Seth turned on the kettle. His mobile rang. Malc.
“Hello,” Seth said, as cheerfully as he could manage this early without caffeine.
“Where are you?”
“I came home early. I didn’t want to wake you.”
A pause. “Your home? So, you’ve moved out? Your uncle wasn’t safe in that house alone.”
Seth glanced at the basement door. Had he just felt something stir beneath his feet? “I’ll try not to forget.”
“I could have come with you.”
“You’re in enough trouble as it is. You don’t need to be involved with any of this. I’ve got it in hand.”
“You were at a crime scene yesterday, and you’re living in the house of a man murdered for one of his most powerful occult artefacts. Worrying isn’t optional.” A pause. “I’m coming over.”
“You’ve got your own job. Tend to your flock.”
“This is more important.”
“It really isn’t. Listen, mate, I don’t need you. Everything is taken care of. The collection isn’t going anywhere. I’m going to install a new security system. No one will get in here without my knowledge. Plus, my uncle had a decent collection of cricket bats. I’m going to be sleeping with one close at hand.”
Seth imagined the pained expression on Malc’s face but what else could he tell him? This wasn’t Malc’s responsibility. Just like Ravenmeols wasn’t his responsibility.
“You’ll call me if you need anything? I’ll keep my mobile handy.”
“Yes. The first sign of trouble.”
They said their goodbyes, then Malc finally hung up. Seth thought he’d heard Georgia in the background, asking who he was talking to. This was good. It would give them the space they needed to sort things out.
Seth spent most of the day in Lamont’s office, searching through his uncle’s notes. There was much here that related to the Adherents; the Vigilance Society were clearly very concerned about that group. When his stomach started rumbling, he took a break and went to the corner shop to grab some bread and cheese. His wallet was light, and he realised he’d been lucky to have Malc and Georgia this week. He’d not had to fend for himself until now. There was still some money in his account, but it was only just the right side of overdrawn and he wasn’t sure where the money for such luxuries as food would come from. Selling off some of Lamont’s possessions had occurred to him again but after checking out the house and seeing the junk-filled rooms, he doubted whether there would be much there worth selling. He figured it was more likely going to cost him money to clear the house out.
So that left his uncle’s collection. There had to be parts of it that were less dangerous that he could sell with a clear conscience. In the right circles there were likely collectors who would part with cash just to own pieces of the occult without caring what any of it was for.
There was always work.
He may have had a little setback at the nursing home but his website was still active and he had his regular contact list. It was time he started working through his list again, letting them know he was ready to take bookings. It wouldn’t be much he knew, but it would get him some shopping.
Whilst eating his sandwich, he returned to his uncle’s notes on the Adherents and Cowl. The notes were extensive. How much of it was Lamont’s speculation and how much was fact though? And an hour into his reading he found a piece of information impossible to ignore.
Adam Cowl lived less than two hours away.
Well, he used to live less than two hours away. Adam Cowl was murdered in his home in 1918 and Seth supposed the chance of his home still surviving after a hundred years was slim, but then again, this was a man who’d founded a cult of fanatics that endured long after his death, a man who’d come back from the dead on more than one occasion.
A quick web search confirmed that the house was still standing. Google Maps displayed fuzzy images of a property set well away from the main road, too far for the Google mapping cars to get any decent images. Seth shivered. Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and opened his contacts, but once open he hesitated.
What the hell was he thinking? Judy wouldn’t come along, and Malc was angry enough as it was. Besides, this was just a fact-finding mission; an opportunity to get a better sense of who Adam Cowl was when he was alive. If on the off-chance there was any activity from the Adherents when he got there, he’d pull back and call Malc.
He would not take any more risks.
Gravel crackled under the tyres as Seth coasted the car to a stop on Crow Street. Ahead of him, an open flatbed lorry, a builder’s, with two wheelbarrows and plastic waste buckets filling up the back. The GPS had got him as far as he would get. The road ended and a dirt path began, snaking up the rising hillside into the distance. He flicked to the images on his phone and checked the screenshot he’d taken earlier. By his reckoning, the dirt track was the beginning of the Cowl estate. A glance at the crumbling stone posts either side of the track, and the rough surface bolstered his belief that no one used this entrance, any vehicle attempting to ascend wouldn't get far before wrecking their coil springs or cracking the exhaust.
It had taken a little under two hours to get to Marsden. A town surrounded by Marsden moor; it was somewhere he’d never been before. The countryside was not Seth’s idea of fun, never had been as a child, and as an adult, the last place he’d consider coming to for relaxation. There was never anything to do. The shops would be tiny, the cinema non-existent, and the roads twisty and turning and narrow enough to make you breathe in every time a lorry went past.
The tarmac seethed in the heat. Seth felt the warmth rising through his trainers as he stepped into the road.
Birdsong tweeted around the hedgerows at the entrance to the estate. A heavy chain hung across the track, displaying a private property sign. Cautiously, Seth stepped over the chain. The moment he did, the air stilled. The birdsong that had been so insistent seconds earlier, melted, leaving nothing but a persistent breeze channelling between the trees rising on either side of the track. Anything could be hiding in those woods. He was glad he hadn’t left this until later as it would have been even more nerve-wracking.
He wiped sweat from his forehead and proceeded up the hill, resolving not to look beyond the edge of the woods into whatever shadows lurked there.
A twig snapped behind him to his right, somewhere inside the line of trees.
Seth froze, tuning his hearing to anything unusual. He waited a few seconds then slowly he turned around, peering through the trees. Was someone out there?
“Hello?” He spoke firmly, hoping to appear more confident than he felt. “I heard you just now. Come out and show yourself.”
He held his breath and kept scanning from side to side, hunting for signs of activity. Someone was out there; he was sure of it. There was nothing large enough in those woods to make a noise that loud.
Seth waited a few moments longer but unless he was prepared to go into the woods and search, he would not get an answer. He could either return to the car or continue, but he’d already come so far and giving up meant losing the only lead he had on his uncle’s killer.
Seth swallowed and headed back up the path towards the house. Just as he decided he must have made a mistake, and that this wasn’t the Cowl estate, he rose to a slight plateau in the hillside and saw the house for the first time.
First impressions weren’t great.
Is that it? That’s what I’ve been bothered about?
The house might once have been impressive. Built around the early 1900s, ostensibly under the strict instruction of Adam Cowl himself, it looked neither grand nor humble. A distinctly average two-story stone cottage with a walled garden. The decay was evident even from a distance. Attempts to apply render to the garden walls had failed and chunks of grey plaster had fallen, exposing the natural finish beneath. The three windows on the top floor were smashed, jagged shards of glass remained like dragon’s teeth. A chimney had partially collapsed, leav
ing only a stub behind.
Seth took photos, ensuring he captured the details that would help his memory later.
He approached the cottage, aware that his throat was dry and his chest had tightened. It would be impossible to feel ambivalence towards this house, not when he knew the man who’d tried to murder him had once been murdered within its walls.
A pungent scent of jasmine assailed his nostrils as he got nearer to the overgrown flower beds in front of the property. This place hasn't been lived in for years, decades perhaps.
Seth’s trainers crunched on the weed-infested gravel of the path, and he stood before the front door, unsure whether he should even knock. The place was abandoned, that much was obvious, but he couldn’t discount the idea that it was still being lived in by someone. They’d have to be desperate, admittedly, but having to choose between a roof over your head or not, and some would gladly opt for this, despite its appearance.
If there was anyone living here, he’d sooner know before announcing his presence. He tried peering in through the front windows, but someone had taped newspaper to one, and the other was so thick with dust that he could barely make out a room beyond the glass. There was no sign of anything moving.
Seth entered through the kitchen at the back of the house. The door was unlocked, so he didn’t consider this trespassing yet. The kitchen was simple, unfussy. A shopping bag lay abandoned on a table, its spoilt contents devoured by critters, the smell of ruined food heavy in the air.
He stopped at the hallway door. A long line of twine ran from the bannisters to a point by the front door. Crows, a dozen or more, dangled from this line, their eyes consumed by maggots.
Seth froze.
This was not the work of vandals.
He took some photos, capturing the key details, the bare floorboards, the torn wallpaper, blackened with mildew and blooms of mould, before gingerly walking into the hallway. The door opposite was the room he’d peered in from the front of the house. Cautiously, he walked around the line of crows and entered. This room was empty of furniture, but dominated by a piece of graffiti on one of the walls. A dark face with a thin pencil beard had been outlined, and the word Outlaw had been started in foot high lettering. None of it was finished. On the floor, a carrier bag had been discarded with several aerosol cans. Seth shook the cans—still plenty left in them. Whatever artist had started this project had left in a hurry and never came back.
A noise from outside caught his attention, and he stepped to the window, listening intently. It could have been a bird startled and taking flight, but it could just as well have been a sneeze. He wiped the glass using his sleeve and made himself a decent gap to peek out from. Outside, the sky looked darker. Clouds were edging in over the moors and it suddenly seemed like Summer was taking a nap.
Anything could happen in this house and no one would be able to hear it.
Adam Cowl had been killed here, but that was over a hundred years ago. It was naive to think there would be anything left that would indicate where the stolen painting was being kept. Nothing in the building to suggest that the Adherents were using it as any kind of base of operations.
So why did he feel like he was being watched?
He felt the voices through his feet before his brain had even registered that he was hearing another living thing.
Two voices. Talking quickly, words overlapping. A hushed breathlessness to their conversation. Seth tried to make out what they were saying, but that was impossible. The floorboards were muffling everything.
Had they heard him?
His throat became as dry as the tarmac he’d parked his car on. Only two choices now. Either retreat or confront. That simple. He’d made a mistake that was all. It would be the kids who’d been painting in the room opposite. They hadn’t left, only taken a break. Only that graffiti had none of the smells of fresh paint, and there was no aerosol taint in the atmosphere.
The Adherents then? Seth trod as lightly as he could, conscious that if he could hear people beneath him, then his footsteps would be audible. Where were they? Did this place have a cellar? He thought it unlikely. But under the stairs, he saw a door. This had been left ajar.
Only he would have sworn it was closed when he’d crossed the hallway a few moments ago.
He stepped around the dead crows again and cringed as his shoulder knocked one sending the entire line into a bristle of activity. His heart beat hard against his chest—everything felt tight, his muscles dragged. The hard edge of his phone in his jeans pocket dug into his thigh. It was only a couple of people. All he’d do is take a quick peek then he’d be on his way. If they saw him, he’d feign ignorance and make a hasty retreat. He could still run.
The cellar door opened easily on silent hinges. Stale air rose to meet him and his eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom: barely enough light to make out the stone staircase leading underneath the house. As Seth took a step down, he was struck by how out of place this seemed. The walls were roughhewn, the stairs not in keeping with the rest of what he’d seen in the property so far. He got the distinct impression that he was entering a different part of the house, almost a different realm. A place that didn’t belong.
It wasn’t until he’d reached the fifth step that he realised the voices had stopped. He hung back, resting a hand against the wall, rubbing his fingers against the coarse stone, feeling grounded by the coolness of the touch.
They’d heard him. And they were waiting for him. Why hadn’t he told anyone where he was going?
He knew the answer to that was his pride, but that would not protect him against a cult of psychotics.
A vibration started, rising from his feet, low at first like walking along a train carriage, but steadily increasing intensity. He needed to get out of here.
The door slammed shut above him. Seth turned and ran back up the stairs, then reached the door and pushed against it. It didn’t move. For such an insubstantial looking door, it was remarkably solid. He tried again but this time, the handle was hot to the touch and he snatched his hand back.
The light from the basement increased. What had been a dull yellow glow when he’d first stepped down here, had intensified to a blinding white light. And it kept getting brighter. But the light wasn’t natural. He could see its boundary and watched in terror as it crawled up the staircase towards him, burning his retinas with the vibrancy. Light could not be a living thing, yet Seth felt it was reaching out for him, hunting him.
“Help!” he cried, banging on the door, shouldering it. Too tough. Space was limited, but even so, he raised his leg as best he could, and kicked at the place where the latch would be. There was no keyhole, it shouldn’t have been possible to lock it.
He only succeeded in adding a hurt knee from the impact to his sore shoulder.
And then he turned again to watch the crawling light make its way up the basement steps towards him.
Seth was trapped.
20
The cellar door opened and Seth fell out into the hallway. A noise like a terrible dying breath came from the basement and the light vanished. He hit his head on the side of the frame as he collapsed, but a strong pair of hands reached under his arms and steadied him. The door slammed shut behind him and he finally looked up to see his saviour.
Of all the people he might have expected, Olivia Gwinn was not one of them.
“Let’s get out of here before you piss it off again.”
Together, they hurried from the house out onto the moor but only when Seth reached the boundary of the woods at the track did he stop and pause for breath. Olivia waited patiently. She looked every inch at home in the countryside, from her walking boots to her sensible light jacket.
The rain that had been lurking in those rolling clouds from the edge of the moors finally arrived and the heavens opened.
“You should be more careful,” she told him without a hint of malice, just good practical advice, like she was chastising him for not wearing a coat in the rain rather than tel
ling him off for breaking into a dead man’s house.
The house looked different to Seth now. Hungrier somehow. Less like it was really there, and more like it had been dropped on the landscape by some careless model builder.
“I was following a lead. I thought I might find my uncle’s killer.”
“Really? And you thought you’d come alone. Interesting. If you’d have reached out, we could have told you you’d have a wasted trip.”
“How would you have known that?”
“This is Adam Cowl’s last place on this earth. Well, the last place in his original form. We monitor this house. We track all the places where we think there could be a risk from the Adherents.”
The Vigilance Society was more serious than he’d suspected. Seth should have listened to Malc. Hell, he should always listen more to Malc.
“I found the address in Lamont’s notes. I didn’t have anywhere else to try.”
“You should have asked us to help.”
Seth would never ask for help from the Vigilance Society. They wanted the collection and engaging with them was opening the door to a negotiation he wasn’t prepared to have.
The rain was getting heavier. It hit his face and chilled his back and Seth really didn’t want to stand on this hillside staring up at that building anymore.
“How long have you been following me?”
The question took her by surprise. Her impassive features were shaken, but she sighed, determining that perhaps they’d reached the point in their relationship where continued lying to each other wasn’t serving either of them particularly well.
“Your uncle’s collection is dangerous. When Lamont was part of the society, much of what he’d amassed at that point fell under our protection but when he left, he was on his own with it. That wasn’t a safe position to be in.”
The Dark Corners Box Set Page 35