The Woman in Black

by Martyn Waites

  James did, though. ‘We should take it to Miss.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘But its mother is dead.’

  ‘So?’

  While the other two were arguing, Edward looked down at the tiny bird. A dead mother. An orphan. He would look after it. He would see that no harm came to it.

  He reached out his hands to pick up the tiny chick, getting ready to welcome it, nurture it. But he didn’t get that far. Tom brought the poker down, hard. The chick was now as dead as the rest of them.

  Edward glared at Tom. James’s mouth had dropped open. Tom’s eyes darted between the two of them.

  ‘What?’ he said. His voice was shaky, but he was determined to justify himself. ‘It … it was going to die anyway …’ He laughed, pleased that he had shocked them into a reaction. It might have been a bit much, but it was better than being ignored. ‘Oh, come on …’

  Judging by their expressions, James and Edward didn’t agree. Tom had had enough of them. He threw the poker down on the floor, suddenly tired of the whole thing, and turned to leave the room.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, pulling James with him.

  Edward stayed where he was, watching them leave. Angry, lonely tears forming in his eyes.

  Hide-and-Seek

  Tom strode from the room, eyes ablaze. Killing the bird made him feel like he was capable of anything and no one could stop him. No one. He scanned the corridor, fists clenching and unclenching, teeth bared, looking for what he could do next.

  He didn’t get far.

  Edward cannoned out of the room, mouth open, silently roaring, launching himself at Tom’s back. Taken by surprise, Tom lost his footing and tumbled on to the floor.

  Edward, shocked by his own actions, stopped dead and stared at Tom, who slowly got to his feet. James was rooted to the spot.

  Seconds felt like hours as the three boys stood there, unmoving.

  ‘Never turn the other cheek,’ Tom remembered his father saying to him. ‘Never. Always get your own back. ’Cos if you keep turning the other cheek, know what you get? Punch-drunk, that’s what.’

  Tom walked slowly towards Edward, fists raised. Edward, knowing what was coming was going to hurt, cowered away. He closed his eyes.

  But the blow never came. Tom smiled instead and grabbed Edward. ‘Let’s play hide-and-seek,’ he said, twisting the other boy’s wrist, forcing him back into the room they had just left. ‘You go first.’

  He let go of Edward, and pushed him inside. Before Edward could run out again, Tom took hold of the door and pulled it shut. He felt Edward trying the handle, trying to pull it open, but Tom was too strong for him.

  James stepped forward, opened his mouth as if about to speak, but the look in Tom’s eyes silenced him. He stood there listening to the door being hit and kicked. Eventually there was silence.

  Edward soon realised it was no good to keep pulling on the door handle. Tom had it held fast. He knew he couldn’t open it until Tom let go. He gave up and walked back further into the room.

  It suddenly felt colder, night-time cold. Edward could see his breath forming in misty clouds as he breathed out. He shivered, hugged himself.

  There was something else about the room too. Something he didn’t like. It wasn’t just the cold and the dead birds in the fireplace, it was a sensation. A sadness. He was already feeling lost and desolate but this room seemed to be feeding on his sorrow, magnifying it. And there was something else: a sense of dread, of terror, moving towards him.

  And then he noticed the wallpaper.

  In the far corner, the old, damp paper began to crack and peel away from the wall. The black mould seemed to be getting even darker, starting to spread out from the corner.

  Edward felt his heart jump into his mouth, his body begin to shake. He turned back to the door and hammered as hard as he could.

  Tom laughed and held even harder on to the door handle. James just stood and watched. As mute as Edward.

  Edward turned away from the door, dared to glance back into the room once more. The mould was making its way round the walls towards him, like black wizened witch’s fingers reaching slowly out, ready to clasp him, entrap him …

  With renewed vigour, he began hammering again.

  Eve was setting up her classroom in the dining room when she heard the noise. She immediately put down the books she had been laying out and ran to see what was happening.

  Edward stopped hammering. He felt something touch him. He had never been so terrified in all his life.

  He opened his mouth, let out a silent scream.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Eve reached the nursery doorway.

  Tom saw her coming and let go of the handle. He quickly moved away from the door.

  ‘James made me do it,’ he said weakly.

  Eve ignored him and went straight to the door. She could hear Edward hammering on the other side. She tried the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. She turned to Tom.

  ‘Did you lock it?’

  Tom shook his head. He realised he was in trouble now.

  ‘Where’s the key?’ Eve shouted at him.

  Tom kept shaking his head. ‘I don’t … We didn’t …’

  She advanced towards him. ‘You must have unlocked it in the first place.’

  ‘It … it was open …’

  She towered over him, her eyes like two red-hot coals. ‘Where is it?’

  Tom cowered away from her, her anger making him too dumb to speak. She turned back to the door.

  ‘Edward! Let me in!’

  Eve twisted the handle, pushing and pulling at the door. Realising she was getting nowhere, she let go, curled her hands into fists and began frantically hammering on it. But still it wouldn’t move.

  Her knuckles sore, she turned to the other boys, ready to demand, once again, that they find the key. As she did so, the handle turned. The door swung slowly open of its own accord.

  Seeing what was happening, Eve rushed inside, ready to grab Edward, fearing the worst. Then stopped. The boy was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. In his hands was an old toy, and he was playing with it, seemingly contentedly.

  Eve moved gingerly towards him. ‘Edward?’ she said quietly.

  He didn’t look up, just went on playing with his toy.

  ‘Edward, are you all right?’

  She got no response. It seemed as if he hadn’t even heard her.

  She knelt down beside him, gave him her hand. He took it, and as she straightened up he rose with her. She looked at what he was holding. It was an old Mr Punch puppet, his red tunic now mottled black, his gold braid hanging loose. Eve could still make out the features of his wooden face: eyes bright and blue, smile vivid, cheeks and hooked nose and pointed chin still red.

  Edward allowed her to lead him out of the room, clutching Mr Punch tightly in his other hand.

  As she left, Eve, frowning, noticed the state of the walls. The house seemed to be deteriorating by the hour. But she didn’t have time to dwell on that.

  She led Edward from the room, and closed the door firmly behind her.

  A Visitor

  Lunch was a sombre affair.

  In the dining room, Tom and James were kept apart from the other children, going hungry. They sat at a separate table writing out lines as punishment, under Jean’s watchful gaze.

  I must not bully the other children.

  I must not bully the other children.

  I must not …

  The others knew exactly what had happened and, just as they had regarded Edward the previous day, were studying the two transgressors with similar fascination.

  Eve sat next to Edward. She was worried that his experiences at the hands of Tom – and, she thought reluctantly, James – would have made him even more withdrawn. But the opposite seemed to have happened. He wasn’t the boy he had been before he lost his mother, but he seemed, in his own mute way, to be unscathed by his ordeal.

  However, he still wouldn’t let go of Mr Punch.


  ‘Where did you get that, Edward?’ she asked him. There was something about the toy she didn’t like. It made her uneasy, but she couldn’t express why. It felt as if a small piece of that sad room had detached itself and latched on to Edward.

  He didn’t reply. Just finished his lunch, his focus all the time on the toy.

  Eve continued. ‘I saw some like that in the cellar. There was an old puppet theatre down there, too. Did you go down there to get it?’

  He shook his head.

  She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to conspiratorial level. ‘You won’t be in trouble if you did. I just want you to tell me how you came by it.’

  Edward didn’t respond. Encouraging him further, she placed her hand on his arm to comfort him. He briefly leaned into her, which she found reassuring, but he didn’t let go of Mr Punch.

  There was a knock at the front door.

  ‘Get the door, please, Miss Parkins.’

  Eve nodded and stood up. As she left the room she was aware of Jean, behind her, going to the window. Eve almost smiled. She wouldn’t answer the door herself, but she wouldn’t want to miss who was there.

  What Eve didn’t see was Edward. He waited until both the adults were otherwise distracted then crossed over to the table at which Tom and James were sitting. James looked anywhere but at his former friend.

  Edward stood over Tom and handed him a note.

  Give me back my drawing.

  Tom put down his pencil, a nasty smile spanning his features. He shook his head.

  Joyce saw what was happening and came over. She took in the note, along with Tom’s reaction. ‘Give it back,’ she said, ‘or I’ll tell.’

  Tom lunged forward, face an angry mask. ‘I’ll rip it.’

  Joyce and Edward jumped back.

  Eve knew nothing of this. She opened the front door, expecting Jim Rhodes, and found Harry instead. He was smiling, bundled inside his greatcoat, rubbing his hands together in the cold.

  ‘Thought I’d come and check up on you. See how you’re getting on.’ Then, quickly added, ‘All of you, I mean.’

  He saw a face at the window. Jean was watching him through the glass. ‘Is this a bad time?’

  Eve followed his gaze and Jean retreated. She smiled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not at all.’

  They both stood there, unmoving. He looked even more handsome in daylight, Eve thought, then chastised herself for thinking such a thing.

  ‘Listen,’ said Harry, ‘I’m not a fan of pneumonia …’

  Eve laughed and invited him in.

  Psychic Powers

  Not wanting Jean to accuse her of anything untoward, Eve continued her duties while talking to Harry. She was in the children’s dormitory, making their beds. Harry was standing in front of a heater, still trying to get warm.

  ‘Would you like a hand?’ he asked.

  Eve smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  He took off his greatcoat and joined her, tucking in, folding and pulling the sheets tight. ‘Should be used to this by now,’ he said.

  ‘Indeed you should.’

  Harry glanced at the door and dropped his voice. ‘How’s Sergeant Battleaxe?’

  Eve looked round nervously. ‘Be quiet, she’ll hear. And it’s Brigadier, not Sergeant. Well, wife of, anyway.’

  Harry gave a mock shrug. ‘I’m not scared.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Although she does outrank me …’

  Eve laughed, and it felt like the most relaxing thing she had done since she had left London.

  Harry, smiling, picked up a book from a bedside table, looked at the cover. It was a romance novel, I’ll Be With You, by Frances Braybrooke. He waved it at Eve. ‘This hers? Bet it is. Tough on the outside, but deep down …’ He shook his head.

  Eve reddened slightly. ‘Actually, it’s mine. I left it in here by mistake.’

  ‘Oh.’ Harry carefully replaced it as if it were suddenly hot. He looked sheepish.

  ‘Helps me take my mind off things,’ she said, to make him feel better. ‘Do you read?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘Manuals. You know, that kind of thing. Not too keen on stories.’

  Eve smiled. ‘Everyone likes stories.’

  They had stopped working on the beds.

  ‘So what’s yours?’ asked Harry.

  Eve bent down, plumped up a pillow, avoiding his eyes. ‘Thought you weren’t keen,’ she said.

  Harry shrugged again. ‘Try me.’

  She stopped playing with the pillow, and gestured round the room. ‘What about this house?’ she said, deflecting his question. ‘I’m sure there’s an interesting story here.’

  ‘Of rising damp, maybe.’

  Eve bit her lip, her expression suddenly serious. ‘I found a load of old things in the cellar last night.’

  Harry laughed. ‘Old things? In a cellar? Fancy that …’

  Eve didn’t smile. ‘I think something bad happened here.’

  Harry looked round. ‘Well, the wallpaper’s pretty ghastly …’

  ‘I’m serious.’ She threw a pillow at him. Surprised, he caught it. ‘There’s something about this place. It feels …’ She thought of the old nursery, of Edward’s newly discovered toy. ‘Sad, or angry. Maybe both. I don’t know …’

  Harry rubbed his hands together, his eyes twinkling. ‘Psychic powers, eh?’ He crossed over to her and put the pillow down. ‘Then tell me what I’m thinking …’

  He gently placed two fingers on her brow. They were cool, but Eve enjoyed the touch. Hamming it up, he made a show of acting like a stage mesmerist, contorting his face as if in pain, waving his other hand around. Then he mouthed a sentence at her: ‘Where are you from?’

  Eve laughed. ‘Croydon.’

  He jumped back. ‘Amazing! Again.’ He replaced his fingers on her brow, laughing. And now?’ His expression was slightly more serious. He didn’t mouth anything this time.

  But Eve wasn’t ready to be serious with him. Not just yet. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ she asked, smiling.

  ‘Wrong answer.’

  She thought some more. ‘Oh, I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.’

  ‘What’s behind that smile?’ he said, looking at her thoughtfully.

  Eve shook her head. ‘Not that one again.’

  ‘Like a broken record, me.’ His laughter trailed away and his fingers dropped.

  Eve suddenly realised just how close he was to her. His eyes were locked on to hers. ‘It’s just … my way,’ she said. ‘How I cope.’

  ‘With the war?’ He seemed to have moved even closer.

  ‘With everything.’

  She could feel his breath on her cheek, smell his aftershave. His eyes never left hers.

  ‘Eve?’

  She started, turned quickly. Jean was standing in the doorway. For how long, Eve had no idea.

  Jean gave a brittle smile. ‘I think it’s time we had afternoon lessons, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Eve, smoothing down the front of her dress, even though it wasn’t creased.

  Jean gave a curt nod. ‘Good day, Captain.’ She turned and left the room, stopping to ring the bell to summon the children.

  Eve and Harry looked at each other and, the moment broken, laughed.

  ‘I feel like one of her pupils,’ said Harry. ‘A naughty one.’

  Eve laughed once more.

  ‘Is that your work face again?’ he asked.

  She kept smiling, kept looking into his eyes.

  ‘Perhaps this one’s real,’ she said.

  Harry

  The cold wind sent ripples through the water on either side of the Nine Lives Causeway. It built up into white peaks, lapped and landed at the sides of the road, fizzling away to nothing. Retracting, ready to encroach once more.

  Harry’s hands shook as he gripped hard on the wheel of his Jeep. He stared resolutely ahead as he drove, not allowing himself to be distracted by what was happening on either side of the vehicle. He hated the water. The sound of it built in his imagination
. It was loud, almost deafening, a noise too great for the size of waves, amplified in his head until the rhythm of the waves became the rhythm of his breathing, his pulse. Roiling and crashing. Breath coming in increasingly ragged gasps, he couldn’t cross the causeway quickly enough.

  Then he heard something else on the wind, over and above the deafening sounds of the water. Faint and subtle, but unmistakable. A scream. Then another. A cry for help. Then nothing, the water claiming the voice, dragging it down.

  Drowning it.

  Harry stopped the Jeep and removed his shaking hands from the wheel. He tried to block out the sounds of the water, the echoing, fading screams that he still heard inside his head. He screwed his eyes tight shut, grimaced and, feeling the familiar impotence of rage and fear building within him once more, hit the steering wheel hard. Again and again, until, exhausted, he sat still, breathing heavily, trying to regain some kind of calm.

  He rubbed his eyes, looked round. Listened. The drowning screams had disappeared. Harry wondered if he had actually heard them, or if they were just the screams he carried with him, inside his head.

  He started the Jeep up once more, and drove for dry land as fast as he could.

  Behind him, snow started to fall.

  The Face Beneath the Floorboards

  Eve shut the front door, turning the key firmly in the lock. Outside was cold, snow falling. Inside wasn’t much warmer.

  She was thinking of Harry’s visit. She liked him. He was a charming, handsome young man. But she believed there was more to him than that. He seemed to carry something around with him, some melancholic air, some pain. He hid it well, and it wasn’t visible to all. Only those who recognised something similar in themselves, Eve thought. A kindred spirit. And he seemed interested in her, too.

  Smiling, she made her way down the hallway but came to an abrupt halt as a floorboard creaked beneath her foot. She placed her weight on it again. The board bent out of shape. It was black and rotten with a large hole in the centre. Dangerous, she thought, a job for Jim Rhodes when he came back. Or Harry. She smiled once more at the thought of him.