Shadows Fall

by Simon R. Green

  “I’m sorry; the place looks a mess, and so do I. If I’d known I was having company, I’d have made an effort. But only a few people ever come here, and mostly I like it that way. People think I’m crazy. Sometimes I think so too.” She looked around her, as though trying to decide where best to take him. “You must understand, James; this place is dangerous. Time moves differently here. Something happened in this house, long ago, when I was just a little girl. Something awful. But I can’t remember what. Suzanne told me you’d lost the memories of your childhood. I wasn’t so lucky. I’ve still got mine. They haunt me, and this house. Upstairs, there are four different rooms, and in them I am four different people. Four different versions of myself. Down here, things are more stable. I’m allowed to be just me. Come on through to the kitchen. We’ll be safe there, and it’s far enough away from the rest of the house that it might not hear us talking.”

  She led the way down the hall and into the kitchen, chattering nervously all the while. Hart couldn’t follow half of what she was saying, but he listened carefully anyway, searching for clues as to what had happened long ago, to Polly and her house. The kitchen was a mess, but a comfortable mess; the kind of place where you know where things are without having to look. Every surface was buried under accumulated clutter, but there was no dirt or grime, and the floor was spotlessly clean. Polly cleared an old sweater off a chair, dropped it casually on the draining board, and gestured for Hart to sit down. He did so, checking unobtrusively that Friend was still with him, and watched Polly bustle round the kitchen as she made coffee for them. She kept up her chatter, perhaps because she was afraid of what might come to fill the silence if she didn’t.

  “Something bad happened to me when I was eight years old, and it’s still happening, in a room upstairs. The room with no window. I haven’t been in that room since it happened, but something’s there, waiting for me.” Polly sounded strangely calm now, as though relieved at having someone she could talk to about it. “I have tried to face it, in the past. I tried when I was eight, when I was twenty-two, and just recently, last year. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t strong enough, and each time I failed, a room took a part of me and held it, like a fly trapped in amber. Now, when I go upstairs, the house makes me those people again. Not as a punishment. It took me a long time to understand that. The house is trying to cure me; to make me overcome what happened here by facing it. But I can’t.”

  She paused, and Hart chose his words very carefully. “What actually happened to you, when you were eight years old? Can you remember any of it?”

  “No. My mother was out, and I was alone in the house with my father. Something awful happened between us, something so bad I can’t bear to remember it; something so terrible it still haunts this house and me.”

  Oh my God, thought Hart. She’s talking about sexual abuse. Her father must have… no wonder she doesn’t want to remember.

  “Why don’t you leave?” he said finally, when he could be sure of his voice. “Just pack up and go, and leave it all behind you?”

  “I can’t. The house won’t let me. As long as it has those parts of me upstairs, I’m not whole. Part of the house wants to cure me; part of it feeds off me. So I keep trying to face my fear, and every time I fail there’s another fragment of me haunting the house. Soon you won’t be able to move here for different versions of me, cluttering up the place.”

  She tried to smile at her own joke, but it wasn’t very successful. She bit her lip and turned away abruptly so that Hart wouldn’t see the tears burning in her eyes. He sat there awkwardly, wanting to help, not knowing what to say or do for the best. Friend suddenly flowed up and over the kitchen table and wrapped itself around Polly’s trembling shoulders like a shawl.

  “Now, now, don’t take on so, petal. It’s all right, you’re not alone any more. Your trouble is, you’ve been trying to face this thing alone for too long. Hasn’t anyone ever tried to see this thing through with you before?”

  “No. I never let anyone in here, not even Suzanne, who’s my best friend. The only person who might have helped was my mother, but she wouldn’t have understood. And she might have said it was all my fault. She died when I was eighteen. Just before I tried to face the room the first time, and failed. And that part of me watched her funeral procession from its own window, after a child watched from another. Ever since then, there’s only been me here, getting more and more alone as bits of me flake off and are held. No one comes here; they can feel the power building in Four Seasons. It’s a jealous power, and it doesn’t want anyone here who might try to break me free. I’m surprised you were able to come in. You must be very strong. Even when I was trying to kill you, part of me knew you were someone special.”

  “I knew that, even when he was a child,” said Friend. “Everything’s going to be all right. James and I will see you through this. We’ll start back with the earliest you, at eight, and work our way through the other yous until we finally get to what originally scared you. And then we’ll kick its ass.”

  “Excuse me just a moment,” said Hart, “but do you think I could have a private word with you, Friend? Out in the hall?”

  “Of course, James, but can’t it wait?”

  “No, I don’t think it can.”

  “Oh, very well then. Excuse us, dear, we won’t be a minute. Will you be all right on your own?”

  “Yes,” said Polly. “I’ve had lots of practice being on my own.”

  Hart got up and went out into the hallway, Friend sliding along the walls after him. Hart carefully closed the kitchen door behind him, moved a cautious distance down the hall, and then glared at his shadow.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? This woman needs competent psychiatric help! It’s obvious she was sexually abused by her father as a child, and through fear and shame and guilt she’s chosen to suppress the memory rather than face it. These other fragments could be nothing more than manifestations of a multiple personality. She needs professional help. There’s no telling how much damage a couple of well-meaning amateurs could do!”

  “If a shrink could have helped, she’d have found one by now,” said Friend calmly. “She’s been coping with this all her life, so you can be sure she’s already tried all the obvious things. We can help her, Jimmy. We’re special. You, because you’ve lost your childhood too, and me, because I’m not entirely real. Nothing can harm me, or frighten me, but I can protect Polly from pretty much anything. I learned how to do a whole lot of things while I was waiting for you to come back. And she’s right, Jimmy. You do have power in you. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it, like the hum of underground machinery, just waiting for someone to throw the right switch. We have to do this, Jimmy. Polly needs us.”

  Hart took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this, Friend. There’s something else in this house, apart from Polly. I can feel it, watching and waiting. And if there’s any kind of power in me, it’s news to me. But you’re right; we can’t just turn our back on Polly. If only because she might decide to stick a knife in it. If I’m going to have a neighbour, I’d rather it wasn’t a looney tune with a knife.”

  “You’ve grown very cynical, Jimmy. I’m not sure I approve.”

  “The word is practical, and I thought we’d agreed on James, not Jimmy. Look, I said we’d help, didn’t I? I just think we’ll all be a lot safer going into this with our eyes open. All right; let’s get this show on the road, before I suffer an attack of good sense.”

  He smiled and Friend shook its head, and they went back into the kitchen. Polly was standing with her back to them, looking out of the window. She was hugging herself tightly, as though suddenly cold, or perhaps just to stop herself shaking. She didn’t look round as they came in.

  “I was always afraid, before you came,” she said slowly. “Afraid of what might have happened in the past, afraid of whatever’s in the room with no window, and afraid that at any moment it would call to me again a
nd I’d have to go to it. But I didn’t know what fear really was, until you came and offered me hope. I want so much to be free of all my pasts, but the thought of trying and failing scares me so much I can hardly breathe.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Hart. “Whatever happens, I won’t leave you here alone. If I can’t find a way out of this for you, you’re welcome to come and stay in my house, across the road. You’ll be safe there.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Polly. She turned round to face him at last, and there was no hope in her cold gaze. “I can’t leave. The house won’t let me. Whatever it is that’s in this house with me, I helped to make it; I gave it power over me. And I know, beyond any doubt, that it would rather kill me and you than let me go.”

  Hart wanted to step forward and hold her in his arms, and comfort her, but the pain in her face was a barrier he couldn’t cross. “All right,” he said briskly. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going upstairs and into the room where you’re eight years old, and then we’ll go from room to room, collecting all your other selves and reintegrating them into one you again. We’ll make you whole again, and then we’ll see what’s in the last room, and deal with it.” He smiled briefly. “I’m trying hard to sound confident, like I know what I’m doing, but really it’s up to you. Trust me, Polly. I can’t think of a single good reason why you should, but try. We were friends once, even if I can’t remember it, and I swear I’ll do everything I can to help. Friend will too. You failed before because you were on your own, but we’re here now. We won’t let you down. We won’t let you fail. Are you ready?”

  “No,” said Polly. “But let’s do it anyway.” She unfolded her arms and came to stand before him. “You were a scruffy little kid. Your clothes were always dirty and your hair was a mess. And I was always so clean, so spick and span. But there was no one I’d rather have been with, and I told you things I wouldn’t have dreamed of telling anyone else. When you left, I thought it was the end of the world, and I hated you for going and leaving me behind. Leaving me with the awful thing that had happened. I think that’s partly why I tried to kill you earlier, if we’re being really honest with each other. But now you’re back, and I’ve started to hope again. The house feels different since you came into it. Maybe you were meant to come back here, to help me. Shadows Fall is like that, sometimes. But James… there might be a power in you, but there’s definitely a power here, built by years of guilt and suffering. It’s real, as real as I am, and it doesn’t want me to come together again. I don’t know what it’ll do once it decides you’re an enemy. You don’t have to do this, James.”

  “Yes I do,” said Hart. “We’re friends. Even if I don’t remember it. Lead the way, Polly.”

  She smiled, put a finger to her lips and then pressed it to his. She walked out into the hall, not looking back, and Hart and Friend followed close behind. Polly’s back was very straight and she held her head high, and only the tension in her shoulders showed the forces and emotions warring within her. The hall seemed somehow darker, more claustrophobic, and Hart felt a rising need to reach out a hand to the walls to assure himself they weren’t closing in. He didn’t do it, though. He didn’t want to do anything that might distract Polly now that she’d screwed up her courage to the sticking point. He only had a vague idea of how much courage Polly had, to face a fear she’d been living with most of her life, but it was more than enough to impress the hell out of him. He wasn’t sure why, especially after the episode with the knife, but he liked Polly, and he was determined to do whatever it took to free her from her past. Whatever it took. Polly stopped suddenly before a closed door, and Hart almost bumped into her.

  “This is where it all began,” she said softly. “I was eight years old. Playing on my own while my mother was out. Daddy was upstairs. He called to me, and I went upstairs. And then it happened, whatever happened, and my life was never the same again.”

  She took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped unflinchingly into the room beyond. She stepped to one side just inside the door, so that Hart could join her. He did so, his hands clenched into fists, though he couldn’t have said why. The room was almost offensively ordinary, with nice comfortable furniture in a tasteful setting. The afternoon sun shone brightly through the window, and pooled on the carpet like golden wine. Polly stepped forward and sank to one knee before the empty fireplace.

  “Here I was, a podgy little thing with immaculate pigtails, working on a jigsaw puzzle, not particularly successfully. It was too old for me really, but I wouldn’t admit it. I took challenges personally, then. Part of me’s still here, picking up the pieces and putting them down, waiting for my Daddy to call.”

  “Polly! Come up here. I need you.“

  The voice was hoarse and strained. A man’s voice. It seemed to echo on and on in the room, an echo from the past still resonating in the present. Polly got to her feet and walked out of the door. Hart hurried after her. Polly walked unhurriedly down the hall and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Without looking round, she held out a hand to Hart. He took it, and together they walked up the stairs, and into the past. It seemed darker, as though the sun had gone in. There were shadows everywhere, and Friend clung to their heels like a guard dog. Hart could feel the tension growing in Polly like a bowstring pulled to its fullest extent, but there was control there too, and if it was the control of desperation rather than courage, it still did what was necessary. Hart gripped her hand tightly, trying to pass some of his own steadiness on to her.

  If you’re there, Polly’s father, I’m coming for you. If you’re still alive in some way I’ll kill you, and if you’re dead I’ll dig you up so I can spit on you. I don’t remember you at all, but I hate you for what you’ve done to Polly. I’ll do whatever it takes to break her free of you. Whatever it takes.

  They reached the top of the stairs, and Polly squeezed Hart’s hand painfully tight. She strode forward without waiting for any response, and pushed open the door before her. She hesitated in the doorway as the door swung open, and Hart tensed, expecting something to happen, but nothing did.

  “I was eight years old, all alone, and I heard my Daddy call me. I came in here first, because I was trying to put off going in to him. I can’t remember why, only how scared I was. I’m scared now.”

  “You’re not alone this time,” said Hart. “Friend and I are right here with you.”

  “I’m still scared. It just isn’t enough to stop me, this time.”

  She walked into the room, and bent over sharply, as though caught by a sudden stomach cramp. She shrivelled and shrank, falling in upon herself like a fold-up toy. Her dwindling hand slipped out of his, and she stood there before him, a child again, in a child’s bright and cheerful dress. She looked up at him briefly with an adult’s eyes, and then turned away to look out of the window. Hart moved in beside her, and looked out at the Spring.

  “I’ve been here so many times,” said the little girl. “The voice would call and I’d come, because if I didn’t, it’d just keep calling me until I did. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that whatever happens, I’ll never have to come here as a child again. I’ve never known what it’s like to put away your childhood for ever, never to experience it again. Part of me will miss it, but it’ll be worth it, to be free at last.”

  She put up her tiny hand for him to hold again, and he took it carefully in his own. It looked very small and very fragile, and anger flared up in him again, pushing out the fear and uncertainty. She turned and left the Spring room, and walked out into the passage. She looked briefly at the room opposite, and then looked away and went on down the passage, to the next door. Hart looked back at the closed door of the room with no window. He could hear something breathing heavily behind the door. It didn’t sound entirely human. Hart could feel the mixture of fear and attraction that door had for Polly, even though she wouldn’t look at it.

  Polly led him to the next room, pushed open the door and walked straight in. Her height shot up
, her hand crawling in his as it grew, and in a moment she was a teenager again. He could see in her the beginnings of the woman she’d be, with her steady gaze and determined chin. Outside the window it was Summer, and the room was flooded with light. Tension trembled on the air like the crash of a slammed door. Polly looked out of the window at a long ago Summer with a face older than her years, and when she spoke her voice was quiet but perfectly steady.

  “This was the first time I tried to answer the call, to face my fear and conquer it. I’d heard him call on and off down the years, but I never got past that first room. I was always too scared. I felt so ashamed, even though it wasn’t any ordinary fear. It was more like a silent scream that went on and on and on. But my mother was dead and I was eighteen, a woman, and I thought I should be beyond childhood fears. So I walked up the stairs and into the first room and out again, quickly so I couldn’t change my mind, and then I stood staring at the closed door opposite. Something moved inside, waiting. And finally I turned away, and came in here instead. I think it was then I realized I was never going to be free of the fear. I stood and looked out of the window at the Summer, and finally, I turned and went back down the stairs again.”

  She turned and left the Summer room and walked out into the passage again. Her hand was trembling now, and her shoulders were slumped as though carrying a weight too heavy to put down, but her back was still straight and the determination in her face was so cold and fierce it was almost inhuman. She pushed open the door to the Autumn room and stepped inside, and years piled on her again. She looked suddenly very tired and her hair was brutally short.

  “I had a nervous breakdown when I was twenty-two. I started to remember, you see, and I wasn’t strong enough to deal with it. So I fell apart at the seams, quite suddenly one afternoon. Nothing too dramatic. I just started crying and couldn’t stop. So they put me away somewhere nice and restful, until I was able to forget again. I came home after a while, and the voice called to me, and I was so numb I thought I could face it. I was wrong, and a part of me is always in this room now, lost and confused and just a little weaker than before.”