by Amy Cross
“Dawn?”
Turning, I stare at him, shocked by the news.
“That's hours away,” I point out, with tears streaming down my face. “Why would it take that long?”
“It's a very rural area,” he replies. “These things don't happen instantly, not out here in the sticks.”
Despite the intense pain in my leg, I take a deep breath, trying to figure out whether he's serious. I mean, sure, we're a long way from civilization right now, but I can't believe an ambulance would take three or four hours to get here. For the first time, I realize that I really don't trust Mac. He's lying to me.
“For now,” he continues, “you have to stay as calm as possible. You're not in any danger of bleeding out, so the main task is to manage your pain until morning, and then -”
“I have to get out of here!” I hiss, turning and trying to drag myself toward the door, only to let out another cry of pain as I feel broken bones cutting through the meat of my leg. There are fresh tears in my eyes as I grip the wooden floorboards, but I don't dare move an inch as I wait for the worst of the pain to pass. Even if I make it to the door, there's no way I can drag myself to the van and then get out of here. I need Mac's help.
“I'll fetch a towel,” Mac mutters, getting to his feet and hurrying across the dark hallway, with only a simple flashlight to guide his path.
I turn to ask why the hell I need a towel, but suddenly I spot something on the floor nearby, pushed against the wall. I squint slightly, struggling in the low light, and finally I realize what I'm seeing.
A hammer.
A bloodied hammer.
My mind races as I look back down at my damaged leg. I remember falling down the stairs, and I think I knocked myself out, but it's hard to believe that I could have wrecked my leg so badly. Then there was the burning, searing pain that woke me from unconsciousness, and I swear I remember the sensation of something crashing into my leg. Something hard, something metal, something that shattered the bone.
But there's no way Mac would -
“Take this,” he says suddenly, tossing a towel at me as he steps around and reaches down, grabbing my shoulders. “The next part will hurt a little, Paula, but it's absolutely necessary.”
“What are you doing?” I stammer as he slips his hands under my arms, as if he's getting ready to lift me.
“I have to get you upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” I feel a rush of panic. “Mac, why would -”
Suddenly he starts hauling me up, and I scream as my damaged leg is dragged across the floor. I twist and try to get free, but still I can't slip away from his grip, and he quickly turns me around and starts pulling me toward the bottom of the stairs.
“Stop!” I scream, with tears still streaming down my face. “Mac, why -”
I let out another cry as he sets me down again, and then he puts his arms under me. It takes a moment, but finally he's able to lift me from the floor, letting my damaged leg dangle down as he slowly starts carrying me up the stairs. He's struggling, and I can hear that he's out of breath.
“Stop!” I shout again. “Why are you doing this? You said an ambulance was coming!”
He mutters something, but he can barely get the words out and finally he has to stop for a moment and lean against the railing. He's clearly out of shape, and it takes a few seconds before he's able to start carrying me the rest of the way up. By the time we get to the top and he sets me down, he's gasping for breath again.
“What are you doing?” I stammer, turning and trying to crawl back to the stairs. “Mac, please -”
Suddenly I scream as I feel him nudging my broken leg with his foot. I turn just as he grabs my arms, and he quickly hauls me back through the darkness, along the corridor with closed doors on either side.
“I'm genuinely so very sorry about this,” he explains, still out of breath. “Paula, I take no pleasure from the way I'm having to treat you. Perhaps you don't believe me, but I promise -”
“Help!” I shout, even though I know there's no chance anyone else is close enough to hear. “Somebody help me!”
“Paula, please -”
“Help me!”
“Paula, you're being irrational.”
I try to push him away, but he's holding me too tight. Turning, I look up at him, only to be blinded by the flashlight as I stare straight into the bulb. I turn away, but my vision is briefly filled with flashes, and it takes a moment before I realize that Mac has slowed. I hear him opening a door in the dark, and then I'm dragged into one of the rooms. My trailing leg bumps against the jamb and I let out another cry, but Mac pulls me further into the room before finally letting go and allowing me to slump against the boards.
Instinctively I roll onto my side, hoping to get away, but the pain is too strong and a moment later I hear Mac stepping around me. The loose floorboards shudder slightly.
“We'll just wait up here for the ambulance,” he says finally, although there's fear in his voice.
“Bullshit,” I stammer.
“Paula -”
“What are you really doing?” I continue, trying once again to sit up, only to feel another surge of pain in my leg. “What did you do to Helen?”
I wait for a reply, but he stays silent.
“Mac?” I ask, trying not to panic. “What did you do to Helen?”
“Paula, please -”
“What did you do to her?”
Before I can get another word out, he slaps me hard. I pull back, shocked, and for a moment it seems as if he's about to hit me again.
“I didn't do a goddamn thing to her,” he snaps. “She was supposed to leave. I was quite clear in my instructions. She was supposed to get the hell out of here and leave us alone. I had no idea she was still in the house, or that...”
His voice trails off.
“I'm sorry,” he adds with a sigh. “I shouldn't have struck you. I just need you to stay calm!”
“Why did you want her to leave?” I ask.
Again, he doesn't reply.
“Mac,” I say firmly, feeling a rush of anger in my chest, “why did -”
“We had to be alone,” he mutters, interrupting me. “You and I, Paula... It had to be just us in the house on the final night. Doctor Pullman brought three people with her, but two of them abandoned the project, leaving just her and an assistant. I had to replicate everything.”
“Even down to people quitting?”
He nods. Clearly he's still struggling to get his breath back, having dragged me all the way up to this room.
“So what about Toby?” I continue. “Did he really get scared and leave, or did you tell him to go?”
“That doesn't matter right -”
“Tell me!” I shout.
He sighs.
“Toby understood his role,” he says after a moment. “He was paid very well for it. You have to understand, Paula... I needed to replicate Doctor Pullman's experience down to the very last detail. I needed it to be just you and me on this final night, otherwise there's no point being here! This nonsense about a ghost at Blackwych Grange has gone on for long enough! One way or another, we're going to figure out the truth tonight!”
I pause, trying to work out if he's serious. After a few seconds, however, I remember one of the other details from Doctor Pullman's visit to the house.
“Her assistant died,” I whisper.
“Paula -”
“Her name was Claire,” I continue, trying not to panic. “I remember reading about her. Doctor Pullman survived the final night but her assistant was a student named Claire, and she died!”
“Paula, please -”
“She was found in one of the upstairs rooms.”
Again, he sighs.
“Is that what you think has to happen to me?” I stammer. “Mac, what -”
“I have to help her!” he yells, his voice filling the dark room. “Ever since she came to this house, Josephine Pullman has been locked up in a psychiatric hospital. She's not the sa
me woman she was before, she's ruined, and the only way to help her is to understand what happened to her in this house.” He pauses. “And what she saw. I'm convinced that she saw something, something that drove her out of her mind. The same thing will reveal itself to us tonight, and then I'll know what to do.”
“No,” I whisper, turning once again and trying to pull myself toward the door, even though I can't see anything ahead but pitch darkness. “You're not -”
I scream again as he bumps my damaged leg, and this time I know for sure that it was no accident.
“You did this to me!” I shout, as pain tenses my entire body. “You're crazy!”
“Paula, you're being very irrational right now,” he replies, sounding strangely calm. “As an academic and a historian, surely you -”
Suddenly he stops.
“Did you hear that?” he asks after a moment.
All I can hear is the sound of my own rasping breath as more pain floods my body. Suddenly Mac places a hand over my mouth, as if to silence me.
“We're not alone,” he whispers, and I hear footsteps in another part of the house. After a moment, he lets go of my mouth and steps around me. Ahead, the flashlight's beam picks out the door and then the wall of the corridor outside. “This is when I was expecting the apparition to make itself known,” he explains. “If there's anything here at Blackwych Grange, the circumstances are now ideal for it to show itself, and I think I hear it stirring. Listen, Paula. Don't you hear it too?”
I open my mouth to tell him once again that he's crazy, but suddenly I realize that I can hear something in the distance.
Something creaking as it moves across the floorboards in another part of the house. I've heard creaks several times since we got here, of course, but this time they sound different.
This time they sound persistent, as if someone is actually walking.
“There's no-one else here,” Mac says after a moment. “No-one mortal, at least. Those steps must be her. Elizabeth Marringham, the black-eyed lady of Blackwych Grange.”
He turns to me, and the flashlight in his hand is casting dark, swooping shadows across his face.
In the distance, the footsteps are continuing.
“She's coming,” he continues, and for the first time there's genuine fear in his voice. “She knows we're here.”
“Please, Mac,” I whimper, feeling fresh tears running down my face. “Whatever's going on, you don't need to hurt me. Let me go.”
He shakes his head.
“You don't need me,” I tell him. “If she's here now, you don't need me anymore.”
“Josephine Pullman's student assistant died at around 2am,” he replies, checking his watch. “Since Josephine herself has never been in a fit state to talk about what happened, the circumstances have never been determined, but poor Claire was found with her neck snapped.”
He pauses, before taking a step toward me.
“Mac,” I gasp, “please...”
“But why would the ghost of Elizabeth Marringham kill Josephine's assistant,” he asks, “and then leave Josephine mad but alive? None of this makes sense. I'm missing something, the whole -”
He stops as another, louder creak fills the air, and he quickly turns to look over at the door.
“The stairs,” he says after a moment. “I think she's coming up the stairs.”
“No, Mac, please,” I stammer, “we have to get out of here...”
“Should I go to her,” he continues, his voice filled with a hint of awe, “or should I just wait here? I suppose she'll come to the room. She must be able to hear our voices, but what will she do when she gets here? That's the one part of this whole story that I've never quite figured out. What does the ghost of Elizabeth Marringham want?”
“We have to leave!” I hiss, reaching out and grabbing his trouser leg, and tugging helplessly on the material. “Mac, I don't want to see her!”
“It's too late for doubts now,” he replies calmly, still watching the door as the creaking footsteps edge closer. “We have to face this thing, Paula. Whatever happens, I promise you that our work here won't be forgotten, even if you have to make the ultimate sacrifice.”
“Mac, please...”
“She's almost here,” he continues, and now the footsteps seem as if they must be just a few meters from the door. “Paula, we -”
Suddenly the footsteps come to a halt.
I stare at the door, watching as the beam from Mac's flashlight catches the frame, but there's no sign of any movement out in the corridor.
“What's she doing?” Mac whispers.
Instinctively, I try to turn and drag myself away from the door, but the pain in my right leg is intense and I let out another gasp.
“Why isn't she coming to us?” he continues, stepping a little closer to the open doorway. “It was easier up until this point, I had Josephine's notebook to guide me, but now...”
His voice trails off, although a moment later he mumbles something under his breath. He seems to be completely out of his mind, and utterly absorbed by his own insane plan, and after a few seconds he starts edging closer and closer to the door until finally he's out in the corridor. I stare in horror as he shines the flashlight toward the stairs, and then he turns and shines it back the other way.
“What do you see?” I ask, with fear in my trembling voice.
I wait, but he's still mumbling to himself.
“Mac, what do you -”
“I have to find her,” he says suddenly, stepping out of view as he heads along the corridor, toward the top of the stairs.
“Mac, wait!”
I watch as the last glow of his flashlight fades into the distance, and a moment later I hear him pushing open one of the other doors.
“Mac!” I yell. “Don't leave me alone in here!”
I wait, but all I hear now is a series of bumps as he hurries from room to room. I can't see anything, but the darkness only seems to exaggerate the sound of Mac's frantic search.
“Mac!” I shout. “Please! Stop!”
I can hear him muttering to himself in the distance, but -
Suddenly I hear something much closer, over my shoulder. I turn, looking back across the pitch black room, but all I can see is the faint rectangle of the window and the night sky beyond. Still, there's a very faint scratching sound coming from just a few feet away, and I listen with a growing sense of horror as the sound seems to move across the wall.
Instinctively, I try to pull myself away. The pain hits, but I keep going, dragging myself past the window until I bump against the wall.
The scratching sound continues, getting faster and more furious, until I realize that it seems to be spreading across the far wall. I stare into the darkness, following the sound's progress as it passes the open door, and soon I realize that it's once again coming toward me. I drag myself away, and finally I stop in the middle of the room. The sound seems to have almost reached the window, and I catch myself holding my breath as I wait to see what comes next. All around me, the constant scratching seems to get louder and louder, filling the air as if the entire room is coming to life.
And then it's over.
Silence.
I wait a moment, but all I hear now is the sound of Mac searching the other rooms.
Suddenly remembering my cellphone, I reach into my pocket. I might not have any signal out here, but I fumble with the screen for a moment and finally bring up the flashlight. My hand is trembling as I hold the phone up, and I half expect to see a face staring at me from the darkness. Instead, I see nothing nearby. I tilt the phone slowly, casting a faint glow across the floorboards until I can see the far side of the room.
I freeze as soon as I see the words that have been scratched into the wall's wooden panels.
Leave this house.
The same message as before, but this time repeated over and over again. Tilting the phone a little more, I cast a glow of light across the entire wall.
“Leave this house,” I whi
sper.
Those same two words have been scratching hundreds and hundreds of times into the walls all around me. They weren't there earlier, I'm certain of that, but now the whole room is filled with that same repeating message. Despite the pain in my leg, I turn and check the other walls, but the message is there too, almost as if -
Suddenly a dark, silhouetted figure passes in front of the window. For the first time in my life, I scream.
Chapter Forty-Six
“Mac!” I shout, dragging myself back toward the door, despite the burning pain in my leg. “Mac, we have to get out of here! I saw something!”
Too panicked to even think clearly, I manage to get out to the corridor, but when I shine the phone's light along the landing I see nothing but the top of the stairs.
Suddenly the door to the room swings shut behind me, slamming so hard that it rattles the frame. I gasp and pull away, and a moment later I hear footsteps from the other side. The sound quickly fades, leaving me once again alone and surrounded by silence.
And that's when I realize that I haven't heard Mac for the past couple of minutes.
“Mac?” I yell.
Silence.
“Mac!”
Tears are streaming down my face now, and I honestly don't know how I'm going to get out of the house if he doesn't help me.
“Please, Mac,” I whimper, “come and get me. We have to leave!”
No reply.
I prop myself up on my elbows for a moment, trying to figure out what I should do next. My instinct is to crawl to the stairs and then somehow get out of the house, but I'm not sure I can manage to move very far with a damaged leg. Instead, I stay completely still for a moment, listening to the silence of the house and trying desperately to convince myself that there's nothing wrong.
There are no ghosts.
Not here, not anywhere.
“No ghosts,” I whisper, although my voice is trembling. “There are no -”
Suddenly a door slams in the distance, somewhere far off in another part of the house. I flinch and pull back, but I stop when I feel another flash of pain in my leg.
