“Oh yeah. But I can't think of anything else. We were getting ready to do another recording session when the power went out.”
“What did the message in your notebook say?”
“Nothing I could make out,” replied Dale. “Not much, anyway. It was just a bunch of scribbles, with a few loops and things that kinda looked like they could be letters. We thought we could make out a couple of words, but we could've been wrong.”
“What words? Try to remember. It could be important.”
“We're not entirely sure. We think they may be written in Welsh. Neither me nor Lucy speak it.”
“I do,” Rolly was excited now. “Let me see the notebook.”
“How about we give you full disclosure in return for yours.” Lucy knew Dale's formal choice of words was meant to be taken lightly, but Rolly appeared to be seriously considering it making Lucy think the old man had a lot of things he could potentially 'disclose.' Finally, he agreed and, in true machismo fashion, they shook on it.
“When can I see the messages?”
“Right now, if you want. I have to go upstairs to get changed out of these wet clothes. You could tag along. There's also the small matter of ending the earlier dispute about the locked room upstairs, isn't there Machen?”
The landlord, who until then had been sitting quietly nursing his glass, grunted acknowledgement.
“We could make it a group event. Entertainment is limited tonight, folks,” said Lucy.
“well, I don't wanna go,” replied Izzy immediately. She was well on her way to being Britain's sulkiest teenager, but Lucy couldn't resent her too much for it. The girl reminded her of herself at that age.
“I'll stay, too. Keep her company,” said Ruth.
“I'll let you keep Champ down here. He'll look after 'ew, he will,” said Machen. “Besides, he 'ates going up n' down them stairs, he does.” Lucy looked at the dog lying prostrate at her feet under the table and couldn't disagree. He wasn't going anywhere.
“Well, I need to get changed before I catch pneumonia,” Dale said. With that he picked up the nearest candle, shielding the flame with the palm of his hand, and headed for the door. Rolly jumped into line behind him, quickly followed by Lucy. A somewhat reluctant Machen brought up the rear.
Chapter 29:
Revelations
Dale's only smart shirt stuck to him like wet tissue paper. So much for the evening wear, he thought. He couldn't wait to put his hoody back on. As he led the quartet up the first flight of stairs, shadows leapt across walls and ceilings and darkness retreated from the flickering light cast by their four candles. He was reminded of what Ruth and Izzy talked about in the car.
Shadow People.
The logical part of his mind wanted to think they were mistaken, that what they experienced was some kind of natural phenomena. But surely they must be accustomed enough to the world around them to not be literally frightened of their own shadows. In view of recent events, Dale found he was getting more receptive to the idea of supernatural phenomena. Perhaps Ruth and Izzy's Shadow People were connected in some way to the experiences he and Lucy had. All these small mysteries had to be components of some larger tapestry.
As he made his way carefully up the staircase, he felt compelled to do everything quicker, more efficiently, so events could reach their natural conclusion in as little time as possible. It was this sense of urgency that prompted him to suggest the group split up. He would go to get changed and show Rolly the messages, while Lucy and Machen would go to the fourth floor to settle their dispute about the locked door. Everyone was in agreement, which suggested that Dale wasn't the only one who wanted to move things along. Nobody wanted to be up here in the upper reaches of Sker House a moment longer than was necessary.
After a quick inventory to ensure both parties had sufficient lighters and candles, at the top of the stairs Dale and Rolly bade a temporary farewell to Lucy and Machen, and turned down the corridor. They proceeded with caution, half expecting something to leap out at them any second. Apart from the muffled howl of the wind outside and the occasional creak, the house was eerily still. On unlocking the door, the first thing Dale did was hurry over to the desk. From a distance, the pencil seemed to be in exactly the same position as he had left it. But as he drew nearer and the arc of light cast by his candle fell over it, he saw that beneath the pencil the clean, untouched paper wasn't clean and untouched any more. He snatched up the notebook. Just like before, it had been defaced with deep, angry-looking scribbles. This time, the message was clear.
GET OUT
“What is it?” Rolly asked. “Another message? What does it say?”
“See for yourself,” Dale said, handing the old man his notebook.
Rolly hunched over the scribblings, holding the notebook in one hand and his candle in the other. “Well,” he said, “This one doesn't need to be translated. Show me the others.”
Dale did, and watched as the old man's eyes widened. “I think this one says 'CELLAR?' It's hard to tell, and we should be wary of reading anything into it. But that one word is pretty clear to me. Some of these other markings look more like symbols than letters.”
“What kind of symbols?”
The old man swallowed hard. “The kind used in ancient rituals. I'm no expert, but that's what a lot of them remind me of. The combination of those and that one word in English would seem to indicate what whoever or whatever left this message wants us to do.”
“What?”
“It wants us to go to the cellar.”
“Why?” Dale gulped. He didn't know what could be down there, he just knew that the thought of going down to Sker's cellar didn't fill him with joy.
“Who knows? Maybe we'll find out when we get there. I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do. But before we go will you answer me a question?”
Dale felt himself nod.
“Apart from these messages, what else has happened to you both? Full disclosure, remember?”
Dale quickly ran through the list of strange events thus far; Lucy seeing the figure in the window, her sleepwalking, the time she snapped you can't force me to love another at him, the messages in the notebook, the voice on the tape, and the discovery of the key. Even in relating the condensed version, there was a lot to tell. When he finished, Rolly ran his fingers through his silver beard, sharpening it to a point. “Well, you've certainly had an action-packed weekend so far, haven't you?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“It seems much of the activity is centred on your friend. Something wants her.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? I wish I could wave a magic wand and conjure up all the answers for you, I really do.”
“Come on, Rolly. You know more about this whole thing than you are letting on. The deal was full disclosure. And that works both ways.”
The old man sighed deeply. “Yes, that was the arrangement, wasn't it? Okay. Mind if I sit?” he asked, even as he lowered his spindly frame onto the edge of Lucy's bed.
“Go for it,” Dale said as he sat next to him. At this range Rolly smelled vaguely of wet wool. A fractious breeze made both candles flicker, and Dale felt around for the reassuring firmness of the cigarette lighter in his pocket.
“Earlier tonight,” Rolly began, “I told the girl I was a retired custodian. That wasn't strictly true.”
“So what's the truth?”
“The truth is I'm not retired. I'm still a custodian. A guardian. A keeper of knowledge.”
“A custodian of what?”
“Sker House.”
There were a few moments silence as Dale grasped the implications of what the old man was telling him. “So that's why you stay here? To guard it?”
Rolly nodded. “I'm not duty bound to live here, but it helps. Especially now the place is open to the public. The more people pass through those doors, the more chance there is of something... serious happening.”
“Something like what?” Dale got the
feeling Rolly would only live up to his half of the disclosure agreement only if asked the right questions. The wily old man was too shrewd to surrender information needlessly.
“Something like what's been happening to you and your... companion. Or Machen. And as for poor Ruth and Izzy, they're both scared half to death. There's strong forces at work in Sker House. That's what I meant when I told you that evil lurks. It's a reasonable assumption that whatever force here is drawing power from the cars and phones and everything else to manifest and make itself stronger. But there is another possibility.”
“What's that?”
“Maybe whatever this thing is wants to keep us here. It doesn't want us to leave. Maybe you should have left when you had the chance.”
A small part of Dale had been thinking exactly that. Now it was too late. They was stuck here. “How or why does evil lurk here?” Surely, that was the million dollar question.
Rolly sighed and tapped his cane on the floor. “It's a long story.”
“We have time. Mind if I change my shirt while we talk? It's soaked.”
“Go ahead, lad. You'll catch your death. Well, it was the monks who did it.”
“Did what?”
“When they went into hiding they conjured up a supernatural force, which now happily resides at Sker alongside the living inhabitants. Or, more accurately, they somehow succeeded in creating a kind of vortex. It's this that allows beings from other realms to access to our world, and vice versa. Think of it as being like a back door that's been left wide open in a bad neighbourhood. If we don't close it, there'll be more and more spirits, demons or whatever else populates the Otherworld, slithering through and playing havoc. And that may only be the start of it. When the place stood empty there was little risk of anyone getting hurt. But the minute people came back here, things started getting out of hand.”
“How do we close the vortex thingy?”
“If I knew that, the task would be simple,” Rolly said. “Nobody knows where it is or what it looks like. We might not even be capable of seeing it. Maybe this message we have is a clue pointing us in the right direction. The cellar would be as good a place to start as any. It's certainly the oldest part of the house. The underground sections were the very first to be laid and when they built foundations in those days, they built them to last. The story goes that the early construction was linked to ley lines, and worked by the same principles as other ancient sites like Stonehenge. There used to be a network of underground tunnels connecting all the different buildings on the property, and rumour has it that there are also tunnels linking the house directly with the caves down there on the beach. That was originally an escape route, and was probably utilised later by Isaac Williams in his wrecking days. Of course, in the hundreds of years since they were built, most of the tunnels have probably collapsed in on themselves. But who's to say for sure? Anything could be hidden down there.”
“Or trapped,” said Dale. “Wait, why would we get messages telling us to go the cellar? I mean, if that's where the vortex thing is. Wouldn't the spirits or demons want to keep us away?”
“Some. The evil ones. But I imagine these entities, or spirits, are much the same as people. There'll be some good and some bad.”
“Lucy and I think the spirit of Elizabeth, the Maid of Sker, is trying to make contact with us. The one trying to send us to the cellar. The voice we heard on the Dictaphone recording was female, and Lucy says she saw her in the window. I have a feeling it may also be her who keeps scribbling all over my notepad.”
“Elizabeth could very well be one of the good spirits. Isaac was the bad egg. All the accounts show that Elizabeth was just an innocent victim. Maybe in death, she wants to do the right thing and close the door. Put an end to the misery once and for all. She probably feels an attachment to Sker House, seeing as this is where she lived.”
“How did you get landed with the honour of being custodian of Sker, anyway?”
“It's a bloodline. One of my ancestors was a member of the original group of monks that settled here. He was assigned the role of guardian of the property, and ever since his death the honour has passed to the first-born male of the family. For generations, we've been trying to keep people away. But now things have accelerated to such a degree I fear the only solution is to close the vortex for good.”
“Why hasn't anyone tried before?”
“It's too dangerous. Nobody is sure exactly what we may be dealing with. When Sker House stood abandoned, we could just keep and eye on it from a safe distance. But now...”
“What happened to the monks who opened the vortex in the first place?” asked Dale, still trying to wrap his head around the whole thing.
“The six responsible for the ritual are said to have been driven insane by the knowledge they uncovered. The story goes they were ripped to pieces by one of the creatures they invited into our world. Their comrades discovered their mangled remains and buried them in a mass grave somewhere on the grounds. It had to be a mass grave because their bodies had been reduced to a pile of flesh and bone. Nobody could tell which parts belonged to who. Their penance was that their energy would be trapped here forever as an eternal punishment. Because they lack physical form, they appear as dark masses.”
The Shadow People. “Damn devil-worshipping monks,” Dale grumbled. “I'm beginning to understand now. But what does this have to do with Isaac Williams or the Maid of Sker?”
“As soon as the vortex was opened, a terrible darkness descended. Those that lived here endured the most horrendous bad luck. People got ill and had accidents, crops failed, investments turned bad, relationships crumbled, misery triumphed. Some believe that whatever force resides here brings the worst out in people. Have you found yourself to be more short tempered since you've been here? More, irritable, more prone to... outbursts?”
Dale thought for a moment. “Not really. At least, I don't think so. I'm not the violent type.”
“We are all violent types lad, given the right persuasion. And your friend?”
“Lucy? She's always irritable and prone to outbursts, so its hard to tell if there's anything different about her. Apart from the zoning out she's been doing lately. That's new.”
“Well, it works quicker on some than others. If people are especially susceptible, the effect can be almost instantaneous. After too much exposure the spirits will attach themselves to you. Follow you. Other times they can get inside you.”
Dale flashed back to the earlier incident.
You can't force me to love another!
Not only was it totally irrelevant to what they had been talking about, it was something Lucy would never say. The voice didn't even sound like hers. And those memory-lapses and sleep-walks? For some reason, the Maid of Sker was trying to exert her influence by controlling her, or at least using her as a conduit. “Wow, my friend is being possessed,” Dale said, disbelievingly. Suddenly the implications were dawning on him. Talk about a social stigma.
“Apparently so,” Rolly agreed. “But it's not the Maid of Sker you need to worry about. She seems to be trying to help us. Yet if she's finding it so easy to inhabit your friend, other, less friendly spirits will find it easy, too. Your friend is like an open vessel, open to both good and evil. I fear it can only be a matter of time before she is possessed by something terrible.”
“Dear God. Come on, we have to get moving.”
Chapter 30:
The Locked Room
Lucy led Machen up the stairs all the way to the fourth floor. The closer to the top they got, the more the landlord lagged behind. Several times, Lucy had to wait for him to catch up. They didn't speak, so the only noises to be heard were their own shuffling footsteps, laboured breathing, and the sounds of the storm. Finally they reached their destination, and paused at the door with the PRIVATE: NO ADMITTANCE sign to catch their breath. For a moment, Lucy swooned on the brink of understanding. Then the feeling retreated leaving her with nothing more than a vague recollection of being the
re before. “This is the place,” she said, more to herself than her unwilling companion.
“Well, you just be careful,” Machen wheezed, trying to be stern and authoritative and managing to sound anything but.
“Yes, sir,” replied Lucy. She couldn't resist doing a sarcastic little salute, and the guy was damned lucky it wasn't a salute of the two-fingered variety. “This way,” she said, heading off into the pitch-black corridor, hoping that her bullishness made a statement of intent.
The corridor smelled musty, and strong drafts posed a constant threat to the candle she shielded with her free hand. Several times, hot droplets of wax fell between her fingers causing her to snap her hand back in pain. As she tread carefully down the corridor past the unfinished rooms, she noticed that Machen was right, damn him. Most of the rooms didn't have doors. Beyond each opening lay a yawning black chasm which she had no desire to investigate too closely.
They were approaching the half-way point in the corridor when the first noise stopped her dead in her tracks. It was somewhere between a thud and a scratch, and seemed to be coming from the wall itself. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what? I hear an old house is what I hear.”
“You didn't hear that... thud?”
“I hear things all the time. Thuds, bangs, crashes, the odd wallop. Like I said, it's an old house, isn't it?”
Lucy couldn't believe a man as edgy and nervous as Machen could be possibly be so nonchalant about it. Unless he was trying to deflect her attention. She stood still and listened. Another thump. Now her senses were becoming more attuned, she could hear a succession of sounds camouflaged by the noise outside. It sounded like a combination of fists battering walls and fingernails scraping wood, as if something was trapped inside the wall and was trying to claw it's way out. A few times, she could have sworn she could even discern low whispers, snatches of disembodied conversations, fragments of words left to float on the wind.
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