by Amy Cross
And then, as I reach one of the doorways, I realize I can hear voices ahead.
At first, I assume that Josh and Doctor Carter have wandered through to this side of the house, but then I realize that these voices are different somehow. One is a man, and the other is a woman. I take a couple of steps forward, and at the same time I look at an open door ahead as I realize that the voices are coming from the room that leads back through to the main hallway.
“Well, there was a lot of mess, and a lot of bird excrement,” the male voice is saying as I step closer, “and the lady's feet were rather pecked and scratched. The lady was not cured of her madness, however. I don't think tying pigeons to a person's feet is really going to do much good. And the point of this story is to let you know that I am not some charlatan who comes to you with foolish ideas. I am a doctor, and a man of science, and it is my intention to get to the truth of this matter.”
“I am not insane,” the woman's voice replies.
I feel a shiver pass through my chest. It's only 4pm, and I thought there'd be no ghostly activity until nightfall, but I think maybe I'm actually hearing Catherine Lannister's voice.
“I shall not be tying pigeons to your feet, that's for sure,” the male voices says. “And I asked your husband to leave us alone, Mrs. Lannister, because I want to hear your side of the story.”
I was right.
It's her!
“What has my husband told you?” she asks.
“His side.”
“He wants me locked away.”
“That's not entirely true. He wants you to be made sane again. He wants you to behave. He seems to think that you are imagining things that aren't happening, and that you are a danger to your child.”
I step closer to the doorway. The door itself is ajar, and I feel as if – at any moment – I might spot two ghosts sitting in the next room.
“Have you ever hurt Millicent, Mrs. Lannister?” the man asks.
“No! Never!”
“I had to ask.”
“I would give my life for her!”
“I believe you. So who has been tormenting her?”
Reaching into my pocket, I take out my phone and – with fumbling hands – I try to set it to record.
“Have you met her?” the female voice asks.
“I have.”
“And you have examined her? What did you determine?”
Damn it, I keep tapping the wrong part of the screen. I'm in a state of panic and I can't get my head straight.
“Something has most certainly upset her,” the male voice says.
“It is not me,” the female voice replies. “I would rather die than hurt one hair on her head!”
“Then we must determine the cause of this situation. You trust your husband, I assume.”
“With my life!”
Finally I get the phone set to record, and I hold it up as I edge closer to the door. I start peering through the crack next to the hinges, hoping to get a view of what's happening in the room. The last thing I need is to scare these apparitions away. It's as if some past event has been recorded, and is playing back right here in the house.
“We have a problem,” the male voice says. “The torments come mostly at night?”
“Mostly.” There's a pause. “Today was the first time that anything happened in daylight.”
Same here.
I lean closer to the crack, still hoping to get a view of these figures.
“The book was thrown at your face?” the man asks.
“You don't believe me.”
“I didn't say that.”
“But you don't believe in things like this, do you? You're not a religious man, Doctor Havenhand, are you?”
Doctor Havenhand? I'll need to research that name later. It's not a particularly uncommon name, but hopefully I can narrow down the list of suspects to someone who lived and worked in this area.
“Likewise,” the female voice continues, “you do not believe in anything you cannot see and touch. Anything you cannot explain.”
“I confess I do not.”
“What proof would you require?”
“I would have to see it with my own eyes. I would have to be offered some rudimentary explanation, at least, of how it works. According to established scientific principles. That is what I am, Mrs. Lannister. I am a man of science. I simply cannot be anything else. I just don't have it within myself. It's not part of my soul.”
“Yet you use the word soul. That is rather telling.”
I still can't see them. I have my eye almost pressed against the crack in the door, but I can still only see about half of the room. I don't know whether these voices are just voices, or whether they come with apparitions. I also don't remember reading about anything like this happening before. Not in the modern era, at least. Not since we first learned that ghosts are real.
“A slip of the tongue,” the man says. “Mrs. Lannister, I rather think we should focus our efforts on the task at hand. I have been asked to examine you and to render my opinion on this matter, and I am afraid I must leave late in the afternoon. Please, begin by telling me, in your own words, what has been happening here. I want to know what you think has been hurting your daughter.”
“I hardly dare say the words.”
“You must.”
“You will think me mad!”
“That is for me to determine, but I have heard your husband's version of events. It is imperative that I now hear your version. That is only fair, is it not?”
I wait, holding my breath, and finally I realize that I must step around the door and enter the room. I pause, and then I step to one side.
“It has become very clear to me,” the female voice says, “that my husband, my daughter and I are not alone in this house.”
At that moment, my arm bumps the door, causing it to open slightly with a faint creak.
I wait, but now the voices seem to have stopped.
Please, let me not have chased them away. I should have been more patient, I should have been happy to simply record them, but instead I was determined to actually get a look at them. Now, figuring that I've probably blown my chance anyway, I step around the door and look into the room.
There's nobody here.
I look around, but it's just an empty room.
I wait a moment longer, but it's as if I managed to scare the voices away. It's as if they were barely here at all, as if they were hanging delicately in the air, and I guess that by stepping into the room I somehow managed to scare them away.
“Hello?” I say finally, even though I know this is a long-shot. “Is anyone here?”
VI
The recording continues to fizzle and pop, and I realize with a sinking heart that I didn't manage to capture the voices at all.
“I heard them,” I say firmly, worried that I'm going to seem like a complete idiot. “I swear!”
“I believe you,” Doctor Carter replies.
“They were -”
“Just listen,” he continues. “Please.”
We sit and listen some more, but I already know that this is hopeless. Maybe when we get home, I can use some programs to analyze the recording. Maybe, just maybe, the voice are hidden somewhere in the mix and can be extracted, but I'm pretty sure that's a forlorn hope. I think I've missed my chance.
“Hello?” my voice asks on the recording, as the background noise fades to a low hum. “Is anyone here?”
“See?” I say. “There's -”
“Listen!” Doctor Carter snaps.
For a moment, I have no idea why he's so excited, but then I realize that there's another sound on the recording. I lean a little closer, just as Doctor Carter turns the volume up, and finally I'm able to hear a faint sobbing sound.
“I'm going to assume,” Doctor Carter whispers, “that this was not you, Ms. Sinclair.”
I shake my head, too shocked to speak. I remember standing in silence after I spoke in the room, and I'm certain there was n
o sobbing. How can the recording have picked that up, when it wasn't there at the time?
Suddenly the sobbing becomes a loud cry, and then the recording ends.
“It was silent in there,” I say, turning to Doctor Carter. “I swear, I wouldn't have switched the recording off if there'd been any hint of a noise.”
“Of course you wouldn't,” he replies, as he sets my phone down on the table. “Ms. Sinclair, I've never been convinced that ghosts are absent during daylight hours. I believe, rather, that there is merely something about nightfall that makes them stronger. This is a central part of my upcoming thesis. Ghosts have their own rhythm, circadian in nature, that makes them stronger and weaker at different times. Not only within a day, but also over longer periods. In this case, Catherine Lannister's ghost was not strong enough for you to hear her, but she was strong enough for the equipment to pick her up.”
“But I heard her voice before that,” I point out.
“And evidently she was exhausted by that,” he replies. “I'm not saying that I have all the answers, but I do believe I'm on the right track.” He pauses. “I must thank you, Ms. Sinclair. This recording is going to be of great value to us.”
“I want to research the name Havenhand,” I tell him. “Maybe there's a doctor who examined Catherine Lannister. His notes might be available.”
“Agreed. That's a very useful nugget of information for us to examine.”
“They also mentioned something that seemed to be tormenting Millicent Lannister,” I continue. “Maybe Catherine was wrong, maybe she was paranoid and crazy, but it certainly sounded as if she believed there was some other force here at Lannister Hall. Is it possible that Catherine and her family were being haunted?”
“It's very possible,” he replies.
“So doesn't it follow,” I continue, “that the other ghost might still be here?”
“I suppose it does,” he says cautiously. “Yes, that is a rather sobering thought. Perhaps we are dealing with two ghosts here, instead of just one.”
“But wouldn't that other ghost have made its presence felt already?”
“One would think so, but one does not know exactly how these things manifest.” He pauses again. “One thing that is certain, however, is that Catherine Lannister was not in a good state of mind in her final days. And her troubles seem to have been overwhelmingly focused on her child. This is something that I had suspected, but it's good to have confirmation.”
“Are you sure we should go ahead with your plan?” I ask.
“About using Millicent's body?” He hesitates, and for the first time I see a hint of doubt in his eyes. “I am more sure than ever,” he says finally, surprising me. “We must simply be smart about what we do.”
“But -”
“Trust me.” He reaches over and places a hand on my arm. “Tonight's the night, Ms. Sinclair. Tonight we are going to get to the bottom of the haunting of Lannister Hall.”
VII
Several hours later, standing in the master bedroom, I struggle to contain a sense of nausea as I stare down at the body of Millicent Lannister on the floor. Josh and Doctor Carter have laid her out on a sheet in the hope that she'll draw Catherine Lannister to the room, and Doctor Carter's convinced that the little girl's corpse will teach us more about ghosts and their motivations.
“I think we can safely say that night is upon us,” Doctor Carter says as he looks out the window. “It shouldn't be too long before the levels go up.”
“And what exactly are you expecting Catherine Lannister to do?” I ask, unable to take my eyes off the horrible sight of the dead girl. “I'm still not quite sure that I understand.”
“I have no specific expectations whatsoever,” Doctor Carter replies, turning to me. “I'm merely waiting to see whether she reacts in some manner. And that is what will help us to understand how ghosts see the world of the living.”
“It sounds...”
I pause for a moment, as I try to find the right word to finish that sentence. Ghoulish? Unfair? Monstrous? Cruel? If Catherine Lannister is truly sentient, even in death, then it seems totally wrong to be using her daughter's dead body in this manner. Even if we ignore what it all means for Millicent herself, I hate the idea of using the corpse as a kind of bait. And I can't help thinking that, sooner rather than later, this strategy is going to backfire on us.
I don't protest, however.
I could, and I should, but instead I keep my mouth shut.
“I'd better go and get into position,” I say finally. “We need to be ready for the ghost's return.”
***
“Steady,” I say over the radio, as I sit at the top of the staircase and watch the dial on my sensor. “Nothing so far.”
Darkness has fallen, and the only light in this part of the house comes from a small battery-operated device that's next to me. This means that the house is mostly shrouded in shadows, and I can't help glancing around every few seconds, watching in case one of those shadows happens to move.
That's dumb of me, of course.
The sensors and scanners would warn me way before any ghost got close.
“Nothing here, either,” Josh's voice says after a moment, coming through loud and clear in my headphones. “She doesn't seem to be approaching the master bedroom. Maybe this whole idea is a bust.”
“Have a little patience,” Doctor Carter interjects, speaking from the library at the far end of the house. “These things take time, and we don't know precisely how ghosts perceive events. We're not even sure that they exist in a real-time, linear sense.”
I look around again, just in case some dark figure moves in the shadows. There's nothing, although after a moment I spot yet another nail resting on the floor, just past the top of the stairs. Reaching over, I pick the nail up and examine it. There's a noticeable bend about halfway along, and I'm starting to think that these nails seem to be showing up rather too frequently now.
“Hey,” I say over the radio, “has anyone else been noticing nails on the floor?”
“Nails?” Josh replies.
“Small dark nails,” I continue. “It might be nothing, but I seem to be finding them more and more.”
“I haven't noticed anything,” Josh says.
“Let's stay focused,” Doctor Carter says firmly.
“Sure,” I reply, “but this must be the -”
“Stay focused, Ms. Sinclair,” he continues, “and -”
Before he can finish, the signal begins to crackle. For a moment, I hear only noise. I try to adjust some settings, but everything looks to be fine. I have no idea why the signal should be changing like this, but a few seconds later everything goes back to normal.
“Is that clear?” Doctor Carter asks.
“Uh, sure,” I reply, while glancing around just to make absolutely certain that I'm alone. The sensor didn't register any kind of change, but I guess I'm just feeling jumpy.
“It's so quiet,” Josh says. “Am I crazy, or is it quieter than last night?”
“I can't say that I've noticed,” Doctor Carter replies.
“It's like the house is holding its breath,” Josh continues. “Weird, huh? Like, even with the -”
Suddenly the signal becomes fuzzy again, and my ears are filled with static. Somethings seems different this time, however, and after a moment I realize that it's not my own connection that's going wrong. Sure, it was my connection last time, but now it seems as if something's wrong with Josh's equipment.
“Are you there?” Doctor Carter asks, sounding more than a little annoyed. “Come in. Is your radio working?”
I wait, but if anything the static seems to be getting louder. Finally I have to remove my headphones.
“Josh, do you copy?” Doctor Carter continues. “If your equipment's malfunctioning, go and change it downstairs, but make it snappy. We don't have any time to waste.”
I slowly move the headphones closer to my ears, but after just a fraction of a second I hear the static surge. Winc
ing, I move the headphones away again.
And then, suddenly, Josh screams in the distance.
“What the -”
Getting to my feet, I look along the corridor. Josh is still crying out, as if he's in pain. I hesitate for a moment, my mind racing as I try to work out what to do, and then I start making my way toward the door at the far end.
“What's going on?” Doctor Carter asks over the headphones, which I'm carrying in my right hand. “Ms. Sinclair? Answer me!”
“I don't know,” I stammer, hurrying to the door.
Josh is still screaming, and at the same time I can hear a kind of heavy, repetitive bumping sound. As I reach the door and push it open, I'm shocked to see him down on his knees, leaning against the side of the bed with his back to me. The body of Millicent Lannister remains on the floor nearby.
“Josh?” I say cautiously, stepping up behind him. “What's wrong? What happened?”
He's sobbing, and he has his hands in front of his face, as if he's trying to find something.
“What is it?” I ask, and now my heart is racing. “Josh, what did you see? Is it -”
Suddenly he turns and screams to me, and I'm horrified to see that a single black nail has been driven deep into each of his two closed eyes.
VIII
“What's going on in here?” Doctor Carter shouts as he hurries into the room a few seconds later. He sounds breathless from running through the house. “What in the name of all that's -”
He stops suddenly, right behind me.
“Help!” Josh gasps, slumped on the floor now and sobbing as I try to hold him still. “You have to help me!”
For a moment, I'm too shocked to know how to react.
His eyes are both closed. In each eye, there's a thick, black, twisted old nail that looks to have been sliced straight through the eyelid and – I assume – into the eyeball beneath. It's as if someone used the nails in a crude attempt to force him to keep his eyes shut.
