The Monster at the Window

by Evelyn James

  Oliver gave a wry smile.

  “He asked me to come along and bring my camera equipment. He wanted me to take a picture of the monster. I agreed, well, at the time he requested me he did not specify that the person plaguing him was dead. He merely said that someone was trying to intimidate the family and he wished me to take a picture of the culprit for the police,” Oliver shrugged his shoulders. “It was one of the stranger commissions I have had, but I saw no reason not to assist him. Lord Howton explained that the family liked to spend the evenings in the drawing room, and the stranger would always appear at the window to this room.

  “I did think it somewhat odd that no one had tried to apprehend the intruder. Aside from Lord Howton and his eldest son, there were enough male servants in the house to capture the man. Lord Howton said the fellow was wily and had vanished when attempts had been made to nab him. He wanted to involve the police, but they had been unwilling to post constables at the estate without proof of the man being a real threat. From what Lord Howton had said, it seemed the man was more of a nuisance than anything else. He didn’t seem to be causing harm. I assumed he was a tramp or one of those poor souls who lost their minds in the war and don’t know what they are doing.

  “I never imagined…”

  Oliver had to pause. His face had flushed and his body had tensed. Clara leaned forward and gently took his hand.

  “You went to take this photograph tonight?”

  “Yes,” Oliver said, re-emerging from the dark place that had briefly engulfed him. “I took two cameras up there on tripods and placed them before the window where the figure always appears. They were all ready to take a picture the instant the man came into view. I wasn’t hopeful of a good shot unless the man stood still. I feared it would be a blurred image and warned Lord Howton, but he said at least it would be something.”

  Oliver went to take a sip from his mug of cocoa, but it was empty.

  “I’ll make you some more,” Annie sprang forward at once.

  Clara guessed that her mildly superstitious housekeeper was beginning to find this tale too worrying and would be glad to get out of the room for a bit. After Annie had departed, Clara nudged Oliver to resume his story.

  “What happened?”

  “The evening began pleasantly enough. I dined with the family and we retired to the drawing room to have drinks and play cards. The intruder usually appeared after nine o’clock, so as the time approached I stationed myself by the cameras. I was hardly giving it any thought, the family had been quite close-lipped on the subject. It seemed a taboo thing to talk about.”

  Oliver shook his head.

  “If only I had known…” he winced at the memory. “Just after seven o’clock one of the Howton ladies gave a cry and we all looked up at the window. I glimpsed a figure, but was more concerned with triggering my cameras than taking a good look. I managed to use both cameras before the figure seemed to vanish into thin air.

  “It seemed improbable for a man to disappear like that, but I had not really been watching the window and I assumed the camera flashes had spooked the intruder. However, the family seemed extremely shaken. I couldn’t fathom it at all. Lord Howton, in particular, had gone white as a sheet. No one offered an explanation for his strange demeanour. I started to remove the slides from the cameras, ready to pack them away and develop them when Richard, Lord Howton’s eldest son, sprang from his chair yelling that the man was back. ‘This time I will have him!’ he shouted at his father and raced for the door, his father yelling at him to stop the whole time. ‘Please go with him!’ Richard’s mother cried at me, and I just started to move without thinking. I put down the glass plates and ran after Richard.

  “It was raining and dark. We had no light other than the moon when it appeared from behind the clouds. Richard seemed to know where the man had gone, so I followed him. I don’t know how long we ran, but we were fools for going outside in that weather without coats or hats. I suppose neither of us was thinking straight. Richard was determined and we soon lost sight of the main house as we ran further into the park. Then we came to this square stone structure placed out in the open, it was the oddest thing, and Richard came to a halt right beside it as if he had been running to this place all along.

  “I came up beside him. ‘What is this?’ I asked. Richard gave this unpleasant laugh. We were both out of breath and I rested my hand on the stone. ‘This,’ Richard smiled at me, ‘is the mausoleum built for my uncle Harvey.’

  “I pulled my hand away at once and looked at the structure and realised it was indeed a stone mausoleum, with carved pillars and an arched roof. ‘Why here?’ I asked, the building being randomly placed in the middle of the grounds, nowhere near a path or trees which might explain the choice. ‘It was uncle Harvey’s wishes,’ Richard explained. ‘He insisted. Even wanted it built during his lifetime so he could make sure it was exactly as he liked. My father felt unable to deny him.’”

  Oliver pulled a face.

  “You have never seen a stranger building. I think I can call it ugly, it was monstrous, a mishmash of styles. Even though I could only see glimpses of it in the dark, I knew it was hideous. ‘Why did you come here?’ I asked Richard, because I was sure he had made his way to the mausoleum on purpose. He pulled an awful smile. ‘This is where he comes from,’ he said. ‘He rises from his tomb each night and stalks my family.’ I was confused. ‘Has a tramp invaded the mausoleum?’ I asked. ‘Nothing so normal,’ Richard grimaced. ‘The man you saw at the window tonight and took a picture of is my uncle risen from the dead.’

  “I was as stunned and disbelieving as you, Clara. I almost laughed aloud, thinking that Richard was joking, but the look on his face told me he was deadly serious. I found myself hesitating. ‘No one believes us,’ Richard scowled. ‘It’s impossible, isn’t it? But you took photographs tonight of a dead man. They will prove our claim.’ ‘The man at the window was your late uncle?’ I asked in astonishment. ‘Yes,’ Richard answered. ‘But he has eluded me once again. He has a knack for disappearing.’

  “Richard started to move back from the mausoleum and I went to follow, only too glad to be returning to the house and the warmth of the fire. I was not convinced by the story I had been told. It was too impossible. I thought the family were victims of a cruel hoax. It was only as we turned away that I sensed someone behind us. I turned my head, even though I didn’t want to, but I could not bear to ignore the sensation. And then I saw him, perched on top of the mausoleum. A man, crouching and watching us.”

  Oliver shook his head again. He was still struggling with what he had seen. He paused to look around him at the faces of his friends.

  “What did I see?” he asked them without expecting an answer. “I was as disbelieving as you are right now. Then that man jumped from the top of the mausoleum and walked right up to me. Only, he didn’t quite walk, he more shuffled and stumbled as if his limbs were not entirely connected to his body. And then he was before me and I could see this… this monster of a man!”

  Oliver was started to shake again, this time from fear.

  “There was nothing alive about him. I could smell his rotting flesh. I could see the maggots falling off him! I seemed frozen, unable to move, even when the fiend raised a knife in his hand I couldn’t budge!”

  “Wait,” Clara said sharply. “He had a knife? He was trying to kill you?”

  “I suppose,” Oliver frowned. “Maybe he just wanted to scare me, and he certainly did that! Fortunately, Richard grabbed my arm and he yelled to run. He had lost his nerve too and we both fled and in the dark we became separated. I panicked and when I realised I was nearer to the road than to the house I raced in that direction and my one thought was to get back to Brighton and to find you Clara. I knew you would be able to put this all into perspective for me.”

  “That is a long walk from the Howton estate,” O’Harris whistled through his teeth.

  “Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I still feel as though that monste
r is right behind me breathing on my neck!” Oliver shuddered. “You cannot imagine what I saw. The evil of that creature was like a powerful force radiating off it!”

  “Men don’t come back from the dead,” Tommy said grimly. “I should know. I saw enough dead men in the war.”

  “I don’t say it is common,” Oliver replied to him. “But I cannot deny what I saw. That man was a corpse and yet he was walking about!”

  “It has been a long night,” Clara told him sympathetically. “Everything seems worse in the dark and in the midst of a rain storm. I agree with Tommy that it goes against everything science tells us for a man to rise from the dead.”

  “I don’t expect to convince you, Clara. In a way it was knowing you would be so sceptical that drove me to find you. If anyone can explain what I saw tonight it must be you!”

  Oliver fell silent as Annie returned with his fresh cocoa. Clara was relieved that Annie had missed the worst of the revelations. She would not find it so easy to be sceptical. She was convinced that there was more to this world than what met the eye. Annie would be the one to believe that Oliver had had the misfortune of meeting a revived corpse that evening.

  “You shall stay here tonight and rest,” Clara instructed Oliver, changing the subject. “Tomorrow we can go to the Howton’s home and retrieve your cameras and the glass plates. If nothing else, developing the photographs you took will prove someone is stalking the family.”

  Oliver was now exhausted and had no strength to argue. He just nodded. Annie went into action again, ushering him out of the chair and to the spare bedroom where she had already made up the bed with plenty of extra blankets and another hot water bottle on standby. Clara said nothing as the pair headed up the stairs, only when they were safely out of the way did she glance at her brother and O’Harris.

  “Someone is playing a terrible fraud on the Howtons,” she declared.

  “Trying to scare them out of their minds, by the sounds of it,” Tommy nodded. “To do it using the late Harvey Howton’s memory is a cruel ploy.”

  “And probably done for a reason,” Clara added. “It is a shame the police are not prepared to take a greater interest.”

  “It will be due to a shortage of manpower,” Tommy shrugged. “They can’t spare the men unless it is truly serious.”

  “Strangers wielding knives and pretending to be dead men seems pretty serious to me,” O’Harris pointed out.

  “Something very sinister is occurring,” Clara agreed. “Though, as yet I don’t see the purpose of it all. One thing I am certain of, however, a dead man has not risen from his grave to torment his relatives.”

  “I suppose we have to ask ourselves the question, why would Harvey Howton want to harm his family? Because it seems plain the family were quick to imagine ill-will from the dead man. Guilty consciences, perhaps?” O’Harris postulated.

  “I don’t care to speculate until I know more,” Clara replied. “And tomorrow will be soon enough for that.”

  “I think this business could turn quite nasty,” Tommy frowned. “There is something about it, something so… evil.”

  “But not supernatural,” Clara pointed out firmly. “No, we shall find out soon enough. Poor Oliver, it was clearly a terrible experience.”

  “Let’s just hope that when he lost Richard Howton, the man made it back to his house safely,” Tommy pointed out darkly.

  “You don’t think…?” Clara shook her head. “No. Let’s not go looking for murder just yet.”

  Chapter Three

  Morning brought a return to his senses for Oliver. The pale autumn sunshine streaming through the window seemed to deny the possibility of anything strange and supernatural occurring. There was no room in the stark light of day for talk of the living dead. Oliver looked abashed when he joined Tommy and Clara for breakfast.

  “Last night…” he started.

  “Was last night,” Clara interrupted him. “Don’t think on it Oliver, come have some tea and toast.”

  “I really thought I saw a dead man walking,” Oliver said as he sat down, not quite as ready as Clara to give up on the notion. “I would have sworn to it. Did swear to it. Now… now it seems so impossible.”

  “There are two things I am certain of in all this,” Clara told him, putting down her own tea cup. “Firstly, someone attacked you last night, for what end I don’t know and whether they would really have used that knife they brandished I can’t say, but they attacked you. Second, some sort of terrible mischief is being enacted on the Howtons and I don’t think it will simply end with just frightening the living daylights out of them.”

  Oliver relaxed his shoulders.

  “At least I am not completely crazy, there was someone there last night.”

  “Absolutely,” Clara reassured him. “And I think it very important we find out this person’s intentions. So, drink up your tea and we shall go pay a call on Lord Howton. You have to retrieve your cameras, after all.”

  An hour and a half later, Oliver and Clara were making their way up the driveway of Howton Hall. The parkland looked calm, if rather wet after the night’s downpour. The trees were still dripping fat drops of water onto the grass and the ground was patterned with deep puddles.

  “Where is this mausoleum?” Clara asked as they walked.

  Oliver pointed to her left.

  “You won’t see it from here, it is just behind that rise in the ground. Who ever heard of someone building such a thing in the middle of a park?”

  “People do odd things,” Clara shrugged. “Without knowing more about the late Harvey Howton, I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess at his motives.”

  A gardener was raking up leaves next to the path and paused briefly to stare at the new arrivals. To Clara’s mind he looked rather surly, as if this was his land and he didn’t like people walking on it uninvited. She gave him a nod and a smile, and he quickly turned away. Clara took no more notice, people’s servants could be very odd.

  At the door of the house they were welcomed in by a butler, who showed them through to the drawing room and asked them to wait while he fetched Lord Howton.

  “I am relieved to see you well, Mr Bankes,” he remarked as he went to leave the room. “We were very concerned when you did not reappear at the house last night.”

  He shut the doors and Clara and Oliver were left alone. Clara took the opportunity to survey the room. It was well appointed, facing south and able to catch the smallest amount of sun through tall windows. A terrace ran outside and two sets of the windows opened straight out onto it.

  The furniture in the room consisted of large comfy sofas in a striped fabric and several occasional tables, all sitting on a thick pile rug before the fireplace. There was a sizeable drinks cabinet next to an equally grand sideboard and either side of them stood tall house plants in ornate basins. The walls displayed old works of art, mainly hunting scenes or landscapes. There were no portraits of the family in the room, which somewhat surprised Clara. Usually noble families liked to display their ancestors for all to see. There were, however, a series of black and white photographs in silver frames on the mantelpiece. They seemed quite modern and portrayed the current residents of the house. The modest fashion of the pictures, almost easy to overlook, suggested the family were not the sort of people who went in for ostentatious displays.

  “That is the late Harvey,” Oliver pointed out a picture on the far right.

  The man in the image was handsome in a brooding fashion. The sort of gentleman who would be described as moody and difficult. He seemed to scowl out at the photographer and had not bothered to smile for the picture. If ever you could take a dislike to a person just from their photograph, here was the proof.

  “He is a lot younger than his brother,” Clara noted.

  “Their father married twice. Harvey is from the second marriage when the previous Lord Howton was quite elderly. His mother still lives in the house.”

  “That must make for interesting times,” Clara mused.
“Why, Harvey looks about the same age as Richard Howton.”

  “He was.”

  The voice came from behind them and they both jumped and turned around. In their curiosity about Harvey Howton, they had failed to notice that the drawing room doors had been opened and Lord Howton had joined them.

  “I was most relieved to hear from Crawley that you were well Mr Bankes,” Lord Howton said, entering the room and closing the doors behind him.

  “I apologise for my hasty departure last night. Events overcame me,” Oliver flushed a little, still embarrassed by the panic that had come over him. “May I introduce Clara Fitzgerald, an acquaintance who kindly provided me with assistance last night.”

  Clara held out her hand to Lord Howton, who looked at it with some reserve.

  “A modern girl,” he muttered, refusing to take his hands from behind his back.

  “Clara was kind enough to agree to help me remove my camera equipment from your property. I am sorry for the inconvenience I have caused you,” Oliver was mumbling, Clara wanted to nudge him and remind him that he had no reason to feel foolish. He had, after all, been placed in this position by the very man before them.

  “Your cameras are quite safe. Crawley removed them to the dining room after the events of last night,” Lord Howton was talking to Oliver, but his eyes were firmly on Clara. “Miss Fitzgerald, your name sounds familiar, might we have met before?”

  “I do not think so,” Clara replied, certain she would have remembered Lord Howton had they met before. “You may have come across my name in the newspapers.”