by Dan Moore
‘You didn’t think we’d gone outside and collected up fallen branches, did you?’
They were burning floorboards! Half a board, its nails still poking out, tumbled from the grate. It landed on the hearth with a thud, still on fire.
Had they committed criminal damage as well now? This party’s immense! Standard house party etiquette just didn’t apply; rules non-existent. So what if they made a mess? Who cared, really, if a house that’d been empty longer than any of them had been alive, got smashed up a bit? At least they’d found a use for the place, restored some character to it.
‘I have an idea,’ Lucas said, Jess’s head lolling as he shifted under her weight. ‘What about a game of Never Have I Ever?’
‘Yesss!’ said Timmy.
He’d played this game before, many times. He was well versed in using it to stitch Ricky right up (the favour always returned) – easily done when you know each other’s secrets. It would be a little trickier here though, amongst people he’d only just begun to get to know, but he’d give it a shot.
‘I’ll start,’ said Rachel, giggling, her body quivering in anticipation. ‘It’s a shame Jess isn’t awake, she’d enjoy this one… Ok, here goes… Never have I ever… kissed Jess.’
Oh great! thought Freddie. Talk of easing everyone into the game… No! Let’s get straight to the day’s major talking point – Ravenby’s very own love triangle! Freddie looked on as Lucas raised a bottle of beer to his lips and knocked back all that remained. He glanced around at the rest of the group – no one else drank, though several sets of eyes stared back at him.
‘What?’
‘Drink up, Freddie,’ Rachel said.
This isn’t fair! Lucas was sat just a bottle’s throw away, with Jess snoring into his shoulder. No matter how much he wanted something to happen between them, it couldn’t now. It was clear she wanted Lucas, not him. Why couldn’t Rachel leave it be?
‘But I haven’t.’
‘Whatever… if you’re not going to play fairly…’
‘It’s the truth!’
‘Ok, ok,’ said Mike, sniggering. ‘Scarlett next.’
‘Hmm…’ Scarlett scanned the room, clearly searching for a target. What secrets did she know? Who would she embarrass? Her eyes locked onto Mike. ‘Never have I ever… cheated on my girlfriend.’
‘Typical Scarlett,’ Mike said, swigging from his can of lager. ‘You need to start coming up with something a bit more original. It’s getting tiring.’
So Mike and Scarlett had dated? Awkward! thought Freddie. This game never failed to cause at least one big dispute. What other secrets could be coaxed out with it? Kids back home would often use the game to highlight crazy, daring, or stupid things either they or their friends had done – but this edition had started very personal. Freddie eyed the group. A lad on the far left of the semi-circle, his face flushing crimson, took a sip.
‘I’ll never tire of reminding you what a pig you were, Mike,’
‘Changing the subject…’ Mike said. ‘You next, Freddie.’
Hmm. It’s time for a change in direction, thought Freddie. Things were getting way too personal. But what to say? Something funny? Something crazy? Think! Come on, think! And then he had an idea. What about…? No. It would be too much, especially for these superstitious freaks. Still… It would spice things up a little… Screw it, he’d go for it!
‘Ok. Never…’ he said, knowing he wasn’t technically lying, because he didn’t believe in such things, ‘…have I ever seen the ghost of Noel Davidson.’
‘Freddie!’ someone gasped.
He glanced around the room, everyone else doing the same. Would anyone drink? he wondered. If anyone had seen the Noel lookalike, as he had, would they dare admit to it? Would they swear blind that what they’d seen was a ghost? A bottle, wrapped in trembling fingers, left the semi-circle. Up it went, its owner’s nose pointing towards the ceiling. Timmy took a swig, turning his gaze to the flames.
‘Timmy?’
‘Tim?’
‘I’ve had enough with grandma going on about it all the time,’ Scarlett said, ‘Noel’s ghost this, Noel’s ghost that!’
Freddie watched Timmy take a deep breath, his lips wobbling as he attempted to speak, ‘He’s b-buried near here, so I-I’ve heard – in the woods, over y-yonder.’
‘Buried in the woods?’ asked Mike. ‘You sure?’
‘There’s a clearing in there somewhere, that’s where he’s buried,’ Timmy said. ‘It’s become overgrown since Mr Davidson fell ill, so I heard.’
‘That’s sad,’ said Rachel.
‘Maybe that’s why he’s haunting us,’ Mike said.
‘It’s not funny,’ Timmy said. ‘I used to think everyone who’d said they’d seen Noel’s ghost were either crazy, or just trying to frighten people. You’ve got this lad, a lad whose photo you’ve seen a hundred times, a lad who you know to be dead, and he just appears in the field you’re working in. It freaks you out, man.’
‘Where was this?’ Lucas asked.
Freddie felt a shiver run through his body that had nothing to do with the subject they were discussing.
Lucas!
He repelled the visions – he had to, for his own sanity. He turned his thoughts to the matter at hand. He’d seen the lad who so resembled Noel Davidson, leaning against a bale. And even though he hadn’t realised until he’d seen Noel’s photo in the pub, he did know exactly how Timmy must feel.
‘What if this house was abandoned because it’s haunted?’ Lucas added, as Timmy’s head slumped into his hands.
Freddie wanted to punch Lucas, wanted to bounce him off the walls. But really, deep down, he knew he couldn’t hate him. And he really wanted to hate him. Thing was, he actually liked him, and they got on well. Had he become a jealous person? It was wrong to dislike someone because they had something you wanted. He couldn’t let emotions hinder reasoning. The phrase so often used by Ricky, ‘there’s plenty more fish in the sea,’ popped into his head. It was a phrase he disliked, yet he knew it held some truth. A few weeks ago he’d been in love with Tiffany, and since then he’d been on a date with Scarlett and started to fall for Jess. It’s complete madness.
‘What if Noel’s here, watching us?’ said Steve, hunching up, wriggling his fingers.
‘Don’t say that,’ said Rachel, jumping up, brushing herself down. ‘I felt something then.’
‘Probably a spider,’ said Freddie, spotting Timmy resurfacing. He’d shared a similar experience. He felt for the lad. But he wanted to know more. ‘Timmy, tell me about what you saw.’
‘I was setting up an irrigator. At first I thought it was one of our workers taking a pee or something. He was just standing there, next to the hedge, with his back to me. When I got up close to him he glanced over his shoulder, looked me straight in the eye. It was him all right!’
‘Why would he just stand there?’ said Freddie, more to himself than to the room. This sounded like the lad he’d seen, but it didn’t bring him any closer to uncovering his identity. The name Vincent Burgess swirled around his head. Could he really be the Noel lookalike?
‘I was down at Rose Farm,’ Timmy said, ‘in the field where Noel was killed. He was standing in the exact spot where it – w-where it happened.’
Several people gasped; even the candles flickered. Freddie didn’t know how much more of this insanity he could take. He couldn’t let himself succumb to the hysteria. Relax! he told himself. You have to relax. Think rationally.
‘You didn’t stop your tractor and speak to him?’ Freddie asked.
‘Are you crazy?’ Timmy said. ‘I put my foot down and got the hell out of there.’
Was he crazy? On tonight’s performances he was the only sane person in the room. He was starting to regret bringing the subject up at all. He’d quite happily take questions on his love life if it meant not having to discuss this anymore.
‘My mum saw Noel’s ghost,’ said Mike, grinning stupidly. ‘She had a bump in her
car the other week, nothing major like. But she told dad she’d taken her eyes off the road because she’d seen Noel standing on the verge, watching her.’
‘Try explaining that to your insurance company,’ said Freddie.
Suddenly the living room door burst open, the draught extinguishing one of the candles. A figure stumbled into the room.
‘I saw him too, this Noel geezer,’ spat Harvey, ‘and he did not look happy!’
‘Do tell,’ someone said.
‘I was doing a cash job for Ursula Hawkins, down at the manor.’
‘Cash job?’ said Freddie, ‘as in, a tax free cash job?’
‘Paying tax is for mugs.’
A cash job? Harvey did jobs on the side for Ursula? Why would she risk getting into trouble for the sake of a few quid? She was a successful businesswoman. According to everyone he’d spoken to, her company was doing great. It didn’t add up. What was she getting him to do? Something illegal? Torching bale stacks perhaps? Had it been Harvey who he’d chased through the fields just yesterday? Had it been Harvey who’d tripped and rolled over and over, narrowly evading him? He didn’t look like he’d taken a fall.
‘Is it?’ said Scarlett. ‘Taxpayers paid for the ambulance that rushed out to your nan when she had that fall last year.’
‘Don’t interrupt me!’ Harvey said, striding towards them, fists clenched. ‘I saw him, near the bushes in Ursula’s garden, watching the house. Waiting.’
‘When?’ Mike asked.
‘About a week ago. I reckon he’s after his dad!’
‘We should do a séance,’ said Steve, ‘talk to him. Find out what he wants.’
‘No! We can’t,’ Rachel squealed. ‘I’ve heard they invite in evil spirits.’
‘Well, we haven’t done one yet,’ said Freddie, ‘and Harvey’s joined us, so–’
‘Ha ha, funny man. Anyways, I’m off,’ said Harvey, turning to leave. ‘Better places to be.’
Freddie felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Who was calling at this time? It was gone midnight! He dug about, retrieving the blasted device.
Tiffany!
He might have known! He accepted the call, sticking the Samsung on loudspeaker.
‘Freddie?’ he heard Tiffany say, her voice booming out for all to hear.
Mike held out his palm.
‘Let me speak to her,’ he whispered.
Freddie passed the mobile to him gladly. Now this will be a laugh. Mike looked as if he was opening a present from the top of his Christmas list.
‘Hello, Giuseppe speaking.’
‘Freddie?’
She sniffed. She sounded genuinely upset, as if she’d been crying.
‘This is Milano Mike’s. There’s no Freddie here. What can I get you?’
‘What?’
‘The Mikey Meaty comes highly recommended.’
No reply. She’d terminated the call. Freddie couldn’t contain himself any longer, rolling onto his side, laughter billowing out of him in great plumes, tears streaking down his cheeks. Mike had made his night, his week even. Tiffany deserved that, she really did. Boo-hoo! He’d still have fun, even out here, amongst Ravenby’s haunted fields.
‘Are we doing this séance then or what?’ said Steve.
18
What good could come from doing a séance, really? he wondered. All they’d achieve would be to scare themselves half to death. Freddie didn’t want to play a part in this, he really didn’t.
‘It’s not my thing,’ he said, Mike’s prank on Tiffany already fading from his mind, along with the joy it’d brought. The others must’ve seen séances on TV. Everyone had! They were complete fear fests.
‘Too scared?’ Mike said.
‘No!’ he said.
He knew he’d replied far too quickly, sounding overly defensive. Now they really would think he was afraid – and in front of Lucas too! Why did he always bow to pressure from his peers? He glanced across the room – Jess had woken up. She looked around groggily, flexing her arms, squinting up at Lucas. Suddenly she turned her gaze on him, sighed, and then closed her eyes.
‘Man, I feel rough,’ he heard her murmur.
Three more revellers filtered away, leaving just eight of them remaining in the room. Surely it was almost time for them to go home as well!? He could barely keep his eyes open.
‘If we’re going to do this we have to do it properly,’ said Steve, taking a quick headcount.
Properly? There was a proper way to contact the dead? He hadn’t realised this was an actual science.
‘Nothing’s going to happen,’ said Freddie, yawning.
‘You don’t know that,’ Rachel said.
‘Oh, something will happen,’ he said, rolling his empty can across the floorboards, sending it crashing into the hearth. ‘We’ll scare ourselves silly, get all hysterical, and you’ll all pass it off as a paranormal occurrence.’
‘So what do we do?’ Lucas asked.
‘We need a table, for starters,’ said Steve, a bottle of beer in each hand. ‘This is all from what I saw on TV, mind.’
‘We’ll drag the table in from the kitchen,’ said Lucas, eyeing Jess with concern. ‘Mike, Freddie – give me a hand?’
So he’d be participating. It didn’t look as if Jess was ready for the trip home just yet. What choice did he have but to take part? He had to save face in front of her.
He got up and followed Lucas and Mike into the kitchen. The table was old and heavy. It took a great deal of heaving and grunting to drag it through to the living room, which was a feat in its own right, considering the table was far larger than the gap it had to pass through. But somehow they managed it, positioning the four-legged monstrosity in the centre of the room.
‘Ok, we’ll need eight chairs,’ Steve said, directing the setup. ‘There’s a few kicking about.’
He decided to go and see if Jess was all right. Lucas, who was perched on the side of the table closest to where she sat, spotted him looking, and made a beeline for her. Brilliant!
‘You ok?’ he heard Lucas whisper. ‘Can I get you anything?’
Bloody creep! Would Jess be up for this séance? She looked like she needed her bed, not a date with the dead.
Slowly they assembled the chairs around the table, lighting more candles, placing them all around the room. Mike even topped up the fire, albeit with the dining room floor.
‘From what I remember,’ Steve said, scratching his chin. ‘We need to put three candles in the centre of the table.’
‘Superstitious crap,’ Freddie muttered.
Rachel picked up three candles, complete with dusty ornamental stands, placing them in the middle of the table.
‘Ok, everyone ready?’ said Steve, downing one of his bottles.
‘Do we have to sacrifice someone?’ Mike asked.
‘Why, are you volunteering?’ Scarlett said, poking her tongue out at him.
Freddie picked a chair near a corner. He didn’t plan on taking any real part in this. He’d follow the others, play along and pretend to be into it. He wasn’t quite sure what they expected to happen, or indeed what would happen, but he did know one thing – they weren’t going to be contacting Noel Davidson’s ghost, because ghosts didn’t exist.
‘Right,’ Steve said, waving his bottle-free hand. ‘Everyone take a seat. Come on, Jess. We need everyone for this.’
Jess staggered across the room, her hair bedraggled. She did not look happy!
‘Do we have to hold hands?’ Lucas said.
‘Yes, I think so,’ Steve said.
Freddie offered his palms to his neighbours, Mike and Scarlett. They took his offering. But would Noel take the groups’ offering? He laughed the thought off. He wouldn’t allow himself to get too into it. If it were possible to contact the dead, it certainly wouldn’t be Noel bloody Davidson he’d be attempting to get in touch with, that was for sure!
‘I think we all have to speak at the same time,’ said Timmy. ‘Like a chant.’
‘In Latin?’ Freddie said.
‘This is serious,’ Rachel said, glaring at him.
‘Whatever.’
‘Someone has to take the lead though, surely?’ Timmy said. ‘Steve, you seem to know more about this sort of thing than the rest of us. Why don’t you lead us?’
It was a strange sight – Freddie had to admit, glancing around the table. Eight half-cut teenagers, holding hands inside an abandoned, candlelit farmhouse, deciding who would lead them in a chant intended to summon the dead.
‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ Jess said.
‘Noel!’ Steve began.
‘NOEL!’ everyone repeated.
Freddie tried desperately to hold the laughter in, a slither of it escaping with a snort, like steam from a kettle.
‘Noel Davidson, can you hear us?’
‘NOEL DAVIDSON, CAN YOU HEAR US?’
Nothing happened.
‘I think we have to get him to do something,’ said Rachel, fidgeting in her seat. ‘Like move something.’
‘Get him to tidy up the mess we’ve made,’ said Freddie, trying to keep his voice serious. ‘Or get him to rip up a few more floorboards for the fire.’
He heard Jess laugh and looked across the table in her direction. Lucas frowned.
‘We mustn’t anger Noel,’ Timmy said. ‘Some of the other people who’ve seen him got the impression that he wanted to harm them.’
‘Really?’ asked Freddie, ‘but why?’
‘Wouldn’t you want someone to suffer if your life was cut short?!’
‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ replied Freddie. ‘Who would Noel want to harm, though?’
‘Gerry.’
‘Gerry McGeady?’
‘Yep,’ Timmy said, glancing over his shoulder.
‘Why would Noel want to harm Gerry McGeady?’
One of the candles flickered, making Rachel gasp.
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ Scarlett said, turning to Freddie. ‘Gerry was the one driving the combine the day N– the day Noel died.’
Really? thought Freddie. He’d not heard that one before. So Gerry McGeady had been the unfortunate soul driving the machine that’d torn Noel Davidson apart. No wonder he hadn’t been keen on talking about Noel the first day he’d set foot in the pub. That day must’ve scarred him for life.