Haverscroft

by S. A. Harris

  Satisfied nothing is here, I venture across the threshold and take a closer look at the window catch, caked in paint, it hasn’t moved in years. The glass is black, streaked with silver rivulets of water. Torch light rebounds off the window panes as I stand, listening. Nothing but the storm, quieter now, just the occasional buffeting at the windows. No sound, nothing so much as rattles. I close the office door and retreat along the landing.

  In my room, the twins sleep under an umbrella of yellow light from the bedside lamp. The storm is turning away, the lightning has stopped, the thunder more distant. The house is freezing and weirdly quiet. I shiver, unexpectedly anxious again for no apparent reason. Riley claws at the kitchen door. The piteous muffled whining starts again. I’ll have to fetch the dog and come back to the warmth of my bed as soon as possible. I reach the top of the stairs, the torch picks out the far end of the landing. The spare room door stands ajar. It can’t be a draught, I locked it, I’m sure I did. I’m nervous of approaching the room, of closing the door. If I leave it until daylight we’ll freeze, the ancient heating system takes an age to restore the temperature, and besides, I won’t sleep unless it’s shut. I take a deep breath and sprint the half dozen steps to the door. I grab the handle, pull it closed with a bang so sharp I jump. I pull the knob, check the door is properly closed. The key is tucked into the inside pocket of my handbag. Would the twins go there, take the key? Did they unlock the door?

  I hurry down the stairs. Poor Riley is overjoyed to see me, tail wagging to a blur, leaping up at me like a jack-in-a-box. Mark was right, I am glad of his company. The hall is alive with shadows, rain splats at the windows. The dog starts to whine again as we head up the stairs following the torch beam. He presses at my shins, his body shivering, my feet so cold, they seem shrivelled in their pumps. Riley gets worse, whimpers more loudly, entangling himself about my ankles. I’ve no option but to stop, he’ll trip me up if we continue.

  ‘Shush, boy, keep still!’

  I struggle to find his collar, to pull him away from my feet. The torch slips from my fingers, crashes down the stairs.

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’

  My voice echoes up the stairwell. The torch beam ricochets off walls and ceiling. Riley shoots upstairs at the sound of my voice, his claws clattering on the floorboards. The torch crashes on the tiles. Darkness.

  Damn the dog!

  I’m a third of the way up the stairs, horribly aware of how unfamiliar I am with this house. Can I navigate my way from here in the dark? I hesitate, my heart thudding as if I’d run a marathon. My eyes adjust, the glow from the bedroom door just enough to pick out the landing. A white patch of light spreads across the hall floor. Oddly shaped, I can’t quite fathom what it is. The torch, not broken but rolled under the telephone table, only a sliver of light escaping. I head downstairs, glad the phone’s stopped its continual tringing at last.

  The table is actually a long side cupboard; dark wood, almost black, heavily carved in the Victorian Gothic style. I fumble trying to haul it away from the wall, it’s incredibly heavy. I randomly think of Mr Whittle, his recommendations about well-made furniture. Unable to move it, I wonder if it’s become embedded in the tiles over the decades. I kneel on the floor and grope underneath it. The tiles chill my already cold hands and knees. Heinous thoughts of unseen horrors lurking in the dust and silky cobwebs beneath the table make me shudder. Just as I can’t bear to continue, my fingertips find the barrel of the torch.

  ‘Mummy, where are you?’

  Sophie’s on the landing, her face, pale and sleepy, chin resting on the bannister, looking down at me.

  ‘Here, Sophie. On my way back to bed.’

  I stand, the beam from the torch illuminates my daughter. There’s something I can’t make out, something black, moving along the landing from the direction of the office. Something dark and tall, swiftly heading to where Sophie stands.

  ‘Sophie!’

  Astonishment wipes across Sophie’s features. I run towards the stairs, all the while staring up at the landing. A darkness moves behind her, double her height, it will engulf her. What the hell is it?

  ‘What’s wrong, Mummy?’

  I bound up the stairs, near the top of the flight the torchlight flickers. I shake it, clear the top step. It dies completely as I make it onto the landing runner.

  ‘Mummy?’

  Tom’s face appears from around my bedroom door. Sophie stands in the triangle of yellow light seeping from the bedroom. She’s visibly shivering. There’s nothing here. Did I see a shadow, torchlight bouncing them off the high ceilings?

  ‘Quickly now, back into bed, both of you!’

  I hurry towards the twins, wrap an arm about Sophie and herd them into the bedroom. I glance towards the spare room. The door stands wide open, the room filled with moonlight. A liquid darkness moves across the space as the door swings shut. Even though I watch it moving, the slam makes me flinch. I hurry after the twins, bang the door behind me. So many of these old doors lost their tiny brass keys over the years but not this one. I turn it now, hear the soft click as the mechanism moves into place. I step back, stare at the locked door as if it might somehow spring open. I’d spooked myself. So stupid, convinced I seen something. But what the hell is going on with the spare bedroom door? I throw my heap of clothes off the dressing-table chair and carry it to the door. I wedge it beneath the handle.

  ‘Mummy, what are you doing?’

  I turn around, look at the twins sitting side by side on the bed. Riley, next to Tom, my son’s arm around the dog. I’m startled to see them there, utterly ridiculous. It’s as if, in my panic, I’ve forgotten their existence. They stare back at me, waiting for my explanation.

  ‘What’s out there?’

  Tom sounds terrified. His face is pale, clutching Blue Duck to his chest.

  Don’t get weird. They’re not used to weird anymore. Normal, be normal.

  I crease my face into a smile.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing’s out there, Tom. Just the wind. It keeps slamming the doors. This’ll keep it shut. Come on, get some sleep now.’

  I move away from the door, try very hard not to look back at it, to maintain a smile which I pray looks vaguely relaxed and reassuring.

  ‘Why were you downstairs?’

  I don’t need Sophie’s usual barrage of questions right now. Only a plausible explanation will prevent several more following.

  ‘Riley was scared by the storm, so I went to fetch him. He nearly tripped me up on the stairs and I dropped the torch. I had to go back and get it, okay?’

  I’m tucking cold limbs into bed, shooing Riley to the floor. Tom’s nodding, desperate for good news. Sophie watches and waits for more. I hurry on.

  ‘I must’ve damaged the torch when I dropped it. I’ll have to buy a new one tomorrow. Come on, snuggle down, you’ve school in the morning.’

  I make much of straightening the duvet and am grateful for the warmth in the bed as I slip in next to Sophie. I can see the door from here. Nothing moves. In the safety of the bedroom, my fright already begins to seem ridiculous.

  ‘Can we keep the light on?’

  Tom’s voice is already heavy with sleep.

  ‘Just for tonight, Tom.’

  I’ve no intention of switching off the lamp.

  ‘Sing our song to us, Mummy?’

  Normally I’d laugh, say they’re too big now for nursery rhymes and baby things.

  ‘ “Sing-a-song of Sixpence”?’

  Sophie nods, burrows deeper into the bed. I mumble the song into my daughter’s warm hair. Riley sneaks back onto the bed and settles himself at the bottom near our feet. I can’t help but strain my ears for every sound the house makes as I sing.

  3:29am.

  Less than an hour since I went looking for the knocking sounds. I try and think rationally. No one’s in the house. Just shado
ws, wind and my overactive imagination. That’s all. It’ll seem absurd in the morning, in the daylight.

  I’m exhausted. Warmth seeps into my cold limbs as I cuddle up to Sophie’s back. Tom’s steady breathing suggests he’s sound asleep already. Riley makes small whistling sounds from the end of the bed. The pressure of him on my feet is surprisingly reassuring. I’m doubtful though, that he’ll be much of a guard dog, judging by his behaviour so far. I let the song fade to nothing and hope sleep will come quickly. Sophie mumbles, her words blurring into sleep.

  ‘Who are the people in the empty bedroom, Mummy?’

  Chapter 10

  Wednesday, 13th October

  Mrs Cooper and I stand on Haverscroft’s top front step.

  ‘Always sticks in bad weather,’ she says, shouldering the door.

  ‘I never imagined trying to break in here,’ I reply, pulling a face.

  She hefts the door again.

  ‘What made you buy the place, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  ‘Mark and the twins fell in love with it. The kids might have changed their minds after last night though. We can always sell up and move on if it doesn’t work out.’

  The door gives way, Mrs Cooper staggers into the hall as Riley shoots between our feet.

  ‘Lift the handle as you open it, love. Bit of a knack when it’s wet. It would’ve been the rain driving against it last night, I shouldn’t wonder, that made it swell. Mrs Havers lit the hall fire to keep the damp out. Let’s get this baking unloaded before it rains again.’

  Both panniers on Mrs Cooper’s bike bulge, the front basket, stuffed. We unload tins and Tupperware, take it all through to the kitchen.

  ‘It’s a shame last night’s AGM got cancelled, it was such filthy weather. WI baking isn’t to be missed! Here you are – keep some for yourself and the twins and take the rest with you when you go to Fairfields. We can’t have it go to waste. Mrs Havers is partial to a cheese scone; it might improve her mood.’

  ‘I used to cook for Mum, but she wasn’t interested in eating much really.’

  Why I tell Mrs Cooper this I don’t know. Mum was bone thin, always cold so she didn’t want to leave the flat. I thought if I could cook something she really fancied things might change. Mrs Cooper gives me one of her long stares and smiles. ‘Not a problem with the children though, is it? Good eaters, both of them.’

  ‘Can I make you some tea, Mrs Cooper?’ She looks so surprised. Have I been that unfriendly? Probably. Her company in this big old house is so warm and companionable I don’t want her to leave right now. I might volunteer to have my leaves read if she needs persuading to stay. She starts taking off her coat, stupidly I feel relieved.

  ‘Call me Shirley, love, everyone does.’

  We settle on Mum’s sofa, Riley curled between us as the kettle boils.

  ‘Not got that old box open yet, then?’ She’s eyeing the metal document box on the kitchen table.

  ‘I’m taking it to show Mrs Havers, to see if she remembers it. If not, I’m off to the ironmongers to ask if they’ll break it open.’

  ‘Probably be full of nothing after all this anticipation.’

  ‘The twins will be disappointed,’ I say.

  ‘So will I!’ she says, smiling.

  The knocking is clear, sharp and unmistakable. Shirley’s expression flashes with concern. The door from the kitchen to the hall is shut, even so, the sound is loud, quite distinct. It comes again, twice, as we dumbly stare at one another. Riley gives a low throaty growl, jumps from the sofa and runs to the door, scratching and scrabbling at its base.

  ‘Good Lord! What in heaven’s name is it?’

  Shirley Cooper’s voice wavers as she clutches the blue and cream scarf at her neck. The sound comes again, three, four times. I stand and head for the door. Riley barks non-stop, leaping at the door handle.

  ‘It was loud last night. What with the storm, I couldn’t locate it. It could have come from Mark’s office or the attic. Maybe in daylight it’ll be easier to find.’

  ‘You’re not going out there, surely?’

  I glance back at Shirley. Her dark brown eyes bulge with horror.

  ‘I can’t just leave it,’ I say. I reach for the handle, but Shirley is swift, grabs my forearm so tightly I gasp.

  ‘Leave it, love, please.’

  The shock of her face thrust into mine stuns me to stillness. A huge sound, a splitting noise as if a massive whip cracked deep within the building seems to shift the house. For a crazy instant it’s as if the entire property has been blasted from its foundations. Splintering, smashing sounds. The thunderous rumble of something heavy falling. The house vibrates as the pounding goes on and on. Shirley grips my arm tighter, her fingers pressing into my flesh through layers of clothing.

  Riley sniffs urgently at the gap beneath the door, his claws scratching against the painted wood and floor tiles. He resumes barking. I’m staring at Shirley, her eyes, ringed in dark clumpy mascara, are huge in her face.

  ‘I have to open the door,’ I say, as much for my benefit as Shirley’s. ‘I can’t hear anything now, can you?’

  She turns to stare at the door, still hanging onto my arm. ‘No, love.’ She looks back at me. ‘We can’t stand here all day, can we?’

  I’m not a tactile person, not someone to walk down the street arm in arm with a girlfriend or tightly hug people I’ve only just met, but I find Shirley’s firm grip reassuring for no logical reason other than she shares my fear. I reach over Riley’s excited pacing body and grab the doorknob. His nose wedges between the door and the frame as I peep into the hall. We stand and listen.

  ‘Only the wind,’ I say. Shirley nods. I pull the door fully open, Riley tears into the hall. He barks at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes fixed on the landing. Dust drifts over the mahogany bannister, heavy and thick it’s moving in gusting waves.

  A further thump, as though something has fallen, but it’s hard to tell through the whistling and howling of the wind. Riley’s not stopped barking. Should I mention last night? The shadow I thought I saw, Sophie’s people in the spare room? It’s not going to help, I keep quiet. Shirley and I exchange a glance.

  ‘I’ll have to go and see what that was. It sounded like the ceiling falling in.’

  I don’t want to go upstairs, it’s the last thing I want to do, but what choice is there? I hope Shirley’s coming, I can hardly blame her if she goes home right now.

  ‘I could go and get George.’ Shirley’s grip on my arm tightens again.

  ‘George?’

  ‘George Cooper, my brother-in-law. He’s working at the far end of the high street on the old post office. Most of its roof got ripped off last night.’ We study one another, my stomach’s jittering, mouth dry. ‘Let’s take a peek and if it looks too bad I’ll run and fetch him. We’ll take the dog with us, you know, in case, there’s something up there.’

  ‘What the hell do you think’s up here, Shirley?’ I ask as we head towards the stairs. A dog of Riley’s size isn’t likely to scare off a burglar, and he was pretty useless last night. Shirley doesn’t reply, maybe it’s better not knowing. Dust coats the bannister, grainy thick stuff that gets into the back of my throat. We climb the stairs, eyes trained on the landing.

  Riley bounds up the flight and barks in the direction of Mark’s office. The spare-room door is closed, thank goodness. To my right the dust is thick, difficult to see the far end of the corridor. The office is open, Riley barks in the doorway but hasn’t ventured in.

  We head towards the office. I close doors to the bedrooms and bathroom in a vain attempt to contain the spread of dust. The attic door is locked. I glance back over my shoulder, Shirley’s still with me, dust fading her brown hair. We reach the threshold of the office. Riley scampers inside, barking, scrabbling paws, I can’t see him.

  The door’s caught on something.
I push, lean on it, widen it enough for us to see past it. Wind gusts at my face. I glimpse the top third of the fireplace rising above a pile of rubble stretching across most of the floor. A hole gapes in the ceiling exposing the attic space, fractured roof-rafters and beyond it, a dark and stormy sky.

  ‘Good Lord!’ whispers Shirley. She stands close enough to brush my back. We try to push the door again, it gives a fraction more. We step into the edge of the room.

  ‘The chimney’s blown down and come right through the roof,’ Shirley says, taking a step further into the chaos and pointing to a smashed section of chimney pot. She stumbles on a bit of brick.

  ‘Careful,’ I say, grabbing her arm. ‘I don’t think we should go any further in case it’s damaged the floor. It’s probably not safe.’

  Black strands of ivy trail from the roof through the attic and into the room. They shake and shiver in the wind, driving Riley to distraction. He’s scaled the pile of broken brick and plaster and is barking himself into a frenzy. My face is wet. Rain’s coming in.

  ‘The wind might blow more down. We should get out of here.’ I back out of the door, hanging on to Shirley’s arm. I pull her behind me as she stares at the gaping hole above us.

  ‘Riley, come on, boy!’

  To my amazement, the dog shoots through the door, I tug it shut. I can’t lock it, no key. I fetch the bathroom chair and ram it under the door handle.

  ‘What the hell am I going to do about that?’ I say.

  Chapter 11

  Loud hammering booms through the hall. Shirley stops beside me at the top of the stairs and grabs my arm.

  ‘Good Lord, Kate! Do you think there’s someone at the front door?’