The Dark Corners Box Set

by Robert Scott-Norton

  There was a glint of fear in her eyes. “There’s something wrong in this house. I can feel it. Can’t you?” she whispered.

  Seth squeezed her arms gently. “I feel it too. That’s good though. It means we’re not wasting our time.”

  “But what is it? More doors?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  If he’d still had Charlie with him, Seth would have felt better about leading the pair of them into potential danger. If there were doors to the Almost Realm upstairs, he couldn’t sense them, but since he’d lost Charlie, he had no idea how reliable his senses in that regard were. Judy could sense them as well, and although less practised, she’d shown her value at the hospital. Seth wanted to tell her that he was counting on her but he wasn’t sure that was what she needed to hear now. He realised with frustration that he hadn’t told Malc where he was going, and he’d not given Judy the chance to let anyone know either.

  “Are you coming?” Joceline’s voice called from upstairs.

  “Yes, just sending a text,” Seth shouted back and tugged out his phone from his pocket. No signal. “Try yours,” he said to Judy but when she did, the results were the same.

  “You’ll be lucky to get a signal out here. Interference from the trees,” Joceline shouted.

  As long as that was all that it was. Seth had experienced electrical signal disturbance before in places of significance. The hairs bristled on the back of his neck as he pocketed the useless device. “I guess I was lucky,” he said to Joceline who was halfway walking back down to see them. “I got a message to my girlfriend. She wanted to know why I wasn’t at the university.”

  Joceline frowned but said nothing more about it. Seth winked at Judy who mustered a smile from somewhere before they both followed the artist’s widow upstairs.

  The landing wrapped around the staircase giving access to four more rooms. Seth made a point of checking the doors off and rationalised that each one appeared to fit the style of the house and led to somewhere logical. Judy stayed close by his side as they stepped onto the landing. Housework was clearly something alien to Joceline and thick swathes of dust gathered at the top of the wainscoting and blanketed the lampshade hanging over the stairwell.

  “I keep his work in the two bedrooms at the back. The one at the front is my own personal space.” Another sweeping arm gesture indicated the door at the far end of the bannister rail. “I’ll take you into this one first.”

  There was a brief hesitation as her hand rested on the door handle. Seth caught the moment and wondered what was bothering her.

  “Do you do any painting yourself?” Judy asked as Joceline opened the door and led them inside the room.

  “I’ve dabbled, my role was always to support Kain in other ways.”

  The bedroom had a four-poster bed in its centre. The dark timber was intricately carved with small figures that crawled up the bed’s legs and onto the crimson throws. Above the bed at the pillow end, were a dozen knives with ornate silver handles. On the mantle above the small fireplace, a skull on a mount hopelessly surveyed the newcomers.

  Around the walls were dozens of paintings. All had the same dark quality that Seth had seen in the stolen painting and were unmistakably created by the same hand. And all were full of deep erotic imagery. Seth glanced at Judy and she raised an eyebrow and the wisp of a smirk appeared at the edge of her lips.

  “Fascinating,” Judy said, unabashed. “Am I wrong to suppose that you’re the model in most of these paintings?”

  Joceline stood against the window, letting the dull light in and catching the side of her face. There was a full-on smile there and that same childlike excitement that she’d displayed downstairs.

  There were plenty of variations but in many of the canvases, the bed was depicted with two figures engaged in sexual activities. You’d be hard to justify these as erotic art—they were almost pornographic. As if that wasn’t enough, the works were also laden with dark symbols. In all of them, the male figure was wearing an animal mask, in most, it appeared as a bull, but in others some kind of bird. Blood also featured heavily. Marks across the woman’s body, suggesting cuts. And there was the constant look of discomfort on the woman’s face. It was disturbing to Seth.

  “Yes, it’s all me,” Joceline replied. “What do you think?”

  “It’s—” Seth began but found himself hunting for the next word. Joceline leaned forward expectantly.

  “It’s amazing,” Judy finished for him. “Fascinating work. You can see all of Kain’s trademark styles in these. And they’re so alive.” Judy sounded genuinely convinced that these paintings represented the pinnacle of artistic endeavour, but Seth caught her expression and noticed the clenched fists by her side. Her enthusiasm was all an act.

  Seth nodded. “It is,” he said approaching one of the less vibrant works. On this canvas, the oil paint had been scraped on and off to form a rather abstract image of a couple having sex against the bed.

  “I remember the day we worked on that painting.” Joceline’s words came from behind Seth’s ear and he jumped at the sound, not realising that she was so close. He caught the scent of her flowery perfume.

  “It’s full of atmosphere,” he spat out.

  “It’s full of life. Of the energy that comes when two beings combine and converge. Their lust and vibrancy driving them towards ecstasy,” she added. “I’m glad you like it.”

  Seth moved onto another painting, this one a close up of Joceline, lying back on the bed, her hand in front of her crotch. Seth looked away, embarrassed, but found that Joceline was working her way along the paintings beside him.

  Judy suddenly gasped, but then in her haste to mask the sound, ended up coughing and not being able to stop for a minute. Seth hurried to her side, and put his hand on her back. “Are you OK?” he asked her.

  She shook her head and indicated that she could use some water.

  “Would you mind?” he turned to ask Joceline, and without even attempting to hide her irritation, Joceline nodded and left the room. As they heard her footsteps retreating, Judy’s coughing ceased, and she straightened.

  “That woman is insane,” she said delicately.

  “On that we can both agree. I don’t know where to look.”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen worse,” she replied, huffing slightly but in good humour.

  “Actually, I haven’t. What does it tell you about a woman who’s proud of being the subject in paintings like this?”

  “It’s not normal.”

  “Is that anything we should be worried about? I gather eccentricity is a common enough theme amongst artists.”

  Seth was drawn to the skull above the fire. Tentatively, he tapped it with a finger. “You don’t think this is real, do you?” It certainly looked real to Seth.

  “She has some weird ideas about interior design,” Judy agreed, “But look at this.” She pointed at one of the paintings. The figures were familiar by now. The bed made up to look even more dressed than it was in the others. Red drapes hung across the bed posts, wrapping themselves around the writhing figures. And the darkness around the bed, lit by candle lights against the walls, fighting a losing battle against the shadows. Only these weren’t shadows, and they weren’t candles.

  “You see them,” Judy asked, waiting expectantly for Seth to see what had caused her outburst. “I thought I might be going mad, but it’s definitely there.”

  And like a simple illusion, a trick with the way the oil had been shaped on the canvas to delineate the light and the dark, the edges came alive and the candles didn’t seem like candles anymore, but the darkening red hues of eyes of some creature against the wall. Something emerging from the shadows.

  “My god, it’s one of them,” Seth said.

  Judy nodded. “I wonder how many others it’s in that we haven’t yet noticed.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  They both turned in shock at the voice behind them. Joceline had a way of travel
ling around her house that made her seem ethereal.

  Seth floundered for a moment, defaulting to his impish grin whilst he thought of how to respond.

  “Ah,” Joceline said, noticing the painting that had caught their attention. “This is one of my favourites. In the Darkness. It was one of Kain’s favourites as well.”

  “Wasn’t there another one with a similar name?” Judy asked.

  Joceline turned to Judy. The glass of water in her hand moving no closer to being offered. “No, I don’t believe so.”

  “Oh, I thought—” Now it was Judy’s turn to be off balance.

  “I think you’re referring to All the Darkness,” Seth said, cutting in. “I remember it from a list of works.”

  Joceline’s eyes widened. The smile dropped. Her yellowing teeth bared in open hostility. “You’re not art students. Who are you?” She stepped closer to Seth, into his personal space and he retreated backwards across the room.

  “Perhaps I made a mistake.”

  “Are you journalists? Hunting for a new angle?” Still, she kept pushing Seth back, until his calves hit against the edge of the bed and he fell clumsily onto it. He braced his hands either side, trying not to think about what acts had taken place on this mattress but not being able to avert his eyes from the painting around him nor the raging figure pushing him back.

  “Who is the other figure in the paintings?” Judy asked suddenly, and Joceline reacted as if she’d heard a gunshot. Finding space to move, Seth clambered silently from the bed and positioned himself so their exit was clear.

  “What other figure?” Joceline snarled, all pretence of politeness scraped away.

  Judy stood firm under the imperious look from the artist’s widow, even when Joceline bore down so she stood only inches away.

  “It’s so obvious that I can’t quite believe I missed it,” Judy said calmly, gesturing around the room. “Your husband was the artist, so who was the other model with you in the paintings. The one in the masks?”

  Joceline laughed. The sound came suddenly like a car backfiring and the years of smoking made the noise a deeply unsettling sound. She spun around to take in the room, her arms wide open, embracing the absurdity of the situation.

  “What can I say? I was a free spirit back then.”

  But Seth noticed her eyes were glistening, the smile forced and the laughter as hollow as a dead tree.

  “Who was he, Joceline? It could be important.”

  “Who are you? You’re not from the university.”

  “No. We’re not,” he said. “I’m sorry that we lied to you but we had to see you. My uncle had, until recently, one of your husband’s paintings in his possession. Somebody killed him to take it back. I’d very much like to know who.”

  “Are you going to kill them?”

  Seth could sense Judy’s eyes locked on him. “No, of course not.”

  “You might not have a choice. If someone wanted that painting, they knew its importance. They won’t hesitate to take another life,” she glanced at Judy, “or two.”

  “Who was the third man?”

  He thought she wouldn’t answer. She kept clutching at her neck like she was worried her head might become detached.

  “Joceline!” he demanded.

  Her head snapped around and her eyes locked with Seth’s. “That was Doctor Graeme Lowman. Former psychiatric consultant at Ravenmeols Mental Hospital.”

  “What did you say?” Judy asked, but Seth knew she’d heard all right. This was her way of processing the worst kind of news. The news that as much as they’d like to, they hadn’t yet been able to put that evil place behind them.

  “Graeme met Kain and me at a party in eighty-six or eighty-seven, can’t quite remember, there was a lot of drinking at those parties. Well, there was a lot of drinking full stop and my memory of that time is a little hazy. But it would have been around then. Most of these paintings were painted in a couple of years, eighty-six to eighty-eight. All the Darkness was the last in the series. It was his masterpiece. He poured his soul into that painting, almost killed him. He’d forget to eat or drink. Sometimes he’d stay awake for days at a time, catching a nap here or there, but never changing, always the paint and his brushes to hand. He never let me near the thing until the day he revealed it. And then he let himself sleep.” She sat on the corner of the bed and fiddled with a piece of hair that was dangling in front of her ear. Her visitors may as well have been invisible for they weren’t important anymore. Seth could feel the room getting colder as they were drawn into her past.

  Then, suddenly, she caught his eye. “Have you seen the painting?”

  “A photo, yes.”

  She nodded. “Perhaps that is the safest way. A photo can’t possibly convey the details, the essence of the thing. Yes, perhaps that was for the best.”

  “Are you saying that the painting is dangerous even to look at?” Judy asked.

  “Oh yes. That’s why Kain didn’t want me near it whilst he worked on it. That first night when he’d finished and showed it to me, he made me swear never to come into the studio on my own ever again. I did of course, later that night, after he’d passed out on the sofa downstairs. It was like I had no choice. It had weight to it, and a gravity that pulled me toward it. I could no more ignore it than I could ignore a spider crawling on my arm. It had to be dealt with. If Kain hadn’t heard my screaming, I would never have left this studio alive. He saved me that night.”

  “What happened?” Seth pressed.

  “There are plenty of things you shouldn’t ask a woman of a certain age, not least of which is what makes her wake at night screaming. When I close my eyes, that canvas is what I see. But thank God that’s all I see.” She stood, distracted by a noise from outside, then went to the window and peered out at the darkening sky. “You should probably get going whilst there’s still light. You’ll crack an axle if you hit any of them potholes.”

  “I need more, Joceline. Who might know about that painting and be prepared to kill my uncle for it?”

  “I suggest you leave it to the police. You don’t want them after you, because they won’t hesitate to kill you should you stand in their way.”

  “The Adherents of the Fourth. Is that who you’re talking about?”

  Joceline nodded. “You know about them? That won’t end well. They hate it when people know about them.”

  “We were there at the hospital the night of the fire,” Judy added.

  “And they were there then?”

  “Yes,” Judy replied. “They were desperate and dangerous.”

  “Then they are still desperate and dangerous. You should run along now and hope that they don’t twig that you’ve spoken to me. They don’t like people sticking their noses into their business.”

  “They didn’t think twice before dragging us into their business at the hospital,” Seth said firmly. “They started this.”

  “And you’d better hope they don’t finish it.” Joceline strode across the room, her perfume hitting Seth’s nostrils and making him wince. “I’m done talking. Never come back here. Never talk about that painting. Keep a low profile and you might just survive.”

  Seth looked at Judy and saw her chalky complexion. She was glancing across at the window and back to the door. She’d had enough but was waiting for Seth to lead them the hell out of there.

  “OK,” Seth said, “We’re going.” And he followed Judy out of the studio. “Take my card though. Call me if you want to talk.” He handed her a business card, and she held it like she'd been handed a dirty nappy.

  “Wait, before you go.” Joceline hurried to the front bedroom, the one that was her personal space and returned moments later with a small painting, framed. She handed it to Judy. “A gift. It’s one of mine, not Kain’s. I don’t get a chance to show them to anyone anymore and I don’t have anyone to give them to when I’m gone. I’d like you to have this.”

  She seemed calmer; the smile warmer. Judy took the painting and admired it.
A watercolour of the beach at Southport, Seth recognised the pier immediately. It was so far removed from anything Kain had produced that Seth wondered how the two of them ever found any common ground.

  “I couldn’t take this.”

  “I insist. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Judy nodded. “Thank you.”

  Seth led the way down the stairs, Judy close behind. Joceline remained on the landing, looking down on them. Seth got the terrible impression that he’d missed something. He looked back up at Joceline before closing the front door, and the widow was smiling.

  15

  Joceline watched the car speed off down the track and she wondered what that had all been about. She should have listened to her instincts and never let the strangers into the house, but like the old desperate woman she was, she’d let herself be flattered by their interest and now she felt like she’d been invaded and taken advantage of.

  But she hadn’t wasted the opportunity.

  Kain had not been a gentle husband. He had always been drawn to the darkness, and she’d never completely shared those interests. She’d been patient and tolerated him, and then later on in their marriage, she’d managed to trick herself by confusing pleasure and pain. There was the physicality of those nights when she’d acted out with her arranged lover, and there was certainly something she enjoyed about that—Kain had never forced her into those couplings, but he’d always been persistent. He’d arrange a painting session, orchestrate it from the side-lines, then commit it to memory. Sometimes, he’d take photos and paint from those, but most of the time it came down to what images had lodged in his brain.

  Beyond the physical, there was the intention behind those nights, and that was what Joceline never properly understood. All that blood—pig’s blood, Kain promised—and the symbols, and the freezing cold no matter how high the fires burned in the hearth.

  She returned to the bedroom and stood beside the bed, regarding the paintings. The one above the fireplace, the one that the intruders had been most disturbed by, caught her attention. She admired the figures on the bed, remembering what it was like to be that nimble and soft, and how young and powerful she’d felt. But then, she saw something else that she’d never seen before. The red detail of the candlelight that Kain had put in on the wall behind the bed—suddenly it didn’t look right. The light had a reflection, a secondary source that she’d always assumed had been some eager mistake Kain had never painted over. But it wasn’t a mistake—there was a figure standing beside the wall.