by Adele Abbott
Just then, the door to the bedroom opened. Neil spun around to find Susan standing there. She’d seen him talking to the wall—or at least that’s how it had appeared to her.
“Neil, why are you in my room?”
“I just—err—I came to—err—look at the heating to see if I could sort it out, but it seems to be working okay.”
“But it’s still so cold in here.”
“I know. It must be the direction the room faces. I think it faces north.”
That sounded like nonsense to Susan. “Who were you talking to when I came in?”
“No one.” Neil gulped. “I often talk to myself when I’m doing something. I was just saying, ‘Well, there’s nothing to be done in here, Neil’.” With that, he quickly reversed out of the room.
Susan was beginning to have serious doubts about her flatmates.
That night, Socky did everything he could to scare Susan. The temperature in the room dropped dramatically—it was even colder than usual. She had to pull all the covers over her just to keep warm. He spent all night walking up and down, his wooden leg clunking on the floor as he went. Every time Susan fell asleep, he would clunk his leg even louder to wake her up. But in the end, tiredness overtook her, and she fell into a deep sleep from which not even Socky could wake her.
Chapter 19
When Susan woke up the next morning, her room was still freezing. And yet, when she checked the radiator, it was warm, and seemed to be working fine, just as Neil had said. So how come the room was so cold? She checked the window for any gaps, but the seal looked fine. A thought crept into her mind, one that she’d had a few times before, but had tried to ignore: What if the room was haunted? She’d read somewhere that the presence of a ghost could cause the temperature of a room to drop dramatically.
The other housemates were eating breakfast.
“Hey, guys. Look, I know this might sound a little cuckoo, but do you think there might be a ghost in my room?”
“A ghost?” Dorothy did her best to sound surprised by the question.
“I wouldn’t normally suggest anything so crazy, but I can’t understand why it’s so cold in there. The radiator is working, and there’s no draught coming through the window, and yet last night it was freezing. And then there’s the noise. It’s as though somebody’s walking across the room back and forth, all night long.”
“It is a very old building,” Charlie said. “I suppose it could be haunted.”
“Greg, the man who runs PAW seems a decent kind of a guy. I might ask if he has any experience with ghosts. Maybe I can get him to come over and take a look at my room.”
The three other flatmates were stunned into silence.
“Anyway,” Susan said, “I’d better get off to work.”
As soon as she’d left, Neil turned to the others. “So much for your brilliant idea. What are we going to do now? What if this Greg guy is a sensitive?”
Sensitives were humans who had a closer connection to the paranormal world than the average person. They could sense the presence of not only ghosts, but of other sups too.
“We can’t afford to let him come here,” Dorothy said.
“There’s no way of stopping him,” Neil said. “We’ll just have to make sure that he doesn’t find anything. The three of us can’t be here when he comes, in case he can sense that we’re sups.”
“That’s all well and good,” Dorothy said. “But what about Socky? He’ll definitely sense Socky is here, and if he does, he’s likely to launch a full-scale investigation of the whole building. You have to persuade that stupid ghost to vacate the room when this guy comes over.”
Neil led the way into Susan’s bedroom. “Tobias!” he called. The other two flatmates gave him a puzzled look. “What? That’s his name. I have to call him that or he gets upset. Tobias!”
Socky appeared, but was visible only to Neil.
“What is it now? I need to get some sleep. I’ve been up all night.”
“You were supposed to scare the human away.”
“I did my best. I spent all night walking around this room. Why do you think I’m so tired?”
“Well, you failed miserably. Not only is she not leaving, but she’s going to bring in a sensitive.”
“A what?”
“A sensitive. They can sense the presence of ghosts.”
“How very interesting.”
“No, it’s not, trust me. If he senses you’re here, he’ll bring a Ghost Hunter in, and you’ll be banished to Ghost Town forever.”
“I can’t possibly have that.”
“Exactly. So you’ll have to go back to Ghost Town when this guy comes.”
“But it’s awful there.”
“Better to go back there for just one day than forever.”
“I suppose so.” Socky sighed. “But it’s most inconvenient. When is he coming?”
“I don’t know, but as soon as I do, I’ll give you the nod, and then you’d better make yourself scarce.”
***
Susan phoned Greg.
“Hi, Susan. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. Am I right in assuming that you believe in ghosts?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“I feel silly even mentioning this, but the room I’ve just moved into is incredibly cold, and yet the heating is working fine. And then there’s the noise.”
“What kind of noise?”
“It’s almost as though someone is walking back and forth across the floor. It went on all last night. I barely slept.”
“Have you actually seen anything?”
“No. It’s just the cold and the noise. Look, it doesn’t matter. It was silly of me to mention it.”
“No, wait! Where is it you live?”
“It’s what used to be the old sock factory on Colbourn Drive. Do you know it?”
“Yes. Leave it with me, and I’ll see what I can find out about the history of that building.”
“Thanks, Greg.”
***
Susan had tried several times to get hold of Robert Marks, but she’d had no joy. She was beginning to think it would have been easier to get an audience with the Queen than to get to talk to Marks. So instead, she’d decided to try and trace the other two friends of Chris Briggs: Richard Price and Alan Charlton.
Working at The Bugle, she had plenty of resources at her fingertips, which made it relatively easy to track people. What she found shocked her. Both men had moved away from Washbridge some years earlier. But that wasn’t the only thing they had in common. They were both dead. The details were sketchy, but from what she could make out, Richard Price, who had moved to Swindon, had died in a road accident about four years earlier. Two years later, Alan Charlton, who had moved to Sheffield, had died in a climbing accident.
Susan understood that coincidences happened, but her reporter’s instincts sensed there was something decidedly fishy going on. She’d been able to contact the widows of both men, and they had both agreed to talk to her.
First stop: Swindon.
Kirsty Price, Richard Price’s widow, met her at the door.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to see me.”
“No problem. Do come in. I was rather surprised when you phoned about Richard. It’s been a while since I’ve talked about him with anyone.”
Kirsty made them both a drink, and they settled down in the lounge.
“I came across Richard’s name when I was looking into the death of Chris Briggs, who I believe was a friend of your late husband?”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“According to Chris Briggs’ brother, there were four of them who used to hang out together, but I am going back ten years.”
“That might explain why I don’t know him. I didn’t meet Richard until eight years ago.”
“Do you remember your husband mentioning an Alan Charlton or Robert Marks?”
“No, sorry, but then Richard rarely talked about the life he led bef
ore we got together. Whenever I asked him about it, he always shrugged off the question. He said everything that happened before we met was unimportant.” She managed a smile, but had tears welling up in her eyes.
“When did you move to Swindon?”
“We met at uni, and both moved here straight after we’d got our degrees. I landed a job here first, and Richard got one six months later. What exactly happened to this Chris Briggs? Why are you investigating his death?”
“He supposedly jumped from the multi-storey car park in Washbridge.”
“I assume you don’t think it was suicide otherwise you wouldn’t be investigating?”
“The person who brought the story to me didn’t. I have an open-mind. I believe your husband died in a car accident.”
“He died in a car crash. Whether or not it was an accident, no one really knows.”
“How so?”
“He was travelling to Scotland on business. The car left the road, went down an embankment, and hit a tree.” Kirsty hesitated, and took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry to upset you.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it. No mechanical faults were found, and there was no evidence that Richard had braked before the car left the road.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“No. The crash happened on a quiet road, late at night. The wreckage wasn’t spotted until the next morning.”
“Is there any other reason why you suspect the crash may not have been an accident?”
“The unexplained head injury, and the blood.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“According to the pathologist, one of the head injuries might not have been consistent with those suffered as a result of the crash. It was to the back of his head.”
“Might not?”
“The pathologist said he couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure that the injury didn’t result from the crash, but he thought it unlikely.”
“And the blood?”
“They found traces of someone else’s blood in the car.”
“Had he been travelling with someone?”
“Not to the best of my knowledge.”
“Could he have picked up a hitchhiker?”
“I doubt it. Richard never stopped for them.”
“What conclusion did the police come to?”
“None really. They checked the blood against their DNA database, but there was no match. They appealed for witnesses in case anyone had seen Richard with someone else, but no one came forward. In the end, an open verdict was returned at the inquest.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I prefer to think it was an accident. The alternative is too horrible to even contemplate.”
Susan was more sceptical, but didn’t air her thoughts.
She grabbed lunch at the motorway services: sandwiches which tasted like cardboard followed by lukewarm, weak coffee.
Next stop: Sheffield.
Alan Charlton’s widow, Marie, didn’t answer the door when Susan knocked. She tried again, but still no joy. Great! If she’d travelled all that way for nothing, she wouldn’t be best pleased. Susan rang the number she’d contacted Marie on earlier.
A woman answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hi there. This is Susan Hall. I arranged to come and see you. I’m at your door, but there’s—”
“Sorry. I’m in the garden around the back. Hold on. I’ll be with you in two ticks.”
Moments later, the door opened.
“Sorry about that. I’m fighting a losing battle with the bindweed. Do come in.”
Marie showed Susan into the dining room, and then went to wash her hands.
“Tea?” she called from the kitchen.
“Yes, please. Milk and one sugar.”
“You said you wanted to speak to me about Alan?” Marie passed Susan her tea, and then joined her at the table.
“I’m investigating the death of Chris Briggs, who I believe was a friend—”
“Chris Briggs? I remember him. He used to knock around with Alan—him and a couple of other guys. Now, what were their names? Richy and Bob, I think.”
“Richard Price and Robert Marks?”
“Yes, that’s them. You say Chris died? The last I heard, he was living rough.”
“That’s right, he was. He apparently jumped from the multi-storey car park in Washbridge.”
“Suicide? That’s terrible. But in that case, why are you investigating it?”
“There’s a possibility it might not have been. At least according to someone who knew him quite recently.”
“I see. How can I help?”
“I wondered if I might ask you about your husband’s death?”
“Alan died in a climbing accident. Climbing was his passion.” She managed a weak smile. “I hated it, as you might imagine. I always told him that something would go wrong one day, but he insisted it was safe. I’ve never been more sorry to be right about anything.”
“I read that it happened in the Peak District.”
“That’s right. It’s right on our doorstep. Alan often used to climb there.”
“Was he with someone when it happened?”
“That’s the weird thing. Alan always said that anyone who climbed solo must be crazy, and yet on the day he died, he’d been climbing alone, apparently.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
“No. The strange thing is that two other climbers told the police they’d seen him with someone earlier in the day, but he was alone when he fell. His body was found by other climbers.”
“Had he made arrangements to climb with someone?”
“He climbed with lots of different people. He didn’t used to bother telling me who he was going with. To be honest, I wasn’t interested. I just wanted him to pack it in altogether.”
“I take it no one came forward afterwards?”
“No.”
“Was there an enquiry?”
“Just the inquest. They said it was accidental death, and I guess they’re right. Alan should never have climbed alone.”
They talked for almost an hour in total. Marie had many memories of the group of four friends, but nothing that would help Susan in her investigation into Chris Briggs’ death.
“Okay. Thanks for seeing me. I hope I haven’t upset you too much.”
“Not at all.”
Susan started for the door.
“Wait! I think I have a photograph of Alan with the other three guys. You can borrow it if you want to.”
“Yes, please.”
“Just hold on. I’ll go and get it.”
Marie returned ten minutes later, holding a creased photograph.
“Sorry. It took a while to find. It was in an old album at the back of the wardrobe. They’d been playing football when this was taken.”
Susan studied the photograph of four fresh-faced young men dressed in football shirts and shorts. They were all laughing at something.
“That’s Alan.” Marie pointed to the man second from the left. That’s Richy, that’s Bob and that’s Chris. It’s scary to think that two of them are dead now.”
“Three.” Susan corrected her.
Marie looked puzzled.
“Didn’t you know? Richard Price died in a car crash four years ago.”
***
Susan was on her way back to Washbridge when her phone rang. She pulled into a layby to take the call. It was Greg.
“Susan, I’ve done some research on the sock factory, and found something interesting. There were two unusual deaths reported there in the early part of last century. The first was a woman named Isadora Braithwaite who fell to her death from a top floor window. The other was a man named Tobias Fotheringham who was the factory owner at the time. The reports are rather vague, but it would appear that he was in the factory by himself one night—there’s a suggestion that he may have been drunk. Anyway, he somehow fell into heavy machinery. I’m sorry, but thi
s is rather gruesome. It tore his leg off, and he died from blood loss. They found him the next morning. He’d somehow managed to crawl back to his office, apparently.”
Susan shuddered at the thought. “Do you think it’s possible that I’m being haunted by the ghost of one of those two? Isadora or—what did you say his name was?”
“Tobias. It’s certainly a possibility.”
“Is there any chance that you could come over to the apartment, and take a look at my room to see if you can sense anything?”
“I’d be glad to. I can come over now, if you like?”
“I’m just on my way back to Washbridge. I should be home by about six o’clock, if that’s any good?”
“That’s fine. I’ll call around then.”
Chapter 20
“Bunty? Greta? Are you there?”
Charlie was standing next to the cupboard looking through the magnifying glass at the thimbles. Greta poked her head out of her living room window. Bunty was upstairs in her bedroom.
“Could you do me a favour?” he said.
“Of course,” Greta said immediately.
“What now?” Bunty groaned. “I was just about to take a nap.”
“Come on, Bunty,” Greta said. “Charlie is always helping us out, and he lets us live here for free.”
“I suppose so. What is it?”
“You know we’ve got a new flatmate?”
“Yes, she’s very pretty,” Greta said.
“She’s nothing special.” Bunty shrugged.
“The thing is, she’s convinced there’s a ghost in her bedroom.”
“That’s because there is a ghost in her bedroom.” Bunty shuddered. “It’s that horrible sock man with the peg leg. He gives me the creeps.”
“Can you actually see him?” Charlie sounded surprised.
“Of course. Starlight fairies have always been able to see ghosts. Didn’t you know?”
“I had no idea.”
“He should be prosecuted for being that ugly,” Bunty said.
“Bunty!” Greta turned on her friend. “That’s just cruel.”
“Anyway,” Charlie continued. “Susan’s just phoned to say that she’s invited the guy from Paranormal Activity Watch to come over at six o’clock. Neil, Dorothy and me are going to make ourselves scarce—it’s too risky for us to be here when he comes. If I leave my bedroom door open, would you two listen in on their conversation to see if there’s anything we need to worry about?”
