by Amy Cross
Foster visibly shudders slightly. “But you've never actually been there at all, have you?”
“I've read every -”
“But you've never been there! You've never seen it with your own eyes!”
Mac seems irritated. “I'll be putting that right tonight,” he says firmly. “We already have an agreement. I'm heading out there with my team.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I'm pulling out, but somehow this doesn't feel like the right moment.
“One night is all you need,” Foster tells him. “Nobody has ever -”
“Three nights,” Mac says firmly, “or the whole deal is off. If you only give us permission for one night there, I'll turn around and take my team home.” He pauses, as if he's waiting for Foster to acquiesce. As if he knows he'll get what he wants. “And obviously there would be no fee in that case,” he adds. “The fee is based on a three-night stay. The first night will be spent outside the house, anyway. Only nights two and three will be inside.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Fine,” Mac mutters with a sigh. “Then we're leaving. Helen, Toby, Paula, we're turning around and going home.”
I feel a flash of relief.
“Wait!” Foster hisses, just as Mac is about to get up. “Just hang on a second!”
Glancing at the doorway, I see that several of the locals are watching us now, pints in hand. They seem fascinated by our little gathering, as if they're waiting to see whether we're really, truly going to be heading out to the house. I swear, it's almost as if the entire village is holding its breath. The guitarist is still playing, but he's being completely ignored.
After a moment, I turn and see that Foster still seems uncertain.
“How are things out here in the sticks, anyway?” Mac continues, reaching into his pocket and taking out the wad of cash that I saw him counting earlier. “I understand that your haulage business isn't doing too well right now, Mr. Foster. Lots of competition these days, especially from abroad. And you're a land-owner, which means there can't ever be a time when you don't have repairs to fund, or people needing money for this, that and the other. And those floods earlier in the year must have been costly.” He takes a moment to flick through the notes. “This is the full ten thousand, in cash. No receipt necessary. All you have to do is let us have three nights at Blackwych House, but if you really don't think you can do that, I suppose I'll have to accept your decision.”
He pauses for a moment longer, before starting to put the money away as he turns to the rest of us.
“I'm sorry, everyone, but it looks like we're not going to -”
“Hang on!” Foster stammers, clearly filled with panic. “I didn't say you couldn't have three nights out there. I just said that I advise against it, but... If you're willing to sign that waiver document, confirming that I'm not responsible in any way for anything that happens, then it's no skin off my nose either way. I just needed to warn you, that's all. For the sake of my conscience.”
Mac slides the bundle of money toward him, before quickly signing the document.
“You all need to sign,” Foster explains as he starts counting the money. “My lawyer was very insistent.”
“Do it,” Mac mutters, passing the document to me, along with a pen. “Come on, hurry up. I want to get out of here.”
I hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out how to break the news that I'm backing out.
“Sign it or leave,” Mac says firmly. “There's no time to mess about.”
I turn to him. “I -”
“Get on with it!” he hisses.
“Sorry,” I mumble, quickly signing the document and then sliding it over to Toby.
I take a deep breath. Just because I signed, that doesn't mean I'm actually going with them.
“I'll be taking the key now,” Mac continues, getting to his feet. “It's almost eight, we can be out there by nine if we get a move on.”
“Are you want to start tonight?” Foster asks. “It's getting dark. Why not wait until tomorrow?”
Mac turns to the rest of us. “Did you all sign this man's stupid piece of paper?”
Toby finishes scribbling his name and slides the document back over toward Foster.
“Then there's really no need to wait,” Mac continues. “We can get set up and start our program.”
“But the weather isn't looking so good,” Foster points out, taking an old iron key from his pocket. “I mean, why rush? Why not wait until -”
“I don't give a damn about the weather,” Mac tells him, holding his hand out for the key. “You have our money, we've signed your dumb form confirming that you're not liable for anything that happens, so our business here is done. Give me the key and we'll be on our way.”
Foster hesitates, as if he's still a little uncertain, but finally he leans forward and hands the key over.
“Let's get going,” Mac says immediately, turning and making his way around the table, quickly heading out to the main part of the pub. The gathered crowd parts for him, as if they recognize a man who shouldn't be held back.
I open my mouth to call after him, but he's already gone.
“The man doesn't hang around, does he?” Toby mutters, rolling his eyes as he and Helen get to their feet.
“Try to change his mind,” Foster says, watching us with fear in his eyes. “Please, just try to make him see sense. Spend one night out there at the house, that's not a problem, but whatever you do... Don't stay for a third night. There's really no need, and the third night is always when...”
His voice trails off, but it's clear that he's genuinely worried.
“I don't want to let anyone stay at Blackwych Grange,” he continues. “Not ever. It's just... I need the money, but please, don't stay for three nights.”
“Do we get any of our money back,” Toby asks, “if we quit tomorrow morning?”
“The deal was quite specific,” Foster stammers defensively, “there's no -”
“I'm just messing with you,” Toby adds, forcing a smile as he turns to me. “We should get after Mac. Trust me, he will drive off there alone if we don't catch up to him.”
He and Helen head to the door, but I stay in my seat for a moment. I've been waiting for a chance to tell Mac that I'm quitting, but now I'm running out of time. He'll think I'm a coward, and he'll be right.
“You're the smart one, are you?” Foster asks, eyeing me with caution. “You're the one who's having second thoughts?”
“It's not that,” I stammer, “I just...”
“You know about the house, don't you?”
I nod.
“So what in God's name,” he continues, “is wrong with you, if you're even considering going out there?”
“It's a scientific study,” I tell him, but I can hear the uncertainty in my own voice. “I can assure you that -”
“Paula!” Toby shouts, leaning back into the room with his usual grin. “Are you coming, or what?”
Startled, I get to my feet as he hurries away again.
“Listen to your gut,” Foster says with fear in his voice. “You know it's a bad idea to go out there, so don't do it.”
“It's more complicated than that,” I mutter, heading to the door.
“Why does he even care so much?” Foster asks.
I turn back and see that he's still at the table, still scared.
“I get half a dozen requests from ghost-hunter types each year,” he continues, “wanting to go out and explore Blackwych Grange. I turn them all down, of course, but your pal John McAllister was very persistent. I always told myself nothing could persuade me to give anyone permission, but...” He looks down at the money in his hands, and he pauses before turning to me again. “It's personal with him, isn't it? I can tell. Why is he so determined to go to the house and see what's really happening out there?”
“Mac just...”
I pause, not sure how much to admit.
“Paula!” Toby yells from the far side of the crowd. “
Get your arse moving! Mac's already started the bloody engine!”
“Don't do it,” Foster says firmly. “I'm telling you, you have to listen to your instincts here! Your head and your heart are both telling you to stop! So stop!”
“I've got to go,” I stammer, turning and making my way past the bar, where several more locals are watching me. I can hear them muttering to one another, but I don't have time to hang around and listen to what they're saying. By the time I get out the front door, I find that light rain has begun to fall, while Mac is already driving out of the parking lot. Toby and Helen, meanwhile, have started the engine of the second van, and are waiting for me to join them.
I hesitate for a moment.
I can't do this.
I mean, the idea of going out to Blackwych Grange seemed fine when it was just an idea, but I never seriously thought that Mac would get us this far. I've been telling myself for weeks now that I can back out at any moment, but now this is my last chance. Sure, I'd be a coward, but I know the stories about the house and I really don't think I can face this trip.
“All aboard for the ghost-busting express!” Toby says with a grin. “Next stop, an old-fashioned haunted house!”
He waits for me to get in.
“Paula? Are you coming?”
“Of course,” I stammer, climbing into the back and pulling the door shut. I desperately want to tell them that I'm quitting, but I can't bring myself to say the words. Somewhere deep down, some part of me is insisting that I stick it out.
“Not getting cold feet, are you?” Toby continues. After a moment, he glances at Helen. “If either of you get a little scared out at the house, feel free to come to me for comfort. I'm naturally a very warm person, so I can always spare some body heat.”
“Are you going to be like this all the time?” Helen mutters, clearly unimpressed. “If so, this whole experience is going to be very tedious.”
“Some people don't appreciate a good sense of humor,” Toby says with a sigh, turning to me. “Are you all buckled-up there, Paula? Ready to go find some spooks?”
I force a smile, even though I feel nauseous and I want more than anything to get out of the van.
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “And I'm sure we'll get some useful data, too.”
“Yeah, data,” he says, turning and starting to ease the van across the dark, rainy parking lot. “That's what we're here for. Lots and lots of data.”
I can't help glancing over my shoulder and watching as the brightly-lit pub recedes into the distance. I guess that really was my last chance to bail, which means I'm committed to the project now. Turning, I look ahead and see nothing but darkness, although after a moment I spot the distant red tail-light of Mac's van. And further off, several miles beyond the edge of the village, Blackwych Grange is waiting for us in the dark night.
I should have quit. I should have stayed at the pub. But it's too late now, so I just have to ignore my churning stomach and hope for the best. Still, maybe I can work outside the house once we get there. I don't necessarily have to go inside.
Chapter Three
As I climb out of the van, I can't stop looking at the huge, dark shape silhouetted against the starry night sky. Even with such poor visibility, I recognize it from all the photos and paintings I've studied over the past six months.
Blackwych Grange.
We're finally here.
The engines of both vans are still running, and their headlights are blasting long bright beams across the marshy ground. The noise of the engines is strangely comforting as I step away from the second van and stare at the house's silhouette, although after a moment I have to hug myself a little as I feel cold night air starting to bite beneath my flimsy t-shirt and jacket. I have a few sweaters in one of my bags, but for now my teeth are almost chattering.
Stepping forward, I keep my eyes fixed on the dark house. After a moment, a glint of moonlight catches in one of the many windows.
Suddenly the engine of one van cuts out, followed swiftly by the other, and we're plunged into absolute silence and I realize I've been holding my breath.
A couple of seconds later, I hear someone walking past me.
“We need to get our equipment set up,” Mac says, his voice drifting through the pitch darkness. “I'd hoped to get out here while it was still light, but that bloody fool Foster insisted on faffing around.”
“Are we really sleeping in the vans?” Toby asks. “Seriously?”
“First night in the vans,” Mac replies. “Come on, I already explained this. Don't make me go over everything twice. Pay attention, people.”
“Mac,” I stammer as he walks past, “can I grab a word?”
His silhouette stops and turns to me. “What?” he snaps.
“I just...”
For a moment, I consider being brutally honest and telling him that I want out. After all, it's still not too late to ask if I can be driven back to the village. I saw a sign at the pub, mentioning vacant B&B spots, and I could be home in Harrogate by tomorrow night. At the same time, I'd be marked for the rest of my career as an unreliable coward, as someone who can't be trusted. Word travels fast in the academic community, and I'm certain Mac would blacken my name.
It's too late.
I can't quit now.
I just have to suck it up and try not to let my fear run out of control.
“I was just thinking,” I tell him, “that... I mean, maybe we should check the perimeter, just to be sure that no-one has interfered with the site.”
“Foster has a groundsman who monitors the land.”
“But he might have missed something,” I point out. “The groundsman probably only watches the roads, doesn't he? I was thinking that maybe some kids from the local town might have broken into the house, something like that?”
He pauses, and finally I hear a faint sigh. He's going to tell me that I'm being stupid.
“Take Toby,” he mutters. “And flashlights too. You're right, we might as well check to make sure no idiots have been out here. But be quick, because we've got a lot of equipment to set up. And whatever you do, don't get too close to the windows. Stay at least twenty feet away from the house at all times.”
***
“You've got to admit,” Toby says as we make our way past the house's southern corner, shining out flashlights up at the building's stone walls, “it's a little creepy out here, is it not?”
“A little?” I reply, watching as the beam from my flashlight hits one of the dark windows on the upper floor. “It's hard to believe anyone would have built a house all the way out here, so far from the village.”
“I guess old Sir Robert Marringham wanted to be king of all he surveyed. I can sorta understand that, to be honest, but what I can't understand is why he was such a miserly old sod.” Stopping, he shines his beam up at another part of the wall, and the light picks out a bricked-up window. “You know about the old eighteenth and nineteenth century window tax, I assume?”
“Of course,” I reply, shining my beam along the side of the house and seeing several more windows that were bricked-up long ago, most likely so that the owners could minimize their liabilities. “I guess it was more of a principle-based thing for some people. The Marringham family could certainly afford to pay whatever taxes were levied on the house.”
“Stingy old bastard,” Toby mutters with a grin, before shining his flashlight straight ahead, toward one of the un-bricked downstairs windows. He hesitates for a moment, before glancing at me. “Dare you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
His smile grows. “I heard Mac reminding you of the rule. He doesn't want any of us going within twenty feet of the place, at least not tonight. But we're made of sterner stuff than that, aren't we?”
I feel a faint shudder. “I really don't -”
“Or are you still scared?” he adds. “Are you still thinking of chickening out?”
I turn to him, startled.
“Relax,” he chuckles, �
�I just saw it in your eyes on the way here, and in the pub too. Admit it, you came damn close to chucking the towel in and doing a runner.”
“No,” I stammer, “I just -”
“Liar.”
Sighing, I realize I can't hide the truth from him. “I had some concerns,” I admit cautiously, “but... I'm here, aren't I?”
“Aye, so why not prove that you're over those fears?” He turns and looks at the window again, watching as the beam from his flashlight reflects against the glass. “I dare you to go and look through that window. All you have to do is lean close enough that the tip of your nose touches the glass, and you'll have shown me that you're not a wuss.”
“I don't think -”
“Or are you a wuss?”
“We're here on an academic -”
“Wuss!”
I stare at the window for a moment. “This is dumb,” I tell him, unable to stifle a faint, nervous smile. “It's just a window.”
“Then what's the problem? Are you scared Mac might find out you broke one of his precious rules?” He leans close to me and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I'll never tell a soul.”
“This is ridiculous,” I say with another sigh.
“Sure it is. So just go look through the window and we'll be done with it, won't we?”
Realizing that he's not going to let up, I figure I should just prove him wrong and go to the window. At the same time, as the flashlight's beam dances against the glass, I can't help feeling that Mac's rules must be in place for a reason, and that we should just play things by the book.
“Chicken,” Toby mutters.
“No,” I sigh, “I just -”
“Chicken.”
“I just think -”
“Chicken.”
“Toby -”
“Chicken.”
“Stop!”
“Chicken.”
I sigh again.
“Chicken.”
