by Michael Bray
It ‘ll be empty. Stop being such a pussy.
He took a deep breath, then in a quick, fluid motion swung the door open.
Sink.
Bath.
Toilet.
Mirror.
Empty
He looked at his bug-eyed reflection in the mirror directly in front of him, and couldn’t help but smile.
“Donovan, you stupid shit,” he said to his reflection, letting the tension out of his body.
“The only force here capable of anything is you my friend,” he said, flashing his very best, oozing grin at his mirror image.
It was then as Donovan was smiling that the door to the round room slammed closed.
He spun round, knowing that nobody was out there this time as he would have seen them in the mirror. This time it wasn’t fear, but anger that surged through him. It was the most basic of human reactions. Something was encroaching on what he considered to be his territory, and he wasn’t prepared to accept it. He strode down the hallway, ready to confront whatever was waiting for him in the round room. Images of spectral beings and formless mists filled his mind, but still it didn’t deter him. He grabbed the door handle and threw it open, not quite sure what to expect.
Empty
Now that the initial burst of adrenaline had run its course, he felt the sick feeling of fear spreading up his spine. It was akin to a cold embrace pulling him close, and he was suddenly very aware of everything around him. There was a great sense of dread, a negativity in the air that he was certain hadn’t been there before. The only comparison he could make was the way the air got just before a particularly bad storm. The way you could almost taste the electricity.
He cocked his head slightly and listened, but all he could hear was the muted sounds of the wind and the natural creaking and groaning of the house.
Had it been so noisy before?
He wasn’t sure. He certainly wasn’t as aware of it, but now it seemed to be all that he could hear. The rational side of him said it was normal, especially in a house as old as this one. Wood became swollen and then contracted; timbers creaked and settled; foundations rocked. It was normal, and yet the more he listened, the more it sounded like…
Words
Or more specifically, a single word.
Whatever it was filled the cold, remorseless Donovan with an emotion that he hadn’t felt for quite some time.
Fear.
He left the room, quickly walking down the steps, trying as best he could to ignore that creaking, moaning, old house sound. The more he tried to tell himself that it was simply his imagination, the clearer that single word sounded, and the more that supercharged, thunderstorm atmosphere seemed to increase in intensity.
He walked rapidly through the sitting room, banging his shin painfully on the coffee table and opening the door with hands that were shaking more than he would ever have expected. He hoped that just to be out of the house would be enough, but it seemed that somehow, the creaking house noises had transferred onto the very wind itself, and as it rushed through the trees, he heard it again—that same word spoken with such venom that he wondered if he had, on some level, gone insane.
He started to jog, then broke into a run, forgetting the tent that he’d set up in the trees, and forgetting, for the time being, all about exacting his revenge on Steve and Melody. He just wanted to be away from that house and away from that word. Because he knew that it was a warning, as clear and concise as any could be. He ran, ignoring the slap of branches on his skin and the pull of thorns on his clothes. All that mattered was outrunning that word. That one single word that made him re-assesses his plan. Just one word, but it was enough. He could still hear it as he finally reached his car and drove, leaving a great wad of dirt and leaves behind as he streaked away from the house.
He wondered if he would ever be able to forget that word.
That one simple word.
Mine.
32. BREAKTHROUGH
THE OLD OAK WAS busier than they’d expected, and although it wasn’t the ideal place to talk, they decided to take their chances over the lunchtime chatter rather than return home, which for now was something that appealed to neither of them. At first, they’d sat close to the big-screen TV, but quickly realised that due to the football match being cheered on enthusiastically by the locals, they would be better to relocate. They settled on the furthest corner away from the noise.
“It’s not quite as… quaint as I remember,” Steve said as he tried his best to offer a grin, but couldn’t quite manage it. Instead, he took a long drink of his beer, and weighed up the pros and cons of getting absolutely shitfaced.
His wife sat opposite, lost in thought as she methodically pulled the cardboard beer mat to pieces.
“So, when were you going to tell me?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Everything all happened at once and….” she trailed off, and looked at the table.
“Look Melody, I’ve been giving this some thought, and I think we should go home.”
“I don’t think I can, not just yet.”
“No, I don’t mean here. I mean home, back to the city.”
She looked at him, and he couldn’t quite tell if it was with relief or sadness.
“We can’t let this beat us. We made a commitment to make this move.”
“Come on, Mel, that was before. I mean look at what’s happened since we came here.”
“You said so yourself, we can’t afford to buy a new place.”
“Then we can rent. All I know is that I don’t want to stay there anymore. It was different when it was just us, but now with a baby on the way I…”
He was going to say he was afraid, but Melody already looked close to the edge, so he decided to be a little less blunt.
“I just don’t want anything to affect the pregnancy that’s all.”
He watched her, the woman he loved, as she tried to stop herself from crying. He thought she had just about managed it when the flood came, and she lowered her head. He reached across the table and held her hands.
“Hey, come on. Whatever happens, we will get through this.”
“I hate myself for feeling this way, for feeling so weak. I’m scared Steve. Scared of what’s happening to us, scared for the baby. I’m… I’m scared of Donovan.”
“I took care of that. He won’t be back.”
“It’s a small village. We can’t avoid him forever, and our house is way out in the middle of nowhere… it just scares me, that’s all.”
Steve knew what he wanted to say, but was wary, because even in his head it sounded ridiculous. He drained his beer, hoping for a little Dutch courage, and then spat out the words that he’d been chewing over.
“What about the house and the things that are happening?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Melody said as she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater in an unconsciously childlike way.
“What if it’s just our imagination?”
“I don’t think…”
“No, no, just hear me out okay?”
“Okay, go ahead,” Steve said.
“So let’s be logical. We—two people who have spent their entire lives living in the city – buy a house in the country. Not just a house, but a big old house in the middle of the woods. Now this house seems charming and quaint and beautiful, right?”
Steve nodded, half wanting to add creepy and evil to Melody’s list of things describing Hope House, but deciding against it. Instead, he glanced into his empty glass and realised that a slug of alcohol would go down a treat. Melody went on, not realising how obvious it was that she didn’t even believe the words she was saying.
“And like all old houses, it makes strange noises. I’ve read about it—you know, old wood, tired foundations. It happens. And we—as city people—get confused, thinking them to be something they aren’t, and there we have it. An explanation.”
“What about the circle and the stuff Mrs. Briggs said about the
cross?” Steve said, watching his wife as she worked through her thought process.
“They could mean anything—or nothing. Anyone with a little imagination could make up some half-baked story. Don’t try to tell me that Mrs. Briggs is someone who you see as sane and rational.”
“Hey, it was you who wanted to go and see the old trout, I said she was crazy from the start.”
“But the point is it can all be explained. Maybe we’re just more susceptible because we’re both out of our comfort zone.”
Steve could feel his frustration growing, and with it, his anger. Ever since he had known Melody she’d always been a level-headed woman, but now either fear or denial had changed her. One thing was for sure, and that was that he didn’t want an argument, even if she was missing some of the more obvious things. The fact that he’d tried to throw himself in the river, the way the woods grew silent when they were in the circle, or even the way the atmosphere would change in the house and make their flesh crawl for no reason.
“Look, I can’t say I fully agree,” he said “but it’s definitely worth talking over.”
He waited for a reply, but Melody said nothing. He glanced again at his empty glass.
“I could use another drink. Do you want one?”
“No—actually yes, I’ll have an orange juice.”
He stood and collected their empty glasses, kissed her on the head as he passed and made his way to the bar. He perched on one of the stools and watched a little of the football whilst he waited for Will to finish serving another customer. With his local armed with a fresh drink, the heavyset barman approached.
“Ah, afternoon Mr. Samson. In to see a bit of the game? You’ve missed a fair chunk, I’m afraid.”
“Hi, Will. No, we just came in for a quiet drink that’s all.”
As if on cue, a large roar erupted as one of the teams scored, and Steve and Will shared a look and burst into laughter.
“Quiet drink, eh?”
“Maybe not. How’s business?”
“Eh, it’s as good as it ever gets, I suppose. Just about keeping my head above water.”
“That doesn’t sound too good.”
“It’s normal,” Will shrugged. “What can I get you?”
He wanted something strong with a high alcohol content that would burn his throat when he drank it, but even under the circumstances, getting hammered at eleven o clock in the morning was unacceptable, however he tried to spin it.
“I’ll take a beer. And an orange juice too. Fresh if you have it.”
“Coming up.”
Will grabbed the orange juice out of the fridge and poured it.
“So, you two settled in okay?”
“Well, it’s been…”
Horrific. Frightening. Fucking insane.
“Eventful…”
“Eventful, eh?” Will set the glass of orange juice down on the bar and started to hand pull the beer, his huge forearms flexing as he worked the pump.
“Nothing serious I hope?”
Although he was certain it was just barkeep banter, he could see a haze of darkness in Will’s face.
“No… not really. Just normal teething troubles that’s all.”
Will nodded, and Steve waited for him to elaborate, but instead he prepared the drink in silence. Melody approached and stood beside Steve.
“Hi, Will.”
“Hello back.”
“Is this one mine?” she asked, pointing to the orange juice.
“Indeed it is,” Will replied as he set Steve’s beer down. “Unless I can get you something stronger that is.”
Melody glanced at Steve, and then smiled.
“No, no thanks I’m not drinking right now.”
“On the wagon eh?”
“No—we’re expecting.”
Will faltered. His eyes flicked from Melody to Steve then he turned his attention back to the beer pump. It was just a flicker, but they both saw it.
“Congratulations,” he said just a little too sharply as he set the glass down on the bar.
“Yeah, thanks,” Steve answered as he and Melody shared a concerned glance. “We just found out ourselves.”
“Well, I wish you all the best. I meant to ask, did the two of you speak to Mrs. Briggs about the house?”
“We tried,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, “but that old girl is out there. We didn’t get much sense out of her.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s a shame though. Mrs. Briggs might seem like she’s a little eccentric, but most of that’s the booze talking. She’s actually very, very knowledgeable.”
“Maybe so, but I doubt we’ll be rushing back to talk to her.”
“Oh?”
“She just tried to spook us,” Melody said, taking a sip of her orange juice. “In fact, she didn’t really tell us much of anything.”
“I see,” Will said thoughtfully. “Tell you what. Wait right there and I might have something that will help you.”
Without awaiting a response, Will left, heading out of the bar and upstairs towards his flat.
“What the hell was that all about?” Steve asked, taking a sip of his beer.
“Who knows, I have pretty much given up on trying to work things out around here.”
“Tell me about it. Did you see his reaction when you mentioned the baby?”
“I saw it. I wouldn’t read too much into it, though. It probably wouldn’t have registered as odd if not for the conversation we’d been having.”
Steve was frustrated. Despite everything, he still couldn’t make Melody see that there was something badly wrong with Hope House. It wasn’t even just the house anymore. It was the entire village. Everything seemed off to him. He supposed it was possible that a lot of it could be down to him and his difficulty getting used to country life, but on the flip side, until things had started going askew, he was enjoying the new lifestyle. So what was it? What was it that gnawed at his guts and wouldn’t allow him to relax?
“Steve?”
He came back to the present, for the time being pushing aside his worries.
“Sorry, I was miles away there.”
“So I noticed,” she said with more than a little irritation.
“Sorry, I’m just trying to put all of this into perspective, that’s all.”
“I don’t think it’s as bad as you think. I mean I know we’ve both been spooked for various reasons, but I think we need to look at this rationally and think about our baby.”
“That’s all well and good,” Steve said as he took a long drink of the bitter brew, “but what if we’re wrong?”
“About what?”
“About the house. About this damn village, about everything. Doesn’t it seem a little odd to you?”
She was about to respond when Will returned. He was carrying an old scrapbook, which looked to be only a stiff breeze away from falling apart. He set the book on the bar in front of them. This time the fear in him was plain to see.
“This book contains lots of history. More specifically, the history of Hope House.”
Steve had questions, but before he could fire off even a single one, Will held up a huge hand to stop him.
“Please, just let me finish.”
Steve closed his mouth, allowing Will to continue.
“When my great-grandfather had the idea to build Hope House, he could never have comprehended what it would lead to. Over the years, the community here have hidden the truth, tried as best we could to keep this place free of attention from the outside world. My great-grandfather was a good man by all accounts, and although he was hard working, he was also stubborn. Even back then there were legends, stories of some… presence inhabiting the woods. But he never paid attention to stories, and in the end, it cost him his life.”
“Everything that has happened since the house was built is in this folder. There are no newspaper articles. As I said we kept it quiet. But these written notes are a chronicle of events as we know them to have happened.�
��
Will looked at the pair, and a small humourless smile formed on his lips.
“Despite what Mrs. Briggs said, I urge you to take this seriously. I’m taking a huge risk here in showing you this.”
“Then why do it?” Melody asked quietly.
“Because as I get older, I’m becoming afraid that I’ve already gone beyond redemption. But I have to try. I have to try and at least help.”
“Are you saying that the house is unsafe?”
Will shook his head. “It’s not my place to tell you anything. All I can do is give you what no other owner of Hope House has had. I can give you the facts. What you choose to do with them is up to you. All I will tell you is this, read with an open mind, and do whatever your instincts tell you.”
Steve was unsure how to react. He was part afraid, part excited. His stomach was in a tight knot, and he had trouble finding the appropriate words.
“Can we borrow this?”
“No, it’s got too much sentimental value, but you’re welcome to read it here.”
Steve looked around at the general racket from the football game. As if reading his mind, Will fished his keys out of his pocket and handed them to Steve.
“Go on up to the flat if you like. It’s not the tidiest place in the world, but at least it’ll be better than listening to this lot screaming at the TV.”
Steve looked to Melody, and she nodded her approval. Steve took the key.
“Thanks, Will, we really appreciate this.”
The huge bartender nodded, his face dark and unreadable.
“Go on up. Take as long as you need.”
Steve picked up the folder and led Melody through the bar and upstairs. They settled down in Will’s bachelor flat, opened the book and began to read.
33. LETTERS
September 12th 1807
Dear Michael,
I grow concerned at the increasingly desperate and vigorous nature of your recent letters. As I have stated several times during our previous correspondence, I am deeply troubled by your unwillingness to acknowledge what is, in essence, a very real issue with the proposed location of your building project.