by Simon Clark
Blaxton’s voice adopted an air of finality. The kind of tones a prisoner might use when the guard on death row told him it was almost time for that last walk. Even though Fisher only stood ten paces from the man a mist drifted between them. It blurred his face until it resembled a skull hovering there above the ground. A frog called. A splash sounded from the swamp. A sense of foreboding knotted Fisher’s stomach. Time is on collision course with the inevitable. That understanding didn’t come in words but in painful clenches inside his body. Nerve endings flared in alarm. The man’s face now appeared as a melting skull in the mist. Surely, it was an effect of moonlight conspiring with drifting droplets of water vapour. Only …
Only Fisher recalled the video he’d watched of himself. And those nightmares … Kym and Josanne had them, too.
Fisher spoke. ‘Blaxton, how long was it before your friends started having the bad dreams.’
‘Bad dreams?’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don’t you wish they were only bad dreams?’ Once more Blaxton checked his watch. This time he grunted as if he experienced a stab of pain. ‘Mr Fisher, I’m sorry. There isn’t time to tell you what you need to know.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t ask why. Don’t interrupt. I’ll keep speaking for as long as I can. What you do with the information is up to you. OK. You and your friends have been having bad dreams. My friends did, too. And here it is without sugar coating. They experienced visions of their own death. Within hours or days of that vision they died. Sorry to be brutal with the truth, but there it is, my friend. Ssh, no questions: there isn’t time. The first to die dreamt he fell from The Tower. When he woke up he told me about it. His hands were shaking with fear. In the nightmare he’d been walking on the roof. He heard the chimes … oh, yes, you’ve heard the chimes, I know you have … he heard the chimes from that clock in The Good Heart. Anyway … the roof is flat. It’s designed for walking on. Only as he heard the chimes in his dream it tipped up. He dreamt he slid off of it like meat from a chopping board. Bang. Fell down on the driveway. My friend had tears in his eyes as he told me he felt his bones break. That he knew he was dead. Yeah, right. Just a nightmare. We took the piss. We laughed at him.’
‘Then it happened.’
‘Hell, yes. Then it happened, Mr Fisher.’ Blaxton spoke with renewed urgency. ‘The guy went up on the roof with the camera. He planned to set up for a shot of the grounds. I guess the nightmare still scared the crap out of him but we’d taunted him so mercilessly he didn’t want to be seen as a coward.’ Blaxton shrugged. ‘My friend screamed. I saw him fall all the way to the ground. Just like he told me.’ Now he looked too cold to shiver. ‘The next day it was the same. Carol-Anne told me that she’d dreamt her car burst into flames. She said as she burned she could still hear the chimes of the clock. Those blasted chimes, eh, Mr Fisher?’
‘What about the rest?’
‘What do you think? I don’t have to spell it out, do I?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Not that there’s time anyway. But they all dreamt their own death. They all heard chimes. They all died. If you’ve had similar nightmares then it’s time to get the hell out – and fast. You follow?’
Fisher nodded. A grim coldness spread through his veins.
Blaxton fastened his stare on his watch yet again. ‘I make it nine. But I know this watch is a few seconds fast.’
‘Why? What’s so important about the time?’
‘Nine o’clock? If you’re crazy enough to stay here you’d best find some answers. When I left I didn’t stop to pick up my stuff. But I’d already stored some audio tapes in the cellar. I tied them in a plastic sack – a big red one – if its still there you can’t miss it. They might be useful.’
‘After fifteen years?’
‘The tapes are probably exactly where I left them. Believe me, not many people visit the cellar. They’re the original medieval vaults of The Good Heart. The epicentre.’
‘I’ll find them.’
‘Good. But even better if you drive away from here tonight.’
‘We’re looking for our friend. She hasn’t been seen all day.’
‘Then God help her.’ Blaxton became agitated. His eyes darted from Fisher’s face to The Tower. He took a step backward. The mist crept over his face again, blurring the edges. His features became distorted. The eyes were suddenly not eyes, but circular voids in his head.
‘Blaxton?’
‘You should think about saving yourself, Mr Fisher.’
‘Blaxton? When you saw me for the first time, you knew I’d be carrying a guitar, didn’t you?’
‘Yes! Yes, I did!’ Fear ran through Blaxton’s voice.
‘And the guitar would have a white body. How did you know that?’
‘You idiot. Don’t you get it?’
‘Get what?’
‘You haven’t understood what I’ve told you. That’s not my fault. God help me, I tried!’
‘Blaxton? How did you know I’d be carrying a white guitar?’
Suddenly he lunged forward out of the fog. His eyes blazed. ‘Because fifteen years ago I lay in bed in that house and I dreamt exactly this. I dreamt I’d stand here on this concrete again while a man walked out of the fog with a white guitar! This is my nightmare – my death dream! Do you understand now? In the dream I saw myself standing here at night. Then you approached me. We talked. I told you what I know about that damned house. Then the house killed me.’ His eyes grew wild as terror gripped him. ‘Do you understand I died, Fisher! I DIED!’
Chimes drifted through the air. Fisher had heard them here before so knew they could reach the runway. The chimes were possessed by a metallic coldness that sent shivers down his spine.
Blaxton whirled round. Panic gripped him. Cries spurted from the back of his throat.
‘Blaxton. If you knew what the house could do, why did you come back here?’
‘I didn’t!’ He still backed away as if fearing attack. ‘I was at home. I opened my eyes – and that’s when I found myself here. Did you hear that, Fisher! The house brought me back!’
The chimes continued. To Fisher’s ears they were faint as they counted the hours from one to nine. Yet to Blaxton they seemed to peal at him with such volume that he flinched with every strike. Grimacing, he pressed his palms to the side of his head.
‘Blaxton. Wait here. I’ll bring a car down. I’ll drive you away to—’
Fisher’s plan exploded to nothing as Blaxton ran into the fog. For a second Fisher saw the man racing across the expanse of concrete. Then he vanished as the mist swallowed him.
‘Blaxton. Come back!’
Then came splashes; they faded away as the man ran through shallow water. Then came the screams.
‘God help me … please … Fisher … Fisher! I can’t climb out! I’m going under … I’m going—’
Then the screams vanished. Silence rushed in like air rushing to fill a vacuum. Fisher ran to where he thought he heard the screams came from. He shone the flashlight into the mist. Only it grew thicker. Visibility dwindled to no more than twenty yards. What was there to see? He could make out nothing but pools of still water … they didn’t look as if they’d been disturbed in five years … ten years … fifteen years …
CHAPTER 24
Jak stood in the main entrance of the house as Fisher returned with the white guitar slung across his back. The dog stepped forward to greet Fisher. The man plodded toward the animal with a tired word of greeting. All the time he sensed the oppressive mass of The Tower rising above him. It carried the same violent promise as a raised fist.
This is where Blaxton’s friend fell to his death. Fisher’s plodding feet crunched on the driveway gravel. What noise would the impact of a 180 pound body make after plunging six storeys?
Jak fell into step alongside him as they crossed the entrance hallway. Above them the staircase curved upwards into the stone carcass of the tower. This is where Blaxton walked when he came on his ghost hunt. Fifteen years ago a bunch of young people
came here with optimistic plans. One by one they had that ‘death dream’. Then they died one by one. This is where I walked when I first entered the house … A couple of hours later I had my death dream, too.
So where is Blaxton now, in his cream-coloured sweat pants and sweater? He’s at the bottom of the swamp. The house brought him back here. His death dream became reality when he saw the man with a white guitar. Then Blaxton heard the chimes. Panicked. Ran into the swamp. Dead. End-of-story for Blaxton. He’ll lie there in his grave of stagnant slime for all eternity. But what about us? What about the living?
A breeze blew outside. It sent draughts whispering through the hallway. Unseen doors creaked. The sound of ancient tomb doors opening. The draughts raised a chorus of sighing through the banister posts. The dog’s ears pointed as he picked up all the noises that Fisher couldn’t hear. He noticed the way Jak looked up the stairs as if he knew something stirred up there.
Fisher sensed the weight of the tower above him. Shadows appeared to creep down the steps. He was sure it was darker up there than a moment ago. Jak gave a tiny bark in the back of his throat. Short black hairs bristled on his back.
‘You know it, too, don’t you, boy?’ Ice slid in Fisher’s veins. ‘This house. It’s only just started to work on us, hasn’t it?’ He shivered.
Jak dog gave that ‘Yip’ sound in the back of his throat again. He held eye-contact with Fisher for a moment before turning his head back to the stairs. Here the lights burned in the hallway, up there the power had been cut by the developer. The big staircase rose in a long curve to the next floor and then the next. Above the second storey was nothing but a realm of shadows. Fisher glanced at Jak. The animal’s amber eyes appeared fixed on an object that no human could divine.
He breathed, ‘There’s something up there, isn’t there?’
Again, Jak made the faint sound in the back of his throat. The amber eyes flicked between the stairs and back to Fisher. There was an expression of expectancy. In fact, Jak’s entire body trembled as his muscles quivered in response to the flood of adrenaline that triggered the ‘fight or flight’ mode. Fisher moved so he had a view of the corridor. No one else about. He hoped he’d catch sight of Marko or Sterling. No doubt Fabian was still conducting his vigil down by the road.
Gently, Fisher stood the guitar in the corner of the hallway, then he raised the flashlight. He would switch on at the last second. If this was an intruder he preferred at least an element of surprise. A dazzling shot of light might catch them off-guard. ‘OK, Jak,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got here.’
Instinctively, the dog stayed close by him as they climbed the first flight of steps. There were ten or so risers before the curve of the staircase took the next ten out of view. With the dog shadowing him he silently climbed the ten steps. As the staircase turned to the right Fisher saw the risers were concealed in shadow. Cold draughts ghosted down at him. They were strong enough to force tendrils of air through his fringe to crawl across his scalp. He raised the flashlight until he held it like a pistol. His thumb was on the button, ready to switch on the moment he saw a figure. He ascended three more risers then stopped. A black shape squatted there in the centre of the stairs. As Fisher stared at it a pair of glistening eyes flicked open from the shadowed head.
With his heart giving a furious lurch, he crushed the button with his thumb. The dog let out a bark that sounded like a scream. Light dashed from the flashlight to strike the hunched figure on the stair. Fisher saw a stark face; wide eyes; a glint of teeth behind parted lips.
Air exploded from his lips as he made the leap of recognition. ‘Josanne?’
Cantley watched the man at the drive’s gateway. Like a rogue toothache that had no respect for territory, the pain that had started in Cantley’s jaw earlier in the day spread into his cheekbones, then into his eyes before burrowing like a spiny-backed worm into his forehead. When he’d killed the one called Kym the house was pleased. It had quelled the pain in Cantley’s body. Only a brief respite though. The house had an appetite for more sacrifice. It was hungry for another gift. A bloody gift. A bloody, writhing, twisting, screaming gift. Cantley grinned in the darkness.
Fisher ran up the staircase to where Josanne sat in the shadows just four steps from the next floor. Jak ran part way then stopped short of her. The dog froze into an odd stillness as he stared at the seated woman. Fisher paused just a few steps below her. Josanne sat with her knees forward and her arms limply hanging down at either side of her, so her palms rested flat against the step. Her face was usually an olive brown. Now it appeared bloodless grey in the flashlight. She stared forward with no expression. The glare of the flashlight didn’t appear to intrude on her thoughts at all. The woman appeared to be locked inside a daydream.
‘Josanne?’ Fisher took another step toward her. ‘Are you all right?’
Slowly, she emerged from the dreamy stare. ‘I’m back, aren’t I?’ Her voice was hoarse.
The bare meaning of the words should have seemed like a sarcastic, I’m back, aren’t I? To Fisher’s ears, however, she uttered the words in a dazed way. Like an accident victim realizing something both unexpected and shocking had happened.
‘Yes,’ he said gently. ‘You’re back at the house.’
‘Oh …’
‘Did you find a telephone?’
‘Hmm?’ She gazed up into the shadows above her. Her body language spoke of someone in a state of deep confusion.
‘Josanne. Did you telephone the police?’
She looked back at him. ‘Fisher?’
‘Yes, it’s me … Fisher.’ He shone the flashlight at himself. ‘And here’s Jak … the dog we found,’ he added, when she looked blankly at the animal who still refused to approach her.
She closed her eyes for a moment then opened them. This time she appeared a little more focused. ‘Fisher? How did I get here?’
‘What’s wrong, Josanne?’
The words came quickly. ‘I crashed the car into a lake. It wasn’t deep. But I knew I was stuck. I’d have to wait there until morning. I know I tried to sleep.’ A breeze rose. Air currents droned across the window frames. A sharp tapping started as a black rain began to fall. She flinched at the sound, then turned to hold Fisher with a wide-eyed stare. ‘Why aren’t I still in the car?’
A cold prickle ran down his spine. He knew what had happened. For some reason he couldn’t yield to the truth. Not yet. If he could deny it to himself then there was just a remote chance he could hold this curse at bay. ‘Josanne, you must have managed to drive the car out of the lake, then back here.’
Slowly she shook her head. ‘The car was stuck in the water. Fisher?’ A note of panic crept into her voice. ‘Fisher, I sat in the car, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again I was back here.’
‘Oh, God.’ Blaxton’s words came back to him as they’d stood out on the runway: ‘I was at home. I opened my eyes – and that’s when I found myself here. Did you hear that, Fisher! The house brought me back!’
She gave a tiny heartbroken laugh. ‘It’s all right Fisher. You can tell me I’ve gone insane. I can take it. Did they find me gibbering at the roadside? Did you drag me into the van and drive me back here?’
‘No, Josanne,’ he said, as gently as he could. ‘But we’ve got to get everyone together. It’s important we talk.’
‘Kym?’
‘She’s …’ Dead. Realization cut through him, but without missing a beat he said, ‘… not been found yet.’
‘She’ll get wet … Have you seen the rain?’
‘Can you stand? That’s OK, Josanne. Put your weight on my arm.’ Hell, so that’s why Jak keeps his distance from her. The moment he steadied her as she climbed unsteadily to her feet, a penetrating cold slammed through the bones in his hands. They ached so much he had to clamp his teeth together. She’s got the essence of the house in her. It must have infected her when it brought her back here. At that moment he recalled an old phrase a priest would have used to des
cribe her condition. He would have said: She’s become one of the damned. Jak smelt it on her. He backed away with his ears and tail down.
As Fisher guided her down to the hallway, Sterling appeared. First he looked up at the pair descending the stairs. Then he saw his guitar propped in the corner.
‘Fisher, what’s going on here? What are you doing with my guitar? I’ve been looking all over for that.’
‘Fabian found it outside.’
‘Outside?’
‘Look, Sterling, we’ve got to get everyone together.’
‘What the hell was it doing outside?’
‘Sterling, you’ll find Fabian down at the main road. Bring him back here.’
‘What’s wrong with Josanne? Have you seen her face? It’s grey.’
‘Sterling, please, man. Bring Fabian. We’ll be in the kitchen.’
Jak slunk along the edge of the walls to keep his distance from Josanne, then he raced along the corridor to where Marko stood outside the kitchen door. Sterling couldn’t tear his eyes from Josanne’s face. It was as if he’d noticed a disfiguring scar for the first time.
‘Sterling.’
‘OK, I’m moving.’
‘You’d best have this.’ He tossed the flashlight to him. ‘I’ll take the guitar with me. Now hurry! I’ve got something to tell you.’
