by Helen Phifer
The family were gathered outside – all hugging, kissing and crying – and he felt like an intruder. He had never met Christopher Phillips and for all he knew the man could have hated religion. Turning around he slipped back into the crematorium so he could leave by the front doors and not have to stand around making small talk with the family. He had promised that woman Kate he’d do some digging around into the history of that house she was renovating and he had to admit she was a very attractive woman. Not that he was interested in her in that way, but she gave off an air of vulnerability that made him want to help her as much as he could.
He passed the huge, red velvet drapes, which had closed in front of the coffin for its final goodbye, and he shivered. It was cold in here, yet minutes ago he’d been so warm. The sweat had been forming on his forehead and threatening to drip down into his eyes, blinding him from reading out his passage about the recently deceased. A noise from behind the curtains made him stop in his tracks. Obviously it was one of the crematorium attendants.
He waited to see if it happened again. There was only silence. As he turned to face the curtains they began to move towards him – ever so softly – but it looked as if someone was standing behind them, pushing them forwards. Why would someone be doing that? If they thought they were going to scare him they could sod off. It was hardly the time or the place to play stupid buggers, not when there was a coffin behind there. He didn’t care if whoever it was thought it was funny. It wasn’t; it was disrespectful.
‘Who’s back there? What are you doing? It’s hardly the right place to be messing around now, is it?’
Silence greeted him and he felt uneasy. There were only windows on one side of the building and they were frosted so no one could see in. It had turned very dark outside as if there was a heavy rain shower on its way.
‘Hello, is someone there?’
Still no reply. Joe turned and began to walk towards the front doors when he heard a distinct giggle and it belonged to a woman. It was far too high-pitched to be a man and it was coming from behind the curtains. His fear turning to anger. He turned and strode back towards them. Whoever was behind there was disgraceful. There was a coffin with a dead man inside. Why would they want to play tricks on him in a crematorium? It didn’t bear thinking about.
He reached the thick, velvet drapes and for a moment he thought about turning around and running as fast as he could out of the doors. It didn’t matter if he had to pass the family; he could just smile and keep on walking – only he couldn’t. His sense of respect and pride towards the man who was about to be cremated was too strong.
Yanking the curtains to one side he didn’t understand because the only thing he could see was the coffin. He inhaled the overpowering smell of fresh lilies and looked around. There was nobody there. It was dark behind the curtains so he tried to push them to one side, but they were heavy and ran on a track, which was remote controlled. The small, dark space was filled with the coffin and floral arrangements and nothing else. He bent down to look underneath the stand holding the coffin in case someone was hiding underneath it.
‘Can I help you, Father?’
Joe half screamed in shock at the voice behind him. Whipping around, Joe saw one of the assistants standing there with his hands on his hips, wondering what the vicar was up to.
‘Jesus Christ you gave me a bloody heart attack.’
The bemused man – who was obviously not used to hearing a vicar curse – began to chuckle. ‘Sorry about that; I just wondered what you were doing.’
‘I erm, I thought I heard someone behind here. Behind the curtains, I mean. They were giggling.’
The man walked across to the wall where he pressed a switch and held it in. The curtains began to open again. He didn’t stop until they were as wide as they could be. The coffin was once more on display for the public.
‘I bloody hope not. I’d hate to think we’d locked someone in here with a coffin on their own. It would be enough to send you round the bend.’ He walked behind the coffin and around the sides, then he went to the small door at the side and twisted the handle, which didn’t turn as it was locked, and he had the key in his hand. He turned to face Joe and shrugged.
‘Are you sure it came from in here? It might have been one of the mourners. Sometimes sounds can carry. It’s so quiet and eerie in here when it’s empty.’
Joe was positive it had come from behind the curtains. Who had made the heavy material move so effortlessly when he’d struggled? ‘It must have been – sorry. False alarm. I just didn’t want to think someone was messing around in here. Not when there’s…’ He pointed to the coffin and the man smiled.
‘I know what you mean. Honestly there’s no one here; maybe it was a ghost. This place is full of them. Well, if you believe in all that mumbo jumbo. I have to say I don’t. I’ve worked here ten years and the scariest thing I’ve seen is the priest from the other church conduct a whole funeral talking about how missed Janet would be when he was at the wrong one, and it wasn’t until he’d finished the end of his sermon when the deceased’s daughter stood up and announced that her father had never been called Janet in his whole life. My how I laughed. It was wrong and terrible, but it was so funny. The poor priest couldn’t get out of here quick enough and the poor bloke’s brother had to stand at the front and start all over again. Mind you, some of the lads won’t come in here on their own through the day and once it starts to get dark they won’t come anywhere near, which is a pain in the arse because I always end up doing the late funerals on my own. Good job I’m used to it. They are always saying they can hear things and voices. I can’t say they’ve ever heard anyone giggling though.’
Joe was trying his best not to look horrified and he knew he was failing miserably. If he thought his job was grim it was nothing compared to the poor people who had to work here. ‘It probably came from outside; you’re right. I didn’t sleep much last night. I’m a bit jumpy, that’s all. Sorry to have bothered you. I’ll let myself out.’
He turned away from the coffin and walked towards the back of the room. He needed to get out of here and get some fresh air. He hadn’t imagined it. He’d clearly heard the sound of a woman giggling from behind those curtains, but what the hell did it mean and who was it?
He reached his camper van, which he’d parked as far from the crematorium as possible, and climbed inside, relieved when he started the engine and began to drive away from the cemetery. He looked at the clock on his dashboard. He was still in time. He’d made an appointment to visit Father Anthony at the retirement home. He was the only priest who once served this area and still lived here. It had been a while since Joe had last visited him, though, and he hoped Father Anthony was still as sharp as he had been last year. As he pressed the buzzer to be let in, he heard the camera as it zoomed in on him. It was sad times when old people’s homes needed CCTV systems to keep them safe. He supposed it helped if any of them decided to go for a wander without telling anyone.
The door clicked and he pulled it towards him, stepping inside into the much darker entrance. He walked towards the large reception desk where Julie who he’d gone to school with sat there typing away on the computer. She looked up at him and smiled. Joe smiled back. They’d gone out with each other for about a week when they were twelve years old. They’d even kissed behind the bike shed twice then she’d left him for Stevie Matthews whose dad owned a corner shop, which meant Stevie had a never-ending supply of both sweets and money. He’d been gutted at the time, but he’d got over it, eventually.
‘How are you, Joe? It’s lovely to see you.’
‘I’m good, thanks. Yourself?’
‘Oh you know, pretty much the same.’
He detected a hint of redness creeping up her neck and he wondered if she still had a bit of a thing for him after all this time. He wasn’t vain, but he knew he’d turned out slightly better looking than Stevie Matthews who was now married to Julie, plus he still had a full head of hair. He didn’t really k
now what pretty much the same meant, but he did his best to give her his most sympathetic smile.
‘I’m here to see Father Anthony; he’s expecting me.’
‘Yes I know, he’s been here every half an hour or so asking if he’d missed you. Bless him he’s not as sharp as he used to be. He gets a little confused about time, although he’s not too bad compared to some of them.’
She stood up to take him but before she could come around from the other side of the desk an elderly man with the thickest shock of grey hair and watery blue eyes appeared.
‘Ah, Father Joe, glad you could make it. I’ve been waiting for you.’
Joe smiled at Julie; then turned to follow Father Anthony, back down the long corridor to his bedroom.
‘It’s very good of you to see me at such short notice, Anthony. I really appreciate it.’
The man began to laugh; in fact he laughed so hard he had to stop to catch his breath. When he could finally speak he shook his head. ‘Now that’s funny. You know it’s not as if I’m inundated with visitors. In fact you’re the first one I’ve had for weeks.’
Joe immediately felt bad. How much effort would it take for him to pop in once a week and visit him for ten minutes? He would make sure from now on he did just that, but time flew by so fast sometimes he would find himself standing in front of the congregation on a Sunday morning and wonder where the past week had gone since his last sermon. Anthony opened the door, which led into his bedroom, and Joe was pleasantly surprised that it smelt of lavender air freshener and nothing else. The room was a good size and there was a huge bookcase next to an overstuffed armchair. Next to it was a small side table piled high with books, a notepad and pen. A half empty bottle of gin and an empty glass filled the last remaining space on the table.
‘So what can I do for you, Joe?’
‘Do you know anything about the big, empty house that you can get to through the woods at the back of the vicarage?’
Anthony motioned for Joe to sit in his armchair and he sat on the bed opposite him. ‘Why do you ask? I haven’t thought about that place for a very long time, over forty years to be exact.’
‘I was talking to the woman who’s bought it and is renovating it.’
‘Good God someone has bought that place? Why? Who in their right mind would buy it? You must have heard the stories.’
Joe shook his head.
‘Are they local? This woman – is she married? Does she have a family?’
‘To be honest I don’t really know. I only met her yesterday. She came to the vicarage and noticed that both buildings are built in a similar fashion so she wanted to know if there was a connection between them. From what I can gather she’s living there on her own.’
Anthony crossed himself. Fiddling with something under his jumper he pulled out a heavy gold chain with a cross on it. He held it to his lips and kissed it. ‘I thought that they would have demolished it by now; it’s been empty for so long. The last I heard the church still owned it. I don’t understand how they could sell it to a woman of all people.’
Joe was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He hadn’t meant to upset the old man in front of him, but he had no idea what he was talking about. ‘Anthony, I know nothing about this house or what might have happened. You will have to tell me so I can tell Kate – the woman who has bought it.’
‘Yes of course, forgive my rambling. That house – I’ve never known anything like it. This might sound ridiculous. It’s as if it’s alive. It knows what scares you. It’s like a predator that will prey on your worst nightmares. It feeds off them – off the fear you keep inside of you. It’s not like any normal house. It was once a house of God, but not after that terrible night. It changed; they let that woman in and it changed their lives for ever.’
Joe was trying to make sense of what he was hearing. Was it the rambling of an old man or was it true? ‘What exactly happened there, Anthony, and how long ago was it?’
‘Well now let me see.’ He stood up and began looking through his books until he pulled out a thick, black leather journal. ‘This was given to me by Father Patrick. I was taking over the parish and he handed it to me and told me to take good care of it. He left with a stern warning not to go to the convent alone, to make sure it was always boarded up and to warn anyone who might be a potential buyer to think again.’
‘The convent; so it was part of the church then?’
‘Oh yes it most certainly was and it was a very successful convent. I think there were six nuns and a mother superior. It was all going well until some of the nuns got sick and died. This was back in the 1930s.’
He opened the book and began looking around for his glasses, patting his pockets down. Joe pointed to the top of his head where the gold-rimmed spectacles were sitting.
‘Yes it was December 1932 when some of the sisters fell ill and died and then one fateful night in January 1933 they opened the door to a woman who came knocking in the middle of a snowstorm, asking to be let in. That night one of the nuns died in the most strange and horrific circumstances. It doesn’t go into great detail.’
He looked up at Joe. ‘Apparently Sister Agnes who was the mother superior kept a journal detailing every little thing that happened over the next few days. From all accounts it was horrific, bloody and violent. There was talk at the time of the woman they’d let in. I can’t for the life of me remember her name. She was supposed to have been the cause of it all. If you could get your hands on the journal Agnes wrote you would know a lot more than what I can tell you. This is just a record of the people who lived in the house until the day they decided to shut it up for good.’
He handed it to Joe. ‘You can keep this if you like. I don’t have any need for it now. There was talk about the house being haunted. It was a bit of a local legend in the 1950s when I took over as parish priest. I can’t believe the church have sold it, to a woman of all people.’
Joe said, ‘I suppose it’s like everything else: times are hard. If you don’t believe in any of this stuff then it wouldn’t bother you, would it? I mean 1933 was a very long time ago. Surely whatever happened back then is over and done with. Do you know where this diary could be, Anthony? Is it still in the house or would the church have hold of it?’
Anthony shrugged. ‘As far as I know it’s still in the house although Patrick could have taken it for safekeeping and put it in the vicarage somewhere. I suppose you would have to ask the woman who’s living there now what it’s like in there. Has she experienced anything out of the ordinary?’
‘Yes, she has mentioned some strange goings-on.’
He didn’t go into detail – not wanting to upset the elderly man in front of him any more than he already had. He’d felt complete revulsion as he’d driven along the drive towards the house yesterday. It had been so powerful that he’d had to turn his car around and leave. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything so strong. He stood up, feeling guilty that the man in front of him had paled significantly. He’d stirred up long-forgotten memories for him, which he had no right to do. Needing to speak to Kate more than ever, he had a bad feeling inside the pit of his stomach that he should warn her about the history of the house.
‘Thank you for your time; I think I better get going now. I’ve kept you long enough.’
‘My pleasure, Joe. I wish I could have told you something a little happier. Tell me you are going to speak to this Kate and tell her that house is full of evil. Tell her from me that under no circumstances should she be left alone there.’
‘I will. I’ll go there now and tell her everything. I think we need to find Agnes’s journal. That would be very helpful.’
‘Yes you do, but be warned, it’s been hidden for a long time, son. There must be some reason for that. You take care and when you go inside that house make sure you surround yourself with God’s light and love. Make sure you ask him for protection because to go inside without it would mean whatever it is that lurks inside will be able to get inside of yo
u and you don’t want that.’
Joe nodded. He left Anthony staring out of the window onto the front street. He had no idea what he was thinking about; he just hoped he was going to be okay. As he passed Julie she stood up, smiling.
‘It was lovely to see you, Joe. Will you be coming back?’
‘Yes, of course I will. Thank you, it was nice to see you as well. Take care, Julie. Would you please ask a nurse to check on Anthony in a little while? He may have got a little bit excited talking about the old days.’
‘He’s such a sweetie. I’ll go and check on him myself in a few minutes. Bye.’
‘Bye.’
Joe left feeling confused and worried about Kate. What had Anthony meant when he’d said ‘that house – it knows what scares you’? How could it? It was a house. Anthony had made it sound as if it was a living, breathing thing. Joe got into his car, determined to drive straight to see Kate and tell her what he’d found out. And she’ll think you’re a stark raving lunatic. Do you know how crazy it all sounds? He did, but if he didn’t tell her he’d carry the extra weight of it around on his shoulders until he did.
He looked at his watch; it was almost six. Today had to be the strangest day he’d had in a very long time: first the crematorium and now this. He finally reached the turn-off for her drive and felt the same burning sickness form in the pit of his stomach as he turned onto what should have been hallowed ground. It made his insides churn. His forehead broke out in a cold sweat and his heart felt as if it was going to burst through his chest. He felt as if he was having a full-blown panic attack. As the house came into view, he couldn’t help think how desolate it looked. There were no cars outside or work vans like yesterday. A pair of ladders leaned against the side of the house underneath what looked like a newly installed video camera. There was no sign of life.
It was getting dusky and the windows were all dark. No matter how hard Joe tried he couldn’t shake the image of the house being alive – that it was its own living, breathing entity – and he stopped the camper van because his shaking hands were too hard to control. ‘It’s just a house, it’s just a house,’ he kept repeating over and over again as he forced himself to get out of his van and walk towards the front door. The workmen must have all gone home so maybe Kate was in there on her own.