Charlotte’s life had fallen into a dull routine of keeping house and supervising the continually changing roster of agency cooks and housemaids, none of whom lasted more than a few months at most before they fell foul of their employer’s temper. If his meal was undercooked, overcooked, under-seasoned, over-seasoned, or merely not to his taste that day, the plate would be thrown and Charlotte would be summoned to dismiss the poor cook concerned. If he found a speck of dust, the maid would have to go. It was getting harder and harder to find anyone prepared to work at the house. Even the agencies themselves were becoming reluctant to supply anyone. Charlotte heard the catch in the voice on the other end of the phone when she gave her name.
Whenever she thought of her son, it was with sadness but always that indestructible belief that all would be well. All she had to do was hang on to that belief, and not question it, even though she still didn’t even know his name.
On a stormy summer night, Charlotte sat up in bed. Her skin prickled. Something had woken her. Maybe a clap of thunder. She listened. A flash of lightning lit up her room. In the corner, a shape moved. Charlotte let out a cry and snapped on the bedside lamp. She clutched the sheet and blanket to her, every muscle in her body trembling. She stared at the corner of the room. There was nothing there. After a few minutes, she lay back down and closed her eyes, but the lamp remained on.
Just my imagination. There’s nothing there. I couldn’t have seen it. It was the lightning. Nothing else.
But part of her brain wouldn’t let go the memory of that strange tree-like creature—with branches for arms—that watched her from the corner of her room.
* * * * *
Weeks drifted by until another night when she awoke from a sound sleep. This time she had fallen asleep reading. Her lamp was still switched on and her book lay on the floor where it had fallen. Maybe the noise of it landing there had woken her. Charlotte lay back down and took deep breaths to calm herself and her irrational fear.
A loud thump crashed overhead. Charlotte sprang out of bed. Another thump set her mantelpiece ornaments rattling.
She grabbed her robe and wrenched open her door. The corridor was silent and dark. She reached for the light switch and the bulbs flickered on.
Another thump. Louder now she was outside her room.
Only she and Mr. Hargest were in the house. His rooms were on the second floor, directly above hers. Maybe he had fallen out of bed. After all, he was a very old man. Her heart lifted at the thought. Maybe she would go up there and find him lying on the floor, the life extinguished from him.
The thought of the release that would bring spurred her on up the stairs. She paused on the landing. Silence. She flicked the light switch and the dark, gloomy corridor was bathed in welcome light. Charlotte started toward her employer’s bedroom door. The noise of two more thumps stopped her. The sound was coming from the top floor—where she never ventured.
Charlotte hesitated. She could think of no reason why Mr. Hargest would be up there, but she had to find out.
Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she mounted the stairs. The thundering above her grew, intensified. The house itself pounded in rhythm with her heart. Charlotte crammed her hands against her ears, but, as she reached the top step, the vibration was all around her. The floor trembled beneath her feet. The walls pulsated with the sound. It echoed down the corridors either side of her. She turned from one to another and screamed as all the doors flew open at the same time. A ball of wind rushed at her, hitting her on her left side. The stench of sulfur filled her nostrils. Charlotte’s knees buckled and she sank to the floor. A dark, cloaked figure appeared from the nearest room, a few feet away, untroubled by the wind that buffeted Charlotte as she crouched, unable to escape. Unable even to move. Terror sent a voice screaming through her mind.
I’m going to die.
The figure reached her, bent down and lifted her by her shoulders. Charlotte cried out as she recognized Nathaniel Hargest. His eyes blazed red flames. His mouth opened to reveal animal fangs. The wind and the noise stopped. For a second, the house went unnaturally quiet. As if waiting.
“Dear God, help me.”
Charlotte’s plea broke the silence with a narrow wail. The creature that Hargest had become roared. Charlotte closed her eyes. Surely he would kill her. But he dragged her to the room. The smell of sulfur was unbearable. Charlotte gagged. She vomited up the remains of her last meal and Hargest thrust her from him so that she skidded across the wooden floor, hitting her shoulder on the leg of a table laid out as an altar. In some strange way the pain came almost as a relief. At least she was still alive.
The pulsating heartbeat of the house resumed, quietly at first, then building. Charlotte drew herself into a tight ball. The sulfur fumes stifled her. She coughed. Her eyes streamed.
Hargest stood in front of her. His skin blackened, as if burned to charcoal. His arms hung at his sides, strangely branch-like. His head was gnarled and grotesquely distorted. His fang-filled mouth seemed to have receded as if he no longer needed it. Only his eyes blazed their unnatural red fire. Charlotte’s fear locked her limbs in a catatonic paralysis.
A thunderous roar shook the house. At the far end of the room, a dark cloud swirled. Within it a shape moved. Still Charlotte couldn’t move, although her mind screamed at her to get away. In front of her unblinking eyes, the shape grew. Earsplitting roars tore through her body. In the billowing charcoal cloud, a leonine creature threw back its unnatural head and opened its mouth. The fanfare of hell roared and spewed through the room. Instead of fur, blue-black scales covered its body. Vicious clawed feet raked the floor and its tail coiled like a serpent. Worse still, an erect and deadly phallus—culminating in a snake’s head, with darting forked tongue. Mercifully, although the creature was only a few feet away, it didn’t seem to see her.
Hargest bowed to it and the demon roared again. Charlotte’s head pounded with the vibration. Her ears rang. Her eyes transfixed on that evil-looking phallus.
Dear Lord and Lady, take me now. Let me die now…
She managed to close her eyes and tried to will herself away from the room. She thought of the tree spirits, and then the smell of sulfur wasn’t so strong.
In the distance, she heard Hargest speak. “My lord.”
A hand touched her arm.
Charlotte fainted.
* * * * *
When Charlotte came to, the paralysis had gone and, although her limbs ached, she could move them. Pins and needles struck her painfully in her hands and feet. Behind her, the altar was a plain, wooden, discarded dining table once more. Apart from that, the room was empty. No sign of any hellish creature or Nathaniel Hargest. She could almost believe she had dreamed it all, except for the lingering smell of sulfur still polluting the atmosphere.
She glanced down at her soiled nightdress and became aware of another foul smell wafting up from her body. Her fear had loosened her bowels. Leaning on the table for support, Charlotte dragged herself to her feet and staggered out of there. An hour later, both she and the room were cleansed. A pale sun had risen above the horizon on a chilly autumnal morning. November 1st. Charlotte selected her warm winter coat and slipped out of the back door, where she met the cook arriving to prepare breakfast.
Charlotte cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if Mr. Hargest is at home or not today. Assume he is and prepare breakfast for him anyway. I won’t require anything and I’ll be back shortly, but there’s an urgent errand I must run.”
The older woman looked as if she was about to ask a question. Charlotte was in no mood for answers and hurried away.
The river was swollen after the previous week’s heavy rains. The willow tree had shed half its leaves in preparation for winter. A gentle breeze sent a shower of them floating down onto Charlotte’s head and shoulders. She sat down on the branch, leaned against the trunk, closed her eyes and prayed fo
r the tree spirits.
The soothing calmness of their presence flowed through her veins, warming and lulling her. Once again, she was in that place that couldn’t exist. The other dimension that let her believe she could be in fabric of the house somehow. The quiet cellar emerged through its gauzy haze and she knew the spirits could hear her thoughts.
“He brought evil into the house. He was transformed.”
“Yes, Charlotte. The evil one he brought is from a time beyond time as you know it. Before your prehistory. It is a forest demon. The most deadly of them all.”
“But what does it have to do with Nathaniel Hargest? I don’t understand. Is this the demon who will take my son?”
“There is a way to stop that, but it will take great courage. The demon’s power is greater than even Hargest knows. He sold his soul to it to gain his wealth, but it is hungry for more and demands great sacrifice. We can save your son, Charlotte, but it will come at a price. The first is that you may never leave Hargest House.”
“He told me that. He told me I may never leave, that the house will be mine and that I will present my son when he is five years old…” Charlotte’s voice broke. Despite the comforting web laid around her by the tree spirits, despair scythed through her.
Soft tendrils stroked her face and, with a sudden shock, Charlotte realized they were twig-like, yet green, slender, pliable. Their healing powers soothed away the pain and calmed her once again.
The spirit spoke again. “Hargest will not live much longer and his soul is forfeit to the demon. He will do its bidding for the rest of eternity as its minion and slave. After he is dead, Hargest’s spirit will return to this house to do his master’s work but, when he does, you will be ready. You are under the protection of the Lord and Lady and he will not harm you. But, be assured, you must do as we advise you or the demon will destroy the protection we have created for you. It will be able to see you and if it sees you, it will come for you. If not you, then your son. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Be calm. Rest. All will be well.”
Charlotte slept and, in her dreams, a tall slender lady in green and gold presented her with a willow wand.
When Charlotte awoke, still on the tree branch, the wand was in her hand.
Chapter Fifteen
The next couple of years passed and life settled into the closest approximation of normality possible in that house. Charlotte managed to tolerate her situation, fueled by her hatred for Nathaniel Hargest and her determination to get her son back. Every day brought her closer to his fifth birthday and the time she would see him again.
One night, she awoke suddenly. Above her, the floorboards creaked. Someone was moving around. Hargest. A door slammed.
In a second she was out of bed and at her door. The stairs to the top floor were uncarpeted and the sound of three sets of footsteps echoed in the distance. She grabbed her robe from the hook on the door and wrapped it around her. Careful not to make a sound, she slowly opened the door and peered out. Another door slammed. Farther away this time. Charlotte hesitated. Part of her wanted to dive back into bed and pull the sheet over her head. Another part needed to know what Hargest was up to. Who did the other footsteps belong to? She knew of no one in the house but her and her employer.
Barefoot, she made her way up the two flights of stairs. On the top landing, the lights blazed. She padded down the corridor to her left and listened at each door. She paused outside the third one. Scuffling. Furniture being dragged across the uncarpeted floor. She bent and peered through the keyhole. Someone moved. Not Hargest. A woman, in a long black gown or cloak.
Charlotte’s heart beat faster. The lights in the corridor flickered and extinguished, plunging her into darkness. She froze. A pale red light pulsed through the door frame and the pounding began again. Then the roar. A woman’s scream. A man’s terrified cry.
Without thinking, Charlotte wrenched the door open and stared at the horrific scene. The man and the woman were laid flat on tables. Both were bound by their wrists and ankles. Hargest was dressed in the black and gold robe she had seen that Midsummer Night. He wielded a silver scimitar. Behind him, the swirling, foul black smoke, the glimpse of the scaly body and grotesque lion’s head.
The terrified man caught Charlotte’s eye and she recognized him. Dr. Faulkner. “Help us, please! Please!”
Hargest glared at Charlotte. She couldn’t help herself. She backed off.
“Get away from here!” he roared.
The beast was almost fully manifested. Charlotte knew it mustn’t see her. Hargest brought down the scimitar and blood gushed from the doctor’s severed head. It rolled onto the floor. Charlotte screamed. The woman let out an anguished wail that seemed to rise from her very soul. Hargest raised his dripping scimitar once more. He lowered it and the woman fell silent. Her neck gushed blood as her head joined her companion’s, its terrified dead eyes turned toward Charlotte. She screamed again. Nurse Ray was staring at her, mouth open in eternal, silent terror.
Charlotte raced downstairs, into her room, locked the door and cowered on the floor. She crammed her hands to her ears to block out the sounds from above. The roars, thumps and crashes that set the whole house shaking, and other, even more dreadful sounds of something being dragged down the stairs. The bodies. The innocent man and woman she had been powerless to even attempt to save. The house went quiet after the front door slammed, but still she didn’t dare leave her room. Her tears flowed—great heaving sobs. She told herself she had been too late to save them. That if the demon had seen her, she would have been dead too. Or her son. Any action would have been in vain—and worse.
By morning, her tears had dried. Charlotte Grant washed and dressed herself, ready for the day. She ventured up to the top floor, expecting a scene of unspeakable carnage, but there was no trace that anything had happened. No blood. Just two bare tables and the lingering stench of sulfur. She opened the tall cupboard at the far end of the room. The foul smell was stronger here, but the cupboard was empty.
Charlotte shut the door tight, her mouth set in a determined line, no trace of hesitation, fear or doubt left in her mind. She was filled with new purpose.
Because Charlotte Grant had a plan.
* * * * *
“I shall overlook your indiscretion yesterday night, Charlotte.” Hargest’s hand gripped the silver top of his walking cane. He seemed more stooped today. He appeared sallow, even a little jaundiced. “Your son is almost five. It will soon be his time to learn his destiny and meet his master.”
Charlotte swallowed bile as she saw the old man’s rheumy eyes light up. He licked saliva from the corners of his lips. She bit her tongue and said nothing.
“In two nights, he will be brought to you and you will present him in due ceremony to the master. Do you understand?”
Charlotte gave the briefest nod. He mustn’t suspect. She must give away nothing.
“You shall have your photograph taken, as a memento for your son to keep. After he is presented, you shall see him no more until he turns sixteen.”
Charlotte stared at him. He couldn’t seriously believe that she would pose for such a picture or that he would even be alive to know his son at sixteen. The man would be a hundred years old in a few days. On the same day her son turned five.
Hargest’s laugh rasped. “I see the disbelief in your eyes. Don’t you realize that it doesn’t matter whether I am in my body or spirit? I still serve the master who gave me all I desired. All my wealth, position. The power I wielded for all those years. All came from him. I am happy to pay his price.”
Charlotte wanted to say so much. All the lives this man had ruined through his cruelty. How many had he sacrificed like the innocent doctor and nurse last night? The beast he served fed on souls, that much was obvious. And ultimately it would take her son’s, as it would Hargest’s.
Not if she could prevent it. But, for the time being, she had to play the subservient. Bite her tongue, swallow down the bile. Wait. A few more days. Maybe not even that.
The photographer arrived and she posed where Hargest told her. The bowl of fragrant roses seemed incongruous in a house where so much evil reigned. The photographer’s hands shook. He couldn’t wait to get away from there. Job done, he scurried away, muttering that he would forward his bill. He cast one backward glance at the house, crammed his trilby on his head, balanced his tripod on his shoulder and was gone.
* * * * *
The next night, Charlotte was ready. Hargest had told her that her son would arrive the following morning. This was her only chance. She couldn’t afford to get it wrong.
The cook and the maid had left at seven and she was alone in the house with her employer. As usual, he spent the evening in his room. Usually the maid took Hargest’s evening whisky up to him before she left for the night, but Charlotte had told her to go early. It was her last day. The maid thanked her and left. She’d given her one-week’s notice and the sooner she was gone, the better it obviously suited her. Like so many before her, she had cited her employer’s temper and, “He gives me the creeps, Miss.”
Charlotte locked the front door and took the tray from the hall table. She had a strange, ethereal feeling, as if she was watching herself mount the stairs, her movements controlled not by her but by some force that had temporarily taken possession of her mind.
She knocked on Hargest’s door and a brief growl summoned her to enter.
Inside, the dark Victorian furniture overpowered even the generous proportions of the room. A stuffy, stale atmosphere wrinkled Charlotte’s nose and made her long to throw open the windows and let in the fresh, cleansing air.
Hargest looked up as she came toward him. She set the tray down and poured his whisky, added the right quantity of water and handed it to him. His hand shook as he took the glass from her.
The Devil's Serenade Page 15
