The Dark Water

by Helen Moorhouse

  “How do you think all of this is actually connected?” Gabriel suddenly asked.

  Will stopped, confused.

  Gabriel stopped too, and turned to him. “Only I was hoping beyond hope that all of this would help me to figure out what’s going on in my flat in Edinburgh. But now I’m more confused than ever. It seems like out of the three major players in what happened back in ‘63 only two of them are on set and of those two one’s on location. So is Laurence haunting here to get at Pine or something? Only Pine’s off in Edinburgh on his jollies, leaving me love letters. And where does that Ball character fit into things?”

  He stopped short suddenly. Both men turned their heads toward the door of the library and began to move at the same time. They’d both heard it. Cutting faintly through the silence outside – they’d almost missed it by talking but the two of them had definitely heard it. There it went again. The jingle of a small bell.

  Gabriel reached the door first, flinging it open and stepping heavily out on to the tiled floor of the dark hallway.

  Will was right behind him. “Turn off your torch!” he hissed as he made it out into the hall behind him, the atmosphere different out there, less cloying and stuffy than the library but still smelling musty and now damp. And freezing, freezing cold.

  The two men stepped hurriedly out to the centre of the hallway and listened again, standing beside the polished round table with its artificial flowers, scanning the room in opposite directions.

  Will’s breath quickened with excitement and the familiar frisson of fear he experienced when something like this happened. He held the heat detector in his hand at arm’s length and began to slowly scan the space.

  “Turn on the recorder,” he hissed at Gabriel.

  “Done,” came the response.

  The months of estrangement hadn’t rendered their familiar patterns rusty. It was almost instinctive now, every move practised over time.

  There was nothing for a few moments. Just their breath in the darkness. Will ran the thermal imager around the space, starting from the library door, around to the front door and past the windows which registered completely black with cold, and then across the wall which flickered between green and blue. Up the stairs then. Nothing.

  When he finally saw the red image on the screen he felt a bolt of shock hit him like electricity. The heat source that finally registered on the screen was that of a man. Will’s eyes shot from the screen up along the mezzanine and to the wall just beside the first door at the top of the stairs. Of course he could see nothing for a second, his vision requiring adjustment.

  “Who’s there?” he shouted upwards. Then he muttered to Gabriel, “Up there – the first door – there’s a man standing there.” It had to be Gifford, come back to see what was going on, or Calvert – maybe he’d come back earlier than expected and had got in when they were in the library – or Callum – he’d been very curious about their equipment indeed when he’d helped to load and unload it on its trip from the car park in the golf buggy.

  He glanced down again at the screen and was stunned to see the shape still there, still distinctly human. Another bolt of fear suddenly shot through him and he felt himself go involuntarily warm against the severe cold of the space. At that moment, Gabriel, too, made out the black shape leaning against the wall of the upstairs area with his naked eye. His heart, too, gave a jolt. He wasn’t used to this. To being frightened of what he could see. He could communicate with these souls, he thought to himself, frustrated. He should be able to make out his features, feel his thoughts or some of his emotions – but all he could perceive was a shadow. The unmistakeable shadow of a large man, leaning against the wall. And it wasn’t moving, wasn’t going anywhere. It looked, for all the world, like it was watchingthem.

  For a moment, there was a standoff – Will, glued to the small screen in his hand, trying to see would the figure turn out to be something else . . . a suit of armour perhaps . . . but there wasn’t one up there. He’d been up and down while they set up – there was definitely no armour, no wax figure on the mezzanine. Nor would they register as a heat source, he berated himself.

  Gabriel, meanwhile, was unable to tear his eyes away from the figure. This . . . this shape . . . it seemed blacker than the blackness itself. Completely immobile. Steady as a rock. Challenging them.

  When it moved – when it seemed to peel itself off the wall where it leaned, both men felt as though they had been hit by lightning. Will’s head shot up toward the vision as the figure turned on the screen before him. He wanted desperately to see it for real. Gabriel took a step backwards, startled by the sudden movement. He had just been growing used to the idea of a still figure – but then it moved. And so did they.

  Will ran first, his legs operating independently of his mind. He made for the stairs, fumbled briefly for the bottom step, tripped and brought his foot down heavily with a bang on the first wooden tread. The noise seemed to mobilise Gabriel suddenly and he bolted after him, the two of them beginning an unsteady yet rapid ascent with Will one step ahead. He tried to focus on the figure but kept having to look at the stairs to try to make out the shape of the next step, to stay alert for the first turn. He then realised that Gabriel was now further behind him, stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Will . . .” he said.

  Will realised from his tone that Gabriel wanted him to look again at where their quarry stood.

  And stood it did. The shape was perfectly still, poised at the opening of the passageway which led off the mezzanine down to four or five small guest rooms, where Gabriel and Will themselves were to sleep.

  Will drew himself to a sudden halt and stared in its direction. It was unflinching. Fearless, he thought to himself. And there was something about the figure’s stance to suggest a challenge, as if it wanted them to follow. After a few moments they did, Will suddenly gripped with a fierce rush of adrenalin as he took the rest of the stairs two by two, the surge of energy through his system making him sure-footed.

  And still it stood there, waiting, waiting . . . until Will reached the top step and then with a speed that exceeded anything natural it disappeared in a blur around the corner and down the passage. Will made it just in time to see it vanish. To see it melt through the wall into one of the rooms along the passage. In the darkness, Will felt sure it was Gabriel’s.

  Gabriel was behind him in an instant. “Where did it go?” he gasped, his breath coming short.

  “There,” Will panted in response, pointing down the corridor. “Torch,” he commanded, and Gabriel complied.

  They peered down the passage where they had seen the shape disappear. The walls were painted the same green as downstairs, the doors made of sanded and varnished wood, the floor the same, but with a single strip of green-patterned carpet running down its centre. But there was no shape, no figure, no person to be seen. Vanished, impossibly, through a wall into a room.

  Gabriel stared down the passage. He felt a slump hit him as it flashed across his mind again what he’d seen. The shape moving. Like a person, observing them. Taking it all in. An intelligent haunt, he thought to himself. He knew Will would sit down and start to go through his endless ‘what ifs’ to try to disprove it. But Gabriel knew what he had seen. That great, hulking, dark shape poised above them as they looked right back at it. He glanced behind him suddenly at the camera which had been affixed to the top of the bannisters. He’d put it there himself earlier – they could prove it, he could see it again, see if what he thought was true . . .

  But as he shone the torch on the balustrade his heart sank again. Not only was there no red light, but the camera was lopsided, hanging to one side, barely held in place by the gaffer tape he had wound so assiduously around the wood and the camera to make sure that it stayed in place. And worst of all, it was facing completely the wrong way. They must have knocked it off in their ascent, he thought to himself, although he couldn’t recollect either of them registering the bump or hearing the probable ripping noise
of the tape as it dislodged itself.

  Then again, maybe we didn’t do it, he realised. Maybe someone else had. Something else. Someone who didn’t want to get caught, but still wanted his presence felt. A big presence. A strong presence.

  Gabriel inhaled deeply as Will turned to look at him and both of them wordlessly acknowledged what they had seen. They’d have to go after it, of course. Just take a breather for a moment and then go in pursuit of it down the icy pitch-black passages of Dubhglas Castle in the dead of night.

  CHAPTER 29

  Will woke with a start. His mind reeled at a thousand thoughts a second – he didn’t remember going to sleep, didn’t even know where he was for a moment. He knew that the sleep had been deep but he had no idea how long he had been out for.

  After a few moments his mind began to slow down, to pace itself slightly. He recognised at first the faint smell of damp in the room, the hint of mildew, and then registered the cold. That all-consuming chill. He exhaled – knew that if he could see it there would be a cloud. Slowly, he sat up. The bedroom he had been allocated in Dubhglas Castle, he remembered.

  He’d hated it on sight – aesthetically it was grim enough but it also had that feeling about it – something unwelcoming about the walls themselves, as if the room wanted to be left alone for once and for all.

  Will wondered what time it was and pushed himself upright, reaching out to the bedside table where he had left his watch when he had climbed onto the bed to just gather his thoughts for a moment. Gabriel had nodded off on him first, he recalled.

  Afte the sighting, they had followed the shape into Gabriel’s room, and set themselves up there to keep a vigil, propped themselves up against the pillows on his bed to see if anything else might happen. Will had kept scanning the room with the handheld camera as they waited in the silence until he heard Gabriel’s heavy, regular breathing and felt the slight thud on the covers where the thermal imaging camera had dropped from his hand. He should have woken him straight away, Will knew, should have kept going but he’d retreated to his own room which was next door instead for fresh batteries and a moment to gather his thoughts. He hadn’t intended to sleep – they had other rooms to visit, EVP sessions to conduct – tonight was their only chance to be completely alone in the castle.

  Except they weren’t, were they? And for the first time ever, Will had to acknowledge that he just couldn’t face it. Couldn’t face leaving the room again, as creepy as it was. Couldn’t face setting foot out there into the warren of freezing passageways, the maze of corridors leading to room after room scattered higgledy-piggledy throughout the gothic structure. He was normally fearless. He had no issue with dark corners or basements or churches or great halls or tunnels – or anywhere that spirits might lurk. His taste for the paranormal, for trying to prove his theory that yes, there was some sort of existence after death, to chase down his prey, as it were, had served only to embolden him over the years. But this place . . . with its freezing pistachio-coloured walls and air of gloom . . . This had crept into him. Had entered his subconscious, had made him feel the urge, since the second he’d walked in the front door, to constantly glance behind him. For once, Will Peterson had to admit that he was too scared to carry on with the investigation.

  His watch showed 5 a.m. He glanced at his mobile on the bedside table beside it, still devoid of coverage bars and he groaned as he realised he had completely forgotten to try to text Martha again, completely distracted as he was with setting up the equipment and the investigation itself. Not that she’d be best pleased anyway if he texted her at that time of the morning, but he felt a pang, missing her, wanting to hear the familiar comfort of her voice. Instead, he decided to get an hour’s sleep – he had to be up again shortly regardless – he could call her from Gifford’s office later, perhaps, although he’d see her in a few hours in any case. In the meantime, the equipment had to be dismantled and packed away. Get it done before dawn, before the staff returned.

  Will glanced around the room. He had left the main ceiling light switched on, along with three sets of dim wall lights and had also pulled back the curtains and opened the shutters when he’d entered earlier. He couldn’t bear them closed – he felt claustrophobic with them shut. Buried, he thought grimly, and then banished the thought.

  He studied the windows for a moment, the clear panes, the glass warped in their old wooden frames which looked as though they would crumble and surrender under the lightest touch. His gaze strayed around the rest of the room – the rusted metal filing cabinet that stood to one side of the window, the oriental screen beside it, the hideous portrait of a nun that hung over the fireplace. It felt like sleeping in an old furniture storeroom, he thought, his eyes darting again and again around him. He fought against the anxiety that gnawed at him. He acknowledged that piece by piece there was nothing sinister about any of the odd furnishings individually but, even without the chilling events he had witnessed that night, their effect as a whole, when combined with the smell of damp, the dreary décor and poor lighting, did nothing to create an atmosphere that he might want to sleep in, to surrender himself in.

  Neither did the sudden sound. The hollow, echoing boom like a kettle drum. Or like someone kicking a filing cabinet, he figured later. He was upright in an instant, scanning the room again, still able to see everything around him. For a moment. The boom was followed by a ‘pop’ above him – and then a second – and he found himself gradually plunged into darkness as the light-bulbs in the wall lights, with their dim glass shades, blew – all three of them, one after the other, followed by the main light in the centre of the ceiling.

  Will looked around him quickly, breathing deeply, to quell the panic rising in his chest. His eyes adjusted and he began to make out shapes in the dim light afforded to him by the windows. It was barely anything, but he was glad of it. He had no torch – he‘d left it with Gabriel. He made a face of frustration as he felt the fabric of his pocket yield beneath his hand where the flashlight should have been.

  The noise rang in his ears as he scanned the room again, picking out the shapes, re-establishing what was familiar. His heart raced as he focused on the picture over the fire, the shape of a large wooden chair to the left of the hearth, the small armoire to the right . . . and just out of the corner of his eye, the scuttling movement of something – something large – sliding in behind it, into a gap that was too small for a person of even average proportions. Will gasped and jumped to his feet, trying to catch sight of the object but, as with all things when they are looked at directly in the dark, it grew darker and less distinct. And that was when he heard the first sound. The breath.

  Then there was another sound, an exhalation. This time from the corner of the room immediately to his left, from behind the ensuite bathroom door that he had left open. There was someone there, in the room with him, behind the door. And there was no one else in the castle. Other than the shape they had seen . . .

  He tried to block out the earlier shadow, tried to stay in the moment. Tried to apply his tried and trusted logical thinking. Someone must have entered when he’d dozed, he reasoned. Will forced himself to think logically and then took a step toward where he had heard the breath, pushing rationality to take over.

  It was as his hand reached out to touch the door, to pull it toward him and reveal what lay behind, that he again saw movement out of the corner of his eye at the opposite end of the room. Will swung around. He could see nothing there now, but what he had seen was a person – he was sure – standing up from the wooden armchair suddenly. Will stared at the chair. His heart pumped. There was nothing to be seen now down that end of the room, directly or indirectly. What the hell had he just witnessed? Were there two people there?

  He was distracted again by yet another noise, this time from behind him, from the other side of the bed. This time he was sure he had heard a voice, a man’s voice. Will couldn’t make out directly what had been said, but he knew there was substance to the sound, that it was mor
e than a breath. But there was still nothing there that could be seen with the naked eye.

  Will knew that he should be excited by this, that it was what he dreamed of as a paranormal investigator, but he couldn’t feel anything other than a growing sensation of dread in the base of his stomach, an electric current of fear charging through his veins as he looked this way and that, following the noises and the shadows. What was going on?

  Another movement. A shuffling noise. This time again back at the armoire. He swung his head to the left enough to just catch something again in the corner of his eye, but he wasn’t fast enough. And then another voice, from the bathroom this time. Will swivelled his head as quickly as he could to catch up with each new occurrence, but it was all so fast. He gasped as the room went still and he looked from side to side, frozen. He was barely aware of his body other than the dead dull fear in the base of his stomach. Was that it, he wondered, or was there more?

  And when more came, Will felt completely overwhelmed. It started with a footstep on the floor tiles of the bathroom, but as fast as he could turn his attention there, another movement, more shuffling, came from the fireplace end of the room. This time it seemed like there was definitely more than just one person or thing moving. The movement seemed to grow, always outside of Will’s exact line of sight, always just below or worse still just above where he was looking. And it seemed to increase in seconds. In a matter of moments Will realised that while he couldn’t pinpoint one exact spot of movement that it was almost like the whole end of the room was filled with movement, like the darkness was seething.

  And there were more voices. Male voices, all of them. It started as a shuffling noise and grew in seconds to a whisper, getting louder and louder. Will could make out individual words, he was sure. “You!” he heard again, like a bark. More whispering and shuffling. Will’s chest rose and fell rapidly and his head twisted suddenly back toward the bathroom as the sounds began in earnest on that side of him also. He felt the panic rise further and further within him, his investigator’s logic gone, and the flight instinct took hold. What should he do? He had to get out of there, but the movement, the shifting of the darkness, was taking place again before him, over toward the door of the room where he longed to go, to get out of there. All the time the noise grew louder, the sense of presence stronger. He had to react, had to do something – what could he do? Will’s brain was overloaded, his thoughts a jumble of terror and panic.