She decided she’d attempt to make contact that night in case Arthur’s spirit was fading.
If only my head would stop aching, I might be able to do more reading.
About to head into the kitchen to wash the breakfast things, a dainty knock at the front door echoed through the house, and Eleanor paused. Assuming Joe had forgotten his house keys, she walked into the hall and opened the door.
The man standing on the porch dipped his hat, a black bowler, in greeting.
“Good morning to you, madam,” he said. His voice sounded smooth as hot syrup, with the elocution of a high-class upbringing. “Might I say that your garden is looking splendid, especially on such a magnificent day.”
Eleanor stared at the man, unsure whether this was a joke. Despite the bowler hat and pressed black suit, the visitor looked odd. His hair, a shocking bright scarlet, hung beneath the hat to his shoulders. Eleanor noticed his eyebrows, and even his stubble, were the same shade of loud red. The man had done a really thorough job of dying his hair.
“I’m sorry,” he said, offering his hand. “James Elliot Hearnsworth. So rude of one not to introduce oneself immediately.”
His eyes seemed to flash a cold blue, like balls of frozen Arctic ice in his head.
Still taken aback by her sudden visitor, Eleanor humbly shook his hand. She released it and shooed away a fly that tickled her forehead.
“And you are Eleanor McGuire, I presume?”
“Yes,” she mumbled. “That’s me.”
“Indeed.” He beamed. “I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement, Mrs McGuire, in light of…recent events?”
Recent events? He must mean the Deans breaking in. And a mutually beneficial arrangement? He must mean money. He’s probably one of those claim people, no win, no fee and all that.
“I’m sorry, Mr…Mr…?”
“Hearnsworth.”
“Yes, Mr Hearnsworth. I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re selling.”
“Selling? My dear lady, I’m not selling anything. I’m a…a…”
Eleanor rubbed her forehead. It tickled again.
“A paranormal investigator,” he exclaimed.
“Really?”
“Yes, I believe something remarkable has happened here and I was hoping to ask you some questions, if one might be so bold.”
“But how do you know what’s been going on? I haven’t mentioned it to anyone, and Joseph doesn’t know anyone around here—”
“There have been other occurrences, other reports, Mrs McGuire.”
“Oh,” said Eleanor, disappointed it was no longer a private event. “I see. Well, would you like to come in and have some tea?”
“Tea? Oh my dear, I would love a cup!”
Eleanor stood to one side, allowing James Elliot Hearnsworth to enter. He courteously removed his bowler hat as he crossed the threshold, and more bright red locks of hair fell to his shoulders. She followed and closed the door behind him, shutting out the bright sunshine.
After showing him into the lounge, Eleanor hurried into the kitchen and brewed a pot of tea from her own special blend. With the teapot steaming and the cups, saucers and plate of biscuits laid out on a tray, she carried the whole thing into the lounge. She discovered Hearnsworth sitting on the sofa and flicking through one of her books, a big smile on his slender face. He instantly put the book down upon spying the tea tray, patting his knees in anticipation like an excited child.
“Oh, I do adore tea,” he said. “It’s just so…English.”
Unsure how to deal with this strange statement, Eleanor offered him a biscuit. He chose a custard cream and placed it on his saucer. The moment he received the cup from her rickety grip he raised it to his lips and drank the scalding hot tea in one gulp. Eleanor tried to hide her shock as she stirred her own beverage.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing towards the teapot.
“Yes, go ahead,” said Eleanor, carefully lowering herself onto the other end of the sofa.
Hearnsworth poured himself a second cup and immediately drank it. This time, he returned the cup to the saucer while half the tea still remained.
“Were you enjoying the book, Mr Hearnsworth?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The book,” she patted the copy of the Encyclopaedia of the Unexplained that lay on the sofa between them. “You were reading it when I came in.”
“The book. Oh yes! My apologies. Yes, the book is quite amusing.”
Amusing?
“But I’m sure you didn’t invite me into your house to chat about books,” he said. “May we get down to the core of the matter?”
Eleanor took a tentative sip of tea and nodded.
“Tell me everything, Mrs McGuire. From the first moment you felt something wasn’t right.”
“Well, I suppose it was the night of the storm. Kept me up all night, that did.”
“What was special about this storm?”
Eleanor scratched her forehead. The tickle had developed into an itch.
“It was ferocious. It just came out of nowhere and battered down on the street. Then it just vanished.”
“I see,” he said, frowning in concentration. “What happened next?”
She scratched her head again.
“Eggs and bacon.”
“Excuse me?”
“The smell of eggs and bacon. It just comes up without a source and then fades away. Windows have opened on their own too.”
Eleanor rested a hand on her forehead. Needles seemed to poke through her skull and into her brain.
“It’s my deceased husband trying to contact me, I’m sure.” She winced as another sharp wave of pain swept over her skin. “I’m sorry, Mr Hearnsworth. I seem to be feeling a little funny right now. Too much late night reading I suppose.”
Hearnsworth leaned over and took her free hand gently in his own.
“Eleanor, listen to me,” he purred. “We have to trust each other. Together we can make things go back to normal. All you have to do is tell me one thing…”
Eleanor gripped his hand hard due to the pain erupting through her cranium.
“W-what?”
“Tell me, Eleanor,” he whispered, sliding up the sofa, closer. “Where is the mana?”
“The mana? I don’t know what you mean…”
“Yes, you do. Where is it? Tell me and all this haunting will be over.”
Even through the pain, she managed a small smile.
“Be over? Mr Hearnsworth, I’ve waited years for this to happen. Why would I want it to be over?”
He frowned and titled his face to the side, looking like a curious feline. “I see.”
He released her hand and moved back to the far side of the sofa.
Eleanor sat further back with both hands clamped to her temples. The headache had reached its peak and wasn’t budging. Hearnsworth ignored her obvious discomfort and drank the rest of his tea, emptying the china cup in three quick slurps.
“With regret, Mrs McGuire, I must bid you farewell. If we cannot work together, no resolution will be reached.” He returned his cup to the coffee table.
Eleanor tried to focus, but her vision blurred.
“I-I’m sorry, Mr Hearnsworth. We can discuss the matter another time, when my head isn’t hurting so much.”
He gazed at her, a slight sneer on his face. His eyes narrowed and glinted with malice.
“Certainly, Mrs McGuire. We shall be…meeting again over this incident. I have no doubt.”
Lifting his bowler from the arm of the sofa, he stood.
“Let me see you out,” said Eleanor, also rising. Her balance proved less trustworthy than she thought, and she teetered on the brink of falling back onto the sofa. With a hand on the wall, she shuffled towards the door.
Hearnsworth, who had been staring longingly at the teapot, followed.
Eleanor managed her way through the hall and to the front door. Hearnsworth stayed silent and watched her s
truggle. With some effort, she opened the front door and slumped to the side.
Hearnsworth stepped out onto the bright porch, the light through his hair a coppery gleam. He placed the bowler back on his head and turned back to Eleanor, all smiles once again.
“It’s been a pleasure, it truly has,” he said, lifting her hand and shaking it. The motion nearly toppled her. “Excellent tea, Mrs McGuire, excellent! I look forward to our next meeting. Good day to you.”
He headed down the garden path.
“B-bye,” she said, rubbing her agonising head. She watched him open the garden gate and walk out onto the street. He dipped his hat in greeting to Joe, who had arrived back from his run.
Giving a short reply, Joe ran past him and bounded up the garden to join his grandmother on the porch. His skin glistened with sweat, and his breathing beat rapid and deep.
“Has he just been here?” he asked through his panting.
Eleanor nodded, still rubbing her head.
“Jeez, Grandma, are you all right? You’ve gone pale.”
“Just…a headache. Nothing to…nothing to worry about.”
“Let’s get you inside.”
He held her gently by the elbow and guided her back into the hall. Together, they entered the lounge.
“You have a lie down,” Joe ordered, “and I’ll get you some pain killers.”
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “You don’t have to worry so much!”
He led her over to the sofa and gradually lowered her down.
“I’ll be two minutes. Call if you need me.”
“Stop fussing, Joseph.”
Joe left the room.
Although the clamp-like headache had eased slightly, Eleanor decided she did need a lie down after all. She reached over for the Encyclopaedia of the Unexplained that lay on the sofa where Hearnsworth had left it. She placed it on top of the stack of books on the coffee table. The heavy volume slipped from her weak grip and tumbled to the floor, flopping open. The pages splayed apart.
Cursing to herself, she left the book on the floor and lay back on the sofa, a pillow supporting her throbbing head.
A migraine. Today of all days.
Unsure how to contact Arthur’s spirit without more research, the thought of reading a mere paragraph brought a frustrated nausea.
“Arthur,” she whispered, hoping Joe wouldn’t come in. “If you can hear me, just hang on. I’m trying my best and soon, dear…”
Her thoughts wandered to James Elliot Hearnsworth. The things he’d said seemed even stranger than his appearance. Between them they could end this haunting. Why would he be so keen to exorcise the ghost of her dead husband? She also made a mental note to speak to Anne Harper when she was feeling better. If there had been other complaints, like Hearnsworth mentioned, maybe she had experienced something too. And what was it that Hearnsworth had been so interesting in finding? Mana. What did he mean by that?
Joe strode back in, interrupting her train of thought. He’d changed into dry and clean T-shirt and shorts. He carried a small glass of water and a packet of painkillers.
“Here you are,” he said, handing her the drink. “Sit down and take two of these.”
“There’s really no need to bother, I’m feeling a little better already.”
“Well, these might shift it altogether,” said Joe, popping two white tablets free of the foil.
Giving up the argument, Eleanor took the pills, more to stop him fretting than to soothe her headache. The pain receded by the second.
“One of your books is on the floor,” said Joe, bending over to pick up the open encyclopaedia. “Do you want it now?”
“Not yet, Joseph. I might have a nap before I start again.”
Joe didn’t seem to be listening. He stared into the open book, jaw hanging down. After a moment, he licked his lips and cleared his throat.
“Grandma?”
“Yes, dear?”
“That man…”
“Yes?”
“What was his name?”
“Hearnsworth. James Elliot Hearnsworth. Why?”
He looked down at the book again.
“Because either Mr Hearnsworth has a twin, or he’s here in your book.”
“Nonsense! Let me see.”
Joe turned the book around.
Eleanor received the book for a closer inspection of the blurry photograph.
The picture showed a country lane at twilight with lush green fields on either side. In the distance, just below the horizon, stood a figure dressed in black, illuminated by a fire at the side of the road.
It can’t be a fire - the flames are blue.
“My lord,” she said, bringing the book even closer to her face.
Despite the distance and the bad quality of the photograph, she spied the bright red hair and bowler hat of the figure.
“It couldn’t be…” She looked up at Joe. “Could it?”
“What does it say underneath?”
“The only known photograph of a man in black taken in Devon in 1980. There was supernatural activity in the area at the time. The blue flames remain a mystery.”
“Weird,” said Joe. “How old do you think he was?”
“I don’t know,” said Eleanor, still studying the picture. “He looked young, but the way he spoke…if this was taken back in the early eighties, he must be older than he looks.”
“What did he want?” Joe asked, helping himself to a biscuit from the plate on the tea tray.
“He said he was a paranormal investigator, here to deal with the supernatural presence on the street.”
“Sounds like a crack pot to me,” said Joe. “Better keep an eye on him if he’s hanging around.”
2.
The Collector stomped up the road, grinding his teeth.
A simple retrieval had already turned into more work, and he’d planned to be back in the City by the afternoon. The old woman knew more than she let on, of course. But no matter how much he’d poked around in her mind, the nugget of information he sought had been held from him, like a mental door had been closed, and he’d merely smashed his fists against it. The probing had hurt her more than intended, but thinking back, he grinned.
Serves the old wench right for making my day difficult.
He considered another alternative. The McGuire woman might have been telling the truth. She might not know where the mana was. He found that hard to swallow.
He pulled his bowler further down on his head. The sun burned bright, but thankfully not as bright as the suns in the city. He stood for a while, enjoying the scene. Green wasn’t an abundant colour back in the City.
It would be a shame to ruin such a pleasant place. Lucky that I have two more appointments to go. Surely someone will enlighten me to the mana’s location.
Checking both ways, he crossed the street. From the level of quiet, he believed Montgomery was behaving and still inside the shed they’d found. The last thing he needed at this stage was Montgomery running riot and terrorising the street.
Well, not yet anyway. But I’m sure he’s getting hungry by now.
With a spring in his step, he headed towards the next house. Judging by its state of disrepair, his confidence soared.
Aren’t the needy the easiest to persuade?
3.
The Dean boys had become very resourceful over the years. Since their father passed away and the money had started to dry up, anything that they needed was found, traded or simply taken. Adam sat on an old sofa they’d discovered in a skip. They’d taken one of their mother’s blankets to cover it, and this also helped to block the damp smell. Jake sat on the edge of a worn, brown armchair. Between them lay a makeshift table crafted from milk crates and a large square of wood, its surface covered in cans of lager, loose cigarettes and playing cards. Both twins studied their hands.
“I need two,” said Jake, tossing a couple of cards on the littered table. Adam slid him two more over. Jake picked them up and grinned.
“Did you even hear him come in? You know, yesterday?”
“Obviously,” said Jake, still contemplating his cards. “That’s why I let him push us in the wardrobe.”
“Eh?”
“Of course I didn’t hear him! For fuck’s sake, Adam…”
Adam shrank back on the sofa and considered his next move in the game.
“You any ideas who it was?” asked Jake, his voice returning to a quieter volume.
“He sounded familiar, so I think we know him. I take it you want some payback.”
“He locked us in a wardrobe for five hours. He’s got it coming. I’ll see you a fag.”
Jake reached into his shirt pocket and threw a cigarette onto the table.
“Same and raise,” said Adam, adding another two. He swigged his beer.
“You know who I think it could be?” said Jake.
“Who?”
“That arsehole from over the road.”
“Harper?”
“No. The other arsehole.”
Adam thought for a moment.
“Oh! You mean the old bitch’s son?”
“Grandson, I think. But yeah, him. Bit strange how he was around to come to the rescue. And then what did he do? Slag us off, knowing we was trapped.”
Adam nodded.
“And now Mum thinks he’s wonderful because he played the big hero. Makes me sick.”
Adam sniggered.
“Here, Jay. What if they start to really get on well? How would you like that as your stepdad?”
“I doubt that’s going to happen. I mean, look at him. I’ll admit he’s in good shape, has a nice motor, is reasonably good looking…”
“Gay!”
“Shut up, Adam. My point is that he’ll want nothing to do with an ugly, fat fucker like Mum.”
They shared a laugh and drank more beer.
“Anyway, let’s get back to the game,” said Jake, staring down at his cards. “I’ll see your fag, and raise you a can.”
He slammed both on the table.
“Confident, eh?” Adam placed one of his cans down too. “Let’s see ‘em.”
The Collector Book One: Mana Leak Page 13
