by Tiana Carver
CAGE OF BONES
A NOVEL
TANIA CARVER
PEGASUS CRIME
NEW YORK LONDON
CONTENTS
PART ONE: SUMMER COLD
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
PART TWO: AUTUMN FALLS
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
PART THREE: WINTER KILLS
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
PART FOUR: SPRING AWAKENING
132
133
134
PART ONE
SUMMER COLD
1
It was a house of secrets. Dark secrets, old secrets.
Bad secrets.
Cam knew it as soon as he saw it. Felt it, sensed it. Not just derelict but desolate, collapsing under the weight of its own despair. A solid shadow, deeper than black.
The old house was on a patch of ground just by the river, opposite the Old Siege House pub and restaurant at the bottom of East Hill in Colchester. Beside where an old mill had been converted into a set of fancy apartments. It was an area of old buildings, some dating back to Elizabethan times, mostly all sympathetically restored. The area had managed to retain some character and the properties were starting to go for inflated prices. There was a demand for more of the same. Or at least a cheap contemporary copy.
But first the area had to be cleared. And that was where Cam came in.
His back to the morning traffic, walking down a single-track road, he had felt good. His first job after three months claiming Jobseeker’s Allowance. A labourer with a building and demolition company. Seventeen years old, one of the few from his class to actually get a job. Not what he wanted; he loved reading and wished he could have gone to university, studied English. But he was realistic. Kids like him didn’t go to university. Especially not now. Still, he should be grateful to be working, to be busy. Happy to be anywhere except at home watching Jeremy Kyle become Cash in the Attic.
He had passed an old brick wall on his right, behind which a grand Georgian house had been renovated, turned into offices. All gleaming white sash windows, polished brass plaques, ornamental trees guarding the huge front door before the curling gravel drive. Cars for the office staff were parked on his left, their engines still ticking, cooling.
Cam imagined himself driving a car like that one day, working in an office like that one day too. Having a secretary, even playing golf. Well maybe not the golf. But something like that. Perhaps they would love his work at the demolition company so much he’d be promoted. Move on up the company until he was top man.
Cam smiled. Walked on.
Then the trees overhead closed in, darkening the morning, chilling the air, and Cam’s smile faded. The traffic noise diminished, absorbed by the trees. Old and thick-trunked, they deadened the mechanical rushing sounds of vehicles, replaced them with the natural white noise of rustling leaves. Cut off from the road, the noise of the leaves increased, shushing and whispering all around him. The sunlight barely glinted through the dark overhead canopy. Cam’s smile disappeared completely. He shivered. Felt suddenly alone.
Beyond the cars was a wasteland. Poured concrete posts, heavy, moulded from old oil drums. Chained together, bordering a weed-infested gravel patch. The first line of defence, keeping people away from the building.
Then the fence.
He stopped before it. Sturdy, heavy mesh panels anchored into solid concrete bases. The surrounding bushes and weeds had grown through and around it, pulling it towards them, trying to claim it for themselves. ‘Dangerous: Keep Out’ and ‘Do Not Trespass’ notices were attached to it by plastic ties, barely visible amongst the green. Warnings to the curious. Cam didn’t look at them. He was just glad he wasn’t doing this at night. Place was creepy enough in the daytime.
Behind the fence was rubble and weeds, fighting for space, dominance. And beyond all that was the house itself. Cam took a good look at it.
A solid black shadow, absorbing the daylight, holding it within. Giving away nothing. Then he saw something rise from the side of the building, slap down again with a leathery sound. Like huge crow’s wings. A horror-film monster. He jumped, gasped.
Cam turned, thinking of running away. Stopped. Tried to get hold of himself. This was ridiculous. It was morning, and it was just an old house. He looked at it again. Studied it, confronted it. Hoped his scrutiny would take its power away.
It was more like an old barn or storage house. And it was old. Very old. Black wooden slats cladded the exterior, most of them askew or collapsing with age and disrepair, leaving exposed lath-work and bare brick underneath. What he had taken for crow’s wings was a huge sheet of black plastic attached to one side of the building. A cheap makeshift repair, now tattered and useless, left hanging beyond its useful life.
There were huge gaps in the roof tiles, exposing the aged, water-damaged skeletons of beams and joists. At the far end was a one-storey extension, blackened plasterwork, rotted wooden window frames. A crumbling brick wall exposed a flat concrete area. Beyond that was the River Colne, dirty brown, plastic debris and greasy scum bobbing slowly along.
So close to the road, the town, and he could have been anywhere. Or nowhere.
Just a house. Cam told himself. Just a house. Nothing more.
‘What you waitin’ for?’ A v
oice behind him, loud and angry-sounding.
Cam jumped, startled. He turned.
‘Come on, get a move on. We’re on the clock here.’ The newcomer looked at his watch to emphasise the point. ‘Shift it.’
‘Sorry …’ Cam found his voice. ‘Sorry, Gav …’
His boss had been following him down the path. Cam was so wrapped up in the house that he hadn’t even noticed. Galvanised into action by Gav’s words, pleased to have some reinforcements, he pushed and pulled at the fence, tried to get it to budge. Sharp branches slapped at his face and limbs. Leathery green tendrils seemed to wrap themselves round his arms and legs, tugged at him. Cam felt panic, unreasonable but insistent, rise within him. He gave one final heave and eventually, sweating from the exertion, his knuckles red and sore from the metal and green from the foliage, he managed to make a gap wide enough to squeeze through.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Gav behind him. ‘Just make enough room for yourself, you skinny little bastard. Selfish twat.’
Cam thought of answering, explaining his sudden panic, his irrational, instant fear of the building before them, apologising even. Had the breath in his mouth ready, but didn’t use it. Gav was just joking. In his own way. Funny and charming, he thought himself, while other people just found him loud and offensive. Plus he wouldn’t understand why Cam was so suddenly scared. But then Cam didn’t understand it either.
Just a simple job, Gav had said. A two-man crew, do a recce, decide how best to demolish the place, plan it, do it. Clear the land to cram in yet another development of boxy new houses and flats. The last thing Colchester needed. Cam thought, more boxy new houses and flats. But he tried to have no opinion on it. Because he needed the job. And because some of those boxy little houses weren’t bad. He quite fancied living in one of them.
Cam heard the fence rattle and clang behind him, felt it vibrate and shake. He also heard curses and expletives, as Gav forced his steroid-pumped body through as loudly as possible. Cam, reluctant to enter the house alone, waited for him. The other man joined him, stood beside him looking at it.
‘What d’you think?’ Gav said, sweating from the exertion.
‘Like the House of Secrets,’ said Cam, instantly regretting it.
Gav turned to him, a sneering smile on his lips. ‘The what?’
Cam began to stammer. ‘Th-th-the House of Secrets. It’s from a comic.’
‘Bit too old for comics, aren’t you?’
Cam blushed. ‘Read it when I was a kid. It was a … a horror comic. These two brothers. Cain and Abel. Abel lived in the House of Secrets. Cain lived in the House of Mystery. With this graveyard between them.’ He paused. Gav hadn’t said anything, so he continued. ‘Cain was always killin’ Abel. But he was always back to life for the next issue.’
He expected Gav to say something, insult him in some way. Take the piss. But he didn’t.
‘Cain and Abel,’ said Gav. ‘That’s the Bible, that. First murderer, first victim.’
Cam just looked at him, eyes wide in surprise.
‘What? Just ’cos I work in demolition doesn’t mean I’m thick.’ Gav looked away from Cam, beyond the fence, across the path.
‘Hey look,’ he said, pointing. He laughed. ‘There’s another. That must be your House of Mystery.’
Cam looked. Gav was right. There was another building further down the road in even worse repair than the one they were standing in front of. It looked like a row of old terraced houses, boarded up and falling apart, the foliage reclaiming it. Eerie and isolated. Even the graffiti that covered it looked half-hearted.
And in between, thought Cam, the graveyard.
They stood in silence. Cam eventually found his voice.
‘Creepy place,’ he said, ‘innit? Like … like somethin’s happened here.’
‘What, like an old Indian burial ground or somethin’?’ Gav laughed. ‘You’re too sensitive, you. An’ weird.’ He sniffed. ‘Now come on,’ he said. ‘We better get crackin’. ’Cos it’ll be bloody murder if you don’t get a move on. We ain’t got all day. Let’s get inside.’
Gav stepped in front of Cam, crossed towards the boardedup doorway. Cam followed reluctantly. As he did so, he saw something on Gav’s face that he hadn’t seen before. Something that the mouthing off and bravado didn’t cover.
Fear.
2
Up close, the house looked – and felt – even worse.
The back wall was covered with tarpaulin panels. Over the years, the edges had peeled away from the wood and brickwork, and now they resembled a line of hooded cloaks hanging on a row of pegs, just waiting to be worn to some sacrificial black mass.
Cam shivered again.
In amongst the cloaks were the remains of a doorway. Frame rotted, eaten away from the ground up, paint flaked off and blown away. The door it held looked flimsy enough too, missing paint showing wood that looked like shredded wheat.
‘Go on, get it open.’
Gav’s voice behind Cam.
Cam reached out, turned the handle, pushed. Nothing. Pushed again, slightly harder this time. Still wouldn’t budge. And again, more force this time. Nothing. He stopped, turned to Gav. Hoping that would be the end of it. That they could leave now. Return to the sun, the warmth.
Gav had other ideas. ‘Useless twat, give it here.’
He twisted the handle, pushed. Hard. Nothing. Anger, never far from the surface of Gav’s steroid-addled psyche, was rising within him, reddening his face, making him tense his arms. He stepped back, shoulder-charged the door. A splintering sound, but it held firm. The sound was encouragement enough. Gav did it again. And again.
The door resisted, but eventually, with a loud crack and a shriek of breaking timber, gave.
Gav stood there, bent double, hands on knees, panting.
‘Go on then, kid … in you go …’
Cam looked between Gav and the darkness. Reluctantly, he entered.
It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloom after the bright morning sunshine outside. And once they had, it was pretty much as he would have expected. Razor blades of dusty light cut through the gaps in the wood and brickwork of the walls, illuminating a desolate, dank space.
The boards beneath Cam’s feet creaked as he put pressure on them. He was wary about entering further in case the floor gave way beneath him. A shadow loomed behind him.
‘Come on, get movin’.’
Cam stepped further into the house.
‘Jesus Christ …’ Gav again. ‘That smell …’
Cam hadn’t noticed he had been holding his breath. He let the air out of his lungs, breathed in. And immediately gagged. The stench was awful, almost physical in its putrid power.
‘God …’ said Gav. ‘Smells like someone died in here …’
‘Don’t say that.’
Gav looked at him, about to make a joke. But Cam could tell he was becoming just as scared. Gav said nothing.
‘Let’s look around.’ Cam was surprised at the strength in his voice, the bravery of the statement. But it had nothing to do with bravery. He just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. The sooner this house was demolished, the better.
Cam, still wary of the floorboards, moved further into the room. The smell was overpowering. Cam hated to admit it, but Gav had been right. It smelled like someone had died in there.
There was a set of stairs off to the left of the room, leading upwards. They looked, if anything, even riskier than the floorboards. Directly ahead was a doorway through to another room. It had no door, and Cam was aware of quick, darting movements in the shadows at his feet as he moved slowly towards it. Rats. He hoped.
The remains of a kitchen were decaying in the next room, cabinets empty, doors missing or hanging by half-hinges, lino underfoot broken and missing.
‘Anything there?’ said Gav from the main room.
‘Kitchen,’ said Cam. ‘Or it was once.’ At the far end of the room was another doorway. Cam moved
towards it. There was a door in this one. Closed. And it looked newer, sturdier than the rest of the inside. He reached down. The handle looked newer too.
Heart skipping a beat, he turned it.
A sudden light came from behind him. He jumped, screamed, shut his eyes.
‘It’s a torch, you soft bastard,’ said Gav.
Cam forced his heart rate to slow down. Gav swung the torch round the main room. The small black shadows scuttled away. They were rats. But something else had been there. Among the debris of the falling-apart building, the bricks, old concrete and cement, pieces of wood and broken furniture, were more recent leavings. Pizza cartons. Fast-food wrappings. Newspapers. Gav shone his torch down on them.
‘Look at that,’ he said. ‘The date. Couple of weeks ago. Recent …’
The bad feeling Cam had been harbouring increased. ‘Let’s get out of here, Gav. Come on. This … this isn’t right.’
Gav frowned angrily, fighting the fear inside himself, not wanting to show it. ‘Bollocks. Just some old tramp or some-thin’ been dossin’ down here. Come on.’ He pointed to the door. ‘What’s in there?’
‘Toilet?’
‘Open it.’
Cam, sweating now, turned the handle.
It wasn’t a toilet. It was another flight of stairs, this time leading down. The darkness sucked away what light there was like a black hole.
‘Gav …’
Cam stood back to let Gav see. Gav drew level. The two of them in the cramped kitchen filled it, made the place seem claustrophobic. Gav shone the torch into the dark stairwell. The two of them looked at other.
‘Go on then,’ said Gav, licking his lips.
Dry from the steroids, thought Cam. Or fear.
Cam opened his mouth, wanted to complain, but knew it would be no use. Putting his hand out to steady himself against the wall, he began to make his way downwards.
The wall was clammy, cold. He felt damp flaking plaster and paint beneath his palm. The steps creaked as he placed his feet on them, felt soft at times.
He reached the bottom. Felt hard-packed earth beneath his boots, a low ceiling above his head. The smell was worse down here; corruption allied to a pervasive dampness that made his skin itch and tingle unpleasantly.
He crouched and looked round. Saw shadow on shadow. Behind him, Gav started to move down the stairs, swinging the beam of his torch as he did so. Cam caught flashes of illumination, made out something at the far end of the cellar.
