by Amy Cross
“I never specifically -”
“I know who this is about,” he adds, his voice filled with anger.
Unable to help myself, I glance over at the framed photos on the far wall, and I immediately spot the picture that shows a large gathering of Martin's family on the front steps.
“I never...” Taking a deep breath, I realize that perhaps I should have been more diplomatic about the whole thing. “I mean, I'm not -”
“Verity was my cousin,” he continues. “We were friends, good friends, before she was taken so cruelly at such a young age. Emily, please, have a little consideration. My cousin is not haunting Auercliff, and it troubles me greatly that you'd even suggest such a thing.” He takes another sip of whiskey. “Honestly, before I married you, I had no idea that you could be so flighty.”
A shudder passes through my chest.
“I'm sorry,” I tell him. “It'll never happen again, I swear!”
“You said that last time.”
“I know, but this time I realize how much it upsets you.”
Instead of replying, he steps around his desk and makes his way over to the window.
“I know you and your cousin were close,” I continue, “and I never meant to rake over old memories. I promise, Martin, I shall never again do or say anything that might upset you. I shall throw that ghastly board out. Better yet, I shall burn it. Would that help?” I wait for him to reply, before stepping over and placing a hand on his arm from behind. This time, he doesn't pull away. “Am I forgiven?” I ask. “Please, don't stay angry with me.”
He glances at me, but there's still a hint of suspicion in his eyes.
“I just wish you'd never got started with that nonsense in the first place,” he mutters. “There's no such thing as ghosts, Em. Only a weak mind would ever entertain the idea.”
“Of course,” I reply, forcing a smile. “You're quite right. I'm dreadfully sorry.”
***
A short while later, with everyone preparing for bed, I take the Ouija board and planchette from the main room. Feeling rather disgusted by my foolishness, I make my way outside and around the side of the house, before finally dropping the awful apparatus directly into the main bin.
I'll make it up to Martin. I'll never mention ghosts to him again, and I'll be the perfect wife he's always wanted. And I shall put my concerns about Auercliff to the back of my mind.
Chapter Nineteen
“Just shut your bloody face,” Barbara hisses as she balances little Rebecca in her arms while taking a puff from a cigarette. Carrying Rebecca across the room, she heads to the open window and for a moment I fear she might actually toss her daughter out. “You've got everything a baby could possibly want,” she adds, taking another drag, “so what is your bloody problem?”
“It's late,” I reply, making my way over to the crib where my little Esmerelda is chuckling to herself. Reaching down, I tickle her chin and she giggles. “They're both probably just tired. Everything'll seem better in the morning.”
“Sure, but yours isn't crying all the time,” Barbara continues, carrying Rebecca back over to the other side of the room. “You're so fucking lucky, Emily, to have a kid who can spend five seconds being quiet instead of bawling and screaming the whole time.”
“Esmerelda just has a calm personality,” I mutter, reaching into the crib and carefully lifting my little girl out, cradling her in my arms as she smiles at me. “Don't you?” I continue, leaning closer to her. “You know, Barb, I spend a lot of time with Esmerelda, just playing on the lawn. Rolling around, trying to enter her world a little rather than trying to force her into mine all the time. Perhaps you should -”
“Don't tell me to get all hippy-dippy with her,” Barbara snaps back at me, as Rebecca continues to cry in her arms. “You know I've never been into that bullshit.”
“You could also try not cursing around her so much,” I add under my breath. “Or smoking. Or drinking.”
“It's easy for you,” she continues, with a hint of spite in her voice. I know exactly what she's going to say next. “You live in a fuck-off giant house like this, thanks to your bloody rich husband, and you've got all the time in the world to just hang around, being a devoted mother and all that crap.” She takes another drag on her cigarette and holds it for a moment, before slowly letting out a cloud of smoke. “Some of us have to live in the real world, Emily. We don't live in big mansions like Auercliff and we actually have to juggle the different parts of our lives.”
“I know that,” I reply, “but -”
“So don't fucking lecture me,” she continues, bouncing Rebecca crudely in her arms.
Figuring that there's no point arguing with her when she's in such a foul mood, I focus instead on Esmerelda, who's staring up at me with happy eyes. Tickling her chin, I smile as she reaches out with her little hands and grabs my finger, as if she wants to examine it and better understand how it works.
“Rebecca's retarded,” Barbara says suddenly.
I turn to her, shocked. “Barb, no -”
“She is!” she hisses, having stopped next to the window again. This time, there's a hint of tears in her eyes, as if she's close to another of her infamous mini-breakdowns. “She's just got that look. The doctor says he'll run some tests on her, but I see it every time I look at her face.” She glances down at the crying girl for a moment, before looking away as if she can't handle the sight of her own daughter. “Other people see it, too. When I'm out with her in town, I see the looks in their eyes. They know I've got a dud.”
“You mustn't talk like that,” I tell her, gently settling Esmerelda into her crib before heading over to join her at the window. “The negative emotional energy alone will disturb the poor child. Do you mind if I take her for a moment?”
Barbara hands little Rebecca to me, and I immediately feel the poor little girl's tense body shuddering and shivering in my arms. Looking down at her bawling, reddened face, I can't help noticing that something does seem a little off about her, but she's still absolutely beautiful.
“You know it's true,” Barbara says firmly, sniffing back tears. “It's why she cries all the fucking time. Something's not right about her, she's... What's the polite way of putting it? She's developmentally challenged.” She takes another drag on her cigarette. “It's only going to get worse and more obvious as she gets older.”
Turning, I carry Rebecca away from the cloud of cigarette smoke. She's still crying, and it's abundantly clear that whatever's wrong with her, it seems to be coming from somewhere very deep, as if she's upset about something that's wrong inside her soul.
“It's okay, sweetheart,” I tell her, taking her over to the other window and looking out at the moonlit lawn. “There's no reason in the whole world to be so upset. You're absolutely safe and no-one is ever going to hurt you.” I smile as I look down at her, but her eyes are squeezed tight shut and she's screaming louder than ever. While I might not approve of my sister's parenting style, I can definitely see that she has her work cut out for her.
“Mark my words,” Barbara says after a moment, watching us from over by the far window. “Rebecca's not right. The doctors and everyone else will see it soon.” She takes a long, slow drag on her cigarette and seems to savor the smoke for a moment. “There's something wrong with her. And I'm going to be stuck raising a fucking retarded kid.”
Chapter Twenty
“We'll have a normal dinner party tomorrow night,” I mutter, grabbing the toothpaste tube and starting to roll the end up so I can squeeze some out. “I'm so glad you're planning to stay home from the club. We'll have a big old Auercliff feast! How does that sound?”
Glancing across the bathroom, I see that Martin is watching me with a hint of concern.
“I'll cook!” I continue, as I squeeze the toothpaste tube tighter. “Come on, I know we joke about my skills in the kitchen, but I'm not that bad! So long as I focus on not burning anything, I'm sure I can rustle up a meal fit for a king!”
; Again, I wait for a reply.
“Martin?” I add finally. “Are you still angry at me?”
“What are you doing, Emily?” he asks.
I pause for a moment, not quite sure what he means. “Well, I'm trying to make the house feel more -”
“No,” he adds, interrupting me, “I mean right now. What do you think you're doing right now, here in this bathroom?”
Looking down at the toothpaste tube and hairbrush in my hands, I feel a sudden rush of doubt. I know something's not right, that there's some kind of fault here, but I can't work out what's wrong, not quite, not until...
“Oh,” I mutter, as I suddenly realize that I've squeezed a neat sausage of toothpaste onto the hairbrush.
Suddenly feeling a little as if I'm under the spotlight, I set the tube aside and then run the hairbrush under the tap. For a moment, my thoughts seem scattered and disconnected, and I know full well that Martin's watching my every move.
“I was distracted,” I tell him, even though I can feel the fear creeping through my chest.
“Emily -”
“If you didn't keep bothering me,” I add, trying not to seem too flustered, “I could focus on what I'm supposed to be doing.”
“What about last Tuesday lunchtime?” he asks. “Do you remember when I came into the kitchen and found you'd put a cassette tape in the oven?”
“I was just distracted again,” I say firmly. “You're making something out of nothing!”
“Have you booked an appointment with Doctor Fraser?”
“Why would I need to see him?”
When he doesn't reply, I turn and see the fear in Martin's eyes.
“I'm thirty-nine years old,” I reply, struggling to keep my cool. “I don't know what you think might be wrong with me, but if being confused occasionally is a crime, then -”
“You seem confused a lot of the time,” he replies, interrupting me. “It's happening more and more, Em. I just wish you'd go and see Doctor Fraser, to rule a few things out.”
“Well, I'm not going to do that,” I reply, grabbing the toothpaste again and -
Stopping suddenly, I look down at the various items around the sink and I realize I'm not quite sure what to do next. I know I need to brush my teeth, but there are so many things cluttering the bathroom. I try to remember where I'm supposed to squeeze the toothpaste, but Martin is still watching me intently and the pressure is too much. Finally, setting the tube down, I turn and head to the door.
“Not going to brush your teeth before bed?” he asks pointedly.
“I have a headache,” I tell him, hurrying through to the bedroom. “It's all yours.”
By the time I'm back on the bed, the fog in my mind has cleared a little. Taking deep breaths, I remind myself that I was supposed to put the toothpaste on a toothbrush. Of course I was! Martin just ruffled my feathers, that's all, and I always get easily confused whenever I think I'm being studied. He should know that about me by now. Leaning back against the pillows, I quickly run through the whole process of brushing my teeth and find that I remember it now with no trouble at all. I'm fine, I know I am.
There's nothing wrong with my head.
***
My eyes flick open as soon as I hear the noise.
Flat on my back in the dark bedroom, with Martin slumbering contentedly next to me, I listen to the silence of the house. Auercliff might be quiet now, but I know for certain that there was something a moment ago, a brief banging sound that woke me. Finally, convinced that I have to go and take a look, I clamber out of bed and make my way over to the door.
The house is deathly quiet. I go and check on Esmerelda, and I find that she's sleeping happily in her crib. There's no sound of Rebecca crying in the guest bedroom, either, so I head along the corridor and down the main stairs until I reach the dark hallway. I hate when this happens, when I hear a noise in the middle of the night, but I always come down and check, just to make absolutely sure that nothing's amiss.
“Hello?” I whisper, looking through toward the drawing room.
There seems to be no moonlight now. Just darkness everywhere, and the sound of rain. Maybe it wasn't raining a moment ago, or maybe I just didn't notice, but now I can hear the pitter-patter of tiny drops against the window.
Holding my hands out so that I don't bump into anything, I make my way cautiously toward the door and then I peer through. The drawing room is so dark, I can barely see at all, but I fumble past the sofa and finally reach the piano over in the far corner. Sitting on the stool, I look down at the keys and then slowly, taking care to not make too much noise, I press gently until I hear the faintest, softest and most perfectly in-tune A#. Even though I know I risk waking the babies upstairs, I can't help but -
Suddenly I spot a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye.
I turn and look at the window, just in time to see a young girl run past laughing. She's gone before I can really see her properly, but the image of her is somehow imprinted in my mind. I sit completely still for a moment, waiting in case she comes back, and then finally I get to my feet and head through to the kitchen, where I immediately make my way to the back door and turn the key. I pause for a moment, looking out at the dark lawn as occasional rain drops continue to fall, and then finally I pull the door open and step outside.
A cold breeze immediately catches my night-dress and chills my legs, but I don't care about any of that right now. The rain is only light and soft, so I make my way bare-foot down the damp concrete steps and look along toward the window where – just a minute or two ago – the young girl ran past. I head over to take a closer look, although of course there's no sign of her anymore. Stopping with my toes dipping into the flower bed's mulchy soil, I look at the window and see the dark spot where I was sitting when I saw the girl.
Why me?
Why does she only ever appear to me?
If she could just appear once to the others, to Barbara or maybe even to Martin, they'd have to believe me. But as it is, she only ever lets me see her, and the others all think I'm going rather potty. I don't suppose I blame them, although it would be nice if my own husband would believe me. Then again, sometimes I think that he simply won't admit that he -
Sensing something over my shoulder, I spin around and look across the lawn. I can't see anyone, of course, although after a moment I realize there's a faint smudge of light over by the trees at the far end. Near the mausoleum, perhaps. I squint, trying to see the light better and supposing it to be just a patch of something on a trunk, but slowly I realize the light seems to be shimmering slightly, almost as if...
Almost as if it's the girl.
Stepping out onto the lawn, I feel cold, wet grass slipping between my toes, but I don't let the sensation deter me. Instead, I make my way cautiously through the rain, heading toward the distant shimmer which seems – at least for now – to be remaining in place, perhaps even waiting for me. If the girl is real, and I'm sure she is, then perhaps she has some kind of message that she wishes to deliver to me. Perhaps, and I know I'm stretching here, but perhaps she noticed our crude attempts with the Ouija board earlier and she took that as a sign that she should make herself more apparent.
“Hello?” I call out, reaching the halfway point of the lawn and seeing the shimmering light still in place, thirty or forty meters away. “What do you want, spirit? I am ready to welcome you!”
Slowing my pace, I finally come to a stop as the rain starts intensifying all around me, falling faster and harder as the wind picks up as well. I know I should keep going, that I should dare approach the shimmering light, but I can't quite bring myself to be so brave. All I can manage is to stay in place, watching the light as it flickers between the trees, and squinting as I try to work out whether the light has taken the form of a human figure or -
Suddenly I hear the girl giggling again, this time directly behind me.
I freeze as the rain continues to fall. I want to turn and look at her, but fear is rooting me to th
e spot. Still, I know she's there, and I can hear her giggling still, as if my fear somehow amuses her. Finally, finding the strength from some deeper part of my soul, I force myself to turn and look directly into the girl's dead eyes.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Good morning, old thing. I thought I should come and wake you. I mean, a lie-in's all well and good, but we do have company.”
Sitting up suddenly in bed, with morning sunlight streaming through the window, I watch as Martin finishes tying the curtains. Turning to me, he smiles.
“It's almost ten,” he explains. “Don't worry, I managed to patch together a breakfast of sorts. I burned the eggs, but apart from that I think I did rather -”
“Ten?” Shocked, I look over at the clock next to the bed and see that he's right. The last thing I remember is being out on the lawn, in the rain and wind, and turning to look at the laughing girl behind me.
And then...
And then what?
How did I end up here, back in bed?
“Relax,” Martin says, heading over and stopping at the bottom of the bed. “I tried to wake you a few hours ago, but you seemed dreadfully exhausted.” He glances down at my feet, which are poking out from under the duvet. Reaching down, he wipes a finger against one of my toes and then holds up several damp blades of grass for me to see. “Up and about again, were you?”
“Well, I was -”
Stopping myself just in time, I realize I can't possibly tell him about my experience on the lawn. Besides, perhaps it was just a dream.
“I must come downstairs,” I say finally. “It's so rude of me to sleep in when Barbara and Daniel are here.”