The Macabre Collection (Box set)

by Haynes, David

  “No!” I shouted and jumped to my feet. I felt resistance from Anna’s grip as she tried to prevent me from leaping into the fire to reclaim the locket. I looked down and saw the dark pools of sadness welling in her eyes.

  “You must leave it to burn, Matthew. You should not cling to an item so drenched in pain and blood; leave it be.” Her voice quivered with emotion and I could not answer for the strength of my feelings would betray me. The flames licked and spat as they devoured my sister’s bloody hair sending an acrid smell into the room.

  “Mother is here with me, but it is so dark, we cannot find Father. There are foul creatures here with us. Help us please, Matthew.”

  I took hold of the table and tipped it over sending brother and sister tumbling onto the floor. “You will leave my house now!”

  Louis got to his feet first. “I am quite sure there is no need for this! My sister is respected and this behaviour is abominable.” He helped Susanna to her feet.

  Anna spoke quietly; at first it was no more than a whisper in my ear. “Lily did not say any of those things, Susanna.” Then as if she had been courage she spoke much louder, “Why would you say that to him?”

  “This is preposterous! How do you know what his sister said? You are nothing more than a pathetic dreamer.” Louis spoke and for the first time, I could see the fire reflected in his dark eyes.

  Anna shrank back, her courage gone. “I just know.”

  Susanna glared at me. “Your sister is in pain and she blames you for it. I know this and you should know it as the truth and not some deluded fantasy of happiness. She turned her eyes to Anna, “And you should be wary of the steps you take. Not all spirits are the happy ones of your church.”

  “Leave her be!” I shouted. “I have asked you both to leave. Should I make my request more forceful?”

  I watched as Louis sank his hand deep into his trouser pocket. I took a step backward, expecting him to withdraw a blade or other weapon. He saw the look of fear on my face and gave me a brief glimpse of his teeth in return. He withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead.

  “Come, Susanna. We shall leave Mr Napier to the misguided fantasies of Miss Collins.” He bowed his head, “We shall see ourselves out. Good evening.”

  We stood side by side and watched them leave.

  “They have deceived us both, Matthew.” Anna was clearly distressed.

  I turned to her. “You can hear something she cannot? What is it you feel, Anna?”

  “I do not know, but I it is not as Susanna says. This house is filled with sadness, Matthew. The very air is oppressive and unhealthy. Can you not feel it too?”

  I shook my head. “It is my home and has always felt this way. You should take a drink to steady your nerves and I will take you home.”

  “I should like that.”

  In truth, I too needed the calming influence of brandy before I could step out of the house. We sat together in the parlour and talked of matters which inevitably led to those of a morbid nature.

  Like Lily and me, Anna and her brother had been left without the influence of their parents from an early age. Unlike us, they had not been blessed by wealth but were raised by their mother’s family. It came as no surprise to learn that those who raised them were devoutly religious. Anna and John’s current beliefs had caused an unfortunate separation of the family which she regretted most deeply. It was though, a belief which she would not be swayed from.

  When at last a pause silenced the conversation, I again recalled the sordid details of my dream.

  “I must deliver you safely back to your brother. It is getting late.”

  As the bells struck midnight I left Anna with John at the door to her church.

  “May I call on you tomorrow? There remain a great number of questions still unresolved and would be glad of your company. If your brother is content to allow you?”

  Anna smiled. “Of course, John is happy with that, aren’t you brother?” Collins simply smiled and nodded. Anna continued. “I have no business to attend tomorrow and would be happy to help answer any of your questions.”

  *

  “Back to Belgravia, sir?” the driver asked.

  “No, I wish to go to thirty-four Bedford Place now please.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The cab sped across the cobbles and once again I travelled the streets of London in the silence of the chill night.

  I had not thought what I would do when I arrived at the address. Indeed, the notion to go there had only reared its head after leaving Anna. Even so, as I jumped from the cab I was determined to see the dark secrets they kept locked in their home.

  Bedford Place was as I had expected, a quiet and respectable location in which to keep a home. The burgeoning middle class of London could not afford to live in splendour but they could afford to live comfortably and with elegance. As I looked upon the bland walls of their houses, stretching four storeys into the night, I envied those inside, for they possessed everything I did not.

  Number thirty-four was as unremarkable as any other, save for one adornment. The slim sentinel of the lamp post with its hazy flame threw a gloomy light over their door. Black crepe tied with white ribbon lay upon the bell knob. It was a sign that the dread visitor had entered the lives of those living here and taken his prize. Could the messenger be mistaken with his knowledge of their address? It was possible, yet something inside told me this was where I should be.

  Neither Louis nor Susanna had displayed the usual adornments or attire of death but their house clearly did. I paused at the foot of the steps. I had indeed fallen too far if I sought to confront them here in their moment of grief.

  I turned to walk away, to find a cab to speed me home. My mind was disturbed by the death of my sister and by the tricks of their séance; their evil, debauched deception. If they wished to amuse themselves in the abyss, I would not be a willing playmate.

  I turned back. Neither would I be used like a child’s doll and left to rot in the maelstrom of my tortured mind. I mounted the steps quickly and pushed aside the crepe wreath. I pushed the bell knob but it uttered no sound, instead the door swung slowly in, allowing me access.

  “Fettiplace?” I called into the shadows where the street lamp could not reach. Silence greeted my call.

  “Is anyone at home?” I called again and garnered the same response.

  I found myself with choices to make, but standing on the threshold as I was, I did not consider my options and stepped hastily through the cheerless veil.

  The house was as cold as my own and felt equally bereft of life. I waited and clung to the last semblance of light as it fell through the door. There, I listened for a voice, or the sound of footfall to usher me out onto the street, but none came.

  The hallway was much smaller than my own. No hat or coat stand stood on guard and a set of stairs encroached on the space. I looked upward and in the darkness spied a sliver of light etching a sombre line across the boards. I was instantly and gravely reminded of the night I found Lily; the sight of her ruined face and the feel of her blood, clammy on my fingers.

  “Hello! The door is unlocked.” I shouted much louder this time but the only reply was a dull echo.

  The feeling I held in my mind was confusion and disquiet. Yet why could I not leave that house? Why did I remain rooted like a tree to the spot? It was certainly not in my nature to enter someone’s house uninvited like a burglar, but I felt compelled to remain and to see what played out before me.

  I took the stairs slowly at first, listening for the fall of a human foot, but as my confidence grew, so did my speed. Upon reaching the top I paused. The light emanated from beneath a closed door

  “Fettiplace, I will know the truth!” I called again and pushed the it open.

  Inside, the room was bathed in candlelight and in the hearth a great fire burned with freshly lit intensity. But it was not the candles, nor the fire upon which my eyes were fixed. It was the trestle standing beside the fire, upon
which balanced a small coffin. Death had indeed paid them a visit and in recent times too; for there was none of the mellifluous odour which added one to the number of mourners.

  The coffin was sized for an infant and I had no desire to look upon the poor thing. A myriad of photographs stood beside the coffin, all in beautiful and elaborate frames. Had the death of Susanna’s infant so warped her mind that she felt the compulsion to hurt others? I took a photograph in my hand. It was nothing more than the infant lying in a crib, either asleep or dead, I could not tell.

  There were many others of a similar nature, yet the differences were subtle and disturbing. The infant’s features became more and more sunken, charting an inexorable decay. How terrible a thing to gaze upon.

  It seemed strange that I could find no images of Susanna holding her baby. There was only one photograph where the infant was in company with others. A young boy and girl posed with the infant upon their knees. Unlike the others, the baby’s eyes were open, and a thin smile danced upon its lips. Both the boy and girl sat expressionless and dour. Who were they?

  A final image sat upon the mantel. It was framed with golden flourishes and scrolls which would have suited a gallery masterpiece. The photograph had been carefully posed and in the image were the bodies of four figures. A lady sat with a swaddled infant in her arms and huddled at her feet were two children. She was beautiful and elegant but looked sad somehow, as if she felt the weight of a terrible fate bearing down on her. Behind them all stood the suited figure of a gentleman. I held the photograph closer to see their faces, but the gentleman’s face had been obliterated. Was this their father? What grave act had he committed to deserve this destiny?

  If the infant in the coffin was the same child from the photographs, then the corpse should be rotting in the earth, not sitting in a drawing room shrine. I could restrain myself no longer and lifted the lid.

  A tiny skeleton lay in the chamber. It was wrapped in bright and fresh linen.

  “I am armed, show yourself!” A voice boomed from the hallway beneath.

  Terror streaked through my veins like venom and rendered me lifeless. This was not something I could explain through a simple error or a misguided offer of help. I had come here in the darkness of the night and forced entry, it was as simple as that. I looked about the room for an object to conceal my presence, but apart from the coffin, there was nothing.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. “You will be sorry for your trouble!” Female laughter sounded after the threat.

  As my fear threatened to overwhelm me I noticed a door in the darkened corner of the room and ran toward it. To my relief the door was unlocked and opened under my direction. I stepped backward into it for I cared not what lay on the other side; my life was in danger from Fettiplace and his lunatic sister. Moonlight shone through an un-draped window at the rear of the room and bathed the door in silver.

  I heard the drawing room door open violently as it was hurled against the frame. “Come out this instant and I may spare you.” His voice was savage and base; quite unlike the gentle act he portrayed on our previous encounters.

  I stepped backward, away from the door. If he chose to come into the room, my presence would be obvious.

  “The lid is open!” I heard Susanna’s voice shriek, followed by hysterical weeping.

  Steps paced the boards rapidly until, finally content the room was empty, the movement ceased. “Here, take him in your arms, Susanna. Comfort him and kiss his cheek.”

  I gasped. They were behaving as if the child were alive. I stepped backward again to remove myself from their madness.

  “There, there. Be still. Your brother and I are here again.”

  The room stood before me in a vision of moonlit madness. Fifty corpses, maybe more, stood in silent reverence gazing upon a gallery of faces. All but a few wore no flesh and on those that did, it hung from their skulls like ragged masks. For their final bleak pilgrimage to this hellish church they were dressed in Sunday splendour and stood in perfect order. The focus of their worship was a gallery of the most depraved kind, for every inch of the wall was covered in slaughtered humanity. I walked beside them and gazed upon the faces. I had been to the carnival and seen the hall of mirrors where I became a beast at the whim of the glass but this was no penny arcade, it was a butcher displaying his wares. I wanted to scream and run from this place, to hide and forget what I had seen, yet the spectacle was so compelling, I could not look away.

  What sick amusement could this hold for anyone, save a lunatic and a murderer? At the base of the wall a crude wooden crucifix had been attached, and beside it, in a revered position was yet another face. The face was a decayed and rotting mass, almost unrecognisable as flesh. Dark whiskers jutted forward prominently where the skin had shrunken back.

  “Father?” I whispered and stumbled backward. It could not be. It simply could not. I reached out and stroked the whiskers. “Is it you, Father?” I whispered.

  My stomach heaved with revulsion and I was forced to look away. But what my eyes fell upon next was far worse a vision.

  “Lily?” There was no mistaking my sister’s expression. Even after the slaughter, she looked so pretty beside our father. I pulled her face free from the wall and kissed her cheek. “I am sorry Lily. I let you down.” My tears fell into her empty sockets and landed on the boards beneath. I took her to the window so I could see her better in the moonlight. “My sweetheart, sister. What have they done to you?”

  I felt the burgeoning burn of vengeance scatter amongst my thoughts. As I prepared to let forth a glorious roar, the door creaked open sending me to my knees amongst the congregation.

  “Come along, enough of this nonsense. My sister and I are hospitable to one and all, as you can see.”

  The soft silk of a ladies gown brushed against my cheek. It smelled familiar and sweet, like something from a childhood memory. It held the scent of my mother.

  The glow from the lamp crept across the grisly wall, casting shadows across the dead. “Are you sure you closed the lid, Susanna? There is nobody but us here.”

  “Of course I did! Check the rest of the house at once.”

  The sound of his footsteps retreated and with them, some of my fear. What horrors lurked in the other rooms in this house? I could not stand to think of it. Instead I took the silken hem of the gown and brought it to my nose. The rotting frame on which it hung wobbled uncertainly in a terrible jig but thankfully remained standing. In amongst this disgusting ensemble I had found a semblance of a lost memory, of a time long ago when my family was whole. When I was content, when my mother still lived.

  For how long I remained with that scrap of material in one hand and Lily in the other, I do not know. I sank deeper and deeper into that beautiful reverie, further than I had allowed myself before. It was blissful and there were no corpses or skeletons poisoning the air. There was simply my mother and father and Lily and me.

  I must have slept, for the grey light of dawn scratched at the window and pinched my face. With the breaking of the day came the full realisation of whom I had slumbered with. Slack jawed with gaping eye sockets, they stared soullessly at me as if I were one of Booth’s lantern shows.

  I had to get out and leave this waking nightmare behind. Regardless of my method of entry, I would have to bring the police. This abattoir was something they needed to see. I crept to the door and opened it a little. The candles had been extinguished and the coffin removed. Had she taken the corpse to her room as a mother takes a newborn baby? There was no time to consider what reason lay behind this monstrous arrangement; that would come later. For now I needed to remain undetected and be away.

  Every step of my feet brought with it a fresh surge of terror as the boards creaked and the house complained of my presence. Yet before long I stepped into the fresh chill air of the winter morn. I leapt down the steps and onto the street where a lamplighter was going about his business.

  “Morning, sir.” he uttered and tapped on the windows with
his pole as he passed. I hurried away taking one last look over my shoulder. For a moment I thought I saw a face at the attic window. Pallid and ghostlike it vanished with my next step. It may well have been one more of their grisly collection, or Fettiplace himself. I cared not at all, for my heart was filled with relief to be outside once more and with my blessed prize.

  The Police

  To go home and sleep would be unthinkable, and as I walked the streets in the fresh air of the early morning, I began to wonder if it had been some terrible nightmare. What I had seen was akin to the imaginary horror of a Drury Lane show, not reality. Was I nothing more than a lunatic, bound for the white tiled walls of Bethlem? It would be of no surprise if that were the case, my mind was a wreck.

  Would Booth know what to do? It was unlikely; he was ill equipped to deal with anything more serious than his magic lantern or a bottle of port. If I were to go to the police I would be locked up for burglary or declared a madman and thrown into Bethlem. I walked aimlessly waiting for something to happen, for a cab to end my life under wheel or hoof. Would the Lord, upon whom believers placed such reverence, send me guidance?

  “Mr Napier, you look dreadful! Come in this instant,” John Collins ushered me inside, “I must ask you something, sir. Although I cannot smell gin about you, are you in drink?”

  In my usual spirits I might have bristled at such a question but I was simply too weary to react. “No, Mr Collins. Although my mind shares a state of ruin akin to that caused by drink. Is Anna, Miss Collins awake yet?”

  “She is taking breakfast upstairs in our apartments. I shall tell her you wish to speak with her.”

  He led me along the dark corridor into the garish parlour. “If you would care to take a seat?” He indicated the chaise but I took one of the hard chairs instead. He disappeared through a door in the corner of the room.

  A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence. It was not a place I felt relaxed, particularly following recent events.