The Chapel

by S. T. Boston

  “If you go straight to bed you can sleep on the pull out in my room tonight,” Ellie promised as they reached the heavy oak front doors. Her mother shot her a look that said she disapproved, but Ellie didn’t care, there was no way she wanted another wakeup in the middle of the night. More to the point she didn’t want him alone in that room.

  If ghosts did indeed exist, and the evidence that she’d been unwillingly party to over the last day was pretty damning. One who stalked children in their beds at night was likely not a good and well-meaning spirit, despite the claimed origins of the building it haunted.

  “Will The Man come to your room?” Henry asked his voice unsure. Ellie’s skin goose-fleshed at the mention of it.

  “I won’t let him,” she said firmly, wishing it was that simple. “You’re safe with me.” She’d never admit that she wanted the company as much as her brother did, sure, he was only five, but it made her feel better knowing she wasn’t alone. Henry looked down at her from the elevated height of their father’s shoulders, his sleep and tear-reddened eyes wide.

  “This is where you get off,” her father said, lifting his small body carefully down and onto the stone stoop.

  “Just one night, Hen,” her mother said. “I want you back in your room tomorrow, deal?”

  “Deal,” he replied in a small voice, then yawned.

  "But you stay on the pull-out, okay? I don't want you giving your sister another sleepless night, you're all arms and legs once asleep."

  It was true, he turned into a right wiggly worm once in the land of nod, a worm with bony appendages that were apt to strike you in the ribs, or those soft fleshy places that hurt and never failed to wake you up with a start. He also seemed capable of turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees over the course of a ten-hour sleep if in his own bed and left to roam the plains of sleep alone.

  Ellie followed her father over the threshold and into The Old Chapel. She shivered briefly, the air inside its old stone walls was much cooler than the mugginess of that outside. Nothing supernatural, just a normal cooling caused by the natural fabric of the building.

  The lowering sun, which had seemed impossibly large in the sky, as if some astral force had pulled planet Earth closer to its giver of heat and light, ignited the reproduction stained glass windows. Reds, greens, and oranges shafted light down in beams that seemed almost tangible. They hit the floor and diffused into the corpulent carpet. The evening light was akin to that of the morning, that false serenity portrayed by the coloured glass. Now, however, it was deeper, more intense and almost oppressive, not full of the promise of the new day, but full of promise for the things of the night that were soon to follow.

  “You do realise by letting him stay in your room, Ells, that you’re just going to have him even more scared to go back to his tomorrow. I won’t have him bunking with you all week.”

  Ellie wasn’t sure what her mother’s problem was with her brother room sharing, but she’d already made her mind up that tomorrow night, and for the rest of the week, she’d go and get Henry when she turned in for bed, carry him through to the pull-out and have him in her room. She just hoped he could keep a secret as such a thing would be met with plenty of unreasonable disapproval. Her mother could be funny like that, she had no idea why the idea put such a bug up her arse, it was just one of her ways and it angered Ellie. Feeling instantly pissed off she turned to her mother, and snapped, “He is scared, Mum. You weren’t there last night when he woke up, it wasn’t a bad dream.”

  Her mother’s eyes narrowed, looking almost serpentine for a second, “Keep on like that and you’ll scare him silly, then he won’t sleep for a week.”

  Ellie’s father had pretty much stayed out of conflicts between her and her mother since she was about fifteen, he seemed to believe that as his daughter began knocking on the door of adulthood she was best handled by her mother, who had a fleeting chance of understanding some of the hormonal changes afoot. She was sure he’d step in if things got too heated, but so far he hadn’t because things never did get that heated, ever. His unwillingness to get involved had earned him more than a few comments like You could have backed me up there, Rob. And to be fair, looking back, there were a few times that he probably should have. He obviously sensed the building tension and using Henry as his excuse to get the hell out of dodge he ushered him up the left flanking staircase and to the lounge on the mezzanine level. There he could be out of the way, but still keep an ear on things below thanks to the internal balcony that overlooked the entrance lobby.

  “See?” her mother snapped. “Do you see his face?” she pointed to Hand-Me-Down-Henry as he looked woefully back at them from the third step. “You’ve gone and scared him to death.”

  “No, Ellie protested, her voice firm. “Not me, this place! Can’t you feel it? I can, I felt it as soon as we arrived yesterday, and I feel it now. I tried to talk to you about it this morning, but all you were interested in was what to cook for breakfast, you never listen!”

  “Nonsense.”

  Ellie shook her head, anger brewing in her like fire, one stoked with the help of alcohol, alcohol which also gave her the pinch of courage needed for this confrontation. The fear and emotions of the last day and a half flushed through her like hot lava. Her earlier hope that she’d be able to have a reasonable conversation with her mother about this was now in the wind, but her need to talk about it was strong and if this was how she had to do it then so be it. She clenched her fists and felt her nails bite into the flesh of her palms, the pain was reassuring, and somehow needed. She wasn’t even sure why her mother’s nit-picking at Henry staying in her room had enraged her so much. It’s this place, a small internal voice whispered in the back of her mind. It wants you this way, it likes you this way.

  “It’s not nonsense?” she spat, half questioning what her mother had said and half trying to shut the whisper in her head up. But she did want to give in to the anger, she wanted to let it out, it felt good to let it out. “Last night he,” she jabbed a finger toward the upper level, her nail had left a deep reddening half crescent on her palm, “he saw something! To him it was The Man because you put that ridiculous idea in his head from the moment he was old enough to understand it. Well, guess what? Here The Man is real!” She was about to tell her mother that she’d seen him herself, but she bit it back. That would be one step too far, one step further down the road of what her mother would see as plausible. “If you’d felt the air in his room, it was so cold,” she said instead, and already knowing she’d never win this particular fight.

  “This is an old building,” her mother retaliated, her voice a low growl. It was what Ellie called a shout-whisper, it was how adults argued when they didn’t want little ears to hear, but little ears often did hear because the anger in a voice travelled. "I saw you shiver when you walked in, it's a good five degrees colder in here than outside. Why you have to go filling his head with the idea of ghosts is beyond me."

  “You could see your breath in the air, it’s fucking July, Mum!” The mum was said with a good hint of sarcasm. Her mother gasped at her use of bad language, but Ellie didn't give her the chance to come back at her, she marched across the entrance hall, her feet leaving the tiles by the door and finding the carpet. She reached the large cross, still thankfully propped against the wall where she'd left it. Stooping down she picked it up and carried it back to her mother, who for a moment looked wide-eyed with fright, as if her daughter would lift it high and bring it crashing down onto her skull. "Twice, twice I have hung this on that hook." Ellie took the weight of the cross in one hand and now stabbed her finger at the large hook on the wall, a hook that even from a few feet away you could see was strong enough for the job. “Both times it’s fallen off. Last night after Hen saw,” she was about to say The Man but stopped herself, she seemed to think referring to whatever lurked here as The Man added to her mother’s inability to believe, for The Man had been a purely fictional product of her imagination. Instead she said, �
�whatever it was he saw, I heard it fall. This morning, guess what?” She didn’t give her mother time to answer, “It was on the floor. Now you tell me how this cross,” she brandished it showing the strong metal hoop on the back that married with the hook when hung, “falls off that hook without a little help?” Her mother’s hardened face softened a little and she caught the look of something in her eyes that told Ellie that maybe, just maybe, she’d seen something that her rational mind couldn’t explain, yet stubbornly she still discounted.

  “I, I,” her mother stammered, looking toward the mezzanine elevated lounge as if hoping Ellie’s father would come to her aid. "I don't know what's happened to you," her mother finally said in a hurt voice, tears welling in her eyes. "Why can't you just enjoy us all being away as a family? Why do you have to fight me on it? You've fought me over coming here since we booked! And now you're here you are determined to ruin it for everyone." Tears were now running slowly down each cheek and despite the anger, it made Ellie feel shitty. "If you are really that unhappy, tomorrow I will get your father to drop you at the station and you can go home. I’d rather you not be here than you be here and be like this!”

  “You’ve not listened to a word I’ve said,” Ellie retaliated, calmer now and sounding more beaten than anything. “Sure, I didn’t want to come, but on the way here, when we were stuck in that jam I decided that fighting it would be pointless, that this was probably the last time we’d all be away like this together and that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s this place, you can’t feel it – fine, but I can. I can’t explain how or why but I can.” Her head swam, and now the room did move, bringing with it a creeping nausea. She hated to go to bed on an argument, one that would no doubt leave her mother in a brooding and foul mood for the trip to Charlestown in the morning, but she needed to lay down. “I can’t do this anymore,” she said unsteadily. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She placed the crucifix back on the floor, there was no desire in her at all to hang it.

  “Ellie,” her mother said, but she’d already turned and reached the foot of the left-hand staircase. Using the bannister for support she made her way to the top. Henry was sat with her father on one of the large, grey sofas. They were turning the pages of a picture book about pirates, but she could tell neither were really paying any attention to the contents. Henry looked sleepy, but his bright blue eyes were reddened at the edges and tears cut clean lines down his slightly grubby face.

  “I’m sorry,” Ellie said to them both.

  “I don’t think it’s me you need to say sorry to,” her father said, his voice disapproving. That was about as involved as he’d get, his pearl of wisdom.

  She crouched down and took Henry’s hand in hers, he didn’t draw away. “Still wanna bunk with me kiddo?”

  He nodded sullenly, “Have you and mummy fallen out?” he asked.

  “No,” she lied. It was another one of those required lies that she knew had to be used in the not so straightforward world of adulthood that she was now a part of. “It’s all fine. I think we just need to get some sleep, that’s all.” She looked at her father who nodded in agreement, he knew the ruse and played along.

  Ellie half expected her mother to follow her up the stairs, but she didn’t. She could now hear the kettle boiling away in the kitchen below, a sign that this would definitely, and thankfully now be left until the morning and that her mother was doing the very quintessentially British thing of making a nice cup of tea. A ritual often carried out when someone was upset or had suffered a shock.

  Henry kissed his father goodnight, “I’ll pass one on to mummy for you,” he said. “And I’ll get her to look in on you before she goes to bed. Don’t forget to brush those teeth!”

  “I won’t.”

  “What will happen if you don’t?”

  “They’ll falled out and I’ll have to eat my dinner with a straw,” he said, almost giggling.

  "You know it, little dude. And it's fall out, not falled."

  Ellie took his hand and led him down the long hall, away from the lounge and toward the upper-level bedrooms. Entering her room, she felt relieved to find his PJ’s folded and on her pillow. His Spiderman toothbrush even sat neatly in the holder next to hers on the side of the sink in her ensuite, Ellie was secretly pleased that there was no need whatsoever to venture to her brother’s room.

  “Don’t forget my tablet,” he said in a low voice. “I wanna watch it before I go to sleep. It’s on my bed.”

  Ellie felt her stomach sink. Of course, his tablet, the electronic menace that was practically a physical extension of his arm. He was always permitted five minutes in bed to watch a video or do some practice spelling or math on one of the multitude of apps aimed at early years school kids. "Are you sure you want it tonight?" she asked, hoping that he'd settle for just staying in her room. "It's late, Hen, and you look tired." She glanced at the clock by her bed, an automatic reaction.

  “But I always have it before bed,” he whined as if the always laid it down as law.

  Ellie sighed and nodded her head in resignation to the fact that she did have to go to his room after all. In truth, she wasn't sure why that should bother her. If this place was indeed haunted, then any room would be fair game. This was not the first time she'd tried to fool herself of that fact, and the second time around worked just as poorly.

  She told him to get changed into his PJ’s and, leaving him to the task, she padded reluctantly down the hall. Henry’s door was closed and as her hand wrapped around the smooth, cool brass of the door handle she paused. She could feel the rhythmic pounding of her heart in her chest, the sound beat its steady tempo against her eardrums, thud – thud – thud.

  From the ground floor, she could hear her mother and father talking, words obscured by the thrumming of her heart in her ears and the fabric of the internal walls and floors. Her mother sounded upset. Her father's was tone soothing as he no doubt tried to placate her. Ellie swallowed, her throat feeling dry, her head feeling woozy. In one swift movement, she twisted the handle and opened the door. Henry's room was empty, the temperature normal and there on the bed was Henry’s Lenovo tablet, just where he said it would be. She crossed the floor quickly and collected the device up. Just as she turned to leave, she heard the door click shut behind her.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, the tablet clutched hard into her chest, her arms drawn in a protective cross around her body and her gaze fixed intently on that door, but she suddenly became aware of a small ache in her legs. Ellie checked her watch and lines of puzzlement creased the corners of her eyes, where in thirty or so years crow’s feet may well form. She’d left Henry in her room at twenty past nine, she was certain of this as she’d looked at the clock when making the comment to him about it being late, trying to dissuade him from wanting the damn tablet. She’d then walked the few feet down the hall to his room, picked up the Lenovo and immediately turned to leave. Somehow, though, fifteen minutes had now passed. The digital display of her Fitbit read nine thirty-five PM. Had she been stood there for that long gazing at the closed door? The pain in her legs told her she had.

  Now she felt an overwhelming urge to rush for the door, get out into the hall, but something held her back. What if when you reach the handle the door won’t open? Her mind questioned betrayingly. What if you’re stuck in here? And just where has your mind been for those fifteen minutes? And just what is watching you through the slats in the cupboard door, watching and waiting. A single thought above those other questioning ones got her moving, Henry. Breaking her paralysis Ellie traversed the room with a few large strides and not thinking about it, the way a first-time parachute jumper might leap from a plane without a thought, for a thought might stop you, hold you back and get you to reconsider, she grasped the handle and twisted. The door opened.

  In the hall, Ellie hurried to her room, and upon entering found her brother laid on top of her bed in his PJ’s. Had he been calling for her in the quarter of an hour she’d been gone?
Most likely he’d changed into his night clothes, climbed into her bed to wait for her and fallen straight to sleep, unaware that his big sister had been gone so long. Ellie’s mind tumbled over just where her consciousness had been for those fifteen minutes. She’d once watched a show about a man in Texas who’d killed his whole family, then claimed to have no memory of it, she’d found that pretty hard to believe until now. Hell, there were plenty of cases referring to time loss in the paranormal world, particularly those who claimed the far-out idea of alien abduction. Abductees often claimed hours of lost time, some even claimed they’d been displaced miles away from the site of the alleged abduction. But Ellie hadn’t moved, she’d somehow dropped into a trance-like state where she had no concept of time. No bright lights, little grey men and anal probes for her, just that missing fifteen minutes, as if someone had flicked a switch and shut her down like a malfunctioning android.

  Right then and there her mother’s terse offer of being allowed to head home on the train was tempting, home to where this place would be no more than a memory. She looked at her brother, his fist was clenched in a ball, the back of his hand held against the lips of his angelic face and right then she knew she couldn’t go, couldn’t leave him here on his own. Not only would he be devastated but she had a feeling he wouldn’t be safe. She didn’t know how she knew; she just did.

  The nausea she’d felt whilst arguing with her mother and before going into Henry’s room had passed and been momentarily forgotten. Now it rushed back, and like a fast encroaching tide, she felt it wash over her. It went racing down to the ends of her fingers that tingled with a thousand tiny pinpricks of coldness.