by Simon Clark
Her body was numb. Reality had retreated to a place far, far away. And no chimes. She was so grateful for that. The peace was exquisite. Her eyelids were too heavy to keep open. When she closed them she didn’t even realize Fisher was carrying her up the steps and back into the body of the house.
As Fisher bore the limp, dripping form of Josanne out of the cellar Belle raced back to the house. It appeared to gaze broodingly down at her. A cold, hard mass of multiple hatreds. Its shell was suffused with disapproval, antipathy. The timbers oozed hostility. The very air it contained was stained with contempt for anything human. Belle sensed the evil spirit of the house as she picked her way, barefoot, across the driveway. Even so, she still felt the heat of her triumph over the madman. He was neatly pinned by the steel rod to the table top. Good, let the bastard squirm in agony for a while. She’d take her time telling the others what had happened to her before leading them down to the garage to view her captive. Besides, Belle was sure he knew what had happened to Kym. If he was hurting badly enough he might be inclined to indulge in confessional talk.
‘Suffer, you bastard,’ she hissed as she pushed open the door of the
house. The lights in the corridor were lit, but not those in the entrance hall. The staircase curved way up into the darkness of the tower itself. She’d go wake Adam then rouse the rest of them. A madman nailed by the hand to a table was something they had to see. She’d beaten him. And she’d beaten the hex.
‘What do you say to that, House?’ Her voice rose as she tossed her head. ‘I’ve beaten your curse, you pile of crap. I’ve outwitted you!’ She gave a grim laugh. ‘So, go on do your worst. You can’t get the better of us.’
As she crossed the entrance hall toward the corridor she noticed that the doors to The Good Heart were open. Lights played on the walls as if someone had decided to view it by flashlight. It might be Fabian or one of the others. They were sick to death of the bloody chimes. Probably someone had been woken by the damn things so they’d decided to put paid to that clock once and for all. Well, if there was someone here they’d be the first to hear about her adventure.
Belle stepped through the doorway into The Promenade that lead to The Good Heart. There, diffuse patches of light skated across the stone face of the medieval façade. She made out the little deepset windows and the stunted doorway that appeared as if it had been designed for the local hobgoblin population, not men and women.
A rush of air blasted against her; it rippled her silk nightdress; her hair fluttered. Belle turned as the doors slammed shut behind her. How the hell had that happened? She stepped back to the door. Tried the handle. It wouldn’t shift. Surely no one had locked her in here. The wind must have blown the door shut.
‘Damn you,’ she hissed. For some reason she felt a reluctance to glance back. There had been something unearthly about the way those patches of light skated across the ancient building within a building. Not so much lights playing on stonework but a witch fire pulsing outward through its walls. ‘Come on. Open.’ she whispered, as she pushed at the door. Changing tack, she pulled as she twisted the handle. ‘Stupid door. Stupid house. Evil bloody house. I hate you.’ She tugged harder. The thing didn’t even rattle. The handle might as well have been welded into the same position.
She slammed her hand against the wooden panel. ‘Adam!’ Even louder she shouted, ‘Hello! Anyone! Can anyone hear me!’ The echoes slowly faded, before swelling in volume to rush at her in a distorted cry.
‘Crazy house. Even the echoes are all wrong.’
Belle gripped the handle again. This time it turned smoothly with only the slightest effort on her part. ‘Hmm. At last.’ Belle pulled open the door.
He stood there. The same wild nest of hair. The moon-shaped scar of grey skin on his forehead.
As her heart lurched, the chimes started. This time they were eager. The metallic clanging thrust from the air to burrow deep through her ears into her head. The chimes pulsed in triumph. A shimmering celebration in sound. As the chimes rang from the walls the man stepped forward. He’d wrapped his right hand in a filthy rag. Now it glistened red with blood. In his left hand he held a knife.
Without a sound he plunged the blade into her chest. As Belle slumped she heard the vicious clamouring of chimes. A victorious peal of metallic laughter. They hadn’t sounded in the garage, because she’d not meant to meet her death there. This was the place where the house intended she’d die.
‘But I don’t want to die,’ she murmured, as she lay on the floor in an ever expanding tide of blood. ‘I don’t want to die. I don’t want …’
CHAPTER 32
Cantley stood in the doorway to The Good Heart. There he watched the woman in the robe of red silk die. When her last breath sighed from her lips Cantley looked up at the façade of the ancient house within a house.
‘See? I’m good with a knife. Right in the lungs, right through the heart. Look, she’s dead.’ Cantley pushed the body with the toe of his boot. ‘Stone dead.’ The lights skating along the walls contracted then expanded, changing colour as they did so, until it seemed as if purple blooms appeared on the walls. ‘You owe me now,’ he told the house. ‘I-I want you to take these pains outta my head. This time you gotta do it forever. D’ ya’ hear? I’ve given you two women. You owe me back.’ Cantley closed his eyes. Purple light pulsed inside his head. The pains that had tortured him since childhood faded from his face. That old agony that would chew his spine with the all the ferocity of a chainsaw morphed into a relaxing tingle. The house paid him back. It took away the pain that made his life hell for the last thirty years. The doctors had told his parents that the pains were phantom ones caused by his schizoid condition.
Yeah, they were saying I was crazy. But let one of those smug bastards from the psyche ward live for just one hour in my skin! Then they’d know the pain’s real. That you can’t sleep because it feels like rats are gnawing at your toes. That you can’t even take a crap without being terrified that your bowels have ripped lose and are unspooling through your asshole into the pan. Even the blood in my veins hurts. It’s corrosive. An acid. Burning me, torturing me …
Now … this felt good…. So fucking good. The pain had gone. He’d given The Tower its blood sacrifice. In return it had lifted this burden of physical pain.
Cantley opened his eyes. ‘You know something?’ he told The Good Heart with its tiny sunken windows. ‘I’m going to give you the rest of these people. Everyone in the house is going to be like this.’ Cantley pointed at the dead woman as she lay on her back with her arms flung out straight. Her legs bent at the knee. What was important were the holes in her chest that released her life-giving blood on to the floor. The Tower could taste her now. Cantley imagined the luscious crimson fluid being drawn through the surface of the floor where a network of capillaries would draw it through every stone and timber of the house. It would give it strength. Make it powerful. A vital living beast. He’d once read that builders in ancient times would mix their mortar with chicken blood or bury the bones of a horse in the foundations. Cantley knew the wisdom of this. He’d fed the house for twenty years. Usually from the inexhaustible population of rats, sometimes pets stolen from nearby villages. Now best of all, the men and women who trespassed here. They’d nourish this stone and mortar like no other gift of his could.
A sound caught his ear. At first he hoped the sound came from the walls. A vocal expression of gratitude. But then it became a furious peal of barks. He stepped back into the entrance hall. The black dog bounded along the corridor toward him. He could see its fur spiked furiously on its back.
Damn, that animal. He’d dearly love to be able to plunge the knife into its throat here and now but its barks would have warned the people he was in the building. Christ knew he’d deal with that dog before the night was out.
Cantley bounded up the stairs. They took him into the darkened interior of the vast structure of the tower itself. He heard the dog’s claws clatter on the bare steps as it
raced up after him.
After showering, Josanne sat on the bed in fresh clothes. She’d chosen blue jeans and one of Adam’s sweaters. It was far too big for her, but Fisher could see she was grateful for the way the thick material swathed her in a warm embrace.
The room was full. Adam stood by the window. Fabian paced the floor. Marko and Sterling stood alongside Fisher near the door.
‘Give the girl some air for Chris’sakes,’ Adam told them. ‘Last thing she needs right now is to be interrogated.’
‘But I can’t understand why Josanne went down into the cellar alone.’ Fabian turned to her. ‘What the hell did you think was down there?’
Josanne had recovered enough to react angrily. ‘I didn’t want to be there: I just opened my eyes and there I was.’
‘Sleep walking? You’ve never walked in your sleep before.’
‘Hell, Fabian. I’ve never been through this kind of shit before.’
Adam said, ‘Maybe we should get everyone to a higher level if the water’s flooding this dump.’
Sterling shook his head. ‘I checked the cellar a few minutes ago. The water level’s dropping.’
Josanne looked up at them. ‘Guys, we’ve got to get away from this house.’
‘Sunrise’ll be in a couple of hours,’ Sterling said. ‘It gives us time to pack everything into the van then we can drive out of here in the daylight.’
‘Suits me,’ she said with feeling.
‘What an absolute fuck up.’ Fabian shook his head. ‘All this planning. It took me weeks to get this place to ourselves. We were going to rehearse here so we could take our songs into the studio. Now we’re scuttling away like frightened mice.’
Marko stared at him in surprise. ‘You’re not suggesting we stay?’
Sterling nodded. ‘Yeah, what about Kym?’
Fisher looked round. ‘Come to that, where’s Belle?’
A baffled expression clouded Adam’s face. ‘I stumbled out here half asleep when I heard you guys shouting in the corridor. It was all I could do to pull some pants on.’ He shrugged. ‘I guess Belle must still be in bed.’
Fisher began, ‘I think you should check that—’
‘Sshh.’ Marko touched his arm. ‘Hear that?’
Fabian clicked his tongue. ‘It’s the bloody dog barking its stupid head off again. You should get the thing—’
‘No. Jak’s going crazy at something. There must be someone at the door.’
‘Kym?’
Marko didn’t answer. A second later he was running along the corridor in the direction of the frenzied barking. Fisher followed.
Cantley reached the top of the staircase. Here he was high in the core of the tower. He caught glimpses of the marsh with its silvered pools of water that were bisected by the old runway. It wouldn’t be light for another couple of hours yet. If anything, the night had renewed its grip on the world outside the house. The fields and woods were patches of variegated shadows. Cloud had drowned the stars.
A pit-patter of paws grabbed his attention. The animal had followed him upstairs like he knew it would. It wanted to attack Cantley. That’s OK. He had the upper hand now. He’d wait for it. Take it by surprise. The light filtering from the entrance hall below would be enough to see the dog when it appeared. Cantley crouched down at the top of the stairs. He used the post of the balustrade to conceal himself. As soon as the dog was close enough he’d drive the point of the blade into its neck, then hook his fingers into the collar so it couldn’t run. Make a good job of it. Slice through all the main arteries in the neck. If he made good progress why not continue all the way through to the spinal chord? Then he could separate the head from the body. Cantley grinned. The Tower would enjoy that. Just think of all that sticky, sweet canine blood dribbling down the stairs. He could even daub streaks on the banister rail. What a paint job! What a fucking brilliant paint job! Cantley could barely restrain himself from chuckling.
Come on, boy, come on. The click of paws grew louder. He could even hear the animal’s panting breath. It must only be a few yards away. He flexed his left hand before renewing his grip on the knife handle. When he’d done that he checked his right hand. The pain had stopped in the palm, although the rag he’d tied round the hand was saturated in blood. Then that wound? Jesus, a hell of a wound. The woman’s punch had distracted him enough to allow her to yank his hand directly under the spike. It bore right down into the centre of his palm. Gone all the way through to bury the metal point in the table top. That had been stupid of him. He’d let her get away too easily. After she’d run from the garage he’d been fortunate enough to be able to reach the car hoist control, which was on the end of a long cable. It had only taken a second to lift the hoist, despite the fact he’d parked an old car on it to add weight. The steel rod had gone all the way through between the bones of the hand, then the point had bent when it hit the table top. This formed a barb. It took some heaving downward to rip his hand free. Like trying to pull a nail out of a block of wood without a claw hammer. Such pain would have felled any other man. But he’d experienced far worse down through the years. Agony had been the backing track to his life. It never stopped playing until he’d learnt that he could do a little trade with the house. Blood for analgesia. How cool is that?
He flexed his hand. In his mind’s eye he could see the gory penny-sized wound in his palm where the steel rod had punched clean through. The wound would be full of shitty red stuff as the blood congealed. But his fingers worked. There’s no pain. Only a pleasant buzz. The Tower was being good to him, so he’d be good to it.
Cantley smiled. Here comes the dog. I raise the knife.
Fisher followed Marko along the corridor at a run. They could no longer hear Jak’s barks, but figured he must be close by. The instant they reached the entrance hall Fisher noticed that the twin doors that led to The Good Heart lay open.
‘Oh, God.’ Marko had seen something else too.
They both froze. Their eyes were locked on the figure in the red robe that lay just inside the doors. More red of a similar shade formed a glistening pool around it. Belle lay on her back, her legs bent at the knee. Bloody holes in the silk garment told their own story.
Marko found it hard to speak. ‘Fisher … I don’t think she’s breathing.’
Fisher took a step forward to where Belle lay motionless. ‘Marko, bring the others.’
Cantley tensed. Another half-dozen steps and the dog would reach him. Where he crouched behind the pillar at the top of the stairs he raised the knife. He needed to make a powerful downward stroke to impale the dog’s neck. He’d hook it like a fish so it couldn’t escape.
The dog’s shadow appeared on the wall opposite him. Its ears were pricked. The sharp jackal-like point of the muzzle was raised. Three more steps. Two. One! He lunged forward, swinging the blade downward. He anticipated the crunch of the pointed blade as it penetrated the skin, then the slower but oh-so satisfying passage of the blade through canine neck muscle.
The dog flashed by. A missile of fur and shadow. Damn it to hell, it knew he was there all along. The dog skirted wide at the top of the staircase, way beyond his reach. Momentum still carried his arm downward. The knife point clattered against the parquetry floor. Cantley anticipated the dog would U-turn to attack him from behind as he still crouched there. In a second he was on his feet with the knife ready. But damn that dog…. It had vanished into the shadows. When I get my hands on you … Just you wait … Just you friggin’ wait!
Fabian was matter-of-fact. ‘She’s dead.’
Josanne bit her knuckle as she stared at the corpse of Belle.
Fabian crouched down to conduct a cursory examination. ‘Shot or stabbed. It’s not possible to tell without—’
‘Don’t touch her.’ Fisher held out his hand to stop Fabian. ‘This is murder. You can’t disturb the body. The police will need to examine everything as it is.’
Fabian nodded, then stood up.
Josanne shuddered. ‘Body … ex
amine? This is Belle you’re talking about. Look at her.’
Adam had frozen in shock. At last he managed to speak. ‘We should cover her. It doesn’t look right to leave her lying with blood all …’ Grimacing, he turned away.
Fisher shook his head. ‘We’ve got to leave her as she is. There can’t be any contamination of evidence.’
Fabian said, ‘Fisher’s right. We’ve got to leave everything as we found it.’
‘It!’ Josanne snapped. ‘Her name is Belle.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Fabian’s voice softened. ‘Everyone wants the bastard caught – and we want him convicted.’
As they stepped back into the entrance hall Fisher closed one door while Fabian took care of the other. The doors slowly cut off the view of Belle lying there in the pool of blood. Fisher had wanted to straighten her legs. They looked so uncomfortably awkward, the way they’d bent at the knees. Not that she feels any pain now, he told himself.
‘I can’t get my head round this,’ Marko said. A tremor ran through his body like he was wired to a power grid.
Sterling clenched his fists. ‘What kind of bastard would do a thing like that?’
‘Belle never hurt anyone.’ Adam murmured the words. ‘She never hurt anyone. Never hurt a fly. Always wanted the best for everyone. Never hurt a living soul.’
Josanne’s dark eyes scanned the hallway area. ‘I know who’s responsible.’
She sounded so self-assured that everyone there snapped their eyes to hers.
‘You know?’ Fabian’s voice rose in disbelief.
Marko looked round. ‘You saw someone?’
