen the paintings yet.” Joceline straightened. There was still that devilish look in her eye, a look that screamed at Seth to get out of there before something terrible happened. They’d crossed the line though. This was Seth’s only lead to discovering who had killed his uncle, and he needed to do right by him.

  Seth glanced at Judy and nodded gently, then to Joceline he said, “I don’t want us to intrude any more. We should get going.”

  “No, I insist,” she said, her tone insistent.

  Seth put on a show of deliberating, then replied, “If you’re sure it’s not a problem.”

  She flashed a smile at the pair of them. “Yes. Well, since you’ve made the effort to find me, I suppose there’s no harm in showing you.” Her eyes glinted. “You’re not easily shocked, are you?” She said this last with a youthful playfulness in her voice and that was more disturbing to Seth than the earlier hostility.

  “It would take a lot to shock me,” Seth replied, and as he glanced at Judy, he noticed she’d clenched her hands into fists. There was a faint tremble on her lips. “We don’t want to take up too much of your time,” he called to Joceline who had brushed past them into the hallway.

  “We can start upstairs,” she said.

  Once out of earshot, Seth turned to his companion. “Are you OK?”