by N Williams
Zac wanted to argue the point further, but he could see that he had pushed Julian as far as he dared. He didn’t want to be shown a red card before the real game got under way.
‘Okay,’ announced Julian, evidently not prepared to accept any further interruptions. ‘Please place the index finger of your right hand onto the top of the glass.’ He nodded to Ffion, his assistant, and the lights were switched off. The group standing around began to laugh and joke.
‘Silence, please! We must have the best of order.’
The group fell silent as Ffion switched on a low wattage lamp suspended from the ceiling. The seated group was ready.
‘Is there anybody in the astral plane with us here tonight?’ asked Julian.
Gates nudged Zac. ‘I had a Vauxhall Astral once.’ The big man stood with his arms folded across his body, looking far from impressed. ‘It scared the life out of me every time I drove it.’
‘Is there anybody with us?’ called Julian again.
Everything fell silent for a moment, as Julian appeared to descend into a trance. Zac was sure it was all part of the act.
The medium spoke again. ‘I feel a presence with me, standing behind me.’
A young woman behind Julian took a few steps away to his right.
‘I believe it is a man. A young man... a young man, not of this place.’ Julian’s expression seemed puzzled.
‘This is a man from another part of the world. A dark skinned man... from Africa, perhaps?’
Sally shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
‘This young man is not of this place, yet seems... somehow... a part of it. I believe he worked here at some time long ago... what’s that? I hear him speaking... he’s trying to say something to me... something about home...’
It was Zac’s turn to nudge Gates. Gates shrugged his shoulders.
Julian fell quiet. The rest of the group seemed enthralled. ‘Can you spell out your name for us, please?’
Before he had finished his question, the glass began to move. It slowly slid across the table towards one of the letters engraved in a circle on the table top. It stopped on the letter “F” before moving around in slow circles two or three times, then stopped on “U” and “K”.
Gates laughed a bit too loud. ‘F.u.k? FUK! Wash your mouth out you naughty little spirit.’
‘Quiet, please,‘ hissed Julian. ‘I think we missed some letters somewhere.’
Zac watched Sally’s face closely. Even in the subdued lighting it was clear that she was uncomfortable. She genuinely looked scared.
The glass began to move again. This time it began with “A.” A few seconds later it moved to the letters “N,” “G,” “E,” and “L.”
Zac gasped - “ANGEL.”
‘You okay mate?’ Gates looked puzzled.
‘Er, yeah, I’m fine.’
‘What’s a “fuk angel?”‘ Gates grinned mischievously.
Julian sighed. ‘It’s obviously two separate words,’ he spat; an impatient teacher berating a child. ‘Now please, be quiet or leave. You’re spoiling it for the rest of the group.’
Murmurs of agreement served to convince Gates he had gone too far. ‘Sorry... just a little amazed by it all,’ he lied.
Julian nodded his head and smiled sympathetically. ‘Of course! These things do affect people in different ways. I’d just ask you to be strong. I’m here to support you and keep you safe if you need me.’
Zac nudged Gates again. It was the only time Zac had seen his friend lost for words.
The glass moved once more. This time it began to move in quick circles in the centre of the table, getting faster and faster before tipping over, with a shriek from the seated guests.
Sally sat back and held onto the side of her chair.
Julian closed his eyes again and tipped his head back. ‘There is a woman here. She is quite old and is dressed in a long white dress.’
The room was so silent that Zac could hear the beat of his blood rushing through his head. The sense of anticipation had grown alarmingly.
‘I feel that her chest... a pain... a bad pain in the chest area. This poor woman suffered, but not for long it seems... cancer. I feel it was cancer... in the lungs…’
Zac suddenly felt nauseous; his legs felt like lead.
‘This woman is related to someone in this room… she keeps saying “ANGEL, ANGEL... my angel...”’
The sight of Sally looking directly at him with eyes wide as saucers was a sure sign that she had remembered what Zac had told her about his grandmother and her pet name for him. It couldn’t be, could it? Zac shook his head.
‘This woman is called Elinor... no wait... she says… she says her name is Nelly.’
Zac's legs began to buckle. Elinor was the name of his grandmother, but everyone called her Nelly. This couldn’t be true. He caught hold of Gates’ arm for support.
‘Shit, you’re not coming on to me too, are you?’ Gates laughed nervously. ‘Are you okay, mate?”
Holding onto Gates until he felt the strength return to his legs, Zac nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m okay. Must have been something I ate.’
‘She’s leaving now. She’s smiling, and she’s blowing a kiss...’ Julian opened his eyes and looked directly at Zac.
‘She’s gone.’
Julian closed his eyes again and fell silent for what seemed like an age. ‘Okay,’ he said brightly. ‘That’s enough of the board for tonight. Let’s go and search the castle.’
The group began to chatter amongst itself, speculating on who the spirit woman had wanted to contact.
As Sally walked quickly towards him, Zac noticed that Julian’s eyes were now fixed on him again.
‘That’s your gran, Zac. Remember what you said to me earlier?’ Sally blurted excitedly.
‘Shh, it’s bollocks!’ Zac didn’t want to talk about the possibility of it being real. It was too bizarre. He believed in what he could see and touch. This certainly didn’t count.
Sally fell quiet and looked for backup from Gates who just shrugged his shoulders.
‘We’ll split up as agreed and meet back in my room when we’ve finished.’ Zac turned and quickly left the room with his new companions for the night vigil.
*
The three people with Zac were excited and the closest thing to buzzing with expectation, but he was far from excited and didn’t know what to expect. He had dismissed the earlier scary experience as nothing more than a case of autosuggestion. He was on a ghost hunt, and it was reasonable to expect the senses to be more acute and tuned in to the slightest movement or sound, especially in a place his grandmother had died in many years before. Was it just autosuggestion or wishful thinking?
‘Hi, my name is Steph,’ said a thinly built twenty-something, holding out her hand to Zac.
There was a round of handshakes and introductions as the other man in the group introduced himself as Peter and his wife as Claire.
‘What do you want to do, Zac? I normally just stand around and wait for things to happen in total darkness,’ said Steph.
‘You’ve been before then?’ said Zac.
‘Not to this particular ghost hunt, but I’m also a psychic and try to get to all the events I can, wherever they are.’
You’re most certainly not psychic, or you’d be picking up on what I’m thinking now, thought Zac, but smiled politely instead. ‘Well, if you don’t mind, I’d just like to carry out a quick search of the room... to make sure there are no hidden microphones or things installed to fool us.’
‘Of course,’ said the woman, looking a little surprised. ‘I don’t think it’s necessary, but if you’re sceptical then it’ll help you to understand that not everything in life is quite as black and white as we would like to think.’
That’s rich, thought Zac, coming from someone barely out of school.
He switched on his flashlight and began to explore the room, whilst the others stood quietly and watched him intently.
The hole in the wall ne
xt to the fireplace drew his attention first. He could see a small but clear patch in the dust on the floor behind the wall. It was about the size of a small paperback book. Zac wondered what could have been there. He shone the torch into the cavity but found nothing else.
Next, he moved over to where the video camera had been installed.
‘Any idea how long these cameras have been in place?’ The red flashing light indicated that it was recording. Zac checked the angle. The camera was pointing into the room from a corner nearest the door. He knew it wasn’t able to pick up anyone entering or leaving the room.
‘I think they’re only used during the ghost tours,’ answered Steph.
After five minutes of checking, Zac switched off the torch and stood quietly near the open door leading out to the corridor.
Suddenly pitched into total darkness, the women and Peter began to squeal like schoolchildren for a few moments before they settled down and became quiet, a perfect distraction for Zac to slip silently out without being noticed.
Outside, in the corridor, the floorboards creaked with each step, as he made his way to a narrow stairwell leading up to the floor above. He could hear Julian still talking to the rest of the group down the hall in the monitor room.
Carefully climbing the stairs, Zac found a locked door at the top. This was a heavy type of door that was probably original to the house. Two narrow glass panels were set in the upper half of its arched top. Zac could see nothing beyond. He guessed the room was another private area not presently being used for hotel purposes.
Trying the handle, he discovered that the door opened off the latch. He knew that forcing the lock would have inevitably created some noise, and he couldn’t afford that to happen now. He was thankful for small mercies.
The door creaked inwards, and Zac could see another corridor running from his left to his right.
Zac checked both ways before stepping into the corridor.
*
Thin-man Peter, and his “wife”, Claire, watched as Zac searched the room and checked the hole in the wall.
When Zac eventually switched off his flashlight, Peter felt, rather than heard, his presence as he walked past him towards the door. He waited quietly for a moment.
‘So, have you done one of these before?’ asked Steph.
Peter had no idea who she was talking to, as the room was dark as pitch. He knew the woman would be suspicious if he didn’t answer.
‘No. Never. Don’t actually believe in this crap.’ That would shut her up, he thought, and indeed he was right.
After a few moments Peter led his wife out of the room and into the corridor - leaving Steph oblivious to the fact that she was now alone.
CHAPTER 37
The narrow but powerful beam from his penlight shone on another doorway in the corridor, directly opposite the one he had entered through. He paused to get his bearings and, satisfied there was nothing likely to trip him up, switched off the flashlight and walked carefully to the door.
The arched open doorway led through to another room, about twice the size of the one he had left on the floor below. This room was partially lit by the moon streaming in through a large full-length bay window in the back wall. The window was dressed in full-length heavy curtains, and Zac guessed that it was directly above the room with the monitors. A small desk and chair was positioned in the centre of the window, but the room was otherwise empty.
The absence of cameras suggested this level was probably out of bounds and was, therefore, not in the remit of the ghost tour.
A large fireplace was centred in the wall to his right, and another doorway led off on the left. Zac crept into the room and stopped. He heard shuffling from the far corner of the room - followed by a strange high-pitched voice.
‘Tosser!’
Frozen to the spot, Zac fished for the Glock in his waistband.
‘Tosser!’
He began to smile. He turned to see a large African parrot sitting on a perch in a domed wire cage. The parrot was something of a legend in the area and had previously occupied the downstairs bar, but its reputation for repeating offensive language had resulted in its banishment to the upper rooms.
‘Wanker!’
Zac chuckled. Not only could the damn thing talk, it had the vocabulary to match Gates. It would have been very funny at some other time and place.
The muted sound of padding footsteps outside in the corridor snapped Zac to attention.
He checked outside and saw the receptionist carrying a large torch. He ducked behind the room door and stood perfectly still. The receptionist had either heard someone upstairs or was carrying out a routine check. Whatever, Zac didn’t want to be discovered now.
The young woman shone the light into the room and aimed the beam at the parrot as it shrank back on the perch. ‘Tosser! Wanker!’
‘You’re a dirty little shit, aren’t you Polly?’ said the woman in her broad Welsh accent.
‘Dirty shit, dirty shit,’ repeated the bird.
The receptionist shone the light around the room, failing to see Zac squashed tight behind the heavy oak door.
She walked back out of the room and down the corridor. As her light disappeared, Zac crept out from behind the door and into the hallway.
He quickly trotted silently in the opposite direction to the receptionist and found another staircase leading up to a floor above.
*
Having directed the small handful of volunteers on the use of the cameras and monitor, Julian led the way back to the small theatre, chatting incessantly about his expectations for the night.
Gates and Sally followed the medium, with the other two in tow.
Once inside, Julian showed the team the video cameras and left them alone.
‘Medium? I’d put him down as an extra-extra-large,’ said Gates.
Sally laughed and nudged him. ‘Shh, he might hear you on the video.’
‘As soon as things settle down I’ll do a check backstage and see if I can get into that orchestra pit.’
The group spent several minutes inspecting the theatre, looking for open windows or anything that could cause the movement of air or unexpected noises.
At the end of the inspection Gates announced his intention to check the rear of the stage and walked out into the corridor.
A small door marked "Private" was locked whilst a pair of arched doorways led off to the left and to the right. Gates guessed that the left door would probably just lead to the backstage area. He turned the old knob on the right-hand door and opened it gently. There in front of him was a series of half a dozen steps curving up and around to the left.
Gates climbed the stairs and walked onto the rear of the stage. The space behind the Boudicca drape was empty.
He pushed through the curtain and dropped down onto the theatre auditorium with a bang as his feet landed on the old wooden floor.
A woman shouted, ‘Shit! What’s that?’
Gates laughed. ‘Sorry! It’s only me.’
‘Jeepers, you gave us all a fright then,’ said one of the others.
‘Sorry, guys! I’m just going to open the orchestra pit and have a quick look in there and then I’m finished. I’ll be happy that no one’s trying to put one over on us.’
Pulling open the cover on the right side of the pit, the old wooden floor section bumped back against the stage. He shone his flashlight into the pit and found old wooden steps leading into the bottom.
‘I’m just going to take a quick look,’ he shouted.
‘Do you think you should?’ said one of the group. ‘Health and Safety might be an issue.’
He was about to say what he thought of Health and Safety but thought better of it. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.'
Descending the steps to the bottom of the pit, he could see it was only about five and a half feet deep, so he had to bend over to walk the length under the sections of removable floor he had left in place.
The pit was also extremely narrow, pro
bably large enough for a quintet - not much more, thought Gates.
The torch lit up the entire area. He could see some contemporary plastic fold-down chairs stacked against one side, and some music stands of modern vintage, obviously for the use of the musicians using the theatre for more recent concerts. The castle leaflet had advertised a number of future productions, so the place was still getting good use. There was nothing else of interest in the pit.
About to leave, Gates noticed a small panel, about two foot square, set into the front edge of the stage and only a few inches above the floor of the pit. Setting his torch down on a music stand, he shone the beam at the panel. A hard tug at the edge of the hardboard sheet caused the panel to drop back into his hands. Gates retrieved his light and shone it into the hole. A latticework of wooden struts supported the stage on either side of a clear area under which someone could easily crawl to store things or inspect for rot. The floor was thick with dust, some of which had been disturbed. It was clear to Gates that someone had been down there recently. Health and Safety would certainly have a bloody field day, he thought.
As he swept the light around the space, he noticed several lines of black insulation tape around a wooden stanchion. Electricians – they’d probably been repairing or replacing the old wiring. But then it struck him that the tape looked too new. Old tape tended to become brittle or begin to peel from wood after a while. He leaned into the hole, barely able to squeeze his muscular upper frame through, and reached for the tape. He hooked a fingernail under one of the lengths and pulled. Although the tape was secured tightly to the old post, Gates felt it stretch and then snap. He heard a muted thump behind the post and reached around and felt something metal. He hoped it wasn’t an electrical junction box or anything that could do him damage. It certainly was a metal box of some kind. He gingerly lifted it and shuffled back out of the hole.
Gates was holding an old biscuit tin. He jiggled the lid free and inside was a wax cylinder and small leather-bound diary.
CHAPTER 38
The second staircase was even narrower and steeper than the first. This was obviously not intended for daily use. About six feet up, the stairs turned to the right for another six or seven feet and to the right again. At the top of the final flight was a small but solid-looking wooden door.
