by Amy Cross
I flinch as the bumping sound returns, this time sounding closer. The first time, the terrible din seemed to be coming from the laundry room at the far end of the corridor, but now it emanates from the room where I keep the wet clothes. It is as if the cause of the noise, whatever it is, moves closer.
Silence falls again.
I wait.
My lips are dry.
“Praise be to -”
Suddenly I hear an almighty thud, as if something has been thrown against the wall of the sewing room. I step back, staring at the wall, and I realize after a moment that this force seems to exert itself whenever I open my mouth to pray.
Yet the Lord will protect me, I know that much.
So why do I now hesitate?
I take a deep breath.
“Praise -”
Before I can even finish getting the word out, there is another tremendous crashing sound in one of the nearby rooms, and this time the force is strong enough to cause a shudder that runs along the shelves next to me. There can be no doubt anymore; something is moved to rage by my prayers, and – although I am seized by a terrible fear – I know full well that I must stay strong.
“Praise be to thee, Lord,” I say firmly, “and deliver my family from this evil.”
Another loud thud rings out, but this time I refuse to stop.
“Instead drive this thing out of our home,” I continue, raising my voice as the banging sound continues, “and see to it that such monstrosities cannot fester in the company of those who honor you.”
I flinch as I hear a loud splitting sound, as if one of the doors has been damaged.
“Our faith in you is not dimmed,” I add, clenching my fists as I continue to watch the hallway, “nor is our love. And we know that you will deliver us to peace, as you shall deliver this wretched evil to its rightful haunts. Cruelty shall not win -”
Glass smashes in the next room.
“- nor shall malice thrive -”
And again.
I clench my fists tighter.
“- and we shall emerge from this torture -”
Wood splits, then again.
“- with our faith undimmed and -”
Something large crashes to the ground. A table overturned, I believe.
“- and with our love for you grown only stronger! Amen!”
Suddenly the door in front of me slams shut with such force that it shudders in its frame. At the same time, I hear a loud crashing sound and – amidst all the din – what sounds like a brief, angry grunt.
And then, mercifully, silence once more.
I wait, with tears in my eyes, and with my fists still clenched.
Finally, as the seconds pass, I allow myself to believe that the maelstrom has passed. That by finishing my prayer, I was able – if only temporarily – to drive the evil away.
I was saved by my faith in the Lord.
“Thank you,” I whisper, as I feel an immense sense of relief running through my chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I take a deep breath, and then I step over to the door and pull it open. The house is so quiet now, it is almost impossible to believe that there was such commotion just a moment or two earlier. Indeed, I am tempted to believe that I imagined the whole thing, yet deep down I know this is not the case. I must not allow my thinking to be unduly influenced by Jonathan's words. I know what is real and I know what is not. Without those certainties, how could I ever even function in the world?
“Thank you, Lord,” I whisper, as I sniff back the last remaining tears. “By delivering me in this manner, you have shown me the way forward.”
VI
The fire burns and spits and crackles as I gently lay another log on the flames, and a moment later I hear a faint creaking sound nearby. Turning, I see that Jonathan is standing in the doorway.
“I have given the matter much thought, Catherine,” he says gravely, “and I have decided that we cannot go on as we are.”
I feel an immediate tightening sensation in my chest. I have waited patiently all day while Jonathan sat in his study, and now it is clear that he is ready to act. I have been hoping against hope that he might finally agree with me that we must all leave Lannister Hall, but – judging from the expression on his face – I fear he has come to an altogether different conclusion. Even now, as the flames continue to burn in the fireplace, ominous shadows are cast across Jonathan's face, making him look quite unlike my husband.
“There is only one possible solution,” he continues.
“Jonathan, I -”
“You are to go upstairs and pack immediately. Pack for Millicent and myself too.”
I stare at him, scarcely able to believe what I am hearing.
“Why are you waiting?” he asks. “I have decided that you were right all along. There is something here at Lannister Hall, and it is best that we leave. We shall go tonight.”
I continue to stare at him for a moment, before slowly getting to my feet.
“Are you sure?” I stammer. “What about the house? What about your family's reputation? What about -”
“None of that matters as much as your safety,” he says firmly, interrupting me. “And Millicent's safety, of course. Please, go upstairs and gather our belongings together.”
“I must also -”
“I shall attend to everything else,” he adds. “You must go upstairs.”
“But how can we possibly -”
“Everything will be alright,” he says, interrupting me yet again. After a moment, he places a hand on my shoulder, as if he means to reassure me further. “Everything will be fine, Catherine, just so long as you go upstairs. Now.”
***
I have no idea where to start.
As I hurry into the master bedroom, my mind is racing as I try to determine what to pack. And how. And in which cases. I do not even know how we are to travel, since Jonathan would not tell me. I do not know for how long we might be away, or where we might be staying. Every time I asked, Jonathan batted my queries away as if they did not matter, and now I find myself in rather a sorry state. Heading to the wardrobe, I pull open the doors, and then I freeze as I realize that this task is hopeless.
I need to ask Jonathan again.
I need to know the plan.
Turning, I am about to go back out to the landing, when I suddenly spot movement out of the corner of my eye. I look toward the open doorway, just in time to see a figure slip out of view. My first thought is that Jonathan has come up here to assist me, and to give me some pointers, but a moment later I hear a creaking floorboard in one of the other rooms and I feel a shiver of fear ripple through my chest. I did not see the figure's face, but I already know that it was too thin to be Jonathan, and to tall to be Milly.
I stay completely still, and a moment later I hear the creaking of another floorboard.
“Dear Lord,” I whisper, hoping to utilize the same defense that worked so well earlier, “protect me and protect my family from whatever evil dwells within this house.”
I wait.
Silence.
This time, it would seem that prayer does not anger the spirit.
“Protect us and draw us close to your bosom, Lord,” I continue, “so that we might receive the glory of your love.”
Again, I wait.
Again, there is no sound.
And then, a moment later, I hear a longer, slower creaking sound.
Somebody is in Milly's play room.
“Jonathan?” I call out, not daring to raise my voice too much. After all, Milly is downstairs with her father, and I should not like to worry. “Jonathan, can you come up here please?”
I wait, but evidently he has not heard me.
Another board creaks in the play room.
“Jonathan, I need you to come upstairs at once,” I continue. “It's very important.”
I wait.
My lips are so very dry. I tell myself that I have faced this spirit before, that I did so just a matter
of hours ago, yet at the same time I feel as if something is different right now. The spirit causes less commotion, it seems less eager to draw attention to itself.
Finally, forcing myself to get on with the task at hand, I return to the wardrobe and take out several cases. My hands are shaking and my mind is filled with thoughts of how I shall get my family out of this house. Nevertheless, over the next few minutes I manage to pack some clothes into the cases, and I find that I am able to apply myself well enough. Indeed, as I work, I find that my fears begin to fade, until I finally close Jonathan's case, and then my own, and I take a step back as I try to determine what I should do next.
There is one more case, still open on the bed.
Half full.
Slowly, a creeping sense of dread returns to my chest as I realize that – in order to finish packing Milly's case – I must go through to her play room. After all, that is where several of her dresses hang in a spare wardrobe. I slowly turn and look out toward the landing, and I listen for a moment to the silence.
When did I last see or hear any hint that the spirit had returned?
Ten minutes ago?
Fifteen?
Perhaps, then, there is no need to be fearful.
I watch the landing for a moment longer, while contemplating the possibility of completing the packing without going to the play room, but finally I tell myself that I have to be strong. Milly needs those things, which in turn means that I must simply gird my loins and get on with fetching the dresses.
Despite the sense of dread in my chest, therefore, I make my way out of the room and along the landing, and finally I stop in the doorway and look through to the play room.
I see Milly's toys, and a few of her dresses, and nothing more.
No beast.
No monster.
No spirit.
I step cautiously into the room and look around, but still there is nothing. I feel a tremendous sense of relief at the realization that the spirit – if it were ever here in the first place – seems to have left. I still cannot help looking around as I make my way to the wardrobe in the far corner, and I note that the room feels unusually cold, but finally I stop at the wardrobe and pull the doors open.
“Dear Lord,” I whisper under my breath, “keep us -”
Stopping suddenly, I realize that I should not be whispering. I should be proud of my faith.
“Dear Lord,” I say firmly, “keep us safe from those that would do us harm. Guide us, and protect us, for we are your loyal servants. Amen.”
I reach into the wardrobe and select half a dozen dresses that will serve Milly well on our travels, and then I close the wardrobe and turn to leave the room.
Startled, I find that the grinning, gray-faced man is standing right behind me.
I let out a shocked gasp as I step back and bump against the wardrobe.
The man steps closer and raises his hands, and for a moment I see two dark eyes staring out at me from what appears to be some kind of mask. For a few seconds, I am frozen in abject fear as I see the terrible rictus staring back at me. It is as if I am face-to-face with the Devil himself, as if I am looking into the eyes of pure evil. And then, surprising myself, I am filled with a sudden fear that this spirit intends to harm Milly some more, and so I raise my arms all of a sudden and I strike the fearsome beast as hard as I can manage, hitting the side of his neck.
Now comes another surprise, as the spirit gasps and stumbles back, and then drops to his knees as if he is in pain. As he does so, he leans forward and the gray mask falls away, revealing the twisted, contorted face beneath.
It is a face that I recognize.
“What?” I whisper, as he looks up at me with a horrified expression. “Doctor Havenhand? What are you doing here?”
VII
Gasping for air, Doctor Forbes stumbles to his feet. He's clutching his throat, and it's evident that in my panic I caused him more damage that I ever anticipated.
He takes a step back, and in the process he bumps against the side of the bed and then drops down, landing on the mattress.
I stare at him for a moment, before reaching down and picking up the discarded mask. As soon as I turn the mask over and see its front, I realize that this is the very same face that I saw earlier reflected in a mirror. It also appears to be the same face that Milly saw, and the face that so terrified my poor dear Jonathan. Now that I hold the mask in my hands, it really does seem like just a mask, yet I can certainly still appreciate its more horrific aspects.
“What is this all about?” I whisper, still trying to understand what could possibly be happening. After a moment, I turn to Doctor Forbes. “Why are you here in our home still, and why are you wearing this wretched mask?”
“I am so sorry,” he stammers, and now his accent seems coarser than before, stripped of its rich London tone. “Please, you have to understand, it wasn't my idea. He put me up to it.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, before taking a step toward him. “I demand to know what you're doing at once! Tell me!”
He stumbles to his feet and hurries to the door, but suddenly Jonathan steps into view and blocks his way.
“I'm sorry!” Doctor Havenhand gasps, trying and failing to squeeze past. “I told you it wouldn't work forever! I told you it was too brazen!”
“What is he doing here?” I stammer. “Jonathan, why is this man in our house? What is he doing, running around wearing a mask?” I hold the mask up for him to see. “This is the face that so terrified you, is it not? Evidently the evil in our midst has been Doctor Havenhand all along!”
Jonathan stares at me with a curiously blank, impassive face, and then finally he lets out a loud, theatrical sigh.
“I still want paying!” Doctor Havenhand snaps at him. “We didn't say anything about me not getting paid, if it didn't work. I want every last thing you promised me!”
“And you'll get it,” Jonathan mutters, while keeping his eyes fixed on me. “You'll get everything that's coming to you.”
“Father?” Milly calls out from the top of the stairs. “Is everything alright?”
“What's going on?” I ask, taking another step forward. “Jonathan, why is Doctor Havenhand here?”
“Doctor Havenhand?” Jonathan replies, finally allowing himself a faint smile. “This man is no doctor, Catherine, although I rather think that he played the part well. Don't you agree? I mean, he certainly fooled you, did he not?”
“Fooled me?” I stammer. “But he's a doctor! You told me he'd come from London!”
“That part at least is true,” Jonathan says archly, “although the fellow – whatever his real name might be – has never set foot in medical school. The man is an itinerant laborer and a thug, my dear. He's also a hired hand who has no qualms about what he does, so long as he gets paid.”
“Father?” Milly says again. “Is Mother upset about something?”
“I'm getting out of here!” Havenhand hisses. “You're paying me and then I'm leaving! I'm not doing this anymore! It's wrong!”
He tries again to push past Jonathan, who shoves him back into the room.
“You didn't do your job, Mr. Havenhand,” he says darkly. “It's traditional for a man to only get paid upon completion of his task.”
“But -”
“In which case,” he adds, taking a step back out onto the landing, “I look forward to the moment when you come downstairs and inform me that it's time for me to give you your money. Indeed, nothing will give me greater satisfaction. And seeing as how you have failed me so miserably so far, I must insist that you deal with both my problems now.”
With that, he steps out of view, and a moment later he returns with Milly. Gripping her arm tight, he pushes her into the room.
“Hang on a minute,” Havenhand stammers, “I never -”
“If you want your money,” Jonathan says to him firmly, “then you'll get the job done. And you'll do it quickly.”
“Daddy -”
Bef
ore Milly can finish, Jonathan slams the door shut.
She immediately rushes to grab the handle, but Havenhand grabs her by the arm and roughly shoves her back toward me.
“It's okay, darling,” I say, taking hold of her hand in an attempt to calm her down, “there's no reason to be fearful. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise.”
“This isn't how it was supposed to be,” Havenhand says, staring at me with a shocked expression. “Please, you have to believe me. He told me you were weak, Mrs. Lannister. He promised me it wouldn't take much to push you over the edge, that you'd lose your mind at the first hint of anything going on in the house. Even when you needed the extra little shove, when he made me dress up and pretend to be a doctor who was on your side, he swore you were right on the edge. All you needed was that extra little push.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I reply, struggling to keep from panicking, “but I insist that you let us leave this room immediately. This is my home!”
“I'm really sorry...”
I step toward him, but he immediately pulls a large knife from inside his coat.
“Do you mean to threaten me?” I gasp.
“I knew it wasn't right,” he continues, “but you've got to understand, you're not the only one with children to look after. I've got three of them, back in London. With the money Mr. Lannister's going to pay me, I can set them straight for life.” There are tears in his eyes as he raises the knife. “This was supposed to be the last resort, Mrs. Lannister. I never thought it'd actually come to...”
His voice trails off.
“I'm scared,” Milly whimpers.
“You have no need to be,” I say through gritted teeth, as I force her back and step in front of her. “This man is not going to hurt anyone. You see, Milly, he's not a bad man, not really.” I keep my eyes fixed on him, as I try to get through to his better nature. “He's become mixed up in something rather awful, but it's not his true self, and he doesn't want to hurt anyone. He wants to put the knife down and come with us, he wants to join us downstairs, and he wants to tell us what's really happening.”
