by Will Maclean
‘Piss off, Comprehensive,’ said Seb. He sounded wounded and tired.
I opened the door. He was alone.
‘Are you OK?’
Only one candle burned on a bedside table, but I could see that his eyes were bloodshot.
‘No, I am not OK.’
‘I’m sure that whatever it is, it’s not as bad as all that.’
‘Ha!’ He took a long, thoughtful drag on his cigarette. ‘It’s not fine, Tim. And it’s never going to be fine. Still, it’s my own bloody fault.’
‘What is?’
‘Do you know what a mortal sin is, Tim?’
‘I’m not sure I do.’
‘Well, God knows I do.’
His eyes sparkled wetly, and his face contorted. He looked away from me.
‘Seb—’
‘That weekend she spent away with Neil. He was right. It wasn’t – what I thought it was.’
He bit a knuckle, hard.
‘I mean, I didn’t really think it was, not really. But what else could it have been? I couldn’t think. Well, now I know.’
And then he sobbed again, his head in his hands.
‘Seb,’ I said. ‘Seb—’
He looked up, wiped his eyes roughly and breathed in. ‘I’m leaving.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ I said. ‘Have you seen the weather outside?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he sniffed. ‘I can’t stay here.’
‘What about Juliet?’
‘What about her?’
‘What’s she going to do?’
‘Not my problem.’ He got to his feet. ‘Not now.’ The deep inhalation again. He was transforming before my eyes. Something was closing down inside him, here and now, for the rest of his life. He was choking down his vulnerabilities, consciously changing into a different, perhaps reduced, person.
He wiped a tear away slowly, as if the action were already entirely alien to him, looking in puzzlement at the wetness on his fingertips. He was already forgetting what it was like to feel like this, to let things get the better of him. I knew in that moment that he would never speak about this again, and part of him would now for ever be unknown, to himself and the rest of the world.
The Great Hall was briefly illuminated by a thin sliver of moon, cutting through the rainclouds. Several black shapes moved against the dresser, and I saw that they were Sally and Juliet, hunting for candles and matches. Neil sat nearby, in an armchair. Both he and Juliet froze when they saw Seb. Sally, oblivious, continued searching, until, triumphantly, she held some candles and a box of matches aloft.
‘I told you there were—’ She stopped abruptly as she saw Seb. ‘Oh.’
‘Seb,’ said Juliet.
‘Don’t talk to me. I just want to get my keys and leave.’
‘At least let me explain.’
‘Let her explain,’ said Neil.
‘You,’ said Seb icily, ‘can shut up.’
‘Neil, please,’ said Juliet. ‘Seb, listen—’
‘No.’ Seb cut her off. ‘I’m leaving. Just give me my keys.’
‘At least stay until we get the power back on!’ Juliet pleaded.
‘I told you earlier,’ said Graham, appearing out of nowhere, as usual. ‘The fuse box is all smashed up. Like my study. It’s nothing I can fix. The power’s not coming back until we get an electrician up here.’
‘But who would smash it up like that?’ said Sally.
‘You,’ said Polly. She marched into the Great Hall, a candle held aloft. Her voice was cold with fury. ‘You!’
She rounded on Graham.
‘Polly, what’s happening? What are you doing?’
‘You! You … shit!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Graham’s voice was a strangled croak.
Polly held up something so that Graham could see it, so that all of us could see it. It was the folder from Graham’s study, the one marked P. Even in the dim light, I saw Graham’s alarm and shock.
‘I told you explicitly not to—’
‘This thing,’ said Polly. ‘All the details of your little experiment here. I was wondering why you hadn’t wanted to share it with us.’
‘Polly, please. Give that to me.’
‘No, really,’ I said. ‘We’d all like to hear it.’
‘Yes,’ said Seb. ‘I believe we would.’
Polly opened the file and brought her candle close to the pages.
‘Initial proposal, submitted January, 1973. The experiment – to produce PK phenomena and other effects associated with ghosts – has already been successfully attempted by a group in Canada, during the so-called “Philip sessions”, where a discarnate entity appeared to manifest itself to the sitters, despite them knowing that Philip’s back-story was entirely bogus and had, in fact, been made up by the researchers themselves. In essence, the group “made a ghost”.
‘The sitters in that group were all level-headed adult individuals. It is my contention, therefore, that the experiment can be replicated – and to far greater effect – by a specially selected group, all of whom suffer from some form of emotional disturbance, or whose lives are marked by trauma, tragedy, secretive behaviour, or emotional issues relating to control or anger.
‘Furthermore, I propose the participants be adolescents, hand-picked by myself and my co-researcher, as teenagers are frequently the epicentre of poltergeist activity. If one disturbed teenager can produce violent PK effects, then a group of similar individuals should be able to produce much more dramatic instances of observable paranormal phenomena. They should also be kept ignorant of the fabricated history of the entity.
‘The ideal location for this experiment would be a house with no history of paranormal manifestation, but which nonetheless appears objectively foreboding in aspect, and ideally should be of considerable age.
Research proposal signed Graham K. Shaw, 23 January 1973.’
For a few moments, the only sound was the rain, battering the window panes, and the distant growl of thunder.
‘You chose us,’ said Juliet carefully, ‘because we were broken?’
‘That’s – not fair,’ said Graham.
‘It sounds exactly like what happened,’ said Seb, without a hint of friendliness.
‘So, those files on us,’ said Juliet. ‘You chose us because you … knew things about us?’
‘That wasn’t the only criterion!’ said Graham. ‘You’re all also highly intelligent, you have above average exam grades …’ His voice trailed away pathetically in the darkness.
‘Did you know about me?’ said Juliet. ‘About what I … did?’
‘No! I promise. Not at first. I just knew that the three of you were emotionally … linked. In a complex way. And there were anger issues. As has been manifestly proved.’
‘And you knew about Abi,’ I said.
‘Sorry, Abi?’ said Graham.
‘My sister!’ I howled furiously.
‘And … Stephen?’ said Polly. ‘You knew about Stephen? About what he did?’
Graham looked at the floor.
‘So anything paranormal here was just …’ For once, Neil fumbled for the right words. ‘Just … us working ourselves up into a state?’
‘No!’ said Sally. ‘That’s just it. The very first session, with the knocking, and the voice on the tape … those were … real.’
‘Delusions,’ said Neil. ‘We were tricking ourselves.’
‘No.’ Sally shook her head. ‘That’s just it. That’s the whole point.’
‘So you didn’t fake anything that went on here?’
Sally took a deep breath. ‘The crash upstairs. The first session after Tim came back—’.
‘I knew it!’ said Neil triumphantly.
‘It was just to get started!’ said Sally. ‘Once you believed things were possible, they became possible! The chairs tipping over afterward – that wasn’t us!’
‘What about the footsteps?’ said Juliet. ‘When Tim was away?’
‘Ah. That …
that was me,’ Graham said sheepishly.
‘The actual physical manifestations?’ I asked. ‘The writing on the walls? Who did that?’
No one spoke.
‘And my study door?’ said Graham. ‘Who smashed that in?’
No one spoke.
‘What about the fuse box?’
Nobody.
‘Putting those bloody pages under our door?’ said Seb.
Nobody spoke.
Upstairs, a crash, as if a heavy piece of furniture had fallen.
We all looked at each other.
Upstairs, the sound of creaking, as if something heavy were testing the floorboards, one at a time.
‘I can’t stay here,’ said Seb. ‘I have to go.’
‘Seb,’ said Juliet, as he marched across the hallway. ‘Seb, please! We have to talk!’
‘No,’ he said coldly. ‘We don’t.’
‘Please, Seb!’ She sobbed. ‘After everything! You can’t just leave!’
‘You made that decision a long time ago,’ said Seb. ‘When you acted for both of us. I’m going now.’
‘Where?’
‘London. Back to Mum and Dad’s.’
‘Please!’ She grabbed at him. Slowly and carefully, he removed her hands and kept walking. She followed him out into the corridor. I heard the enormous front door open and close, and, presently, the sound of a car engine. White headlights flared across the front windows, and I heard Seb’s Stag circle the gravel approach, and accelerate angrily along the B-road. The sound of the Stag’s engine was swallowed up by the storm.
‘He left,’ Juliet breathed. ‘He’s gone.’ She stared at the front door as if it would re-open at any minute.
‘I know, Juliet,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m leaving too.’
‘What? How?’
‘I can call a cab to the station. There’s still one more train to London. Neil will come with me.’
‘Don’t leave,’ I said. ‘At least wait until tomorrow.’
‘I’m not staying in this house.’
‘Just until morning,’ I said. ‘Things will seem better then, I promise.’
She smiled sadly. ‘Tim, do you remember what Mr Salt said? During the session the other day, the one that upset me so much?’
‘He said some names. Luke and … Lucy?’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Luke. And then, Lucy. That’s what it said. Luke. And then Lucy.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘That’s what I would have called it,’ she said. She suddenly looked much older than she was, like someone with a long lifetime behind her. She choked back a sob.
‘Luke if it was a boy. Lucy if it was a girl. I never told anybody that. Not Seb, not Neil, not anybody. Not a living soul.’
We found our way back to the hall. Polly stood before Graham, her arms folded.
‘I’m leaving too,’ she said, when Juliet informed her of her decision. ‘I’m done with all of this. With being lied to, being used as a guinea pig. It’s gone far enough. You’ve lost control of this whole situation, and you don’t even know how.’
‘I can’t stop you leaving,’ Graham said coldly.
‘No, you can’t. You also can’t stop me from writing to the people who’ve funded this misadventure either, the Psychical Institute or whatever they call themselves. I wonder how much they know about all this.’
Even by candlelight, I could see that Graham’s face had paled. ‘I would advise you not to do that, Polly. They’ll only be interested in facts, not one person’s interpretation of—’
Polly was gone, headed upstairs. I followed her.
‘You’re really going?’
Polly looked up momentarily from throwing her belongings into a suitcase. ‘Of course I am!’ She sighed heavily and gathered her woollen cardigan about her. There were no tears in her eyes when she looked at me, and her expression was calm and rational.
‘Come with us, Tim. Please. Come back with Neil and Juliet and me. We can get the last London train and all go home together.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I can’t leave the others.’
‘Oh Christ, Sally? I wouldn’t worry about her, Tim. I think she’ll be just fine.’
‘Nonetheless.’
‘But it will hurt you, Tim. Don’t you understand? Whatever’s in this house now, that’s attached itself to us. It will take you somewhere you don’t want to be.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeated. ‘I’m staying.’
‘Tim,’ Polly’s eyes were wide and earnest, ‘this thing is real. And it will hurt you. Just like it hurt Juliet, and Seb, and Neil. And me, for that matter. Do you understand? It’s been playing with us for days, sounding us out – getting to know us – and now it’s grown strong. We’ve been strengthening it. Do you understand that?’
I folded my arms defensively.
‘Well then,’ she smiled sadly. ‘Good luck.’ Unconsciously, she pushed the sleeve of her cardigan up her left forearm. I glimpsed – briefly, in the candlelight – a thicket of lines, of scars, deep and red, like stripes of melted wax, before she pulled her sleeve down again.
‘Er—’ I remembered her earlier request to keep in touch after all this was over. ‘Do you still want my address and phone number and stuff?’
She glanced over at me as she buckled her suitcase and smiled mirthlessly. ‘Thanks, Tim, but I’m fine.’
Fifteen minutes later, Neil, Juliet and Polly were packed and ready to leave. They sat in the hallway in their outdoor coats and shoes, their luggage around them, like evacuees. No one was willing to talk. The storm outside had worsened, and the panes reverberated constantly with driving rain, which seemed to come at the windows in spiteful handfuls.
Graham stood in front of Neil and Juliet, wringing his hands. I was reminded of a supply teacher, one who couldn’t control the pupils he had been left with.
‘You’re sure about this?’ Graham said.
Juliet stared up at him.
‘Absolutely,’ she said.
‘And you, Neil?’
Neil nodded immediately, as I knew he would. The panelling of the hallway was briefly franked by the rain-refracted headlights of a cab arriving outside. Juliet stood up. We all trooped out to the hallway, carrying various bags.
‘It’s horrible out there,’ said Sally. ‘Please stay. See how you feel in the morning.’
‘Goodbye, Sally,’ said Juliet. ‘Goodbye, all of you.’
‘Goodbye,’ said Polly, and smiled briefly at me. ‘Be careful.’ I hugged Juliet and endured one of Neil’s reptilian handshakes.
‘You know this breaks the contractual terms of the experiment,’ Graham said pompously.
‘Goodbye, Graham,’ Polly said curtly, then turned on her heel and marched out into the rain.
‘Goodbye, everyone,’ said Neil, before running after Juliet. As he always had. As he always would.
The tail lights of the car, glowing like embers in the filthy night, dropped onto the B-road, and were visible no more. I stared after them for a while, thinking, and then closed the heavy front door with a thud.
46
‘What now?’
Back in his ruined study, Graham was still piecing together torn-up papers by candlelight, as if the whole endeavour might still at this point be put back together. I was beyond furious with him.
He looked up at me briefly, but said nothing.
‘What happens now?’
Graham didn’t look at me as he answered. ‘You need to go to bed, Tim.’
‘What?’
‘We all do. It’s been a long, trying day, and we all need to keep our focus up, if we’re going to recover anything at all from this.’
‘We’re just going to pretend nothing’s happened? The experiment’s over, Graham! Everyone’s gone!’
‘On the contrary, Tim. Admittedly, there have been considerable setbacks—’
‘Oh really? Like the fact that all your hand-picked victims have
staged a mass walk-out?’
‘If you’re going to be childish, Tim, this isn’t a conversation worth having.’
I could feel the rage coursing through me. I wondered how long it would be before I hit him. I took a couple of deep breaths, tried to calm myself.
‘How can you—’ I began.
And then, from somewhere deep inside the house, Sally was screaming.
We found her in Tobias’s room. She was curled up, sobbing, her hands covering her face.
‘Sally!’
‘I saw it,’ she said hoarsely, her eyes staring through us. ‘I saw it!’
‘Where?’
She pointed upwards.
‘It was walking,’ she gasped, her voice hoarse. ‘Along the wall.’
‘Which wall?’
‘Walking and laughing. Singing. Humming. Like a lunatic. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. For as long as I watched it.’
She looked as if she might be sick. I put an awkward arm around her.
‘Saying my name,’ she whispered.
‘We have to leave,’ I said. ‘Whatever point you were trying to prove about group delusion or gestalt therapy or whatever else, you can pick out of your surviving notes, Graham. We have to pack up and leave.’
‘Tim’s right,’ Sally whimpered.
‘We can’t leave!’ said Graham. There was something in his voice that was almost panic. ‘Not now! Think of all the work we’ve done here! Work of real value! We can’t stop now, not when we’ve reached the Apparition Phase. We have to go on!’
Sally’s stare burned into him.
‘My career rests on this,’ said Graham, abstractedly. ‘I can’t go back.’
From upstairs, a fresh thud, like a heavy piece of furniture being moved. Sally moaned.