“Bull House, where Tom Paine lived,” he said, “is he still there?”
“I’ve never been inside,” Ruby replied. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“But what if he is?” Cash pressed further.
“Then maybe the current owners are happy to live alongside him.”
“That happens?” Cash was incredulous.
“It happens.”
“What about The White Hart Hotel, that’s got to be haunted.”
“I know one of the managers there; they know what I do but they’ve never contacted me. I think that answers that question.”
“And The Judges Inn, it’s as haunted as The Pelham Arms apparently.”
“A rumour the landlord encourages,” Ruby confided. “It helps bring the punters in.”
Ruby burst out laughing.
“What?” Cash came to a halt.
“You,” she said. “You look so disappointed.”
“I’m surprised, that’s all,” he replied a little ruefully.
“You’re more likely to find a spirit in Waitrose than in The Judges Inn, I’m telling you.”
“Really?”
“No, not really!” Ruby giggled again. “What I’m trying to say is that spirits don’t conform to stereotype, they’re not always to be found in the most obvious of places.”
Picking up pace once more they soon reached the top of the High Street. Cash nodded over the road at St Anne’s church, raised up above the pavement on its own hillock it made an imposing silhouette against the night sky with its surrounding graveyard.
“Now, that, you have to admit, by moonlight at least, is spooky.”
“Peaceful, I’d say,” replied Ruby wistfully.
Again they stopped, this time to stare across at the various stone markers depicting lives long gone.
“Peaceful,” Cash repeated after a few moments, “Yeah, that’s another way of looking at it.”
The beginnings of understanding, thought Ruby, before turning into Irelands Lane towards home.
Chapter Ten
Ruby and Cash put in an early appearance at her office the next day. Before saying goodbye the previous night, they had made plans to spend the morning together. He was ahead of schedule at the moment, so he could spare a few hours to work on ideas for her website. She, meanwhile, would continue to try and find out about Lytton. If they managed to make enough headway they might even nip up to the Pelham Arms for lunch.
Cash sat down at the meeting table and pressed his laptop into action. Ruby, meanwhile, switched on the kettle. As soon as the room started to warm up, Jed sloped in and settled himself in front of the heater. As he did so, Ruby noticed Cash look up, albeit briefly.
Waiting for the kettle to boil, Ruby wandered over to her desk calendar. Christmas was just three weeks away. It’d be nice to have the Highdown Hall case done and dusted by then. She could then look forward to a week off over the festive holidays, spending it with her mother and grandmother in Hastings, fantasising already about the evocative smell of homemade orange and cinnamon mince pies, a family recipe passed down through the ages.
Settling herself down, she was just about to type ‘Cynthia Hart, Lytton’ once again into Google when the phone rang.
“Hello, Psychic Surveys,” Ruby answered.
“I need your help. I can’t stand it anymore.”
After urging the distressed man to calm down, Ruby ascertained that he lived in a flat in Brighton, his name was Paul Ashton and he believed he was being haunted. Not only did his flat have a ‘nasty’ feel to it, he had experienced somebody pressing down on him several times as he attempted to sleep, as though trying to suffocate him. What’s more – and this was the last straw, Ruby gathered – his cat, Lips, now had to be fed outside, refusing to enter the house.
“My brother phoned me yesterday,” the man continued, hardly drawing breath, “and he could hear screaming on the line. Of course he asked me what the heck was going on at my end but I didn’t know. I heard nothing, just my brother’s voice. He told me he had a really bad feeling about what was happening in the flat and to get out quick. He said the screaming sounded evil. But I can’t just leave; my brother lives miles away in Leicester, I live in Brighton, I work in Brighton. I have to stay. Please, I’m not imagining this. Help me.”
“When was the last time you experienced an attack?” asked Ruby, all thoughts of Lytton temporarily suspended.
“Last night. I’m hardly sleeping. I’m too afraid.”
“And did you know the former occupant?”
“No, but I’ve heard about him from the neighbours, a right wrong ’un he was apparently, into drugs and all sorts.”
Grabbing a pen, Ruby said, “Look, give me your full address, I can be with you in less than an hour, is that okay?”
“Less than an hour? Oh, thank you, thank you so much.”
“No problem,” said Ruby. Before he could ring off, however, she remembered to ask how he had heard of Psychic Surveys.
“My friend in Hove, his son had a ghost in his bedroom; you managed to get rid of it. The Carters. Look, I don’t care how much it costs. I’ll pay anything. Just help me.”
“The Carters, yes of course,” said Ruby, replacing the receiver, more determined than ever that Mr Kierney would not tarnish in any way their growing reputation.
“Lytton, Lytton...” mused Cash in the background. “I can’t find any mention of him in relation to Cynthia Hart. It would help if we had a first name I suppose.”
“Aren’t you working on my website?” Ruby said, surprised.
“I am, but I thought I’d have a quick look for information whilst you were on the phone, see if I could find anything that might help.”
“Oh, right, thanks. The search for Lytton, however, will have to wait. I need to go into Brighton to do an urgent survey and possible cleansing. The man that just rang, Mr Ashton, he’s pretty distraught, he can’t wait.”
“Okay, I’ll get my things.”
“Why?” queried Ruby.
“I’m coming with you, of course.”
“You don’t need to,” Ruby assured him.
“Yes I do. You know, Ruby, sometimes I think your job is really quite a risky one.”
“Look, I’ve told you,” said Ruby, reaching for her coat, “I always make sure I’m fully protected before I make contact with the other side.”
Cash pulled on his own coat. “I’m not talking about pissed-off spirits; I’m talking about the real live people complaining about them. You rush round to their houses, often alone it seems, and you’ve no idea who they are, not really. They could be waiting for you with a pickaxe or something, more dangerous than any ghost.”
“You really are quite paranoid aren’t you?” said Ruby, hunting for her car keys.
“And you’re not paranoid enough.”
Before descending the stairs, Ruby turned to look at him. Who did Cash think he was? Some sort of protector? The genuine concern in his eyes, however, softened her reply.
“I’ve been okay up until now. But thanks for caring.”
“I know we’ve only just met, but I do care, Ruby Davis. Honestly. I worry about you.”
His words startled her. He cared about her, in what way? As a friend? As something more? Damn her intuition for stubbornly remaining silent on the matter.
Reminding herself that someone urgently needed her help, she carried on down the stairs. At the bottom, she delved into her pocket for her mobile phone.
“Hang on, I’ve just got to phone Theo,” she said, more to herself than Cash.
A few minutes later, Theo had promised to find out as much as she could about Cynthia Hart and Lytton and to report back as soon as she could. Suggesting that Ruby continued with online research, Theo would go instead to East Sussex Record Office, recently named The Keep, near the Falmer university sites. She’d rope in Ness too – Ness was big chums with the person in charge there, often negating the need to make an appointment to visit.
; As they reached her car, Ruby stopped briefly.
“If you’re going to insist on accompanying me to surveys, I’m going to end up owing you much more than the price of a website!” she said, not entirely joking.
“Its payment enough just being with you,” he replied, still deadly serious.
***
“How come you haven’t called the team in for this one?” quizzed Cash as Ruby just about made it through the lights at the Kingston Roundabout.
“Psychic Surveys is my company, so it follows I do the lion’s share of cases. I only tend to call in the team when the workload gets heavy or when a spirit is resistant.”
“What do the others do the rest of the time?”
“Corinna works in a pub, Theo and Ness are largely retired. Well, as much as you can retire from being a psychic. Ness used to work with Sussex Police, but she quit that a while ago.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Not that I know of, but she warned me off working for Sussex Police when they approached me, so I’m not sure her experience with them was entirely positive.”
“They approached you?” Cash looked impressed.
“Yeah, but I’ve decided to specialise in domestic cases for now.”
“Hmm...” Cash appeared to contemplate this. “It could get heavy with the police I suppose.”
“I imagine so.”
“Corinna, is she as psychic as the rest of you?”
“No, she’s more of a sensitive.”
“A sensitive? And the difference is?”
“It’s hard to explain,” answered Ruby, passing Sussex University to her right and the city’s much loved Falmer Stadium, home to Brighton and Hove Albion football club, on her left. “In general though, a sensitive is able to feel when a spirit is around. A psychic, on the other hand, can communicate with spirits. For some psychics, it’s a one-way communication; they can hear spirits but can’t reply to them, for others, like me, Theo and Ness, it’s more of a two-way thing. There’s no hard and fast rule though, psychics, mediums and sensitives, they don’t tend to slot into neat grooves; occasionally skills cross over.”
Her explanation seemed to satisfy Cash.
After a while, another question occurred to him.
“This spirit, in the house we’re going to, what if it’s resistant?”
“Keep everything crossed it isn’t,” said Ruby, and then looking into her rear view mirror she added, “Oh good, Jed’s here.”
***
Pulling into Compton Road, close to the Seven Dials area of Brighton, Ruby found a place to park and pumped coins into the meter. It was three pounds fifty for the privilege instead of the normal two pounds; yet again the council had seen fit to increase charges without notice. Slightly perturbed, she returned to Cash and led him to Ashton’s flat; pressing the lower doorbell marked Flat 1, the one with his name tag sellotaped above it.
The door opened swiftly. Hurriedly, they were invited in.
Straightaway Ruby could sense a presence in the flat, there was anger, confusion and despair by the truck load. As Mr Ashton started to go into great detail once again about what he had experienced, Ruby took note of his pallor. It was ashen, unhealthy – a common symptom of an ‘intelligent’ haunting. The spirit who resided there was feeding on his life force, draining him – no wonder the cat had moved out, eager to avoid the same fate.
After he had finished speaking, Ruby asked Mr Ashton if he would like to stay whilst she attempted to make a connection, or whether he’d prefer to leave them to it.
“I should probably stay,” he replied. “But not inside, I’ll wait in the garden. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine,” nodded Ruby.
“How long will it take?” Mr Ashton asked again.
How long is a piece of string?
Instead, Ruby answered, “There’s no hard and fast timescale, an hour or so, sometimes less, sometimes more. Look, it’s not very nice outside, it’s starting to drizzle, why don’t you wait in the kitchen?”
“The garden’s fine, honestly,” said Mr Ashton, backing towards the kitchen where, presumably, the exit to the garden was. Ruby wondered if Lips would be waiting for him, equally as nervous.
After he had left, Ruby turned to Cash.
Noting he was still wearing her necklace, the one she had given him at Highdown Hall, she pointed to it and said, “You might as well keep that, its effective protection.”
At once, his hand flew up to his neck. “Oh, sorry, I meant to give it back.”
“No, really, it’s fine, keep it; it looks better on you than me anyway.”
A smile lit up his face.
“Are you sure?” He looked almost shy, endearingly so Ruby decided. “I do like it.”
“I’m sure, now get the smudge sticks burning and start cleansing every corner of every room like I showed you. A lot of negative energy has built up in here.”
“Then the bells?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Then the bells,” she couldn’t help but smile. “You’ll find a range of oils in the bag too, eucalyptus, pine, lavender and citrus – pick one, it doesn’t matter which, they all cleanse, scatter a few drops in every room. And see if you can open a few windows, change the air.”
As Cash unzipped the black holdall they had brought in with them, Ruby made her way into the living room. Here the atmosphere was much denser than in the rest of the flat, and a degree or two colder. This was obviously the room the spirit favoured, perhaps it was where he’d spent most of his time when alive.
Looking around, it was obvious Paul Ashton was a bachelor; there were no feminine niceties at all, no photos in frames of happy faces smiling, no trinkets on the mantelpiece, no flowers to give colour. It was purely functional with a sofa, an armchair, a coffee table, plasma TV, PlayStation and little else. The walls were an unprepossessing magnolia and looked chipped in places, in need of a fresh coat. Only one piece of artwork graced them: a lake scene, which also managed to be bland and anonymous despite the artist’s deft hand. And, despite it being so close to Christmas, the house was bauble and tinsel free. Mind you, so was hers at the moment, so she could hardly hold that against him. Briefly, she wondered what Cash’s flat was like, whether it had more personality than this one. If rooms were a reflection of the person who lived in them, she was certain it would.
Closing her eyes, Ruby kick-started the process, introducing herself to the spirit and informing it, as she had informed Cynthia, that she meant no harm, she was here to help.
It took a few moments, but eventually a connection was made. A mental image of a man popped into her mind, so thin he looked ravaged.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
David.
Another image: this time a hypodermic needle, empty, discarded. Heroin, she guessed. But it was not the heroin that killed him, Ruby sensed, not directly anyway. It was an illness not his drug addiction – an illness that had attacked his brain as well as his body.
Far from a ‘wrong ‘un’, Ruby pitied his wretchedness.
“David, I’ve come to help you, to explain to you that you have left your physical body and have passed into the realm of spirit. Although you’d been ill for a while, I think your passing was sudden, unexpected. I get the impression you felt you had more time. But David, I’m sorry, you didn’t. Your life here has come to an end; you need to move on, the next part of your spiritual journey awaits you.”
Allowing David time to consider her words, Ruby paused. An ashtray, full of cigarette butts on the arm of the sofa moved slightly. After a few moments she spoke again.
“Can you see a light David? It’s shining before you. The light is home. Don’t be afraid, go towards it. There are loved ones waiting for you in the light, eager to see you again.”
A growl of anguish echoed around the room; the living room grew colder still. If she breathed out now she was sure her breath would form a cloud in front of her.
Ruby remained undaunted.
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“David, you must pass, you cannot stay here. This flat, it belongs solely to the living now. It’s of no use to you anyway; walls cannot confine you any longer. Let it go David, take the next step. Make your way to the light. There is only love and comfort in the light. There is no judgement, there is no pain or heartache, such things have no place there.”
The ashtray flew off the arm of the sofa, its contents rudely scattered. At that exact moment, screaming erupted, agonised screaming, perhaps the screaming Paul’s brother had heard down the telephone, bouncing off every wall, encircling her. Although dramatic, she wasn’t startled. Far from evil, Ruby recognised its pure despair.
As she braced herself, Jed appeared by her side, his nose sniffing the air, curious.
“Go on, boy,” said Ruby, noting the sound of bells coming from another room in the flat, Cash hard at work. “Go and see what you can do.”
Ever obedient, Jed sloped forward. Unfortunately, David was not as enamoured by him as the child spirit, Timothy, had been. Quickly he returned to Ruby’s side, yelping.
Slowly, in the corner of the room, behind the black screen of the TV, a shape began to make itself known. Desperation could lend spirits strength and that seemed to be the case with David. He was faint at first, but quickly he grew stronger, his ethereal features contorted, his eyes glaring – a frightening sight to some. Ruby sincerely hoped Cash wouldn’t choose this moment to return to the living room. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to see David; that he would remain oblivious, but she didn’t want to risk it either.
Without warning the spirit flew at her. Ruby had already visualised a white shield around herself and Cash before entering the flat, standard protection stuff. And, as she had every faith it would, it held firm, David unable to penetrate. Frustrated, he hurled himself against it, over and over again, increasing in force each time. The shield rippled slightly she noticed, frustration and anger a potent mix.
Jed, meanwhile, had fled. Alone with David, she concentrated on pouring forth light and love.
The Haunting of Highdown Hall Page 10
