by Amy Cross
“You're so morbid!” I tell him.
“No-one lives forever,” he replies. “It's my duty to consider the future of Auercliff. It must pass into a good set of hands.”
“I remember when we used to come to the village fete as children,” I continue, with a faint smile. “I never thought at the time that I'd end up marrying into the family at Auercliff.”
“Not even when we bumped into each other?” Martin asks.
I turn to Barbara. “Martin and I think we might have met once, when we were very young,” I tell her. “Before we met properly years later. We only realized a few months ago, but one day in 1957 we were both at the fete. I remember bumping into a boy and getting ice cream smeared on my dress, and Martin remembers bumping into a girl with the same result. You remember the scandal of the ice cream, Barb, don't you?”
“Sounds like it was fate you two found each other again,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “How sickening.”
“Martin know very little of the house's history,” I point out as I set the Ouija board on the table. “Lord knows what's gone on under this roof in the past.”
“But I'd know if there'd been any murders,” he replies, turning first to Daniel and then to Barbara. “Wouldn't I?”
Daniel shrugs.
“Anyway,” he continues, looking down at the Ouija board as if he's a little afraid of the whole thing, “we'll find out once and for all tonight, won't we? And then we can put it all to bed.”
“We don't have to do this,” I tell him, feeling terribly guilty. “Martin, let's tidy it all away and find something else to do this evening.”
He shakes his head. “One way or the other, we're settling this tonight.”
“Are you the only one who's ever seen anything supernatural here, Em?” Barbara asks.
Glancing at her, I can see that she's trying to make some kind of point. Sometimes I think she enjoys the discomfort of others.
“That we know of,” I reply through gritted teeth, setting the planchette on the table.
“And you've never so much as heard a bump or a groan?” she continues, turning to Martin.
“Oh, the odd creak here and there,” he replies, taking another sip of whiskey, “but that's to be expected. It's an old house, and it settles at night. One can't go letting one's imagination run rampant. I mean, the whole idea of ghosts is... It's so silly, isn't it?” He pauses, staring down at his glass. “I mean, if one's ancestors were haunting the place, one would expect them to...”
His voice trails off, and I can see that he's lost in thought.
“We're going to try a different method this time,” I announce, as I turn the board a little. “We're going to try speaking to someone in particular.”
“And who might that be?” Barbara asks.
“Martin's great-grandfather Charles.” I glance at Martin and see the surprise in his eyes. “There are certain stories surrounding him, darling,” I point out, “so I thought he'd be a good bet. After all, the circumstances of his wife's death remain rather murky, and I know certain theories have been floated over the years.”
We all sit in silence for a moment.
“No,” Martin says finally. “Not Charles. Verity.”
I flinch when I hear that name.
“We're going to talk to my cousin Verity,” he continues, downing the rest of his whiskey. “Or try to, anyway. That's who you really believe is haunting the place, isn't it?”
“Darling, I -”
“We might as go straight for her,” he adds, although he definitely seems a little uncomfortable. “She's the most likely.”
“What happened to Verity?” Barbara asks with a laugh. “Something awful, I assume?”
“She died here,” I reply, turning to her. “In this very room. She was only a child. Fourteen, I believe. But I really don't think we should -”
“It's decided,” Martin says firmly. “Let's not dilly-dally. Let's just do it.
“A girl's probably a better bet, anyway,” Barbara says with a smile. “So you think Verity might be the one who opens doors in the middle of the night, do you?”
“She suffered from a rather sudden illness,” I explain, preferring not to be drawn into the less likely parts of the story. “Her death was a great surprise, by all accounts, and her parents were heartbroken.”
I glance at Martin and see the sorrow in his eyes, and once again I feel as if we're opening a can of worms that would be better left sealed.
“I still think Charles would be a better bet,” I continue. “He was apparently -”
“We're contacting Verity!” Charles says firmly, with more anger in his voice than I've ever heard before. “For God's sake, woman, this is what you wanted, isn't it? Just get this blood board up and running.”
We all sit in silence for a moment, and to be honest I don't dare say anything. Martin seems so worked up, and his features are a little reddened.
“I was here when Verity died,” he continues finally. “In fact, I was in the room with her.” He takes a deep breath, and his face looks a little redder now as he stares at the board. “So if anyone in this house is likely to draw out a spirit, it's going to be me, and the spirit is going to be my cousin. I don't want any more silliness about this. Let's just get on with it.”
He pauses again, and I see a flicker of sorrow running across his face. Martin has always been a staunch, tough man, and I love that about him. Right now, however, he seems unusually raw and open, and I can't help worrying that this whole endeavor is a mistake.
“I don't want to do this,” I stammer, reaching out to clear the board away. “It feels wrong and -”
“We're doing it,” he replies, pushing my hand back.
“I don't want to!” I tell him firmly.
“Then by all means, wait for us in another room.” He stares at me for a moment, and I can tell he's serious. “I don't want all this talk to drag on. I know you believe in this nonsense, Em, so I want to nip it in the bud tonight. No more excuses. If Verity wishes to contact us...” Another pause, and he seems a little short of breath. “Well, we must give her every opportunity, must we not?”
“Trouble in paradise, huh?” Barbara mutters under her breath.
Martin adds something I can't quite make out, but it's clear that he's quite determined to go ahead with this.
“I need a top-up,” he announces after a moment, sighing as he gets to his feet. “As God is my witness, I need a drink while we do this. Daniel? Care for a double this time?”
“Please,” Daniel replies meekly, handing his glass over.
“I'll take one as well,” Barbara adds, before turning to me as if she already knows I won't approve. “What? Believe it or not, this trip to visit you for the weekend is probably the only holiday I'll get this year. I might as well enjoy it and try to -” She winces as Rebecca lets out a faint, high-pitched squeal over by the window. “Oh God,” she stammers, “I honestly don't know how much longer I can stand this child.” Turning, she hands him to Daniel. “Go put the darling little girl in her cot, will you? And tell her Mummy needs some time off.”
I can't help but feel a little sorry for Daniel as he obediently gets up and carries Rebecca out of the room.
“You don't really believe in all this claptrap, do you?” Barbara asks, turning to me.
“If you're talking about the -”
“Of course I'm talking about the ghosts,” she continues, rolling her eyes. “Are you really so utterly bored that you're willing to entertain this ridiculous possibility?” She looks at the Ouija board, unable to hide her amusement. “I mean, the whole thing is utterly ludicrous. When people die, they die. They fuck off and leave the rest of us alone, and if you ask me, that's how it should be. I mean, why would you even want to talk to the ghost of Martin's cousin, or his great-grandfather? What the fuck is some dead old aristocrat going to tell you that's even remotely interesting?”
“I just want to know the truth,” I mutter under my breath, feelin
g as if I'm under attack. “I want to know if the things I've heard and seen around the house are real, or if they're...”
My voice trails off as I consider the alternative.
“Or if you're totally nuts?” Barbara suggests.
I open my mouth to reply, before turning to look at the doorway as I hear a faint bumping sound coming from the study.
“Maybe that's one,” Barbara adds with a smile. “A ghost, I mean.”
“It doesn't work like that,” I reply cautiously.
“I'd love to see a ghost,” she continues. “I mean, I would seriously love it. I just can't bring myself to believe in all that claptrap, not when there's precisely zero evidence to back it up.” She pauses. “Then again, old Martin seemed awfully hot and bothered just now. That's not the reaction of a man who dismisses the whole thing, is it? Are you sure he's never seen anything unusual at Auercliff?”
“I've asked him,” I reply, “but -”
“Oh bugger that,” she spits back at me. “He's not going to admit it, is he? But maybe deep down... I mean, he seems awfully determined to focus on this cousin of his, almost as if he's worried about something.” She pauses, eying me with a hint of suspicion.
“The only thing Martin has ever mentioned,” I tell her, “is the scratching sound.”
“The what?”
I can't help sighing. “It's said to be something of a curse that runs through his family. A persistent scratching noise that only certain people can hear. He mentioned it once or twice, a long time ago, although now he denies having ever heard it.”
“Maybe he has cockroaches in his ears,” Barbara suggests, before glancing over at the door. “He's certainly taking his time with that whiskey.”
“I wish I'd never started this,” I mutter, looking at the board. “I hate upsetting him. Why couldn't I have just left it well enough alone?”
“It's a little fun to see him all riled up like this,” she replies.
“No!” I reply, horrified by the suggestion. “It's not fun at all. It's awful!”
She laughs. “You need to get it out of your system, one way or the other.”
“For his sake, I should just ignore all the sounds and...”
My voice trails off as I remember the sight of the girl on the lawn.
“You should go see that doctor,” Barbara says matter-of-factly.
“Nonsense.”
“Please, just to make sure there's nothing wrong with you.” She reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers, and for a moment she seems genuinely concerned. “Em, promise me. It can't hurt to get checked over, can it? Just to make absolutely certain that everything's okay in that old brain-box of yours.” She pauses. “Promise me.”
“Fine,” I mutter, pulling my hand away. “It'll be a waste of everybody's time, though.”
Hearing footsteps, I turn and see that Daniel has come through from the study.
“I think something's wrong,” he says, stopping in the doorway. “I think we should call an ambulance.”
“What are you talking about?” Barbara asks, her voice dripping with scorn.
“It's Martin,” he continues, glancing back into the study for a moment before turning to me again. “I think he's... Well, he's in the study. I think he's collapsed.”
Getting to my feet, I hurry around the table and through to the study, where to my horror I see Martin on the floor, leaning against the wall next to the drinks cabinet.
“Darling?” I say cautiously, hurrying over to him and dropping to my knees. “Darling, what's wrong?”
I wait for a reply, but his features are markedly pale now and he fails to look at me, to even respond to my presence. Instead, he's staring over at the far side of the room. I follow his gaze, but all I see is the empty sofa.
“Verity,” he whispers.
I turn back to him. “What did you say?”
His lips move again, but his eyes are starting to close and I can see the sweat glistening on his brow. A moment later he winces, as if he's in pain.
“I think he's having a heart attack,” I stammer, feeling a rush of panic as I turn to Barbara and Daniel. “Call an ambulance! Quick, somebody get help!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Why aren't they telling us anything?” I ask, turning and hurrying along the hospital corridor, only for Barbara to grab my arm and hold me back.
“Don't go making a fuss,” she says firmly. “They'll come and talk to us as soon as they can, but right now they're busy saving his -”
She stops just in time.
Turning to her, I see a flicker of fear in her eyes.
“Well, you know how it is,” she continues. “If they haven't come to talk to us yet, that's a good sign.”
We stand in silence for a moment, as phones ring at the nurses' desk and doctors are called over the speaker system. Looking along the corridor, I see doors leading off into various rooms, and I can't help wondering what they're doing to my poor, dear husband. I want to be with him, to hold his hand while he's being helped, but the doctors told us to wait here and now I feel utterly useless.
Suddenly a hand touches my shoulder, and I turn to see that Barbara has come over to comfort me.
“He'll be okay,” she tells me, kissing the side of my forehead. “Just think good thoughts, Em. Martin's a tough chap. He's one of the best.”
“He didn't seem ill before, did he?” I ask. “Or did we miss some clues? I mean, he was rather red in the face while we were discussing Verity.”
“There was no warning,” she tells me, putting an arm around my shoulder and pulling me tight. “These things happen, Em, but he'll make it. Give it six months, and he'll be right as rain.”
“It's my fault,” I stammer, with tears in my eyes. “I pushed him too far, with all that talk of ghosts. And then getting that awful board out again, it must have stressed his heart. He was only doing it to prove a point to me, to make me stop going on. If I'd just been more sensible from the start, none of this would have happened!”
“You can't blame yourself.”
“But I do!” Feeling a rush of anger in my chest, I start to realize that I've been a truly terrible wife. “He even whispered her name just before he passed out,” I continue. “Verity. He said that name. I must have made him start thinking of such awful things. I always knew that he didn't like talking about what happened all those years ago, but I wouldn't let it go. I was like a dog with a bone, always pushing, always trying to get him to talk about it, and now look at us!” Turning, I let Barbara pull me closer for a hug, as tears stream down my face. “I can't manage without him,” I whimper. “I just can't. If anything ever happens to him...”
My voice trails off as I start sobbing, and Barbara holds me tighter.
“I'll never talk of ghosts again,” I continue, wiping my eyes. “I'll never even think about them. I'll put all that nonsense out of my mind for as long as I live.”
“Em, sweetie -”
“I'm serious!” I stammer, filled with frustration at my own stupidity. “Not one more word!”
“Emily -”
“Don't tell me it's not my fault!”
“It's not that, Em. The -”
“Because I know it is,” I continue, feeling a little short of breath as I rest my face on my sister's shoulder. “I pushed Martin to the brink, but I can nurse him back. I can be a good wife.”
I wait, sobbing quietly.
“Em,” Barbara says finally, “I think... I think the doctor's ready to talk to you.”
Stepping back, I see a hint of fear in her eyes, and then I turn to see that one of the doctors from earlier is waiting next to a nearby door.
“Is he okay?” I ask. “Please, tell me he's okay.”
“We should talk in here,” the doctor replies somberly, opening the door and gesturing for us to go inside. “Please. If you'll come through, I'll...” He pauses for a moment, and I can see that something's wrong. “I really think we should talk in private,” he a
dds finally. “It would be for the best.”
***
Stepping through the house's front door, I stop in the hallway and look up at the dark stairs. Suddenly the house seems so huge and empty, like a vast, empty maw that wants to swallow every trace of joy and happiness in the world. For a moment, I feel so small and helpless, all I can do is look around at all the shadows. And the world...
All the color seems to have drained from everything.
Behind me, Barbara carefully shuts the door and turns the key in the lock.
“There's been a mistake,” I whisper, suddenly feeling a flush of hope. I turn and hurry to the door. “Martin's not dead,” I stammer. “They made a mistake at the hospital, the doctor got it wrong. He probably mixed me up with someone else's wife and -”
“Em, please,” Barbara says, grabbing my hand before I can open the door.
“We should at least check, shouldn't we?” I ask. “I read about something like this in the newspaper once. There was an awful mix-up at a hospital and the wrong man was declared dead.”
“Em.” She stares at me with tears in her eyes. “I'm so sorry, Em. Why don't I take you up to bed? You should rest.”
“He can't be dead,” I continue, although my body is starting to tremble now. “If he's dead, who's going to run the house? Who's going to look after everything? Who's going to -”
Before I can finish, I hear the sound of a baby crying in the distance. Looking toward the stairs, I can instantly tell that it's my dear little Esmerelda, and my first thought is that perhaps she can somehow sense that something is wrong. Perhaps, deep down, she felt the exact moment when her father's life was snuffed out and...
“Come on,” Barbara says, taking my hand. “You still have her. She needs you.”
“She needs her father,” I whisper, filled with a growing sense of panic as I look around at the dark hallway. Suddenly the sheer size of Auercliff seems so oppressive, and I can't help feeling that the house feels much emptier now. Glancing at the paintings on the wall, I realize that my husband isn't up there. “Where's Martin?” I stammer finally, turning back to Barbara. “Something's wrong, I can feel it. Where is he?”
