by SJI Holliday
Many of the staff here have worked at the hospital for a number of years. Some were brought up in the grounds, the children of staff themselves – not just medical staff, but groundsmen and cooks and all matter of other things. Some of these fellows will have seen things move on a lot, and some might be resistant to so many changes– the advances in medicines, of course, but also the abandonment of certain practices that were used in the past but that no longer have a place here.
Mistrust among the staff of new medicines doesn’t concern me. Persisting with the other treatments does, though. Seclusion and restraint are commonplace, here, but it’s not even those that disturb me. It’s the other interventions of which I’ve been made aware. Things that happen a lot more often than they should. Things that shouldn’t happen at all. Things that aren’t documented.
It is these things that trouble me most.
4
Ali
‘You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, aren’t you?’
Angela’s voice is light, uplifting. She is obviously desperate for someone to talk to. But Ali can’t muster the enthusiasm, not right now. She is walking alongside Angela, down a long dingy corridor. The lights flicker occasionally. The walls look like they were painted in the 1950s, with a shiny yellow paint, and not redecorated since. There is a slight smell of mould. But Ali is less concerned about the girl, than she is about herself, right now. What exactly are she and Jack doing here? Is it really going to help? She can hear Jack’s footsteps close behind them, shuffling slightly. Reluctant. She knows he is tired and hopes she can convince Angela to leave them alone for a while. Of course she wants the whole tour at some point. There is much to be explored in the old hospital. She has to remind herself sometimes that this is why they are here, after all – to be part of this community. To be involved. She forces a smile into her voice.
‘I’m more interested in you saying you wanted to be a stripper…’
Angela laughs, high-pitched and girlish. ‘I wanted to be a glamour model, first—’
‘What, like Jordan? Or those ones in the lads’ mags?’
‘Page three, actually. I first saw one of those photos when I went to the garage with my mum, to collect her car. The mechanic was reading it when we arrived. Left it lying on the table, wide open. Put his mug down on it and I could see that it was going to leave a brown ring across the girl’s body, and I didn’t want that so I lifted the mug off. Had a good look at the photo while the mechanic was talking to my mum, something about brake fluid and washers. I was fascinated by her smooth, pale skin. The perfect mounds of her breasts. She looked so … serene, I thought—’
Ali snorts. ‘You couldn’t see the backdrop of exploitation behind her then, eh?’
Angela shakes her head. ‘I’m not sure I agree with you, actually. If you’ve got a beautiful face and a beautiful body, why shouldn’t you show it off?’
Ali feels a tightness in her chest, her vison distorts and she stops walking. An image swims in front of her: blurred edges; a heart-shaped face, baby-doll eyes; hair swirling around. Skin too pale, not smooth though. Although it would’ve been once. The mouth is like a raised scar. Ali blinks, and the image disappears. She clenches her fists, forcing it back into her subconscious.
Not. Real.
She sucks in a breath and carries on walking. ‘I’m sorry,’ Ali says, hoping that her voice sounds normal. ‘I’m tired, so I’m a bit grouchy. Maybe we can have a bit of a lie-down before the welcoming party later. Do you think that would be OK?’ She can still hear Jack behind them, although he hasn’t said a word. His breathing is heavy. He’s exhausted, too. Tiredness, that’s all it is, plus a bit of dehydration. Those things can make your subconscious work overtime. She just needs to get a grip, have a rest. She probably imagined Jack staring at Angela earlier on, too. Surely he wouldn’t be so blatant. Not so soon after they arrived?
Angela opens the door with a heavy brass key. It swings open. ‘I’ve tried to make it nice for you,’ she says. ‘I’ll come back and get you later, OK?’
‘Thank you,’ Ali says, genuinely grateful. She drops her bag on the floor and surveys the room. There’s a large ironwork bed with layers of blankets; long sash windows with curtains made from what looks like stitched-together hessian sacks. There is a low bookcase, a dressing table with an old mirror and a battered-looking wicker chair. An old wooden wardrobe, and a hanging rail beside it. A door that leads off to what she hopes is a bathroom.
Jack follows her inside, pulls the door shut behind him. ‘I’m just going to lie down for a minute,’ he says, flopping onto the bed and kicking his shoes off. ‘Then I’ll unpack.’
She walks into the bathroom, taking in the beauty of the old claw-foot tub in the middle of the room. Perfect. Maybe it won’t be so bad here after all, she thinks. As long as the water is hot. Ali turns on the taps and after a moment, water starts to creak and gurgle and judder through the pipes. She sits on the edge of the bath, watching it spurt out of the taps, foamy and brown. After a while, it settles and starts to flow, clear and hot now, steam billowing. She leans into the bath and drops the heavy metal plug in quickly, trying to avoid burning her hand. Smeaton wasn’t lying then, about the water being hot and in plentiful supply. The bath, too, looks perfect. Wide and deep and just right for a good long soak. She stands and stretches, feeling her muscles popping in protest. How long has she been so tense, so coiled? This place will be good for them. She knows it. They just need a bit of time to adjust.
‘Any idea where the toiletries are?’ she calls out. ‘I’ve got that jar of lavender bath salts that Mrs Edmonds from next door gave me. I’m sure she bought it in a charity shop. I thought it might be just the thing for here…’ She leaves the bath running and closes the door to keep the warmth of the steam in the room. Jack is lying flat out on the bed, half of the blanket under him, the other half over the top, so he’s folded in like a sandwich filling. She smiles to herself, gazing at the peaceful expression on his face, and marvels at the innocence of sleep. Do you dream about it, she wonders. Do you dream about them? Are your unconscious thoughts as dark as your heart? Her expression hardens. Forget it, Ali. She tries to tell herself. They can move on from this. If they allow themselves.
She picks up the leather hold-all that lies at the foot of the bed, and the contents half spill on the floor: shampoo, soap, flannels. Razors. She rummages quietly, glancing up as Jack snorts and rolls over in his sleep. She finds the jar of purple crystals and goes back into the bathroom.
The bath is half filled now. She dips a hand in and checks the temperature. Then turns off the cold tap, leaving the hot running as she unscrews the lid of the jar and tosses in a handful of the scented salts.
Lavender steam fills the air, and she breathes it in deeply as she takes off her clothes.
She turns off the hot tap and gently climbs into the bath. She leans back, letting herself sink down into the soothing depths. The room is filled with steam. No ventilation, no fan. But she likes it. Feels safe, cocooned in the warmth.
She sinks further, her hair swirling around her. Then further still, submerging her face under the water. Bubbles escape from her nose, and she opens her eyes, watching them disappear on the surface.
Peace. This is peace. She closes her eyes.
The cold hits her first. And then the hands. Strong hands, pressing down on her body. The ice-cold water is in her shocked mouth. No, she tries to scream. She thrashes, struggles, arms and legs flying. The cold. It’s so cold. She can’t catch her breath. Terror grips her, like rough hands on her soft skin. Pinning her down. Gripping her. Drowning her. Her eyes fly open.
And then it stops.
There is no one there.
She sits bolt upright, hands gripping the sides of the bath. Her heart hammers. Her lungs burn. She coughs, tasting the lavender in her chest.
‘Jack,’ she tries. But her voice is a croak. ‘Jack…’
With shaking hands, she pulls herself up and manages
to climb out of the bath, grabbing a towel from the rail nearby. She is shivering. She wraps the towel around herself but she can’t warm up. The water … She dips a finger into the bath, and finds the water is still hot. Confused, she opens the bathroom door, and sees that Jack is still lying on the bed. Still sleeping. Oblivious.
It wasn’t real.
She climbs onto the bed beside him, pulling the cover off him and over herself. She doesn’t want to touch him; she’s not ready for that yet. But has no choice. She can’t stop shivering, and she needs his body heat.
With a grunt, he shuffles himself under the covers, turns over and hugs her close. She lies there on her back, staring up at the ceiling, not hugging him back. Not daring to move. Trying to breathe in and out – long slow breaths. After a few moments, she turns towards the bathroom door. In her haste to leave, she’d left it open just a crack, and she imagines she can see something moving in the room beyond.
Shadows, Ali. Just shadows.
‘Jack … are you asleep?’ She knows he is, but she yearns to hear his voice. She needs to know that everything is going to be OK. ‘Jack?’ she says again, turning her head back to face him. ‘Something happened in the…’
Her words catch in her throat. Jack’s eyes are wide open, staring straight ahead – straight to the bathroom door.
‘Jack … Oh my God. What is it?’
She turns over again, pulling herself away from him. But there is nothing there. No one is in the bathroom. She imagined it. Didn’t she?
She turns back. ‘Jack?’ she tries once more.
His eyes are closed again now, his chest rising and falling. He is in a deep sleep. His eyes can’t have been open at all. Just something else that she’s imagined.
She slides closer to him, and his arm flops over her like a dead weight. She’s warm now, but there’s no chance of sleep.
She stares up at the ceiling.
There is a creak of a floorboard up above, and she wonders who is there; whose room is directly above. She reminds herself why it is that they are here. She knows it’s all going to work out. It has to. But that doesn’t stop her wishing that she could go back to her old life, even just for a moment. She didn’t even tell some people that they were leaving. But she knows that it will never be possible. They are here now. She tries to relax, to imagine that maybe things will be OK. Keeps trying to convince herself that nothing happened in the bath, that no one pushed her down, that the water didn’t turn cold and then hot again. Tries to convince herself that she imagined it. That she is overtired – which is hardly surprising considering everything that’s gone on. Everything that’s gone on with Jack. She lies there, wrapped in his arms, feeling alternately trapped and scared, then hopeful and safe. Wild thoughts buzz around her like a manic fly, until finally she falls asleep.
5
Angela
I don’t really know what to think of the newcomers. Not yet. I tried to be engaging, interesting … maybe a little controversial, with my talk of stripping and dancing. But I didn’t get through to her, not really. Not yet. As for him? Not a word. He looked a bit worn-out, though, so maybe it was just that. Maybe I’m expecting too much. They’ve only just arrived. I listen at their door for a few minutes but I don’t hear anything particularly interesting. I’m curious about them. I can’t get a any sense of them. They seem confused, conflicted. I wonder if they’ll settle in this room. If they’ll settle here at all. I hear the creak of the bedsprings as one of them lies down; the screech of the taps as someone runs a bath. I catch a faint whiff of lavender, and then I walk away.
I’m still in the middle of setting things up. I had hoped for longer in their room, but Rose had insisted on helping me clean, even though I wanted to do it myself. I wasn’t able to put any of my equipment in there, which is a shame, but not the end of the world. I might get another chance, once they’re settled and not hiding out in their room, but for now I’ll have to make do with the room above.
I’ve been through all of the rooms with a fine-tooth comb, so I know the best places to put things, and I know which floorboards to avoid. The room above Ali and Jack’s is empty, except for a filing cabinet containing empty cardboard binders. There are lots of gaps between the swinging files, presumably because the authorities took the case notes away with them and put them in a proper place. But they didn’t take everything away. There’s all sorts of medical equipment lying abandoned around the building, but Smeaton has made it clear that we’re not to go near it. He and a few of the others cleared quite a bit of it away when they first arrived, put it into one or two rooms, out of the way. The doors are locked, but I have been in there, once or twice. I’ve seen hard examination beds with straps and shackles attached, clunky electrical equipment swirling with wires. It reminds me of those medieval instruments of torture that I have read about in books, and makes me wonder what went on in this place. I shudder to think.
But this room is one of the saddest in the main block. Empty, dusty. The window dirty and smeared and only letting in a dull yellowing light. No lightbulb in the fitting, but that’s fine because I’ve got my torch, plus a load of candles in jars, just in case. I want to get this done before the last of the daylight goes because, despite everything I am trying to do, I really don’t like being in this part of the building when it’s dark outside. There’s a strange, heavy feeling in the atmosphere here. It presses on my chest, pushes bubbles of panic into my throat. Besides, it won’t take long.
Stepping as lightly as I can, I creep across to the far side of the room, where the chink of light from below escapes upwards, though the gap in the floorboards. I’ve already prepared the camera, attached it to a longer cable than usual, and I have the other end joined to the heavy battery pack.
I can hear her down there. Her voice is full of fear. She is telling Jack about the bath. That something happened to her in there. Interesting, I think. I might have to try and get in there for a look. See if there is something I’ve missed. I’ve long suspected that the bathroom is the source of the strange activity in that room.
I slide the tiny camera through the gap and switch it on. I wish I could watch it in real time, but the wireless link never seems to work properly. I need better equipment, but I work with what I’ve got. There’s only so often I can collect things from the village without arousing suspicion. Smeaton has warned me before – told me what I can and can’t use. So I have to be careful with the cameras. But they’re the only sure-fire way for me to prove anything. Just because I haven’t seen anything yet, doesn’t mean I won’t. I just need to find the right place, and hope that, eventually, something will trigger some activity.
This hospital is definitely haunted. The villagers have told me the stories – about what it was before, long before … about what happened here with the witches. The old house where they kept them before trial might be gone, but we’re right on top of the land on which it stood, and that land is tainted. And I’ve found things too. The room below this is the one I’m most sure about. I can sense it. I’m so close. I just need to keep trying, and one day I’ll find proof.
I switch on the EMF meter. The lights usually flicker when I use it in their room, but today they are a steady green. I wait, trying not to breathe too loudly, in case they hear me.
Ali is still talking to Jack. ‘Are you sure you didn’t come into the bathroom when I was in the bath? I’m sure I felt hands on me…’
‘You imagined it,’ he says.
The lights on the meter stay at green. Nothing is happening. No electromagnetic disturbances. Things are quiet, until another creak of the bedsprings. Either one of them is up now, or they are both lying down. Judging by the silence, I think the latter. If only I could see them … I lean into the corner, try to peer down through the hole, but it is too close to the wall and I can’t squeeze my head into the space to get the right angle. I know what I need to do. I realise how important it is now: I need to go into the village and get a new wireless transmitter for the
camera; hopefully that will be enough to boost the signal back to my device. It was never a huge issue before, when I was placing cameras in more public places – but I realise now, I want to be able to watch this room in real time. Ali is scared of something. Something or someone.
I need to know what it is.
6
Ali
‘What are you doing?’ Jack’s voice is groggy with sleep. He pushes himself up on one elbow, watching her as she pulls on leggings and a long jumper, and shoves her feet into her long boots.
‘I’m not sitting around in here until they call us. I want to have a look around.’
He sighs, rubs his face. ‘Maybe we should wait here. I’m still pretty tired … Why don’t you get back in beside me. A proper cuddle might do us good. What’s the rush? We could just stay in here for a bit longer and—’
‘You can do what you like,’ Ali says. She stands up and looks at herself in the mirror. It’s slightly bevelled and her face seems to shimmer in and out of focus. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail and tilts the mirror down so she can’t see her face anymore.
‘What were you going on about when you got in to bed? Something about the bath…’
‘Forget it,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t making any sense. I was worn out, that’s all.’
