by Sarah Dalton
You tell me, diary. Am I insane? Should I worry that I am seeing things and dreaming worse? Tomorrow I want to do nothing more than stay out in the sunshine and play with Bailey. I don’t want to be anywhere near my sister.
Liza
Chapter Eleven
We return to Ravenswood shortly after the strange encounter with the bookseller. Mum has the electrician coming and we need to let him in.
At first the car is charged with unspoken energy. I find myself searching for Lacey as an explanation, but she wanted me to spend alone time with Mum. She said we should properly make up from the slap, otherwise we would regret it. When it comes to parental issues, Lacey wins hands down, and when it comes to the thought of life being too short, she’s a constant reminder. Without Lacey’s presence, that hum of electricity can only come from us and from the words that have built between us. Within us. What are we doing? Going to séances, moving into haunted houses, visiting old bookshops, and not talking about the weird things that are happening…
There’s a secret hiding in Mum’s past that she won’t tell me about, and there’s a secret in my present that I won’t tell her about. Unspoken words hang heavy between us, and I think we have only just realised that, which is why we end up turning up the now fixed radio, putting down the sun roof and singing along to the pop chart.
In between songs, Mum turns the volume down and asks, “Have I made up for it?”
“What?”
“The slap? Have I made up for it?”
I don’t know what to say so I remain silent. The thing is, she’s asking the wrong question. She wants forgiveness for the wrong thing. I want to say, It wasn’t the slap. It was because you didn’t believe me. You didn’t believe the séance was real, and you still think I’m crazy.
“No, I didn’t think so. I never will, probably.” She blinks and turns away.
For the rest of the journey we don’t sing.
*
The electrician is a short man with a receding hairline and a large stomach. He wears typical workman gear—a stretched check shirt and belted jeans. He wipes his feet on the door mat and then puts on a pair of strange elasticated booties over the chunky boots. I always think it emasculates even the most masculine of men when they enter a house and have to wear those plastic things. I think of the collective groans from the workers when a decision is made higher up. You’re wearing them no matter what. Fuck off, we ain’t. You fucking are.
I notice his eyes roaming all over the walls of the house as though he’s fascinated by where we live.
“Come in, Mr. Greengrass,” Mum says. “I’m so glad you could make it. We’ve been having lots of trouble with the fuse box. It must be a busy spot for electricians in Ashforth. You were the fifth person we tried.”
“Well, it’s a little out of the way, love,” Greengrass says, scratching under the waistband of his jeans. He carries a heavy toolbox in his other hand. “They probably didn’t want to come up here.”
Mum frowns, puzzled. “We’re only ten minutes out of town.”
“Well, that can be a problem for some. So, where is the fuse box, then? I’ll get it done quickly and get out of your hair.”
“It’s in the cellar. I’ll show you around.”
The electrician pales. “The cellar, you say. All right, then.”
I’m watching him follow Mum through the house when there’s a chill and a crackle of static next to me.
“Boo!” Lacey says.
I just roll my eyes. “You’re going to have to do much better than that. I think I’ve become somewhat immune to your ghostly habits.”
“Oh, how boring. Am I not scary anymore?”
“Nah, not really.”
“Damn. Do you reckon I can learn to change how I look? You know, get some skin hanging off my face or find some chains to rattle?”
“I dunno, maybe. Scared any random pissers yet?” Lacey has a habit of appearing to drunk men as they’re peeing in public places.
“There was this one dude. He had the tiniest—”
“I think I get the idea.” I hold a hand up to stop the mental image before it gets worse.
“Homosexuality confirmed once again.” She raises her eyebrows at me and waggles them up and down.
I laugh. “I can imagine.”
“So what’s the news? Any more séances? I feel as though I’ve been floating around limbo forever. I’m missing all the juicy stuff.”
I wave Lacey through to the living room and shut the door. Hopefully Mum will be busy with the electrician for long enough to allow us a conversation.
“We went into Ashforth. There was this little bookshop there and this weird old man who ran it. Mum started telling him about where we live and he went all… weird. He started to talk about the house and then changed his mind. He said, ‘You don’t know, do you?’ as though there’s some great mystery. I’m telling you, I think someone was killed here. I think there’s a spirit with some unfinished business. It’s probably all in the journal by that Liza girl.” I find myself misty-eyed at the thought of the music box.
“But, Mares, I would have felt another presence in the house,” Lacey says. “I’ve been here loads and I’ve never felt anything.”
“How do you know ghosts can’t hide from other ghosts?” I whisper. “You’ve only been dead a few months. We’re both still learning all the rules. I didn’t know that I could get possessed by a spirit until the other day. I thought it was a myth.”
“And I didn’t sense anything from all the spirits in Emmaline’s house until they started coming through the walls. I figured it was that American guy. I figured he was pulling them away from the spirit world. It was a right weird sensation. I felt drawn to him, too, like he was inviting me inside him or something.” She rubs her arms as though cold.
“Were you drawn to me?” I ask. “I don’t understand why the spirit came to me, or how it possessed me. But I did feel like the ghosts were coming to me, rather than Mr. Anthony.”
She shakes her head. “It was only the American guy. But that could be because I’m around you all the time. We have a connection, anyway. I sense when you’re afraid, and you realise when I’m in the room, don’t you?”
“Usually,” I say. “You have an electric energy.”
“This being dead thing is way too complicated. Maybe we should Google the house,” Lacey says. “Remember when we first heard the story about Little Amy? We discovered loads of stuff about it on the net. I reckon this house will have loads of stuff written about it too. Get your laptop.”
“No battery, and the electricity isn’t working so I can’t charge it. Plus the Wi-Fi isn’t working. I hate this house. I can read Liza’s diary, though. Or we could go to the library in Ashforth tomorrow.”
“The Victorian girl? Yeah, you should read her diary.”
The door opens and Mum wanders into the lounge muttering under her breath. She stops talking and chews on her lip, lost in thought. Her eyes are glazed as she pulls thoughtfully on one earring. I watch as she stops partway into the room and stares out of the window. Then she continues on, her walk slower and more plodding than usual. Mum is a woman who walks with purpose.
“Mum?” I say. “You all right?”
She ignores me and carries on walking. Then her lips open a fraction, she stands very still and mutters under her breath. Her unfocussed eyes continue to stare out of the window, yet when I follow her gaze, there’s nothing there.
“Mum?” A sense of dread passes through me like a wave of dizziness. My throat goes dry as I approach her.
“She’s lost it. I knew it was going to happen sometime,” Lacey says. “Your Mum has crazy-eyes.”
Seeing her so unfocussed disturbs me. “Mum?”
Her skin is pale and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. She tugs on her earring until I worry she might rip it out.
“The cellar is very dark,” she says. “Murky.”
“Why don’t you sit down?” I suggest. I�
�ve never been very good at looking after other people, especially adults.
“All right.”
I manoeuvre her over to the sofa and she sits.
“Is the electrician still down there?” I ask.
“Yeah, he’s still working.” She sniffs and wipes her eyes. “I’m sorry. I spaced out there for a minute. I think that perhaps I haven’t been sleeping very well. It’s probably this heat. I had to have my window wide open last night and then all I heard all night were owls, and… dogs, I think. Lots of barking, and mewling too, as though there were cats out there. Did you hear it, Mary?”
“No, I didn’t. Maybe I should make you some tea.”
As I’m about to go into the kitchen, the electrician comes hurrying through the hallway. He holds out a piece of paper and thrusts it into my hand.
“There’s your safety certificate if you need it. The invoice will be in the post. I’ve fixed the fuse box and it should all work, but I’m on holiday for the foreseeable… forever. So don’t call me. Ever. You’ll have to find someone else. Maybe from out of town.” He pushes past me, still talking, his upper lip beaded with sweat. “Don’t worry, I’ll show myself out. Invoice will be in the post. Good luck to you living here. You’ll need it.”
“But… don’t you want a cup of tea or something?”
“No!”
The door shuts behind him, leaving one of his plastic booties in the middle of our hallway.
“Wow, he couldn’t wait to get out of here.”
“No kidding,” Lacey replies.
“It was so cold down in the cellar.” Mum’s voice is faraway, talking to no one.
Lacey and I share a glance. Ravenswood has a dark secret, and it appears that we are the ones who will have to uncover it.
*
We finally have television and radio, but there’s still no internet connection and no phone. Making a phone call requires going down to the end of the garden and using a mobile. The thing is, as you walk down the garden the trees rustle their leaves louder and louder until it seems as though they’re closing in on you. I hate walking down the path. I hate the swing that always seems to rock back and forth even when there’s no wind.
Part of me wishes Mum would return to work. She’s obsessed with the house. Everything needs to be “just so” and that includes all the new furniture we’ve had delivered. It all has to be put together, and no, apparently we can’t wait until Dad comes back. It has to be arranged now.
Which is why—that night— I climb into bed with aching limbs, wondering what the outside world is like. It feels as though I’ve been cooped up in the house for days, breathing the same air, eating the same food (corned beef sandwiches, mostly) and spending time with the same people—Mum and Lacey. The worst part is how Mum can’t see Lacey and I have to pretend she isn’t there. The stress of it all has my muscles tightly wound.
Late at night, when the creaks in the house tell me Mum is in bed, I take the music box out from underneath my bed. In a little bedspread cocoon I open it and listen to the pretty song.
My troubles ebb away. It’s as though I stuff the stress into a glass bottle and toss it into the sea.
After a few minutes of relaxation, I remove the diary from the box. Lacey has agreed to give me privacy when I ask for it, and that includes at night. I want some time alone, to read along with Liza and listen to the music. It feels very important for some reason. I don’t care what that reason might be. I need this. I need to learn more about Liza. Her words drip with worry for her sister Lottie. Darkness seeps from within the spaces of her neat handwriting. I pull the bedcovers over my head and listen to the music box over and over.
As I read, I can’t help but notice a strange scratching at the back of my mind, as though something is trying to manifest. It could be an old memory. It could be a connection. I ignore it and read on. Liza has a new governess.
Still that sensation returns. It’s too hot under my duvet and I pull it away. I shut the music box and put it back beneath my bed. My skin itches. I take a break and get out of bed to stretch my legs. The room is filled with shadow; only the spotlight of my lamp remains. With the silence spread out like a blanket, I’m lonely.
May 25th 1847
Bess took me aside in the pantry and checked me. She pulled my face close to hers—so close I could see the wrinkles on her forehead and a protruding mole by her nose—and stared deep into my eyes.
“You must be stronger than your sister. You’ve not got it in you, but she has.”
I wriggled away from her. “What are you talking about?”
“The devil, that’s what. The devil. Just you keep away from her, you hear? You can’t go near her now. She’s not safe.”
“She’s my sister,” I say. “I won’t ignore her.”
“She’s not safe. You stay near Bessie as much as you can.” Her words were strong but there was strangeness in the way she gripped hold of me, almost desperate. Her open expression implored me to take her seriously. And I did, very much so.
Papa had to go to York today and I cried when he left. Lottie didn’t even look at him and I could tell that it hurt Papa. He ruffled her hair, but she let out this horrible noise, resembling a cat in pain. It alarmed both me and Mama. Miss Stevens said that Lottie should go for a lie down. I thought so too, she was so pale and waxy.
Mama agreed to let Miss Stevens take Lottie up to her room and I followed them. Now, diary, you cannot judge me. I still think that Lottie is a beast. She has been a terrible pain on more than one occasion. But I am rather worried about her, you see. I had a peculiar desire to check that she was all right.
Anyway, it was fine. Miss Stevens was very kind and loving. She tucked Lottie right into bed and then she hummed her a song. It was beautiful. In fact, I stayed by the entrance of the room and I listened for a while.
That was when Lottie began to hum along with her.
And I hummed too.
I closed my eyes. And I hummed the song. I immediately felt a lot better, as though all my worries were fading away. It took me a while to leave, but as Lottie and Miss Stevens stopped humming, they began to talk in very low whispers. Part of me wanted to listen to their conversation, but it was too personal, too intimate. I left them in the room bent over, lips to ears, two conspirators, and me the outsider.
It was only after I left that I realised it was the same song from my music box. Lottie and Miss Stevens have been through my belongings. The thought makes my stomach hurt. The old Lottie would go through my things and I would get annoyed or tell Papa, but it didn’t frighten me. However, this new version of my sister and the woman who has become an odd kind of guardian to her frighten me down to my very core. I must find a new hiding place for the music box. She must not find the journal. I only hope that she hasn’t already read it.
I hope Papa comes back from York very quickly. I have a strange feeling about everything at the moment. It’s all so very queer. I’m too nervous to sleep. Every creak of the floorboard has my nerves on edge. I should stop writing and at least try to sleep, or try to forget everything that is happening at the house. Bailey is whining at my door. I wish I could let him sleep in my room, but Mama will whip me if I do.
Liza
Chapter Twelve
I notice the warmth of the sun on my cheek first, and then the fact that my face is half stuck to Liza’s diary. I have to peel myself carefully away from the old papers to make sure that nothing is ripped. There’s a little drool, but luckily the diary isn’t too damaged. I wipe my mouth and curse myself for being so careless.
I want to read more, but I should go down for breakfast and check on Mum. There are some similarities in the way Mum looked yesterday—the pale face, the vague expression—and the description of how Lottie is acting in the diary. This can’t be a coincidence, and perhaps it’s time to accept that there is a malevolent presence in this house. I shake away the dull sensation in my stomach and get into the shower.
The hot water is good
on my skin. Really good. As I rinse the shampoo out of my hair, I begin to hum the tune from the music box. I still can’t remember the words, but I love that song. Just humming it makes the tension in my muscles flow away. I close my eyes and tip my head back. I feel soft hands on my shoulders and temples, working away all the stress.
It’ll be fine. It always is. I’ve survived scary ghosts before. Mum is a grown woman who can handle herself.
Water-soft fingers work into my neck. I let out a sigh. I can hear the music. I can hear someone humming it in my ear. It sounds beautiful. Melodic and slow. Pretty. It’s a low voice, not too deep, not too high. A voice that’s smooth and confident. It doesn’t sound like me. But it must, it must be me.
I don’t overthink it. I let myself relax into the song. Let the water work…
The shower curtain is ripped open, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. I scream. My hands rush to the places I want to keep hidden.
“What do you think you’re doing?” It’s Mum. She stands before me with her eyes flashing with rage. “You’ve been in there forty-five minutes. Don’t you appreciate that there are other people in this house?”
“Wh-what?” I stutter. It’s only after she enters that I realise the water has run cold. I’m shivering all over.
Mum grasps me by the elbow. “Get the hell out of there.”
I trip over the tub as I clamber out, my shaking legs covered in goose bumps. Lacey materialises through the wall in time to see Mum marching me out of the bathroom.
“Mares, I came because you’re upset. What’s happening?”
My teeth chatter so violently that I can’t open my mouth to speak. Mum’s hands are cold, colder than the water, and her thin fingers dig so hard into my flesh that her stubby fingernails press into my arm. Her jaw is set. I glance towards her face, fearful to meet her gaze. There’s a smouldering rage behind her eyes, like a storm cloud over her irises. I pull away from her as she drags me through the hall, but her fingers are vice-like. I can only follow and let my soggy body leave damp footprints along the carpet.