Both Steve and Cat nodded at the woman but her face remained immobile until she turned to DeMarney and said, ‘I have to get back.’
A momentary frown of irritation crossed the man’s face, and then it was gone, replaced by the usual bland expression. ‘Very well,’ he said to her, and then turned to Steve and Cat. ‘Actually, you’re very lucky that boat got you over here in one piece. It hasn’t been used for years.’
‘I think we should take them back with us,’ Sarah Delacourt said in a voice that brooked no argument.
‘Yes,’ said DeMarney. ‘Spike can come across in the morning and fetch the old one. It should have probably been destroyed. I never thought anyone would be rash enough to use it.’
Steve wasn’t really listening to him. In the trees beyond DeMarney he had seen something moving between the thick trunks. It was too dark to see properly but it looked human in form, and he got the impression that whoever it was was furtive and didn’t want to be seen. They just wanted to observe what was going on down on the jetty.
DeMarney noticed Steve’s lack of attention and followed his gaze, turning back to took at the trees. Almost at once there was a commotion in the undergrowth. A brace of pigeons broke from cover and fluttered into the sky, cooing loudly, and above the sound of them came the unmistakeable sound of something moving slowly through the bracken.
Steve and Cat exchanged a glanced and then looked questioningly at DeMarney. Sarah Delacourt was also looking at him, anxiously.
‘Squatters,’ he explained smoothly. ‘A couple of these New Age Travellers have been camping out on the island. That’s why Sarah and I came across, to tell them they had to leave.’
Cat looked at him frankly. She was not sure she believed him. Steve was sure. He didn’t believe DeMarney for a second. For a start, how could squatters get onto the island, and, for that matter, why should they want to? Senice House was surrounded by woodland. There were plenty of places to set up camp. Why should they confine themselves to an island in the middle of a lake, where access was difficult and the chances of discovery high? No, DeMarney was lying, and Steve was curious to know why.
DeMarney and Delacourt ushered them onto the newer boat, sat them in the stern. Sarah Delacourt sat at the prow and DeMarney sat in the middle and took up the oars. He started to row.
As the island started to recede, Steve looked back, past the jetty, to the line of trees. There was nothing to see and the island looked quiet and peaceful. He said nothing to Cat, but he was determined to go back to the island, sooner rather than later.
8
Susan finally slept on Lisa’s bed. She was obviously badly frightened, but Lisa put it down to an over-active imagination. She had tried to get Susan to tell her what she had seen, but the girl wouldn’t be drawn on the subject, until eventually she clammed up altogether and simply lay there on the bed staring up at the ceiling with terror-struck eyes. Eventually she fell asleep.
Lisa was sitting by the window reading. She closed her book and walked across to the bed, looking down at the sleeping girl. Great, she thought. Where am I going to sleep? The obvious answer, of course, was to go to Susan’s room and sleep there, but she really didn’t relish the prospect of sleeping in that room so soon after the younger girl’s bad experience – imagined or otherwise.
She opened the wardrobe. She remembered there was an extra blanket and spare pillow on the top shelf. She pulled them out and made herself as comfortable as she could on the chair. Only when she had cocooned herself did she remember the light. The bedside lamp was still on.
‘Well, it can just stay on then,’ she said to herself defiantly and settled down to sleep.
How long she slept for she couldn’t say – it seemed like only minutes – but she jerked awake to find the room in darkness and the bed empty. She yawned and ran her hand through her long blond hair. What now? She thought. Had Susan woken to find herself in Lisa’s bed and gone back to her own room? Unlikely after the fright she’d had. Perhaps she’d gone to get herself a drink. But the image of Susan wandering about the unfamiliar house in the dark was an even more doubtful scenario.
Lisa was unsure what to do.
She threw off the blanket and pushed herself out of the chair. The moon emerged from behind a bank of cloud and moonlight flooded into the room, lighting every corner. She walked to the window and looked out. Like her room the garden was illuminated by the moon. Every tree and bush picked out sharply by the silver light glowing on their leaves, giving them an almost magical quality.
She let her eyes roam over the scene while her mind pondered just what to do about Susan. She had just decided to go and wake Steve and tell him about it when a movement by the lake drew her attention.
There was someone rowing across the moonlit surface of the lake. Surely Steve and Cat weren’t still out there? She squinted her eyes to try to see better, but the boat was moving away from her, all the time becoming more and more indistinct. A cloud scudded across the moon, shutting out its light, and the boat disappeared in the gloom. By the time the cloud passed over the boat had gone.
She turned away from the window and noticed the depression in the duvet and pillow from where Susan had been lying. First things first, she thought and walked to the door.
Low wattage lights gave the landing a dim illumination. The floorboards creaked as she walked along, and she was reduced to walking on tiptoe for fear of waking the others. Outside Susan’s door she paused, her fist raised, ready to knock. She hesitated and let her hand drop. She felt slightly foolish. What if the girl, having recovered from her hysteria had gone back to bed, only to be woken by her, Lisa, a relative stranger, knocking on her door and clucking about her like a mother hen? Lisa knew that were she in Susan’s position, such an intrusion would be embarrassing and unwelcome.
Still, she was worried about the girl. She raised her fist again and was about to knock when she heard a snort from behind the door and the sound of heavy, asthmatic breathing.
‘Leave well alone,’ she said under her breath. Susan was obviously tucked up asleep in her own room. They could talk about it in the morning.
She was very aware that since arriving here she had been acting totally out of character. First the panic about Steve going out onto the lake, now this drama with Susan.
Something had spooked her and, she reasoned, it had more to do with her own insecurities than any outside influences. Sometimes, when she got like this, the only thing to do was to give herself a very stiff talking to. ‘Get a life, Benson,’ she said quietly but firmly, and tiptoed back along the corridor.
As she passed Steve’s room the impulse to knock on his door was almost impossible to resist, but she steeled herself and walked back to her own room. Once inside she shut the door and leaned against it. So far the seminar had been quite eventful. Hopefully it would settle down into a more relaxed routine tomorrow. She pulled off her clothes, slipped under the duvet and was asleep within minutes.
According to the introduction to the seminar in their course notes, breakfast was served at eight thirty. Sean had been up a good two hours before that. He was a veteran of countless outdoor rock festivals – Donnington, Reading, Glastonbury, the Fleadh – and as such had an affinity for the great outdoors. In fact, apart from his bedroom, his sanctuary, he felt totally claustrophobic if shut in one place for too long.
That’s why school had always caused him such problems and he had caused problems for his school. Sitting in a classroom made him uncomfortable, no matter how interesting the lesson. He hoped he would fare better at college. If he didn’t ... well that was his choice. This week would give him some idea what to expect.
Birds singing in the trees outside his window woke him just after dawn. He wasn’t sure of the time as he never wore a watch and didn’t carry an alarm clock in his luggage. But he was pretty adept at judging the time from the position of the sun in the sky; and its position when the birds woke him was at about four o’clock.
He had brough
t a pile of magazines with him for casual reading, as well as four large paperback books that he hoped would see him through the week. He pulled a rock music magazine from his back and flicked through it, pausing every so often to read an article about one of his favourite heavy metal bands. Eventually he grew bored, carried his washing bag to the bathroom along the landing and took a shower. When he finished he examined his acne in the mirror and stroked his chin, feeling the beginnings of a beard... or bum-fluff as his older brother Carl called it.
He was missing Carl. Five years older than him, and a guitarist in a local semi-professional band, he was Sean’s mentor and inspiration. It was Carl who gave him the confidence to believe in both his artwork and his writing. And it was Carl who bunged him a few quid from time to time so he could buy a few necessities like printer paper and ink cartridges, and the occasional luxury such as books and music downloads for his iPod.
Sean’s parents were nowhere near as tolerant as Carl of his artistic leanings and were on his back to get a job. ‘It’s a career you need,’ was his parent’s cry, oblivious to the fact that it was their same goading of Carl that led to him packing his bags and moving out nine months before.
He looked in the mirror for the final time. He could see his brother’s face in his own, and wondered if he would ever be able to live up to him. Somehow he doubted that he would.
As he stared into the mirror he froze. Something was materialising behind him. His back was to the door, and what looked like black smoke was pouring into the room through the crack under the door. It eddied upwards, dark and oily. It was smoke and yet it had substance. It rose up in a thick column, taking a shape that was almost human in form. In the reflection he could make out the shape of a head and two arms.
The smoke column stood behind him, swaying slightly in the airless atmosphere of the bathroom. He was too terrified to move, and he didn’t dare turn around. It was bad enough watching the oily, smoky shape in the mirror. If he turned and actually met it head on he feared his mind would snap. Multi-legged insects were crawling down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling, standing erect.
Two pinpricks of light appeared in the head part of the shape. Two eyes, staring into his, mesmerising him. He felt a powerful urge to turn and face the thing, and it took all his will power to remain with his back to it. He found he was gripping the cold porcelain of the sink, his knuckles white, his fingernails starting to bend backwards under the strain.
A long shape – an arm – disengaged itself from the main bulk of the smoke, and reached out to touch him. He felt something stroke his neck. It felt like wet fur. The sensation was enough to break the spell the smoke shape had cast over him.
Pushing himself away from the sink, he spun around to face the thing. And stopped immediately.
There was nothing there.
The bathroom was empty.
He turned back and stared into the mirror. It told him the same story. Of the smoke shape there was no sign. The bathroom looked just as it did when he entered it – clean white tiles, an almost clinical appearance.
He scratched his head in puzzlement and tried to calm himself. His breath was coming in ragged gasps and the insect army were still doing their pack-drill up and down his back. He reached for the handle of the bathroom door and pulled the door open. It was quiet and still in the corridor beyond. He went back to his room and dressed quickly, pulling on a thick sweatshirt and putting his leather jacket on over the top of it.
His feeling of claustrophobia was increasing by the second. He felt totally shut in and needed to escape. Closing the door behind him, he headed down stairs, opened the front door and let himself out of the house.
The air that hit his face was an early morning breeze, cool and moist with dew. It made him feel better instantly.
As his feet crunched across the gravel drive he noticed that the doors of the large double garage were open. The Foundation’s van was parked within, the bonnet open, the engine exposed.
He walked across, expecting to find Spike in there, working on the engine. As he crossed the threshold he noticed that the temperature dropped considerably. The garage appeared empty and he was about to turn and retrace his steps when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement.
He turned expecting to see Spike. Instead what he saw was a human shape formed from black, oily smoke, moving rapidly towards him across the concrete floor of the garage.
It was then he screamed and passed out in a dead faint.
9
As Steve walked along the landing on his way down to breakfast he saw that Sean’s door was open and that Sean himself was stuffing clothes into his bag.
‘What’s up?’ he said.
Sean glanced round at him, chose to ignore him and carried on packing.
Tim joined Steve at the open door. ‘What’s going on?’ he said.
‘I tried that,’ Steve said. ‘He’s not saying.’
Sean flung a denim shirt down on the bed. ‘What does it look like? I’m packing. I’m leaving.’
‘But the seminar hasn’t even started yet,’ Tim said. ‘Don’t you think you’re being a little premature?’
All the fear and frustration bubbling inside Sean suddenly boiled up, erupting like a volcano. He flew at Tim, grabbing him by the front of the shirt, pushing him against the wall. ‘Listen, you pompous jerk, I’ve seen things here that you couldn’t even get your arrogant head around, so don’t you accuse me of being anything. Understand?’
Steve grabbed Sean by the shoulder and pulled him off. ‘Sean, leave it out!’
Sean took a wild swing at him that missed by a mile and Steve countered with a swift left to the stomach that knocked the wind out of the younger boy. ‘I said leave it out.’
Sean was doubled over and struggling to get his breath back. ‘Sorry,’ he panted. ‘Sorry.’
Tim nodded his thanks to Steve and straightened his shirt. ‘There’s really no need for violence,’ he said to Sean. ‘I didn’t mean to insult you. I was just surprised to see you packing up to go, that’s all.’
‘Well, if you’d been through what I’ve been through, and seen what I’ve seen, you’d be packing too.’ He’d got his breath back now and walked back into his room, scooped up his shirt from where it had landed, and dropped it in his bag.
Tim was frowning. ‘Would you mind telling us what you’ve seen... or think you’ve seen?’
Sean nettled again. ‘What do you mean, “think I’ve seen?”’
Tim held his hands out placatingly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that to come out the way it sounded. Just tell us what you experienced.’
He sat down on the bed next to the suitcase and looked up expectantly at Sean. Steve stood by the door, his arms folded. He was as interested as Tim to hear of Sean’s experience. After his own observations at the island, he was sure now that Senice House and its occupants were hiding some kind of secret, and he was determined to uncover it.
Sean sat down on the bed, the other side of the bag and recounted everything that had happened since the birds woke him at dawn.
Tim listened quietly, saying nothing. When Sean finished he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Sean looked from him to Steve. The look in his eyes said, what’s he doing now? In response Steve shrugged. He had no idea either. After a moment’s silence Tim finally pushed himself upright.
‘Well, it’s pretty obvious what’s happening,’ he said.
‘Is it?’ Steve said from the doorway. ‘Seems as clear as mud to me.’
‘Well, it’s obvious to me,’ Sean said. ‘The place is haunted, and I’m not sticking around to be spooked again. As I said, that smoke thing attacked me in the garage and I blacked out. When I came to I was lying here on the bed. And I certainly don’t remember how I got back up here. That’s what I call scary.’
‘It’s what I call convenient,’ Tim said. ‘They couldn’t have you cluttering up the garage, could they? Anyone could have seen you – the postman, th
e milkman… Plus, if you woke up in your own bed, you’d be more likely to put the whole experience down to a bad dream.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Nick and the others,’ Tim said. ‘I think it’s all part of the grand scheme of things.’ He looked from Steve to Sean. ‘Do you see?’
‘As I said,’ Steve said. ‘Clear as mud.’
‘You’ve lost me,’ Sean said, shaking his head.
Tim leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced. When he spoke it was similar to a parent patiently explaining something to a very small child. ‘It’s like one of those murder mystery weekends, when a murder is enacted and you, as the guest, are invited to help solve it. I think this is exactly the same, only with ghosts. We’re all here to learn the basics of writing horror and supernatural fiction. What better way to show us in what is actually frightening than to provide us with a ghost story in which we are all active characters.’
‘Rubbish,’ Sean said.
‘But is it?’ Tim countered. ‘I suspected something like this last night when Susan was frightened.’
Steve and Sean exchanged a look. They knew nothing about the events of the night.
‘Look,’ Tim continued. ‘I don’t know about you two, but I don’t believe in ghosts, ghouls or any other spooks. I write this stuff, but it’s fiction, nothing more. I don’t believe a word of it. If I did, I doubt that I could write it convincingly.’
Steve unfolded his arms and scratched his head. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell us what happened to Susan. If we had all the facts we might be able to make a more informed judgement.’
Tim recapped the events of the previous evening quickly.
‘And have you seen Susan this morning? Do you know how she feels about this in the cold light of day?’ Steve asked.
Tim shook his head. ‘No. As I said, your friend Lisa took her back to her own room, and that’s the last I saw of her.’
A Weaving of Ancient Evil Page 5