‘Oh yeah? And what’s the alternative?’
‘Who knows with this house?’
Cally tugged at her waist. ‘What is it, Mummy?’
Eve looked down at her, aware that any mention of ghosts would frighten both her daughters.
‘Let’s go and look,’ she said finally.
‘All of us.’ Cally clutched at her even more tightly.
‘All right. All of us.’ Eve knew the girls would refuse to stay downstairs by themselves, so she didn’t argue.
‘You first, Daddy,’ Cally insisted anxiously.
‘Yep, me first.’ Gabe grinned his wide tight-lipped grin, one that was wryly resolute rather than happy.
The wooden steps creaked as he made his way up, his family following close behind, Cally tightly gripping her mother’s hand, Loren coming up last and taking each step carefully as if one might break beneath her.
The staircase smelt of rotting wood and dust, and it turned a corner beyond which Gabe found an open hatch. No proper door, just an open hatch.
He poked his head through and paused, shining the light around what was more than just a roof space. The room was long, even though a partition wall appeared to section it off at the far end, but the ceiling was low. Dormer windows were built into its slanting walls and two rough brick chimney stacks disappeared into the roof (there must have been similar stacks out of sight on the other side of the partition, for the house had more than two chimneys on its roof). Bare floorboards ran its length and there was no furniture other than what looked like iron-framed cotbeds piled against one corner.
Dust motes danced crazily in the beams of light as if disturbed by fierce draughts. Yet no windows were open or broken and he felt no breeze on his face. Only faint moonlight shone through the grimed glass, casting dark shadows around the room. He pointed his light at the skeletal cotbeds again and realized that this place must have been the dormitory for the evacuees who had come to Crickley Hall all those years ago.
Eve’s voice came from the stairs below. ‘What’s the holdup, Gabe?’ She still spoke in a half-whisper as if afraid of being heard by someone other than her husband.
‘Just checking—’ He caught himself whispering his reply and continued in a normal voice. ‘Just checking it out. Doesn’t appear to be anything much up here ’cept a bunch of old bedsteads.’
He climbed through the hatchway and stood looking around. What had stirred up the dust?
Eve helped Cally through and Loren scrambled up behind them. Eve swung her torch beam from wall to wall, from floor to ceiling.
‘Gabe. The dust . . .’
‘Yeah, I know. Can’t feel or see anything that could’ve caused it.’
He ran the light the length of the room. Two bare lightbulbs hung from the ceiling.
‘Can you see a switch anywhere?’
Eve turned the torch towards the wall nearest to the open hatch. ‘Over here,’ she said, going to the single light switch that was fixed into the angled wall. She pressed it down, but only one overhead light came on and its power was insufficient, as, it seemed, were most of the lights in Crickley Hall. It was positioned at the far end of the long room and it did manage to reveal a door in the wood partitioning. She shivered. It was very cold in the attic.
Eve spotted the iron cotbeds piled together and taking up most of one corner. There must be a dozen, she thought to herself, or at least eleven. ‘Is this where the children slept, d’you think?’ she asked Gabe. ‘Was this their dormitory when they stayed here during the war?’
‘Yeah, it figures.’ Gabe ran his lightbeam over the jumbled frames. ‘If they’d stayed up here when the flood hit they would’ve survived. Makes no sense.’
‘But it’s so bare. Surely they’d have had their toys and other things with them.’
‘It was a long time ago, hon. The place would’ve been cleared out.’ He pointed his flashlight towards the partition door at the other end of the room. ‘Unless a lot of stuff was stored away.’
He started forward, his footsteps sounding hollow in the room’s emptiness.
Eve caught his arm as he went by. ‘Have you forgotten why we came up here?’
‘Uh?’
‘The noises, the footsteps,’ she reminded him. ‘The footsteps sounded light, like children running around in bare feet.’
He hesitated. Thought for a moment. Then: ‘Coulda been anything.’
‘No, you know I’m right. It was children we heard. I think this house holds on to its memories.’
‘Not that again. Crickley Hall isn’t haunted.’
He regretted the words as soon as he’d uttered them.
‘Dad?’ Loren looked up at him, fear in her wide eyes.
Eve went to her. ‘It’s all right, Loren. We didn’t mean to frighten you.’ She put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
‘But you said it was haunted.’ Loren was frozen; she did not move into her mother’s embrace.
Eve tried to reassure her. ‘No, I didn’t mean that. I said the house has memories. That doesn’t necessarily mean there are ghosts here.’
‘I don’t like ghosts, Mummy,’ Cally piped up.
There was no anger in Gabe’s voice, only despair. ‘You’re spooking ’em,’ he said to Eve.
‘Then you tell me what made the noise.’
And that was the problem: Gabe had no idea.
‘Maybe there’s something behind that wall.’ He waved the flashlight at the partition and started to walk towards it through the floating dust.
‘No, Daddy,’ Loren pleaded.
Cally looked at her older sister and her mouth was downturned. She quickly joined Eve and Loren. The three of them stared at the far door as if something horrible might be on the other side.
‘I’m just taking a look,’ Gabe reassured them as he went.
‘Gabe, I don’t think . . .’ Eve began to say, but stopped. What was there to be afraid of? If it was only memories that haunted the house, then there’d be nothing to fear. Yet she still felt a strong sense of foreboding.
‘You stay there with the girls,’ Gabe suggested over his shoulder.
Eve recognized his determination. He was cautious, she knew that, but it would take more than unaccountable noises to intimidate him. She ignored his suggestion and, gathering up her daughters, Eve reluctantly followed him through the unexplainable dust storm. The dim overhead light barely lit his head and shoulders.
Gabe halted before the plain hardwood door and examined the doorknob. There was no lock below, only a swivel latch. He pushed the latch with his finger so that it was vertical and he felt the door jolt slightly as it released from pressure. Eve and the girls silently watched as he pulled the door forward.
The utter darkness inside slunk back from the torchlight as if caught unawares.
Gabe poked his head into the opening.
‘Junk,’ he announced after a moment. ‘Nothing but stored-away junk in here.’
He disappeared inside and Eve and the girls filled the open doorway. Eve waved her torch around, more curious than scared now, and although the lights chased shadows away, it caused others that were dense. She saw odd pieces of furniture – chairs with straight backs, boxes piled high on a table with thick rounded legs, more boxes on the littered floor; an old-fashioned two-bar electric fire; rolls of what looked like curtain material; lampshades; a figurine whose head was broken off at the neck; a small statue of Christ with a burning heart, one of its supplicating arms missing; two tall matching vases, both chipped and cracked. There was more: a round hanging clock lying flat on its back and minus a minute hand; a framed landscape painting leaning against a box, its glass cracked; a dented iron bucket; several battered cardboard suitcases with broken handles; other items covered by dirty wrinkled sheets. The partitioned room was filled with Crickley Hall’s detritus, oddments of no value or use any more.
Eve moved further in, the girls, clutching each other’s hand, following, afraid to be left alone outside. She could see Gabe mov
ing things around in the gloom. The atmosphere was thick with dust and stagnation.
She heard Gabe whistle through his teeth. ‘Will you look at this,’ he said.
She caught up with him to see what he’d found. ‘Toys,’ she said almost breathlessly.
‘Old toys,’ he corrected her. ‘Look at ’em. Some are still in their boxes. You can make out what they are under the dirt.’
It was true: the images of their contents were partially visible beneath the thick layers of dust. A train set. Snakes and ladders. A farmyard with painted wooden animals. Eve picked up a flattish box and wiped her hand across it. The box apparently contained a jigsaw; the picture was of a park, with illustrated children playing, some of them on swings, others on slides . . . a cartoon boy on a roundabout, yellow hair . . . like Cam’s.
Gabe interrupted her melancholy thoughts. ‘And check this out.’
His light revealed an archaic blackboard, its corners rounded, chalk markings just visible underneath the dust. It rested against the angled wall, its easel leaning against it. Crammed close to the blackboard were stacked rectangular trestle-tables, their metal legs housed beneath the flat surfaces.
Gabe went over to a large open cardboard box and dug his hand into it. He brought out a strange rubber contraption with large glass eyeholes and a stubby round nose.
‘I’ll be damned,’ he murmured.
‘A gas mask,’ Eve said.
‘Yeah, from the Second World War. But it’s small, meant for kids. There’s more in there.’
‘Do you think all these things have been stored away since then?’
‘Seems likely. Look at those toys. They don’t make simple stuff like this these days.’ He reached down for something lying at his feet and showed it to her, blowing some of the dust that dulled its brightness. ‘Made of tin. Look, it’s even got a key to wind up the engine.’
Slipping the flashlight under his armpit, Gabe used thumb and forefinger to wind up the old motorcar but the key stuck on the first turn. ‘Must’ve rusted up inside,’ he remarked, gazing at the machine in wonder.
Eve picked up a limp ragdoll lying on top of a carton. ‘You won’t find many of these around any more,’ she said, turning the soft doll over in her hand, the reason for searching the attic lost to her for the moment. ‘It’s a golliwog. It’s just not PC for children to play with anything like this these days. I had one myself when I was very young.’
‘You know what’s strange?’ Gabe, having discarded the tin car, was crouching by a cardboard box and wiping away the covering dust with the palm of his hand. ‘Look, this one’s never been opened and, from what I can tell, nor have any of the others. These toys have never been played with.’
‘But why? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Maybe they were being kept hidden in here for Christmas. The flood took the poor kids before they got the chance to be given ’em.’
‘You think that was it?’
‘Only guessing. But they were out of sight behind other boxes and stuff. I moved that blackboard and easel to get to the toys. Could be that they were forgotten after the disaster and more junk was stashed in here in front of ’em so they couldn’t be seen. S’way I figure it, anyhow.’
‘Daddy, what’s this?’
Gabe and Eve turned and searched out Cally among the shadows. She was squatting on her haunches, a podgy little hand resting on a round object standing on the floor.
‘Don’t touch it, Cally, it’s filthy,’ Eve warned her. ‘Let Daddy have a look at it first.’
Gabe climbed over boxes and other neglected toys to reach his daughter.
‘I think it’s a top, Dad,’ said Loren, who had become interested in her sister’s find. ‘You know, one of those spinning tops. I used to have one like it when I was little.’
‘Let’s see.’ He knelt on the floorboards and picked up the toy with his free hand. He wiped it on his sweater sleeve and bright colours sprang into life.
Cally gave out a small squeal of delight.
‘Don’t get too hopeful, Cally. Doubt it’s gonna work after all this time.’
He steadied the spinning top on the floor, then pushed down its spiral plunger. It gave out a rusty growl as it spun one and half revolutions before stopping with an ominous clonk.
‘Yep, probably rusted inside.’
‘Can you mend it, Daddy?’ Cally asked hopefully.
‘Sure, I can try.’
‘Can we take it downstairs? Can I play with it?’
‘Lot of other toys here to choose from, Sparky.’
‘No, this one, Daddy. Please.’
Gabe straightened. ‘Okay, let me carry it ’til we can give it a good wipeover, okay?’
‘Yes, please.’
Eve, apart from them in the gloom, felt a sudden shiver run through her. She thought of the sounds they had heard coming through the ceiling when they were downstairs. A scurrying. A rushing of feet. From the attic room that had once been used as a dormitory.
A sound that was loud on the bare floorboards; yet somehow light. As though the sounds belonged to children scampering in bare or stockinged feet.
Running, scattering, children.
18: THIRD NIGHT
Yet another night they slept together, the girls snuggled between Gabe and Eve. The only difference this time was that the dog refused to leave the kitchen, the rain having forced Gabe to bring him in. Chester had resisted Gabe’s tugging at his collar, whimpering at his master’s coaxing, haunches low. Despite Gabe’s entreaties, the mongrel had refused to leave his spot beside the garden door; he cowered there, eyes wild with fear that only he could understand.
In the end, Gabe could only shake his head in mystified frustration. Sure, Eve was right – there was something weird going on in this place – but last night the mutt had howled to be allowed upstairs with the family; tonight nothing would induce Chester to leave his blanket by the door. The engineer was certain that if he opened the outside door the dog would be through it like the wind and this time, in the dark, they’d never find him.
Exasperated, Gabe had left Chester there, hoping he wouldn’t howl in the night.
Naturally, Loren and Cally wanted to know who or what had been running around in the old dormitory earlier (although Cally had seemed more interested in the spinning top she was allowed to bring downstairs) and there was no logical explanation either parent could give them. Gabe had unconvincingly muttered about airlocks and waterpipes once more and the girls were not taken in. They were too tired, though, to be more curious, especially Loren, who, unusually, wanted to go to bed. Gabe and Eve knew their daughters would be too jittery to fall asleep on their own, despite their tiredness, so had retired with them.
Because of this, Gabe and Eve had no opportunity to discuss the phenomenon between themselves, and the truth was, neither of them felt like it that night; they both lacked the energy.
They were all fast asleep within minutes of settling down and the only noise in Crickley Hall, apart from the distressed mewlings of Chester in the kitchen, was the creak of rough floorboards and timbers, and the faint but constant whispering of rushing water that crept up from the bowels of the house and through the open cellar door . . .
19: MONDAY
‘You nervous, Slim?’ Gabe changed up a gear and stole a glance at Loren, who was strapped into the Range Rover’s passenger seat beside him.
There was no guile about Loren; she was still young enough to be open and honest and totally without front. She responded without hesitation: ‘Yes, Dad.’
‘Don’t be. You’ll soon make new friends.’
‘I’m not from around here.’
‘It’ll make you more interesting.’
He slowed the car, indicated left, and swung out from the narrow lane with its high hedges on either side into a wider and busier road.
‘I’ve spoken to the headteacher, Mr Horkins, a coupla times, once on the phone and once in person when I scouted out the school last time I was d
own here. Seems an okay guy, runs a tight ship. The kids impressed me when I visited, almost civilized, y’know?’
Gabe was taking Loren to Merrybridge Middle School on her first morning, but the school bus would bring her back in the afternoon. They had all overslept, even Cally, who normally could be relied on to be wide awake and singing loudly or playing with her dolls at the crack of dawn. But it had been a late night for her and a troubling one for them all. Gabe had lamely put the sleep-in down to ‘good country air’ and there had been no time to discuss the events – the mysterious running footsteps – of the previous night. A quick breakfast of coffee and toast for Gabe, cereals for the girls, and then he and Loren set out for Merrybridge. Chester, who once again had been tied outside to the tree, barked after them as they hurried across the bridge.
Gabe slowed down with the flow of traffic. It seemed even coastal Devon had its rush hour.
‘It’s horrible not knowing anybody,’ whinged Loren, gazing ahead through the windscreen, chewing at her lower lip.
‘Hey, you’ll find someone to hook up with. You’re good at making friends.’
‘I really don’t want to go to a new school.’
‘It’s only for a short time. We talked about this.’
‘Will Mummy get . . . will she get better?’
‘I think being away from our old house might help her come to terms with the situation. New surroundings, new people.’ He didn’t add that the first anniversary of Cam’s disappearance was almost upon them. ‘It won’t make her forget, but it might divert her attention for a while, maybe help her get a grip.’
‘But she’s been sad for such a long time.’ Loren turned towards her father. ‘Mummy still cries when she’s alone. I can always tell, even when she pretends she’s all right.’
‘I know.’
‘We’re all sad about Cam. I still miss him a lot, but . . .’ Her words trailed off.
‘But eventually you have to get on with life.’ Gabe finished for her. He took a quick look her way. She was pale and troubled and there were faint smudges under her eyes.
‘Sometimes I feel guilty because I think of Cam less and less,’ she said.
The Secret of Crickley Hall Page 12