‘Do you really believe that?’ I said, stepping up to the base of the stairs and passing my hand through the polished curved banister. ‘I mean, now that we’re here? Look at the place, Dougie. Yes, it’s old, dusty and creaky, but so is my nan and she ain’t scary.’
‘I beg to differ,’ said Dougie, stepping after me and staying close. ‘Your nan tried to kiss me last Christmas under the mistletoe.’
‘You tried to kiss her, you mean.’
‘That’s right,’ answered Dougie. ‘Snogging grannies is just my bag, mate. She still doesn’t return my calls.’
‘I think she’s been scared off by Bloody Mary,’ I sniggered. ‘It must be hard for the old dear to compete with talent like that.’
‘Putting Mary to one side for a moment – about a hundred miles to one side – what are you trying to say? You don’t think the House is haunted now?’
‘What I’m saying is, I don’t think there’s anything really scary here. An old building like this always gets singled out for ghost stories, and it does look pretty Addams Family on the surface, but I reckon when you blow the dust and cobwebs away, it’s just a piece of history.’
‘We’ve got the wrong end of the stick, mate,’ I went on with a shrug. ‘There’s only one ghost here, and you’re looking at him.’
Dougie sat down on the bottom step, hunching his shoulders as he rubbed his hands together.
‘So why was Borley here?’
‘I’ve absolutely no idea,’ I replied. ‘We’re looking for ghosts. What’s Borley’s excuse?’
‘It’s arctic in here,’ Dougie said, his breath now steaming before his face. He reached up and grabbed the banister, about to haul himself up.
‘Bloody hell!’ he shouted, crying out as his hand remained fixed to the polished wood.
‘What’s the matter?’
I watched as my friend struggled to remove his hand from the rail. I could see his skin clinging to the surface, frost spreading across the banister in a wave of tiny white crystals. He tried to pry his fingers loose with his free hand, his teeth chattering as he spoke.
‘My hand’s stuck! The wood’s f-f-freezing!’
‘What? How can that be?’
Dougie’s breath was billowing and clouding around him now as if he were on fire. Even I felt it – heaven knows how – the temperature drop striking at my own cold dead heart. Dougie’s eyes were wide suddenly as he stared up the staircase toward the first-floor landing. It was my turn to follow his gaze.
She was probably a touch younger than us, maybe Year Seven, pale blonde hair tied into pigtails with red ribbons. I didn’t recognise her uniform, a drab grey pinafore and tights with a threadbare cardigan over the top. Her head was dipped, chin resting upon her chest so her face was obscured.
‘Who are you?’ I said to her. ‘Why are you here?’
Dougie whimpered beside me, slowly prising his fingers away from the frozen wooden rail. He was gasping with cold. I knew he couldn’t survive in this temperature more than a few minutes.
The girl’s head rose suddenly, revealing her pale face. Her eyes were closed, as if she were sleepwalking. She swayed ever so slightly. I advanced up the staircase, my ghostly feet brushing the steps.
‘Be careful!’ I called to her.
The girl’s eyes flew open. Twin pools of black stared out at us, voids of terrible darkness that grew as Dougie and I watched in horror. Like Munch’s painting, her jaw yawned open to monstrous proportions, as screams of our own escaped our lips. A banshee wail washed over the pair of us in a sickening wave.
I turned, rushing through the petrified Dougie and stirring him into action. He ripped his hand free from the banister and ran through the debris of the hall, dashing for the window he’d entered by. I was there, waiting for him, beyond the walls of the red-brick building as my friend came tumbling through the splintered window frame. He landed in some brambles and scrambled up, still gibbering with cold as the girl’s ghostly cry sent us on our way. I glanced back just the once, as the dark red House at our back was swallowed up by the gathering night.
FOURTEEN
Shaken and Stirred
‘Well?’ I said. ‘What the hell happened back there?’
We were back in Dougie’s house, safely ensconced in the bathroom. Beside me, Dougie gargled and spat, a glob of foamy toothpaste hitting the sink. ‘We saw a ghost! Scratch that, another flipping ghost! A scary one this time.’
‘What’s that, son?’ shouted Mr Hancock from downstairs, a hint of concern in his voice.
‘Nothing, Dad. Just er . . . talking to myself, ’ he called out.
‘Great,’ muttered Dougie. ‘Now Dad’ll think I’m insane. The day just gets better.’
He popped his toothbrush into the pot and stared into the bathroom mirror. The bleary, black-ringed eyes glared back, his shaven head shiny under the ceiling spotlights.
‘Look at the state of me,’ he sighed.
‘You look like death, and I should know,’ I replied. ‘Sorry. Couldn’t help it.’
‘I set ’em up, you knock ’em in,’ he said, turning and stepping through the bathroom doorway. The fact that I was filling the space caused him no concern, my best mate walked through me as if I wasn’t even there, then stomped off to his bedroom.
‘That’s still really rude,’ I said, shivering before following behind him. There might not have been a physical sensation when anything passed through my ghostly form, but it was still impossible to get used to.
‘Anyway, what happened to you saying there weren’t any spooks there apart from you?’
‘So I get things wrong occasionally,’ I shrugged sheepishly. In that moment it was clear I’d still an awful lot to learn about being a ghost. Perhaps I was too connected to the world of the living?
‘That was the freakiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,’ said Dougie, ‘and bear in mind I’ve seen you in the knack at the swimming baths.’
‘I wonder who she was, how she came to be there,’ I whispered as Dougie collapsed on to his bed. ‘There’s probably a record of her death somewhere. Someone must know.’
‘All I know is she’s gotta be bad news,’ he replied, shivering as he stared up at the ceiling. ‘Her face. God, I’ve never seen anything like that before. Never want to again. The face-melting spectres at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark made me pee my pants when I was eight, but they were nothing compared to her.’
‘I felt it too,’ I said. ‘I might not have a body, but I felt the fear as sure as you did.’
I thought again about that terrible face, contorting and twisting out of shape as her scream sent us running. The horror had been all too real to us, but there was more to it than that. I was missing something, I was sure of it.
‘Perhaps it’s her fear we’re feeling, rather than our own?’
Dougie shook his head. ‘That felt like my fear all right.’
‘Maybe it was transference? I’ve noticed that when you get anxious or frightened, so do I. It happened at the House, and before then too, when Vinnie Savage and his mates were taunting you. I can’t explain it but we’ve some sort of connection. Just as your feelings seem to cross over to me, perhaps we were somehow picking up on hers? Maybe she was just lonely, or miserable? Perhaps she was as afraid of us as we were of her?’
‘Mate, she was dishing out the fear,’ Dougie said. ‘I didn’t feel sorry for her. I was scared of her. Still am, for that matter. ’
‘We need to go back.’
‘Are you on crazy pills or what?’ he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in bed. ‘There’s no way on earth I’m returning to Red Brook House now. Not after that.’
‘But we need to try and speak with her. She might be able to help. Can’t you see that?’
‘You want to know what I see? I see her finishing the job if we go back there.’
‘Finishing the job?’
Dougie raised a hand, revealing the frost-burned flesh that marked his palm. ‘I’ve left a good few
layers of skin on that banister. The unnatural cold, the sickening screams; who knows what other tricks she’s got up her sleeve? Who’s to say she won’t try and kill me if I go back?’
‘You’re just being stupid now.’
‘Easy for you to say, you’ve nothing to be afraid of: you’re already dead!’
‘I felt the same fear as you, Dougie. You, me, her – there was a connection of some kind, I’m sure of it. She didn’t want you dead. She just wanted you out of there, I reckon.’
‘All the more reason why we don’t return then,’ he said, collapsing back into his pillow. ‘She made a very convincing argument. I’m sold.’
‘But she might have answers,’ I snarled, getting angry now. ‘If I can just speak to her, try and reason with her, show her we’re no threat—’
‘I ain’t going back,’ said Dougie, shaking his head, arms folded.
‘Then I’ll go alone.’
‘Good luck with that. You’re unable to leave me, aren’t you?’
‘It’s my only chance to find out what’s going on with this ghost lark. Please, Dougie . . .’
‘No! It’s not all about you, you know. I’m not going, so stop pestering me!’
My temper finally got the better of me in the face of Dougie’s stubborn responses. I lashed my pale, ghostly fist out, punching at thin air, letting out my pent-up frustration. The anglepoise on Dougie’s bedside table suddenly spun around in its housing. The lamp head struck the wall and the bulb shattered. Once again, a smear of goo oozed from the point of impact, trickling in globs down the wallpaper.
‘What. The. Hell?’ Even by the dim light of the landing I could see that Dougie’s eyes were wide like saucers. ‘Again with the vandalising my bedroom! I’ll have nothing left of my allowance at this rate. How do you do that?’
‘I didn’t do anything!’ I gasped, scared by my own power. ‘You must’ve knocked it that time!’
‘With my arms folded? I suppose that’s my ectoplasm too?’
I stared at my trembling hands and back to the broken lamp. How could I have done that? That was the second time I’d properly connected with something solid in the real world. Was it connected to my emotions?
‘Will,’ said Dougie quietly, ‘I can’t do this. I’m not going back to the House. Not after what happened. I can handle you. You’re my mate. But what we saw back there . . . I’m not ready to face that again. I’d do anything else, but not that.’
‘What about Borley?’ I whispered. ‘Isn’t that worth investigating?’ I was desperately racking my brains for reasons why Dougie should go back – and Borley seemed a good starting point. Dougie had always loved a good mystery.
‘Maybe. One day.’ He shrugged. ‘Dunno. But the way I feel right now . . . One ghost in my life is more than enough. You might think she isn’t dangerous, but not all ghosts are good guys like you.’
‘But—’
‘No buts,’ he said, raising his scarred hand to silence me. ‘Monstrous phantoms and hit-and-runs – it all scares me something stupid, Will. It’s my life on the line now, and if we’re going to find out why you’re trapped here, I suggest we start looking in the light instead of searching the dark places.’
‘Looking in the light?’
‘That unfinished business you said you had? Remember?’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Perhaps we’ve been searching for answers in the wrong place. We’ve been chasing ghosts and killer cars when perhaps the truth lies closer to home. Perhaps it is love that’s keeping you here.’
I managed to smile, my dark mood lifting as I thought back to that fleeting moment of happiness on the night of my death. Closing my eyes, I could still taste her kiss, if I concentrated really hard.
‘Lucy Carpenter,’ I said. ‘I thought you didn’t believe me?’
‘Perhaps she does hold the key after all,’ he said with a grin. ‘If I can speak with her, put you in touch with each other, maybe then you can move on?’
‘And how do you do that?’
‘It won’t be easy,’ replied Dougie. ‘I’m not in her class for anything, and her spare time’s taken up with hockey and dance. I need to get close to her.’
‘I’ve seen you dance: it looks like you’re having a fit. You any good at hockey?’
He fell back on to the duvet and sighed. ‘I guess we’re going to find out.’
FIFTEEN
Hide and Seek
They say you never forget your first kiss. Mine was cherry-flavoured – lip balm to be precise. In a matter of moments my favourite flavour in the world had shifted from Chunky Kit-Kat to cherry and I’d felt no remorse. The chocolate had had a good run, it couldn’t complain. Let the little kids have the brown stuff; I’d moved on.
I know what you’re thinking: fifteen years old and this is his first kiss? I’d love to tell you that I was saving myself for Miss Right to come flouncing round the corner, but who am I kidding? I’d always been painfully shy around the fairer sex. Acne and a tinge of ginge in my hair didn’t do much for my self-esteem. My comfort zone was based predominantly around making girls laugh, a bit of cheeky banter ensuring I was noticed in the crowd. But the moment a friendship had the potential to move on to something bigger that involved sweaty palms, racing heartbeats and gut-wrenching bouts of nausea, I’d retreat into myself. It’s safe to say that up until that cherry kiss I was pretty much girlphobic.
I’d had a crush on Lucy Carpenter since I’d started high school. I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing her on our first induction day: dark hair, green eyes and a beguiling smile that whispered of mischief. She was clever too, top set just like me and, for whatever reason – possibly a head trauma – she liked me. Not as boyfriend material, you understand, but I made her giggle. We wrote messages to one another during classes in the backs of our homework diaries. She always had boyfriends: big lads, the kind who sauntered out of the school gate for sly smokes at break time. I was never going to get a look-in, so I never tried. I was happy just to get a laugh from her. Never in a million years did I ever imagine I’d steal a kiss.
Her boyfriend, Vinnie Savage, was out of the picture, having been dumped the previous week. She and I had found ourselves alone in a dark corner of the precinct that fateful night. And she had kissed me. Lucy bloody Carpenter had kissed me! No words had been spoken, no feelings exchanged – her friends had hollered, calling her back to the pack. I’d been left to fumble my way into my bike saddle and set off on my way, to Dougie’s house. To tell him my news. Only, as we well know, I never got there . . .
Loitering around the hockey pitch hadn’t been our first plan of action when it came to catching Lucy’s eye. We’d resorted to this after all else had failed. The ever charming Vinnie Savage was firmly back on the scene and in Lucy’s life. He was a hulking shadow, following her wherever she went. That made normal approaches to catch her attention nigh on impossible. For whatever reason, Savage had taken a particular dislike to my buddy. Seeing Lucy, one on one, was proving a decidedly tricky challenge for my chum.
Initial attempts to catch Lucy’s attention had involved Dougie hanging around the dance studio as the girls filed in and out. This had been short-lived, with the fierce Miss Roberts, the head of girls’ PE, chasing him off. Putting his name down for the hockey team try-outs hadn’t been such a good idea either. Nobody had mentioned to Dougie that the hockey team was girls only, and when he appeared one lunch hour for the trials – the sole boy in a sea of girls – it was yet again Miss Roberts who sent him away. Shamefaced, he’d sloped off, deciding to choose a different approach for attracting Lucy’s attention.
‘You know, of all your ideas, this looks the worst by some distance,’ I said as Dougie shuffled through the bushes beside the hockey field. A steady stream of short-skirted girls filed out of the sports block, spreading out on to the pitch, drawing ever nearer. In the week since our nerve-shredding visit to the House, Dougie’s eye make-up had faded and his hair had started growin
g back, making him now look less Humpty Dumpty and more like Action Man. Still, I didn’t reckon it would end well should any of the girls spy him in the bushes. Of the girl in the House, little had been said, but her existence hung over the pair of us like a dark, brooding shadow.
‘I didn’t see you coming up with any better plans,’ Dougie scowled. ‘She’s always got someone with her. If it’s not Vinnie and his pack sniffing about then it’s her girlfriends. She’s never alone!’
‘She isn’t alone here, either,’ I replied. ‘If you hadn’t noticed, she’s playing in a hockey team.’
‘Ah, but she’s a winger, isn’t she? She’ll be up and down the touchline, so I can grab her for a chat.’
‘Mate, you shouldn’t even be here. If Miss Roberts catches you after the other incidents, she’ll have you in front of Goodman before you know it. She already thinks you’re a pervert.’
‘Hush,’ he said with a wave of the hand. ‘Here she comes. ’
And there she was, walking towards us, her best mate Annabel Groves at her side. Each of them carried a hockey stick, and both wore the distinctive school games kit. The girls’ giggles were interrupted as Dougie suddenly stood upright, the bushes parting around him. Annabel shrieked as Lucy stopped in her tracks, both of them hoisting their sticks defensively.
‘Um . . . hello!’ said Dougie, rocking from one foot to the other, his hands buried in his trouser pockets. He’d never been good at talking with girls, often turning into a bag of nerves in their presence. Bloody Mary had provided her own challenges, being an older and far more intimidating presence, but Dougie had just played a character there. The hapless ‘Nosebleed’ wasn’t one of his finest creations. This encounter looked decidedly trickier: he had nowhere to hide, no mask to hide behind. He had to be himself. With Lucy, an undisputed beauty, his go-to approach usually involved talking gibberish or breathtaking silence. It was all or nothing with Dougie.
Annabel glared at him before turning to her friend. ‘Miss Roberts said we were to tell her if he turned up again. He’s one of them Peeping Toms – you’re not really going to speak to him, are you?’
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