by Amy Cross
Stopping in the hallway, I look up at the portraits, and it's strange to think that I'm related to all these people. And that some of them -
Suddenly I realize I can hear a scratching sound nearby. I turn and look up the stairs, but after a moment I realize that the sound is actually coming from one of the other rooms near the kitchen. I make my way through, switching on the lights as I move from room to room, but the sound seems to be constantly a little further ahead, almost as if it's moving. By the time I reach the kitchen and stop in the doorway, the scratching is over on the far side, maybe even beyond the back door.
Pausing for a moment, I realize I've heard this sound before.
Back when I was a girl, when I got trapped in the mausoleum and almost lost my mind, I heard this exact same scratching.
Figuring that the whole thing is best ignored, I head over to the fridge and start searching for something to eat. The scratching continues, but I very deliberately try to put it out of my mind, and I even start humming to myself in an attempt to drown out the sound. When that doesn't work, I grab my phone and start streaming some songs, filling this part of the house with enough music to push the scratching fully out of my mind. It feels wrong, somehow, to make so much noise in such an old and grand house, but I figure this approach is better than going nuts.
The scratching gets louder, almost as if it knows that I'm trying to drown it out.
Turning the music up, I carry my sandwich and glass of water back through toward the study. Just as I reach the hallway, however, my foot nudges against something on the floor. Looking down, I see a rusty old knife sliding into the skirting board.
I set my plate and glass down before picking up the knife. I've never seen the damn thing before in my life, and it's clearly very, very old. Figuring that it must have been lurking in a corner all this time, and that it simply got dislodged at some point, I'm about to take it through into the study for a closer look when I happen to notice that one of the portraits on the wall has been torn straight down the middle.
And that, I'm certain, was not the case a few minutes ago.
With the knife still in my hand, I step closer and see that the portrait shows a proud-looking woman with intense eyes, although it's hard to tell too much about the image since the canvas has been cut open across the face. It's almost as if someone slashed the picture while I was in the kitchen, but I know that's not possible.
There's no-one else here.
Checking the plaque at the bottom of the frame, I have to wipe some dust away so I can see the name.
“Lady Catherine Switherington,” I mutter, “1831 to 1851.” I pause, before taking a step back and checking to make sure all the other paintings are undamaged.
After a moment, I realize I can hear the scratching sound again, as if it has somehow raised itself over the sound of music coming from my phone.
I look up the stairs, but there's no sign of anyone. Still, I can't help worrying that my crazy mother – or rather, the crazy woman I used to think was my mother, has come back. Slashing a random portrait seems a little direct for her, but then again I figure she might be desperate. Heading over to the front door, I make sure it's still locked and that the master keys are still on the hook, and then I carry the knife through to the kitchen so I can check the back door as well. At the same time, I turn the music off so that I can hear the scratching sound more clearly.
There's no point hiding.
I have to find the source.
A few minutes later, after taking a look at every door and window, I come back to the hallway and stop once again in front of the slashed painting. I'm absolutely certain that no-one could have broken into the house, but I'm also sure that the painting was intact at the start of the evening.
Grabbing my plate and glass, I head through to the study, while telling myself I can figure out the mystery of the slashed painting in the morning. Things always seem simpler in daylight, so I take a seat at the desk and start eating my sandwich, while flicking through the documents I recovered earlier. I leave the music off, however, so I can hear the sound of the house more clearly.
And all the while, that infernal scratching sound continues, getting louder and louder as if it's calling to me. I can ignore it, though. I know I can. It can't be real.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
“Stop!” I shout, finally pushing the latest document away as the scratching sound gets louder still. I swear, I've spent the past hour trying to focus on the history of the Switherington family and trying to ignore the sound that fills the air around me, but now it's just too loud and too insistent.
Getting to my feet, I head back out into the hallway. If anything, the sound seems just a little louder out here.
“What do you want?” I call out. “Who -”
Stopping suddenly, I look up at all the portraits, and I can't help feeling that in some way they're staring back down at me. I know the story of the scratching sound, and the idea that it has plagued members of the family for generations. Now, as I look up at them all, I can't help wondering whether some kind of shared psychosis has run down through each of their minds, finally reaching me.
“It's just in my head,” I mutter, taking a step back as the scratching sound continues. “It's not real.”
Sighing, I realize that I'm in danger of losing my mind. I hesitate for a moment, telling myself I should just go back to the desk and get on with the work, but finally I figure I need to clear my thoughts. Hurrying across the hallway, I grab the keys and a flashlight and unlock the front door, and then I step out into the cool night air. By the time I've made my way down the steps, however, I can already tell that if anything, the scratching sound seems closer now that I'm outside. It's as if there's no escape.
“Great,” I mutter, “now -”
Suddenly I hear a loud, very closer scream over my shoulder. Turning, I stare back into the dark house, but the scream is already gone. A moment later, however, I hear a faint clanging sound, as if metal has fallen against the floor in the hallway.
My heart is racing, but I tell myself I have to go and take a look. Stepping back cautiously through the front door, I don't see anything wrong at first, but a moment later I spot the rusty old knife back in its original place on the floor, exactly where I found it the first time.
I swear, I left the knife on the desk in the study.
Although I know I should be brave and take a look around, I can't help myself. I back out through the door and down the steps, too scared to go into the house. That scream was so real and so close, and I'm absolutely certain it wasn't some garbled mental burp thrown up by my subconscious mind. Suddenly the whole thing feels very real.
At the same time, I can feel fear creeping up through my chest, and I quickly realize that it's the same sensation I felt all those years ago, when I was trapped in the mausoleum.
“Not again,” I whisper, taking a couple more steps back from the front door and looking up at the dark windows above. “Please, not again.”
I reach for my phone, before realizing that I left it in the study. I should go and fetch it, of course I should, but at the same time I'm not ready to go back into the house, not yet. I know I should be rational about this, that there has to be some other explanation for the scream, but I simply can't bring myself to go up the steps and back through that doorway.
And all around, the scratching sound continues.
Figuring that I should go to my car, and maybe head to the village for the night after all, I hurry along the side of the building. I can't help glancing through each of the windows, just in case I see anything moving inside, but the house seems as empty as ever. At the same time, the scratching is getting louder and louder, and now it's almost as if something is directly inside my ears, scraping tiny fingers against the drums. I can barely even get my thoughts together, and as I hurry around the next corner I feel as if -
“Catherine! Stop!”
Scrambling to a halt, I stare in wide-eyed shock as a d
ark figure races across the lawn a couple of hundred feet away. All I can make out is a silhouette, but I think the figure is a woman.
“Catherine! Wait!”
Turning and looking toward the house, I see another figure stumbling away from the still-closed back door, and this time the silhouette is of a man. He hurries across the lawn after the woman, still calling her name.
“Catherine, you must come back at once!”
I take a step back, my mind racing as I try to understand what I'm seeing. I know there can't be anyone else here at Auercliff, but I watch as the two figures disappear into the forest. I can still hear the man calling out for someone named Catherine, his voice louder even that the scratching sound that continues to fill my ears.
Turning, I hurry toward my car. Scott was right, it was a mistake to stay here alone. I'll go to the village and sleep at the pub, and then I'll come back tomorrow and -
“Catherine!” the man's voice shouts suddenly. “You must stop at once! This is madness!”
I freeze, and although I can see my car ahead, I slowly turn and look toward the forest.
If I run now, I'll always have doubts about what's really happening.
Slowly, I start making my way past the car and toward the lawn. With each step, I can hear a voice screaming in my head, telling me to turn around and leave. At the same time, I have to know the truth, and by the time I get to the tree-line I feel more certain than ever that I'm going to follow those two silhouetted figures.
Almost stumbling over tree roots, I somehow manage to make my way deeper and deeper into the forest, and further away from Auercliff. I don't know exactly where I'm going, but every few minutes I hear the man's voice again and I change my course slightly, desperately trying to reach him.
“Hello?” I call out. “Wait! Who are you?”
After a while I realize that I'm hopelessly lost, and there are only occasional glimpses of moonlight to help me see where I'm going. I push on, forcing my way through the forest, until finally I stumble out into a small clearing and trip on another root, dropping hard onto my hands and knees. The scratching sound is still filling my ears, but after a moment I realize there's another sound, too.
Running water.
Getting to my feet, I realize that I've made it all the way down to the river that runs through the Auercliff estate.
“She won't let us go,” a voice says suddenly.
Spinning around, I'm shocked to see a pale young girl standing just a few feet away, staring at me with dark-ringed eyes. She looks to be no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, but there's an intensity to her gaze that makes me take a step back.
“She won't let any of us rest,” she continues, tilting her head slightly, “not until it's been put right.”
“Who are you?” I stammer. “What -”
Before I can get another word out, I see that the girl has a cleft lip.
“Are you -”
Suddenly I hear a scream over my shoulder. I turn and look through the dark forest, and then when I look back at the young girl I find that she's gone.
“Wait!” I shout, trying not to panic. “Who are you? Where did you -”
I freeze as I hear footsteps racing through the forest nearby.
“Catherine!” the male voice calls out. “For the love of God, woman, you're not thinking straight!”
I know I should go after them, but I can't help replaying the girl's words over and over in my mind, and finally a sense of panic grips my chest. With the scratching sound ringing even louder in my ears, I turn and start racing through the trees, desperately trying to get back to Auercliff so I can climb into my car and drive to the village. I know everything will be okay in the morning, once Scott arrives and we can take a look at the place in daylight, but right now the panic is growing in my chest, causing my heart to pound faster than ever.
No matter which way I turn, however, I can't find my way out of the forest. Instead, it's almost as if the trees are getting closer together, blocking my route with their thick branches, and I find myself having to push through. Stumbling several times, I finally drop to my knees and pause for a moment as the scratching sound builds and builds. I can even feel it now, as if something is digging into the depths of my ear.
“Stop!” I shout, with tears streaming down my face. “Whatever you want, just leave me alone!”
Stumbling to my feet, I force myself to keep running. I have to hold my arms up to shield my face as I push my way through thick branches, and I half-trip several more times. The scratching is getting louder with each passing second, filling my thoughts. All I see ahead is more darkness, and there's no sign of Auercliff in the distance. It's almost as if the forest has spread to the horizon in every direction, leaving me trapped and alone.
Finally I trip on another root and crash down against the ground, landing hard and letting out a gasp of pain. I try to get up, but instead I have to put my hands on the sides of my head, desperately pressing my palms against my ears in an attempt to make the scratching sound stop. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, but the pain is increasing now, filling my ears and spreading deep into my thoughts. I slump down, my whole body shaking, and for a moment I actually feel as if the constant scratching sound is going to tear straight through my mind and leave me dead out here.
And then slowly I open my eyes and look straight ahead, and I see that somehow I've ended up kneeling directly in front of the mausoleum. And once again, the door is wide open.
***
Stumbling to my feet, trying to ignore the intensity of the scratching that I can feel and hear in my head, I stagger toward the mausoleum and reach out, supporting myself against the cold metal door.
All I see ahead is absolute darkness, but after a moment I remember the flashlight I brought from inside. I switch it on and shine the beam straight ahead, which allows me to see the shelves stretching to the far wall, with the coffins still arranged neatly on either side.
It's exactly how I remember it from that awful day all those years ago, but...
I can't go inside again.
I can't ever go back in there.
I turn to walk away, but suddenly the scratching sound flares in my ears, filling my head with pain. I let out a faint cry and turn back to look into the mausoleum, and at the same time the pain fades a little and the scratching sound becomes more bearable. In fact, for the first time since I was in the house's study, the sound actually seems to have become a little quieter and less persistent.
I try to turn away again, and again the pain flares, forcing me to face the mausoleum's open doorway again.
“I have to go in?” I gasp breathlessly. “Is that it?”
I turn again, and the same thing happens: a burst of pain, so powerful that I instantly turn back toward the mausoleum's open door.
“Why?” I shout. “Why do I have to do this?”
I wait, but of course there's no reply. I can't even think straight, let alone start to figure out what's happening right now. All I know for certain is that if I try to walk away from the mausoleum, that infernal scratching sound will fill my head again, and I'm not sure I can handle such agony for even a moment longer. Even though going inside the mausoleum fills me with terror, I take a tentative step forward, and sure enough the scratching recedes even further.
Reaching down, I grab a stone and move it into the doorway, to keep the metal door from slamming shut. That approach didn't exactly help me last time, but I figure it's worth another shot.
As soon as I step into the mausoleum, I feel the cold air all around me. The whole experience so far seems exactly the same as it felt when I was a girl, and it's almost as if I'm repeating the exact same moment. This time, however, I shine the flashlight ahead and see the coffins on the shelves all around, and I know that I have to keep going. After all, if I turn around and try to go back, the scratching sound will return.
This time, at least, I know for a fact that there can't be anyone else here. No hidden girl, gigg
ling in the darkness, hoping to play.
Making my way between the shelves, I look at the coffins on either side and see that they're even more ramshackle than I remember, and that in some cases they seem to be already crumbling. I'm sure there are bodies inside, and that I could see them if I peered through the gaps, but I don't dare. Instead, I make my way cautiously forward, still shining the flashlight all around so that I can be sure no-one else is waiting in here.
“What do you want?” I stammer, too exhausted to even sob. “Who are you? Please, just tell me what you want...”
I don't even know who I'm expecting to answer that question, but at least the scratching sound is quieter. In fact, the sound fades further with each step, until finally it's gone entirely, leaving me in silence. I take a couple of steps forward, feeling as if my weak knees might buckle at any moment, but all I see is the same old coffins that were in here several years ago. No-one else has been placed in the mausoleum since those days, but I can't shake the feeling that something wants me to keep searching.
And then I hear it.
At the far end of the mausoleum, there's another scratching sound. I flinch, but then I realize that this time the sound is different, much quieter than before and seemingly coming from somewhere on the floor.
“This is what it was like before,” I whisper, remembering how I was trapped in the darkness as a child, and how the scratching sound seemed to fill the air. But the sound was always so loud and all-encompassing before, whereas now it seems so faint and weak.
I glance over my shoulder to check that the stone is still in place, keeping the door open, and then I shine the flashlight ahead as I make my way to the other end of the cold stone room. I don't see anything amiss, not even when I train the flashlight's beam on the nearby coffins, but finally I look down and see that there are a series of deep cracks running from the bottom of the wall, stretching through the concrete. In fact, in some places the concrete even looks to have broken entirely into a series of small, loose chunks.