Sheila noticed his discomfort. She said, “Bryce, what’s wrong?”
He sighed, then said, “I’ve been here before. When I came to the house, my first instinct was to leave and not come back. Maybe I sensed something that day, maybe I didn’t. I don’t know. I must have keyed into something. I ignored what I sensed, and look what happened. A man died. We almost died ourselves. Now I’m sensing something else. I don’t think I should ignore it.”
“What are you sensing? Are you having premonitions or something?”
Bryce tried to think of how best to explain himself. He said, “Most of the time when I feel this way, I just soldier through it. That’s what I’ve learned, what I’ve always heard throughout my life. I guess it’s just a learned behavior. Most of the time, stuffing my discomfort under the surface is the best way to go. We all have irrational impulses that don’t have anything to do with logic or reason. So that’s why I thought I might have been wrong. I don’t think I am now.”
Sheila said, “So you’re saying you have some kind of radar for evil or something?”
“I don’t know what it is. I’m trying to explain it. I just think that, this time, we should be a lot more careful.”
“Careful? What does that mean? Is Michael going to have to do this by himself?”
Bryce took his hands off the wheel and put them in his lap. He was starting to calm down a little at a time. “I’m saying, you should stay outside for this one. I’ll go in. I keep saying we don’t really have a choice in this. I think that’s still true. We have to do something. We just don’t have to expose ourselves to unnecessary danger.”
Sheila said, “It’s not too dangerous for me! I’m going in there too. I’m going with you, every step of the way.”
“And I’d let you know if I thought it was safe for you. I don’t think it’s safe for you. You saw what that ghost did back there. Geoffrey’s head came off, as easy as slicing into bread. I’m afraid for you, Sheila. I won’t expose you to that kind of situation again, not if I can help it.”
“I’m going, and that’s all there is to it. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Bryce was about to argue with her. Then he decided not to. She had been there with him, and had seen everything he had. He said, “Well, if you’re determined to help me out, I suppose I can’t say no. Come on then, let’s see what this medium has to say.”
Michael shot him a glance, after having waited for him in front of the house for several minutes. He said, “Are you both ready now?”
Sheila said, “We’re ready.”
“Then let’s go in.”
Bryce stepped over the threshold. He hesitated before he did so. On the other side, he encountered the strong smell of incense. His eyes watered. He tried to hold in a sneeze; it came out anyway. He found a box of tissues on top of a dresser.
Sheila said, “What is that stink? That’s really strong.”
Bryce blew his nose, then said, “Incense, smells like. I’d guess if you’re going to summon a spirit, it’s good to have this stuff floating around. All scents are particulates in the air. That’s why you can gag on a strong odor. I’m guessing if a spirit has some kind of matter pass through it, then it can no longer maintain its form. That’s what happened with the hammer. So think of the incense as putting thousands of microscopic hammers in the air, all preventing a spirit from fully materializing.”
Michael put a hand to his head. “This stuff is so complicated. How do you know so much about all this?”
“I’m not sure about anything. I’m just guessing. Let’s see what’s behind this curtain of beads, shall we?”
Bryce pushed aside a series of beads strung up in the middle of a doorway. On the other side, he saw a woman sitting at a table, smoking from a fake pipe that served as a vape device. The woman had pale white skin and her face was coloured with makeup. She wrapped her hair up in a colourful purple and red silk bandanna. A pair of tinted pink glass hung off the bridge of her nose. When she waved a hand for him to come in, he saw that she had painted black fingernails. Several metal bracelets jangled on her wrists.
She said, “Gentlemen, lady, come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
Bryce just had to ask, “Miss uh…?”
“Leqluer. Marie Leqleur.”
“Are you a psychic?”
“Hmm, maybe a little bit. Though not in the traditional sense, I suppose. Extra-sensory perception is such a tricky thing to describe. I sense that you are in a hurry, so I’ll try to be brief. Could you all sit down and tell me what your issue is?”
Bryce sat down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of a large round oak table. A crystal ball sat on the table, though he couldn't see that it would have any value. He said, “Michael, you want to explain?”
Michael sat down next to Bryce. He said, “Uh, maybe you should do that. I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around all of this.”
Sheila took the last seat available. She said, “I don’t know about any of this myself either. It’s all happening so fast.”
Bryce put his elbows on the table. Marie waited for him to speak. He could not get the image of Geoffrey’s headless body out of his mind. He said, “We’re dealing with a ghost, I think. A mean one. She’s already killed somebody. She lives in this old historical house a few miles from here.”
Marie nodded. She said, “Ah yes, that one. The brew witch’s house. Yes, I know it well. People have been reporting hauntings there for some time. I’ve made that house a hobby of mine for a while.”
“Does that mean you have something that you can tell us here?”
“Oh my, I should hope so. I can tell you several things. First of all, you should know that if you received a negative reaction from anyone or anything in that house, you’re lucky to have survived. People go into that house sometimes and they don’t come back.”
Sheila still appeared skeptical. She said, “How do you know that?”
Marie gestured about with her hands. She said, “Oh they tell me, the spirits. Some of them are very talkative. You know, a few of them stick around for a while instead of going to wherever it is they go. I listen to them, mostly because no one else wants to. A spirit can get rather cross when no one listens to it. In addition to that, there’s actually quite a bit to be learned. Spirits will never lie to you; they don’t have any reason to, for they’ve no longer got anything to gain.
“Now your spirit, as I understand, is extraordinarily cross. She’s angry about something. Honestly, I wanted to leave her be. She’s too dangerous to deal with, in most cases.”
Bryce’s head spun. He said, “In most cases? So what’s happened now? What’s changed? It seems like you’re saying that you hold out some hope of making some headway this time.”
“From your accent, sir, I judge you to be Australian. Yet I wouldn’t be surprised if you were British by birth. Am I right in saying that?”
Bryce could not hide his astonishment. He said, “How did you guess that? We’ve only just met. I’ve never seen you before today.”
“Well, that’s certainly true. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. But I suppose quite a lot about what’s going on here. The ghost, I understand, is a witch from the early 1700s who was burned at the stake twice before she died. She’s been inconsolably upset since then. Sure you can understand that. Now, how is it that you went in there long enough to have a problem, yet still be intact enough to be able to seek me out to ask in first place? The ghost must not have been too motivated about killing you.”
“Or I’m just slippery like a fish.”
Marie took a puff from her vaping pipe. She said, “Maybe. Could be. You don’t look the slippery type to me. You look like a businessman. Of course, I could be wrong. You just go right on ahead and tell me if I am, will you? So, if I extrapolate from everything I know and everything I can guess at, what I come up with is that you’re a descendant of the brew witch.”
Bryce sat back. He could hardly believe what he
heard. He said, “What? You can’t be serious. That’s not possible.”
“I can’t think of any other explanation. But you don’t have to believe me. I can ask her directly, if you like.”
“Who, the brew witch?”
“Of course. What do you think all the incense is for? The spell is ready to go, if you’d like to speak with her.”
Bryce said, “The incense is to keep her from manifesting on this plane, is that correct?”
“You’re rather smart, aren’t you? You’re like me, seeing things that can be easily overlooked. You’d make a decent medium yourself, if you’ve got any interest in it.”
Bryce held up one hand. He said, “No thanks. I’ve had quite enough to last me a lifetime and then some. Can I ask you to get on with your spell or will you charge money? I can pay you, if you like.”
Marie shrugged. She said, “The way I work is, I accept payment after the work is done. You don’t like the work I do, you don’t have to pay me. But if you don’t reimburse me, you won’t be welcome back. My feeling is, you should only be here if you like what I’m doing. This way avoids conflict. So, after we’re done, I’ll quote you a price. Then you can decide whether you want to pay it or not. Is that all right with you?”
“Yes, that’s fine. If you can arrange it so I can speak with the brew witch, I’d very much appreciate that. I have a thing or two I’d like to say to her.”
Marie said, “Very well, if you would all join hands and close your eyes, I can begin. Please keep in mind that this spirit may be angry. There’s no telling what kind of reaction she might have.”
Sheila said, “Is she...dangerous?”
“As long as the incense keeps burning, no she isn’t. It’s good for another few hours yet, I should think. She also can’t escape from this room. You see the only way out is through those beads? She can’t pass through that. Solid matter disrupts her form.”
Michael grabbed Bryce’s hand and muttered to himself, “So that’s why she had to climb down a ladder but couldn’t touch it.”
Once Marie Leqluer was sure that everyone was ready, she began chanting in a language that Bryce did not recognize. It wasn’t Latin, or any of the Roman languages. There was a cyrillic touch to it, a declarative harshness in the way certain consonants were pronounced.
Bryce kept his eyes closed, letting his mind drift. He thought of the city streets of Canberra, the streets he enjoyed walking down whenever he needed a distraction. There was a coffee shop in the corner with a surly old woman who always gave him the evil eye, but who never neglected to give him a freshly-baked doughnut. He could still remember how he felt at five years old, the day he stepped out of the airport and got his first taste of Australia. The air had been so much cleaner, the sky so much brighter. He remembered being impressed that the gray clouds which always hung over England had gone away. As a youngster, he had been convinced that someone really tall, a giant perhaps, had blown away all the clouds with a breath. That had made him happy.
A low, gradual humming brought him back to reality. The humming wasn’t mechanical, even though it sounded distinctly like an engine being powered up. Marie continued speaking in her own language, louder and more insistent this time. The house started to shake. Vibrations pulsated through Bryce’s legs. Sheila’s hand tightened around his. He was about to tell her that everything would be all right; he just didn’t think that he would be convincing. He couldn’t even convince himself.
The chanting and the humming stopped at the same time. The air felt thicker than before. Bryce could not get the scent of incense out of his nostrils. There was something else there too; a foul, noxious odor that reminded him of the grave. Some putrescent thing had entered the room with him. A swipe of cold air passed across his face. The shock was so strong that he almost fell out of his chair. He only managed to keep his balance because Sheila and Michael held on as tight as they could.
Bryce opened his eyes. The room was dark, even though a light bulb shone overhead. Marie appeared different now, somehow more ethereal. She said, “Welcome, traveler. From abroad and beyond, you have come. From between and before, you have come. Welcome. Know that you are among friends. Speak how you would, answer as you may.”
The spirit of Isobel Gilmartin, this time a mass of pale green energy carrying nothing in either hand, floated towards the middle of the table. There was no menace, no malice coming from her this time. There was a sad sort of disquiet, and the stench.
Sheila whispered, “So much for the incense.”
The ghost said, “Summoned, I come. Gilmartin of Cirencester, the witch of the brew. Burned to death twice over. I am this. Five questions I will ask, five and five alone. Then time will pass and I will depart from this place.”
Bryce was on the point of asking, Five questions? Then he realized that this was a question by itself. He began to understand where the story of the genie from the bottle came from.
Marie said, “The questions are yours to ask.”
Michael blurted out the first one. He said, “Why are you still here?”
“Killed was I, killed as one undeserving of life. Worked and toiled for years, yet rewarded by treachery. Three children left behind. One aged seven, one aged fourteen, the other an infant. The infant, unconsecrated, went to an early grave. Sickly child, poor child. I stay for vengeance. Vengeance for my child who cannot rest, punished though innocent, never spared while deserving of mercy.”
Bryce said, “Why did you spare me why you killed others?”
“Child of my children, you whom I cannot kill. Warned you to leave. Not for you the path of blood. Progeny of my progeny, exempt you are from vengeance. All others will die until justice is done.”
“And how would justice be done?”
“Not by me. Incapable. Incorporeal. If it was possible, it would have been done. It is not possible.”
Sheila said, “Careful. We only have two questions left.”
Bryce wondered what the difference was between the spirit he had met in the brew witch’s house and the spirit before him now. Were they two different spirits? Or different parts of the same spirit? Or the same spirit acting differently in different circumstances? He wished that he knew, knowing might change the questions that he asked.
He said, “How can we resolve this situation for you?”
“Consecration, the old way. In the time before the confusion. People knew. They understood. Find the infant, find his grave. Find a priest. Say the rites. Drip the water. Do this, and my vengeance will be at its end.”
No one else said anything. There was only one question left. Bryce soon got the impression that he was the only person in the room who could ask anything. So, he did. He said, “Will you stop killing people while we are doing this?”
The witch floated there for a moment, silent. It provided no answer, not at first. Bryce repeated his question. Then, the witch said, “It is agreed. One fortnight provided. A stay of vengeance. When the time is over, death shall reign once more. The promise made, the pact fulfilled, I now depart.”
Without saying anything more, the spirit vanished all at once. When it did, the light returned to the room just as suddenly. Bryce had to squint until his eyes adjusted. He said, “Is it...over?”
Marie Leqleur picked up her pipe again. She put it in her mouth without turning it on. She said, “The spirit is placated. The questions have been answered. Make of them what you will. Now, Mr. Price, would you care to pay me?”
He said, “What language were you speaking just now?”
“If the time comes when you are ready to become a medium, you will know. This sort of knowledge does not remain hidden to those who actively seek it. Have no fear, if there is a need to know, there will be a knowing.”
Bryce reached into his pocket. He said, “Do you take credit cards?”
Marie gave him a warm smile. She said, “Visa, Mastercard, and American Express.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Eight
The secon
d time that Bryce stepped into the house was the last. He came after the police had completed their investigation, after he was cleared as a suspect in the murder of Geoffrey Ruggins, and after he had sat down to lunch with the real estate agent whom he had led to believe would receive a significant sum of money as part of the sale of the property. After all that had happened, Bryce still wanted to go through with the purchase. He just needed a little more time to make sure that the spirit would not, in fact, come back and start killing again.
He had found the local vicar, who was willing to cooperate, albeit with more questions than Bryce knew how to answer. Consecrating the ground for a baby boy who had been born and had died four centuries ago was a highly uncommon ask. Standing there over the grave, he wasn’t entirely sure whether he had actually accomplished anything. He only understood when he entered the house.
The painting of Isobel Gilmartin had been altered radically. Instead of just the witch standing alone, she now had a child on either side of her. She held a baby in her arms. A broad smile had been painted on her face. The smile even reached her eyes. She looked well and truly happy.
Four weeks had passed since the last time Bryce had come in. Since then, Sheila had time to reconcile herself to what had happened. She had never quite gotten over the trauma. Nor had Bryce ever quite recovered from Isobel’s cold hand being thrust into his torso. He still had a slight discoloration of the skin where her hand had breached. He had decided to forgive her for that, for she hadn’t been herself. Even ghosts, it turned out, were subject to strong emotion.
Sheila said, “My goodness! Look at that! Is that how the painting is supposed to look?”
Bryce had been unaccountably tired for a long time. Now, for the first time in recent memory, he felt refreshed, even relaxed. He felt whole and young again. Whatever it was that had been going wrong with him was over.
He said, “I think so. She’s at peace now. She just missed her son, that was all.”
“Did it mean anything, what we did? We just sprayed some water on a very old grave. Did that mean anything?”
13 Hauntings Page 5
