They stared at one another in surprise, until Katy spoke. “What just happened?”
“That was strange. She chatted happily until you asked about Willow Dene. Something terrible must have happened there and she must be tied up with it to react like that,” suggested Patrick.
“But what?” mused Lizzie.
“Well, I’m going to find out. Come on, let’s carry on with our research. Why don’t we go back to number 83? It’s the only house left we haven’t been to. They were out earlier but someone might be in now who can fill us in with the full story,” said Katy, filled with determination.
Number 83 was called Cedar Cottage, presumably due to the huge cedar tree in the front garden. It was a pretty, white cottage, with blue shutters, a yellow front door and a red climbing rose growing up the side of the house.
“Come on,” said Katy, opening the garden gate and walking up the path to the front door. She gave the bell a long hard ring. They waited and waited for someone to answer.
“There’s still no one in,” huffed Katy, grumpily. “Come on let’s go.”
Just as they were heading off back down the path, the door suddenly opened and there, to Katy’s amazement, stood Tom Austin. Katy gulped, struggling to speak, as Tom stood there, staring expectantly at them.
“I assume you rang the bell because you wanted to speak to someone?” he asked.
Silence followed.
Lizzie came to Katy’s rescue. “We’re interviewing locals for our history project; we really want to find out about Willow Dene. It’s been empty since the War but no one seems to know why.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right house. My granddad is in the garden and he’s lived in Knutsburry all his life. He looks after Willow Dene for the owners, so if he can’t tell you what happened there, no one can. Follow me.”
He led them down a winding path that ran along the side of the house and into the large back garden. They passed by flowerbeds bursting full of colourful flowers and rows of fruit trees. Tom’s granddad, Charlie, was sitting on an old stripy deckchair, drinking a mug of tea at the back of the garden. He looked up, giving them a welcoming smile.
“Hello there, what an honour! No one under eighty calls for me these days!”
Patrick took a step forward and spoke up. “Hello sir. My sister and her friend are interviewing local people for a history project about life during the Second World War. We’d really like to find out about Willow Dene but no one seems to know anything and we wondered if you could help.”
It was just about the longest speech Katy had ever heard Patrick give and she stared at him in amazement. Maybe he wasn’t so useless after all!
The old man gestured for them to sit down on the grass, then took a long drink of his tea before beginning. “Call me Charlie. No need to stand on ceremony with me. Well, where shall I begin? Lived here all my life. Born here you see and just sort of stayed put. My wife liked it; said it was a good family home. Course my children have long gone, all grown up now with kids of their own, like Tom here. He’s my grandson.”
“So you remember when Willow Dene was still lived in, then?” Katy interrupted.
Charlie chuckled. “Of course. It doesn’t seem that long ago to an old man like me.”
“Can you tell us about the people who lived there?” Lizzie said.
Charlie smiled wistfully as he replied. “My best mates, the twins, Harry and Frank lived there. They were great fun – always dragging me into some mischief or other. Their dad was the local doctor and his wife, Mrs Graham, took in evacuees when the War started.”
Charlie paused and smiled to himself as he remembered happy times. “They had a lovely little sister called Susie, a real favourite with everyone. Always singing and playing out in the street with her skipping rope or pushing a pram filled with dolls up and down the pavement.”
“Why was the house abandoned?” asked Katy. “Is it really haunted by a crying child?”
Charlie sighed deeply, clasping his mug tightly, and then began his tale. “Bit of a quiet war here, really. Not much happened in the way of action to get us boys excited. We’d rush out to watch the German Junkers on their way to bomb Liverpool. Hundreds of them, it seemed to us boys. Later you could see the whole city ablaze, the sky would glow with fires from incendiary bombs. Exciting for us: far enough away to be safe but close enough to view the action.”
“Wow that must have been amazing. Nothing exciting like that ever happens now,” blurted out Patrick.
“Only one bomb ever dropped here and, after seeing the death and destruction it caused, it was one too many by my reckoning. Didn’t go out and watch Liverpool burning night after night with such excitement after that.”
“What happened?” asked Patrick.
Charlie paused as he remembered the night in question. Then, leaning towards them, he began his tale in a hushed, grave voice. “I’ll never forget the date: May 15th, 1942. It was a lovely warm evening, with clear skies and a warm breeze. You could hear it blowing gently through the trees. It started off like any other normal evening; I’d just got home from my paper round at about six o’clock, when I heard an enemy aircraft flying in low. Us boys could identify the different planes by the sound they made.”
Patrick inched closer to Charlie and gazed at him in open admiration. Charlie absent-mindedly leant down and patted him on the shoulder, then continued with his story. “It was closer than usual and seemed to be heading for the High Street. Within minutes, the sirens started to sound and we went to shelter in the cellar.”
“What was it like? Were you scared? Did you think you were going to die?” Patrick asked, excitedly.
“We certainly spent a very tense hour down there, not knowing what was happening above ground or what to expect when the all-clear was sounded. But we played cards, Mum sang songs and my dad played his harmonica.”
“I don’t know how you could stand it. I’d be terrified! Was everyone alright?” asked Lizzie.
Charlie cleared his throat and continued his story. “When the all clear sounded, I rushed upstairs and straight out onto the street to see what had happened. Victoria Avenue was fine but there was a lot of shouting and screaming coming from the High Street.”
“What did you do?” asked Lizzie.
“I raced off to investigate, before my mum could stop me.” Charlie paused briefly, his face now etched with anguish as he remembered the events of that evening. “The main thing I remember is the smoke and the awful smell of burning – that and the sound of people wailing and crying. Then, I heard the voices of the twins, Harry and Frank, above everyone else’s. They were calling for their little sister, over and over until they were hoarse with shouting.”
“What had happened to her?” asked Katy, anxiously.
“Mrs Graham had taken the new evacuees to the cinema for a treat, leaving the twins at home in bed recovering from chickenpox. My cousin Hillary from number 32 had come round to keep an eye on them and babysit Susie, who was only three years old, about to be four.”
Charlie’s voice sounded choked as he struggled to continue his tale. “Beautiful little thing she was, all curly blonde hair and big blue eyes, but quite mischievous at times.” A sad smile flickered across his face.
The group fell silent until Lizzie found her voice. “Was she OK?”
“When the siren sounded, the twins were upstairs asleep. Realising what was happening, they rushed downstairs to join Susie and Hillary in the cellar, which was kitted out as an air raid shelter. They were surprised that Hillary hadn’t come to get them when the siren went off but when they ran into the kitchen they discovered why. They found her unconscious on the kitchen floor.”
Lizzie gasped. “What happened to her? Was it a burglar?”
“No. Turned out she had panicked when she heard the siren. She stumbled, fell and hit her head hard on the grate. The twins found the front door wide open and little Susie nowhere to be found. They were about to chase after her when an air raid wa
rden spotted them and marched them off to the cellar. By the time they were able to search, pandemonium had broken out – ambulances and sirens wailing everywhere.”
Charlie stopped speaking, put down his tea, stood up and made his way over to his potting shed. Patrick, eager to find out more from Charlie, leapt up and followed him inside, leaving the girls sitting on the grass.
Tom took up the story where Charlie had left off. “Granddad doesn’t like to remember this part but I know what happened. The cinema took a direct hit that night. Everyone was killed, not one single survivor. Lots of Granddad’s school friends died that night, as well as Mrs Graham and her evacuees. As for Susie . . . no one ever found out what happened to her. She was put down as missing, presumed dead.
They reckon that when the siren sounded and Hillary fell and hit her head, Susie got a fright and wandered out into the street, making her way up to the cinema trying to find Mrs Graham. She must have got caught up in the blast.”
The girls fell silent for a moment. Katy couldn’t get over how sad it all was. After a while she said, “But that doesn’t explain why the house has always been empty.”
“Soon afterwards, Dr Graham came home from the War, collected the twins and left. They never returned and left everything behind. Granddad thinks that Dr Graham couldn’t bear to be in the house; it was too painful, a reminder of the happy family they’d once been.”
“Why didn’t he just sell it?” asked Lizzie.
“Granddad thinks Dr Graham wanted it to be there waiting for Susie, just as it was when she left that evening. That’s why the house looks like it’s frozen in time now. They left everything behind, so it would look exactly the same for Susie.”
“We just met Hillary,” said Lizzie. “Is that why she never comes out and wears black? Everyone thinks she’s a witch.”
Tom gave them a sad look. “Yeah, she blamed herself for Susie’s disappearance – never got over it. Just retreated into herself and soon the stories began. Even I used to be a bit scared of her.”
Charlie reappeared from his potting shed with a faded postcard in his hand and Patrick at his side. “This is from Frank and Harry, the twins. We still keep in touch. They moved to Filey in Yorkshire after it happened and they still live there now. This card has their address on it. Why don’t you write to them and ask if you can have a look around Willow Dene? It’s just as it was during the War. My mum used to go in and dust around the place once a month to keep things in good condition. When it got too much for her I took over; I still take care of it now.”
“I’d love that,” said Katy, “Do you think they’ll let us look around?”
“Yes, if I’m with you. You could get some good photos for your project: show how ordinary people lived during the War. Mind you, the Grahams were better off than most. There are even clothes still hanging up in the wardrobe. You could dress up and take photos of yourselves for a bit of fun.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” said Lizzie. Katy could tell that Lizzie was thinking of the mark they might get at school if they handed in a truly unique project.
“We’ll write to them this evening. Thanks, Charlie, you’ve been brilliant.”
Patrick looked at his watch and cried out in surprise, “Oh no, it’s almost five o’clock. Mum will be mad if we’re late for tea.”
“I’ll show you out through the front,” said Charlie. “I’ve a photo you might like to see. Follow me.”
Charlie led them through the kitchen and into the hallway. On a small, wooden table stood countless picture frames. Charlie picked up an old, black and white photograph in a silver frame and handed it to Katy. “Thought you might like to see this; it’s the Graham family outside Willow Dene.”
The photograph showed Willow Dene with a happy smiling family standing outside the gates. The dad stood laughing, leaning on his bike, while his wife stood with her arms around two young boys, aged about eleven or twelve. In front of them sat a very pretty little girl of about three, with curly hair in two bunches.
It was really strange. Katy had the strongest feeling that she knew them. They all looked so very familiar. But that was impossible – this picture had been taken long ago, before she was even born. “Do you know when it was taken?” she asked.
Charlie closed his eyes in concentration. “Yes, I think it was taken in April 1942, when Dr Graham came home on leave for a few days, just before everything started to go wrong for them. A happy day it was too.”
Charlie went quiet and Katy was sure she saw a tear glistening on his cheek. Then, in the blink of an eye, his whole mood changed again and he was back to his usual, jovial self. “Let me know if you hear from the twins.”
Katy, Lizzie and Patrick waved goodbye to Charlie and made their way back down the garden path.
* * * *
Lizzie went back to Katy’s for tea that afternoon. Afterwards, they went upstairs to Katy’s bedroom to write their letter. After several attempts, they were finally happy with their work.
Dear Frank and Harry,
Our names are Lizzie Mullins and Katy Parker and we are currently attending St Hilda’s in your hometown of Knutsburrry, Cheshire. We have been researching what life was like on the Home Front during the Second World War and would be very interested to have a look around your old home, Willow Dene. Your friend, Charlie Robinson, suggested we write to you and ask your permission to take some photographs of the house and use them to illustrate our project. Please could you write back and let us know if this is possible?
Yours sincerely,
Katy Parker and Lizzie Mullins
They put the letter in an envelope, then borrowed a stamp from Katy’s mum and set off to the post box on the corner.
“I really hope they get in touch and say yes. I’d love to go back to Willow Dene and have a proper look inside,” said Lizzie.
“I know, me too,” replied Katy. “But I hope nothing spooky happens this time. Now we know what happened to Susie, I keep thinking it’s her we heard crying. Crying for her mum, still lost.”
Lizzie gave her a gentle push and laughed nervously. “You’ve been reading too many horror stories. There’s no such thing as ghosts and you know it!”
Katy smiled uncertainly. Something or someone was waiting for her at Willow Dene. She felt certain of that but who or what remained a mystery. All Katy knew was that she felt powerless to resist.
Chapter 3
Date with Destiny
As the end of the holiday approached, Katy had almost given up on hearing from the twins when Lizzie texted her early Friday evening.
Heard from Harry & Frank, call me!
Katy rang her immediately, “What did it say? Will they let us go to Willow Dene?”
Lizzie read her the reply.
Dear Lizzie and Katy,
We were very pleased to receive your letter and are interested to hear that you are doing a project on the Home Front during the Second World War. Sometimes it seems that we are the only ones who still remember that time. We have written to Charlie to tell him that it’s fine for him to show you around our old home, Willow Dene. We hope you find it of some use. Perhaps you could send us a copy of your project and any photos you take of our old home. It was a happy place to live before the war and that is how we like to remember it.
Good luck with your project.
Best Wishes,
Frank and Harry Graham.
“Brilliant! Let’s go on Sunday morning and then we can write up our project in the afternoon. I’ve promised Patrick he can come with us if he does the dishes all next week.”
* * * *
On Sunday morning, Katy’s heart sank as she looked in the mirror to wash her face. A large, red graze had appeared out of nowhere on her left cheek. “Not again,” she muttered, panic coursing through her once more. She still hadn’t come up with a good way to explain the appearance of all these cuts to her mum. Luckily, she almost managed to disguise it with some of her mum’s make-up and partly hide it be
neath her thick hair. That would keep her mum from asking any more questions.
Katy and Patrick set off excitedly, meeting Lizzie along the way. They were all eager to explore Willow Dene further but they were also a little nervous of what they might encounter after the last time. Standing at the gate, with a warm smile on his face, stood Charlie. “Come on then, follow me. Let’s take a trip down memory lane!”
This time, they entered the house through the large, red, wooden front door, which had a stained glass fanlight over the top. They found themselves standing in a large central hall with a huge winding wooden staircase in front of them. The floor was covered with black and white tiles and along one wall stood a bamboo wooden table. Upon this was a large golden lamp with tassels and the same black and white photograph of the Graham family that Charlie had at his house. Next to the table, stood an old-fashioned coat stand, which eerily still held a couple of coats, including a small child’s duffle coat. It felt as if the owners were still at home.
“I’ll give you a guided tour and point out anything that might help with your project. We’ll start with the cellar first. This way. Be careful on the steps. The Grahams used the cellar as an air raid shelter. You should get some good pictures for your project down here.”
The children followed Charlie down a flight of steep steps and into the musty smelling cellar deep below.
“This is amazing,” gasped Katy, as she looked about her in surprise. The cellar was still equipped with bunk beds, candles and tins of food. There were even playing cards set out on a small wooden table, as if at any moment the players might return to finish the game. A newspaper lay open on one of the bunks. Katy picked it up to look at the date, “Look at this,” she whispered to Lizzie, holding up the newspaper for her to see. “It’s the same date again. May 15th! It’s as if the house is stuck in time, reliving the same terrible day over and over.” With this thought she shivered.
“Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house. Don’t be so gloomy. I like to remember it as a happy house. I hope it can be again one day.”
Katy Parker and the House that Cried Page 3