by Amy Cross
“Catherine Maloney from the care home promised to keep me up to date,” he replied, “so if there are any developments, we'll probably hear from her before the police get their asses moving.”
“I'm allowed to leave the house at 8am,” she told him. “I'm going to be out that door on the dot. I don't know where I'm going to go, but...” Pausing, she seemed to be on the verge of breaking down. “I just want to find her,” she sobbed finally. “I don't know where she is, but she must be so scared. I don't even know where to begin looking for her tomorrow, but I have to do something, I have to go and look in all the places she knows, maybe she'll show up. Can't you at least tell me where the care home is?”
He shook his head.
“Is it so far that she wouldn't be able to walk here?”
“I can't say anything about that,” he replied. “There are rules, I have to respect them.”
Watching as her sobbing intensified, Robert considered putting a hand on her shoulder, or even giving her a hug, but he wasn't quite sure whether either move would be appropriate.
“I'll make some tea,” he said finally, heading over to the counter on the other side of the kitchen. “It's late. We should both get some sleep.”
***
Opening his eyes suddenly in the dark bedroom, Robert realized he could hear something.
He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, as he listened to a faint rustling sound somewhere else in the house. Checking his phone, he found that he'd only been asleep for about forty minutes, and when he looked at the window he saw that there was still no light outside.
Sitting up, he waited, hoping that he might suddenly realize the sound was something normal, something he could explain. After a moment, telling himself that he had to face his fears, he got out of bed and made his way across the dark room. Pulling the door open, he leaned out onto the landing, and finally he realized what he was hearing.
Emily was sobbing in the main bedroom.
Relieved, but also a little saddened, he closed the door quietly and headed back to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-four years ago
“They're arse-holes, is what they are,” Joyce muttered furiously, stomping across the kitchen with a cigarette in her mouth. “Bunch of penny-pinching, short-sighted, judgmental arse-holes!”
Turning to Emily, who was sitting terrified at the kitchen table, she fumed for a moment before taking another drag on her cigarette.
“Did you hear me?” she barked.
Emily nodded.
“What are they then?”
“They're...” The little girl paused.
“Come on, let's hear it!”
“They're...”
“Say the word!”
“Arse-holes,” Emily whispered, shuddering a little at the word. She'd always been taught at school and by her father not to use curse words, and she hated it when her mother launched into another of her angry tirades.
“Too bloody right,” Joyce continued. “I mean, so what if we added some spice to the story, eh? Is that a crime?” She took a long, slow drag from her cigarette and then breathed the smoke out slowly. “We should sue 'em, is what we should do. We should sue the papers, and that so-called Doctor Slocombe, and all the people on the telly, for calling us liars like that.” Grabbing the newspaper from the counter, she stared at it for a moment before holding it up so that Emily could see the headline:
FAKE! COLTREATH HAUNTING EXPOSED
One side of the front-page was filled with a photo of Emily and her mother, taken at the height of their claims.
“Listen to this,” Joyce continued, reading from the paper. “Britain's biggest ghost story was exposed as a hoax last night as researchers sensationally discovered that Joyce Stone had been coaching her daughter Emily to lie about claims the family house was haunted by a poltergeist.” She sighed. “Disgusting. Coaching you? I wasn't coaching you, I was just encouraging you to speak up.”
“You told me to say things that weren't true,” Emily pointed out.
“It was true in the beginning!”
“But not all the other stuff you made me say.”
“Now you're just splitting hairs,” Joyce snapped. “Bloody hell, they really won't just give us a break, will they?”
“We shouldn't have lied,” Emily whimpered.
“Don't you start!” Joyce snapped, fuming as she continued to read the paper, before finally setting it down. “I'm calling a lawyer this afternoon,” she said with a sigh. “Maybe we can get some money out of the bastards that way, eh?”
***
“My mum says your mum's a liar,” said Sally as she walked with Emily along the corridor at school. “She says you're a liar too.”
Ignoring her, Emily headed out into the playground, but Sally stuck with her.
“Did you really make all that stuff up? Why?”
“I don't know,” Emily replied, her voice so low she could barely even be heard. She'd hoped that she could get away from all the talk about ghosts, but being at school was just making things worse. Everyone knew what had happened.
“My mum says liars are going to burn in hell,” Sally continued, “so that means you're going to burn in hell. How does it feel to know that's going to happen to you? I wouldn't like it, not if it was me.”
Stopping by the swings, Emily turned to her.
“What's it like being a liar?” Sally asked.
“I'm not a liar.”
“Yes you are. Everyone says it.”
Emily opened her mouth to explain the truth, but at the last moment she held back. The whole thing had become far too complicated, and she knew there was no way she could get anyone to believe her.
“I'm going to play with Cerys and the others,” Sally added, “but they said you can't come, because you're a liar. You understand that, don't you? No-one wants to play with a liar.”
Emily paused, before nodding.
“It sucks,” Sally told her, turning and heading away.
Looking back across the playground, Emily saw that two of the dinner-ladies were standing by the door. They were watching her as they talked, and after a moment one of them waved for her to go and join them. Reluctantly, Emily made her way over, even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong.
“You alright there?” one of them asked.
Emily nodded.
“Saw you and your mum in the papers again,” the other said. “Got caught telling fibs, did you?”
Emily paused, not really knowing how to reply.
“Didn't no-one ever tell you that lying's wrong?” the first dinner-lady asked. “I hope this'll be a lesson to you. If you start telling lies, people are always going to find out, and then what happens? No-one wants to be friends with a liar. It's a sign of bad character. Most people are raised better than that.”
“Can I stay inside for lunch?” Emily asked. “I just want to draw.”
“It's nice weather,” the first dinner-lady told her. “You're not allowed to be inside when it's nice weather. What's wrong with you, don't you want to play?”
“No-one wants to play with me.”
“Well they won't, will they, if you've got that attitude? Go on, go and be friendly.”
“But -”
“Won't do no good moaning to us. Go on, it's lovely out.”
Turning, Emily looked across the playground and saw that some of the others were watching her, and clearly laughing about everything that had happened.
“Get on with you,” the second dinner-lady told her. “Go and play.”
Making her way across the playground, Emily felt more and more that the other children were talking about her. As she got closer to them, she saw that Sally was being pushed forward by the others, as if she was the one who'd been delegated to say something.
“Sorry, Emily,” Sally said after a moment.
“It's okay,” Emily replied, walking straight past her.
By the time she reached the seats at the
far end and sat down, she knew that no-one was going to want anything to do with her, and that she'd just have to wait until the end of lunch. Looking down, she started swinging her feet, but she could still hear people whispering all around her, and the whispers were getting louder and louder, until finally she had to stick her fingers in her ears to keep from hearing them.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Emily?”
Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Robert looked around for a moment, but the house seemed silent. He checked his watch and saw that it was still only 7:50am, so he wandered through to the kitchen. At the back of his mind, he was worried that Emily might have broken her curfew and headed out during the night, but to his relief he found her sitting at the kitchen table, already wearing her coat as she waited another ten minutes.
“Don't even try to stop me,” she said firmly. “I'm going out there to find my daughter.”
“Where are you going to start?” he asked.
“Her school. Did you hear anything from the woman at the care home?”
He shook his head.
“That means she's been out all night,” she continued. “It was cold, it was down to eight degrees at one point. If she was out in that, she'd have been freezing.”
“I'm sure she wasn't out in it,” he replied.
“Then where was she?”
He opened his mouth to make a suggestion, before realizing that he had no idea. There wasn't a single possibility that would help calm Emily's nerves.
“Nine minutes to go,” she replied, checking her watch.
“Have you ever heard of Mary Meacham?” he asked.
“Who?”
“Mind if I make some coffee?” Heading to the counter, he switched the kettle on before taking his phone from his pocket. There were no missed calls from Jenna, so he brought up a browser and ran a quick search. “Twenty-four years ago,” he explained, “before everything went pear-shaped, I'd started to look into the history of this house, and of the area in general. I was hoping to work out whether the ghost might be a specific person, which – I guess – it has to be, doesn't it? Maybe someone who died here in tragic circumstances.”
“And?”
He turned to her. “These houses are fairly new, they're from the sixties or seventies. Before they were built, the land was part of a larger estate owned by the Meacham family. They were a very wealthy in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, but they fell on hard times and eventually they had to sell up.” Tapping the screen on his phone, he brought up a photo of a smiling woman. “You saw a face, didn't you? Back then, I mean. The photos were blurry, but you told me you saw a woman's face.”
She nodded.
“Was that part of the hoax, or did you really see the face?”
“I...” She paused. “I swear to God, I can't even remember anymore. Everything just seemed to have mixed together.”
“Mary Meacham was the daughter of the former landowner,” he replied. “One day, she vanished, and although her brother was suspected of involvement, no body was ever found. It seems her brother had some kind of problem in his head, and a few months later he was caught with another girl... Reading between the lines, it seems his family had him killed, but no trace was ever found of Mary. It's pretty clear that she was killed somewhere around here, and probably buried in the area too.”
“That's...” Emily paused. “Did that really happen right here?”
He nodded.
“That poor women,” she continued. “I had no idea...”
“She sounds like a good candidate for the ghost, then, doesn't she?”
“Do you have any more information about her?” Emily asked. “If we dig into the story, we might be able to work out why she's here and what she wants.”
“Take a look,” he replied, heading over and setting his phone in front of her, so she could see the photo. “Do you -”
“That's her,” she said quickly, with fear in her eyes.
“When you say -”
“It's her,” she said again, “I swear, I remember!”
He paused for a moment, watching her expression. “On a scale of one to ten -”
“Ten. I'm certain.” She stared at the phone for a moment longer, before looking up at him. “Who was she? What do you think she wants?”
Checking his watch, he saw that it was 8am. “Maybe we should talk about this later,” he replied. “If you're going to go and look for Lizzie, your curfew ended a few seconds ago.”
“Will you be here tonight?” she asked.
“I have a few things I need to do in town,” he replied, “some errands to run, some research. I'll come back at six, how does that sound? I can even bring something from that takeaway on the corner. You've got my number?”
“I'll call you if I find her,” she said, hurrying to the front door. “She's out there somewhere!”
“I know,” he muttered, watching as she hurried outside, “that's the part of this that doesn't make any sense.” Grabbing his phone, he brought up Douglas's number and waited for an answer. “It's me,” he said finally. “Listen, I think we need to settle this thing once and for all. Are you free tonight?”
***
“And you said you're a family friend?” the nurse asked as they made their way along the corridor.
“Kind of,” Robert replied. “It's been a long time since I saw Joyce. The truth is, we had a little disagreement the last time we talked. That's all in the past, of course. Emily said something about her not being well?”
“She has dementia,” the nurse replied, opening the door and leading him into the ward. “Her lucidity comes and goes in waves that last anywhere between a few minutes and a few hours. She's not as bad as some of our residents but she might not recognize you. Don't be upset if she acts as if you're not even here, she was quite foggy this morning at breakfast.”
“I just want a very quick word with her,” he explained. “Really, I just want to tell her something.”
“Huh,” the nurse said, stopping in the middle of the recreation room. “She's not here. I guess she must be in her room.”
***
“I'll leave you two to it,” the nurse said a few minutes later, pulling the door shut.
“Thanks,” Robert muttered, watching as Joyce stayed in her wheelchair on the other side of the room, staring out at the garden. The old woman hadn't looked over since he arrived, hadn't even given any indication that she knew someone was in the room with her.
Making his way past the bed, Robert headed to the window and stopped once he could see Joyce's face. He could tell immediately that the years had been harsh on her, and she looked much older than her sixty-four years. It was hard for him not to assume that guilt had eaten away at her, although he knew he was probably being a little melodramatic in that assumption. The most likely cause was all the cigarettes she'd smoked.
“Good morning,” he said finally, having waited for her to acknowledge him. “Long time, no see.”
Silence. Her chin was trembling slightly as she watched other residents in the garden.
“In normal circumstances,” he continued, “I'm sure you'd remember me. Given your current condition, however, I'm going to guess there's a chance you genuinely don't have a clue who I am.” Grabbing a wooden chair from nearby, he positioned it next to Joyce and then sat down. “Doctor Robert Slocombe. We met twenty-four years ago in... somewhat difficult circumstances.”
Joyce's eyes flickered for a moment, as if she remembered, but still she didn't turn to face him.
“I think the last time we talked,” he reminded her, “was on a rainy day when I came to your house and told you exactly what I thought of you. I probably said some very harsh things, but the truth is, I meant them then and I mean them now. I didn't come here today to apologize, I came to tell you that your daughter and granddaughter are in a great deal of trouble, and that I'm going to try to help them, and that it's plain to me that it's all your fault. Emily seems like a nice woman, so I
imagine she's shielded you from understanding the true damage you caused. I don't think that's fair.”
Watching her face for a moment, he began to feel that her refusal to look at him was due more to anger than to a lack of awareness.
“I know you can hear me,” he told her, with a faint smile. “I know you remember who I am.”
He waited, but there was no reply.
“Lizzie's missing,” he continued. “I guess no-one told you about that yet. Again, they probably decided they didn't want to worry you. Crazy how people are protecting you, isn't it? So yeah, she's gone and no-one knows how to find her. She was taken to a care home, and she disappeared from their custody. Where she went, I don't have a clue. A more suggestible mind would immediately assume that something supernatural took place, but -”
He paused, thinking back to the moment when he saw something behind Lizzie's face, staring out through the little girl's hollow eyes. Then there had been the girl outside the bar, and the way her face had burned as she warned him to stay away.
“Then again,” he muttered, “we're all suggestible, aren't we? I've even managed to convince myself that I've seen things over the past few days. Sometimes there just seems to be the right atmosphere around.”
Waiting again, he started to think that he could see tears in Joyce's eyes.
“So Lizzie is officially missing,” he continued, “and whether she's alone or with some as-yet-unidentified individual, I'm sure you'll understand that her safety is of great concern to everyone, and that she's in danger. As I said before, I firmly believe that this is all your fault. It's your abysmal parenting, and your manipulation of events, that have rippled down through the years, ruining your family.”
Reaching into his pocket, he took out his phone.
“And then there's Emily,” he added. “Given the fact that she had one of the worst mothers in history, she's actually turned out remarkably well. It doesn't take long, though, to dig beneath the surface and find evidence of greater damage.”