by Cavendish
With no weapons, Hannah knew she didn’t stand a chance. She did the only thing she could think of.
“Miss Carmichael, if you are here, if you can hear my voice, please help us.”
“You do not belong here. The grave is your place now, Kirsten. Faithless Kirsten.”
Hannah clapped her hands to her ears. But the voice was inside her head. It didn’t come from the creature. Someone else. Or some other part of it. Its raucous laughter rang in her brain, echoed through every fiber of her body, chilling her soul.
A roar bounced off the walls. George crashed to the floor with a scream. He covered his head with his hands.
Hannah rushed to help him. “George! Speak to me. George!”
George raised his blood-drained face to hers. He trembled, his eyes wide and terrified. “Did Miss Carmichael come?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t see her but that…thing…left in a hurry so.…”
George stood. Hannah steadied him as he winced. “I think I’ve sprained my ankle.”
“Do you want to go back?”
“No, we’ve come this far, let’s do this.”
Leaning on Hannah, he limped with her to the site of the damaged pentagram. Using a coin, Hannah opened the pot of paint and dipped in the brush. She took out a folded piece of paper from her pocket and examined the diagram on it. While George leaned against the wall for support, she knelt on the uneven ground and drew the five-pointed star, then copied the ancient symbols carefully. All around them, the atmosphere grew heavier until it made breathing difficult. Hannah had to steel herself to keep a steady hand when every instinct told her to get out of there as fast as she could.
The smell of sulfur had faded, or maybe they had become accustomed to it, when Hannah completed her drawing, resealed the paint pot and stood.
“It’s done,” she said. “Now all we have to do is bring that…entity…back here and summon the spirit to trap it in the pentagram.”
“If only we knew who to call out for.”
“I have a theory. Remember the blood at Miss Carmichael’s murder site? Why would that be fresh today? I think there’s a good reason for that.”
“You think it’s her? That she’s the one who battles the demon?”
Hannah shook her head. “I don’t know, but why else would that blood be fresh tonight when we really need help to trap this thing?”
“Do you know what you’re going to do?”
“No. Do you?”
George shrugged and shifted his weight. That ankle must be really aching by now, she thought. “Haven’t a clue,” he said.
“OK, I’ll call out and see what happens. Wish me luck.”
“You got it.”
Hannah moistened her lips. “If you are there, Miss Carmichael, or if there is anyone there who wishes to help us, we respectfully call on you, beseech you, to come now.”
Silence.
Hannah tried again. “If you are there, please help us. Help us to trap the evil once and for all that it may never escape again.”
A deep sigh echoed around the walls. A chill froze Hannah’s cheek. Still nothing. She opened her mouth to begin again. Then stopped.
A familiar, but unexpected voice called out from some distance away. “Hannah? Hannah? George? Is it you?”
Hannah and George stared at one another. Hannah spoke first. “What the…? Mairead?”
“It can’t be,” George said.
“Keep talking, you two, so I can find you.” Definitely Mairead.
“We’re near Miss Carmichael’s corner,” George said.
As if she had been there minutes earlier, Mairead’s smiling face greeted them.
Hannah rushed toward her and hugged her tightly, so tightly, Mairead struggled to free herself. “Hey, what’s this? Anyone would think you hadn’t seen me for ages.”
“We haven’t,” Hannah said. “Not for a fortnight or more. Where have you been? Everyone’s been so worried.”
Mairead frowned. “You’ve lost me. I was here earlier today.”
“Er – I don’t think so,” George said. “What date do you think it is?
“October twenty-seventh, of course. Why?”
George removed his phone from his pocket and switched it on. “Have a look at that.”
Mairead looked disbelievingly at him for a moment before lowering her eyes and reading the date on the screen. “But that’s impossible. It can’t be the twelfth of November. You’re having a joke here, aren’t you?”
Hannah and George both shook their heads. “I wish we were, Mairead,” Hannah said. “You left here one day and the next, someone called in sick on your behalf. A week later, Ailsa went round to your house but a neighbor said you hadn’t lived there for two years.”
“That’s not possible.”
George persisted. “Ailsa said the place looked deserted and virtually derelict. The neighbor told her she had been in touch with the council a few weeks after you moved out and they had been planning to start eviction proceedings for non-payment of rent.”
Mairead continued to stare at them. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. I’ve lived there forever. I still live there. twenty-two Bishop Crescent. I stay there with my mother.”
“You mean you’ve lived there since you moved here from Dundee?” George asked. “You told me you came from there originally.”
“Yes. Of course that’s what I meant.”
Hannah caught the snap in her voice, wondered briefly at it, and then ignored it. She searched her mind for an explanation and came up blank. Around them, the temperature dropped.
“Do you feel that?” George hugged himself.
Hannah blinked as a shadow passed behind Mairead. “I think someone, or something, just joined us.”
Mairead continued to stare at her companions, apparently oblivious to Hannah’s words. Behind her, a shape – indistinct at first – began to materialize.
The figure was Mairead’s height, could have been Mairead’s twin, dressed in sensible Victorian costume. A brown floor-length tweed skirt and matching jacket, with complimentary unfussy hat and wire-rimmed spectacles, completed the picture.
Hannah wondered why she didn’t feel scared. It was as if she had grown to know this person. She had seen her on a number of occasions in different locations. Maybe that was it. Perhaps it was the benevolent expression on the ghost’s face.
“Mairead,” Hannah said softly, “don’t be scared, but please. Turn around.”
George’s mouth was slightly open. He must have been able to see what Hannah saw.
Like an automaton, Mairead slowly turned around. She gasped, her hand flew to her mouth. The spectral figure continued to stand where she was, no change to her benign expression.
Hannah knew it was time. She let her instinct guide her. “Miss Carmichael. Please help us. We’ve drawn the pentagram. Show us what we need to do to get the demon trapped in it.”
The ghostly woman stared at her, unblinking, then seemed to grow before their eyes. Hannah stood rooted to the spot, horrified at the transformation going on in front of her. The calm features contorted, twisted, elongated, collapsed until what was left no longer contained any recognizable form.
In one swift move, the phantom threw itself at Mairead.
“No!” Hannah screamed. Mairead struggled to get free, but the ghostly grip proved too tight. Tendril limbs became black talons, scraping along Mairead’s arms as the girl screamed and Hannah tried to prize her free of the vise-like hold.
George lurched forward and grabbed Mairead’s other arm. “It’s dragging her into the pentagram.”
The creature formed a mouth. It opened, revealing razor-sharp teeth. The stench of sulfur choked them. It grew a serpentine neck and drew its head back. Any second now and it would bite Mairead.
Hannah yelled, “Let her go, you bastard!”
The creature completed its transformation. A monster covered in scales, its long, powerful limbs ending in massive lizard-like claws, yanked Mairead out of Hannah’s and George’s grasp. With a massive roar, it threw her into the pentagram, where she collapsed in a sobbing heap. Then it was gone.
Mairead staggered to her feet, dazed and clearly confused.
Hannah recovered herself and hurried to her friend. She reached out her hand into the pentagram, her fingers tingling where they crossed the boundary, almost as if she had plunged them into icy water. “Come on, Mairead.” The girl said nothing, but took her hand. Her touch was ice cold too.
Hannah turned back to George. “Let’s get out of here and take her home – wherever that may be – and we can see for ourselves whether what Ailsa said was right or not.”
Mairead still shook with uncontrolled sobs as Hannah parked outside twenty-two Bishop Crescent. In the dark, it was virtually impossible to tell whether the house looked neglected or not, although Hannah got the impression that weeds had taken hold in some areas. George helped her steer the distraught woman up her path and, as they neared the front door, Hannah could see that, contrary to her first impression, the small front garden appeared well-tended.
With shaking hands, Mairead finally managed to insert her door key and let them in.
Down the passageway, a light shone under a closed door. “Mum’s up still.”
“It’s only just after nine,” George said.
“She’s often in bed after the six o’clock news. She doesn’t sleep well. It all depends on the MS.”
Mairead took a deep, ragged breath, slipped her coat off and hung it over the bannister. Hannah and George followed her. In the cozy living room, a woman of maybe sixty, with grey hair and a blanket over her legs, smiled as Mairead walked in. Her look of surprise wasn’t lost on Hannah, but not for the reason she had expected.
“Hello, dear,” the woman said. “You’re late tonight.”
Hannah and George exchanged glances. “Tonight?” George mouthed.
“I know.” Mairead replied. “It’s been a bit of a confusing day. Sorry, I know I should have asked first but Hannah and George were kind enough to give me a ride home.”
“That’s very kind of you both,” Mairead’s mother said. “My daughter hardly ever brings anyone home. It’s my condition, you see. Unpredictable. She always asks me first. But I’m quite well today, so it’s perfectly all right. Will you have a cup of tea?”
“That’s very kind, Mrs. Ferguson,” Hannah said, “But we really must be going now. Very nice to have met you.”
George muttered similar sentiments and two minutes later, they were sitting in Hannah’s car.
“If I wasn’t confused before, I certainly am now,” George said. “For a start, this house is nothing like the way Ailsa described it. Secondly, how is it Mairead’s mother also seems to think she saw her daughter earlier today? In fact, how come she’s there at all? She’s supposed to have died two years ago, according to Ailsa.”
Hannah started the engine and moved off. “I think we’ve wandered into a Penn & Teller illusion. Maybe we’re the ones who are delusional.”
A flash lit up the dark interior. George had turned his phone on again. He swiped the screen a few times. “I’m getting news updates and they’re all dated today. November twelfth. So, we’ve definitely got the right date. Mairead clearly has no memory of being anywhere out of the ordinary. No concept of passing time. But it’s her mother I can’t puzzle out. Even allowing for the fact that maybe Ailsa was given the wrong information by that neighbor, how can she be caught up in this as well? She’s never been anywhere near Henderson Close.”
“Not as far as we know anyway. I’m still trying to understand how Ailsa could have got it all so wrong. Did she go to a different address?”
“We can check with her. She’s back the day after tomorrow. Unfortunately.”
“She can’t expect you to fall on your sword when it wasn’t your fault in the first place.”
“I was in charge, Hannah. To Ailsa it’s an open and shut case. I was acting manager and I failed to prevent a vandal from daubing our walls with obscene words and, for all I know, blasphemous symbols.”
It was pretty useless. Whatever words of comfort Hannah offered would fall on deaf ears. She also knew George was right. Ailsa was looking for a culprit and if George couldn’t find the real one, he would have to do. She made one last effort.
“You reported it to the police, made a statement and they said they would look into it. You couldn’t do more than that.”
“They also said they hadn’t seen anything like that before and it didn’t match the handiwork of the usual suspects. I could tell by their tone they weren’t really interested and the chances of catching whoever did it are remote at best. Especially as nothing showed up on CCTV. The trouble is, there are no cameras covering that area. They haven’t been fitted yet. The nearest one is at Miss Carmichael’s corner and its range doesn’t reach quite far enough.”
“That’s hardly your fault. Ailsa should probably have got the CCTV installed earlier.”
“She won’t see it that way. Anyway, frankly, Hannah, I think she’d be doing me a favor if she did fire me. At least I could escape all this. I used to love this job but now I’d leave it and never look back. I’ve had enough of Ailsa’s moods. She’s so much worse these days. Sometimes I barely recognize her.”
“You’d go and leave me to it? Thanks, mate.”
“You know I don’t mean it that way. Oh, hell.”
Hannah smiled. “I know. I’m only grateful for your friendship through all this.”
“Friendship?” George looked at her and Hannah knew in an instant how easy it would be for her to lose herself. George was kind. George was divorced and single. He looked out for her and he was the friend she needed right now. Anything else would only complicate things. There had been no one since Roger, and Hannah had never thought there would be. With everything else going on, she couldn’t afford to become distracted.
“Friendship,” she said firmly. She squeezed his hand, glad that he returned the gesture and that the smile extended from his lips to his eyes.
* * *
The following day, Hannah weaved her way through crowds of shoppers, some excited, others weary. Everywhere, fairy lights twinkled, Noddy Holder screamed “It’s Christmas” from one shop doorway to the next, and windows glittered with holly, tinsel and chubby Santas. She arrived at work to find George waiting for her. His anxious expression told her she would not like what he was about to tell her.
“Mairead’s not here again,” George said. “I haven’t said anything about our encounter with her last night. Right now, I’m beginning to wonder if I imagined it – or dreamed it. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing. That would be reassuring.” His wry smile mirrored her own thoughts.
“If only,” Hannah said. “But I remember it too, so either we both had the same dream, or it really did happen.”
“It happened. All of it.”
“’Fraid so.”
The entrance door to Henderson Close flew open and Morag dashed into the shop. “You guys have to come and see this. I need someone else to tell me I’m not going crazy.”
“What have you seen?” George asked.
“More graffiti.”
George groaned.
“No, George, not like yesterday. This is different.”
They followed her down the stairs.
Morag stopped in front of the new boards they had erected the day before.
“Have a look at this.” She shone her torch high up on the wall. There, in elegant, old-fashioned handwriting, three words.
“‘Find my killer’,” Hannah read out.
“I’m not going mad then?” Morag said. “And it wasn�
��t there yesterday?”
“No to both,” George said.
Morag switched off her torch. “I always thought the haunting stories were just so much hokum.”
Hannah sighed. “Bet you’ve changed your mind. I know I have.”
“Well, there’s something odd going on here. Oh, and someone has drawn a pentagram on the floor in Farquhars Close.”
George looked at Hannah. He raised his hand. Hannah followed suit. “Guilty as charged,” George said.
“What did you do that for? Ailsa’ll go apeshit.”
“Ailsa’s already going apeshit,” George said. “Believe it or not, Hannah and I were trying to stop all this. The pentagram was to trap the Auld De’il.”
Morag blinked rapidly a few times. “Dear God,” she said. “Has the whole world gone completely mad? You’re not telling me the Auld De’il exists? I used to be threatened with him if I didn’t behave. My mother used to get so mad with my nan. She said it would give me nightmares, and she was right.”
Hannah and George nodded. “Unfortunately, we believe we’ve both encountered it.”
“What exactly did your nan tell you about the Auld De’il?” Hannah asked.
“That if I didn’t behave myself right away, he’d come for me and whisk me away to his lair underground. If I answered her back and said he’d have a fight on his hands, she’d tell me it would do no good as I wouldn’t know who it was when he came. He could turn himself into anyone he chose. She used to say the devil has many faces.”
“And did it make you behave?” George smiled at her.
Morag gave a wry grin. “Depends how awkward I was being. It did scare me though. I don’t really think it’s appropriate to threaten a six-year-old with a shapeshifting monster.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get up to the shop. I’ll leave you to it. Try not to uncover any more demons while you’re down here.”
After she had gone, George shone his torch on the new graffiti. “And that’s the kind of skepticism which means no one will ever believe us unless we can bring them cast-iron proof. I wish I knew how to find Miss Carmichael’s killer.”