The Ash House

by Cross, Amy

  But now I need to know.

  And maybe deep down, deep in my subconscious, I always knew I'd use the board one day. Maybe I just had to get to this point before I could admit that to myself.

  I mean, if using it was out of the question, why did I pack it for this trip?

  “Other people say they've heard and seen things in this house,” I say out loud, keeping my voice low so that I don't risk waking Daniel or Mum. “I'm the only one who never saw anything, so I'm asking if there's anything here, please just let me know. Just give me one sign.”

  I watch the planchette, waiting in case I feel some kind of pressure being applied from an unknown source, but there's nothing.

  I should pack this whole thing away before anyone comes down and catches me, but the thought of stopping makes me feel a little scared. This is my final, final chance of finding some proof of life after death, and I'm not ready to give up just yet.

  “My name is Diane,” I whisper, before figuring I should try something new.

  Moving the planchette with my fingertips, I spell out my name.

  “Diane,” I say again. “D-I-A-N-E. Then again, if there's anyone hiding in this house, you probably know my name by now. I mean, you were probably here the whole time I was growing up.”

  I move the planchette back to its starting point.

  “Some people said they saw a little girl,” I continue, still staring down at the board. “My uncle saw her, and one of my friends did too. Apparently she haunts the house and the yard, and she's been seen in the forest too. If you're here, little girl, and you're scared, I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I promise I just want confirmation.”

  I turn and look around the room, but all I see is darkness.

  “Nora?” I whisper, remembering the name I read in the newspaper years ago. “Nora Copstone, are you here?”

  I wait.

  Silence.

  “Please give me a sign,” I continue. “Nora, are you here?”

  Silence.

  “Is anyone here?”

  Suddenly the planchette moves, jerking to the board's left side and stopping directly over the word Yes.

  I freeze, staring in horror, unable to believe what just happened.

  “Who are you?” I ask, and now my heart is racing. “What's your name, where are you? What's it like? Tell me what it's like. No, wait, tell me who you are first. Are you Nora, or are you someone else?”

  I wait, but now the planchette is still again.

  “Please,” I continue, as fresh tears start running down my face. “Just tell me something. Anything.”

  As I continue to wait, I think back to the sensation of the planchette moving, and I start to wonder whether I simply fooled myself. Maybe I'm so desperate to believe, my hands involuntarily moved without my mind even being aware.

  “I need more proof,” I say out loud. “Just do it one more time, so I can be sure.”

  Silence.

  “Okay,” I continue, taking a deep breath as I try to pull myself together. “Thank you. Thank you for what you've shown me so far. I just need a little more.”

  As I wait in silence, I can't help thinking that I should have done more research. There are probably rules about these boards, about how to use them and how to contact spirits, but everything I've done has been based on stuff I've seen in movies.

  “Just one more time,” I whisper. “Once isn't enough. Come on, if you're there, why won't you talk to me again?”

  I wait and wait and wait, but the planchette stays in place.

  “Nora, is that you?” I ask. “Or is it someone else?”

  Finally, wanting to test a theory, I use my fingertips to move the planchette gently around the board. I keep telling myself that it moved by itself a few minutes ago, but deep down there's a nagging sense of doubt in my gut and I'm starting to have doubts. What if I was the one who moved the planchette, and I'm just not quite ready to admit that to myself yet? What if my subconscious mind is playing tricks on me?

  I need more proof. I need another sign.

  “Talk to me,” I whisper, as I move the planchette back to the starting point and wait again. “Tell me anything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Daniel

  “Mum?”

  Opening my eyes, I roll over and look across the dark bedroom. I think I must have fallen asleep, but now I can smell Mum's perfume. For a moment I feel she might actually be here, but then I remember the sweater.

  Lifting the pillow, I give the sweater a sniff, and I realize with a heavy heart that the perfume must just have drifted into my dream. I don't remember what I was dreaming about, but I'm pretty sure I was with Mum again. She's in almost all my dreams at the moment, but I know that's not what she meant when she said she'd give me a sign. The sign needs to be something clearer. Something that can't be mistaken for anything else.

  I lean back on the bed and look up at the ceiling. Just as I'm about to close my eyes, however, I realize that along with the shadows of nearby trees, I can see a faint, flickering orange glow. I turn and look over at the window, and I realize with a growing sense of concern that the glow seems to be outside.

  Getting to my feet, I head over and look out, and then I gasp as I see that something is burning inside the ash house. Flames are flickering in the entrance, and smoke is billowing out into the night sky.

  ***

  “Hello?”

  Stopping at the top of the porch steps, I look across the yard and see that there's still a flickering orange light coming from inside the little house. I didn't wake Nana up on my way down here, partly because I thought I should let her sleep and partly because I half expected to find that there was no flame at all. I thought the whole thing would turn out to be a figment of my imagination. Now, however, I can see that something is definitely burning.

  I make my way down the steps. I'm not wearing anything on my feet and the ground is cold, but I tell myself that there's no point going back inside to fetch some slippers. Anyway, I'll only be out here for a minute or two.

  “Is anyone there?” I ask as I step closer and closer to the ash house.

  I can hear the flames now, crackling in the cold night air. By the time I reach the ash house, I'm shivering slightly, and when I touch the stones I find that they're still cold despite the fire that's burning on the inside. Even my feet, which are right next to one of the entrances and which are caught in the flickering glow, don't feel warm at all. I can see and hear the fire, but I can't feel it at all.

  I hesitate for a moment, before crouching down and peering into the ash house.

  The flames are dancing brightly, filling the space but concentrated on the left side. There's no warmth, not even when I hold my hands out, but I guess maybe the heat is somehow all being drained out through the roof. Still, as I continue to look into the fire, I can't help feeling as if there's something I'm not noticing. It takes a few seconds longer, but finally I look down toward the muddy ground and see something poking out from the heart of the flames.

  A hand.

  I watch the hand for a moment, convinced that it can't be real. The hand's flesh is crackled and burned, with thick splits exposing blood and bone beneath. Even as I stare, I can see the flesh starting to peel away slightly, and the pale bones are starting to darken as if the flames are charring their surface.

  It's the same hand I saw before.

  I don't know how I know, but I know.

  Pinching my wrist, I try to wake myself up. This has to be a dream, but no amount of pinching takes me away from the horrific scene.

  Suddenly, in the heart of the flames, a burning face turns and looks straight at me, and I see two dark eyes.

  “No!” I gasp, pulling back and falling, landing on my bum as I continue to stare into the flames.

  The figure is on its hands and knees now, and I watch in horror as it turns and starts crawling toward me. I can see flames burning through its flesh, and I can hear a loud crackling sound, but I'm too s
cared to run or even to cry out. I keep telling myself that this is a dream, that it can't be real and that at any moment I'll wake up safe and sound in bed. At the same time, I'm trying to get to my feet and run, but I feel as if my bones are locked in position and I can't move at all.

  Slowly, the figure starts crawling out of the ash house, getting closer and closer until finally it stops.

  I stare in horror, watching the dark features of a face that's rapidly being eaten away by the fire. Already, I can see from the silhouette that the figure no longer has a nose, and a moment later the face tilts slightly and I see sharp, angular cheekbones, as if more flesh has been burned away.

  Suddenly the figure turns toward the house and screams, and I instinctively clamp my hands over my ears as a horrified cry rings out.

  As the scream continues, I look over at the house and see to my horror that a figure is standing at the top of the steps, silhouetted in the doorway. For a fraction of a second I worry that Nana has got up, but then I realize the figure is taller and stockier, with broader shoulders.

  It's a man.

  “Who are you?” I whisper, before turning back to the burning figure and watching as it stumbles to its feet.

  With flames still roaring from its flesh, the figure starts running out into the forest, and now I can see that it's too small to be an adult. Deep down, I already know that it has to be the same little girl I've already seen several times.

  “Wait!” I gasp, finally managing to force myself up.

  I look toward the house again and see the dark figure still watching us, and then I turn and start running after the burning girl.

  She's up ahead of me, stumbling from tree to tree and screaming as the flames continue to burn all across her body. She looks to be weakening, and after a moment she stops between two trees.

  I stop too, watching as the light from the flames roars into the night air.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  The figure doesn't respond. She's just standing there, still burning, with her back to me. The only sound comes from the crackle of the flames.

  “Who are you?” I ask again. “Why do you keep coming here?”

  I wait, and this time she turns slightly. I can just about make out her face in the heart of the inferno, but all her flesh is burned away now and her silhouette looks more skeletal than human.

  “Do you want something?” I ask. “Who's that man I saw just now? I can't help you if you won't talk to me. I'm not -”

  I gasp as she turns and faces me. She seems so calm, even though she's little more than a collection of charred bones in the heart of an inferno.

  “Did you die here?” I continue, trying to figure out why she keeps appearing. “Are you scared of -”

  Suddenly she steps toward me and screams again, and I instinctively turn away.

  In the blink of an eye, the light from the fire is gone. I look back over my shoulder, but the girl has disappeared, and in the distance the ash house is completely dark too. I look toward the steps at the front of the house, but there's not enough light for me to see whether the man's silhouette is still there. All around me, the forest has fallen dark once more.

  “Hello?” I call out through the cold air. “Come back! I want to know why you're here! You have to tell me!”

  As I make my way back toward the house, however, I can't help looking up at the porch steps and watching to see whether there's any sign of the man. By the time I've reached the ash house, I can tell that the man is gone, so I lean down and peer into the little stone house and see that the flames have vanished too, as if they were never here.

  I reach a hand inside, but the interior is cold, almost as if the fire was never here in the first place. There are a few scorch marks, but they've been there all along, left behind from the old days when the ash house was still being used.

  Stepping across the yard, I stop at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the main house. I stare at the spot where the man's silhouette was standing, and I try to tell myself that he was just a trick of the light. I quickly realize, however, that I can't fool myself.

  There was a man right there, and he was watching the ash house, and the burning girl seems terrified of him. If she's a ghost, I think he might be too. But why are they here? And why am I seeing them more and more often?

  “Nana!” I call out finally, running back into the house. “Nana, wake up!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Diane

  “You've got a fever,” Mum says, following me through to the kitchen and reaching out to touch my forehead again. “Diane, after breakfast you should -”

  “I don't have a fever,” I mutter, pushing her hand away and then stopping to lean on the counter. I need to get my breath back, since the journey from the sofa has left me feeling exhausted, but apart from that I'm fine.

  Still, I'm pathetic.

  I can't even walk from one room to the next without almost collapsing.

  This is happening faster than I ever expected. My body is giving up, even though my mind is determined to keep going.

  “After breakfast,” Mum says, stepping past me and heading to the sink, “we have to call the hospital. The doctor said that if you get a fever -”

  “Well, I don't have a fever!” I snap, turning and shuffling past her. “It's my body, so I should know! If I get a fever, you'll be the first to know, but right now the only thing wrong with me is that you keep this house so bloody hot all the time! I knew you were old, but I didn't know you were that far gone!”

  I stop in the doorway, resting again. Reaching up, I wipe sweat from my face, and I already know that I'm being unfair to Mum. She's right, I do have a slight fever, but I'm sure it'll pass as the morning goes on. There's no need to worry just yet. After all, Mum thinks I slept fairly well during the night. She has no idea I was up until sunrise, desperately trying to get the planchette to move again on the ouija board.

  I failed, of course, and now in the cold light of morning I've started to realize that the whole thing was just in my head. The planchette only moved because my fingertips pushed it across the board. I was so pathetically, wretchedly desperate to find proof of life beyond death, I actually fooled myself. At least now I realize the truth, which is that there was no spirit reaching out to contact me. There are no spirits anywhere. There's just life, and then there's death, and that's all there is to say. When I die, I'll be gone forever.

  I watch for a moment as a patch of sunlight glints against the dining room table.

  “Diane,” Mum says cautiously, “are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

  “I have to get my paperwork in order,” I whisper.

  “There'll be time for that later.”

  “No.” I turn to her, and suddenly I know with absolute certainty what I have to do next. It's as if the lack of hope has somehow galvanized my thoughts and given me the clarity I've been missing. “I don't think there'll be time later. I have to get it all done today. Don't ask me why, don't argue, just promise me you'll help.”

  “Of course I'll help,” she replies, as footsteps in the room above indicate that Daniel is finally out of bed. “We'll get started right after breakfast.”

  She flashes a terribly forced smile as she heads over to the fridge.

  Turning and looking back at the patch of light on the table, I feel strangely calm. It takes a moment before I realize what's wrong, or before I'm willing to admit what's wrong, but finally I find that I can no longer deny the truth.

  I'm dying. My body is starting to shut down, and I have a day or two left at most. And then there'll be nothing. I'll simply cease to exist for the rest of all time. Anything else is just a load of romantic, feelgood bullshit.

  ***

  “I've spoken to Douglas,” Mum says later, as she comes through from the dining room, “and he says what we've done is perfect. All the papers are fine and there's no need to worry from a legal standpoint.”

  “Daniel gets everything?” I ask, barely a
ble to get the words out.

  My mouth feels so dry.

  “Daniel gets everything.”

  She hesitates, watching as I sit slumped in the armchair.

  “Douglas is an excellent solicitor,” she continues, as if she senses my concerns. “The man knows what he's doing, Diane. I'd trust him with my life.”

  I nod, too exhausted to argue with her anymore. I'm sure she's right.

  “So now will you let me call the hospital?” she asks. “You said I had to wait until the paperwork was done. Well, the paperwork's done.”

  “I don't have a fever,” I whisper.

  She comes over and places a hand against my forehead.

  “Now you feel rather cold,” she mutters. “I think -”

  “We'll call them later,” I reply, gripping the armrests and hauling myself slowly to my feet. “Not now.”

  Mum grabs my hand and helps support me. Any other time, I would have told her to knock it off, but right now I'm actually grateful. I feel so desperately unsteady on my feet, and I still can't quite believe how rapidly I've begun to decline. I guess I thought I'd glide gradually into this, but instead my health is plummeting and I don't even dare look in a mirror. I've noticed that my hands looks yellowish and painfully thin, which tells me all I need to know about my appearance.

  “Where do you want to go?” Mum asks.

  “The window.”

  She holds my arm and helps me as I make my way across the room. After a moment I suddenly realize I have no idea why I wanted to go to the window, but I don't want to admit that I'm feeling increasingly confused so I just keep my mouth shut and tell myself I'll figure something out when I get there. Maybe I just wanted to look at the forest, or I wanted to feel the warmth of the sun on my face.

  As soon as I reach the window, however, I spot movement out in the yard and I remember exactly why I came over here.

  Daniel is playing in the ash house, scurrying in and out as if he's lost in his own little world.

  “He's going to be alright, isn't he?” I ask after a moment, still watching him.