by Amy Cross
Turning back to check on the pan, I can't help feeling a little troubled by the merest mention of my parents.
“So how long has it been,” Emily asks, “since you spoke to her?”
“I -”
“Several years for me,” she continues. “Five, I think. Yes, it must be five years. God, that woman can yammer on, can't she? And everything she says, everything she does, everything she thinks... All she cares about is herself, about somehow advancing her own position in some infinitesimal little way. Tell me, is your poor father still putting up with her?”
“As far as I know,” I reply awkwardly, tipping the chicken into the pot of sauce.
“We used to have a nickname for Daniel,” she tells me. “We called him Rover, because he just seemed to follow Barbara around like a little puppy, doing exactly what he was told.”
“Not much has changed.”
“And the last time she was here...” She pauses. “She came alone. She arrived completely unannounced. I always hated when she didn't at least warn me. And then...” Another pause. “I don't entirely remember, but she seemed angry. Oh, be a dear, Rebecca, and go to that cupboard next to the sink.”
“This one?” Heading over, I pull the cupboard open and find several old half-filled bottles of whiskey and other spirits. “There's nothing in here except -”
“The good whiskey,” she continues, gesturing for me to take one of the bottles over. “Come on, let's have a sip. It's been years since I tasted the damn stuff. Perhaps a nice dram will get the wheels turning again.”
“Aunt Emily, I don't think that's -”
“One whiskey,” she adds, interrupting me. “You wouldn't deny an old lady one of her few remaining pleasures, would you? Don't tell me the youth of today have regressed to such an extent that they're opposed to people having fun? Next, you'll be telling me you don't have a spliff or two tucked away somewhere.”
***
“Mum and I just never really got along,” I mutter a short while later, sitting at the table by the window with a glass of whiskey in my hand. “There wasn't one argument that made me cut off contact, it was more a general... atmosphere.”
“Sounds like she hasn't changed at all.”
I pause for a moment, before smiling. “Listen to me. All it takes is a few sips of this stuff and I'm pouring my heart out.”
“If you're that much of a lightweight,” she replies, before downing the rest of her whiskey and gesturing for me to fill her glass again, “then I feel it's my duty to train you up a little.”
“I've never really liked -”
“Top me up!”
Grabbing the bottle, I pour another shot for Emily. Just as I'm almost finished, she grabs my hand and tilts the bottle a little more, filling the glass more than halfway before I manage to pull it away again.
“This house is too big for me,” she says after a moment, turning and looking toward the window, where the night's encroaching darkness has begun to hide the trees and the lawn from sight. “I mostly stick to just a few rooms, really, and that's when I feel like I can move around at all. Plus, there's the...” She pauses, before sighing. “Well, I'm sure you've noticed that I'm not always as sharp as I could be. Don't try to argue that point, Rebecca, I know it's true. My lucid moments are getting fewer and farther between. And then there's the scratching sound.”
“Scratching sound?”
“The curse of the family,” she mutters. “Martin used to hear it too, and his father before him. It seems to come and go.”
Not really knowing how to respond, I look down at my glass. Every time I talk to my aunt, I realize that her dementia is a little worse than I'd realized.
“There!” she says suddenly.
Turning, I see that she's pointing toward the window.
“Did you see it?” she asks, getting to her feet and starting to totter around the table. “There's somebody out there!”
“I didn't see anything,” I reply, hurrying after her. Alarmed by the way she's swaying, I grab her arm to steady her a little, but she's already almost all the way over by the back door. “Maybe you should sit down. I can go and check, but I'm worried you might fall.”
“Nonsense.” Grabbing the handle, she pulls the door open, immediately letting a gust of cold air into the room. “I saw someone on the lawn, as clear as I see you now.” She grabs the door-frame and steps out barefoot onto the concrete step. “My eyesight might not be so hot these days,” she adds, “but movement is the one thing that I have no trouble with. Somebody ran across the lawn.”
Realizing that I can't possibly force her to stay back, I instead step out with her and hold her arm as she limps down the steps.
“I'm starting to understand how you hurt your legs,” I tell her. “Do you go chasing shadows like this a lot?”
“It wasn't a shadow,” she replies, stopping at the foot of the steps and looking around, as if she's expecting to see someone nearby. “I've been seeing that girl for thirty years. I don't know who she is or what she wants, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that she's here. I've always...” Her voice trails off for a moment, and then she points past me. “Over there!”
Sighing, I turn and look toward the far end of the lawn. For a fraction of a second, I actually half-expect to see something, but there's just darkness.
“You saw her, didn't you?” Emily asks, her voice tense with anticipation. “Please tell me you saw her.”
“It's hard to see much at all,” I reply, trying not to be too dismissive. “It's very dark out here.”
“She doesn't usually show herself to other people,” Emily tells me, slipping free of my grip and then pushing me gently toward the far corner. “Go and take a closer look! Perhaps she'll let you see her! That would make sense.”
“Why would -”
“Just go! Hurry!”
Staring out at the darkened lawn, I try to spot something that Aunt Emily might have mistaken for a ghost. Then again, with her vision being so bad, she might well have simply seen a blotch created by her own eyes. Still, I make my way cautiously along the side of the house until I reach the corner, at which point I look along toward the driveway. There's no sign of anyone, of course, but my heart is pounding. After a moment, I turn and see that Emily is still watching me, as if she's keen for me to somehow validate the things she's seen. In a way, I wish I could.
“There's no-one here!” I call out to her. “There's -”
Before I can finish, I feel something brush against my elbow.
I turn, but there's no-one.
“Hello?” I say cautiously, just in case there's any chance of someone being nearby.
Shivering as a cold wind blows against me, I look around, watching the dark trees for a moment before finally turning and making my way back toward Emily.
“I didn't see anyone,” I tell her as I get closer. “Maybe it was just -”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, staring at the spot where I was standing. “She was right next to you.”
“Who was?” I turn and look over my shoulder, but still I don't see anyone.
“When you were calling back to me,” she continues, gripping my arm tight, “the girl was standing as close to you as I am now. She was looking at you!”
Chapter Ten
“You must be freezing,” I tell Emily as I shut the back door and turn the key. “I should never have let you go outside wearing just your night-dress.”
“You did see her, didn't you?” she asks. “Oh please, tell me you did!”
“I'm sorry,” I reply, “but...”
My voice trails off, and I feel as if I'm starting to understand how Emily gets so many cuts and bruises. If she rushes about like this when no-one else is here, she probably falls regularly.
“She's really out there,” Emily mutters, stepping past me and looking out the window again. “I wish I knew what she wanted, what she's been waiting for all these years. And that sound -”
She flinches.<
br />
“Don't you hear it?” she adds.
“Hear what?”
“The scratching!”
I pause for a moment, but I don't hear anything at all.
“Of course you don't,” she mutters, “it's just...”
I wait for her to continue, but after a moment I join her at the window and look out at the dark lawn. Patches of moonlight illuminate the forest in the distance, and I can just about make out the old mausoleum far away. That thing has always given me the creeps, ever since I was a little girl and first came to understand that it contains the bodies of Auercliff's dead. God knows why anyone would want to store people in a mausoleum rather than burying them in the village churchyard, but I guess someone started the tradition a long time ago and no-one has seen fit to end it since. Of course, childhood curiosity got the better of me one day, and I still hate thinking back to the moment when I ventured into the mausoleum and the door swung shut.
“The poor thing,” Emily whispers. “Imagine being a lost soul, trapped after death.”
“Do you know who she is?” I ask cautiously. “I mean, who she's supposed to be?”
“I always thought she was little Verity,” she continues, “the girl who died here many years before I ever set foot in the house. I'm not sure of that, of course, but it's my best bet. Verity was the daughter of Reginald, my dear Martin's late great-grandfather. I believe she was fourteen years old when she died of the flu. I tried to research more of her story, but Martin's family was always rather poor at record-keeping. He left some research papers behind, though.”
“And no-one else has ever seen her?”
“Only me and...” She pauses. “Well, your mother saw her once.”
“My mother?” I stare at her, too shocked to really comprehend what she's saying.
She nods. “Once. A long time ago, during a visit.”
“My mother claimed to have seen a ghost?” I reply, still unable to believe such a crazy idea. “My mother? Aunt Emily, my mother is Barbara, remember?”
“I know that!” she replies with a smile. “She was here once and we both saw the little girl's spirit.”
“My mother said she'd seen a ghost?” I ask. “Are you sure she -”
“She admitted it,” she continues, interrupting me. “I know, I was surprised too. Barbara was always so stubborn and dismissive of the whole idea, but she saw the ghost. She was very clear on the matter.”
“My mother said that?” I stammer, still trying to wrap my head around the idea. “Are you sure it wasn't just a puff of smoke from one of her cigarettes?”
“She saw the ghost,” she replies. “I remember that day very well. Barbara was the first, and to date only, other person who has ever witnessed the spirit that haunts Auercliff. Well, the only one who admitted it, anyway. I always rather felt that my dear Martin wasn't entirely honest about these things.”
Staring at her, I realize that she seems more lucid and clear that at any other point since I arrived.
“Aunt Emily,” I say cautiously, “who was the dead woman on the bed?”
She turns to me, and this time I swear I can see a hint of fear in her eyes.
“You know, don't you?” I continue. “Please, just tell me.”
I wait, but she seems too shocked to answer.
“Who was she?” I ask. “If you know, you have to tell me.”
Again I wait, and it seems as if she's on the verge of saying something.
“What are you talking about?” she snaps finally. “What girl?”
“You must know,” I tell her. “There can't have been someone else in the house, not without you realizing!”
“The woman in the...” She pauses, before suddenly turning and looking across the dark kitchen as we both hear a creak from somewhere else in the house.
“Stay focused,” I continue, hoping to keep her mind from drifting off again. “Emily, who was the woman?”
She turns to me, but I can already tell that she's lost.
“It's getting dark,” she stammers finally. “It's late. You'll have to get going if you're to secure at room in the village. There's a pub, you know, it's called the King's Head. It's a little old-fashioned, but they have rooms and -”
“I'd rather stay here tonight,” I tell her. “I'm worried about you.”
“You can't stay here,” she replies. “No, absolutely not. You must get going at once, and go to the King's Head. They'll have rooms, I'm sure of it.”
“I know,” I remind her. “I stayed there last night, remember?”
“You did?” She pauses, as if the news if a complete surprise. “At the King's Head?”
I nod.
“It's a pub,” she continues, “in the village. The King's Head, yes, that's what it's called...” She frowns. “They have rooms, I believe. You can stay there, but you must hurry. You don't want to get there too late.”
***
“I'll be back first thing in the morning,” I tell her a short while later, as I arrange the bedsheets. “We need to talk seriously about getting you into hospital, Emily.”
“What time is it?” she asks, staring up at me with wide, fearful eyes.
Sighing, I check my watch. “A little after ten. I just -”
“You must leave!” she gasps, sitting up and trying to push me away from the bed. “It's far too late for you to be here! Go, right now!”
“Why?” I ask, shocked by the panic in her voice. “I know it's your house and you have every right to not let me stay the night, but is there a reason? You seem fine with having me around during the day.”
“Just leave, please,” she continues, looking past me and staring at the open doorway for a moment. “I shall be quite alright, so long as I know that you're not here.”
“But if -”
Pausing, I realize that she seems genuinely terrified of something.
“Do you have nightmares?” I ask cautiously, hoping to perhaps nudge her back into a moment of clarity. “Do you sleep okay?”
“The King's Head,” she replies, reaching out and giving my hand a squeeze. “It's very clean and reasonably priced. The landlord can be rather officious and stuck in his ways, but he'll give you a perfectly good welcome.” She squeezes my hand tighter, and for a moment I can feel her bulbous, swollen joints pressing against my knuckles. “Be a good girl, Rebecca, and don't try to force the subject.”
I open my mouth to ask more, but instead I hold back. She seems lost in her dementia once again, but at the same time she managed to remember my name and call me Rebecca.
“I'll be back early,” I tell her finally. “I want to talk to you properly about a trip to hospital, okay?”
“Okay,” she replies, with tears in her eyes. “I understand. Anything you like, but you must leave now!”
Although it pains me to leave her alone, I eventually head out of the room and make my way downstairs. I potter about in the kitchen for a while longer, finding a few extra jobs to get done, before realizing that I'm simply delaying the moment when I go back to the King's Head. Once I've made sure everything is safe, I go out through the front door and head to my car. Once I'm in the driver's seat, however, I can't help looking back at the dark house and thinking about poor Emily, alone in there.
I reach out to start the engine, but suddenly I pause.
I can't leave her like this. I just can't.
For a moment, I consider sneaking back into the house and sleeping in one of the many abandoned rooms. After all, she'd never know any different. At the same time, I hate the idea of lying to her, even if it's in her best interest. Finally, I realize that although I promised I wouldn't sleep in the house, I didn't say anything about not sleeping nearby.
I've slept in my car before. Leaning back in the driver's seat, I stare at the house and realize that I can spend the night right here. Somehow, I feel as if anything is preferable to abandoning my aunt. Plus, I'm slightly worried that she gets up and bumbles about at night, and that she maybe even leaves
the house in search of ghosts or whatever else she thinks she sees and hears. If I'm going to help her, I need to know exactly what she's up to.
Adjusting the seat, I lean back a little, while still staring at the dark house ahead. At least this way, I can check to see what really happens during the night at Auercliff.
Part Two
Rebecca - 1997
Chapter Eleven
“It's huge! It's like a mansion!”
Clambering forward, I squeeze between the car's front seats, only for Mum to immediately push me back.
“It's not a mansion,” she says firmly, between puffs on her cigarette. “It's just a very, very... very big house.”
“Are you sure it's not a mansion?” Dad asks as he brings the car to a halt on the gravel driveway.
“Yes!” Mum snaps. “Try not to ask questions, Dan. You're not very good at it.”
“But what's the technical -”
“Will you shut up?” she hisses to him, before taking another deep puff. “Don't encourage her to ask all these ridiculous questions!”
“Is that Aunt Emily?” I ask, watching as a woman steps out from the front door. She's wearing some kind of floral-patterned shawl, and her feet are bare. She looks kinda cool.
“God give me strength,” Mum mutters, angrily stubbing her cigarette out. “Yes, dear. That's your Aunt Emily. And if she starts talking about pixies and fairies all that crap, just smile and try to act like she's not insane. Christ, Becky, you're twelve years old and – trust me – you're already smarter than your crazy aunt.”
***
“Do you think there are ghosts?” Nathan whispers as we step through the front door. “There have to be ghosts. A house this big and this old, there must be like a law or something that they have ghosts.”
Staring open-mouthed at the large, red-carpeted staircase that runs up toward huge windows on the landing, I can't help feeling that I've entered a whole new world. Auercliff is like a house from a picture book, and the whole place smells of lots of different types of wood. Stepping over to a large dresser in the corner, I lean close and take a deep sniff, breathing in the rich aroma. I've only smelled something like this once before, and that was when Mum took me to a little antiques store in a village.