Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story
Page 52
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“No, Mum.”
“We were worried,” Neil said, trying to keep his voice light, but failing. “Ever since Simon’s call—after we found out about everything with Vandin—we couldn’t stay back in San Francisco. So I phoned Simon this morning, and when he told us about that séance, well, here we are.”
Andrew could not help but notice the way Neil said we, an edge of possessiveness to his voice. He readied himself for the reaction he knew would come but felt only relief. With one hand he shook Neil’s and clapped his other one on his shoulder.
“Thank you. I’m glad you’re here. It’s been a horrendous few days, believe me. Come, come join us.” He motioned to their picnic.
Emily and he spent the rest of breakfast filling everyone in on the details. Claudia and Neil seemed the most shocked, but Andrew realized how far they had come when Emily could discuss The Lady in White like she was an eccentric relative and no one seemed the least bit bothered.
“But I don’t understand,” said Zoey. “Why do you think the curse is broken?”
Emily looked down at her empty cup, her face blushing fiercely. Andrew stared out over at the farmhouse and sipped his tea. “It’s broken. Trust me.”
Margot sniggered knowingly as she eyed the rings on each of their hands and the hay all over their clothes. She leaned over to Zoey and murmured a few words, then turned to Andrew and spoke so quietly that only he could hear. “My, my, my, so you improvised. Nicely done.”
“Pleasure was all mine,” he murmured back, his cup inches from his lips when he noticed Simon had lit another cigarette and was beginning to tread toward the house.
“So, what about finding us a dead body?” announced Christian.
Andrew’s pulled his fixed gaze from Simon’s retreating form and back to the crowd. “We think Nick’s remains might be located in the house somewhere. Emily’s been throughout the graveyard and hasn’t discovered anything that contains a lock for this type of key.” He held it up and passed it around so everyone would know what to look for. “I think we should make one more pass about just to be sure, and then we should all split up. Zoey and Christian, would you take the hill behind the barn? Margot, could you go after Simon and see if he’ll join you Emily and me in the house? If he’s willing. And Mum and Dad, would you—”
His mouth froze. What had he just said? His eyes flashed to Claudia and Neil, who had the good grace not to show the shock he was feeling, although a tremor of a smile hung at the edge of his mother’s lips. But this was asinine. He’d had a father his whole life, and for the majority of those years, they loved each other. But now…? Was it wrong to bestow a similar title on another man, a man he barely knew? But no matter how he tried to reconcile the conflicting emotions, the word felt right somehow. Dad…not father. Dad.
The silence was getting uncomfortable when Emily finally spoke. “Yes, would you both mind—I didn’t get a chance to search that field behind the house. I’m not sure if there are any graves there, but the farm is so old it’s definitely worth a shot.”
With no more discussion on the subject, everyone fell in and began their search. Andrew and Emily reached the graveyard. Plots from as far back as the early nineteen hundreds jutted from the ground. Names like Garrett and Mercy, Zachariah and Savannah, all Beldens, were chiseled into the headstones. One stood aside, guarded over by a weathered angel.
Virginia, beloved Wife and Mother
July 23, 1860 - May 18, 1883
She was twenty-three when she died. Only two years older than Emily. Andrew felt a warm hand take his as he gazed down at the marker.
“The sky is blue and the day is stellar and I love you,” she whispered and squeezed his hand, leading him away from the plot. “And you know I’d haunt you if anything ever happened to me. You really don’t want that, do you?” She patted the satchel draped across her chest in which Nora’s ashes lay. She kissed the inside of his wrist tenderly. “Come on.”
They met up with Margot and a clearly unenthusiastic Simon, who were waiting for them in front of the old farmhouse. Unfortunately, it didn’t look any less menacing in the daylight, shrouded in three stories of decay and neglect.
“You think it’s safe to go inside? It’s barely standing,” Margot asked as they approached.
“Stay together. If anything gives way, someone will be able to help you.”
“So do you suppose this was Nick’s mother’s home?” Emily asked, her coat catching on a patch of blackberry bramble that had grown up near the front porch.
“Probably. I reckon her maiden name was Belden—it could be a family home. Perhaps he didn’t want it. Chances are he didn’t pass the most ideal childhood here,” Andrew replied.
None of them had appreciated the desolation of the house until they began to navigate the remains of the front porch, which was pockmarked with rot. The structure seemed to suck the clean air from the surrounding trees into its belly to feed the spirits that moved within it. And as the wind blew again, it felt fetid and cold and unshakably dreary, and bore a sound like hissed whispers. The windows glowered at them as they stepped over the threshold.
The inside of the house was devoid of any sign of charm; no whitewashed wall or surviving hearth greeted them. The interior had fallen victim to the wind and rain as nature had begun its inexorable reclaiming of the land on which it stood. Vines and bramble smothered every surface. The few rooms still standing were a cacophony of peeling paint, cracked plaster, and water stained floors. They searched each one, every cabinet and shelf, but vandals must have stolen anything that couldn’t be nailed down.
Andrew said nothing, prey to what he knew he would feel. He could sense the next turn, the odd step. As though grappling his way through a memory, he found a room that at one time must have served as a kitchen. From there he could hear Margot and Simon on the top floor, their careful footsteps squeaking on the boards above his head.
“You know, I’m not sure, but I think I may have heard her last night,” Emily said while opening up what remained of a cupboard.
“Who?”
“You know who. I couldn’t tell. It was dark and I was, well, I wasn’t thinking straight. But I heard something dragging across the floor when I was in the ground, but I couldn’t see anything, I could barely breathe, and when I tried to get out, I couldn’t budge the door sealing me in. I thought I was going to be buried alive.”
His hand clenched the rotting doorframe. The image of her trapped in that grave while the ghoul stalked the ground above made him punch the wall in frustration. Without warning it crumbled to the ground, and a stream of light poured through the slats between the remaining studs. “Wait, there’s something behind here.”
He wrenched the rotting wood back, and it fell to pieces in his hands. Emily was at his side in an instant and went at another, but cringed as wet wood slid under her nails, beetles swarming free from inside. He quickly took the scraps out of her hands and cast them aside, then ripped off the rest.
Below them lay the top of a dark flight of stairs. The steps and risers were busted and warped, all of them highly unstable. The sunshine filtering through the gaps in the kitchen floor barely illuminated the space below. But there was a cellar down there. How far it spread, he had no idea; it was too dark to tell.
“Excellent. We’ll need rope to get down there,” he told her.
“There’s some back at the barn. I’ll get it.”
Margot and Simon had rejoined them as Emily returned with a length of hard coiled rope. Simon appeared dubious about the opportunity of rappelling down into the black hole, Margot even more so. Andrew tied the rope off at the top of the steps and they gingerly lowered themselves one after the other down into the cellar. Andrew was the first to go.
“Floor’s dry at least,” he shouted back up to them once he had reached the bottom. “Hell, it’s pitch black down here.”
Simon and Margot were next, followed by Emily.
“They sleep in the daytime. If there were any around they would have been in the barn last night.”
She stared up at him, her eyes huge.
“They’re more scared of you than you are of them, sweet girl.”
“Wanna bet?”
The air hung musty and cold around them. A faint scratching sound filled the murky darkness like hundreds of tiny claws skittering along the foundation. Then it silenced.
“I wish I had a torch,” Andrew said, squinting into the gloom.
Hand in hand, Andrew and Emily walked deeper into the cellar with Margot and Simon behind them. The odor of rot permeated the space, and cobwebs hung everywhere like a winter frost. Old wiring above their heads hung low, causing them to stoop and duck as they made their way through the cellar.
The dankness thickened as they crept on. Please let us not trip over some decomposing corpse, Andrew thought. He’d welcome the rats if this kept up. A few veins of light bled through the cracks in the foundation, allowing them to walk without tripping over one another. He soon had to breathe through his mouth though, as the rank odor intensified with every step they took.
“Look,” said Simon, his voice almost thundering in the claustrophobic space. Up ahead, shelf after shelf lined the walls and were filled with dusty boxes and old rusted tins. “You think Mother Chamberlain dumped her son in a sardine can?” he conjectured, peering at the decomposing larder.
“Hardly. Watch out, there’s a nail there.” Andrew moved Emily around a loose beam and motioned to Margot and Simon to follow as they went further into the manky depths. He began to worry how structurally sound this cellar was. At any moment, would the ceiling above give way and bury them all alive?
“What else did that poem say?” Andrew asked, hoping to divert Emily’s attention from the disturbing surroundings. He pushed aside a particular nasty swatch of cobwebs under which she ducked, a few still clinging to her hair. Behind them, he could hear Margot spit out stray strands in disgust.
Emily recited it again. “‘I dwell with a strangely aching heart.’ Do you think that’s part of the clues?”
“Ugh, by the stench, it wouldn’t shock me,” muttered Simon. “One ripe ol’ juicy rottin’ heart, ripped open and oozin’—”
“You’re not helping, Simon,” Andrew chastised him. “The fact that we’re using a twentieth century poet to find the ashes of a dead body is a bit of a leap already, don’t you think?” he added dryly.
Margot snorted behind him with another ptui at the cobwebs.
“Maybe she knew Robert Frost?” Emily asked Andrew.
“Don’t destroy the image of my favorite poet, or I may leave you down here with the rats.”
“Rats? You said there weren’t any rats.”
“I said bats. And I’d suggest you keep walking.”
“Guys, over here.” Margot stopped in her tracks and pointed. “Holy God. Look at it.”
Up against a far wall stood a bookcase filled with what looked to be a collection of old religious statues and dusty votive candles. Dim light from the joists in the ceiling reflected in the jet-black eyes of some saint, making the skin pebble on Andrew’s arms.
“It’s like yours,” Simon said.
She glanced at him with a smirk. “This one’s better.” Then she approached the make-shift shrine and made the sign of the cross. She flashed him a look before she leaned closer and began to examine the small figurines, her fingers moving them aside like chess pieces. She reached for one and squinted at it in the darkness. “Of course,” she whispered.
“Margot?” Emily asked.
“Nick’s mother was Catholic. She wore a rosary around her neck and kept beating her breast at the séance. The only people I remember doing that other than my mother and grandmother were the nuns back at Our Lady.”
Simon stared at her in disbelief.
“Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception,” Margot clarified.
Before anyone knew what was going on, Margot had begun to shove the large figurines from the top of the bookcase. “Look,” she whispered.
Hidden behind them a painting hung on the wall. It bore the iconic picture of Jesus with his heart exposed and radiant on the outside of his body. Except that the painting had hinges on one side.
“The Sacred Heart,” Margot whispered. “The Sacred Heart of Jesus. The poem. ‘I dwell with a strangely aching heart,’ it’s a clue.” Her fingers curled underneath the painting and pulled; it protested on its decayed hinges and swung open. The sound seemed to rattle the rats that swarmed behind the wall, their nails clicking as they rushed away. Behind the door was another metal panel, and in the panel a keyhole.
“Where’s the key?” Margot asked.
“I found Nora. Nick’s all yours.” Emily turned to Andrew and withdrew the key from the pocket of his coat that she was still wearing. He stepped forward and placed it into the lock; it fit perfectly. Anticipation bubbled up inside him, and he smiled at Emily, his heart racing. He turned it, and with a grating click the panel opened.
The rectangular enclosure was about the size of a medicine cabinet. The bottom of it had crumbled away, opening into the space between the walls. Emily hung behind him, holding onto his shoulders and trying to jump up to get a better look.
“Coward,” he chided her.
“I’m not going to be the one bitten,” said Emily.
“Good point.” With a deep breath, he reached out his hand to sweep inside the cavity. “There’s something in here! It feels like metal…I think it’s a tin. I can just about reach it. Damn it!” he cursed.
“What!”
“There’s a tail in there with it. Quick, I need something to nudge it closer.”
With a wry look of triumph on her face, Margot handed him a crucifix. He poked it down into the hole until he was sure the space was empty save the small metal tin.
In a flash he reached inside and felt the velvety slime of fur against his hand as he snatched the box out. It resembled an old-fashioned gilded candy box; the face of a Gibson Girl covered in cobwebs and grit smiled back at them. It was heavy for its size, and when Emily took it from him she nearly dropped it. She looked up to Andrew and grinned.
Just then they heard it. A slow, deathly dragging. A rattle of a breath. Wheezing.
“Andrew,” Emily whispered, her smile vanishing. “It’s her.”
“Run!” he ordered and grasped her hand. The four of them tore into the blackness, dashing past the decaying walls, the sound of their footsteps echoing inside the empty cellar.
Suddenly Margot cried out in pain. Andrew wheeled around. She had tripped over a stray pile of wood. She tried to get up but faltered on her leg.
The wet seething stalked the darkness. Margot’s eyes froze in terror.
“Give him to me,” a phlegm drenched voice gurgled. “He’s mine!”
Simon scooped Margot up in his arms. “Move it!” he shouted.
Panting, they reached the stairs. Simon and Andrew heaved Margot up; she groaned in pain but somehow managed to make it to the top of the landing, where she immediately began shouting for help. Emily was next. She shoved the tin into her coat pocket and scurried up the rope, nearly crashing into a shattered beam.
“Drop it to me,” Andrew yelled, his heart catching in his throat as she swung near a row of rusty nails.
“No! She wants it!”
“Drop it, Emily,” he growled. She couldn’t hold on, not with the weight of both the coat and her satchel hung around her body.
“But—”
“Now!”
She shimmed off her satchel instead, and he snatched it. With a final shove she hauled herself up through the hole.
The dragging chill was getting closer. Andrew wrestled the satchel over his shoulder and turned around to glare at Simon. “Get the fuck up there, mate, and don’t argue with me.”
>
Simon hoisted himself up and reached the top of the stairs. He whirled around and grabbed hold of the rope.
“Neil! Christian! Quick, we need your help!” he cried, gripping one end of the rope as he latched his hands around the other. “Come here—wait, the stairs aren’t stable. Can you hold this rope and help me with Andrew?”
The rustling of rats grew behind Andrew. They were fleeing from something, hell bent on escaping. He knew they would flood the floor below him in seconds. He hoisted himself up the rope just as a swarm of slick bodies collided against his legs. Hand over hand he climbed, but suddenly lost his grip. The rats were jumping up his shins, biting each other in fright. He thrashed against them, his boot hitting the rotten stairs, and the sound sent the rats into hysteria. With a scream of rage, he hauled himself up the rest of the rope and threw himself into the kitchen.
Neil and Christian grappled him up to his feet.
“Andrew, we have to get out of here!” warned Emily. “Nora told me that ghosts can only manifest themselves in places where they’ve been during their life. We have to get off this farm!”
“The rental car isn’t far,” Christian cried as they all began running. “Neil, you take Emily and Andrew and Claudia in your car—it’s closer—and I’ll get everyone else. We need to keep those ashes away from her.”
Neil and Andrew reached his Range Rover first. Andrew swung open the passenger side door only to realize that Claudia and Emily had fallen a few yards behind, Claudia’s shoe having caught in the mud.
“Get in!” cried Neil. “I’ll turn it around and get them.”
Andrew slammed the door shut as the Range Rover roared to life. He swung around to make sure that they had cleared a patch of trees. Suddenly, the locks smashed shut.
“Neil, where’s the button to unlock the doors?”
He didn’t reply.