by Amy Cross
“I want to see a ghost,” Scott told him.
“Well, you can't. You'd have better luck trying to see a unicorn.”
“But unicorns aren't real,” Katie said. “Are they?”
“We have to order at the counter,” John said, getting to his feet. “Scott, I take it you want a burger? And Katie, I take it you want whatever Scott's having?” They both nodded, and he turned to his wife. “Honey?”
“Burger too, thanks,” she replied, and then she watched as he headed to the counter.
“Is Dad mad at us?” Scott asked after a moment.
“No, sweetie,” she replied, turning to him with a smile, “your father's just... on edge.”
“Why?”
“I'm not entirely sure.”
“So is the house really haunted?”
“Is it?” Katie asked, leaning past her brother. “Is it really, Mum?”
“Of course not,” Sarah replied, setting the laminated menus back in the holder. “Your father's right, there's no such thing as ghosts.” She watched as John placed their order at the counter, and for a moment she felt a shiver of concern pass through her chest. “There's nothing to worry about,” she added. “After all, it's just a house.”
Chapter Eighteen
Twenty years ago
“I just wasn't expecting you,” John said, feeling a sense of panic in his gut as he watched his father walking across the kitchen. “You didn't call to say you were coming. You usually call.”
After looking out at the street for a moment, Graham turned to his son. “I just thought I'd surprise you,” he said with a smile. “See how you're keeping up without giving you a chance to put on a show.” He paused for a moment. “How are you keeping up, anyway? It's been a month since your gran died. Sorry I couldn't fly over sooner.”
“Everything's fine.”
“Fine?”
John nodded.
“Just fine?” Graham asked.
“What else should it be?”
Graham looked around the kitchen for a moment, as if he expected to see something of interest. “And you've just spent the past month pottering about the house?”
“I've been tidying.”
“How was the funeral?”
“Fine.”
“Sorry I didn't get to it. Did many people show up?”
“Loads. Mainly old people, I had to shake a lot of hands.”
“And you had no trouble organizing it?”
“It was pretty easy,” he explained. “I just went down to the funeral parlor near the train crossing and they basically took over from there. I used the money you sent me last year for tuition fees.”
“You did, did you?” Graham paused, staring at him with a hint of suspicion. “Well, I guess I'll have to send you some more to cover actual tuition fees, won't I? When you finally get around to deciding which university you want to go to, at least.” He made his way over to the breakfast bar and then looked down at the hatch to the basement for a moment, before heading to the door that led into the hallway and giving the wall a quick knock, as if to check that it was still solid. “Of course, we'll have to sell this place.”
“Why?”
“You're gonna move away to university, aren't you?”
“I... suppose so...”
“Then there's no point hanging onto the house. I was thinking I could sell it and buy somewhere in the town where you decide to move to. Then you can take a room and I can rent out the others to a couple of other lads from your course.” He turned to John and smiled. “You'll have housemates. How does that sound?”
“Um...” John paused, feeling genuinely horrified by the thought living with other people. “Fine.”
“There's that word again,” Graham continued, heading back across the room and putting his hands on his son's shoulders, as if he was getting ready to shake him. “Fine. Is everything merely fine, my boy? Don't you ever think life could be better than fine?”
“I...” John frowned. “Yeah, I guess.”
Graham stared at him for a moment longer, before starting to laugh. “Oh boy,” he chucked, “you lived such a sheltered life here with your gran, didn't you? When you get out there into the real world, you're really gonna have to adjust so there's -”
Stopping suddenly, he looked up at the ceiling.
“What was that?” he asked after a moment.
John looked up too. “What was what?”
Graham paused, before turning back to him. “Nothing. Probably just old Lizzie's ghost, pissed off that I've set foot in the place.” He put an arm around John's shoulder and began to lead him to the hallway. “Now let's take a look around the place. You and me, son, we've got some catching-up to do. In fact, why don't we start by getting out of here for the evening? When was the last time you had a proper night on the town?”
“Um...”
***
“What about her?” Graham asked, leaning past John for a moment to get a better view of the girl at the corner table. “She looks like she's about your age. A little slutty maybe, but that's alright, you're not looking for someone to marry.”
Smiling awkwardly, John looked down at the beer his father had placed in front of him, and which he knew he'd have to drink at some point. Between that and the foul cigarette smoke filling the pub, he felt genuinely nauseous.
“Or her,” Graham continued. “Jesus, look at the legs on that one. You wanna go and get her phone number soon, or I might just beat you to it. All's fair in love and war.”
“I'm fine,” John replied, before realizing that he'd used that word again.
“You're not fine,” Graham told him. “You've spent far too long knocking about that house with your grandmother. Lizzie might not have been a bad woman in some respects, but she had a very funny way of looking at the world and some of it has definitely rubbed off on you. I'm worried she made you too insular, too prone to sitting alone and just thinking about things. The world's for living, John, not for watching on TV. I mean, look at some of the women on display in this place, don't you want to take one of them home some time and have a good time?”
“I write,” John muttered.
“Yeah, well...” Rolling his eyes, Graham took a sip of beer. “No offense, but I think you're gonna need a bit more on your side than a few short stories. What kind of stuff do you write, anyway?”
“This and that. Science-fiction, horror...”
“Well that's not gonna get you anywhere,” Graham continued. “Again, no offense, but I'm worried your grandmother has made you turn a little weird.”
“Weird?”
“You're folding in on yourself, boy. I could see it as soon as I arrived this morning, you're disappearing. I know it's not going to be an easy job, getting you out of your shell, it takes time to undo the kind of damage Liz did to you.” He paused for a moment, watching John with a hint of caution. “I probably shouldn't say this,” he continued finally, “and I know it's gonna sound a little mean, but in some ways I'm actually relieved that she's gone. Not that I wish death on anyone, but you have to understand that your grandmother was a very bad influence on you.”
John lifted the beer to his lips and took a sip. It tasted like bread.
“Liz was a complicated woman,” Graham muttered, taking another glug of beer. “She never liked me, for a start. Thought I was too rough for her daughter, although she came round a little when she realized I had money. But she always looked down on me, especially after your mother died. She blamed me, which was rubbish. If you ask me, your grandmother did a number on your mother long before I ever arrived on the scene. She got into her head and never really let go, she twisted her thoughts and I'm worried she did the same thing to you.” He waited for a reply. “One thing that is not going to happen, my boy, is that you are not going to sit around in that house.”
“I was thinking -”
“I'm selling it,” Graham added. “Definitely. I'll go down the estate agent's office tomorrow.”
“But -”
“No buts, it's decided.” He clinked his glass against John's. “Don't worry, I'll still support you. I believe in you, I know you can turn out alright once you're free from your grandmother's shadow.” He paused for a moment. “She never hit you, did she? Or... touched you?”
“What do you mean?” John asked.
“Your mother used to say things,” he continued. “I never really knew if they were true, but she said your grandmother had a bit of a temper, and that she used to fly into these rages. Your mother had a few scars that she said were from your grandmother. I kind of dismissed it all at the time, but... That never happened with you, did it?”
John paused, before shaking his head.
“That time I came to visit,” Graham added, “and you had a big bruise on the side of your face... You really did fall down the stairs, didn't you?”
John nodded.
“Huh.” Pausing, Graham stared at him for a moment longer. “Well, whatever, the past is in the past and today is a new day. Or night, whatever.” He looked over at a girl sitting alone at the next table. “So are you gonna ask for her number, or do I have to do it for you?”
“Dad, please...”
“Oi!” Graham called out, leaning toward the girl. “You alright on your own there? You wanna come and sit with us for a bit?”
Looking faintly disgusted by the offer, the girl turned away from them.
“Suit yourself,” Graham muttered, turning to John with a smile. “You never know until you try, do you? Don't worry, they won't all be as stuck-up as her, some of 'em like the direct approach. Believe it or not, John, one day you'll meet a nice girl. And when that happens, you'll barely even remember this crumby little town.” He raised his half-empty glass for a toast. “To leaving this place and never looking back.”
John raised his glass, even though he felt distinctly uncomfortable.
“And to a new life far from here,” Graham continued. “I promise, when you finally leave, you'll never want to even think about this town or your old life again, and that's exactly how it should be. Take my advice, son. Once you leave a place, never go back.”
Chapter Nineteen
Today
“Mum,” a voice whispered in the darkness, as a hand nudged her shoulder. “Mum, wake up.”
Opening her eyes, Sarah saw Scott silhouetted against the window.
“What's wrong?” she asked, sitting up in bed.
“We're scared.”
Looking past Scott for a moment, Sarah saw that Katie was standing a little further back. Turning, she grabbed her phone and checked the time, finding that it was a little after 3am.
“Why are you scared?” she asked, turning back to the children. “There's no reason to be scared.”
“We heard noises,” Katie whispered.
“What kind of noises?”
“In the house,” Scott said, with tension in his voice.
Turning, Sarah saw that John was sleeping soundly next to her.
“Did you lie to us earlier?” Scott asked. “Is the house haunted after all?”
“No, sweetie,” she said, pulling the duvet aside and swinging her legs down onto the carpet. “What kind of noises did you hear, exactly?”
“There was someone in the kitchen,” Scott said matter-of-factly.
“Uh-huh,” Katie added, nodding solemnly.
“I'm sure -”
“We went and checked,” Scott added, “but we couldn't see anyone. We still heard them, though.”
“You went and checked?”
He nodded. “Katie wanted to wake you up right away, but I told her we should look first, in case it was nothing.”
“Well, that was very brave of you,” she replied, getting to her feet and heading to the door, “but you should have come to wake us up first.” She leaned out into the dark hallway and saw that a light was on down in the kitchen. “Did you two turn that on?” she asked.
“To make Katie less scared,” Scott whispered, standing just behind her.
“You're the one who wanted it on,” Katie told him.
“So what exactly do you think you heard?” Sarah asked.
“I heard someone banging,” Katie continued.
“I heard a voice,” Scott added. “It was really muffled, though. It sounded like someone whispering. It didn't last long, but... It sounded like whoever it was, they were in pain.”
“Well, that...” Sarah paused for a moment. “I guess your father and I really freaked you out earlier, didn't we, talking about ghosts and stuff?” She reached down and took their hands. “Come on, let's go take a quick look and make sure there's nothing whispering down there.”
“Shouldn't we wake Dad?” Scott asked.
“Let him sleep,” she replied, leading them through the door and then down the stairs. “He had trouble nodding off earlier, so let's just take a quick look down here and then we can go back to bed, okay?” Reaching the door to the kitchen, she found the harsh electric light a little overpowering. “See? There's no-one here.”
“There was a voice earlier,” Scott said, clearly very skeptical.
“We're not making it up,” Katie added.
“I know you're not,” Sarah replied, letting go of their hands and checking to make sure the door was locked, “but if -”
Suddenly there was a faint bump from nearby. She turned and looked across the kitchen, but there was no sign of anything. A moment later, she felt the children grabbing her hands again.
“Mum,” Katie whispered, “I think it came from the basement.”
***
“Of course there's no light switch,” Sarah muttered, fumbling in the darkness at the top of the stairs that led down into the pitch-black basement. “Why would there be a light switch? That'd just be too convenient, wouldn't it?”
“Do you see anything?” Katie asked, holding the hatch open.
Staring down into the basement, Sarah squinted but still couldn't make anything out.
“Here,” Scott said suddenly, reaching through with her mobile phone. “I tried waking Dad, but he was snoring.”
“Thanks.” Bringing up the flashlight app, Sarah held the phone out and saw that the rickety wooden stairs led down to a concrete floor below. The walls looked to be made of breeze-blocks, rough and dusty. “You two stay up here, okay? I'm just going to go down and take a look to make sure there's nothing to worry about.”
“What if there's something down there?” Katie asked.
“The house was just sold. There'll be nothing down here at all.” She paused for a moment, feeling a little nervous, before keeping her head low as she made her way carefully down the creaking steps. With the phone still held out, she could see a wall of breeze blocks to one side, but to her surprise she realized that there were cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and various old, damp cardboard boxes near the foot of the stairs, as if the previous owners hadn't cleaned the place out when they left.
“Do you see anything?” Scott called out from the hatch.
“Not yet, sweetie,” she replied, reaching the bottom of the stairs and shining the phone around.
The basement was much smaller than she'd imagined, and there was a distinctly bitter smell in the cold air. Taking a few steps forward, she saw that the place was a mess, with rotten boxes everywhere and old jars that in some cases had broken and leaked thick black liquid all over the floor. When she leaned down and lifted the lid on one of the boxes, she found a bunch of old books inside. Scrunching her nose up slightly, she took care not to set her bare feet on anything too gross as she made her way to the far wall, which at least seemed to have less grime caked all over its surface. She waited, but there was no hint of a sound and as she turned and looked around once again, she told herself that the bump must just have been the house settling, although she wasn't entirely sure whether that was something that really happened to houses or whether it was just something people talked about in movies.
“Cool!” Scott said suddenl
y, having made his way down the stairs with his sister right behind.
“Hey!” Sarah hissed, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder. “Careful! There's all sorts of stuff down here, I have no idea whether it's safe.”
“This place stinks,” Scott pointed out, turning to Katie. “Don't you think so?”
She nodded.
“Whatever,” Sarah continued, “there's clearly nothing down here, okay guys? How about we go back up and get some sleep? I'm kind of cold.”
“Can we sleep down here?” Scott asked. “It'd be like camping.”
“No way. Get back up to the kitchen.”
“But -”
“Now!”
As the children headed back up the stairs, Sarah took one last look around the basement, and she couldn't help but wonder why the previous owners had left so much junk behind. The rest of the house seemed so clean and well-maintained, whereas the basement seemed not to have been touched for years. Heading to the foot of the stairs, she began to make her way up, and then finally she and the children closed the hatch, leaving the basement in darkness again.
After a moment, there was another faint bump, this time too quiet to be heard in the rest of the house.
Chapter Twenty
Twenty years ago
“Jesus Christ,” Graham muttered, swaying as he stood in the kitchen, “I'm actually drunk.” He squinted as he tried to look at his watch. “What time is it? Three? Does that say three?”
“Ten to three,” John told him as he locked the front door. “It's late. I think I'm going to bed.”
“What about your gran's port stash?” Graham asked. “Please tell me you didn't pour it all down the sink.”
“Sorry.”
“Bloody hell,” Graham muttered, looking around the kitchen, “so the whole house is dry, eh?”
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. I should've known. Should've picked up some beer from the corner shop. Maybe even something stronger. I can't believe that stupid club shut at two. What the hell is wrong with this town?”
