by Tim O'Rourke
“And what was that?” I asked, sitting forward in my seat, skin prickling with excitement.
“If there truly was a dog locked inside the outhouse, why hadn’t my rattling and banging on the door disturbed it?” she whispered. “I did not hear so much as a bark or howl from inside. As I walked back to the house, I was left with the impression that there was no giant dog secured inside the outhouse.”
“Why do you think Sir Edmund would lie about such a thing?” I asked her, glancing sideways to see Potter staring vacantly out of the window. He might not be interested, but I was.
“I don’t know,” Locke said. “I didn’t see that dog again, if that’s truly what it was. And just when I thought nothing more peculiar could happen, I was proved wrong.”
“What?” I asked, heart beginning to quicken as my mind began to wonder what new piece of the jigsaw Ms. Locke was going to add to this mystery.
“Things started to move,” she said, glancing over at the door and then back at me.
“I need to go take a piss,” Potter grunted, getting up again.
I yanked him back down onto his seat. This time it was my turn to scowl at him. Rolling his eyes at me and sighing, he lit another smoke.
“What do mean things started to move?” I asked Locke.
“Even though Amanda had been sent abroad by her father to be educated, I still cleaned and dusted her room every day,” Locke said. “I guess I just liked being in her room.”
“Okay, so that’s weird,” Potter muttered, and I thumped him beneath the table. He smirked.
“It was a week after Miss Amanda’s sudden departure that I noticed her iPod had gone missing,” Locke explained. “I was sure that it had been placed on the nest of drawers beside her bed. I wondered if perhaps I had been mistaken, but when I went to her room the following day, the iPod was back again. It was over the next few days or so that I began to notice that other items had been moved also, but more importantly, the blanket that Miss Amanda so loved disappeared from the foot of her bed.”
“Do you not think that perhaps Sir Edmund had moved some of those items?” Potter asked, glancing down at his wristwatch again.
“I did consider that idea,” Locke said. “But there were times when Sir Edmund had travelled down to London and was away a whole day and night or more. There was only me at the house. So who or what was it moving items in Miss Amanda’s room?”
Potter began to hum the theme tune to the movie Ghostbusters, eyes vacant-looking again. I kicked him under the table. He glanced up at me.
“Sorry,” he said. “Just thinking out loud, I guess.”
“And that is everything,” Ms. Locke said, looking at Potter for some kind of response.
“Okay,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen. You go back home to Bastille Hall. You only have a week left there before your boss kicks you out, so while you’re getting your shit together, I’ll make some enquires…”
“What kind of enquires, Mr. Potter?” Locke pressed him.
“I’ll contact some of these posh schools in Switzerland and see if they have a student named Amanda…” he started.
“Don’t you think I’ve already tried that?” she cut in. “Sir Edmund was very vague on the name of the school that Miss Amanda is now studying at. I therefore searched the Internet for every private school in Switzerland that I could find. I then set about writing to the head teacher at each of them,” she said, and I glanced again at the bulbous lump of flesh at the top of her right index finger. So it had been letters Ms. Locke had been writing. “Most wrote back saying that to divulge such information would breach the data protection act and others simply said they had no records of such a student by that name.”
Potter stood up, ready to leave. “You just let me work my charms on them.” He winked at her, but I could tell she didn’t look convinced by his so-called charms. “I have my own ways of getting the information I want from people.”
“So how much do I owe?” she asked.
“Let’s just see what I find out,” Potter said. “I’ll be in contact with you in the next couple of days.”
“But if anything else happens out of the ordinary, please call us,” I said, suspecting that Ms. Locke would witness more strange occurrences at Bastille Hall before her departure in a week’s time.
“Here, take one of these,” Potter said, fishing a business card from his wallet. I could see that it had the words The Creeping Men printed across the front, followed by the office address and phone number.
“I already have your contact details,” Locke said, glancing down at the card but not taking it.
“Just in case,” Potter said, shoving it into her hand. “Besides, I have three hundred of these things gathering dust in the office and I’m desperate to get rid of some of them.”
She took the card, slipping it into her coat pocket.
“Where’s your car parked?” Potter asked, taking her by the arm and guiding her toward the exit.
“I cycled here – it’s not very far,” she said.
He pulled open the door and stepped out into the night. Outside, Ms. Locked unchained her bike and climbed on. Before cycling away, she looked at me and said, “It was very nice to meet you, Miss Hudson.” Then shooting Potter a quick glance, she added, “Good evening, Mr. Potter.”
Then she was gone, cycling out of the small car park and into the night, back toward Bastille Hall.
Chapter Six
“What a freak!” Potter grumbled, marching back toward my car. “Let’s just get you to your digs. I’ve listened to enough bollocks for one night.”
“How can you be so dismissive of her story?” I asked, catching him up. Couldn’t you see she was scared?”
“She was scared?” Potter said across the roof of my car at me. “I was scared of her when she started going on about all that stuff supposedly being moved about the girl’s bedroom.”
“You didn’t believe her then?” I asked, both of us climbing inside my tiny car. I started the engine and it spluttered into life.
“Did you?” he asked, eyes wide.
“Yes,” I told him. I pulled out of the car park and onto the road, turning right. The night was warm so I wound down the window. The breeze blew my hair back from my face. Potter was looking at me. “What?”
“So you didn’t think her story was just a bit strange?” he asked me.
“Sure,” I nodded, eyes on the road ahead. “That’s what makes it so interesting.”
“Interesting?” he scoffed, shaking out a smoke into his hand and lighting it. I wanted to tell him not to smoke in my car but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. I’d just be wasting my breath. I wound down the window some more. “Okay, so you’re new to this whole investigating lark, I can see that.”
“So what do you think really happened then?” I was interested to know how he would explain away such strange circumstances.
“The father, this Edmund guy, he doesn’t feel that Locke is doing the best by his daughter,” Potter started to explain. “He thinks it’s time that Amanda got a better education. But knowing how clingy Locke is, he decides to sneak the girl abroad at night to avoid a scene with the housekeeper come nanny come slave, or whatever it is she does. And right on cue, she starts getting all emotional because the girl has been sent away. So doing what he really wanted to do all along, he gives the old cow the boot. You know, sacks her. She puts on the old waterworks, makes him feel guilty because we know most blokes don’t know how to handle a woman that cries, so he tells her she can stay another month until she gets her shit sorted out.”
“What about the giant dog?” I ask, shooting him a sideways glance.
“What about the freaking dog?” he said, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Like he told old Locke, he bought the dog for company.”
“But it wasn’t there in the outhouse…” I started.
“Because he probably took the thing for a walk,” Potter
cut in. “He was pissed off with Locke for spying on him from her bedroom window.”
“She said it looked like a giant hound,” I reminded him, seeing if I could provoke any kind of reaction.
“Giant hound, my arse,” Potter said. “She said herself it was dark and the dog was hidden by shadows. It could have been a pink fucking poodle for all we know.”
“But what about what she heard Sir Edmund saying? Leash. Leash. Leash,” I asked, slowly taking the tight narrow bends in the road ahead.
“He was probably saying ‘lead.’ You know, like lead on, doggy,” Potter said, sounding exasperated.
“The stuff that moved – like the iPod?” I quizzed.
“How many times have you put something down only to go back to it to find that it’s been moved?” he said. “It just means that you were mistaken where you thought you had left it. That’s all. There is nothing going on at Bastille Hall that can’t easily be explained away. Locke is upset because she’s lost the girl she thought of as a daughter, and now that Amanda’s gone she’s lost her own job. Don’t get me wrong, I feel sorry for the old cow, but going along with her fantasy would be wrong too.”
“Wrong?” I frowned. “How so?”
“It would be wrong for me to take money from someone so desperate and unhappy,” he said, flicking his cigarette out of the window. “I might be an arsehole, but I’m not that kind of arsehole.”
“So if you didn’t believe her, why were you taking notes?” I asked him, steering my little car through the dark along the tight coastal roads.
“Notes?” he looked confused.
“I saw you writing in your notebook,” I reminded him.
“Oh that,” he said, taking the notebook from his pocket. “They weren’t notes. I was making a list.”
“A list? What kind of list?” I asked. Now it was my turn to look confused.
“A shopping list,” he said, thumbing through the pages of his notebook. “You saw for yourself that my fiancée Sophie has got the arse-ache with me so I could be sleeping in the cells back at the office for some time. I was making myself a list of things I would need to get. You know, shaving foam, razor blades, and I know we’re right out of bog-roll…”
“I don’t believe you!” I gasped, pulling to a stop outside the Crescent Moon Inn.
“No, I don’t believe you,” he whispered, looking out of the window at the inn.
“What don’t you believe?” I asked.
“How you found this place without me giving you one single direction,” he said, glancing slowly back at me. “You said you didn’t know where this place was - that you’d never been here before. That’s why I let you tag along tonight so I could show you where this place was. That was the deal.”
How could I explain that I had been here before? But that had been in another time and place – another where and when.
“Luck, I guess,” I smiled with a shrug.
“I don’t believe in luck,” he said, not taking his eyes from mine.
“What do you believe in?” I asked, not breaking his stare. Fighting the urge to lean over and kiss him.
“I believe that you knew where this place was all along,” he said. “You just made out that you didn’t because you wanted to tag along with me.”
“And why would I want to do that?” I asked, looking away now.
“Only you know the answer to that,” he said, pushing the car door open and climbing out.
I got out after him as he strode away, hands in his pockets. “Potter!” I yelled.
“Yeah?” he said, stopping and glancing back at me.
“How will you get back into town from here? It’s a good few miles,” I said.
“I could do with the walk,” he said, turning away again.
But I knew that as soon as his back was turned he would find another way to get back to the Ragged Cove and it wouldn’t be on foot. “Potter!” I called out again.
“What now?” he said, looking back again.
“Do you think that dog – the one that Ms. Locke said she saw – do you think it could have been a werewolf?” My heart raced.
“Do you believe in the existence of such creatures?” he asked, eyes narrowing in the darkness.
“You said back at the police station – I mean at the offices of The Creeping Men, that you investigated such things,” I reminded him. “You told me you investigated vampires and the undead.”
“You’re right, I did say that. But just because I investigate them, doesn’t mean I believe in their existence. I’ve investigated hundreds of alleged sightings and accounts over the years, but haven’t yet seen a real one. Just the stuff of myths and legends,” he said, turning his back on me one final time and setting off into the darkness in the direction of the Ragged Cove.
When I could no longer see him, I turned back to my car. I opened the boot, taking out the case that was there. I headed toward the entrance of the Crescent Moon Inn. It looked just like I remembered it to be. A rickety building with a slate roof and ivy crawling all over its front walls like a disease.
As I pushed the front door open, I heard what sounded like a thunderclap booming in the distance. Was that thunder – an approaching storm I could hear? But in my heart I knew it was Potter, soaring away. With a faint smile tugging at my lips, I stepped inside the Crescent Moon Inn again.
Chapter Seven
Just as I remembered, there was a crescent-shaped bar along the far wall. But like before, the inn wasn’t very busy. There were some guests seated at tables drinking and eating. None of them looked up like they had before the world got pushed. They were too busy chatting and laughing amongst themselves. There was no oppressive atmosphere this time around, and no bulbs of garlic hanging over the bar, or a table with bottles of holy water and crucifixes for sale. The five-pointed star over the fireplace had gone, and in its place hung a painting of the cove at winter – covered white with snow. It looked like someone had stuck a giant Christmas card to the wall. I didn’t care. Anything had to be better than the gloom that had permeated the air at the inn before.
I made my way amongst the tables to the bar. As I did, a young girl got up and dropped some coins into a jukebox, which was against the far wall. The song Budapest by George Ezra started to play.
“Can I help you?” someone asked.
I glanced up. A young man in his early twenties was beaming at me from behind the bar. There was no old lady with wispy white hair and cataracts this time. His shoulder length black hair was swept back, revealing a handsome face. Green eyes sparkled out of it. His smile was more of a welcoming grin. He was slim and wore a blue checked shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbow. But I could see that for someone still so young, he was married.
He looked down at the small case I carried, then back at me. “Let me guess, you’re Kiera Hudson, right?”
“Erm, yeah,” I said, a little surprised. “How do you know my name?”
“We’ve been expecting you,” he said, taking a thick leather ledger from behind the counter and thumbing through it. “Yep, that’s right. Just one room left and it’s been booked for you.”
“Really?” I said. “By whom?”
The guy ran one finger down the page. “Let me see. Here we go. The room was booked by someone named Lois Li. She said she was from the agency.” He glanced up at me. “You know her, right?”
“Right,” I smiled, recognising the name as the person who had sent me the letter regarding taking up a temporary position with The Creeping Men.
“Okay, then,” he said, reaching out behind him and taking down the last remaining key from a set of hooks attached to the wall. “You’re in room number…”
“Two,” I finished for him.
“Yeah, how did you know?” he asked.
“Just a hunch,” I said, taking the key from him. I could smell the saliva-inducing scent of roast beef wafting from the kitchen. Remembering the strict mealtimes set at the inn before, I said, “I don’t suppose there
is any chance of getting a bite to eat. I know it’s late but…”
“No problem at all,” the young guy smiled, plucking a pencil from behind his ear and grabbing a pad from beneath the bar. “What would you like?”
I looked at the menu fixed to wall next to the bar. “A cheese sandwich will be just fine,” I said.
“Chips with that?” he asked.
“Just the sandwich,” I said. “Oh, and a pot of tea would be great, too.”
“Coming right up,” he said, turning to the kitchen. “Hey, Phebe!”
The kitchen door was pushed open by a young woman. She was about the same age as the guy and as pretty as he was handsome. He handed her the slip of paper with my order written on it. “This is my girlfriend, Phebe.”
“Please to meet you,” she smiled.
“This is Kiera Hudson,” the guy said.
“Really?” the girl said, her eyes growing momentarily wider.
“You know, that agency called and made the booking for her,” he said. I couldn’t help but notice how he gave his girlfriend a subtle nudge.
“Sure,” she breathed, staring as if summing me up in some way.
“The sandwich,” her boyfriend reminded her.
“Oh, yeah, sure. See you around, Kiera Hudson,” she said, before stepping back into the kitchen.
“Okay,” I smiled, feeling a little unnerved but not sure why. It was like they had been expecting me in some way. But of course they had, as the room had been booked in advance for me by Lois Li. But it seemed more than that.
“If you want to head on up,” he said, “Phebe will bring the food to your room.”
“Thanks,” I said, turning toward the stairs that I knew would lead up to my room. Then stopping, I looked back and said, “What’s your name?”