by Amy Cross
“Oh, Dad's looking into the problem?” Jenna replied, with mock surprise. “Cool. Then I'm sure it'll be fixed any minute now. I mean, it's not like he'll just screw everything up as usual.”
“Jenna -”
“I hate this house,” Jenna continued. “It stinks, it has that weird sound, all the goddamn stuff is bolted to the floor, we're in the middle of nowhere, and...” She paused for a moment, watching as her mother crawled to the next corner, still in search of the smell's source. “Leave him, Mum,” she said finally. “Please, I'm begging you, leave Dad.”
“Don't say things like that.”
“I absolutely mean it. Let's go tonight, before we even have to spend one night in this house. Dad's a loser, and a liar, and a goddamn fantasist. We can go stay with Gran and Grandad, and we can get on our feet way faster than if we stick with Dad. He always promises so much, but nothing ever happens, and I can see it in your eyes, you know he's a waste of space.”
“Jenna, please...” Still on her hands and knees, Helen peered at a gap in the wall. Between two of the wooden panels, there was a small space, just a couple of millimeters wide, running vertically from floor to ceiling. Leaning closer, she realized she could feel a very faint breeze coming from the gap, and she could just about make out something glinting in the darkness.
“What is it, Mum?” Jenna asked cautiously.
“Hang on.” After trying and failing to get a better look at whatever was in the gap, Helen took out a hairpin and straightened it before slipping one end into the narrow space. She quickly felt the tip pressing against something solid, but she still couldn't get a fix on what it might be. Jiggling the hairpin a little, she realized that there seemed to be a very thin sheet of metal in the gap, and when she moved the hairpin up and down she found that the metal ran to the floor and up toward the ceiling.
“Mum? What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Helen muttered, getting to her feet and peering into the gap a little higher up. Sure enough, the blade-like metal surface could still just about be made out. She poked the hairpin through again, pressing against the object, but it was clearly stuck fast.
“Mum?”
“Nothing,” she said again, figuring that she didn't want to get her daughter's over-active imagination running. Slipping the hairpin away, she turned to her and smiled. “There's a slight breeze, that's all. Like I said, your father'll take a look tomorrow. I'm building up quite a list of things for him to do.” She made her way over toward the door. “Things'll get better, sweetheart.”
“It's not gonna get better!” Jenna hissed. “Dad's not gonna suddenly pull money and a stable life out of his ass for us! He lets us down all the time and -”
“Jenna, that's enough!” Helen shouted, momentarily losing her temper as she stepped out into the hallway. “Don't you dare talk about your father like that!”
“Why are you so loyal to him?”
“I can't find what's causing that smell,” Helen continued, turning to her, “but you'll just have to live with it. It's getting late and we have a lot to do tomorrow.” For a moment, she was distracted by the sight of several round holes in the door-frame, each about an inch wide. The holes weren't jagged; rather, they were clean and clearly deliberate.
“Leave him, Mum,” Jenna said suddenly.
“Go to bed.”
“Mum -”
“This discussion is over!” Helen said firmly, turning and heading along the corridor. When she got to the top of the stairs, however, she spotted another gap in the wall, and when she leaned closer she saw that once again there seemed to be something hidden in the narrow space. She ran a fingertip along the edge of the gap for a moment, before forcing herself to put any worries out of her mind. Exhausted, she headed through to the bathroom, where she couldn't help noticing more neat little holes in the door-frame.
Chapter Eight
“Are you coming up?” Helen asked a little while later, stopping in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs. She'd already changed into her dressing gown and prepared for bed. “Owen?”
“Look at this,” he replied, holding up a wax cylinder with writing on the side. “Edison Records,” he read from the label. “Echo all over the world. Do you know what this is?”
“I'm going to bed. I'll be -”
“It's an old phonograph recording system,” he continued, turning to the device on a table in the corner of the living room. “I saw one before, but only in a museum. It's one of the earliest types of device used for recording and playing music. This cylinder's blank, but the ones mounted here look to have recordings on them. Of course it's all bolted down, like pretty much everything else in this house.”
Stepping into the room, Helen saw a set of twelve cylinders held in metal cases above a box that was attached to a large metal amplifier.
“It's...” She paused, but she felt too tired to really show interest. “It's fascinating, honey.”
“This thing must be from the eighteen-hundreds,” Owen explained, with a hint of awe in his voice. “You know, Edison was a guy who had his head screwed on right. That man made so much money from his inventions, it's unreal.” He paused, turning the cylinder around as if he was lost in thought. “I'm gonna be like that one day. I'm gonna make something that changes the world, and then I'll have enough money to pay off the bastards who are after me and buy us a house. Hell, we'll have a yacht too!”
“I'm sure,” Helen replied, kissing the back of his neck. “I'm going to bed.”
“I can't get this thing working, though,” he continued, setting the cylinder down. “It looks like someone rigged it up to some kind of homemade system, but I don't see how you're supposed to activate it.” He paused, examining the wires and leads that ran from the cylinders to the main device, and which were also attached to a large panel on the wall. “Of course, it's bolted to the table, and the table's bolted to the floor, like everything else in the house, so it's not like we can move it. I'll have to study it so we can hear what's on the cylinders.” He turned to his wife. “I think I've found a project for the next few days. Aren't you fascinated by this thing?”
“Weren't you going to start working on some new ideas of your own?” she asked cautiously. “You mentioned -”
“I need to get my mind working first,” he told her. “It'll be like a loosening-up exercise, you know? Something to get the juices running before I turn my attention to my own work. You wouldn't expect an athlete to start a marathon without warming up, would you?”
“No,” she replied with a sigh, “I guess not.” Wandering back to the door, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that Owen was already muttering to himself as he made his way around the side of the table to examine the machine more closely. “Don't stay up too late,” she told him. “I might be asleep when you come to bed. I feel like I'm about to drop.”
She waited for a reply, but he was clearly too engrossed in the machine to even notice that she'd said anything.
“Okay,” she muttered as she left the room. “Goodnight, honey.”
***
One hour later, Helen lay alone in the dark, still unable to get comfortable on the bed. A patch of moonlight lit the far end of the room with a cold blue glow, and as she stared up at the ceiling she felt as if she'd never manage to sleep again.
“We can go stay with Gran and Grandad,” she heard Jenna's voice saying, “and we can get on our feet way faster than if we stick with Dad. He always promises so much, but nothing ever happens, and I can see it in your eyes, you know he's a waste of space.”
Her daughter's words were rushing through her mind, refusing to leave her alone. Although her body was exhausted, her mind had suddenly come alive with thoughts and doubts, to the extent that she was starting to wonder whether Jenna might have had a point.
“A wife stands by her husband,” she heard her mother's voice saying, echoing from a long time ago. “You have faith in Owen, don't you?”
“Of course,” she remembered reply
ing, back when she was ten years younger and Owen had screwed up for the first time.
There were so many things Jenna didn't understand. About life, about love, about loyalty...
Turning, she looked toward the wall and listened to the ticking sound, which had been running for hours now without a break. She knew that her daughter was on the other side of the wall, probably having an equally restless night, but she figured there was no point going through to check on her. Glancing over at the other side of the bed, she saw the empty space where Owen still hadn't come up to sleep. She imagined him downstairs still fiddling with the machine he'd found, and she realized that he'd probably spend the next few days obsessively working on the damn thing. Still, she told herself that he'd have to get on with his own work eventually.
Deep down, she still believed in -
Suddenly she heard a loud metallic clanking sound. She turned and looked at the wall, as the sound gave way to a slightly more insistent ticking. A moment later, she heard what sounded like some kind of gear being turned.
And a moment after that, footsteps hurried along the landing and the door swung open.
“What the hell was that?” Jenna asked, sounding distinctly unimpressed.
“Nothing,” Helen replied, turning to her. “Go to sleep.”
“This house is alive!” Jenna continued. “There's something going on in the walls!”
“It's just the plumbing or -”
“It's not the plumbing, Mum! Jesus Christ, it's like we're living inside a giant clock!”
“Jenna, just -”
Before Helen could finish, another loud bump rang out from the other side of the room.
“I felt that!” Jenna said, placing a hand on the wall. “Mum, I actually felt a vibration! The wall shook!”
“You're exaggerating,” Helen replied, sitting up in bed. She wanted to tell her daughter to go back to bed, but she couldn't help noticing that the ticking sound seemed both louder and faster.
“How the hell are we supposed to sleep?” Jenna asked. “Do you have, like, ear-plugs?”
“Yeah, somewhere,” Helen replied, still listening to the sound, which now seemed to be coming from all around. She couldn't deny that the house seemed to be a hive of activity, albeit with everything happening just out of sight.
“It's like there's something going on in the walls,” Jenna pointed out. “And the floor and the ceiling, too. Who the hell built this house, Mum? Jesus, no wonder Dad was able to get it so cheap! No-one in their right mind would ever want to live here! It's going to drive us insane! More insane than we already are!”
“There's nothing in the -”
Another jarring metal bump rang out from behind the wall next to the bed. Looking over, Helen paused for a moment, unable to shake the feeling that some kind of mechanism seemed to be steadily ticking behind the faded old wallpaper.
“Do you remember that night when we stayed in a run-down old hotel in Bristol?” Jenna asked. “And our room was next to the elevator shaft? This is like that, but worse.”
“I'm sure we can make it stop,” Helen replied. “In the morning, your Dad -”
“He can't fix anything,” Jenna snapped. “Knowing Dad, he'll just make it worse. Like he keeps doing with our lives.”
***
“Huh,” Owen muttered, staring up at the living room ceiling as he listened to some kind of metal grinding sound. “It's almost as if...”
His voice trailed off.
“Can you stop it?” Helen asked wearily. “I'm pretty sure it only started when you were down in the basement earlier, fiddling with the power.” She checked her watch. “It's one in the morning.”
Owen turned and looked at the far wall. Behind the wallpaper and plaster, it seemed as if a chain was rattling.
“Fascinating,” he muttered.
“We're going to lose our minds,” Jenna said sourly, placing a hand on the wall. “I can feel it. Like, I can actually feel the entire house vibrating!”
Stepping over to join her, Owen put his hand next to hers.
“You're right,” he said under his breath. “The whole house is...”
Jenna waited for him to finish the sentence, before turning to her mother and rolling her eyes.
“We can't live like this,” Helen said with a sigh. “Owen, there has to be some way to stop it. Whatever's going on between the walls, it's going to drive me crazy. Jenna's right, this place isn't habitable.”
“Old Marchionne was supposed to be a genius,” Owen muttered, slipping past his wife and daughter and heading out into the hallway. “He must have built some kind of new invention into the structure of the house, but obviously we're not seeing whatever it's meant to do. Maybe it's some kind of 'internet of things' set-up, but developed a hundred years before the internet was even a thing.” He made his way to the framed photo of Cesar Marchionne and stared at the old man for a moment. “What is it?” he whispered. “What crazy invention did you hide in this place?”
As if to offer a partial answer, the house groaned slightly, and the ticking sound continued. Owen continued to watch the photo, staring at the balding old man whose large white beard covered the lower half of his face. Dark, brooding eyes looked down toward the bottom of the frame, and Owen couldn't shake a feeling of awe as he studied the image.
“I think maybe Cesar Marchionne and I have a great deal in common,” he said finally. “Both inventors. Both misunderstood in our day. Both passionate about our work.” He took a deep breath. “Both ending up here, in this same spot. A great man like Cesar Marchionne wouldn't have wasted several years building a house. Anyone can build a house. Maybe if I can uncover the truth about his work, I can pick things up where he left off.”
“This isn't a puzzle to be solved, Owen,” Helen pointed out. “This is supposed to be our home.”
“I could write a book about him!” Owen continued. “A bestseller! I just need to work out what he was trying to achieve when he built this house.”
Helen turned to Jenna, who simply rolled her eyes again.
“I wonder what he created,” Owen continued, looking up at the ceiling as he heard some kind of pulley being activated. “Maybe the man was ahead of his time. No, scratch that, undoubtedly he was ahead of his time. I bet none of the stuck-in-the-mud ignoramuses of the late nineteenth century understood Cesar Marchionne's genius.”
“Can you stop the annoying noise?” Helen asked.
Ignoring the question, Owen made his way across the hallway, following the metal clanking sound that seemed to be moving slowly toward the kitchen.
“Can you stop it?” Helen asked again. “Owen? Can you find a way to turn the damn thing off so we can sleep tonight?”
“I'll see what I can do,” he muttered, heading into the kitchen while still staring at the ceiling.
“Dad's on the case,” Jenna said, rolling her eyes. “The problem's bound to get fixed. Meanwhile, excuse me while I go put chewing gum in my ears. Maybe I'll manage to sleep.”
As her daughter stomped upstairs, Helen was left alone in the hallway, listening to the sound of the house ticking and clunking all around her. For a moment, she couldn't shake the feeling that metal pieces were slowly sliding into place out of sight. Looking up, she spotted more small holes around the edge of the door, and another thin gap in the wall.
Chapter Nine
“This is ridiculous,” Jenna muttered a couple of hours later, making her way cautiously along the dark corridor. Having been unable to find a light-switch that worked, she was now trying to feel her way to the bathroom, although after a moment she stubbed her toe against the side of an old cabinet that stood at the top of the stairs.
Stopping, she let out a gasp of pain.
“Damn it!”
Looking down, she saw to her horror that the nail on her little toe was split open, with blood already dribbling out onto the bare wooden floor.
“Motherf -”
Wincing as she felt another flash of pain, she
crouched down and took a closer look. The toenail had been cracked open all the way to the base, and a fresh bead of blood was running down the side. Glancing at the floorboard, she saw that a small patch of blood was already soaking into the wood. Getting to her feet, she limped through to the bathroom and promptly switched the light on, before sitting on the edge of the rusty old bath and lifting her right foot so she could get a better view of the damage.
All around, even in the bathroom, the house continued to tick and groan.
“Great,” she said with a sigh, seeing that the two pieces of broken nail were hanging loose.
Grabbing a small bag from next to the sink, she rifled through its contents and eventually pulled out a pair of tweezers. Wincing again, she began to carefully pull the broken nail away, until finally she saw the meaty pink nail-bed glistening in the bathroom's bright light.
“Thanks Dad,” she muttered, as she began to clean up the mess. “This must be the -”
Suddenly the house fell silent.
She froze for a moment, listening to the absolute quiet that now filled the air. She looked around, waiting for the ticking sound to return, but there was nothing. Still not quite able to believe that the constant annoyance had ended, she glanced up at the ceiling, then at the floor, then at the pipes that ran across the wall, then at the door.
“Huh,” she said out loud.
She waited.
Silence.
“Huh,” she said again, getting to her feet and limping over to the toilet. “I guess miracles do happen.”
A couple of minutes later, once she'd finished, she switched the light off and limped back out to the corridor. The house was still completely quiet, as if whatever had been going on behind the walls was now, finally, at an end. Spotting a gap in the wall opposite, she limped over and put her ear next to the wood, but sure enough there was no sound of anything happening on the other side. She even placed her hand against the surface, just in case there was any hint of a vibration.
