The Haunting of Henderson Close

by Cavendish

  Dear Hannah, I know this will come as a shock to you, but it really is the best way. I’m sure you know things haven’t been right between us for a long time now. Ten years or more maybe. I stayed because of Jenna. I didn’t want anything to disrupt her education. But now she is off our hands and happy in her new career – and you have your exciting new role to occupy you – the time has come for me to admit what has been in my heart for so long. I met Liz at the London office about eight years ago. She’s an accountant too and we hit it off immediately. We’ve been together ever since and now we feel is the right time to put things on a proper course. I’ve picked up my things today while you were at work and I’m moving in with her in London. My solicitor will be in touch about all the legal stuff. Sorry about the letter, but I thought it was best this way. It must be a huge shock for you and this way we can avoid a scene and maintain our dignity. Thank you for everything. I wish you all the very best for the future. Roger.

  And that was it. All she got for twenty-five years of marriage. Oh, and the house if she wanted to buy him out. She didn’t. The house was duly sold and she moved into a rented flat. When the school had to make cuts, the Drama department was the first to go – officially merged with English. ‘Efficiencies’ they called the savage reductions in both staff and resources. According to the last Ofsted report, those so-called ‘efficiencies’ had left the school under-resourced and understaffed to the point where it was now in ‘special measures’. Hannah gave a light laugh at the irony.

  She put down her empty mug and wandered over to the window. Drawing back the curtains, she peered out over the glistening street. The rain twinkled in the streetlights. A steady, heavy drizzle. Down below, a lone figure stopped to look up at her.

  Hannah gasped. The figure beckoned to her.

  In one sweep, she closed the curtains and turned her back on the window. It couldn’t be her. Miss Carmichael. But as the light had caught her and illuminated her face, Mairead Ferguson’s eyes had met Hannah’s. Mairead…but not Mairead. A dead woman who looked the image of her.

  Hannah knew what she had to do. Tomorrow night she would go to the graveyard.

  Chapter Eight

  Greyfriars Kirkyard at night. Chill. Dark. The church ghostly in the silver moonlight. Trees denuded of leaves, their branches reaching out their skeletal fingers to the heavens. It didn’t take much imagination to see ghosts walking among the gravestones of the generations of the Edinburgh dead, slumbering – or lying unquietly – beneath their granite blankets. Hannah shivered and stamped her almost-numb feet and her breath misted in the night air as she spoke. “I’m so grateful you came with me tonight, George.”

  “Not at all. If it wasn’t so damn cold, it would be quite a pleasant night.”

  Hannah stared up at the twinkling stars in the clear sky. “There’ll be a frost later.”

  “It’s started already. Come on, let’s find this plaque. Have you got your torch?”

  Hannah waved it at him.

  “Good, let’s switch on, and off we go.”

  Hannah didn’t know or care whether George was faking his light-hearted attitude. She was glad of it.

  The promised frost was already in evidence as their feet crunched the ground beneath them. In the dimly lit grounds, blades of grass twinkled with ice crystals. Hannah led the way. She hadn’t a clue where she was going, but something seemed to direct her, moving her forward, then to the right, until they reached the back wall.

  Look up.

  Hannah obeyed the voice in her head, shining her torch on the wall.

  “There!” Hannah said. The grey stone plaque could not have been more than two feet by one foot and the only two words carved into it almost filled its surface. ‘Miss Carmichael’.

  “What happens now?” George asked, his voice no more than a whisper.

  “I don’t know. I suppose we just wait and see.”

  “Is it my imagination or is it even colder right here? It’s bloody freezing.”

  “I know. We won’t stay long. Then we’ll go over to the pub for a shot of Scotch.”

  “That’s the best idea you’ve come up with so far, lass.”

  Hannah switched off her torch. “No point wasting the batteries.”

  George nodded and switched his off too. His breath misted in front of him, mingling with Hannah’s. Her fingers started to throb. Not even the thermal gloves she wore could keep out the bitter, penetrating cold. She couldn’t feel her feet.

  Hannah turned to face the opposite direction, away from the plaque. Ahead of her stretched the path they had come up. To the right of it, grandiose monuments to some of Edinburgh’s finest citizens. To the left of her lay more graves, some elaborate granite structures with carved angels and Grecian pillars, silhouetted against the night sky.

  A light breeze skittered around them, blowing a few remaining leaves off the ground and sending them dancing. Ancient trees creaked like old bones. Hannah gave a start at the ghostly shape of an owl as it unexpectedly took off from a nearby tree. It soared off into the sky, its plumage phantom pale. She realized she had grabbed George’s arm and gently dropped her hand.

  George craned his neck. He whispered to her and pointed. “There’s something there. Moving in the bushes. I can’t make it out but it’s coming toward us. Switch your torch on. Let’s get a look at it.”

  Hannah moved the torch so that an arc of light swept around the graveyard in front of them. For one second she thought she saw something. A tall figure, in shadow, darting out of the bushes, but gone before she fully registered it.

  Her heart raced. “Did you get a proper look at it?”

  “No. Not really. For a second, it seemed familiar.… No. I’m being stupid.”

  “Familiar?”

  “Ignore me. My imagination’s going haywire. Maybe it was the ghost of old Mackenzie.” His laugh was forced.

  Hannah swept her torch around. “There’s nothing there now,” she said.

  “I told you. Old Mackenzie on his nightly rounds.”

  Hannah decided to play along with him. “Nasty piece of work by all accounts.”

  “It’s a familiar story,” George said. “People persecuted for religion. Mackenzie was a cruel and merciless character. It provides a lot of entertainment for the tourists and revenue for the graveyard tours now though.”

  “Well, whatever it was, it’s gone now.” Hannah shivered. “If I stay here much longer, I’ll turn into one of those statues.” She nodded over at an angel with folded wings silhouetted against the night sky. In this poor light, she half imagined it unfurling those wings and taking off, like the owl a few minutes earlier.

  George snapped his torch off, pocketed it and slapped his hands together. “I don’t think there’s any point in staying here any longer. I’ll get the first round in.”

  “OK.”

  “Hannah.”

  “Yes?”

  George looked startled. “What?”

  “You called my name.”

  “No, I said I’d get the drinks in.”

  “But I heard.…”

  George looked at her intently.

  “Nothing. We’re both seeing things and I’m starting to hear things. Let’s get that drink.” Hannah made to move forward. Something strong pulled her back. It clawed at her neck, dragged her back by her hair, tugging so hard, her scalp burned.

  “I am not finished with you.”

  She had heard that male voice before. “George. Help me!” She struggled to free herself from the invisible grasp.

  “Hannah? What’s the matter?” George put his hand out to steady her, gave a cry and dropped it to his side. “For fuck’s sake. What’s going on?”

  The invisible arms that held her tightened their grip. Hannah wriggled one way, then the other, but couldn’t free herself. The more she struggled, the tighter the vise
-like grip became. Invisible fingers dug into her upper arms, dragging them behind her back, almost lifting her off the ground. “It won’t let me go. I can’t get free. George, please.”

  He seemed rooted to the spot.

  The voice in her head grew louder, more urgent. “You are here where you belong, Kirsten. Here where you’ll stay.”

  It tugged her back harder and she slipped on the frosty ground, struggling to regain her balance. Was the voice even in her head? Couldn’t George hear it?

  “Please. Let me go!”

  Her cries snapped George into action. He tried to grab her arm and instantly recoiled. “It’s like an electric shock every time I come near you. Like you’ve got a force-field around you. I can’t get through it.” He tried again. Again he shot back.

  Whatever held Hannah tightened its grasp once more. It dragged her back further.

  “You belong here, Kirsten. With the dead.”

  The voice was raw, grating. Loud enough to rattle her eardrums. She cried out, “Let me go!”

  The creature strengthened its hold. It shifted position and leaped onto her shoulders, weighing her down so that she was bent almost double. She could see nothing. But George could. His mouth gaped.

  “What is it? What have I got on my back?”

  “I.… It’s…a gargoyle. It’s like a gargoyle!”

  Hannah squirmed, trying to throw the thing off. The harder she twisted, the more it clung on. Hideous breath invaded her nostrils. Still she could see nothing. Then, between her legs, fingers. Claws, tearing at her trousers, trying to stroke.… A filthy laugh.…

  “No.” Strength she didn’t know she possessed rescued her. She wrenched herself hard left.

  Without warning, the iron grip broke and she fell forward. Free. George caught her.

  Hannah struggled to breathe. “What the hell was that thing?”

  George shook his head. His hands trembled. “I only saw it for an instant. It looked like one of those stone carvings you get in old churches. It had this awful grin on its face. Gargoyle is the best I can manage.”

  “It spoke to me. Did you hear it?”

  George shook his head. “Not a word. What did it say?”

  “It told me I belonged here. With the dead. It called me Kirsten.”

  George put his arms around her, comforting her.

  If only she could slow her heart down. It felt ready to burst from her chest. She remembered what that thing had tried to do when it had her in its grip and the nausea made her gag. “I must have been the only one meant to hear it. But why? What does it want from me? And why did it call me Kirsten?”

  “I don’t know, Hannah. I wish I did.”

  Hannah gently extricated herself from George’s arms. “I really need that drink now. This was a crazy idea, coming here on a night like this. Let’s go.” She set off. George hesitated for a second, then followed her.

  In the pub, Hannah’s hands shook so badly she struggled to hold her glass. The neat Scotch burned her throat and made her cough, but it warmed and soothed her.

  “I think we need some professional help,” George said after a lengthy silence.

  “So do I, but who? There are so many fakes around.”

  “I’ll ask a friend of mine. She did a dissertation on mediums and that sort of thing at university. I remember at the time she said that she had come across some fascinating people in the course of her research. Some obvious fakes, some less obvious and some she couldn’t begin to explain. Maybe one of them can help us.”

  “So, she reckoned some of them were the real deal?”

  George nodded. “And you’d never have met a more skeptical person than Megan before she started on that. After she’d finished, she had to admit there could be something in it.”

  “I can’t help thinking this is all linked to Mairead’s disappearance.”

  “And Mairead generally. Where had she been living all that time she was supposed to be caring for her mother?”

  Hannah shook her head. “And why is it that I keep seeing a woman dressed in Victorian clothes with Mairead’s face? And the photograph in that newspaper I found in Murdoch Maclean’s shop?”

  George sipped his drink. “I’ll speak to Megan. I’ll call her tomorrow. Bit late now.”

  “Thanks, George. Anything to stop all this. And find Mairead.”

  * * *

  At home, Hannah undressed. She remembered the creature’s hold on her – its talons clawing her. Kirsten. She couldn’t get that name out of her mind. It meant something to her but, try as she might, she couldn’t remember ever knowing a Kirsten.

  She peeled off her trousers. She must wash them before she could bring herself to wear them again. As she made to roll them up to put in the laundry, her fingers found perforations. And a rip. Holding them to the light, she stared. There…in the gusset. No way had they been there before.

  She dashed into the kitchen, flipped open the kitchen waste bin and dumped the trousers in, her heart thumping. Then she turned on the hot water and scrubbed her hands until they were red and sore. Anything to get the filth of that creature off her.

  Chapter Nine

  Cerys Lloyd was a woman in her mid-forties with long, thick, scarlet hair, a flamboyant green velvet cape and a lilting Welsh accent. She smiled easily and seemed perfectly at home with her unusual calling. “There are so many legends associated with this place, I’m not surprised you’ve been having problems. Some highly unsavory characters have roamed these Closes. You know, there are times I have to run through the Old Town, so many voices all clamoring for my attention and none of them with the living.”

  “That must make life very…difficult,” Hannah said, still not sure whether they were dealing with a charlatan or the real deal.

  “Oh it is, but it is my legacy, I’m afraid. My mother was the same, you see. Had the gift. Curse more like.” She rolled her eyes and then winked. “We had better get going. I never eat before I work and I’m starving, so the sooner we make a start, the sooner I can stop the hunger pangs. If you hear any growling sounds, it’s probably me.” She patted her flat stomach.

  Hannah smiled. George opened the door.

  The two of them followed Cerys as she descended the steps leading down to Henderson Close.

  She had barely gone three steps before she stopped and leaned against the wall, her hand on her chest. “Oh, yes. I feel it already. Not it. Them. So much pain, so much.…” She pushed herself away from the wall and took a few more steps until she reached the bottom.

  She was breathing heavily and didn’t seem anything like as composed as she had been a few minutes earlier. “There are so many lost souls down here. So many.… There is one who searches and one who does not wish to be found. A woman and a man. The man is young, in his early twenties, but his soul is much older. I feel it.” She put her hands to her forehead as if a sudden headache had overpowered her.

  Hannah and George stood in front of her, waiting for her to continue, but she said nothing. After a few seconds, she lowered her hands and, without a word, moved on, stumbling a little. They rounded the corner leading to the printer’s shop and Miss Carmichael’s corner. Cerys stopped dead. “He’s here. Can’t you feel him?” She spun around. “He’s all around us.”

  “Who, Cerys?” Hannah asked. “Who’s all around us?”

  Cerys stared at her, wide-eyed. “He’s here for you,” she said.

  Her words chilled Hannah’s blood. She tried to speak but her mouth wouldn’t form the words.

  George seemed to sense her problem. “Who, Cerys?”

  Cerys turned her eyes on him. “You’ve met him. Recently. Both of you. His spirit is ancient. Evil.” She shook her head violently. “No. I won’t do it again. I won’t put myself at such risk.” She backed away. “I’m sorry.… I thought it would be all right this time but.… I’m sorry
…I can’t do this…I have to leave.” She pushed them aside to let herself pass.

  George grabbed her arm. “Hang on, Cerys.”

  She shrugged him off. “I must go. I can’t.…”

  She raced up the steps. Hannah and George followed close behind. Upstairs, Hannah threw the switch and light flooded the empty shop, closed after a busy Saturday. Cerys clutched the counter for support, her hands trembling.

  Hannah touched her hand. “What happened to you down there?”

  Cerys’s bright blue eyes bore into Hannah’s. “Something’s been released. I told you. It’s ancient, pure evil, and I’ve met something like it once before. It nearly killed me.”

  “You mean some sort of demon?” George said.

  “If you want to call it that, I suppose demon is as good a name as any. I don’t know its actual name. Others might have a name for it. But I recognize its power. It can travel and it can mutate. Someone has released it from its place of captivity.”

  “But you said you’d met something like it before,” Hannah said. “And you said it can travel.”

  “I have and it can. But this evil isn’t just one. It’s many. A colony if you like. Yet it’s all one entity. The part that’s here was sealed up, but now it’s free.”

  “Farquhars Close,” Hannah said. “The building work.…”

  Cerys gasped. “Oh no. Tell me they didn’t knock walls down.”

  Hannah and George nodded.

  Cerys slammed her fist into her upturned palm. “Stupid, stupid idiots.” Her face contorted in a sudden spasm of pain. “I’ve got to get out of here. I can feel it getting closer. If it finds me it will destroy me. It knows I can see and feel it. It can’t let me live this time. Last time was too close.”

  “What happened…last time?” Hannah asked, afraid of the answer.

  Cerys seemed about to tell her, then changed her mind and shook her head. “No. It’s best you don’t know. It can’t do any good.” She made for the locked door.

  George stopped her. “But what are we supposed to do? Get the wall put back?”