Secret of the Shadows

by Cathy MacPhail

  Aunt Belle came back, pulling the letter from a blue envelope. I felt a lump in my throat when I saw my gran’s neat handwriting.

  Aunt Belle pointed a finger at one of the pages. ‘It’s all about how much she loves it here, until you get to this bit.’

  She handed me the letter and I read it aloud.

  ‘“You’ll love it too, Belle. We can walk on the beach every day, and watch the sun set every night. There are a few things about the house that are concerning me. I won’t bother you about them yet. I can’t sleep at night. I think this house has a history. I’m going to find out what it is.”’

  ‘Of course, being me, my first thought was it was something supernatural that was concerning her,’ Aunt Belle went on. ‘I was reading a horror story at the time, all about a house that had evil in its very stones. Then I remembered it was your gran writing this letter. She probably meant the plumbing was acting up, that’s what was keeping her awake. Bad plumbing. Your gran always said I had an overactive imagination.’

  ‘That’s what people say about me too, Aunt Belle. I think I’m just like you.’

  ‘I’d be very proud if you were,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘But what if you were right . . . and there was something in the house. You can’t sleep and neither can I.’ I just stopped myself from mentioning the shadow I thought I had seen in the chair.

  Aunt Belle patted my hand. ‘I’ve got jet lag, and your room’s a refrigerator. That’s why we can’t sleep. There’s nothing bad in this house. Your gran’s here. I can feel her everywhere. She’s watching over us.’ She took the letter from me and folded it back into the envelope. ‘Now, why don’t you come into my room till it’s time to get up.’ She giggled. ‘It’ll be like a girls’ sleepover.’

  It was. We lay together as the sun rose higher in the sky and I listened and laughed at more of her stories about her life in America. And I thought, Aunt Belle’s right. Gran is here, in this room, listening and laughing along with us.

  Chapter 8

  The third day

  By the time we surfaced it was nearer the afternoon and after a very late breakfast we went for a walk along the beach.

  ‘Gran used to do this,’ I said. ‘She said she’d never felt so healthy.’

  Yet, she had died here, another voice in my head whispered.

  Aunt Belle had promised we would go out for an Italian meal that night, but by the evening her tiredness had come over her again. So instead we phoned for a pizza delivery and after we’d eaten it, she suggested an early night. ‘We probably both need it,’ she said. ‘We hardly slept a wink last night.’

  I sat in the front room watching television long after she went to bed, anything to put off the moment when I would have to go into that room.

  I would not be afraid, I kept telling myself. I refused to let a draught in an old house, and subsidence, and a shadowy corner make me afraid.

  But, just in case, I would sleep with the light on.

  Tonight, I closed the door. What was the point of wedging it open when it would only close again anyway? I tried to read in bed for a while, but my eyes kept closing and I fell asleep. Even when the book slipped out of my hand and hit the floor, it didn’t wake me.

  But something did.

  I opened my eyes to darkness. The room was icy cold. I blew out a breath and I could see it form a misty cloud in the air. My eyes searched out that corner, that chair, the shadow. I couldn’t stop them. How could it look so like someone was sitting there? A shape in the darkness, watching me, even though I knew no one was there. Why was my imagination playing these tricks on me?

  I blamed Ben Kincaid. Making me believe I had the power to see the dead, to summon them, to change the past.

  But who had died here? My gran had died in hospital, not here. And anyway, she would never frighten me.

  This house has a history, the words in Gran’s letter repeated themselves in my head. Maybe Aunt Belle had been right with her first thoughts. What Gran had been referring to had nothing to do with the plumbing and more about someone who had lived here, who had died here.

  All the time these disturbing thoughts fluttered through my head, I stared at that chair till my eyes stung. Till I was sure I saw a movement and I jumped. Something was moving there. Rising from the chair. Coming towards me.

  And it was then I remembered that I had left the light on and now it was dark, and that realisation made me throw back the duvet and leap from the bed. I pulled the door open and I could almost swear I heard the whispered words:

  ‘I missed you last night.’

  Chapter 9

  The fourth day

  I slept the rest of the night on the sofa in the living room. Nothing disturbed me there. It was late when I got up. After eleven o’clock. I wondered at the silence in the house. Aunt Belle was still asleep, but she had been up at some point. There was a glass of water beside her bed, and a broken strip of paracetamol tablets. I felt her brow. It was cold to the touch, and she looked pale.

  I made some coffee and took my mug into my room. In daylight, I wasn’t afraid here. I could have a shower and get dressed, perhaps walk to the shop for some fresh rolls before Aunt Belle even woke up.

  I had put some of my clothes into the chest at the bottom of my bed. I bent down and opened the lid, resting it against the bed and reached in for a T-shirt. In that instant, the lid flipped down. I pulled my hands away but I wasn’t quick enough. There was a catch on the old chest made of sharp, raw metal, and as I drew my hands back it left a long gash on my arm. Bubbles of blood formed in a ragged ridge. I fell back as the pain hit me. I got to my feet, clutching my arm, and hurried into the kitchen.

  It had all happened so fast it had taken my breath away. The way the lid had snapped down so unexpectedly, almost as if someone had thrown it back deliberately. I shook my head free of that notion. It was nonsense. It was just a stupid accident, nothing more.

  I had a wad of kitchen roll pressed to my arm when the doorbell rang. I pulled on a dressing gown and then opened the door to the tallest policeman I had ever seen. His jaw jutted out so much you could have used it as a foothold.

  He took one look at the blood seeping through the paper towel, and said, ‘What happened here?’ His voice was as deep as he was tall.

  ‘I just cut my arm,’ I said, holding it against me. ‘Stupid accident.’

  I was going to explain about the sharp catch on the chest when a terrible thought came to me and I forgot everything else.

  A policeman at the door. Had something happened to my mum or my dad, or to Steven? I drew in my breath. ‘Is something wrong?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing at all. I’m only here because this house has been unoccupied for so long, and with it being a wee bit remote, we like to check up on it.’ He nodded to my arm. ‘You’re sure that’s OK?’

  ‘Yes. The bleeding’s probably stopped already.’

  Just then Aunt Belle came hurrying down the hall. The doorbell had obviously woken her up. Her silk dressing gown flew behind her, and she’d remembered to put her wig on. She took one look at the policeman and had the same thought as me. ‘Oh my Gawd! Who’s dead?’

  I saw the beginnings of a smile on the policeman’s face. ‘Not a soul, madam. Sorry to alarm you. My name’s Sergeant Ross. Just checking up on the house. Making sure everything’s OK here. See the young girl’s had an accident.’

  Aunt Belle turned to me. ‘What did you do, honey?’

  I was embarrassed by the fuss. I tucked my arm behind me out of sight. ‘It’s nothing. It was just a silly accident. I caught it on that old chest. I wasn’t paying attention.’

  Aunt Belle smiled. ‘She’s always in a dream is our Tyler,’ she said to Sergeant Ross. ‘She’s going to be a writer,’ she added proudly.

  I was so mortified when she said that, I felt myself blush.

  ‘You’ve got a good imagination then,’ he said kindly.

  Aunt Belle answered for me. ‘And what an imagination
! She can make up a story just like that!’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Out of anything.’

  Now that she saw my wounds weren’t life threatening, she turned her charms on the sergeant.

  ‘How kind of you to look in on two lonely females.’

  ‘Well, this part of the job is a pleasure.’ He was equally charming. ‘You’re an American then?’

  ‘Yeah, from New York. But I was born here.’ She clutched the dressing gown around her. ‘Sorry to appear like this. Had a bit of a lie-in. I think I’m suffering from jet lag.’

  He looked around the hall. ‘You plan to live here?’

  She shook her head. I hoped her wig was on tight and wouldn’t fly off into the sergeant’s face. ‘No, I’m here to sell it.’

  ‘Well, it’s a lovely wee house. You should get a good price for it. Been lying empty for too long.’

  He left then, telling us to get in touch if we ever needed him.

  ‘Aunt Belle, you were flirting with him!’

  She linked her arm in mine. ‘It will be a sad day, honey, when I’m too old to flirt with a good-looking man.’ Then she laughed. ‘Come on, let’s get a plaster on that arm of yours.’

  Chapter 10

  After lunch Aunt Belle still didn’t feel one hundred per cent. I told her I would walk to the shop in the village for some fresh milk while she had a nap. ‘Get me a pick-me-up, would you?’ she said. ‘Something to give me a bit of energy.’

  The village shop was, rather grandly, called The Delicatessen. It was a tiny little shop on a corner and it sold just about everything from stamps to medicine.

  The woman behind the counter had a tangle of black hair and a distinct Italian look. Mrs De Luca, her badge proclaimed.

  There was an aisle for pharmaceutical products and I asked Mrs De Luca if she could recommend a pick-me-up. Something natural, to give my aunt a bit of energy. She suggested some kind of vitamin tonic, and after reading the label and checking what was actually in it, I bought it. Mrs De Luca had a cheeky wee face and as I handed over my money she stared at me. I was a stranger in the village and she was suspicious of strangers.

  ‘You staying at Mille Failte?’ she asked, and I could tell by her tone she already knew I was. She looked like the kind of woman who knew everything, and what she didn’t know she would find out.

  ‘Yes, I’m there with my aunt,’ I told her.

  ‘Is that aunt of yours selling it?’

  Nosy old busybody, I thought. I nodded.

  ‘Is it going up for sale soon?’

  It seemed she didn’t need an answer. She answered herself. ‘I suppose it will be. I’ve told my niece. She’d love to buy it. Do you know what kind of money that auntie of yours wants for it?’

  I hesitated again. She would probably tell me herself in a second. But she didn’t. She waited for my answer. I thought she had a bit of a cheek even asking, but I couldn’t have answered her anyway. I only shrugged. ‘Haven’t a clue,’ I said.

  Then it occurred to me that this woman was nosy enough to know all about our little bungalow and who had lived in it before us. Gran had said this house had a history, and I wanted to know what it was. ‘Can you tell me who used to live there before?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ she said. ‘It was a merchant seaman that had it. He had it for years, let it go to rack and ruin. He was never there, always at sea. Pity ’cause it’s a lovely wee house. Then, after he died, it lay empty for a long time, till that last lady that moved in there, a Mrs Crawford. She started to do it up again. Och, such a sin about her going and dying like that. She was a lovely lady.’

  I suddenly warmed to her. ‘She was my gran.’

  Her face softened. ‘Oh, was she really?’

  I was already thinking about what she had told me. Perhaps the ghost of that sailor haunted the house. Maybe he materialised in that chair, whenever the sea breezes blew his spirit over the water. ‘Did the sailor die in the house?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, the drunken idiot fell off his boat at Martinique or somewhere like that.’

  The image of the ghostly sailor shimmered and was gone from my mind. Now I was puzzled again. ‘Did anyone die there, in that house?’

  She looked puzzled too. ‘What’s a young lassie like you doing asking about people dying?’

  I didn’t have an answer. She came up with one of her own. Surprise, surprise.

  Her little face pinched with disapproval. ‘Are you trying to put my niece off buying the house?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, honest, I’m just interested in who used to live there.’

  ‘A saint lived there,’ she said at once. ‘Long before my time. Sister Kelly she was called. You’ll not hear a bad word spoken about her. She’s the only one I know died in that house.’

  ‘Why was she such a saint?’ I asked.

  ‘She was always helping people. Just out of the goodness of her heart. If anybody needed anything done, Sister Kelly would do it for them. She had an old lady that lived with her. She wasn’t even her mother. Sister Kelly took her in and she looked after her anyway. Not many people would do that nowadays.’

  ‘Was she a nurse?’ I asked.

  ‘Used to be,’ Mrs De Luca said. ‘But she was retired when she moved here. Probably in her sixties herself . . . and still taking care of people.’ She let out a sigh. ‘Aye, she was a good woman. They say she died of a broken heart after the old lady’s long-lost relatives came and got her. They found her sitting in an armchair in her bedroom. They hadn’t a clue how long she’d been there.’ Mrs De Luca’s voice became a whisper. ‘Couldn’t have been a pretty sight. Aye, after all her good works, she died alone. Poor soul.’

  I felt the blood drain from my face. They had found her sitting in an armchair, perhaps in the very room I slept in now. No. No perhaps about it. I knew then it had been in my room.

  Mrs De Luca reached out and touched my hand. ‘Did I give you a fright?’ She seemed to read my thoughts. ‘Don’t worry about that woman dying in your house, hen. Sister Kelly was an angel, an angel. She’d never do you any harm.’

  Chapter 11

  I walked home in a daze. Someone had died in our house. And now, I was sure the ghost of that someone was in my room. Sitting in that chair night after night. Coming closer. But why should I be afraid of such a benevolent ghost? Sister Kelly was an angel, Mrs De Luca said. You don’t turn bad when you die. But if you’re bad in life, you are equally menacing in death. So, who was this Sister Kelly?

  The phone was ringing when I came back in. I hurried to answer it before it woke Aunt Belle. It was my mum. I was so glad to hear her voice.

  ‘Are you having a good time?’ she asked.

  ‘Great, Mum. Aunt Belle is so much fun.’

  She was worried when I told her Aunt Belle was lying down. ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘She’s fine. Just a bit of jet lag. I’ll tell her you called. And Steven’s coming tonight.’

  We talked for ages, but I decided not to mention any of my fears. I wanted her and Dad to enjoy themselves, not worry about me. Reluctantly, she rang off, promising to ring again soon.

  Aunt Belle got up later, sorry to have missed Mum’s call. She seemed better when Steven arrived with Chinese takeaway.

  He had news too.

  ‘I’m off tomorrow. I’m going away for a few days with my mates. We’ve booked a caravan in Blackpool.’

  That took me by surprise. ‘When did this happen? I thought you were looking forward to a week at home, on your own?’

  He strutted about the living room. ‘Och well, me and the boys just got it booked at the last minute. You don’t mind, do you?’

  Aunt Belle shook her head. ‘Of course not. You go and have a good time, Steven.’

  He came into the kitchen later to help me with the dishes. ‘Do you think Aunt Belle’s OK? She looks a bit pale.’

  ‘She’s fine. She’s just a bit tired.’

  Steven shrugged. ‘It’s just you’re so cut off from everybody down here. And Mum
and Dad are away, and all your friends, and now I’m going. Will you be OK? What if Aunt Belle’s sick. She’s the one who drives.’

  ‘Yes, and she took lessons at the same driving school as you!’

  ‘Are you complaining about my driving?’ It was Aunt Belle at the kitchen door, wearing her lilac silk dressing gown and matching slippers. Now that I really looked at her, she did look pale. But then, she wasn’t wearing her wig, and her own hair was sparse and thin, and she had no make-up on and Aunt Belle always wore make-up. Perhaps that was why her face seemed drawn and waxen white.

  ‘Don’t listen to her, Aunt Belle,’ Steven said. ‘She’s just jealous ’cause she can’t drive.’

  I walked him out to his car when he was leaving. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right down here?’ he said.

  ‘We’ll be fine. We’re going to have a great time,’ I told him.

  ‘I’m probably just being stupid. Trying to be a real big brother for once in my life,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why I’m worried.’

  But he was right to be worried.

  Chapter 12

  The fifth day

  I didn’t sleep in the room that night, at least, not while it was dark. I went into Aunt Belle’s room and curled up in her armchair and we watched an old Hitchcock film on television. I was asleep before the end and when I woke up it was dawn. Slices of early morning light cut through the clouds. Aunt Belle must have fallen asleep reading. Her book had slipped to the floor and I picked it up and smiled at the title. Angels of Death. Trust Aunt Belle, other old ladies are reading nice romantic novels, and my aunt is getting stuck into a murder mystery!

  I switched off the TV, went into the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea. And by the time I went back into my room the sun was streaming in through the window. The shadows were all gone. I lay down on the bed and fell asleep.

  Aunt Belle was up before me. Aching to get back to normal. She looked better, showered and dressed in a smart blue dress and jacket, with her make-up and her wig on. ‘We’re going for a run in the car, honey,’ she announced. ‘Let’s go out for lunch. Is there anywhere round here I can get a decent hamburger?’