Psychic Surveys Companion Novels

by Shani Struthers

  Molly was crying again, sobbing, Angus still hovering uncertainly by, feeling just as bad as I did. More than ever I had to get to the bottom of what was happening. My gift could go some way towards enabling me, and so I had to use it accordingly.

  There was one more thing I needed to know before I headed upstairs.

  “Have the church been involved in what’s happening here?”

  “We’re not church-goers,” she replied. “It’s not that we don’t believe, but we’ve never been regulars. The Reverend Drummond is the minister at our local church and he’s itching to get involved. I know it. He’s heard rumours, you see, people love to gossip around here, you can’t escape it. But I don’t want the church involved, the police, or any of the authorities, I don’t want them thinking that we’ve done something wrong, that all of this is our fault. It isn’t. We’re good parents. We’ve done our best by her. We love her, so much. I can’t fob the school off for much longer though. They’ll be the ones to involve others, I know it. And if that happens, if she’s taken away from us…”

  “Molly, I’m not the authorities, I’m just a person who thinks I can help.”

  “Because you’re psychic?”

  “Because I have a connection with the other side, because I can see.”

  She sniffed and blew her nose on a tissue that Angus had handed her. “And you won’t breathe a word of this to the police, to Reverend Drummond either? You won’t take this off-island? You have to promise me, mind. You have to say it.”

  “I promise.”

  She settled back in the armchair, confusion, wariness and hope battling inside her – hope eventually winning out.

  “Then go upstairs,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. “See what you can do.”

  * * *

  Angus wanted to come with me, but I insisted he stayed with Molly, get her that cup of tea after all, and to make sure there was sugar in it. He was reluctant but he agreed.

  “I’m here if you need me, just… shout or something, and I’ll come running.”

  “Thanks,” I said, appreciating his concern.

  Leaving them, I stood at the bottom of the stairs staring upwards. It was dark up there, with no light allowed to infiltrate. I had such an urge to rush around and start drawing the curtains back, but if I wasn’t given permission to do that, it was an urge I had to dampen.

  I climbed one step at a time. It was like wading through treacle. How could the Dunns stand it? The atmosphere, charged as it was with fear and bewilderment, was utterly depressing. No wonder Molly – let alone Ally – was in such a state. At least the husband could escape during the day, thanks to his work, but the prospect of returning here, night after night… I’m not sure I could do it.

  Either side of me, on the walls, were framed pictures, a huge variety of them, all of them validating what Molly had said, that they were a happy family, or had once been. Staring at them gave me a chance to get to know what Ally looked like, although it was Ally through the ages that they depicted, as a sweet baby, a cute toddler, Ally at a slightly awkward pre-teen age and as a full-blown teenager, but still smiling, still laughing alongside her parents. She was sixteen now – an only child – a treasured only child. How wonderful that must have felt. How terrible for it to have gone awry.

  Leaving her bright youthful face behind, I reached the landing, turning in the direction of her bedroom. God, I wished they’d let the light in – it really would help. I’m not afraid to admit, I felt scared. I felt vulnerable and alone too. What was it that I was going to encounter in that lair of hers? Not the smiling Ally that filled my mind, that was for certain.

  Refusing to think, determined to act, I forced one foot in front of the other. The closer I got, the denser the atmosphere became. Once again my breathing became erratic and I had to stop several times to force myself to inhale to a count of four and exhale for the same amount. My heartbeat steadier, I positioned myself in front of her door and knocked.

  As I expected there was no reply.

  “Ally, my name’s Vanessa Patterson, I’ve come to talk to you about what’s been happening lately, about how you’ve been feeling. I’m not here in any official capacity, please don’t worry about that, I’m here as someone who wants to help. You’ve nothing to fear from me, nothing at all.” As with the dead, initially my job was all about cajoling.

  Once more I was ignored, so I decided to force the issue and twisted the handle. Molly said that Ally barricaded herself in during more troubled times, I was glad to note that this wasn’t one of them as the door yielded easily enough. I entered, my eyes searching for her in the darkness. There she was, sitting on a chair by the window, not staring out of it, but staring at the closed curtains, so still that for a moment I gave in to panic. “Ally, are you okay?”

  The slightest of movements reassured me she was still alive, and that she could hear me well enough. Although instinct screamed at me to leave the door open, and therefore the path to escape clear, I closed it, thinking that in her current state she might prefer it.

  “Ally,” I said again, edging my way over to the bed and sitting close to where she was. “I should come clean about who I really am. I’m a psychic. Do you know what that means? Shall I explain?” When there was no answer, I did just that, wondering if that at least might provoke a reaction. It didn’t. She was statue-like.

  I looked around her room, took it all in. Only the bed was unmade, otherwise it was fairly neat and tidy, Molly steadfastly refusing to let her daughter reside in squalor – picking clothes up if they were left on the floor, changing sheets, polishing surfaces, vacuuming. I could see her now, in my mind’s eye, carrying out such mundane tasks, and all in the darkness. The walls, which Ally would hurl herself against on occasion, may well be scuffed, but it was impossible to tell without the light on. I inhaled. There was no stale sweat, no smell of grime. What there was, was an underlying sweetness – the same unpleasantness to it as the smell at the lighthouse – a connection.

  “Ally, what happened? Tell me. Whatever you say, I’ll believe you, no matter how outlandish you might think it is, how crazy or weird. I’m on your side.”

  I have a good amount of patience, you need it in my job, but there were also times when you have to make a judgement call. It was time to explain further.

  “Ally, I’ve been to the lighthouse too, last night. I went up to Caitir’s room, where you and your friends played Thirteen Ghost Stories. I sensed there was something there.”

  At last a response – a mumble that I couldn’t quite hear.

  “Sorry, Ally, could you repeat that?”

  “Did you play the game?”

  Her voice was croaky, as if her throat had become as rusty with disuse as the pipes at Minch Point. “No, I didn’t play the game, but I tuned in, and I had an experience too.”

  No verbal reply this time, but she did turn her head further towards me. I was able to study her profile a little better, a pretty girl, or she would be if she didn’t look so strained – even in the darkness I could tell that. She was as worn as her mother. What should I do? Describe what I’d seen? I’d have to, but a significantly watered-down version. The last thing I wanted was to remind her of how vicious the visions had been.

  “Ally, as I was leaving Caitir’s room, images started to fill my mind, they came in rapid succession, one after the other, like a movie reel. These visions…” I paused. It’s not as if I wanted reminding either. “They were… nasty. Very. Did you see something too?”

  She issued another mumble, forcing me to lean closer to hear what she was saying.

  “Animals, cats, my favourite, dogs too, blood, hurt, all of them. So much blood.”

  I shuddered at her words. “I know.”

  “Kids, younger than me. Kids my age too. Friends. Screaming. Crying.”

  And not just that, there was also the pleading, the begging, and the sheer lack of any mercy shown. It seems we had seen similar visions, and once seen, how could we forget? I
wanted to bleach my mind, to scrub away the scars they’d left, but it was impossible. Such sights destroyed innocence. They left you feeling corrupted. No wonder Ally was suffering. But there had to be a way back – for both of us.

  “Ally, whatever you saw, it’s important to remember that it’s over now. The images, the horror will fade with time. Here’s what I do: whenever I remember, I replace it with another image, with something positive, something I love. You could try and do that too. Keep pushing the negative away, until eventually it recedes, and loses its power. Right now, what we’ve seen is holding us in its thrall, it’s making us afraid and we can’t afford to be. Fear is what keeps negativity thriving.” When she failed to answer me, I dared to do something: I reached out and touched her shoulder. Inwardly I gasped. She was so cold, despite it being warm enough in the room, like a carving made from ice. “Ally, listen to me, please, you’re not alone with this, I’m here now. Together we’ll beat it.”

  “What do you love?”

  I retracted my hand. “I’m sorry?”

  She turned more fully, dark hollows for eyes giving her a ghoulish look. “What do you love?”

  “I… erm… love lots of things. I love…” Damn it, but I had to struggle to answer this surprising question. “Chocolate.” A small laugh escaped me, one with a nervous edge to it. “Doesn’t everyone? A cup of tea with milk and one sugar; I love films; I love reading. One of my favourite books used to be Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. Have you read it? I love animals, all animals really, no favourites there. I used to knit. Not so much anymore, but when I was younger. It helped me to focus somehow and having something nice to wear as a result of it was an added bonus. I—”

  Those hollow eyes met mine. “Who do you love?”

  Her voice sounded croakier than ever, scratchy almost

  “W…who?” I repeated, stumbling slightly over the word.

  “Who do you love?” She was glaring at me now.

  “I… I love…”

  “Who?”

  “I…”

  “WHO?”

  “Stop yelling, Ally, stop demanding. That will get us nowhere.”

  She thrust her face forward, such a sudden action that I couldn’t help but be alarmed by it. “Who do you love?”

  Quickly I gathered myself. “Ally, this isn’t you speaking. I think what’s happening—”

  “Your brothers?”

  Again I was taken aback. “My brothers? Yes, yes of course.”

  “Liar!”

  “Ally, whatever’s in you is trying to take control.”

  “Your sisters?”

  “Yes, Ally, I love my sisters. I do.”

  “Liar!”

  I started to rise, but my legs felt like lead. Get a grip, Ness, get a grip.

  “Your father?”

  My breathing, I couldn’t keep it steady anymore. “Ally, I’m warning you, I won’t listen to any more—”

  “Your mother?” At that a sly smile spread across her face. “Do you love your mother?”

  I was able to stand at last. Ally knew nothing about my family, and nor did whatever it was that had hold of her. Towering over her as she sat in her chair, seemingly relaxed, casual even, I did my utmost to rein in the feelings – the memories – that were trying to overwhelm me, as horrific, personally horrific, as any of the visions I’d had at the lighthouse. “Ally, I know you’re in there. Fight this thing. Don’t be afraid.”

  She laughed – a cackle that didn’t belong to her, but to something far more ancient. “I’m not afraid, you are. You’re terrified. And your weak spot, I’ve found it.”

  “Leave my family out of this.”

  Ally refused to obey. “Your poor mother, what a torment you were to her.”

  “I’ve told you, I won’t listen.”

  “This thing she’d spawned, as terrible as I am, an abomination. How it hurt her.”

  As I’d forced my legs towards Ally’s room, I now had to force them to move away, from her and from the darkness that clung to her. But shock had rendered me slow.

  “You drove her to an early grave.”

  How far the door was – an ocean of carpet separating us.

  “You hurt your twin too, so bad.”

  Thrusting my hands out, I imagined a rope in front of me, and someone at the end of it; a friend, not a foe, hauling me towards the door. I had to go and come back stronger.

  Stronger? What a joke! I’d never felt so weak.

  “Remember, Ness, how you hated them.”

  Reaching my goal, I could barely see for the tears in my eyes. If I expected the door to be stuck again, it wasn’t. It opened and I fled, but not before Ally issued her last words.

  “And remember this: they hated you too.”

  Thirteen Chapter Ten

  1974

  What’s wrong with Mum?

  I shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

  She’s being sick all the time.

  “I told you, I don’t know. How would I? She barely speaks to me.”

  Well, something’s wrong.

  I ignored my twin and her concerns, and continued to read my book – I got through so many, confined as I was to my bedroom, by choice as much as anything. Today, I was alone in the house with Mum. My father was at work, and my brothers and sisters were either at work too or school. I wasn’t at school because I had a stuffed-up nose, a headache, a sore throat and blocked ears. Normally I never missed a day even when I wasn’t feeling well. Mum always insisted I went. But, when I’d gone into her room to complain how I felt this morning, she’d just waved her hand at me, and said it was fine, that I could go back to bed. I couldn’t believe my luck. I hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t hung around for a minute longer than necessary in case she had a change of heart, I’d simply raced out of her room and back into mine, closing the door behind me.

  I had a whole day to myself – no teachers, and no one to ignore me in the playground. Bliss! I could read to my heart’s content, do some colouring in, sleep even. I really did feel ill. What would have made it perfect was if my twin had kept away too. Some days she did, but today was unfortunately not one of them. She was worried about Mum and to be honest, I was a little bit too. I could hear her in the bathroom retching; it was a horrible, gurgling sound. As much as I tried to focus on my book, I couldn’t. She’d shown some mercy towards me earlier, perhaps I should go and show some sympathy towards her.

  I looked at the shadow of my twin, thought I saw her nod in approval.

  “Okay, okay, I’m going,” I said, shutting my book perhaps a little too hard. It was Jane Eyre – the story of another lonely girl – and I was really enjoying it, although the last chapter I’d read, where poor Jane had been locked in the Red Room by the terrible Mrs Reed had left me somewhat reeling. Leaving my room, I tentatively made my way to the bathroom and knocked on the door. Rather than vomiting, Mum seemed to be groaning, as if she were in considerable pain.

  “Mum, it’s me. Are you okay?” Stupid question really, but still I asked it. “Mum, do you want me to get you a glass of water?” Another stupid question, she was in a bathroom for goodness’ sake, there was water enough in there! “Mum, say something. Please.”

  My twin was by my side. Try the handle; see if the door will open.

  It did, something that caused both fear and more trepidation.

  Taking a deep breath, I entered the bathroom. The first thing I saw was blood – the red room – the tiles, normally a pale grey, were covered in it.

  My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh God, Mum! Are you dying?”

  Despite everything, that realisation was shocking. I was a child – I couldn’t lose my mother! Terror drove me forward. “Mum, it’s okay, I’m here. Tell me what to do.”

  She was slumped on the floor, her head resting against the side of the bath. Doll-like, her face was pale and waxy and her arms hung limp by her side. Not caring about the blood, I knelt beside her and reached out.

  “Don’t to
uch me!”

  Her words stopped me in mid-action. “Mum!” I implored.

  “Call your father.”

  Lowering my hands, I nodded. “What shall I tell him?”

  “The baby…” her voice was low, guttural even, “…the baby’s dead.”

  “Another one?” I gasped. I couldn’t help myself.

  “Yes!” she spat. “Another one.”

  I swallowed. “Ambulance,” I muttered. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “CALL YOUR FATHER!”

  I pushed myself away from her, stood up and ran from the room, slipping on the bloodied floor as I went, crashing onto the landing, leaving footprints behind me on the oatmeal coloured carpet. Once downstairs, I dialled my father’s office number with trembling fingers – it took three attempts before I made a connection. When he answered, I told him as best I could what was happening. He kept telling me to slow down, but I couldn’t. Finally, he told me to go back upstairs, to stay with mum, that he was on his way, and would be there as soon as possible. I think I heard him swear as he replaced the receiver.

  At the bottom of the stairwell, I stopped. I didn’t want to go back up there. What was the point? She didn’t want my help. I had to though; Dad had said so.

  Once more in the bathroom, I saw that Mum had tried to straighten herself up, saw too how wet her cheeks were, and the tears that glistened there. She was sobbing, snot running from her nose, which she wiped at with the back of her hand.

  “I’m sorry, Mum.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Probably just as well,” she managed.

  I frowned. What did she mean?

  “Like you. If it was like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “Wrong! All wrong.”

  I took a step back, not sure if I could bear to hear what she was going to say. Not again.

  She continued to mutter. “No more of this, I want no more. My luck ran out with you.”

  Tears blinded me too. “Mum, don’t. Please don’t.”

  But she was in her stride.