The Crowlands

by T M Creedy

  ‘The children are free to leave!’ I shout to the air. ‘You have no authority over them anymore!’ I walk through every door. ‘Go! You’re allowed to go. He can’t hurt you now!’ I tell the rooms. ‘Go. Why can’t you just go?’ My temper evaporates and I sink to the floor, leaning back against the wall halfway between the girl’s and boy’s rooms. I sit there for a long, long time, head slumped against my knees.

  I’m startled out of my reverie by the sound of a car horn beeping its way up the driveway. Tripping down the stairs I look out of the first floor hall window and see the familiar chunky orange VW van skidding to a halt by the gumtree. Geoff has returned and he’s not alone.

  ‘Ah, Sara! Glad to have caught you at home!’ Geoff has regained his former composure and is busy sliding the side door of the camper open for the people in the back. ‘So sorry not to have given you a call first, but we rather thought we’d get set up as soon as possible.’

  ‘What do you mean set up? Set up for what?’

  Two men and a woman climb out from the van, pulling cameras, boxes and lengths of cabling with them. The woman is a dumpy, middle-aged Goth. She wears an elaborate dress of black velvet, cut to drape freely over her prominent stomach and thighs, and a motley collection of pendants and crystals hanging from leather thongs around her neck. She looks ridiculous.

  ‘These are the people I was telling you about.’ Geoff bristles with self-important energy. ‘They’re experts in dealing with supernatural activity. If anyone can get to the bottom of your ghost problem, this lot can!’

  ‘Geoff, I thought you were talking about a priest, someone from the church.’ One of the men looks relatively normal at least, with his black hoody and shaved head. He’s avoiding my eye and unpacking the boxes of electrical equipment. The other one is freakishly tall and skinny. He unfolds his lanky body and walks towards me with his palm outstretched.

  ‘Hi. My name is LaCroix. I’m very pleased to be able to help you today.’

  I shake his hand limply, taking in his black leather trousers and frilled shirt. He looks more like a refugee from an Adam and the Ants video than someone who can chase away ghosts.

  ‘We ARE from a church.’ Goth woman says pointedly. ‘The Church of the Mystic Circle.’

  I can’t help it. I roll my eyes.

  ‘Um, Geoff? A word please, if I may?’ I lead him over to a spot out of earshot of the others. ‘Who the hell are these people? I did not want this house to become some sort of freak show!’

  He pats my hand irritatingly.

  ‘These people, my dear, are the best in the business! They’ve been all over Australia cleansing houses and moving on the spirits of the dead. We were lucky they had an opening and could fit us in right away.’

  LaCroix walks over to us.

  ‘Hey, babes. I know this might seem kinda out there to you, but I can assure you – we really are the best.’

  I hate being called babes. LaCroix takes podgy Goth by the hand and introduces her like she’s on stage at the fricken’ Albert Hall.

  ‘May I present to you – Gilean! World renowned psychic and spirit communicator.’

  Gilean simpers up at him, chins wobbling with delight. The four of them start carrying the equipment into the house, chattering away to each other and leaving me trailing behind. They gather in the lounge discussing camera angles, spirit boxes and EVP recordings and ignoring me completely as I fill the kettle and set it to boil. Hoody man hasn’t said a word so far but now he comes over to me and helps with making tea.

  ‘Fucking idiots!’ He says under his breath to me. ‘Sorry about them. They’ve got an over-inflated sense of their own abilities.’

  ‘You not a believer then?’ I ask quietly.

  ‘It’s not that I’m not a believer – more that I’m a not a believer in all the theatrics that go with it. Don’t see why we can’t do the same thing wearing normal clothes.’ He grumbles.

  ‘How did you get involved with these two?’

  ‘He’s my brother-in-law. Married to my sister. She’s just a hanger-on. If she’s got any psychic ability at all it’s knowing where the biscuits are hidden.’ I stifle a laugh of surprise, glad to have someone else who thinks this is all a little bit daft.

  ‘Sean? We’ll start here in the kitchen. Geoff’s just been telling us about the unhappy spirit who haunts the laundry room.’ LaCroix issues orders to start setting up the cameras while Gilean floats about looking suitably dazed and mystical. Sean the hoody guy turns and mutters out of the corner of his mouth to me.

  ‘And he’s not called LaCroix for fuck’s sake! His name’s Martin.’ We exchange a conspiratorial glance – the sane versus the bonkers. Geoff stands by looking like a proud parent watching his baby takes its first steps. I pass him his mug of tea.

  ‘Geoff. I’m not sure this is such a good idea.’

  ‘Nonsense! I promised I would find you some help and here we are.’

  ‘Yes, well, what exactly is it they’re going to do?’

  LaCroix has the hearing of a bat. He flounces over to us all self-important and puffed up.

  ‘We will set up cameras in the areas of the house most affected. That is, the laundry room and in the rooms on the third floor. Sean will monitor the screens from a central point down here in the lounge. Gilean and I will move through the house where Gilean will use her gift to pick up on the spirits who remain in this house. We will attempt to make contact before asking them to move into the light. Once they have gone through they will not return to trouble you anymore.’ He waves at us dismissively. ‘I will ask you not to interfere while we work. Gilean is very sensitive to negativity.’

  Sean gives me a ‘told you so’ look before disappearing with several cables and cameras up the stairs. I perch on the arm of one of the overstuffed couches and watch silently while LaCroix tests various other pieces of his kit. Gilean, who has been drifting about uselessly, suddenly clutches her head and gasps dramatically.

  ‘Oh! The pain! The pain, I can’t bear it’

  She droops her head and moans quietly. I turn to Geoff with a cynical look.

  ‘You told her about how the nurse died, didn’t you?’

  He blusters and coughs.

  ‘No, no. Well. Maybe. I might have mentioned it. Yes’

  I sigh in exasperation, wondering what else he’s shared with these charlatans, while LaCroix helps Gilean to a chair.

  ‘Gilean! Tell me what you see.’

  ‘I see……I see…. flashing lights. There’s a……. loud noise. She cannot rest until we tell her she is forgiven for taking her own life.’

  ‘Can you tell us her name, Gilean?’ LaCroix says urgently.

  ‘I’m getting the initial……. B.’ Gilean half-opens one eye and glances at Geoff, looking for any sign of recognition. ‘Or maybe…. it’s an E. I can’t be sure.’

  Behind us the laundry room door, which I have deliberately left shut since it slammed in a fury a few days ago, clicks open quietly. I think I’m the only one who hears it but I don’t turn to look, I will not feed these fakes any more information. LaCroix closes his eyes and holds his hands out, palms facing upwards.

  ‘If there is a spirit here who would like to make contact with us, please come forward.’

  We wait in silence.

  ‘If there is the spirit of a nurse here, please, come forward and talk to us.’

  The laundry door creaks on its hinges, swinging open a few more inches. I can hear the soft tread of light footsteps behind me and I watch the others closely for any reaction. They don’t seem to notice the woman in white who has joined our little group. LaCroix and Gilean still have their eyes closed, swaying slightly, and Geoff stares at them fascinated. There is a slight chill as the ghost of Nurse McKay glides past me and stands in the centre of the small circle of people. She looks at me, giving a slight nod of recognition and from the front she looks almost intact. It’s only when she turns her head slightly that I can see the great, gaping empty hole.


  ‘My name is Faith. Faith McKay.’ She tells us in a soft but steady voice.

  Gilean opens her eyes.

  ‘I’m not picking up on her anymore. She’s gone’

  ‘No she hasn’t.’ I say. ‘She’s standing right beside you’

  Gilean screams and jumps backwards. LaCroix, quick to recover from his shock, jabs a temperature gauge into the empty air. The lights flicker green to red, then settle on blue.

  ‘It has gone down a few degrees.’ He tells us, eyeing me suspiciously. The nurse moves serenely towards the hallway.

  ‘Come. I will take you to the children.’

  I’m the only one who’s heard her and the only one to follow when she starts up the stairs. The others watch me in a stupor before LaCroix grabs Gilean by the elbow and bustles her after me, Geoff bringing up the rear. We climb steadily. I’m trying not to look at the back of her head where the edges of sharp bone gleam against the blackened remnants of flesh. She walks straight through the heap of plastic sheeting at the top of the staircase where I left it after ripping it down earlier. By the time I have kicked it aside and made room for us all to pass the outline of the nurse is only just visible in the gloom where she is standing at the far end of the corridor. Sean pokes his head out of the bathroom doorway questioningly.

  ‘What’s up? Thought you weren’t coming up here until later. I’ve not finished wiring things up yet.’

  ‘Sara led us here. The spirit of the nurse has shown herself to her.’ LaCroix looks at me with new respect, causing Gilean to pout with pique.

  ‘She’s right there.’ I point to where the nurse stands, hands clasped demurely in front of her, waiting for us to follow. The others stare dumbly in the direction where I’m pointing but not one of them shows any sign of having seen her. Sean hurriedly hoists a video camera on his shoulder and aims it at the end of the corridor, hoping to record any flash of movement, no matter how small.

  ‘We’ll link hands and call out.’ LaCroix decides, herding us down the hall into the boy’s room on the right. It’s filled with sunlight, despite the light-sucking wanes of the paint on the walls. I can see them all taking in the toys on the floor where I’ve scattered them.

  ‘I thought the children might play with them, move them about a bit.’ It sounds pathetic now I mention it but the rest of the group all nod sagely. At LaCroix’s instruction we form a circle and join hands, awkwardly stretching over the broken bedframes.

  ‘Is there someone here who would like to make contact? Come forward now.’ He intones gravely. We wait, as the dust stirred up by our feet settles in the shafts of the sunlight. ‘Are the children who resided in this house here now? Step forward and talk to us.’

  Nothing. I turn to look at the Nurse but she has vanished from sight.

  ‘Come forward. Spirits of the house, I beseech you to come forward.’ LaCroix is getting louder, his voice thunders around the room. For a moment there is only the sound of our hesitant breathing, then, from outside the window comes a low moan. I snatch my hand away from Geoff’s clammy one, ignoring LaCroix’s cries of ‘Don’t break the circle!’ The room has darkened perceptibly, the beams of sunlight banished by the sudden passing of a cloud. I take the two steps towards the window and look out to see a whirlwind of dust and dead leaves, spinning and wheeling over the rosebushes in the garden.

  ‘Something’s happening!’ I cry, running from the room and down the hallway. Sean is the first to follow and he’s on my heels as we clatter down the stairs. From outside there is nothing but the howl of the wind and the screams of the crows in the gumtree, and one by the one, the doors which lead onto the wraparound verandah from the living area slide shut with a whoosh and a bang. The sky darkens even more as bits of debris and waves of sandy dust threaten to burst in through the closed windows. By the time the rest of the group have gathered with us downstairs the whole house is shaking with the strength of the storm outside and we hunker down behind the couches in the lounge, waiting for the barrage to stop.

  ‘What is it?’ I yell over the scream of the wind. ‘Is it a twister?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Roars Geoff. ‘I’ve never experienced anything like this before.’

  We hear a loud crack as one of the lower branches of the gumtree is torn off and hurled at the concrete steps before splitting into kindling pieces at the foot of the front door. The tree itself is creaking and swaying like it’s about to topple over, wrenched from its roots. The whirlwind seems to centre itself just under the remaining branches, concentrating all of its energy on that one place and spinning into a wild mass of sticks and stones and leaves.

  Then, as quickly as it started the noise ends, leaving us to peek cautiously over the tops of the chairs and couches where we have taken shelter. The sunlight returns to shine through the glass doors and the guttural groaning of the gumtree returns to its normal gentle rustle. We creep out of our hiding places, shaken and shocked.

  ‘Is everyone OK?..........’ LaCroix stops in the middle of his sentence as we all hear the front door opening on its own. The heavy door swings freely to gently hit the wall of the inner hallway. From our positions in the lounge we can all see the empty space at the bottom of the stairs. Empty now, but not for long.

  We wait, holding our breath as there is a swift movement in the shadows beyond the hall. A tall man, dressed in a black frock coat, pauses at the foot of the stairs before calmly removing his gloves and top hat, placing them neatly on top of the newel post. Not one of us moves. Not one of these so-called ghost detectives dare to call out, to approach this apparition and demand its immediate expulsion from the house. They are frozen with fear, Gilean whimpering so softly I don’t even think she’s aware of making the noise. Taking a deep breath, I try to speak, unable to stop my voice from quivering.

  ‘Who are you? What are you doing in my house?’

  The figure pauses and turns his head slightly, as if my question is no more than an annoying buzzing in his ears. Ignoring me, he begins to climb the stairs, dragging his legs slowly as if each step is gargantuan effort.

  ‘Stop! I command you to leave this place!’ LaCroix has found his voice. The spectral wraith takes no notice as he continues his slow ascent.

  ‘Stop! In the name of Jesus Chris our Lord I command you to leave!’ LaCroix shouts wildly, pulling out an ornate silver cross from underneath his frilly shirt and brandishing it at the figure.

  Doctor Silas Baldwin laughs. A dry, crackling sort of giggle. He stops for a moment, clinging to the bannister for balance with a bony had.

  ‘Leave?’ It croaks. ‘Why ever would I leave? You’re the one who invited me in.’ And with that he laughs again, dragging his wasted form further up the stairs towards the second floor. Towards the children.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The so-called ghost detectives run around collecting their equipment and packing it back into the plastic tubs. Sean unplugs all the cables hastily and winds them round his hands, which won’t stop shaking. Gilean sobs messily into LaCroix chest while he looks helplessly at me.

  ‘Look, babes. We can’t help you, yeah? Whatever it is you’ve got going on here, it’s beyond a haunting.’ He runs a hand through his tangled curls. ‘What you’ve got is a possession. A demonic possession. That’s way beyond our remit.’

  ‘You fucking COWARD!’ I spit at him. ‘You’re nothing but a bunch of fakes and frauds. I doubt you’ve ever really experienced a true haunting in your miserable lives. And YOU!’ I whirl around to where the fat Goth is cowering into his shoulder. ‘You’ve got no psychic ability whatsoever, have you? You’re just a load of ghost hunting wannabes – yet when you do encounter the real thing you run away screaming!’ They avoid looking at me as they stumble over each other in their haste to be gone from this house. Geoff stares despondently at the floor, failure written all over his face.

  ‘What the hell am I supposed to do now?’ I scream. ‘All you’ve done is make things a hundred times worse. Your amateurish attempts at contacti
ng the dead have allowed the doctor back into the house.’

  Only Sean mutters a sorry as they pile back into the campervan and speed down the track as fast as the vehicle will take them. I’m left on my own again. And I have no idea how I’m supposed to fix this.

  The second floor is silent. I venture as far as the bottom step of the second staircase, listening for any signs or sounds from the floor above. Wherever the doctor has gone, he’s not up here. That means he must be on this floor somewhere, where he had his surgery and private rooms. I scan the length of the hallway up to where my bedroom door lies vulnerable and open. Nothing seems to be out of place. It’s all how I left it this morning. In fact, each room seems to be perfectly normal. Mac’s office. The other guestrooms. The house bathroom. They’re all calm, benign and empty.

  There’s a soft click behind me and the creaking squeal of a reluctant hinge. The only room on this floor which has been locked since I arrived is Margie and Mac’s bedroom. Margie apologetically explained that they had squirrelled away their private possessions and papers in their room, and would not be leaving a key, preferring the room to remain locked throughout the duration of their absence. Except now it’s not – locked, that is. The door is open a couple of inches but instead of the tasteful muted greens and creams of the master bedroom, all I can see is a dark wooden desk, covered with papers and notes, an old-fashioned ink stand to one side. Along the back wall is a metal examination table, its white sheets pulled taut across the thin mattress, and hanging up neatly next to it is a white doctors coat. Even as I look, a white skeletal hand takes hold of the coat and pulls it down, the shadow of the doctor moving as he threads his arms through the sleeves and pulls the material into place.