by Amy Cross
“There's definitely an atmosphere,” she conceded, “but I swear, this time tomorrow we'll be out of here.” She paused, before leaning closer and kissing the side of my face. “Just one more night, James. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted right now, I need some sleep or I'm going to collapse. We'll start digging in the morning, and then we'll leave. I promise.”
***
A short while later, once we were in bed and Rachel was sleeping with her arm around me, I lay in the dark and listened to the sound of the rain. I still wanted to get the hell out of Shapley Hall, but I knew that I couldn't do that without explaining my sense of panic to Rachel, and there was no way I was willing to admit what I'd seen at the window.
Or thought I'd seen...
Or...
Just one more night, I reminded myself, and then a few hours in the daylight, and then it'd be over.
Still, I couldn't help glancing at the window and watching as rain continued to fall against the glass. No matter what I told myself, no matter how many explanations I came up with for what I'd see earlier, I found myself imagining a woman out there on the lawn, watching the house. Or maybe downstairs scratching at another of the windows. I was starting to think that I'd made a mistake by not going outside again to check, by not facing my fears, because now the doubts were finding their way into my heart and I couldn't push them away.
All around, beetles were still scurrying through the gaps between the walls, their tiny legs scratching the wood.
And still I imagined the woman out there, standing in the rain. Waiting.
Chapter Eighteen
“Anything?” I asked as I made my way between the trees and stopped next to the shallow pit where Rachel was digging.
Sighing, she took a step back. Like me, she was covered in mud, and I could immediately see from the look in her eyes that she hadn't found Georgette Shapley's grave yet, even though we'd started work several hours ago, as soon as the sun had started to rise.
I could also see that she was in no mood to give up.
“Me neither,” I muttered as a light, cold rain continued to fall. “Are you sure we're in the right area? This forest is pretty huge.”
“Edward told the priest that he'd buried Georgette close to the house,” she replied, wiping wet, matted hair away from her face. “That means she's around here somewhere.”
“But -”
“We just have to keep digging,” she added. “I'm sorry about the weather, I know it makes it harder. If it's any consolation, I'm soaked too.”
“So do we even know if he buried her in a coffin?” I asked. “If it was an unmarked grave, maybe he just wrapped her in a bed-sheet and tossed her into a hole. The bones might never be found.”
“We'll find them,” she replied. “I know we will, we have to. We just have to keep searching.”
Glancing back toward the house, I realized that there was no sign of Rachel's car.
“I put it in the garage around the side,” she told me, as if she'd read my mind.
“Why bother?” I asked, turning to her. “We're leaving in an hour or two.”
She offered a faint, unconvincing smile. “I just didn't want it to get wet. There's a small leak in the roof.”
The thought of going to the car and driving away was so tempting, and I felt certain that once I got back to London, I'd be able to put Shapley Hall in the past. At that moment, however, I kept thinking about the face I'd seen during the previous night, as if it was haunting my thoughts. Every time I closed my eyes, every time I allowed my mind to wander, I saw that goddamn face again.
“Are you ever going to tell me?” Rachel asked suddenly.
I turned to her. “Tell you what?”
“Why you suddenly changed so much last night. Don't deny it, James, I can see it in your eyes. You went downstairs while I was in the room, and ever since you came back up, you've been...” She paused, eying me with a hint of concern. “Different.”
“You're over-analyzing things.”
“Am I?”
“Let's just focus on looking for these other bones,” I continued, hoping to distract her. “Then we just put the baby down with them and re-bury them together, right?”
She nodded. “Right.”
“And then we're done here?”
“Then we're done.”
“And there won't be any more surprises?” I asked cautiously. “You won't suddenly spring another job on me, will you? You won't suddenly decide there's another old Shapley who needs finding, digging up and re-burying somewhere else?”
“I promise,” she continued. “As soon as we've reunited Georgette and her baby, we'll be out of here.” She paused for a moment, before finally she grabbed her shovel and started digging again. “You seem kind of anxious, James. If I didn't know better, I'd be starting to think you got spooked by something.”
“As if,” I muttered, before turning and heading back between the trees, making my way to the spot where I'd been digging all morning. Taking a deep breath, I looked around at the muddy ground, and for a moment the task seemed hopeless. The bad weather was getting worse and I was starting to shiver, but at the same time I was filled with a sense of determination.
Finally I got back to work, figuring that the sooner we found Georgette Shapley's body, the sooner we could get the hell away from Shapley Hall. Unfortunately, every few seconds, the sight of that horrific face flitted back into my thoughts.
***
“I think you have to accept it,” I told Rachel later, as I grabbed the bag in the kitchen so I could find some more food. “If Georgette's out there in the forest, there's no way we'll ever find her. Our best option is just to bury the baby's bones and get out of here.”
“We're close,” she replied, still carving letters into the makeshift wooden cross she'd nailed together during our afternoon break. “I can feel it.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked, struggling to open a yoghurt pot. “Rachel, you -”
Suddenly my trembling hands slipped, and the pot crashed to the floor. Naturally, the lid flew off and half the contents slopped out.
“Damn it,” I muttered, grabbing a paper towel and starting to wipe up the mess.
“Are you sure you're okay?” Rachel asked.
“Stop asking that.”
“Sorry, but you seem -”
“Stop asking!” I hissed, setting the towel on the counter. “I'm fine. I'll be even better once we get out of here.”
“I'm sure we'll be finished soon,” she replied calmly.
Stepping over, I looked at the cross and saw the name Georgette Shapley neatly etched into the wood. I felt as if I needed to scream, but somehow I was managing to hold myself together.
“I know it's stupid,” Rachel said after a moment. “It's not like a real gravestone, but it's better than nothing. At least her grave will be marked. Maybe one day I can afford to get a proper stone.”
“I'm sure Georgette would -”
Before I could finish, I heard a bump over by the window. Almost leaping out of my skin, I spun around, only to see that there was nothing there. A moment later, I spotted a crow flying away through the rain.
“You seem jumpy,” Rachel muttered.
“I'm fine,” I replied, heading back over to the food bag. Reaching in to grab an apple, however, I felt something crawling over my hand. Looking into the bag, I saw a swarm of beetles. Tipping the bag out onto the counter, I watched in horror as scores of little black bugs scurried away from the mass of half-chewed food.
Grabbing a cup from nearby, I quickly crushed as many of the beetles as possible, although most of them managed to get away.
“Damn things!” I hissed finally, pushing the bag onto the floor. More beetles scurried out, as if to taunt me.
Rachel stared at me. “James -”
“They're everywhere!” I continued, turning to her. “Haven't they been driving you insane? They're in the walls, they're under the floor, they're in the ceiling, there
were even two swimming in the toilet when I went to take a piss!”
“They're kind of annoying,” she replied, getting back to work on the wooden cross. “Don't worry, though. We don't have to put up with them for much longer.”
“It's four already,” I pointed out, checking my watch. “In another hour, the light'll start fading. Time's running out.”
She muttered something under her breath, but I couldn't quite hear the words.
“We don't want to leave too late,” I continued. “I think the weather's going to get worse before it gets better.”
“Yeah, well...” She paused, before glancing at me with a hint of concern. “I guess... I guess maybe we'll just have to stay here one more night.”
I smiled. “Very funny.”
I waited for her to admit that she was joking, but slowly I felt a sense of dread in my chest as I realized she was serious.
“Rachel -”
“We're so close!” she continued. “James, please, we're agonizingly close to finding Georgette and -”
“No,” I said firmly.
“James -”
“I am not spending another night in this house,” I told her, while inadvertently glancing at the window where I'd seen the face. I froze for a moment, half expecting to see someone out there. “You promised,” I added, turning back to Rachel. “You said we'd leave!”
“That was when I thought we'd find Georgette's body today,” she replied, “but... It hasn't worked out that way. I've waited twelve years to come back to Shapley Hall and do this! I can't give up just because we want to get home tonight!”
Sighing, I made my way over to her. Every time I blinked now, I saw the face from the window.
“I've been patient,” I explained, trying to remain calm, “and I think you have to admit that I've been way more understanding that most people would've been in the same situation.”
She nodded.
“Even when you lied to me -”
“I'm sorry.”
“And when you tricked me -”
“I know that was wrong.”
“And when you pretended you'd been possessed by a ghost, and you were scratching at the window.”
She stared at me for a moment, before looking down at her hands.
“But my patience has run out,” I continued. Even as those words left my mouth, I knew I sounded like an asshole, but I didn't care. The thought of staying even an hour longer at that house was enough to fill me with panic. “You agreed that we'd be getting out of here today, Rachel, and you have to stick to that agreement.”
“James...”
“It's not fair of you to do this!” I hissed. “You promised! This is not fair!”
“What's one more night? Does it really matter?”
“Yes!” I said firmly, unable to hide my frustration. “I'm not doing it! I'm sorry, Rachel, but we're leaving when it gets dark!”
“But -”
“And that's final,” I continued, heading back to the other counter and looking down at the food, before realizing it had all been spoiled by the beetles. “This discussion is over.”
“It is?”
“It is!”
Shoving Tupperware pots and glass jars back into the bag, I realized after a moment that this time she hadn't replied. When I turned to her, I saw that she was staring out the window. For a moment, it seemed as if she was already more concerned about some long-dead woman than about her commitments to me.
“If you want to do some more digging,” I told her, “you've got about two hours before sundown, and then we're out of here.”
She turned to me. “Maybe...” She paused. “Maybe I can drive you to the village,” she said finally, “and you can get a bus from there.”
I stared at her, barely able to believe what I was hearing.
“If you really feel you have to leave,” she continued, “then I have no right to stop you, and you certainly don't owe it to me to stay another night, not if the thought is so awful. So how about I drive you into the village and you can get the bus that leaves just after six? That'll get you to town at eight, and there are plenty of trains to London. You can be home before midnight. If money's a problem, I can give you some cash to cover your ticket.”
“And leave you here?” I asked incredulously.
“It's just for one night.”
“Are you insane?” I continued. “You said the whole reason you brought me here was because you didn't want to be alone!”
“I don't want to be alone,” she replied, “but...” She paused for a moment. “I can handle one night if it means getting the job done,” she added finally, even though there was fear in her eyes. “If that's what it takes...”
She muttered something else under her breath, something that definitely included the word 'asshole'.
“You're out of your mind,” I told her. “This house is -”
I caught myself just in time.
“This house is what?” she asked. “You don't believe in ghosts, you don't believe for a second that it's haunted, so why can't you leave me here? What's the big deal?”
“It's a big place,” I stammered, trying to come up with an answer. When I blinked, I saw the face again.
Rachel frowned. “So?”
Sighing, I realized I still couldn't tell her what I'd seen during the previous night. Or rather, what I thought I'd seen. I'd only end up fueling her ridiculous beliefs and making her feel as if she'd been right all along. At the same time, I also knew that I physically couldn't spend another night at Shapley Hall.
“I really want you to stay,” she continued. “There, I said it. I hate the idea of being alone here. But if I have to choose, then I will stay alone, because I have a job to do and I refuse to break the promise I made to Georgette.”
“Bullshit,” I muttered.
She shook her head.
“I didn't mean it like that,” I said with a sigh.
“So are you staying?” she asked, with a hint of fear in her voice. “Or do you want me to drive you to town? 'Cause it's getting dark and you need to decide soon. Can you handle one more night in this house?”
Chapter Nineteen
Climbing out of the car, I looked across the dark village square for a moment before turning to look back at Rachel.
“I'm begging you,” I said firmly, as I hauled my backpack over my shoulder, “don't do this.”
“I'll let you know once I'm back in London safely,” she replied, with tears in her eyes. “We can meet up, maybe... I don't know, maybe we should talk about all of this some time. Have a good journey, okay?”
“Rachel -”
“I promised Georgette!” she added. “I can't break that promise!”
“You promised me we'd leave today,” I reminded her. “You managed to break that promise! If you go back to that house tonight, you're making a huge mistake.”
“Speak soon,” she replied, reaching out and pulling the door shut.
I opened my mouth to say something, but she immediately pulled away, leaving me standing at the side of the road. I watched as she drove around the war memorial, and then I waited as the lights of her car disappeared into the distance, finally slipping out of view as she headed off on her journey back to Shapley Hall. For a moment, I couldn't help imagining that huge dark house waiting for her with its whispering, bug-infested walls. I knew it was wrong of me to let her go back there alone, but at the same time I felt annoyed by her obstinate refusal to stick to the original plan, and I figured I'd wait until we were both back in London before I decided whether to see her again.
As for the face at the window...
I'd hallucinated. That much was obvious. Now that I was away from Shapley Hall, my fears were subsiding and I could see with absolute clarity that I'd just let the place get to me a little.
Dumb, but understandable.
A natural human reaction.
Making my way over to the bus stop outside the pub, I began to check the times, hoping that I wo
uldn't have to wait long before the next departure to Leeds. Rainwater had already soaked through my clothes, and the bad weather was getting worse by the minute, pounding on the roof of the bus stop. When I saw the schedule, however, I frowned.
***
“Tomorrow morning?” I replied, shocked by the landlord's news. “But... I was told there'd be a bus tonight!”
“It's Sunday, though, isn't it?” he said with a faint, smug grin. “Monday to Saturday, there's a couple of late ones, but not on Sunday. You won't be getting anywhere before the bus that leaves just after six tomorrow morning. That's in...”
He checked his watch.
“Twelve hours, I make it,” he added. “Long time away.”
Sighing, I realized there was no point arguing with him. I was soaking wet, cold, and tired, and even though I didn't want to admit it to myself, I was also feeling bad for leaving Rachel alone at the house.
“You'll be wanting a room, then, will you?” the landlord asked.
“I guess so,” I replied. “How much?”
“Forty-five including breakfast.”
“Forty -” I paused for a moment, but it was clear he had me over a barrel. I had the money, even if it'd leave me a little short once I got back to London.
“And a pint,” he added, grabbing a glass and starting to pour me a beer. “First one on the house. Can't say fairer than that, can I?”
“I guess not,” I replied, glancing over my shoulder and seeing that there were only half a dozen other customers in the pub. Having grown up in London, I was used to pubs being loud, crowded places with widescreen TVs, but the Retchford Arms was like something from another world. There was no music playing, and people seemed content to just sit around talking. The one concession to modernity was an electric heater near the door, although most of the warmth came from a roaring hearth at the far end of the room.
“We don't often get people passing through Retchford,” the landlord said as he placed my pint in front of me. “We're not really on the way to anywhere, if you know what I mean.”
