by Amy Cross
I look down at the baby's happy face.
“She's not -” I start to say, before reminding myself that I need to be careful, and that I have the guts to pull this off if I just hold my nerve. “I don't know,” I continue, gently bouncing the baby in my arms. To my relief, she giggles, as if she genuinely enjoys the attention. “Maybe.” I take a deep breath, feeling a sense of panic running through my chest. For a moment, this entire plan feels utterly ridiculous, but I quickly remind myself that it'll work. It has to. “I know we were supposed to stay until tomorrow, Em, but I think we might have to go home this afternoon.”
Emily seems startled by the idea. “So soon? Why?”
“I remembered some chores I need to get done over the weekend,” I explain, “and I'd feel bad leaving them all to Daniel.”
“But I thought -”
“You understand, don't you?” I add, hoping to end her protests. “I just think it's for the best.”
“Well...” She pauses, before getting to her feet. “I suppose if you and Rebecca really -”
“We do,” I say firmly. “Sorry, Em. Next time, we'll stay for longer. I promise.”
She seems lost for a moment, almost as if the idea of once again being left alone at Auercliff is too much to handle. Finally, however, she heads over to the other pram and looks down at the child's face grinning from deep within a bundle of blankets.
“I hear it every night, you know,” she mutters after a few seconds, turning to me. “The ghost, I mean. I hear bumps, sometimes a bang and...” She pauses. “And the scratching sound. I can put it out of my thoughts most of the time, but every so often it just seems so loud. I heard it before, occasionally, but after Martin died it became more persistent.”
I can't help sighing. “Em, listen -”
“He heard it too,” she adds. “He never admitted it when he was sober, but Martin heard the scratching sound. Once he got a few glasses of whiskey in his belly, then he'd talk about it. He told me once that he'd first started hearing it shortly after his cousin died, and that she'd heard it before him. Sometimes I think...” She visibly shudders, as if some awful thought has struck her. “Sometimes I think it's the curse of the entire family,” she continues finally. “The scratching sound seems to follow them, threading its way through their minds, and now it has reached me. And then maybe...”
She looks down at the child in the pram next to her.
“Maybe poor Esmerelda will inherit it one day, along with the house.”
I wait for her to continue, but she seems lost in thought. After a moment, I realize I'm holding my breath, tense with anticipation in case she notices what I've done.
“It sounds like a load of poppycock to me,” I say finally, forcing a smile. “It sounds about as likely as all those stupid ghost stories.”
“But you saw the ghost too,” she replies. “Last night, remember? You did see it, didn't you?”
“Of course I did,” I tell her, annoyed at myself for almost having slipped up. “Well, I don't know what to tell you, Em. Maybe Auercliff is haunted after all.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
“That's right,” I say with a smile, as I tuck the baby into position on the car's back-seat. “We're going home! Isn't that nice? We're going home, and I promise you'll be so happy when we get there.”
She giggles at me, even when I reach out and tickle her chin.
No crying.
No hatred or anger in her eyes.
Just love.
“You'll get used to it,” I continue, “and you'll learn to be happy, I promise. You'll be away from this awful, oppressive house. The only thing that'll be difficult is your new name, but...” I pause for a moment, before leaning closer and kissing her on the forehead. “Who wants to be named Esmerelda, anyway? Such a silly name. Rebecca is far nicer.”
She giggles again, and after a moment she reaches up and brushes her fingers against my hand. I think that means she agrees with me.
“That's right,” I tell her, “I'm -”
Before I can finish, I hear footsteps approaching across the house's gravel drive. I quickly finish strapping the baby into her seat and then I turn to find Emily wandering closer with a confused look in her eyes.
“Gonna miss me?” I ask, forcing a smile.
“Of course,” she replies, stopping on the other side of the car. She opens her mouth to say something, but the words seem to catch in her throat.
“Well, we should hit the road,” I continue. “There's -”
Stopping suddenly, I realize I can hear the sound of a baby crying inside the house.
“Esmerelda seems upset,” Emily says after a moment. “Usually I can soothe her with some singing, and a snuggle, but this time...”
Her voice trails off.
“They're both growing girls,” I point out, climbing into the driver's seat. “They're bound to change.” I reach out to start the engine, but suddenly I realize that Emily is rushing around to take a look in the back.
Sighing, I get out of the car and step over to block her before she can properly look inside at the baby in the seat.
“What?” I ask, trying to stay calm.
“I just...” She pauses. “This might sound rather funny, Barbara, but I just wanted to check that -”
“You're losing your mind again,” I tell her.
She frowns. “I beg your -”
“It's getting worse,” I continue, realizing that I have to be firm with her. “I didn't say anything earlier today, Em, because I didn't want to upset you, but it's quite clear to me that something's not right. You're making lots of little mistakes, and you seem very confused.”
“Perhaps, but -”
“I think you're suffering from early-onset dementia,” I add. “Either that, or a form of Alzheimer's.”
She takes a step back, clearly shocked. “I most certainly am not!”
“Yes,” I say firmly, “you are. It's been evident for a while that something's seriously wrong inside that head of yours. You mistake things for other things, you even get people mixed up.”
“I do?”
“Oh yes,” I continue. “It's not a nice thing to witness, Em, but I have to be honest with you.”
“Why are you saying these things?” she stammers. “I'm not, I'm... I'm perfectly alright. Any confusion is just... I'm still mourning, Barbara. My husband died just a few months ago.”
“And you weren't like this before?”
“Absolutely not!”
“Huh.” I pause for a moment, watching her keenly. “I suppose I could be wrong,” I admit finally. “Maybe I just love and care for you so much, I'm over-analyzing your every move.” I step closer and put my hands on her shoulders, as the crying sound continues from inside the house. “Truth be told, Em, I feel rather guilty for not being here often enough. I even considered coming to stay with you for an extended period, but I simply can't afford to be away from home for too long. I know I'm an awful, awful sister and -”
“No,” she replies, “Barbara, don't say that!” She pulls me closer for a hug. “You're the best sister anyone could ever want!”
“I try,” I mutter, letting the hug linger for a moment before pulling back. I need to get the hell out of here. “And I'll come and see you again soon,” I add. “I promise.”
“I hope so,” she replies, before glancing at the car again. “It's just... Esmerelda is crying so differently, and her face -”
“Are you struggling to look after your daughter?” I ask, interrupting her. “You know, one of the early signs of dementia is an inability to recognize individual faces. It often manifests with babies first. I read about it once, and one of the biggest warning signs is mothers who suddenly don't recognize their children, or who think they've been replaced.” I wait for her to reply, and I can see the fear and confusion in her eyes. “That's not what you're experiencing, Em... Is it?”
“I...” She seems frozen for a moment, still staring at the car, before finally she sniffs
back tears. “No,” she continues, “I mean... No, absolutely not, I...”
Her voice trails off again.
“I'll be fine,” she whispers, staring at the side of the car. “I'm sure it'll pass.”
“Good,” I reply. “I'd hate to think that you were that far gone. Now I really think Rebecca and I should get going, to beat the traffic, and it sounds like Esmerelda needs you inside.” I step closer and kiss her on the forehead, before turning and climbing back into the car. “I envy you, Em,” I continue. “You're so lucky here at Auercliff. It's just you and Esmerelda, with no-one to interrupt you day after day, no-one to interfere. And if you are struggling a little to connect with your daughter, just give it time. I guarantee that in a week or two, it'll be like nothing was ever different.”
“Of course,” she replies, forcing a smile. “I'm just... I'm just being foolish, that's all.”
“You've always been a silly goose,” I remind her.
“Then again,” she continues, “maybe something is wrong. Sometimes I see things in the house, and I hear things, and I can't -”
“That'll be the ghost,” I remind her. “I've seen it too, remember? So there's absolutely no doubt that it's real.”
“Well...” She pauses again. “I suppose there isn't.” She turns and looks toward the front door. “You're right. There is a ghost here. It's Martin's cousin...”
“Good luck, Em,” I continue. “And look after that little girl of yours.” I hesitate for a moment, tempted to swap them back, before reminding myself that this is for the best. “I'm sure you'll both be absolutely fine.”
A few minutes later, once I've finally managed to get going, I glance in the rear-view mirror and see Auercliff receding into the distance. To be honest, I'd be quite happy if this turned out to be my final ever visit to the crumbling old pile, but I expect I shall have to pop in from time to time over the years. After all, people might think I'm a bad sister if one day Emily drops dead and no-one finds her for a while. So I shall keep in touch, but not too closely. For the most part, I think it would be best to just leave her so she and that wretched child can rattle around together in the empty rooms and corridors of Auercliff.
They'll be fine. We'll all be fine. I've done a good thing.
***
“But what if someone finds out?” Daniel asks, his eyes wide with shock as he stands in the doorway of the cramped little nursery. “Barbara, this is illegal, it's -”
“No-one's going to find out,” I say firmly, as I settle the baby in her crib. “Don't worry, Emily's not in a fit state of mind. I scared her straight. She won't question a goddamn thing.” I adjust the sides of the little hat I've placed on the child's head. “My sister's mind is scattered,” I continue. “You should have seen her this weekend, she's losing her marbles. It's happening slowly, but it's definitely happening.”
“People will find out!” he stammers. “Barbara, this is an insane idea! There are people we know, friends, family... Doctors... At some point, someone is going to realize that you've swapped the babies!”
“Leave that to me!”
“What the hell is -”
“Leave it to me!” I hiss, before forcing a smile for the baby. “And stop making such a fuss. You'll stress her out. This is for the best, Daniel, so you're going to keep your mouth shut and play your part.” I pause, seeing a hint of concern in his expression. He's always been very compliant, but for the first time he seems to be contemplating putting his foot down. “It'd be an awful shame,” I continue, “if someone tipped your boss off to what's been happening to the money from the expenses account. Wouldn't it?”
“Barbara, you wouldn't ever -”
“Don't test me,” I tell him. “Don't ever test me, Daniel. I want a perfect family, and I will get it one way or another.” I pause, before seeing just a hint of acceptance in his eyes. I've won. “Now go downstairs and find the menu for that Italian place on the corner. I think we've earned take-out tonight, haven't we?”
He seems reluctant and concerned, but finally he does as he's told.
“You'll get used to him,” I mutter, turning back and ticking the baby's chin. My hands are shaking, but I'm sure I'll get my nerves under control soon. “And you'll get used to your new name. You're not Esmerelda anymore. You're Rebecca. Understand? Rebecca.”
She giggles, as if she prefers the change anyway.
“And everything will be perfect,” I add, as tears trickle down my cheeks. “We're going to be best friends, Rebecca. I can feel it in my gut, I just know it's true.” I lean down and kiss her on the forehead. “You and I are going to be the most perfect mother and daughter team ever. And you will always, always be safe.”
Part Eight
Rebecca - 1997
Chapter Forty-Nine
“Hello?” I call out, stepping closer to the mausoleum but not quite daring to approach the door. “Is anyone in there?”
I wait, but there's no reply. The only sound, all around me, is the rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze blows through the forest.
“Hello?” I say again, staring into the dark interior. “Aunt Emily, are you...”
My voice trails off as I realize that there's no reason for anyone to be in the mausoleum. I've heard both Aunt Emily and Mum talking about the place, and they said that the mausoleum is only ever opened when a body has to be put inside. Aunt Emily even mentioned something about keeping the key hidden, so that no-one could sneak their way inside. Right now, however, the metal door is wide open, and I can see the lines of long shelves stretching into darkness.
And coffins.
Stopping suddenly, I realize I can see coffins on the shelves.
“Is anyone in there?” I ask again, before telling myself that there's no reason to be scared.
Stepping closer, I place a hand on the door and pause for a moment. To be honest, there's a part of me that's actually tempted to go inside and take a look at the coffins, but there's another part of me that's far more cautious. I've never exactly been a daredevil, and the idea of being anywhere near those dead bodies is a little too much. Hell, I even get nervous in normal cemeteries.
“I'm going to shut the door,” I announce, just in case someone might be hiding in the shadows. “I don't want to accidentally lock you in, so if there's anyone...”
My voice trails off as I stare into the darkness of the mausoleum. I can just about make out the farthest wall, and it's clear there's no-one inside. No-one apart from the bodies in the coffins, at least.
“Okay,” I continue, “I'm closing the door now.”
With that, I swing the door shut, and then I pause for a moment just in case someone shouts out for me to open it again. Checking the keyhole, I find that there's no sign of the key, but I figure the door should stay shut now and I turn to head back to the house. I'll tell Aunt Emily what happened, and I'm sure she'll come out and -
Stopping suddenly, I realize I can hear a faint creaking sound.
I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough the metal door is swinging open again.
Making my way back over, I'm about to shut the door when I feel the tug of curiosity in my chest. I tell myself that it'd be crazy to go inside, but this time my sense of caution is a little more muted. After all, the door clearly isn't going to swing shut and accidentally trap me inside, and the coffins aren't that scary. Besides, if I walk away, my imagination will probably fill in the gaps and make me conjure up all sorts of horrible images. I should just go inside and take a look around, and prove to myself that nothing strange is going on.
Grabbing a rock from the ground, I place it in the doorway, just to make absolutely sure that the door can't swing all the way shut, and then I step through into the mausoleum's cold, still interior.
Immediately, the sound of my own breath seems different somehow.
Closer.
More nervous.
Some of the coffins are in much better condition than the others. Some of the older coffins are even falling apart
a little, leaving little gaps where I suppose I could peer inside and see what's left of the bodies. Not that I have any intention of doing that, of course, but it's still creepy to think that there are actual dead people on either side of me as I make my way through the gloom. These are all the people who've lived at Auercliff over the years, going back centuries.
Glancing over my shoulder, I check to see that the rock is still in place in the doorway, and then I keep going, looking at the coffins and reading a bunch of names that I don't really recognize.
Finally I stop near the far end and see one particular coffin that seems a little newer than most of the others.
“Reginald Switherington,” I read from a plaque on the coffin, before looking up at the one on the next shelf above. “Harriet Switherington.”
I don't recognize those names at all, so I make my way along to another shelf and find a coffin that has cracked open slightly at one end. I can just about see a dark shape inside, but I don't look too closely. Instead, I search for the name plaque, although I have to scratch some dirt and rust away before I can read the words.
“Verity Switherington,” I say out loud, and I feel as if I've heard that name somewhere before.
Turning, I look at the coffin opposite, and a shiver runs through my chest as I see a name that I most definitely recognize.
“Martin Switherington,” I whisper, realizing that I've found my uncle's coffin. I don't remember him, of course, but apparently I was a baby when he died and I've seen photos of him standing next to me. It must be so weird for Aunt Emily to have her dead husband's body in here.
Making my way over to another coffin, which has partially cracked open at one end, I dare myself to peer through the gap. I let out a gasp as soon as I spot a pair of shoes inside. I guess everyone here was buried in their clothes, which -