Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller

by Mark White

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Sam said, ignoring Tom’s concern. His fists instinctively clenched and he took a step forward, a haze of red mist descending over him. ‘You’ve got some fucking nerve coming here.’ Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a curtain next door being pulled to the side. George Gransham’s beady eyes glared back at him like those of a brazen voyeur who couldn’t give a damn about being caught in the act. As furious as he was, the last thing Sam wanted was to cause a scene in his own front yard. Besides, by now Tom had retreated to the pavement, ready to flee if the need arose.

  ‘Sam, please,’ Tom said. ‘I need to talk to you. It’s important.’

  Sam stared back at him, trying to remain calm. He looked across at Mr Gransham, glowering at him in such a way to suggest that if he didn’t get his snooping backside back into his house by the count of ten there would be serious trouble. Mr Gransham must have understood the message, because he retreated swiftly behind the curtains.

  ‘Okay,’ Sam said, his voice slightly calmer. ‘Say what you’ve come to say. After that, I never want to see your face again for as long as I live. Is that clear?’

  Tom nodded. ‘Out here?’ he asked, rubbing his arms in the cold, December air. ‘Can’t we talk inside?’ he said, staring hopefully over Sam’s shoulder into the warm light of the hallway.

  ‘I don’t want you anywhere near Sarah. Don’t you think you’ve caused enough damage?’

  ‘Okay, have it your way.’

  ‘What do you want to say, Tom?’

  ‘Well,’ he began, aware that he would need to summon all his renowned salesman’s skills to have any chance of sealing this particular deal. ‘The first thing I want to say is that I’m truly sorry for everything that’s happened. I never intended to hurt you, Sam.’

  ‘Because you never intended me to find out, you mean.’

  ‘True, but there’s a very good reason for that. What Sarah and I had was coming to a natural end. Our affair had pretty much run its course. The truth is, whatever feelings Sarah may have had for me were so insignificant compared to the way she feels about you. What happened between us was a mistake; a giant, twisted, frightfully regrettable mistake on both our parts. I know you’ll never be able to forgive me – I don’t expect you to – but I sincerely hope that you can forgive Sarah and work things out. I know it takes two to tango, but I’m the one to blame for all this, not her. I used the same charm on her that I use on all our clients, and you know how effecti-’

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ Sam said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘First you screw my wife, then you fire me and take away my livelihood, and now you’ve come here, tail between your legs, like some kind of daytime TV marriage counsellor. Don’t try to humiliate me, Tom; I’ve known you long enough to sense when you’re talking bullshit. Keep your fortune cookie advice for your dumb, blonde girlfriends. Now…why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?’

  Tom shrugged, acknowledging that the game was up. He took another cigarette from its packet and placed it between his lips, lighting it with the dog-end of the one he was just finishing. Sam didn’t show it, but secretly he got a buzz from seeing this. Tom only ever smoked when he was stressed.

  ‘The reason I’ve come here – the real reason – is because I have some good news. I’ve managed to convince the Board to take you back.’

  ‘You’ve what?’ Sam asked, his calm exterior creaking at the seams.

  ‘I’ve managed to get you your job back. It wasn’t easy, and don’t ask me how I did it, but somehow I convinced them that letting you go would be a huge mistake. They want you back, Sam. Even old Holdsworth himself conceded that he may have been somewhat hasty in firing you.’

  Sam couldn’t believe what Tom was telling him. As much as he despised him, he was stunned by the news. He felt a wave of relief and gratitude wash over him; his hardened heart momentarily soothed by Tom’s flattery and apparent humility. Getting his job back would spell an end to his immediate money worries, as well as giving his dwindling self-confidence a much needed shot in the arm.

  It didn’t take long, however, for his innate cynicism to kick in. Sam’s glass wasn’t half-empty, it was non-existent. Why would Tom Jackson suddenly feel the need to fight for his job? Why would he want to help him after seemingly taking so much pleasure in trying to destroy him? It didn’t make any sense…didn’t add up.

  It didn’t take long for the penny to drop.

  ‘It wasn’t the Board’s decision to fire me in the first place, was it?’ Sam asked, the truth dropping into place like the final piece on a jigsaw puzzle. ‘It was your decision, wasn’t it? They knew nothing about it. You didn’t tell them, did you, Tom?’

  ‘Now hang on a minute. You can’t ju-’

  ‘And then they found out about you firing me so they sent you here to get me back, didn’t they? But why the urgency? Why come to see me at 9.30pm? You could have just phoned me.’ Sam’s eyes widened and a huge grin spread across his face as it all came together. ‘They’ve threatened you, haven’t they? You’ve been given an ultimatum. Either you persuade me to come back to Chapman’s or you’re in the shit.’ Sam lifted his head to the sky and laughed. ‘I should have known!’ he said. ‘I should have realised at the time that you were behind it all. Talk about karma! You lying, devious, worthless piece of shit. You absolute arsehole! You’re a joke, Tom, you know that? A fucking joke.’

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, Tom Jackson was lost for words. As one of the world’s most accomplished liars, he wasn’t used to having his bluff called. There was a prolonged pause as he considered his next move. The obvious tactic was to come across all offended and upset at the accusation, as if he’d never heard anything so ridiculous in all his life. That would be the sensible option, the option of self-preservation. But Sam was too smart for that, and Tom knew it. As unnatural as it felt, he had to be honest.

  ‘I need you to come back to Chapman’s,’ he said, staring at the ground like an errant schoolboy confessing to his teacher. ‘My job depends on it. My life depends on it.’

  Sam stared at him, allowing him to continue.

  ‘Holdsworth came to see me. He told me to get you back.’

  ‘And if you can’t?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Then you’ll not be the only one out of a job.’

  ‘So I’m right,’ Sam said, shaking his head with disbelief. ‘The Board had nothing to do with me losing my job. They had no idea, did they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You bastard. You spineless bastard. How does it feel to tell the truth for once?’

  Tom shrugged. ‘Not great, to be honest. I think it’s overrated…much easier to lie.’

  Sam glowered at him in disgust. ‘I’m going inside now,’ he said. ‘I’m going inside to be with my wife, and if you have an ounce of decency left in you, I suggest you go home and do the same. Jane doesn’t deserve you. Nobody does.’

  ‘What about your job? What do I tell Holdsworth?’

  ‘What about my job? What about your job, you mean. I appreciate your belated honesty, Tom, but I’m afraid it makes no difference. I don’t give a damn if you lose your job. We’re finished, Tom. Surely you can see that? I don’t want to see you or hear from you ever again, is that clear?’

  A half-hearted nod was all Tom could muster. He knew perfectly well what lay in store for him the following morning, when he would have the unenviable task of informing Charles Holdsworth that his prized copywriter would not be coming back. For a while, he remained standing on the pavement like a broken man, any remaining fight all but gone. Without looking up, he turned to leave. ‘Goodbye, Sam,’ he said, his voice not much more than a whisper. ‘I’m sorry…for everything.’

  And then he was gone.

  Sam paused on the top step to digest what had just happened. He couldn’t believe how easily he’d thrown in the towel. Tom Jackson had the tenacity of a bulldog, so to watch him slink away without putting up a decent fight was
highly unexpected.

  Closure, Sam thought, almost saying the word aloud. After the nightmare of the previous few days, it felt good to have the upper hand at last. It was about time the dice rolled in his favour.

  An icy breeze swept along the street and tore at his face and neck, forcing him back into the warmth and security of his house. Locking the door behind him, he re-joined Sarah in the sitting room.

  ‘Who was that?’ she asked, switching off the TV. ‘I was about to send out a search party.’

  ‘Oh, it was only George from next door,’ Sam replied, the lie tripping easily from his tongue. ‘As usual, he was sticking his nose in where it’s not wanted. I’ll be the talk of the street by ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  ‘It gives him something to do,’ Sarah said. ‘You just wait until you’re his age. You’ll be exactly the same.’

  ‘You can shoot me if I am.’

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, moving closer. ‘Where were we?’

  Sam felt himself stir as she pressed against him. It felt like an eternity since they’d last been intimate with each other. However, his growing desire was immediately dampened by lurid visions of her and Tom in bed together, grinding against each other like wild animals, an unbridled look of pure ecstasy on Sarah’s face as she moaned every time he thrust himself into her. Unable to shake off the vision, Sam pushed her away and stood up.

  ‘Sam, wait!’ cried Sarah, but it was no use. Ignoring her plea, he hurried out of the room and stomped upstairs.

  ‘Closure?’ he mumbled, entering the bathroom and locking the door behind him. ‘I’m not even close.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sam awoke the following morning to find himself alone in the house. He checked the clock on the bedroom wall: 9.15am. I must have been more tired than I realised, he thought, climbing out of bed and trudging downstairs. There was a note on the kitchen table.

  Left for work – didn’t want to wake you. Max at school. Sorry about last night - I should have realised it would take time. I’m such an idiot! Let’s talk about it tonight, okay? I love you. I mean it. X

  Sam read the note twice and grimaced as he recalled his behaviour the previous evening. Of course it would take time, but running for cover wouldn’t help. I’ll try again tonight, he thought, filling the kettle. He felt so much better for having enjoyed a good night’s sleep; his head was clear and for the first time in days he felt somewhere approaching normal. He smiled as he pictured Tom Jackson going cap in hand to Charles Holdsworth, pleading for his job. What goes around comes around, he thought. That bastard deserves everything he gets.

  And then he cursed as he remembered that he was due to meet with Gracie in less than two hours’ time. With the benefit of a good night’s sleep, he was now certain that whatever he thought he’d seen and heard were no more than stress-induced hallucinations. Admittedly, had he been asked yesterday whether or not he considered them real, he would have wavered in his reply, but this morning, in the cold light of day, it was a different story. He wasn’t prepared to listen to the misguided ramblings of an old woman. He made a mental to note to phone her after breakfast and politely tell her that he didn’t need her help.

  As he sipped on the first coffee of the day, he considered the odds of his marriage surviving. Maybe the affair had happened for a reason; maybe their relationship would one day be stronger for the severe blow it’d taken. Perhaps there was some truth in the old adage that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Either way, sitting at his kitchen table on that bright, winter morning, the sunshine streaming through the window, Sam was becoming increasingly positive about the prospects of what lay ahead.

  And then the phone rang.

  ‘Hello?’ he said, guessing it was probably Sarah calling to check up on him.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Railton.’

  Sam almost dropped the phone when he heard the strong, Yorkshire accent.

  ‘Sergeant Calloway? Is that you?’

  ‘I see there’s nothing wrong with your memory,’ Calloway replied. ‘How’s the rest of you holding up? Feeling any better?’

  ‘Erm…yes…a little. What…why are you calling me? Not that I mind – it’s great to hear from you – it’s just that…well…I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. Is everything alright?’

  A prolonged pause told him it wasn’t.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to call you so soon after getting home, Mr Railton,’ Calloway said, ‘but I’m afraid I have some bad news. It concerns your attacker, Stephen Gilchrist.’

  Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. ‘What news?’

  ‘As you know, Mr Gilchrist was taken to hospital yesterday following the incident at the station. It appears he suffered some kind of seizure, although he had no history of epilepsy or any associated medical conditions.’

  ‘Had?’ Sam asked, his mouth suddenly as dry as dust. ‘You said he had no history of epilepsy.’

  Calloway coughed loudly into the phone before continuing. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I can’t seem to shake off this blasted cold. As I was saying, he had a seizure. He soon came round and not long after was fine, but as this was the first time that anything like this had happened to him, the medical team thought it best that he remain in their care overnight so they could keep an eye on him.’

  ‘So he’s okay?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Several seconds of silence ensued as Calloway collected his thoughts. ‘I’m afraid there’s no other way of telling you this, Mr Railton. Believe me, I wouldn’t be calling you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, but as there’s an open case against Mr Gilchrist, I’m obliged by law to inform everyone who is directly involved that Mr Gilchrist…Stephen…is dead.’

  Sam slumped onto one of the chairs around the kitchen table. ‘Dead? But that’s impossible. He can’t be. You said yourself he recovered from the seizure. He was in hospital for Christ’s sake. How can a healthy boy die in hospital?’

  ‘It was suicide,’ Calloway replied. ‘It happened around five o’clock this morning. According to one of the duty nurses, Mr Gilchrist spent the night complaining about excruciating headaches. They gave him pills, but according to him they didn’t work. The nurse visited him several times through the night to try and calm him down, but the last time she came – about four a.m. – he wasn’t in his bed. She assumed he’d gone to use the toilet, but when he didn’t return, she called security.’

  ‘How did he die?’ Sam asked, surprised at how easily the question came out.

  ‘It would appear that Mr Gilchrist gained access from the hospital to the multi-storey car park and threw himself from the ninth floor. Needless to say, he died instantly.’

  ‘Oh no…’ A gruesome image of Stephen Gilchrist landing head-first onto the pavement with a sickening thud lodged itself in Sam’s mind.

  ‘Mr Railton? Mr Railton, are you alright?’

  ‘He was only fifteen years old,’ Sam said, barely able to hold on to the phone. ‘He was just a boy. If I hadn’t been on that train, none of this would have happened. He would still be alive. He wo-’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Calloway said, cutting him off. ‘If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else. That young man was looking for trouble.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Sam said. ‘Why would he commit suicide? He was as high as a kite when he attacked me, but surely the drugs and booze would have been out of his system by yesterday. He would have been stone cold sober. I can see why he might have felt guilty, remorseful even, but suicide? It doesn’t add up.’

  ‘Forgive me, Mr Railton, but figuring out why he did it is our job. A full investigation will be launched, and at some stage you may be required to assist us, but-’

  ‘You must have an idea! He wasn’t a bad kid. You said yourself that he has…had…a clean record and came from a good home.’

  ‘I don’t like to speculate,’ Calloway said, ‘but perhaps that’s part of the problem.’

  ‘Huh?’


  ‘The fact that he appears to have been just an ordinary kid who made a stupid mistake. Maybe the guilt got the better of him, or maybe he was scared stiff about how his parents might react. Not to mention what effect it would have on his future prospects. He was a bright student by all accounts; a charge of Common Assault doesn’t look great on a university application form. Maybe it all got too much for him and he wanted a way out. Either way, you have nothing to feel bad about. You were the victim of a violent assault; nothing more, nothing less. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sam replied. His tone couldn’t have been any less convincing. ‘Thanks for calling, Sergeant Calloway. I hope everything goes well with the investigation. Goodbye.’ Without waiting for a reply, he hung up and placed the phone on the table.

  Ten seconds later, there was a knock at the door. At first, he chose to ignore it, but whoever it was had no intention of going away; the knocking grew louder and more persistent, until eventually Sam had no other choice than to haul himself up from his chair and make his way along the hallway to answer it.

  The last person he expected to see standing on his front step was Gracie. She smiled at him, ignoring the stunned look on his face.

  ‘Gracie? What are you doing here? I’m sorry, but I’m a little busy at the mome-’

  ‘I know this isn’t a good time for you, Sam, but I’m afraid it can’t wait any longer.’

  ‘What can’t wait?’

  ‘We need to talk about your father.’

  Sam looked at her aghast. ‘My father’s dead,’ he said. ‘He died nearly thirty years ago.’

  ‘I know,’ Gracie said, her smile fading. ‘And now he’s back.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Sam said, too stunned to protest as Gracie brushed past him in the doorway. ‘You can’t just come around here saying things like that. You’re mad, you know that?’

  ‘If you honestly thought I was mad, you wouldn’t let me look after Max,’ she replied, disappearing into the kitchen. ‘Now, why don’t you be a gentleman and make this old lady a nice cup of tea, eh? We need to talk.’