I blinked. “Exorcism? Really?”
Shona nodded. “According to local gossip, the club was haunted by some evil spirit and the vicar was called on to get rid of it. The fire could be seen for miles. People said the flames burned blue and green. Unusual to say the least. Maybe it was something in the wood or the paint or something. Anyway, as you might imagine, the more outlandish gossip had it that it was a holy fire, cleansing the evil.” Shona struck a dramatic pose, then laughed. “Whatever the truth of it, shortly after that, the poor man’s health began to decline. He stuck it out as long as he could but, after several bouts of pneumonia and unexplained viruses, he threw in the towel and took early retirement. I understand he lives in Somerset with his sister.”
“Do you believe the gossip?”
Shona shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “I tend to keep an open mind about such things. There’s no doubt that the vicar was profoundly affected by what happened that night. Any more than that I really couldn’t say, not with any certainty anyway. I’m sure you know the rumors that circulated about your aunt?”
I didn’t. “Rumors?”
Shona’s eyes widened. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I’m speaking out of turn. I felt sure someone would have filled you in by now. You’ve been here over a week and it doesn’t take them long. Especially as you’ve got Charlie doing work for you.” She smiled. “They say women gossip, but he can give any one of them a run for their money any day of the week.”
I smiled. Contrary to what she may have thought, that hadn’t been my experience. Still, it was early days. “So what were these rumors?”
“Your aunt grew quite eccentric as she became older. So I believe anyway. She had always lived quietly, but she virtually withdrew from the village. That’s when the rumors began. Satanic rites, rituals. Stuff involving that tree as well. You know, the willow.”
“The one that was struck by lightning years ago? I call it the tentacle tree because of the weird way it grows.”
She laughed. “Good name. Those curvy branches do look like tentacles, don’t they? You know you have a public right of way along that path, by the river?”
“Yes, I saw it on the deeds. I remember when I came here as a child I used to see people wandering along there with their dogs. No one seemed to do any harm so I don’t think it bothered Aunt Charlotte. But when I knew her she was very laid back anyway. I had some wonderful summers here. She let me do what I pleased. Within reason. The only one I can’t remember at all is the last one.” Yet again, as I struggled to recall even one tiny detail of those lost weeks, the shutters slammed down in my mind.
“You were lucky to have this place to come to when you were growing up,” Shona said. “It must have been wonderful for any child with an imagination. Did your parents come too?”
I shook my head. “They were adventurers. Well, whenever they could be at any rate. My mother was a nurse and my father was an accountant, but they lived for their safaris, following herds of wildebeest and goodness knows what else. They thought it wasn’t suitable for a child. Too dangerous. So Aunt Charlotte volunteered and got landed with me every year, until I turned sixteen. After that, I never saw her again. I never came back here until her funeral eight months ago.”
“Do your parents still go on their safaris?”
I shook my head. “They were killed in a car crash eleven years ago, on their way back from the airport after a holiday in India, tiger watching or some such thing. A drunk driver pulled out of a side road. They didn’t stand a chance. He got two years.” I tried to suppress the bitterness and sense of injustice that filled me, even after all these years. I may not have been particularly close to my parents, but they deserved more than for their killer to receive such a light sentence. Two years. One year for each life he took.
“I’m so sorry. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
Inquisitive. But no doubt she was the advance guard, sent to glean as much information about me as possible to pass on to her neighbors.
“No. Just me. We were a very small family. Now, even smaller. There really is only me these days, since my husband and I divorced.”
“Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that.” She took a sip of coffee. “I’m probably the newest resident apart from you. In fact, you coming here means I’m no longer the new kid in town.” She smiled. “I’m only a few yards away, over the bridge. You can always talk to me if you’re feeling a bit down. It can be difficult, moving to a strange place. Well, not totally strange of course, but it’s been—how many years since you were last here?”
“Thirty-two. Thank you, I appreciate that, but I’m fine. Neil and I have been divorced two years, so I did all my grieving then. Now I’m looking forward to doing this place up and deciding what I’m going to do with it. I’d forgotten how massive it is. I’ve not even been up to the two top floors yet.” I suddenly remembered. “Come to think of it, I rarely went up to the top floor as a child either. Except…” Something flashed through my mind. Not detailed enough to be called a memory. Just a feeling. Of blackness. Cold.
I shivered.
There was something in that blackness. Something unnatural.
Something evil.
Chapter Two
Charlie came in as Shona was driving off. “Sorry I took so long. Old Mrs. Thomas next door to me collared me when I got home. Her fuses had blown in the middle of cooking her lunch. She’s all on her own. Eighty-five years old she is, so I couldn’t leave her stranded. As it turned out the job took me longer than I anticipated. Is something wrong?”
I must have looked as perplexed as I felt. “It’s just that I heard you come back ages ago, when Shona Leslie was here.”
Charlie shook his head and looked at me as if I wasn’t quite sane.
“No, I’ve been gone the best part of two hours.”
A sudden fear chilled my spine. “Charlie, would you mind going down into the cellar for me? I think I may have an intruder. I definitely heard the front door open and close, followed by the cellar door banging shut, about half an hour ago. I assumed it was you.”
He raised his eyebrows. Now I was sure he thought I was dotty. “No problem,” he said and made for the cellar door. I waited at the top of the steps as he scrabbled around in the semi-darkness. Then the brightness from his flashlight cast eerie beams around the shadowy walls and corners. “There’s no one here; maybe it was the wind.”
“There isn’t any. Besides, I know I heard the doors open and close.”
He looked up at me from the bottom of the stairs. “There’s definitely no one here except me.”
If I pursued this, he would be sure I was losing it. As it was, I found his intense gaze uncomfortable. I forced my voice to sound casual. “Okay, Charlie. Thanks. That’s a relief anyway.”
I shut the door. I must have imagined it. Unless…
My imagination took off on a wild journey. Maybe I did hear someone. They could still be here. They could have crept out of the cellar and gone upstairs while I was preoccupied with Shona’s fantastic tales of exorcisms and holy fires. My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow, but I had to find out. I couldn’t ask Charlie to go up those stairs. After what he’d told me, he’d think I was—at best—a hysterical female and—at worst—mad. Ask him to explore my house looking for imaginary intruders and it would be all round the town by tea time. No, I must do it. Without a word, I went out into the hall and stared up at the stairs. I certainly wasn’t going up there unarmed.
In the old-fashioned coat-stand, Aunt Charlotte had left an impressive collection of ancient umbrellas with fearsome-looking spikes. Some of them would surely be considered deadly weapons these days. I selected the heaviest and gripped it firmly.
I started up the stairs, straining for even the slightest noise. In the distance, Charlie was hammering something in the cellar, but above me? Not a sound.
The floor
creaked as I made my way along the first landing. I checked my room first, relieved to find everything as I had left it earlier. I opened the wardrobe and even checked under the bed. Each subsequent room was empty of furniture, except for the one Aunt Charlotte had used. I would have to tackle that one day. Not today though. I closed the door and went into the next room.
This one had a red, patterned carpet that looked familiar. As a child, I had played in here. Alone, except for my imaginary family.
In the absence of real brothers and sisters, I had created for myself a whole family of imaginary siblings. My older brother Tom, eldest sister, Thelma, my slightly older sister, Sonia, and, finally, Veronica—four years younger than my eight-year-old self. Together we had adventures until Aunt Charlotte called me down to tea.
“Come along, Sonia,” I would say, and in my childish mind she would reply, “Coming, Kelly.”
Kelly. I don’t know where I found that name but I loved it. Somehow it epitomized the confident child I had created in my alter ego. We couldn’t have been more different. Kelly could gallop around the garden on her beautiful snow-white mare, Snowbird. I would sit quietly in the corner of the room and read a book about a girl with a pony. Kelly and her brother and sisters could uncover the mystery of the strange old man living all by himself in an eerie mansion. I would read one of my mother’s old Enid Blyton stories about the Famous Five or the Secret Seven and their many adventures.
To Aunt Charlotte’s amusement, I would natter away to my imaginary siblings while she set the table. Maybe I even asked her to set places for them. I can’t remember after all these years, but I do recall chatting to them while she sipped her tea and smiled.
Standing once again in that familiar room, the memories of those happy days brought a smile to my face.
I had a sudden urge to go over to the tall cupboard in the corner. I opened it and smiled. A part of me knew I would find a poster stuck on the inside door. David Cassidy. His flowing hair and fresh complexion captivated so many of us pre-teens in the seventies. I had the biggest crush on him when I was about nine years old. Apart from that, this cupboard was also bare. Had I really taken all my possessions back with me that last time? Or maybe I didn’t come in here anymore by the time I was fifteen or sixteen. Again I struggled to remember anything about that last summer, but the steel barriers of my mind remained shut and nothing would surface.
I touched the familiar face of my former idol. He’d had his ups and downs over the years too, like me. Well, maybe not exactly like me. I hadn’t battled his problems with DUI and colossal debt. In my case, it had been a total lack of self-confidence which started in my teens and which no one, least of all me, could understand. It had never left me, and sometimes I was scared even of my own shadow. Small wonder that this spooky old house affected me so strongly.
Finished with the lower rooms, I looked up at the staircase. Who knew when someone had last been up there? Maybe months or years ago. No, sooner than that. Aunt Charlotte’s estate had been assessed for probate, so someone must have gone up there in the last few months. Or maybe today. My skin prickled.
But I needed to be sure. This was my house. These rooms, stairs, hell, the bricks and mortar of the place were mine. I couldn’t be scared of my own home! Besides, much better to go up there in daylight with Charlie on the premises.
I took a deep breath, gripped the umbrella tighter, grasped the banister and began my ascent.
It smelled fusty up there. Unaired. I forced my trepidation down into the pit of my stomach and began opening doors which protested at the violation. I caught my breath at the sight behind one of them. Shrouds of white sheets greeted me. I tweaked the edge of one and it fell off in a cloud of dust, revealing an old grandfather clock with a cracked face, lying on its side. The wood looked worm-eaten and rotten. I couldn’t recall it from my childhood, so who knew how long it had been up here, forgotten and decaying?
I threw the sheet back over it and sneezed. I would need to get a house clearance firm in to deal with this lot. More sheets shrouded old chairs with broken legs, worn coverings and further evidence of woodworm. Chipped mirrors, old bedroom furniture. This room had obviously been used as a general dumping ground for the broken and unloved detritus that any home will accumulate over time.
The dust sheets revealed only a couple of familiar pieces. One was a stuffed eagle under a glass dome. I vaguely recalled it standing on the grand piano in the living room. The piano was still down there, but when the bird had fallen out of favor I had no idea. It stared at me through yellow glass eyes. Astonishingly realistic. I shuddered. There was something malevolent in that gaze. A crazy thought struck me for a second. Almost as if the bird were still alive.
An old wind-up gramophone, in an oak cabinet, stood in a corner. The lid was up and a dusty 78 sat on the turntable. I moved closer and peered at the label, brushing it to make out the title. “Serenade in Blue”, Glenn Miller and His Orchestra. A veil lifted in my head and a dim memory stirred. The opening strains of that old tune. For such a sweet love song, the first few bars held a darkness in them—almost ominous—before the familiar strains of the melody kicked in. An inexplicable feeling of despair sent my spirits plummeting as I stared at the old record. The familiar His Master’s Voice logo of the dog and the phonograph. I imagined it spinning on the record player and felt suddenly cold. I shivered, turned back to the bird and threw the sheet over it. Why should an old Glenn Miller hit have such an extreme effect on me? Crazy! Something stirred in the back of my mind. Tantalizingly close, but just out of reach. I shook myself and hurried out of the room.
None of the other rooms on that floor contained anything more than the odd worn carpet. The remaining cupboards were bare and there were no beds for any intruder to hide under.
Only the uppermost floor remained. At the top of the stairs, a gust of wind hit me and I nearly fell back down again.
I shrieked, but Charlie wouldn’t hear me. Not this far away.
Out of the corner of my eye, something moved. A door was open. Something fluttered. A curtain. I swallowed hard. My hands shook as I let go of the banister and stepped forward.
I let out a sigh of relief. The window in the room was open. Thin cotton drapes ruffled in the breeze. I half ran and pulled the sash window closed. The breeze stopped. The drapes stilled.
I closed the last door on the top floor and made my way back downstairs, with still no explanation for what I had heard down there earlier. Maybe that open window created some sort of draft which made a door bang, and I had assumed it was Charlie coming back.
He was emerging from the cellar as I wandered into the kitchen.
I smiled at him. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad. Should be finished by Thursday teatime. Are you still sure you only want radiators on the landings of the upper two floors?”
“Yes, for now anyway. I’m not sure what my plans are for up there, so at least those will help keep the place dry and take the chill off.”
He nodded. “Any chance of a brew? I’m parched.”
“Of course. I’ll put the kettle on.”
He hovered nearby while I made the tea, as if he wanted to want to say something. When I thought he’d decided against it, he spoke.
“I’ve had another look at that tree of yours.”
“Any ideas how I’m going to get rid of it?”
“Frankly, no. I mean, I can saw off the roots as far as I can reach, but they’ll probably grow back again.”
“I’m concerned about the damage to the foundation,” I said.
“Didn’t you have a survey done?”
I shook my head. “There didn’t seem any point. I mean, I intended to live here anyway. I never thought. I suppose if I’d been intending to sell, it might have been different. Maybe that’s what I should do. Get a surveyor in.”
“Maybe. Or a professional arborist. They u
nderstand all about tree growth.”
“I had a tree surgeon. Dai Harries.”
Charlie snorted. “I’ve known Dai since he was a snotty-nosed kid. He’s not a proper tree surgeon. Not an arborist anyway. Dai’s more of a hacker. He chops branches off, fells the odd nuisance tree. You know, the cute little leylandii that grows to monstrous proportions? Then he’ll tarmac your drive and repair your fence. He’s a proper jack of all trades, our Dai. No, for something like this, you need a specialist. It’ll cost you, mind.” He hesitated.
“Is there something you’re not saying, Charlie? If it’s more bad news, I need you to tell me.”
“It’s just that…well, I know some trees have roots which can extend for maybe three times their total height. Willows, for example. The only tree anywhere near here is that one on the riverbank and, because of what’s happened to it, it’s difficult to predict how tall it should be, so much of it is lying on the ground. But I can’t see how the roots could grow this far. I seem to remember being told that you shouldn’t plant willow closer than about fifty feet from a house, but any further than that should be fine.”
“Maybe these roots don’t belong to that tree at all,” I said. Are they even still alive?” I remembered how that root had felt, wriggling in my hand. It was alive all right, however I might wish otherwise. “Maybe there used to be another tree here, closer to the house, and it was chopped down.” I hoped Charlie believed this. If he did, there was a chance it could be true and I could suppress the increasing sense of unease inside me.
But all he said was, “Maybe.”
The tiny spark of hope in my mind snuffed out. “You don’t look convinced.”
“It’s the way they’ve come into your cellar. I mean, I’ve heard of tree roots growing under foundations and cracking up floors and so on, but I can’t see how on earth these have got in. It’s almost as if they’re part of the fabric of the house.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The Devil's Serenade Page 2
