A Cry From Beyond

by WR Armstrong

  We entered the front room.

  “It’s cold,” Jenny complained, rubbing her forearms for effect.

  I disagreed, but stoked up the fire in the potbelly anyway.

  “It should warm up in a short while,” I said, placing the poker back down on the hearth.

  Thunder boomed in the distance. Lennon, lying by the fire, stirred, smacked his chops and continued to rest.

  David, taking a seat near the window, said, “What did Madam Lee say the day you went to see her?”

  I told him. Jenny said, “All this is giving me the creeps,” and disappeared into the kitchen to make drinks. By the time she returned, carrying a tray containing coffee and biscuits, rain was splattering against the outside of the windowpane.

  “Looks like we’re in for a stormy night,” David remarked.

  Jenny glanced nervously at her watch and checked the time against the clock on the mantle. It was almost a quarter to the hour. The séance was set to begin on the hour.

  Ten minutes later, Rick arrived accompanied by H.

  “Are we ready to rock?” Rick asked as he stepped into the house out of the rain.

  “We’re still waiting for the clairvoyant,” I said, beginning to worry she may not show.

  I led Rick and H into the front room and poured them drinks from a cider bottle.

  “Where are we going to do it?” asked H from the sofa.

  “In here,” I said, motioning to the dining table, around which were positioned six chairs.

  Rick went to the CD player and put on an old Dire Straits album. “Romeo and Juliet” started to play. We sat listening to the music, making small talk, anticipating Madam Lee’s imminent arrival, all of us hoping and praying that something positive would result from the séance, although I sensed the only non-sceptics present were Jenny and I.

  On the stroke of seven Lennon raised his head, ears cocked forward, suddenly alert. He began to bark.

  “This must be her,” I said, rising from my seat.

  David frowned a little. “I never heard a car pull up.”

  “Perhaps she’s travelled here by broomstick,” Rick said.

  “Show some respect,” Jenny chastened.

  Rick apologised.

  I went and looked through the window and was just in time to witness a car’s head lights being turned off. Moments later, two figures emerged from the vehicle.

  “It’s definitely her,” I said, “and she’s brought someone with her.”

  “Like who?” David asked.

  “I can’t tell from here. It’s too dark. But I think it’s a man.”

  “Probably her body guard, or her familiar,” Rick said. He glanced over at Jenny, who decided to ignore him this time round.

  There was a sudden rap at the front door prompting Lennon to bark again.

  “Let the party commence,” I said, slipping out of the room into the hall.

  Madam Lee was dressed from head to toe in black. A shawl was draped over her head. She might have been attending a wake. Standing behind her was the irrepressible Coogan. I invited them in out of the rain and thanked Madam Lee for coming. She appeared not to hear me, her attention focused on her surroundings and more particularly the cellar door.

  “Where does that lead,” she asked, nodding to it.

  I told her and glanced over at Coogan, who looked like he already wanted to leave.

  “This way,” I said, motioning for him and Madam Lee to follow, but he refused to budge, saying he would prefer to wait outside in the hall, until the séance was over.

  “Very well,” I said. I looked at Madam Lee who removed the shawl from her head, allowing it to fall around her shoulders.

  “Follow me if you will,” I said.

  Coogan, who had barely taken his eyes off me since entering the cottage, continued to observe me closely. He distrusted my motives for asking Madam Lee along because he distrusted anyone who was not of Romany stock.

  I introduced the clairvoyant to the others. Everyone reacted politely, albeit a little edgily. David offered his cigarettes around, while Jenny guided Madam Lee over to a comfortable armchair in one corner of the room and asked if she would care for a drink.

  “There’s beer, wine or spirits or perhaps you would prefer a soft drink,” she said. Madam Lee chose tap water. While Jenny was in the kitchen getting it, I topped up David’s glass of wine and got H, Rick and myself beers.

  H commented that it was getting chilly. He was right. Despite stoking the potbelly, the temperature in the room had dipped noticeably.

  “We need more logs for the fire,” David said.

  I went outside to the log shed, taking the back way, as I didn’t want contact with Coogan if I could avoid it. When I returned to the front room, the others were gathered together in readiness for the séance, drinking and saying little. Madam Lee sat in one corner, talking quietly to Jenny, who hung on her every word. Jenny really did believe in the clairvoyant’s psychic abilities and treated her with a certain amount of reverence. H and Rick discussed sport, while David sat on his own staring blankly through the window. I went to the table and cleared my throat.

  “Shall we get started then?” I said looking at each of them in turn, allowing my gaze to settle finally on Madam Lee. She looked incredibly wan and frail. She shivered imperceptibly.

  “Are you cold?” I asked.

  She ignored the question and got to her feet. “We should begin. Please, would someone draw the curtains?”

  H quickly obliged.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  I motioned to the table. “Shall we?”

  Just then, the room was illuminated by a spectacular bolt of lightning. Then the lights failed, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Gasps of surprise echoed roundabout. A split second later, thunder boomed almost directly overhead.

  “I hate thunder and lightning,” Jenny moaned into the gloom. “I once knew someone who was killed by lightning. It was terrible. She was walking home from school across a field when she got struck. She died instantly.”

  “Don’t,” David cautioned, “you’ll upset yourself.”

  Jenny smiled weakly. “You’re right.”

  I looked at David, wondering.

  “The girl in question was Jenny’s cousin,” he said quietly.

  Lightning flashed and thunder boomed for a second time.

  Rick swore out loud. H warned him about his language. He apologised.

  The living room door opened. Coogan looked in, inquiring after Madam Lee’s wellbeing.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Now leave us.”

  He disappeared back into the hall, closing the door behind him. I made to follow, my intention being to fetch a torch and candles from the kitchen, but then the power returned and the lights flashed back on. Rick let out a huge sigh of relief.

  “I thought your phobia was rats?” H remarked.

  “I’ve got a list,” he admitted. “The dark comes in at number two.”

  We took our seats and waited for Madam Lee to speak. But then the lights failed again. Rick cursed under his breath and got balled out by H a second time.

  I urged Madam Lee to continue regardless. In a hushed voice she instructed us to join hands and to close our eyes. One by one we obliged and then waited. She said nothing for a few moments. Her breathing grew deeper and slower. As she did this, the chill in the room seemed to intensify. Moreover, I got the distinct impression that someone else had suddenly joined us. The feeling grew so strong I was compelled to sneak a crafty look around, but saw no one. I felt Jenny’s hand tighten around mine as if she sought reassurance. Perhaps she too sensed an additional presence?

  Madam Lee broke the silence.

  “I can hear you moving around,” she said in a low tentative voice, “but I cannot see you. Tell me where you are?”

  Her question was greeted by a deep, oppressive silence.

  She repeated the question only to receive the same negative response. I half expected one of t
he others, H or Rick, to break the circle, unable to suspend their disbelief any longer, even denounce the sitting as a charade, but they remained silent and cooperative. Did they also feel the presence of another? By now whatever it was felt uncomfortably close. Having said that, another quick glance around told another story entirely.

  “Talk to me,” Madam Lee commanded suddenly. This time I felt a disturbing shift in the atmosphere. A definite threat seemed to hang in the air. Beside me Jenny gave a slight moan, while David gripped my other hand tight enough to make it ache. I wanted to open my eyes, wanted to break the circle, but to my horror found I was unable to move a single solitary muscle in my body. I was, to all intents and purposes, paralysed. As were the others, I realised, for the threat that had suddenly invaded the room was overwhelming and utterly debilitating.

  “Speak to us,” Madam Lee demanded. “Reveal yourself!” But there was only silence and a terrible sense that something was wrong, that an event was imminent, one that would have awful ramifications for us all.

  “Are you afraid,” asked the clairvoyant. Her tone was mocking. It was as if she was trying to provoke a reaction. The temperature dropped still further. “Your name,” she said firmly, “give me your name!”

  In another part of the house a door suddenly slammed violently shut. Someone—I think it was Jenny—cried out in shocked surprise. I struggled to open my eyes, but it was impossible. They may as well have been sealed shut. And then it happened.

  Violent gusts of wind rose up within the room; so violent in fact, my chair was rocked backwards to the point where it very nearly toppled. There were cries of surprise and incomprehension—and abject fear. Through the ensuing chaos, David and Jenny kept a vice like grip on my hands as if afraid to let go, as if they were convinced their lives depended upon maintaining contact. Strength in numbers, Jenny had said.

  The wind grew stronger still, until it howled with rage. I could hear objects being knocked over, falling to the floor and breaking on impact. Chaos ensued, whilst everyone sat immobilised, unable to see or to even speak. For brief moments absolute terror reigned. I’m convinced we all felt as if we were caught in some kind of violent vortex. The unearthly wind howled. Objects were hurled with terrible force about the room. We were trapped in a terrifying spiritual storm that all but ripped the clothing from our bodies and dislodged us bodily from our chairs. It seemed never ending.

  And then, without warning, Madam Lee screamed, and that scream had power enough to engulf the unnatural wind, momentarily taming it and bringing it to heal. We heard rather than saw the clairvoyant crash to the floor. At that point the monstrous wind began to abate, inexplicably losing its force, its unnatural ferocity. At long last I managed to open my eyes to a room once again bathed in light, fully expecting to see absolute devastation. Instead, incredibly, everything was as it was prior to the lights failing and the séance commencing.

  Except for Madam Lee, who’d been thrown bodily from her seat and lay sprawled across the floor, fighting for breath.

  “Quick, we have to help her,” David urged, rising from his seat, but Jenny beat him to it.

  “Leave her to me,” she said kneeling beside the old woman, gently taking hold of her hand. Words of comfort were administered, until finally, Madam Lee’s rapid breathing slowed and some of the colour returned to her otherwise pallid face. As her condition improved, the oppressive atmosphere that had dominated the room gradually receded.

  It was a full minute before the clairvoyant was able to open her eyes. Before that happened however, she spoke, briefly, in the same low voice she’d adopted throughout the séance, although on this occasion her words were barely audible.

  “If you really are who you claim to be,” she began, “Where is your birth place?”

  A brief silence ensued, in which she frowned deeply as if receiving a secret message. When she spoke again it was to ask a further question, directed to the same unknown source. In a tremulous voice, she said, “And who might your father be?”

  There was another short silence. And then, quite suddenly, she gave a cry of genuine alarm. Jenny, who remained at her side, advised her to relax, to take long deep breaths. It seemed to do the trick, for her breathing gradually returned to normal. At long last she managed to open her eyes, taking a moment to focus on her surroundings and then, with help from Jenny and me, she struggled to her feet and retook her seat at the table. We gathered round, all of us wondering what kind of disturbing insight she’d just gained.

  Jenny, sitting next to her, said, “Who was it Madam Lee, who did you speak to?”

  The clairvoyant looked at each of us in turn, as if unsure whether to divulge the information she’d received. Finally, evidently struggling to control her emotions, she said, “Coogan. I made contact with Coogan.”

  2.

  We stared at one another in stunned disbelief. And then, one by one, we looked across the room to the door that led out into the hall, all except Madam Lee. She had no need to. She already knew what lay on the other side of that door, while we could only guess.

  “Are you saying he is dead?” It was Jenny. Her voice trembled. Her face was ashen.

  Madam Lee’s silence spoke volumes. H was the first to leave his seat. I quickly followed suit, as did Rick, while David and Jenny remained with the clairvoyant, in a comforting role.

  H opened the door and stepped out into the hall, while Rick and I brought up the rear. We, all three of us, shuddered involuntarily.

  “It’s cold as fuck out here,” H said without exaggeration. Stepping into that hall was, I imagined, like stepping into an industrial freezer. Our breaths grew vaporous. We shivered collectively. As for Coogan, he was nowhere to be seen. RIck checked outside, while H and I searched the upstairs of the house, before doing likewise down in the cellar, where it was still colder.

  And where, unbelievably, hundreds of sexton beetles swarmed like giant ants. They were everywhere. We took perverted delight in crushing them under foot. Those that crawled along the far wall— the only wall occupied by the insects—we brushed away using a broom we found by the cellar steps. As they fell to the floor they too were despatched underfoot. The activity, loathsome though it was, at least allowed us to vent some of our anger and frustration.

  “You’d better consider getting the pest control guys back,” H remarked following our little act of genocide.

  “Not a word to the others,” I said.

  We arrived back in the hall just as Rick returned from his impromptu search of the grounds. He looked frozen to death, despite wearing appropriate winter clothing.

  “Any sign?” I asked.

  He shook his head in defeat. H slumped against the wall, demoralised.

  “I really can’t believe this has happened,” Rick said as he pulled off his beanie and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

  “None of us can,” I said, watching numbly as he removed his Parka and hung it up on a coat hook. It seemed that Coogan had gone the same way as the others, inexplicably vanishing off the face of the earth. And yet it seemed improbable—more than that—impossible that a man such as he, could’ve been over powered and abducted without leaving any sign of a struggle. Reluctantly, we reported our findings back to the others and then made the decision to mount a more in depth search of the grounds, not that we held out much hope of ever finding Coogan. He too had fallen foul of High Bank Cottage, it seemed, and had joined “the lost ones”.

  Back in the house, we discussed what to do next.

  “We must call the police,” Jenny insisted, but Madam Lee overrode her.

  “No police,” she said adamantly.

  David was about to protest, but she raised a silencing hand.

  “No police,” she said again, and with equal force. “This is not a police matter.”

  We all stared in disbelief, momentarily lost for words.

  It was left to me to break the silence and voice everyone’s thoughts. “Madam Lee, you’ve intimated Coogan is dead! It has to
be a police matter, surely.”

  But she was resolute. “They cannot help,” she said with ice cold conviction. “You must understand: his killer cannot be caught using conventional means.”

  We waited for her to elaborate, but it didn’t happen. She simply rose from the table and asked to be escorted home.

  “But how on earth will you explain Coogan’s disappearance?” I asked.

  “Leave it,” Jenny cautioned. “I’m sure Madam Lee knows what she’s doing.”

  The clairvoyant left with David and Jenny. Rick and H stayed a while longer, sharing a couple of cans of beer with me.

  H, looking deeply shaken by events, said, “Any ideas on what happened here tonight.”

  Rick, looking equally distraught, stared blankly at the wall and said nothing.

  I drank beer from the can, still trying to come to terms with the turn of events.

  “Come on guys, one of you must have a theory?” H pressed.

  Rick continued to stare at the wall in stony silence.

  H looked to me for a response. “John?”

  “Coogan was taken,” I offered, unable to think of anything else to say.

  Rick suddenly came to life. “But by what for Christ’s sake!

  “By whatever it is that haunts the cottage,” I said.

  “You really believe that?”

  “Can you think of a better explanation?”

  We looked at each other in horrified wonder.

  It was, quite simply, the mother of all mysteries.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was mid-afternoon when they arrived, pulling onto the cottage drive in a Toyota van as old as the pyramids, with the word’s Roy’s Pest Control Service painted along the sides. It was a different company to the one that had visited shortly after I’d taken up residence at High Bank. This company came highly recommended by the agent as being reliable and professional. They were two hours late on this occasion, which had me questioning the agent’s judgment.

  A short balding man with a particularly large gut emerged from the van, wobbled a bit as he climbed out and was forced to hold the door in order to steady himself. His ruddy complexion deepened to a bright unhealthy red as he proceeded to cough harshly from the effect of the unfiltered cigarette he was smoking. He was dressed in scruffy white overalls and scuffed working boots. Unobserved behind the window I followed his progress up the path to the front door, wondering if he was competent, let alone effective. I answered the inevitable knock, reminding myself that first impressions aren’t always correct. So long as Roy, if that was the man’s name, had the necessary knowledge and expertise, together with the correct chemicals, I would be a satisfied customer, forgiving of his inferior time keeping and presentation.