The Secret of Crickley Hall

by James Herbert

‘Mum!’ Loren called out from the hall’s threshold. There was no answer.

  Quickly becoming aware of the vast room’s deep coolness, they stopped in their tracks.

  ‘Hell,’ Gabe muttered, perplexed. By now, he was used to the house’s chill despite the working radiators and the fire she lit in various rooms, but this was something else. This was like stepping into a deep-freeze again.

  ‘Daddy, look.’ Loren was standing perfectly still in front of him, but her head was upturned as she looked at the galleried landing above. He caught sight of them, but oddly he couldn’t focus on any.

  They sped along the landing, fleeting wisps of – of what? Small stringy smoke clouds, hazy drifts of fog? White shadows? On their first day here, Loren had claimed to have seen what she called a white shadow outside her bedroom door – was this what she meant? But now there were several, streaking, gliding along the landing, separate entities like – like spectres – in a rush. As Gabe and Loren’s eyes grew accustomed to the poor light and the depthless shadows it seemed to induce, they saw more of these vaporous moving shrouds on the broad stairway, so faint they were scarcely visible. They darted down to the hall itself to scatter this way and that as if confused.

  It was an impossible sight, all the more implausible because of the vagueness of the shapes; nevertheless, Gabe felt the skin at the back of his neck stiffen, the iciness there sharp, almost stinging.

  He moved in front of Loren as if to shield her, but incredibly there was no fear on her face, only a kind of astonished awe. Without further thought, he took a step back to the side of the kitchen doorway, where a row of brown light switches was situated, and pushed all three of them down with the edge of his hand.

  The light – mainly from the ironwork chandelier high overhead, but also from two single, shaded hanging lights along the L-shaped landing – was ungenerous, but it at least cleared the air of the phantasms. Gabe was relieved, but still mystified.

  ‘Eve!’ he called out. ‘Eve, where are you?’

  He and Loren heard the low cry at the same time and both looked towards the open sitting-room door. Despite the overhead illumination, the darkness beyond the doorway was hardly softened; it was almost as if a solid black barrier barred entry. Gabe and Loren hurried towards it, passing the open cellar door on the way, and they reached the room together.

  Without thought, Gabe leaned in, his fingers scrabbling round for the wall light switch, and it was like dipping his hand into thick ink so intense was the blackness there. He nearly pulled back from the awful stench that seemed to saturate the air, but he resisted the impulse, guessing his wife was somewhere there in the darkness.

  Even as he sought the switch, which was at least a foot further along than he remembered, he heard Loren gasp beside him. Then he saw it too, by the dismal glow thrown out by the almost extinguished fire in the hearth. There were two figures sitting there in the dark, one in the room’s armchair, the other – he knew by instinct this was Eve – on the couch, face half-turned towards something – something even blacker than the room’s dense umbra – that stooped over her.

  His urgent fingers finally found the light switch and struck it down. The light almost seemed reluctant to fulfil its role, for it came on dimly at first, increasing in power in slow, progressive stages, taking seconds to glow brightly. It was as if the darkness itself had fought against it.

  Only Eve and an unfamiliar fair-haired woman occupied the sitting room and both sat like pale statues, perfectly still as if scared rigid.

  Only then did the fire flame back into life.

  43: CONFLICT

  Gabe let his anger rip.

  ‘Tell me again what happened a few minutes ago. You say there was a ghost .’standing over Eve, but it disappeared when I came in the room with Loren and switched on the light.’

  ‘I don’t know that it was aghost,’ Lili replied evenly, avoiding the engineer’s fierce gaze. ‘It was an entity of some sort, that’s all I can tell you, and it wished us harm. We both saw it, a . . . a black shape that was reaching for Eve until you disturbed it. Somehow it lost its power and faded. Maybe it was the lights that did it, I just don’t know.’

  ‘But you say the place is haunted.’ Gabe glared at the psychic, concerned that Eve was being too easily influenced by her.

  ‘Eleven children were drowned in this house over sixty years ago, Mr Caleigh. Now something is preventing their spirits from passing over. We have to help them, we have to find out what’s blocking their progress, we have to help them go to where they’re meant to be.’

  Gabe stopped his pacing to look down at her.

  If Lili felt intimidated, she did not show it. She went on: ‘I also think your daughter is some kind of catalyst for the spirit children.’

  ‘Come on . . .’ Gabe groaned.

  ‘It’s not uncommon for astral spirits to use the pure psychic energy of young people – especially teenage or pre-teenage girls for some reason. The darkness and smell that was in this room went away when the light was turned on and Loren came in.’

  Before he could interrupt, Lili asked a question. ‘Has Loren felt unusually tired recently?’

  ‘Why yes,’ responded Eve, surprised. ‘We all have, but especially Loren. She’s complained of tiredness since we arrived here. We thought it was because of change of environment, or anxiety over starting at a new school. Or just, you know, part of the process of growing up.’

  ‘She’s at an age when her psychic energy is strong but all over the place. It’s easily tapped into.’

  Gabe’s voice was incredulous. ‘Are you saying our daughter is possessed?’

  Lili shook her head vigorously. ‘No, no, nothing like that. It’s just a phenomenon that nobody can explain. You must’ve felt how cold it was in here earlier. It’s because the spirits drain energy from the atmosphere itself. But their greatest source of power is from living people, particularly young people whose open minds have yet to be dulled by cynicism. That’s why I turned towards spiritualism myself; I was used by a child ghost when I was a little girl – that was when I realized I had a special gift that no one else around me seemed to have.’

  Gabe regarded Loren with concern. She had been allowed to remain in the room while her mother and the psychic related what had happened earlier because both he and Eve considered her mature enough to hear their discussion – after all, she had experienced some weird stuff herself in this place. Now he was beginning to regret the decision. Loren was sitting on the couch close to her mother and her eyes were intent on the psychic. Most kids believed in ghosts, he thought, but then many also believed in fairies. He returned his attention to the young blonde woman in the armchair.

  ‘Listen, lady—’

  ‘Her name’s Lili,’ Eve quickly interjected, annoyed at his rudeness – and his blunt refusal to accept what he was being told. ‘Lili Peel.’

  ‘Okay, sorry. I don’t know what game you’re playing, what interest you’ve got in all this, but you’re twisting my wife’s head. You got her believing everything you say.’

  Eve was about to protest, but he held up a hand as if to ward her off.

  ‘Now it so happens I don’t believe in ghosts, never have, probably never will, but I admit something’s going on here that isn’t normal, so I guess you’d call it the paranormal. The house has certainly got bad vibes that I can’t account for. But I do know you can’t talk to the dead, not for real. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you’re a phoney, I honestly believe you’re sincere in what you say. I just don’t go along with it and I don’t want my wife and daughter to either. We got enough problems without this.’

  ‘Then you explain the paranormal activity that’s been going on since you got here,’ Lili came back at him, ‘all the things Eve has told me about.’

  At last Lili was showing some defiance, thought Eve, secretly glad. Before, Lili had seemed a little cowed by Gabe’s verbal disdain. Now she delivered her words with the same brittle coldness that she’d used when
Eve had visited the shop yesterday.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Gabe, shaking his head in frustration. ‘I don’t know. But I don’t want it to be my family’s problem.’

  ‘You can’t just walk away from it.’

  ‘Watch us.’

  ‘There are young children involved, lost children.’

  ‘But not real kids.’

  ‘They need our help.’

  ‘Your help. We don’t have that psychic thing.’ The last two words were derisory.

  ‘And if I can find your missing son at the same time?’

  Gabe’s mouth shut tight. His fists clenched.

  ‘Lili spoke to Cam.’ Eve said as if daring her husband to disbelieve. ‘He knows we’re here.’

  Lili faltered. ‘I . . . I didn’t speak to him. Somehow our minds connected, that was all. It was as if he was searching and had finally found what he was looking for. It wasn’t very clear, I couldn’t be certain it was him. But I can try again. Not now – I feel as if I’ve been drained dry – but soon, maybe even tomorrow?’

  ‘Forgive my cynicism’ – he didn’t sound in the least bit sorry – ‘but is that how you get your kicks, stringing gullible people along with your talk of contacting lost souls by mind-power?’

  Eve was almost out of her seat. ‘That’s unfair! I went to Lili, not the other way round.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ He held up a penitent hand. ‘I’m just saying maybe she’s even deluding herself, thinking she can talk to dead people or that she has telepathic powers. Look, I don’t know how or why, but I think this house musters up hallucinations, even in sceptics like me.’

  Eve shook her head in dismay. ‘You think all this is our imagination? The footsteps in the attic, the knocking behind the empty cupboard doors? Gabe, I saw the spirits of those poor little children myself out there in the hall only two days ago. You think it’s all self-delusion?’

  ‘I’ve never been into this kinda stuff, so I don’t know what it is. But something’s going on here and we’re not hanging around to find out what. It’s none of our business, right?’

  ‘How can you be—’ Eve stopped in mid-sentence. Both Lili and Gabe had turned their attention to the open doorway behind her. She twisted round on the couch to see for herself, Loren following suit.

  Cally stood in the opening, spongy Bart Simpson cuddled in one arm, the knuckles of her other hand rubbing at her sleepy eyes. With everything that had happened, Eve had completely forgotten about her youngest daughter napping upstairs. Cally had slept for a long time, far longer than usual.

  ‘Mummy,’ the five-year-old said plaintively. ‘Why are the children so frightened?’

  Outside, the clouds began to shed their load and rain drummed against the windows.

  44: SIXTH NIGHT

  It had been a difficult evening, Gabe and Eve barely speaking to one another for much of it. There was no shouting match (although in some ways that might have been better – it would have at least cleared the air), there was just a brooding awkwardness left between them following a brief argument after Lili Peel had departed. Even this was kept low-level. for they hadn’t wanted to upset Loren and Cally any further with talk of ghosts, real or otherwise. But when their daughters had gone to bed, Eve had told him of the incident with the garden swing that morning, how some invisible force had pushed the swing too high, terrifying Cally and frightening herself, how she, Eve, had been knocked to the ground, showing Gabe the small mark on her chin where she’d been hit by the wooden seat. She also spoke of the children’s spirits that she – and Cally – had seen dancing in the hall. He had been dumbfounded and only made more determined to get his family away from Crickley Hall. Although he wouldn’t admit it to them, he was becoming afraid for his wife and daughters. But Eve wouldn’t listen, she just wouldn’t hear him out. Frustrated, Gabe had retreated into a cool silence, the way he always did when events and emotions seemed to spin out of his control. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, in the new light of day, he’d get Eve to change her mind.

  Gabe turned in his sleep and his eyes suddenly opened. He stared up at the ceiling where the glow from the landing light outside spread through the open doorway, and he wondered what had awakened him.

  He was in Loren’s bed; the girls had planted themselves in his and Eve’s four-poster without seeking permission and both were sound asleep when he and Eve had turned in for the night. They hadn’t the heart to disturb their daughters and Gabe, mindful of the previous uncomfortable nights in the crowded bed, had elected to sleep alone next door. Eve had not tried to dissuade him.

  Rain lashed the window and he thought a sudden gust of wind might have rattled the frame hard enough to disturb him. He lay there for a full minute listening for any sounds but, despite the heavy bullets of rain that continued to punish the glass, the window itself was still.

  Yet something had roused him, he was sure. A noise? A movement? He peered into the room’s shadows, into the dark corners, seeking an answer, his imagination held in check for the moment. Nothing there, as far as he could tell.

  Lifting his head from the pillow, he looked through the open doorway. There was nothing to see.

  Gabe rested his head again, his eyes remaining wide open, and listened to the ceaseless rain. He had become used to England’s general dampness whatever the season, but this was beyond usual. Apart from an occasional break, the rain had hardly let up for weeks now. He had a mental image of the river beneath the house, coursing through its subterranean channel, fed by the waters from the high moors. What damage had been done to Crickley Hall’s foundations over the decades? How long could stone and cement withstand constant pressure? It was a discomforting thought.

  He closed his eyes, wanting to sleep, needing to sleep. Crickley Hall had not offered the respite he’d hoped for. There was no peace here for his family, no let-up from their anguish.

  His eyes blinked open.

  There was no one else in the room, but suddenly it didn’t feel that way. He searched the shadowy corners again and still there was nothing to cause concern. Yet . . . yet he could feel eyes watching him. It was an uncanny sensation, but it felt very real. Eerie. As if something malevolent were observing – no, scrutinizing – him from somewhere in the room.

  He looked towards the open doorway again. Rain, driven by a sudden wind, clattered against the window, causing him to start. A hell of a night out there. But it was a minor distraction, for the sense of being watched was impossible to ignore. The muscles in his neck became taut as he stretched them.

  Then he saw it.

  But it was only in the periphery of his vision, for his attention had been elsewhere.

  He thought a small ragged mist had passed by on the landing outside. Like a shadow. Like a white shadow. Now he felt the skin of his entire body tighten as a deep chill enwrapped him. Gabe realized he was very scared.

  Of course he had known fear before, but never quite like this. This fear was filled with a dread that almost immobilized him. He had to force himself to sit up in the bed.

  Perversely, the dread of something unknown made Gabe angry with himself. He wasn’t a child and didn’t believe in ghosts. With a muttered curse, he forced himself to whip back the duvet and go to the door. Although dressed only in T-shirt and shorts, he was already too cold to feel any worse as he padded across the wooden flooring. His spine felt rigid, as though it were gripped by an icy brace, and he rolled his shoulders to loosen it. Still he felt as if he were being observed by something in the room with him; something invisible, but nevertheless there, lurking, hiding, where it couldn’t be seen.

  As he reached the door he caught a whiff of something nasty mixed with the weaker scent of . . .? Of soap? But not a pleasant brand of soap. But the extraneous odours seemed to have nothing to do with whatever had passed by the room a moment or two ago, because the air, such as it was, was purer on the landing. The unpleasant reek was from behind him. Outside the door he paused, then saw the mist again at the top of the st
airs. It lingered there, as if waiting for him. A ridiculous notion, it was true, but one he couldn’t shake.

  Gabe was reminded of the skittering images he and Loren had witnessed earlier that day and the description came to him again: white shadow. This thing looked as insubstantial as that.

  As he took a tentative step towards the small immobile mist, it began to descend the stairway. He peered over the balustrade to follow its progress.

  The landing light barely infringed upon the gloom of the grand hall below; it was like an umbrageous arena filled with deep blacks and murky greys among which anything might skulk. Yet the sinking mist was clearly visible, as though illuminated from within.

  Curiosity overrode Gabe’s trepidation. He headed towards the stairway, careful to tread softly as he passed the room in which his wife and daughters slept. He would have liked to have retrieved the flashlight he now kept beside the four-poster bed, but that would risk waking Eve or one of the girls and they deserved at least one night of uninterrupted sleep. Reaching the stairway, he paused again to search the space below.

  His eyes had become accustomed to the poor light and he caught sight of the white shadow floating across the hall towards the cellar door.

  Gabe hurried down the stairs, a hand on the banister to feel his way, his senses acutely alert, dread countered by rushing adrenaline. He stopped once again on the stairway’s square turn, his feet suddenly wet. He was standing in a puddle.

  Rain beat at the tall window and it was hardly surprising that water had leaked through the worn window frames. As he stood there, the sense of being observed was powerful enough to make him spin round and search the stairs and landing behind him. There was nothing there, though. At least, nothing that he could see.

  Ignoring the feeling of being prey to something unseen, he descended the rest of the stairs, then made his way across the flagstone floor towards the cellar on the other side of the hall. Despite his apprehension, he felt he was meant to follow this mist, this shadow; somehow it was irresistible, as if he were being lured. And he had put reason aside for the moment, allowing himself to be drawn.