“Grab us a couple of seats Mare and I’ll get the drinks and a quiz sheet,” Peter said over his shoulder.
Mary settled herself at the table, acknowledging the old couple on the table next to her. They were locals, she could tell. But a lot of the folk in tonight were quiz junkies that would wander from pub to pub wherever a quiz was on. Prizes were never huge but the fun of winning and, of course, a night out made it an attractive option. Mary smiled as she gazed around at the eager faces. All sat with pen and paper, waiting for the landlord to start reading the questions.
“Well, this is pretty damn perfect, right?” Peter said, returning with the drinks. “Beer is good, and a quiz night. What more could we ask of a local?”
“If you say so, dear. I just hope you don’t plan on spending your life in here rather than at home,” Mary replied smiling.
“Not going to happen, Princess. Just happy to know we have somewhere on the doorstep is all,” Peter replied soothingly, as he took Mary’s hand.
“Right, ladies and gentlemen, if you all have your pens and papers!” The landlord announced over the cheap, crackling karaoke microphone. “We shall begin the quiz. Question one...”
The pub was almost silent for an hour save the clinking of glasses and the muttering of doubts as the customers wrote down their answers.
Peter smiled at Mary as he busily wrote down their answers. He was confident. He knew there was no shortage of fine minds at these quizzes but he was confident. Together with Mary, they had only guessed at one or two. The embarrassment, he supposed, would be taking the winnings as a newcomer. Most pub locals got a bit upset if some outsiders walked away with their prize money.
But of course, now they were locals. They lived here and the old locals would just have to get used to the new kids in town taking the winnings. Peter smiled as he thought about it.
They had handed in their answer sheets to the bar and now would wait patiently with another drink until the scores were announced.
“Sorry for the delay everyone. Had to change the lager in between scoring. But here we have it. We have a winner! Unfortunately, we have two winners so there will be a tiebreak,” the Landlord announced.
A big “ooooh!” went around the room in anticipation.
“Okay, settle down now, settle down. The first team is ‘New Kids on the Block’ which, of course, are our new family up at the cottage, Peter and Mary. Team two is ‘Norfolk and Good’ from over the hill there in Bundleton,” the landlord said, pointing at each team with a smile.
“Right, listen in teams and no calling out for the rest of you if you don’t mind. Here is your tie break question, so write down the answer and pass your paper to Mildred. ‘What was the profession of people working on the Shambles in York, back in the time that the name mattered?’ That’s your tiebreaker for the evening. A simple one, I believe,” the landlord finished with an amused chuckle.
Mary slapped Peter hard on the arm. “You’d better get this right Peter, you were only there a few hours ago.”
“Well, I wasn’t there to wander round the shops and read nameplates was I? But don’t fret, dear, we got this,” Peter replied, as he wrote down his answer and passed his paper to Mildred.
“Okay Mildred, have we got a winner or do we need another question?”
Mildred, ready for her moment of fame took the microphone from George the landlord.
“Yes, we have a winner. Norfolk and Good, your answer of ‘tailors’ was wrong. New Kids on the Block win it, with ‘butchers’ being the correct answer,” Mildred announced in her best TV newscaster voice.
“There you have it folks, Mary and Peter have won tonight’s twenty-five pounds; come and collect it when you like. After I sell some more beer hopefully,” George said, retrieving the microphone from Mildred.
Peter and Mary sat back and basked in their success and accepted the grudging slaps on the back from other teams.
“So it’s you two what moved into the old cottage is it?” a voice said from behind them.
“Yes, yes it is. Hi! I’m Peter and this is my wife Mary,” Peter replied, turning to face the scowling face of a little old lady.
“I hear you got you a little boy with you. Young child is he?” the old woman said.
Mary had herself turned around in her seat to reply to the old woman. She looked to Mary to be at least ninety years old. She was tiny. The woman was the size of a small child that had aged in an instant perhaps, Mary mused. Her grey hair was tied up tight in a bun on the back of her head and even on a warm summer’s evening, she was wearing a heavy, tweed overcoat.
“Yes, Jason our son. He’s five,” Mary responded proudly.
“Best you get that young’un of yours gone from here then, missus. Bad place is that cottage. Not safe for young kids. Never has been in many the year,” the old woman replied.
The pub was still buzzing from the aftermath of the quiz and people moving to and fro from the bar as they replenished drinks and discussed the answers. Peter and Mary had to lean forward towards the old woman to hear her.
“And what exactly could harm a child in that little cottage? It’s as safe as any house and I don’t expect too many unwanted visitors,” Peter said.
“Safe is it? I’m guessing nobody bothered to tell you it’s past before they took your money. Am I right?” The woman continued.
Mary, struggling to look concerned between grinning at Peter, said, “What past would that be then, missus?”
“Hamilton. Isadora Hamilton,” the old woman replied, with a shake of her head. “And yes, it has a past. One someone should have told you about before you put your child at risk in that place.”
George the landlord leaned forward over the bar and shouted over to Peter, Mary and the old lady. “Izzy, you leave them good folk alone. They don’t need to be hearing none of your nonsense. Peter, I’ve got your twenty-five quid here when you’re ready.”
Peter waved a hand to George. “I’ll be over soon George. Don’t mind Izzy. Whatever she says we won’t be leaving our house any time soon,” Peter shouted back to George and smiled. George shook his head and made a gesture with his finger against his head at the old woman.
“So Izzy, may I call you Izzy? What exactly is wrong with our little cottage, apart from the ivy that needs clearing from the bedroom window? We love our cottage,” Mary asked. “Much as I would love to know the local legends and all the mysteries of the old place, I don’t have any plans to move my child, thank you very much.”
“Your young lad is in danger, missy, you mark my words. Has been a bad place for a goodly long time has that cottage. But was never any kids there since the Wainwright killings. Nobody with any sense would ever move in there, see? Not with kiddies anyways,” Izzy replied.
“Wainwright killings? Well no, nobody mentioned that. Perhaps you should enlighten us. But please, let me get us all a drink first,” Peter said.
Peter slid from his chair at the table and made his way to the bar. It was getting quieter now as the evening was drawing to a close and George was ready to serve him.
“Well, she’s a strange one, George,” Peter said after he’d ordered the drinks.
“Strange as they get round here. Don’t take too much notice of her. She’s mad as a box of frogs. Old places always have stories. Most folk live such dull lives that they would go out of their minds with boredom if there wasn’t a good tale to be told aye?” George replied.
Peter smiled and nodded. “Well, if we’re going to fit in I suppose we’d best get to know the locals. We’ll let her ramble but don’t worry. We’ll be back to take the quiz money off you again next week.”
“Aye lad, well a good win. And don’t let Izzy go and put a damper on your night is all I’m saying, Peter.”
Peter made his way back to the table and passed Izzy a glass of sherry. She took it gratefully and waited until everyone had settled again.
“Back a ways, when old Queen Victoria was on the throne, was a family lived up
in your cottage called the Wainwrights. They’d lived there for generations is told, but were a weird old bunch. Something to do with that old stone out on the moor. ‘The Devil’s Dick’ everyone calls it round these parts. Older than that Stoney Henge place down south right? Is what folk tells anyhow. Never been south or seen it meself so I couldn’t tell yer.”
“I’m guessing that would be Stonehenge?” Mary asked, as she nodded and sipped her drink, winking at Peter.
“Aye close enough. Well, the Wainwrights and some others from round here. Not saying all this was the Wainwrights alone, right? They would spend them a lot of time up at that old stone. At night. Full moons and that sort of stuff. Raising demons, folk said they did. Well, I don’t know about none of that nonsense, but I do know that nothing was right up there. Nothing at all,” Izzy continued.
“Well, that’s all fascinating, Izzy. But I think every standing stone in Britain has some sort of devil-worshipping weird stuff attached to it one way or another. What does that have to do with our son?” Mary asked.
“I’m coming to that aren’t I? Just clearing up the time before and so you know them Wainwright folk were up to no good,” Izzy replied, raising her empty glass and sighing.
Peter took the hint and went back to the bar to get her a refill. She waited until he’d returned to continue her story.
“So, the last Wainwrights that lived there back in Queen Vic’s time were said to be doing the same old shenanigans up at the stone see? Ben Wainwright was the father and had a daughter, Emily, and two young sons. Their poor dear mother had died when they were all babies. In mysterious circumstances, I might add, but died she had. Late one night there was all kinds of screaming coming from the cottage, and over by the stone, folk were seeing a fire burning. Well, folk back then was all kinds of church-friendly and wouldn’t be going near no place called The Devil’s Dick. Certainly not of a nighttime. Well, the folk in the village cowered in their houses that night and next morning, two of the young farm hands went up to see if anything was amiss.”
“And was there?” Peter asked, knowing what the answer might be.
“Oh, right enough things were amiss. The two young farm hands came back into the village white as sheets. Down to this very pub to tell the village what they’d found,” Izzy replied. She paused and took a long slurp of her drink and slowly lowered the glass, gazing up at the now engrossed faces of Mary and Peter.
“Both of the two young brothers had been hacked to pieces. The policeman that went up there to look said it looked like an axe had done ‘em in. Poor little mites were cut to pieces, he’d said. Then they’d found the father sat in the kitchen. He’d blown his head off with his old shotgun. Was blood all over the place, there was. A right mess. But seek as they may, they never found the little girl, Emily.”
“Do go on,” Mary said, now visibly shocked at the horrific details.
“Well, the whole village was out looking for her. The farm workers even went out to the stone to look. But she’d gone. At first, everyone said old Ben Wainwright had gone off his rocker and killed them all, boys and Emily, and blowed his own head off when he realised what he’d done. Missing his wife and that sort of thing can do that to a man see? But soon the other stories started. You know what a changeling is?” Izzy asked.
“Isn’t that where fairies or something go stealing babies and swapping them for one of their own? That sort of fairytale nonsense?” Peter said.
“Nonsense or not, that’s what folk were saying back then. They think Emily was a changeling and Wainwright knew it. In fact, they even say he gave his own proper daughter up at the stone to the Devil himself and got Emily in exchange. Never short of money were the Wainwrights. They never seemed to do much to earn it but always had plenty. Things like that get folk talking see?” Izzy replied.
“So people think Emily killed her brothers and her father?” Mary asked.
“Nobody rightly knows, but yes, they think she killed the brothers and Wainwright killed her before killing himself. But of course, there was no body. Maybe she was a changeling and went off back to the Devil himself. But any family that moved in that place of yours soon moved out if they had kids. Strange stuff happening and more than most could tolerate. There’s a reason it went for so cheap. Been stood empty so long and nobody around here would dream of buying it. Place is cursed, see?” Izzy finished.
Peter slowly rose from his chair. He held Mary’s arm and motioned for her to get up too.
“It has been fascinating, Izzy. Thank you very much for the stories. I shall put a drink in for you but we have to get back for the babysitter. We promised fish and chips,” Peter said.
“Aye, I’ll take another drink from you. But you take heed, young man. Stories they may be and your city folk might find us up here a bit slow and uneducated for your tastes. But we know what we know. I’m telling you, your son is in danger in that house. You mark my words, lad,” Izzy replied, with a drunken but knowing shake of her head.
Peter and Mary made their way through the pub and waved a goodnight to George who was following them out with a sullen look. They noticed him scowl at Izzy once he’d bid them goodnight.
Making a detour via the fish and chip shop, they eventually climbed the lane back to the cottage. The cottage lights looked welcoming as they made their way towards it.
“You know she’s nuts, don’t you?” Peter asked Mary, as they walked arm in arm.
“She is, yes. But the stories aren’t hers, are they? That is a horrible tale for a house to have. But why Jason? How could any harm come to him?” Mary replied.
“It won’t. Yes, the story was fascinating but she went off a bit, threatening the poor lad I thought,” Peter said.
They reached the front door to have it sprung open by an eager babysitter. It was obvious she had been crying and looked to be in pain clutching her arm.
“Whatever is the matter, Julia? What’s wrong with your arm? Did you have an accident?” Mary fussed, as they guided her into the kitchen.
“Your son. Your son Jason. He bit me! Bit me deep on the bloody arm he did!” Julia gasped, holding out her arm for their inspection.
“Peter? Go and check on Jason while I look at Julia’s arm,” Mary said.
Mary went to a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a first aid bag.
“Okay, honey, let me have a look and we’ll get it cleaned up,” Mary used the soothing voice she used on Jason when he was tearful and squalling over a scrape; it normally dried his tears.
The bite was deep. Mary cleaned it with alcohol and applied a dressing.
“I think perhaps a doctor should have a look at that Julia. Why on earth would he bite you?” Mary said.
“Oh, I don’t need no doctor, Mary. I’ve had worse. That boy just went weird and bit me. We were sitting playing in his room and he smiled. I thought he was happy. He leaned over to me and rested his head on my arm. Then he just bit me so bloody hard!“ Julia replied.
“I have to get home now, though. This place is a bit spooky you know?”
“I’ll have Peter walk you down the lane, Julia. Are you sure you don’t want a doctor?” Mary asked.
“No point in calling a doctor out here, Mary. Would be a week before anyone ever turned up. I’ll let my Ma take a look when I get home,” Julia replied.
Mary shouted Peter down to escort Julia home. He hurried downstairs and helped Julia through the door.
“I am so, so sorry, Julia. I have no idea what came over him. Neither does he it seems. He’s confined to his room now until we can get to the bottom of it, I promise you,” Peter said.
“There’s a lot of silly stories about this house, Peter. Most of it just local gossip and rubbish. But, I got to tell you. There is either something wrong with your boy or something wrong with the house. Either way, I got scared and I don’t like the place,” Julia said.
“I totally understand, dear. But, old as it is, it’s just a house. A pile of bricks and nothing more. Jason on the othe
r hand, I got no clue what got into him. He’s never behaved like that before. Maybe the moving house and meeting new people just got too much for him. Either way, we won’t tolerate that sort of behaviour from him, I promise you.”
They had arrived at Julia’s house and Peter was going to leave her at the front door, just as Julia’s mother opened it.
Julia turned to Peter.
“The way Jason just changed like that Peter, was all a bit scary you know? Maybe you should be careful is all. Maybe it wasn’t Jason. Goodnight Peter.”
Peter shook his head in confusion. He bid Julia and her mother goodnight and made his way back up the hill to the cottage. Mary was sat waiting for him in the kitchen, the unwrapped fish and chips laid on the table in front of her.
“We might as well eat these now we’ve got them before they go cold,” Mary said. “Peter, what the hell is going on? What have we got ourselves into?”
Peter slumped at the table and helped himself to a handful of hot, greasy chips.
“Relax. Jason has had a bad night is all. This is all new to him. It can be scary for a kid to move so far from everything he knows,” Peter said.
“No Peter, Jason just doesn’t behave that way. Did you see the mess he made of that poor girl’s arm? It was savage. Something isn’t right here, Peter. Not right at all,” Mary replied.
“Well, look. It’s been a long night and we’re tired. Don’t go letting that rubbish old Izzy was spouting freak you out. Of course, places like this have a history. Would be even more weird if they didn’t right? But bloody hell Mary, let’s not get started on ghosts and goblins when all we have is a bad boy with a temper tantrum. Let’s finish this and get to bed.”
Chapter Six
Mary was restless in bed and got up for the bathroom. Tiptoeing along the landing to the bathroom, she passed Jason’s bedroom. She stood for a moment and listened. He was talking in his sleep. She quietly opened the door and went into his room.
“No Emily! No! I can’t do that! No!” Jason was pleading in his sleep.
Thriller: Emily Page 4