Ventriloquists

by David Mathew

  Then he made a mental correction. With the chill inside the house inching into his bones, he waited until everyone had climbed in before sharing his news.

  ‘We have two torches at home, right?’ he said. ‘This one’s not great, the other one’s much better. But it wasn’t where we always leave it, in the cupboard near the back door.’

  ‘So?’ This was Maggie.

  ‘So Bernadette must’ve taken it, and why would she’ve done that? To explore an abandoned house, right? I think she was here. For sure, now.’

  Maggie asked, ‘Can you feel her?’

  ‘Feel her?’

  ‘Her presence; her spirit… Can you feel her?’ she snapped impatiently.

  ‘…No.’

  ‘You never did remember who it was she lost, by the way.’

  ‘Her dog?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘…So what happens next?’ Yasser asked.

  No one wanted to answer; the silence lasted until a noise from upstairs made them jump. Something had creaked.

  Chris put a finger to his lips and Yasser whispered to Maggie, ‘Is that your dad?’

  ‘How the hell would I know that?’ she whispered back.

  ‘Does anyone else feel like children?’ Shyleen added (weirdly for everyone) in a whisper that might have worked as a Shakespearian aside: however, it was much too loud for the surroundings.

  ‘Ssshhh!’ she was admonished.

  Whoever was upstairs was not prepared to loiter; the sounds that followed suggested that he was moving towards the top of the flight.

  The group played a game that was diametrically opposed to Sleeping Lions. When the sounds of movement stopped, they moved: they squelched through the water-damaged tufts of carpet, with Chris’s familiarity with the layout of the road’s houses (not to mention his torchlight) having made him the leader of the expedition. When the sounds from above came again, they stopped walking; they froze like sleeping lions. Employed in this tango, they soon arrived at the foot of the stairs, at which point Chris shone the light up the flight.

  ‘Who’s down there?’ a voice asked from upstairs. Torchlight beamed down.

  Just as Yasser acknowledged that it was not the voice of Tommy or of Maggie’s old man, Shyleen called, ‘Police. And you’re trespassing.’

  The man’s voice chuckled. ‘I think you’re the ones trespassing,’ the man said. ‘I don’t care if you’re the police or the Boy Scouts. Get out of my house.’

  His torchlight preceding him, he started to descend the stairs.

  5.

  The five of them stood in the rank-smelling hallway. ‘But before you go,’ said the man who was older than them all, ‘tell me why you’re here, would you?’

  ‘You don’t own this house,’ Chris told him. ‘I’ve never seen you before. Mr and Mrs Riley live here.’

  ‘They live here, yes; but I own it. One of my business investments, of which there are many. And I’ll thank you to tell me what you’re doing in my property.’

  Shyleen spoke.

  ‘Do you know what this house is?’

  ‘Yes I do. It’s fucked is what it is. My experiment backfired, you might say. But you still haven’t answered what I asked you.’

  ‘We know some people who went over,’ Yasser admitted.

  The old man cocked his head slightly. ‘Do you now? And when did this happen?’

  ‘You mean you know?’

  ‘Of course I know. I’ve been waiting for this for years, mate.’

  ‘Waiting for what?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘For a demand I could exploit,’ the man replied simply. ‘But now I need to get out of here. The damp’s no good for me lungs.’

  Shortly after they’d entered the house illegally, then, they were outside in the back garden once more.

  ‘London’s burning,’ the house owner mentioned in passing. ‘From the gyppo camp, I reckon.’

  ‘Your orientation is flawless,’ Maggie told him sourly.

  He nodded. ‘One of them, are you?’

  ‘Until recently. It was me who started the fire, ably assisted in my getaway by Yasser.’

  As Yasser began to protest (even though she had a point), the man who had now sat on a stone bench next to the shed gave a smile. ‘I can’t say I blame you, girl,’ he said. ‘A filthy race, the gyppos. Filthy.’

  ‘…I wouldn’t go that far,’ Maggie replied.

  The man sniffed. ‘A pleasure to watch em burn, you ask me; but each to their own, I suppose. The more camps get ignited the better. Ethnic cleansing. Don’t knock it, I say. It’s not the bad thing the do-gooders would have us believe, you mark my words. The clue is in the word cleansing. Do you know: there’s a bird, right, who lives in the mouth of the crocodile, cleaning the fucker’s teeth? Straight up. They tolerate each other because each of em provides a service.’

  He rubbed his hands together and changed the subject. ‘A bit cold tonight. No weather for an old man. Especially one who spends half his life alongside rodents – the heat from the vivaria, I mean. You get acclimatised to it. Now…’

  The man slapped his knees and stood up again (the others had remained standing throughout, and had grown more confused as he’d waffled on). ‘To business, I suppose – unexpected business, but I’m never one to look an unpredicted gifthorse in the old mush. So this is it. My name’s Benny and I’m prepared to be your guide for the right price each. We go in one by one and I take you across. Then I come back for the next one, though I’d recommend one of you stays put here, until we’re done.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Yasser. ‘Why does one stay here?’

  ‘To tell the story if you don’t come back again,’ Benny answered, his words forming steam in front of his mouth. ‘Only make up your mind quickly. I was getting piles sitting on that stone bench, now I’m catching pneumonia.’

  Clearly still smarting from the racist slur (and baffled by the connection to the bird and the crocodile), Maggie sounded curt when she asked, ‘What do you call the right price each?’

  ‘A good question, my dear. Your name is?’

  ‘Maggie.’

  ‘My old mother’s name, God bless her and shine her. And your friends?’

  ‘Yasser.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, son.’

  ‘Chris.’

  ‘Another Chris. I’ve already got a Chris Connors… You wouldn’t be the Chris of Chris-and-Bernadette by any chance?’

  ‘I would! Yes! You know her?’

  ‘I helped her cross,’ Benny replied, nodding a modest bow. ‘She was with a bloke named Massimo, who I’ve done some work with. It was Mass who booked Connors and Dorman to rob this place blind, but they made a mistake and did your house instead. A bit embarrassing, that. For you I’ll do a fifty per cent cut on the price of admission. I can’t say fairer than that. Which just leaves…?’

  ‘Shyleen.’

  ‘A beautiful name. For a beautiful girl… The entrance fee is one hundred pounds each.’ Benny pointed at Chris. ‘Fifty for you.’

  Yasser was the first to complain. ‘I haven’t got a hundred quid,’ he said.

  ‘Do you take cards?’ Maggie asked sarcastically.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got a credit card franker up me arse. Just swipe it in me bumcrack,’ said Benny. ‘Why don’t you return when you’re ready to play grown-up games, eh? Now if you’ll excuse me and fuck off out me garden…’

  ‘I’ve got the money,’ Chris told him coolly. ‘I’ve been winning big.’

  ‘In cash?’

  ‘Chris…’ said Shyleen.

  ‘Well you’re safely across then,’ said Benny. ‘Why don’t you run home and fetch it before I lose me toes to hypothermia?’

  ‘No, I mean I can pay for us all,’ Chris clarified.

  ‘Chris,’ Shyleen repeated.

>   ‘This has been, without doubt, one of the weirdest nights of my life, so if it means I have to pay four hundred quid to get us all through it, it’s a price I’m willing to fork out. And not only because I miss Bernadette. I think what you were saying before…’ Chris addressed Maggie. ‘…about us missing someone we’ve lost… isn’t it true? Isn’t this what it’s all about? For better or for worse, we’re all in tonight together, and I definitely won’t be the one volunteering to stay behind.’

  Benny rubbed his hands together again. ‘Spoken like a true intra-rationalist,’ he told them all.

  6.

  No one was prepared to stay behind.

  While Chris handed over the money that he’d fetched from his own house (and the other three offered their pledges that they’d pay him back as soon as they returned), he made it clear that he was going first. Dealer’s privilege, he called it. ‘It’s up to you three who follows next.’

  ‘Why can’t we all go in together?’ Maggie wondered, eyeing Yasser nervously. (Yasser assumed that Maggie had wanted him to chaperone her. He was pleased that he wouldn’t have to, and that the choice had been taken away from him by Benny. The reason for not wanting to go with Maggie was fairly simple. It was not simply the ambivalent emotions that he held for the woman – love and then hate in a rapid shuttle – it was more the grief that he’d catch from Shyleen in due course if he chose Maggie over her.)

  ‘Why? Well firstly, it’s my gaff, so it’s my rules.’

  ‘I appreciate that but –‘

  ‘And secondly, four people at once will stretch things too much. It’s risky at the best of times, just in case I haven’t made that clear. Even one at a time puts pressure on the connection. I’d be worried that four at once would snap it all together.’

  Maggie nodded. ‘Two by two, then?’

  ‘Like animals into the Ark?’ Benny chuckled. ‘Listen. You might not think it to look at me, darling – I’ve never worn me wealth on me sleeve or in me clothes for that matter – but I’ve got plenty of money I don’t need. However. I didn’t get it by backing down from a decision. And I know what I’m doing, so here’s the newsflash. One by one is what I said. One by one is what I meant.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Yasser. ‘Benny, you’re holding the cards. One by one’ll be fine… but could you at least tell us what we can expect when we arrive?’

  ‘I have no idea, son.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. I’ve never taken the trip, personally. I couldn’t risk it if you paid me – which you have. You see… it’s me rodents. They’re more than pets to me, but even if they were only pets, they’d be helpless without me. At home, you see, they need feeding, temperature control… maintenance, basically. And if I couldn’t come back I’d never forgive meself, knowing they were starving as a result of my negligence.’

  Maggie said, ‘That’s twice you’ve alluded to the possibility we might not return. Are you saying it’s definitely dangerous on the other side?’

  ‘Oh it’s dangerous all right,’ Benny answered. ‘But travelling to Paris could be dangerous. Steer clear of the frogs’ legs and don’t shag nothing near the train stations: that would be my less-than-expert advice. Are you ready, Freddie?’

  ‘Yeah I’m ready,’ Chris replied.

  ‘Just one more thing,’ Shyleen added. ‘You said something about an experiment and it’s bothered me ever since. In the house. You said something about your experiment backfiring… I think that’s the exact word you used,’ she said into Benny’s silence. ‘Did you start this off?’

  ‘That’s for me to know,’ Benny answered, ‘and you to find out. Now. Before I lose the will to live… I’ll follow you in Chris. Beauty before age.’

  7.

  Outside in the back garden, Yasser, Shyleen and Maggie found spots to sit down; they gazed up at the night sky and counted stars, hoping that it wouldn’t rain. Cold enough without a midnight downpour… And Yasser invited into his head the notion that he’d be well pleased at this moment to pull a deckchair up beside the burning shell of Maggie’s caravan… if indeed the thing was still ablaze. He could not recall the last time he had been so chilly.

  Shifting his attention from the constellations (which he wished he could name, or at least recognise), Yasser looked at the upstairs windows. Fireworks, he thought; there’s bound to be fireworks – a discharge of sparks and electricity that could be witnessed on the screens of the windowpanes. A clue, at least, as to what awaited them all.

  Nothing.

  To all intents and purposes, from the outside the house looked as dead as a doornail. An old blind dog of a house, freezing in the water that drowned it.

  They heard nothing. Saw nothing. Said nothing.

  And waited.

  8.

  As soon as they were back in the spore-scented kitchen, their flashlight beams playing tag against every wall and surface, Benny slipped in front of Chris and blazed the trail to the foot of the staircase.

  ‘These steps’ll be the death of me,’ he remarked as he embarked on the climb.

  The treads groaned like tectonic plates.

  They crossed the landing, as mute as determined thieves. The tipsy bathroom door they disregarded. The fourth and smallest bedroom was their destination. The air stank of cabbage and peanuts; it was as thick as a storm.

  In Benny’s wake, Chris had assumed the ascetic air of a devoted monk, and most of this attitude could be put down to nervousness and servility. Although worried about what might come next, he was respectful of Benny’s authority, in spite of how much he hated himself for caring more than two tin bollocks for the older man’s opinion.

  ‘And breathe. And relax,’ said Benny.

  ‘I’m relaxed,’ Chris fibbed.

  ‘No you’re not. Turn off your light.’

  ‘My torch?’

  ‘Turn it off. Mood is everything, mate.’ Flicking off his own flashlight, Benny took a few steps away from Chris and told him once more to relax.

  The light in the room had been halved – more than halved. Gravy-thick shadows glanced and danced.

  ‘I said turn it off, Chris.’

  Chris flicked the switch. The colours in the room became more cloak and bullet, there was nothing less than a dark grey.

  ‘And turn one-eighty,’ Benny instructed. ‘Do it, Chris. I’m not exactly renowned for my carefree spirit and I have three of your mates clamouring for my attention outside.’

  Chris turned; his feet shuffled in the filthy swamp that had once been a carpet. ‘I’m sorry I took half a second to respond,’ he said violently. ‘Not everyone’s earned your experience.’

  Behind Chris’s back, Benny said, ‘Don’t get lippy with me, cunt. I don’t deserve it.’

  ‘…Did you call me cunt?’

  ‘Yes I did, cunt. And I’ll say it again. Are you listening? You’re a cunt. And you’re mine. I’m collecting people for my experiments.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  As Chris turned, there was not enough light to see Benny striding towards him. There was even less light to see what Benny held in his right hand; what he’d collected from the windowsill where he’d left it a few minutes earlier.

  He swung it.

  Benny swung the hammer and it made contact with the fontanelle on Chris’s head. With no time to scream, Chris buckled; he folded like cellophane in steam.

  He dropped to his knees and wobbled. Muttered something – gasped something – and Benny swung the hammer at Chris’s head once again… Embedded as they were in the near-darkness, Benny’s aim was a triumph of experience over fortune.

  The sound of bone caving in was a kick. Benny grinned. Although he couldn’t actually see Chris toppling forward, he felt it. Indeed, he heard it. Perhaps he even smelt it.

  To make sure of the programme of events, Benny bent at the waist and
swung the hammer again. And this time he used his torch to make sure.

  One down.

  Three to go.

  9.

  In Benny’s experience there was no qualitative difference between the thicknesses of the male and the female skull - both examples would cave in when addressed by a hammer. In spite of this earlier research, however, he did not choose the hammer when it came to Shyleen. Partly he was worried that a hammer blow might kill her (and this one he wanted to keep alive); and partly he fancied a change. After all, swinging a weapon like a hammer was very much a younger man’s game, and he still had three more to get through tonight.

  And what a night! A bumper night! Made all the more juicy for being wholly unexpected, these visitors having played into his hands.

  ‘We’re going upstairs,’ Benny said as he began the climb.

  ‘What happened to the other torch?’ Shyleen asked. ‘The one Chris had.’

  ‘He took it with him.’ Benny grinned. He hadn’t thought about his first victim’s torch but his position on the stairway meant that he could lie convincingly. ‘I didn’t expect that to happen,’ he improvised further.

  ‘So…’ The sound of Shyleen’s footfalls on the wet carpet; a jingle of some jewellery, if Benny wasn’t much mistaken – a couple of bracelets, perhaps. He’d fence those. ‘It was a painless journey. For Chris, I mean.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Benny answered.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean I don’t know, but I doubt it was painless.’ Benny had reached the upstairs landing. ‘Your body will be disintegrated and then re-fused on a plain beyond our current comprehension as human beings. You can’t tell me that’s not gonna sting a bit.’

  Shyleen’s ensuing silence sang of anxiety; Benny imagined that he could sense it – sense waves of the stuff – as she made it to the top of the stairs. Benny pointed the beam into the first bedroom and said, ‘We’re in here.’

  Although Shyleen did not sniff the air as she entered the room – she was aware of her nostrils flaring. Twitching. She was trying to smell a sign (any vague sign would suffice) of Chris’s crossing. An olfactory echo of some kind – an electric air, perhaps; a lakeside storm sensation – a salty ozone cologne. But no, the room stank exactly the same as the rest of the house stank, of water damage and no through air…