The House on Willow Lane (Secret Gateways Book 1)

by John Moralee

  Saffron looked away so she wasn’t sick, too. His nausea lasted for a minute. She turned around when he’d finished emptying his stomach. He straightened up again and actually looked much healthier, the greenness of his face had gone, as though he had purged himself of a poison.

  “Where am I?” he said, looking around. Then, with disappointment: “Oh, I’m here again ...”

  “How are you feeling?” she asked him.

  “I’m all right now, though my mouth tastes like sick. Probably because I’ve just been throwing up a lung.” He spat out, then wiped his chin and lips. He looked at the blood from his nose. “Is my nose bleeding?”

  “A little,” she said. She rooted in her blazer pocket for a tissue. “Use this.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I only get nosebleeds when I’m extremely stressed out. My head feels like I’ve got the worst headache in history.”

  “Apart from that, are you okay?”

  “No, definitely not okay.”

  “What I mean is do you remember now? Is your memory -”

  “Yeah, I remember now. My memory’s all back. I remember what Ravencroft did to me.” He looked angrily at the house, tightening his hands into fists. “Listen, we’d better get out of here before he sees us again. I know the perfect place to talk about everything.”

  Chapter Seven

  That place was the Burger Palace opposite the duck pond in Hobley Park. Ryan used to go there with his dad once a week for a TCC - Three Crown Cheeseburger - consisting of two juicy hamburgers sandwiched between three slices of processed cheese inside a sesame seed bun. Burger Palace had a special sauce that made the sauces at McDonald’s and Burger King taste infinitely inferior. His mum had not approved of them eating unhealthy, calorie-filled junk food, so he and his dad kept their trips to the Burger Palace a secret, though deep down he suspected his mother knew about it. (The greasy stains on their shirts were probably a good clue.) He and his dad used to choose a booth facing the windows, where they could see the duck pond. The booth was a special place where he felt comfortable. He had chosen the same booth that day, though Saffron was sitting in his dad’s usual seat.

  She was waiting for him to say something about yesterday, but he wasn’t ready. His head was pulsing with memories that he had to put into the right order before explaining things. He was also too hungry to think about anything except ordering a TCC with extra large french fries. As soon as his order arrived at their table, he wolfed it down in record time.

  Now he was ready to recount what really happened in Ravencroft’s house. His best friend leant across the table so she could hear every word. He lowered his voice so no customers could overhear. He began by telling Saffron what he remembered of Ravencroft, of his strange, outdated suit, which looked like it belonged on a Victorian gentleman. Saffron’s eyes widened thoughtfully. She urged him to go on while taking out a notepad to write things down. He continued up to the point when Lucas Ravencroft confronted him in the passageway outside the locked room. “The girl was definitely his prisoner. She tried to warn me about him, but I wanted to rescue her. I didn’t hear him until he was right there, blocking my escape.”

  He needed a break from the story then. He was incredibly thirsty. He paused for a long drink of Coke, relishing the refreshment like he had never tasted a soft drink before.

  “So, where was I?”

  “Ravencroft appeared, blocking your escape.”

  “Right. I turned around when I heard him speak. I remember seeing him standing there, staring at me intensely. The girl shouted something - but it wasn’t in English.”

  “Did you recognise the language?”

  “No. I’d never heard it before. He said something back, also in the same foreign language. It was probably a swearword or something like that because he seemed furious. Then he advanced towards me with his hands out, like he wanted to strangle me. I wanted to escape - but I had nowhere to go. The passageway ended there. He cornered me. I remember he reached out with his long fingers. They were a white as bones. His fingers touched me, here, on my forehead. The tips felt like red-hot pokers. For a second I had this indescribable pain between my eyes – but then it went away completely.”

  “Did you pass out?” Saffron asked, keeping her voice low so nobody nearby would overhear their strange conversation.

  “No. It was bizarre. Suddenly, my whole body felt like it had sunk into a deliciously warm bath. The feeling made me instantly relaxed beyond anything I’d ever known. I couldn’t move! I didn’t want to move!”

  She was furiously scribbling notes. “What happened then?”

  “Ravencroft asked me to close my eyes and listen very carefully. He talked softly. Then I heard another voice in my head. It ... it sounded like my dad. Before the cancer. When we were happy.”

  He stopped talking, blinking away tears.

  “I realise now it was some kind of hypnotism trick,” he said. “But I didn’t know it at the time. I was completely convinced it really was my dad talking to me. I was so glad to hear him again. I was sure that he was alive, that he had somehow come back, cheated death. He started talking.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He wanted me to do something for him. It was very important, the most important thing he’d ever ask me to do. He wanted me to lie to you about what I’d seen. He wanted me to reassure you there was no reason for worrying about the girl. He told me your life was in danger if I wasn’t convincing. I believed him. He also told me to go home and forget the whole day when I woke up in the morning. He told me to never ever think about Ravencroft, the girl, or 16 Willow Lane. The next thing I remember clearly is waking up in my bed feeling incredibly refreshed. I had no memory of the day. He brainwashed me into thinking you were the crazy one. I’m really sorry for not believing you. Can you forgive me?”

  “You’re asking me to forgive you? I’m the coward who let you and Rachel go into his house alone.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t go in instead of you. Can you forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You did nothing wrong. Frankly, I’m glad you didn’t come with Rachel and me. He would’ve brainwashed you, too. Then we’d never know what he was up to. Me, I don’t have much of a brain to wash. I’m a one spin-cycle type of guy. But you? You’re brainy. There’s no way I’d have figured out a way of breaking the mind-control, like you did. I didn’t appreciate the slapping, though. Mike Tyson, watch out, you’re a contender, Saff.”

  He smiled to show he had no sore feelings.

  “I can’t understand how he managed to control your mind,” she said. “You and Rachel were only in the house for ten minutes. I read somewhere it takes up to an hour to put someone into a trance. He certainly couldn’t do it against your will. All of the books agree on that fact. Hypnotism is a voluntary act. You can’t hypnotise someone who doesn’t want to be hypnotised.”

  “There was nothing voluntary about what he did, believe me.”

  “Ten minutes,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “How did he hypnotise both of you in that time?”

  Ryan thought back. “I didn’t feel strange until he touched me. That’s it! He touched me. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Saffron said. “What do you think?”

  “I think there must’ve been some kind of powerful drug on his fingers! It went straight to my brain, making me more susceptible to his suggestions.”

  He expected Saffron to dismiss his outlandish idea, but she gave it some serious thought.

  “Hmmm ... a drug would work,” Saffron said. “I once read about the CIA doing mind-control experiments as far back as the 1960s. There was a project called MK Ultra. They tried to make people do things against their will by brainwashing them with hypnosis and mind-altering drugs. They used dangerous drugs like amphetamines and LSD. LSD is so powerful a tiny drop of it will make the victim go into a hallucinogenic state. It can be absorbed through the skin.”

  “It wasn’t
that,” he said. “I didn’t have hallucinations.”

  “No – but it could have been something similar. He could have had a few drops of a mind-controlling drug on his fingers. Contact transferred the blood onto your skin, then into your bloodstream directly into your brain. Whammo – you’re under his control. You did seem sort of dazed when you returned to the car. You had this big stupid smile on your face. It had to be a drug. I’m sure of it.”

  “There’s one problem with that theory. If he had a drug on his fingers, wouldn’t he be affected, too?”

  “Hmmm, not if he’s used it a lot of times. He could have become adapted to it by regular exposure. Or it could have been just on his fingernails, like a nail varnish? That would explain why he wore gloves, so he didn’t accidentally give the drug to himself. He removed his gloves when he wanted to brainwash you. As long as the drug was in your body, you obeyed his instructions. Somehow you flushed it out when I confronted you with the truth.”

  “That was an experience I wouldn’t want to repeat,” he said. “I felt as sick as a dog. My head felt like it was going to explode. I suppose my sister will have to go through it if we’re to get her memory back?”

  “Don’t get mad,” she said, “but I don’t know if we should do that.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “We have no idea what her reaction would be. She could be sick, like you. But she could have a worse reaction.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “She’s older and we don’t know what kind of dose she was given. She could die of a stroke if we force her to remember. I think we should leave your sister with her amnesia ... at least until we know more about what he did. You said she seems to be okay?”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “She’s probably better off not remembering. For now. But we can’t leave her brainwashed forever.”

  “It’s stopped raining,” Saffron observed. Since they had finished their food and drinks, they left the Burger Palace. They hurried across the park towards the housing estate.

  They arrived at his house just as the rain started again.

  His mother was dozing on the couch when Ryan and Saffron slipped up the stairs. He didn’t know his sister was home until she called up to him. “Hold on a minute you two.”

  They stopped halfway up the stairs. Ryan looked down at Rachel, who was standing with her hands on her hips. “Ryan, I need you in the kitchen, now.”

  “What did I do?”

  “Just come down here,” Rachel said. She walked back into the kitchen. “Now!” she called out.

  Was she mad at him for something? Did she blame him for breaking her phone?

  Ryan sighed and descended the stairs. “I wonder what she wants ...”

  “Wait.” Saffron flashed him a look. “What if she’s still under his control?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You could try slapping her.”

  “Not funny,” she said.

  “Wasn’t meant to be.”

  They entered the kitchen.

  His sister was standing in front of the table.

  “Do you remember me shopping this week?” she asked.

  Ryan nodded. “You did it yesterday – why?”

  “Look what I did today,” she said, stepping to one side. Her body had blocked his view of some Asda shopping bags on the table. “Somehow, I totally forgot I’d been shopping. Now we’ve got twice as much food for this week. It’s weird - but I don’t remember the first time! It’s like I must’ve zoned out when I was doing it.”

  “That is weird,” he said.

  “Yes,” Saffron said, looking at him.

  His sister shrugged. “Oh, well, never mind. Saves me a trip. The only real problem is this.”

  She opened the fridge. It was crammed with milk. “I can’t freeze milk, so it will have to be used before it goes off. Have as many milkshakes as you like. I’m going to make some extremely milky coffee in the microwave – you want some?”

  “Maybe later,” Ryan said. “We’ve got homework.”

  “There is one more thing,” his sister said. She reached into her jeans. She pulled out a small grey phone. “I replaced my broken phone with a new one. It’s half the size of my old one, with ten times the features. It has some great apps and an awesome camera. This one is so thin and light it can be clipped onto my belt or slipped into the back pocket of my jeans. You can’t even see it sticking out.”

  She demonstrated it with a twirl.

  “Guess what else?” she said.

  “What?”

  “I also got one for you.” She produced a box containing the phone and charger. “Consider it an early birthday present. Mum says you’re responsible enough to have one. Just be more careful with it than I was with mine. Don’t break it.”

  “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

  His sister handed him his new phone, then set the timer on the microwave for two minutes. She placed a mug of cold milk inside, closed the door, then pressed ON. The microwave hummed.

  By then Ryan had removed the phone from the box. “I don’t know what to say, Rachel. I saw this advertised on the TV. It’s supposed to be really good. Thanks a lot. You’re the best sister I could have.”

  He gave her a quick hug. She looked surprised, but returned the hug. His sister broke the hug when the microwave pinged. Her milk was steaming hot. She opened the microwave to remove it. “Your phone’s got twenty pounds of credit on it. It’s pay-as-you-go after that, so don’t make any calls to Australia or Timbuktu. Just enjoy it.”

  “I will,” he told her. He was glad his sister seemed cheerful after yesterday. Maybe she was better off not remembering?

  “Okay, you can go do your homework now,” she said. “You can call me on your phone if you want something milky. I’ve already programmed my number into your phone. The instruction booklet looks like Japanese translated into English by a German, but it’s quite simple to use if you don’t try to read it. Don’t forget to charge it fully. It needs eight hours.”

  “I won’t.” Ryan thanked her again before leaving the kitchen. As he went up the stairs, he actually heard her humming a ringtone theme.

  “She was in a suspiciously good mood,” Saffron whispered. “You think she’s really okay?”

  “I think so,” he replied. “I hope so.”

  Chapter Eight

  They went into his room. He plugged his new phone into a plug socket for charging. A little green light came on showing it was working. He would have to be careful not to let anyone steal it. Then Ryan went over to his football, picking it up. The memory of losing it over the wall was vivid in his mind.

  “Just think my football started all this. It’s like my dad was giving me a message telling me to help the girl. We have to rescue her.”

  His first instinct was to attempt a rescue as soon as possible – the longer she was a prisoner, the more she suffered in the hands of Ravencroft – but he resisted the temptation. A thoughtless rescue attempt would be worse than no attempt at all. No, it needed planning. They had to know more about their enemy. How had he wiped his memory? How had Ravencroft controlled him?

  “We need a brilliant plan - but we can’t involve anyone else because he could brainwash them like he did me. That includes the cops. It’s got to be just you and me. Any good ideas?”

  “No so far,” Saffron admitted. “There is something I found out last night. I don’t know how important this is, but I looked up his name on the internet. There is a Lucas Ravencroft mentioned in some weird articles about witchcraft. He was some sort of expert in the occult. He wrote a book called Reading Runes and Mystic Symbols.”

  Ryan’s eyes widened. “Are you sure that was the title?”

  She nodded. “Yes, why?”

  “Because I just remembered I saw some strange writing in a book in the girl’s room. The book was on her desk, like he was making her study it. It looked like runes. What else did you learn about him?”

  “I didn’t read anything else beca
use Lucas Ravencroft died over a hundred years ago. He can’t be the same guy. The name’s a coincidence.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe not. What if he is the Lucas Ravencroft?”

  “Come on, Ryan! He was obviously lying about his name.”

  “Why would he give us that name – not something more common, like John Smith?”

  “He must have chosen the name because of his obsession with the Victorian era. He dresses like a Victorian gent. His house is like a museum. He’s probably so psychotic that he actually believes he is who he says he is: the Lucas Ravencroft. We’re probably lucky he doesn’t think he’s Hannibal Lecter.”

  “If he believes he is the Lucas Ravencroft, I want to see those websites,” Ryan said. “Can you show me them on my computer?”

  “Sure,” Saffron said. “I book-marked the web address. I won’t need to do a full search this time.”

  Saffron sat down at his computer. He stood behind her, looking at the screen. She clicked on the Mozilla Firefox icon, opening the browser. Her fingers moved like lightning. In a couple of minutes, she had downloaded and printed out on his sister’s printer every reference to the name for them to study at their leisure. There was a stack of fifty-something sheets, so they split the pile into two and started reading.

  Most of the stuff was rubbish written by crazy people - like 99 per cent of the internet – but he learnt a few interesting things.

  He read Lucas Ravencroft had been born in London in the year 1805. He was the eldest son of a wealthy diplomat, Sir Basil Ravencroft. In his youth his family travelled widely across Europe and most of the British Empire. He learnt several languages before returning to England in his twenties. He studied theology at Oxford, where he became interested in the occult, much against the wishes of his family. His father threw him out of the family home for practising witchcraft. It didn’t stop him from studying the dark arts. He believed there were secret magical incantations written as codes in the form of runes. Understanding them was the key to magical powers beyond the imagination. He spent many years trying to crack the code. He published a book on his findings shortly before his death in 1905.