A Spectre in the Stones

by John Kitchen

  Somehow, looking at the photos and reading and rereading the letters, took him away – back to the foster home with Jean and Bill.

  He must have been lying there for half an hour before he heard the resounding footsteps of Christine in the corridor.

  She didn’t come in. She just banged on the door and shouted, “Lloyd Lewis?”

  When he answered, her footsteps retreated and he put the letters and photos to one side. Familiarity was taking the edge off the magic and, eventually, he leaned across and grabbed the iPod.

  Outside the sky was weighed with clouds. He didn’t think he’d seen a ray of sunshine since he’d been here. He’d have to put the light on soon, and he hoped it wouldn’t short again. But first he keyed in some tracks and shut his eyes.

  If he could just listen to the music and didn’t breathe in the smell too deeply, he might just forget where he was.

  The first track was an old Radiohead number, ‘Paranoid Android.’ He lay for a few minutes as the mood of the music swung and the song changed to the doleful falling notes of “rain down on me.” Then he sat up and a fear crept into him. He could sense a faint distortion in the music, and steadily it grew, drowning the music out. Then, in the confusion of crackles, he heard other noises and they had nothing to do with the song. These noises touched him with a sheen of fear – because, what he heard on his iPod, coming distinctly through his headphones, was a demented cry – a wailing chant, a ritual of meaningless sounds – and, over this, clear and recognisable was a voice screaming, “Go away. Leave me alone. I hate you, old man.”

  It didn’t stop, and its repetition beat on his brain, getting louder and louder. For a moment, he was frozen.

  Then he tore the headphones away, hurling the iPod onto the floor, and he sat, rigid, his skin prickling. There was a silence in the room that you could cut.

  He didn’t move again until Christine arrived with his dinner, and he was almost glad to see her.

  He wasn’t sure if he could eat – and yet, there might be some respite in filling his gut with food.

  After Christine had taken his tray, he was desperate, and he didn’t think she’d be back again for a good half hour. That would just about give him time to find Justin.

  He could still catch him before he packed up and, almost before Christine’s footsteps had faded, he heard what he hoped was Justin returning from the garden. He went to the door to check. Christine had closed the upstairs fire doors, so he crossed to the storeroom and he found Justin busy cleaning a spade on some sacking.

  He looked up, surprised to see Lloyd. “I wasn’t expecting you,” he said.

  “I got gated, didn’t I? I’m supposed to be in my bedroom. It wasn’t my fault though.” He watched him take a corner of the hessian sack and begin polishing another spade.

  “What’s up, then?” he said.

  “It’s a long story, man. I’ve been put in one of them single rooms over the corridor. They done that last night because of me getting into that punch up with Martin.”

  “You’re in this wing, sleeping?” said Justin.

  “That’s what I’ve got to talk to you about. There’s stuff going on in here. I mean – last night – the bed was shaking. And all my things was on the floor again this morning. There was this wind blowing too, hailstones on the windows, and doors banging. I tried going to sleep with the light on – but that started spitting like it was shorting out.”

  As he was talking Justin wandered across to the wall. There were a couple of garden chairs there and he unfolded them. “Grab yourself a seat,” he said.

  The chair was damp and breathing an aroma of mildew. “I hope Christine don’t check – not while I’m over here,” said Lloyd.

  “We’ll keep our ears open. Now, tell me more about last night.”

  “All what I told you up till now was just for starters,” he said. “The big thing was Caitlin.” He looked hard into Justin’s face. “You won’t say nothing though, will you? I mean – that’s sort of private to Caitlin – until she says something herself.”

  “Sure,” said Justin.

  “Well, halfway through all what I already said, I heard this screaming. It was keeping me awake, man – so I had to sort it, didn’t I? I went to see what was going on and – like – Caitlin wasn’t in her room. All the noise was coming from down the cellar and she was shouting stuff, like – ‘Go away,’ and ‘Leave me alone,’ and ‘I hate you, old man.’”

  “Did you go down and see what was happening?” said Justin.

  “I couldn’t, could I? The door was jammed. I couldn’t move it. And I didn’t know what to do – whether to go to Dave or what – but then the shouting and everything stopped and she came up and it was like she was sleepwalking. She didn’t see me. She walked straight past me and went back to her room.”

  “Have you told her about this?” Justin said.

  “Yeah, at school today. But she wouldn’t listen. She just ran off, screaming. That’s why Dave gated me – because he said I was doing it to scare her, and I wouldn’t tell him what it was all about.”

  “Why wouldn’t you tell him?” said Justin.

  “It’s private, man. It’s Caitlin’s sort of – torment – and it’s up to her to tell people. I mean, you can’t go in like a bulldozer – not with personal stuff like that, ’specially to someone like Dave.”

  Justin was very thoughtful again. Lloyd could see something was on his mind. When he did speak, there was a kind of reluctance in his voice. “I know this may sound weird,” he said. “But, like I said yesterday, my tutor at university is into this sort of stuff and, to me, it really does sound like paranormal activity – poltergeists and stuff.”

  “Polter what?” said Lloyd.

  “Poltergeist,” Justin said. He laughed. “It’s a German word – for something that creates paranormal disturbances. I know you want to have rational explanations for all this, but I’ve got to be honest, it doesn’t sound normal to me. I’m sure my professor wouldn’t see it as normal. It’s almost exactly like poltergeist activity. From what you’ve told me about Caitlin, she could be the cause of it. Sometimes it happens because someone is seriously unhappy. They can create the disturbances without realising it.”

  Lloyd shook his head. “That’s weird, man,” he said. “And it don’t make no sense to me. I mean, that kind of stuff don’t happen, does it? It’s got to be something that I can get my head around.”

  “That’s what I’d like to think too,” Justin said. He stood and began folding his chair away. “But, say it isn’t? Why don’t you try getting your head around poltergeists even if they are supernatural? Go online. Google the word. Read what it says and see if it matches what’s happening. Do it tomorrow and then tell me what you think. At least we’d know what we’re dealing with then. I’ll get back to my tutor – see what he says.”

  The idea of liaising with a professor at a university appealed to Lloyd. “That would be good, man. I’ll get on the computer right now.”

  But Justin grinned. “You’ve been gated,” he said.

  “Tomorrow then,” said Lloyd and he grabbed Justin’s hand, shaking it again as if he was giving the friendship a stronger bond. “I’ll see you, okay?”

  He felt better now. He still didn’t want to accept this stuff, but talking it through with Justin did help and, if it was something that wasn’t normal, then, with Justin and the professor’s help, he still just might be able to get his head around it. He’d Google poltergeists. If he understood what was going on, he stood a better chance of dealing with it.

  When he went back to his room, though, he found, to his dismay, that Christine was there. She must have come back while he was with Justin. She was standing by the bed, arms folded, and her face was grim. “Where do you think you’ve been, Lloyd Lewis?” she snapped. “Dave said you weren’t to leave your room.”

  “I heard this noise, didn’t I?” he said. “Over in the storeroom.

  I thought someone was breaking in.�
��

  She grunted. “Never mind noise. You were told to stay put.”

  “This isn’t a prison,” he said. “And I’m telling you – I went over to see who it was. I wasn’t going to wait for some guy to come in and murder me, was I?”

  “And did you manage to apprehend the so-called killer?” Christine said.

  “It was Justin – and we was talking. There isn’t no law against that.”

  “There is when you’ve been gated,” said Christine. “I’m going to report this to Dave, and don’t think he’ll take it lying down. You’ll be gated for a few more days yet.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Lloyd. He threw himself onto the bed.

  “And now you’re here, you stay here,” she said.

  It wasn’t right. He doubted if it was even legal, and it meant he wouldn’t get to the computer, nor see Justin tomorrow. He’d banked on half-hour breaks between Christine’s checks, but she was cannier than that. She would come at random times just to catch him out, and the prospect of being stuck in this room weighed on him like a millstone. He wasn’t going to be beaten, though.

  At the very least he’d get to the computer. He thought he might go down tonight when everyone was in bed. He was certain the night duty carers didn’t patrol. If they did they would have known about Caitlin.

  But the evening stretched into eternity. There weren’t any disturbances to start with – but when night finally fell into its comatose depth, things did begin to happen. Doors started banging and there was the howling wind with the hailstones – and still not a cloud in the sky. And that was weird, because, ever since he’d been here the clouds had never broken. Tonight, though, and last night, when darkness came, the world seemed bathed in this eerie moonlight.

  He couldn’t sleep and, when he judged that everyone was in their rooms, he made the move. He crept out, grabbing his dressing gown and, as he went, he heard a click from Caitlin’s door. She was groping down the stairs again and he could see she was in a trance of sleep. She would be heading for the cellar.

  He tried calling her, but she didn’t hear and he was helpless to do anything. The cellar door swung open, and he knew it would shut behind her well before he got there, and if last night was anything to go by, he wouldn’t be able to shift it. The next half hour would be just one long explosion of tormented cries.

  He turned back for the main building, to the computer room, and he felt ashamed, because there was a withering cowardice in him making him desperate to escape before Caitlin’s first cries.

  When he shut the fire door that linked the two buildings, though, it wasn’t just Caitlin’s cries that were gone. There was no wind and no hailstones. The temperature seemed to rise and it was as if most of the chaos was shut out. There were the groans of shallow sleep and he could hear floorboards creaking – and the uneasy restlessness he’d heard the first night… but the wildness of the North Wing wasn’t there.

  He stood for a moment at the head of the stairwell. Perhaps this was down to Caitlin. Perhaps Justin was right and she was creating the whole thing out of her own mind.

  He shuddered.

  It was hard to imagine craziness that could conjure up that kind of fury.

  In the computer room there were three computers, one assigned to each wall. They were mounted on a running desk with a green swivel chair in front of each monitor. He booted up the computer nearest the door and waited for the circuits to find the Internet. Then he clicked on Google and typed in the word ‘poltergeist.’

  But as soon as he typed, something weird began to happen. The letters started dancing on the screen, shivering in and out of each other in a random order, tumbling around, only occasionally flashing up with the word he was trying to type. He clicked on search all the same and, straight away, the screen blanked so he could only catch glimpses of the results. Then the sound system began to crackle, and, even though he wasn’t touching the mouse, the cursor leaped about the screen. Between flashes, for less time than an eyelid’s blink, he saw a shape – a figure – an old man with a long tunic, with wild hair and a sort of woollen helmet. A white beard fell to his waist and the creature had eyes that pierced right through to Lloyd’s soul. He only saw it for a split second at a time, but it left an image on his retina, and the image stayed shimmering. It was even clearer when he closed his eyes and it looked like something that had come from darkest history.

  In a desperate bid to stop it he pushed the computer’s control button, overriding the closedown procedure, and then, stunned into immobility, he stared at the blackened screen.

  And, in his head, he could hear Caitlin’s tormented cry – “Go away. Leave me alone. I hate you, old man.”

  He couldn’t move.

  It was as if the ancient creature had frozen his muscles. And the phrases rang in his head, over and over again, “Go away. Leave me alone. I hate you, old man.”

  Chapter 6

  His mind was racing.

  Caitlin’s old man wasn’t a living being. He was something dragged out of mediaeval history – a ghost – tortured by some past event, and it was this creature that was wreaking havoc on Sarson Hall.

  If it hadn’t been for what Justin had told him, the idea would have blown his brain. He was still stunned and the thought of a ghost appearing in front of him made him shudder, but natural or supernatural, he was still just as determined to have this thing sorted.

  Where did it come from though and what could Lloyd do about it? Should the thing be exorcised?

  From what he’d seen, the creature must have been from some time long ago, possibly before the Anglo-Saxons. He wasn’t sure if something that far back could be Christian and, if not, there wouldn’t be much point in getting a priest in. For some sun-worshipping Druid, calling on Jesus wasn’t going to carry much punch.

  But, if Justin was right and if he could believe his own eyes, he knew who his enemy was now, and that gave him a solid base for a campaign. This guy wasn’t some joker, it wasn’t some phenomenon brought on by a dysfunctional Caitlin. A spirit from the back of beyond had infiltrated the house.

  His thoughts were occupying him so deeply that he lost all awareness of what was happening around him, the movements and groanings – and he certainly didn’t sense the more regular creaks in the corridor outside.

  He didn’t hear the handle turn, or the sound of the door swinging on its hinges – and when he heard a rough voice snarl: “What you doing here, Lloyd Lewis?” he jumped.

  Craig Donovan was standing there, his eyes narrowed and his face distorted by long-nurtured malevolence.

  “Minding my own business,” said Lloyd. “What’s your excuse?”

  Craig closed the door gently, easing himself into the room, and glared at him. “I’m minding my business too, runt,” he said. “And you get this into your thick head. This computer room is my space at night. I do my thing here, so, your business is my business. Now, tell me what you’re doing here.”

  As he was talking he came across and made a grab at Lloyd. There was no point in pitching into him either. It wouldn’t be like the scrap with Martin. He tugged at his hand, struggling to release himself. “Get off” he said. “I can’t say nothing, not while you’re blocking my wind pipe.”

  Craig released his grip and smirked. “So long as we understand each other,” he said. “Now – are you going to tell me what you’re doing down here? ’Cause if you don’t I’m going to knock you into next week. And I’ll tell Dave I caught you in here when you should have been tucked up in your own little bed.”

  Lloyd stared at him defiantly. “Yeah?” he said. “You tell Dave you caught me in here and you’ve got to tell Dave you was in here too, so, what you going to do about that?”

  “That’s no sweat,” said Craig. He sat down on one of the computer chairs, swivelling around. “I heard noises coming from the computer room, didn’t I? The noises woke me up, see, and, being a good right-thinking person, I came down to find out what was going on – and I caught you in
here. So – you telling me why you’re in here or not?”

  There was no way he could tell him the real reason. Craig wasn’t the type to be impressed by poltergeists – and, if he did tell him, it would be all around the place that he was out of his skull.

  What he said had to have filaments of truth though. The best lies were always based on half-truths. That way, parts of the story could be verified, and those parts that weren’t true… well… most people couldn’t be bothered to follow them up anyway.

  “I got gated, didn’t I?” he said.

  “Yeah – I heard – winding Caitlin up at school. I tell you what, kid, you don’t want to pick on Caitlin Jamieson. She’ll get the better of you every time. It’s like with me – you don’t go messing with someone you can’t beat.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Anyway, I promised to e-mail a mate, and I couldn’t get out, what with Christine patrolling and everything – so, when I figured they’d all be in bed I come down to do my e-mailing – That isn’t no big deal, is it?”

  “You reckon?” said Craig. “I tell you what, black boy. If Dave ever gets to hear you was out when you was gated, it’ll be a big deal all right.”

  “And you’re going to tell him?” Lloyd said.

  “I might,” said Craig. “If it suits me.”

  “Yeah, well, if you do…”

  “If I do… what?” Craig leaned forward, pushing his face into Lloyd’s.

  “I haven’t thought ‘what’ yet,” Lloyd said.

  “Well, don’t bother. Because I don’t plan on telling Dave – not yet – so long as you keep out of here from now on.”

  He almost sensed his release and got up, sidestepping Craig, preparing for a sharp exit. But that was premature. Craig grabbed him and held him with a calculated stare.

  “If I don’t say nothing though,” he said. “That means you owe me – okay? There aren’t no free lunches in here, and you got to learn that. Do you get what I’m saying?”

  Lloyd shrugged. The idea of being under an obligation to Craig Donovan wasn’t that great, but at least he could shelve it for the time being. There were more pressing things in his head.