by Amy Cross
Stepping over to the nearest door, I peer through and see another empty room. I check a couple more doors, before realizing that either I imagined the whole thing, or my dumb little brother is playing games with me. I honestly didn't think he was smart or brave enough to come sneaking up behind me, but I guess I shouldn't completely underestimate him.
“Okay,” I say finally, turning and heading back along toward the junction. “Do what you want. I'm too old to play dumb games.”
Taking the left turn, I make my way along yet another uneventful corridor, entertaining myself by glancing into empty room after empty room. At the far end, I find myself in what appears to be a dead-end, although after a moment I spot a door in the corner and I head over, only to find that it's locked. I try a couple more times, but clearly someone just forgot to leave this one open.
Wandering over to the window, I turn the latch and then slide the frame up. A gust of cool wind blows against me as I lean out and look along the side of the building. Sure enough, there's clearly a fairly large section behind the locked door, but I guess I'll have to wait until morning to explore properly. Then again, as I lean a little further out, I realize I can see an exterior door down below, leading off from one of the house's corners, which might offer another way into the section I can't access. I know it'd be crazy to go down there now, but my curiosity is piqued. I'm not tired, and I'm already pretty cold, and -
Suddenly I spot something moving in one of the other windows. My heart leaps a little as I look along and realize that the window is on the other side of the locked door. I tell myself it could have been a shadow, or maybe a reflection, but I can't help staring at the window and waiting a moment. All my bravery is suddenly feeling kind of delicate, and the fear is creeping back into my chest. Holding on tight to the window-frame, I lean out even further, craning my neck in an attempt to get a better view through the other window. Not quite managing to see anything, I lean further again, and then further still, balancing carefully in a desperate attempt to -
Slipping suddenly, I feel my body-weight tipping out through the window. At the same time, my hand slips from the frame and I topple forward, letting out a brief cry before I manage to grab the frame again.
Staring down, I see the gravel path several meters below. My heart is pounding and I'm short of breath as I realize that I just came really close to falling. Telling myself that I should be more careful, I adjust my grip on the frame, ready to pull myself in.
And that's when I feel the hand on my waist.
I freeze, holding my breath. Something's definitely touching my waist from behind, and I swear it feels like there are fingers holding me tight, trying to keep me from falling.
“Nathan?” I whisper, not quite daring to turn.
Still holding my breath, I wait, but I'm pretty sure my brother would have said something by now.
“Nathan, is that you?”
I wait.
Finally I take a slow, cautious breath, and then I exhale. The movement allows me to feel the hand better, and it definitely is a hand, holding my waist just above the hip. A moment later, the hand moves away entirely.
“Ha-ha, Nathan,” I mutter, pulling myself in and turning to him. “You're so -”
Except he's not there.
Staying completely still, I stare across the dark, empty room and see that there's no-one else nearby. There's no way he could have run out of sight, not in the fraction of a second it took me to turn around, but at the same time I can see that there's absolutely no sign of him at all.
“Very good,” I say cautiously, figuring that the last thing I want is for him to think he's spooked me. “I don't know where you're hiding, but I'm actually slightly impressed. Happy now?”
I wait.
Silence.
After a moment, I feel a faint breeze blowing in through the window, ruffling the hair on the back of my head. Turning, I slide the window down and lock it, before looking across the room again. I keep expecting to suddenly spot the perfect hiding place, so I can go and haul Nathan out, but there's genuinely no sign of him.
Heading to the door, I try the handle again, but it's still locked.
Then again, Nathan might have found the key and... Well, there are loads of possibilities. There are so many, I can't even be bothered to think of them all.
“Okay, dweeb,” I continue, heading to the corridor, figuring I should get back to the other part of the house and go to bed. “Have fun through here. I'm done exploring for one night.”
I'm not scared, I tell myself as I make my way along the corridor. I'm just tired and sick of my brother's jokes. Still, I quicken my pace, and by the time I get to the top of the stairs I'm almost running.
Chapter Fifteen
“Nice try, loser,” I mutter, nudging Nathan's arm as I make my way around the breakfast table the following morning. “I'm nearly impressed.”
“By what?” he asks, turning to me with a mouth full of cereal.
“You'll have to show me how you did it later,” I add, opening the cereal tubs but not finding Cheerios anywhere. “Do we only have cornflakes?” I ask, turning to Dad.
“I think there's more,” he replies, taking a sip of coffee. “Maybe in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.”
Heading back around the table, I nudge Nathan's shoulder again. “You didn't scare me, you know. It'd take a lot more than that?”
“What are you talking about?” he asks again, sounding frustrated.
I stick my tongue out.
“Did you know there are dead bodies here?” he continues.
“Liar.”
“Its true!” He turns to Dad. “Tell her! There are dead bodies in that stone building in the forest!”
“Eat your breakfast,” Dad mutters.
“Tell her!”
“It's not true at all,” I say sourly, before looking over at Dad. “It's not, is it?”
“There's a mausoleum,” he replies, between bites of toast. “It's where your aunt's family has traditionally stored their dead. It's like a graveyard, but more... familial.”
“No way,” I whisper, shocked by the idea. “Why would they do that?”
“Because they're a bunch of toffs with too much money on their hands,” he continues. “Anyway, it doesn't matter, not really. It's their side of the family, not ours. The Switheringtons have always been a little weird.”
“I bet they get up and walk about at night,” Nathan says with a grin, as if he's deliberately trying his best to scare me. “I bet they moan and groan.”
Ignoring him, I head through to the reception room and then over to the door that leads into the kitchen, only to slow and stop as I realize I can my mother's hushed, angry voice coming from the next room.
“Oh, don't give me that bullshit!” she's saying, followed by the tell-tale sound of her taking a long, slow puff on a cigarette. “The tired old hippy act might work on some people, but you're not sneaking anything past me! Have you been to see a doctor about your head?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Aunt Emily replies, sounding flustered. “There's nothing wrong with my head.”
“Your hands shake.”
“Not all the time!”
“Enough to show that something's wrong. I'm saying this as your sister, Em. I'm worried about you and I think you need to seek professional help.”
Hearing footsteps coming closer, I slip aside to make sure that I'm not spotted. Holding my breath, I listen to the sound of someone going through one of the cupboards.
“Are you ignoring me?” Mum asks after a moment. “Is that your new strategy?”
“What do you want me to say?” my aunt replies.
“I want you to say that you understand why I'm here. Em, I've kept to my word and left you alone most of the time, but you need to answer the fucking phone once in a while, or I'm going to think something's wrong. Would it kill you to just pick the damn thing up and tell me everything's okay with you? Or is that too much fucking respo
nsibility for a hippy-dippy flower child?”
“I don't like it when you talk that way,” Emily replies, her voice sounding frail and troubled. “Some of the language you use around your children -”
“I don't need your advice!”
“And all that smoke!”
“They like it. By exposing them to it now, I'm making them more resilient to cancer when they grow up.”
“I'm not sure it works like that,” Aunt Emily tells her.
“My children are growing up just fine, thank you very much,” Mum says tartly. “It's alright for you, swanning around in this massive house, without a care in the world and -”
“That's not fair!”
“No, it's not! It's fucking ridiculous, but these are the cards fate has -”
She stops suddenly, and I realize I might have let my shoulder brush against the wall. A moment later I hear footsteps storming this way, so I quickly turn and duck down behind one of the armchairs.
“I thought I heard something,” Mum says, stopping in the doorway.
I can see her feet on the other side of the chair, but I don't think she knows I'm here. It'd better stay that way, too, because I know she'd hate to think I was spying on her. Mum has always been a pretty secretive, reserved person, and she'll be sour with me for the rest of the weekend if I'm discovered. She hates it if she thinks I have secrets, but she also hates it if she can't keep her own.
“You know what this house is like,” Emily says after a moment. “I warned you it hadn't changed.”
“You haven't changed either,” Mum continues, turning and heading back into the kitchen. “You're still as jumpy and inclined to believe utter crap as ever. I can't even begin to imagine what it's like for you here when you don't have visitors, Em. You must rattle around the place like a lunatic.” I hear her taking another drag on her cigarette. “There's only one ghost at Auercliff, and it's you.”
“Don't talk like that!”
“Oh, it's true!”
“Barbara, please -”
Suddenly I hear a loud slap.
“Don't!” Mum says firmly. “I get enough crap from Daniel and the children, I don't need it from my own sister too. You know why we came this weekend, we came to make sure you're not completely doolally yet. The jury's out on that one, but you seem moderately functional, at least. Now can we please get the rest of the stay over and done with, without filling my children with ideas about ghosts and things that go bump in the night?”
“I should check the cake,” Emily mutters, and I hear her footsteps hurrying away.
I wait a moment, and then I get up from behind the armchair. Mum's undoubtedly heading to the dining room, which means she'll soon start to wonder where I am. Still, just as I'm about to hurry back through the house via a different route, I realize I can hear a faint sniffling sound coming from the kitchen. I hesitate, before stepping to the door and peering through, at which point I see Aunt Emily sitting at the breakfast table with her head in her hands, gently sobbing. She looks so sad, and I can't bring myself to just walk away, even if I know that would be the best thing to do.
“Aunt Emily?” I say finally. “Are you okay?”
Looking over at me with reddened, tear-filled eyes, she seems momentarily shocked that I'm here.
“Did Mum hit you?” I ask.
“I...” She pauses, before wiping her eyes with a tissue. “No, sweetie. No, of course she didn't.” She pauses. “Why? Does she ever hit you?”
I shake my head.
“That's good,” she continues. “You must never let her do that. Poor Barbara just has such a temper, that's all, and she can't keep it under control the whole time. She was the same when we were girls. My word, I remember times when she'd stamp her feet and hold her breath until she turned red in the face, just trying to get her own way. One time, she actually passed out through sheer frustration, just because I wouldn't give in to her. She can be -”
She frowns, and for a moment she seems a little lost.
“She can be what?” I ask finally.
“I'm sorry?”
“You were talking about Mum.”
“Was I?” She looks around, almost as if she's not quite sure where she is.
“You said she used to hold her breath sometimes when she was really mad,” I remind her. “You said she passed out once because of it.”
“I said that?” Her frown deepens.
I wait for her to continue, before taking a step closer. “Aunt Emily, are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to fetch you something?”
“Oh, no,” she replies, forcing a smile even though fresh tears are streaming down her face, “I just -” She pauses, staring at me with a hint of a frown. “You're a very good girl, aren't you?”
“Not really,” I tell her. “I try, but...”
“No, you're very good,” she continues. “Sometimes I think... Well, sometimes I just think that...” Her voice trails off.
“Becky!” Mum shouts from the dining room. “What are you doing?”
“You should go,” Aunt Emily tells me. “She's in a foul mood this morning. You mustn't get into trouble on my account.”
I hesitate for a moment, considering asking her about the locked door I found last night, but finally I turn and make my way back through the house. I wish I knew why she and my mother were arguing just now, although I don't suppose there's any chance that either of them will tell me.
Adults like to keep these things to themselves. They never like telling children anything. The problem is, I don't feel like a child anymore.
***
A short while later, feeling as if I want to get away from the others for a while, I head out into the forest. I tell myself I'm heading toward the river, but deep down I'm actually going to take a look at the mausoleum. As I get closer, however, I slow my pace, and I can't help wondering if there really are lots of dead bodies in there.
Finally I stop a few meters from the mausoleum's big metal door.
I don't think I dare go any closer.
“It can't be true,” I whisper, trying to imagine a bunch of bodies tossed inside and left to rot. The whole thing simply doesn't make any sense at all. “It's not true,” I add, before turning and heading further through the forest, toward the river.
Still, I can't help glancing over my shoulder a few times, looking back toward the mausoleum. Just in case.
Chapter Sixteen
“Have you seen your brother?”
Turning, I see Mum standing in the doorway.
“Um, no,” I reply, momentarily startled as I realize I didn't hear her coming through to Uncle Martin's office. “I just -”
“What are you doing in here?” she snaps.
Looking down at Uncle Martin's desk, which has been left completely unchanged ever since he died when I was a baby, I realize I can't tell her the truth. I came in here because I wanted to be in the most grown-up room in the house, and because I wanted to imagine what it'd be like to have an office of my own one day. Suddenly, however, those explanations feel kind of dumb.
“Well, I...”
“Just don't touch anything, okay?” she continues, clearly not interested in my answer. “Your aunt is bloody anal about this room. If you ask me, she should've cleared everything out and had a bonfire. It's not healthy, keeping the room kept the way it was when he died. It almost as if she wants him to come back and haunt her.”
“Maybe she does,” I suggest. “Do you know much about Uncle Martin's family and the history of this house?”
She scowls at me. “What?”
“The history of Auercliff,” I continue. “I mean, do you know about the people who used to live here?”
“Why the hell would I dig into the history of somebody else's house?” she asks, sounding tired and frustrated. After taking another drag on her cigarette, she breathes out a cloud of smoke. “They were just a bunch of rich toffs who inherited enough money to keep themselves ticking over. We should all be so lucky to be bor
n into that kind of situation, but at least your aunt had the good sense to marry her way in. I suppose she's more -”
She stops for a moment, eying me with a hint of suspicion.
“Why are you asking about them?” she continues cautiously. “Have you been talking to your aunt?”
I shake my head.
“Are you sure? She hasn't been filling your head with rubbish, has she? Remember, I told you she's quite loopy. You can't trust her as far as you can throw her.”
“She didn't say anything,” I reply, “I just wondered, that's all. It seems like the house must have a lot of history, especially with all those portraits on the wall.”
She sighs. “Whatever. Do you know where I might find your brother? He's been AWOL ever since shortly after breakfast.”
“Have you checked the forest?”
“I told him not to go out there,” she replies. “I'm sure he's somewhere in the house. I just hope he isn't going to damage anything. Do me a favor and go look for him, won't you? Make sure he's not doing anything too stupid.”
I open my mouth to reply, but she's already on her way again, puffing on a cigarette as she heads back across the hallway.
Left alone in the study once again, I head over to the far wall and look at a series of framed photos. Most of them seem pretty old, from the forties or fifties or even earlier, and I have no idea who any of the people are. In one of the larger pictures, a whole load of people are standing on the steps at the front of the house. I look at each of their faces, although I feel a shudder after a moment as I realize that by now, most of these people are probably dead.
At the end of one of the rows, there's a young girl, about my age or maybe slightly older. She has dark, intense eyes, and her top lip seems strangely curled, as if there's a small scar just beneath her nose. Still, the scar does nothing to make her any less beautiful, and I can't help staring at her for a moment longer. I wish I was pretty, like her, even if it meant having a scar. Some people just -
Suddenly, hearing a horrified scream from far off in the house, I turn and look over at the doorway. In the distance, voices are shouting and footsteps can be heard racing through the rooms.
