by Amy Cross
“I'm not sick,” I whisper, even though my body feels desperately tired and achy.
“Oh, you most certainly are,” the doctor continues, moving his hand down to my neck and checking my pulse. “I shall be back tomorrow to take another look at you, but for now you must simply get some rest. Blood poisoning is no joke. It gets into every nook and cranny, even the brain if you're particularly unlucky.”
“Are you sure she shouldn't be in the hospital?” Mummy asks, with tears in her eyes.
“Don't fuss,” I whisper.
“She should be absolutely fine here,” Doctor Farrah explains, getting to his feet. “The worst of it is most likely over by now, but you must call me if she seems to get worse during the rest of the day. I feel that moving her might do more harm than good, although there might come a point when that changes.”
“You can't begin to guess how shocked we were when we found you,” Mummy continues, hurrying over to sit next to me on the bed as Daddy leads Doctor Farrah out of the room. “At first we thought you'd simply run off to be stubborn. Then we started searching the house by candlelight, and finally Uncle Roger was the one who stumbled upon you in the old kitchenette. Whatever were you doing in there, Verity? You were passed out on the floor, shivering and shaking, bleeding from your hand and sweating all over.”
“I heard voices,” I whisper, sitting up a little but finding the effort to be almost too much.
“You had a fever,” she replies. “You still have it. Oh my poor, sweet, dear child, you worried me so much!”
“I heard voices,” I tell her again, looking over toward the door. “Why am I here? Why am I in the western wing, and not in my own bed? None of my journals are here!”
“Your father and your uncle carried you through here from the kitchenette,” she explains. “It was simply the closest room with a bed. We can move you to your proper bedroom later, but for now you must rest. My darling girl, you gave us all such a fright. There was even a moment when...” She pauses, before forcing a smile and kissing my forehead. “Well, we mustn't dwell on such things. You're okay now, and that's what matters.”
“I don't want to be in here,” I stammer, trying again to climb out of bed, only to feel a rush of pain in my chest. Leaning back against the pillow, I let out a faint gasp. “Can't I go back through right now?”
“Patience,” she continues, wiping strands of matted hair from my sweaty brow. “You still have a little way to go before you're well again, darling. But don't worry, you'll be right as rain before you know it.” She leans closer and kisses me on the cheek. “I promise.”
***
“I had to tell them about the knife,” Martin whines later, as he sits on a chair next to my bed. “They were worried about you, and they said something was wrong with your hand.”
“I'd have been fine,” I mutter darkly. “It's only a slight fever.”
“How do you feel now?”
I pause for a moment. “Fine,” I lie, figuring that I don't want to admit to the fact that I feel incredibly nauseous and warm, or that I'm basically soaked in sweat from top to toe. “I just want to go through to my own bedroom. I hate being cooped up here in the wrong side of the house, it's -”
I catch myself just in time.
“It's what?” he asks.
“Never mind,” I mumble.
“Creepy?”
I glance at him.
“I wouldn't like to be in here,” he continues. “All those long, empty corridors with no-one about.”
Staring at him, I can't help wondering whether I should tell him about what happened to me last night. He's a rather credulous chap, but I figure I need to tell someone.
“I say,” I whisper finally, “do you believe in ghosts? The afterlife, that sort of thing?”
His eyes widen a little. “Why?”
“I heard things last night,” I continue, keeping my voice low just in case someone might be in one of the other rooms nearby. “Voices. I saw things, too.”
“You had a fever.”
“It wasn't the fever.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do!” I take a deep breath, although the effort hurts a little and I feel a flash of pain in my chest. “These weren't hallucinations. They were real. It's like there were two ghosts here in this side of the house, and they were watching me and discussing me and...”
My voices trails off. I know I must sound like a fool, but as I look over at the empty doorway and see the corridor outside, I feel more and more convinced that what I heard and saw last night was real. Even now, as I watch the doorway, I swear I can hear a faint scratching sound coming from nearby, although when I turn back to Martin I can see that he thinks I'm an absolute lunatic.
“Don't you hear them?” I ask.
“Hear who?” He seems a little hesitant. “Our parents? Not right now, but -”
“No, the scratches,” I continue, as the sound becomes a little louder. Looking toward the doorway again, I realize that the scratches seem to becoming from right outside in the corridor, and the sound is building constantly, filling the air. “You must be able to hear that,” I whisper, terrified that at any moment I'll see something in the doorway. “Martin, you can hear it, can't you?”
Finally, once the sound has risen to such a crescendo that it feels unbearable, I turn back to him.
Immediately, the house falls silent again.
“I don't hear anything,” he says after a moment. “Verity, you have a fever and -”
“It's not the fever!” I snap. “There's something in this house! Why do the rest of you refuse to see and hear something that's right in front of you all? Are you blind and deaf?”
“Verity -”
“I saw someone on the lawn, too!” I continue, feeling a little warmer than before. “Two people! There was a woman, and I think a man was chasing her! I saw them last night, as clearly as I see you now! Clearer, even!”
He gets to his feet. “Maybe I should let you sleep.”
“Wait!” I hiss, reaching over and grabbing his hand. As soon as I feel his flesh against mine, I realize just how cold and clammy I've become. The scratching sound, which vanished a moment ago, is suddenly back. “Tell me you hear that,” I say firmly, feeling as if I'm completely alone here. “I know you can! Please Martin, don't say it's just me. I'm begging you, tell me you hear it too.”
“Verity -”
“Why are you lying?” I ask, trying not to panic. “Why are you trying to make me sound like a fool?”
“Verity, please -”
He tries to pull away. I hold tight, but my sweaty hands have no real grip and I fall back against the bed. Desperately short of breath, I stare up at the ceiling as the scratching sound continues. Slowly, a fresh wave of nausea is reaching up through my body, as if my insides are all greased and roiling.
“I'm going to get Mummy and Daddy,” Martin tells me, his voice echoing slightly in the air all around, almost drowned out by the growing sound of something scratching against wood.
I try to tell him I'm fine, but I can barely move my lips at all. Turning my head slightly with my eyes closed, I feel beads of sweat dribbling down my face, and already the bedsheets are soaked.
I'm sinking.
“Don't leave me alone,” I whisper, tasting my own sweat on my lips as a sense of bubbling nausea rises through my chest. “Martin, please... I don't want to be alone...”
Chapter Thirty-One
The woman screams, her voice ringing out through the darkness.
Stopping suddenly, I look back along the riverbank. All I see on this moonless night is the occasional ripple of light from the water, but I can hear footsteps trampling through the undergrowth, getting closer and closer.
And the scratching sound.
Always the scratching sound.
“Catherine!” a man's voice shouts. “Catherine, don't be a fool!”
Catherine?
Who's Catherine?
I should be sca
red, out here alone and unable to see anything, but instead I feel bold and curious. Making my way along the riverbank, I follow the sound of voices, until suddenly a patch of moonlight clears just in time to reveal a woman running out from the forest and dropping to her knees. Her dress is unfamiliar and old-fashioned, and her face is filled with fear and pain. In her hands, she's holding something pointed and shiny, and it takes a moment before I recognize the very same knife that I recovered earlier, except...
Except now the knife is clean and new, albeit stained with something dark.
Blood.
The woman stammers something under her breath, but I can make out not a word of it as she starts digging in the mud with her bare hands.
“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping closer.
Ignoring me, she tears big chunks of mud from the ground.
“Catherine!” the male voice shouts again. “For the love of God, where are you?”
Frantically, the woman takes the knife and pushes it down into the mud, forcing the handle deeper and deeper until the entire thing is out of sight. Then she starts filling the hole again, scooping mud into place until finally the job is done and she gets to her feet, stumbling back from the edge of the river. I feel a sense of great relief rushing from her soul, as if she hopes that something terrible and evil has finally been locked away forever. At the same time, I also feel pain and fear, and I can somehow tell that her mind is damaged.
“Catherine!”
Suddenly a man races out from between the trees and grabs her shoulders.
“Where is it, Catherine?” he asks, before shaking her so hard that she cries out. “In the name of all that is holy, Catherine, what have you done with it? And what did you do to Jonathan? He barely responds at all!”
Her sobbing reply is unintelligible, but the man holds her up even when she tries to sink down to her knees.
“Jonathan?” I whisper, recognizing the name. “Do you mean my grandfather?”
“Where is it?” he demands again, more firmly this time. “Catherine, this is not the time to let your weaker aspect show. What have you done with the blade?”
“Who are you?” I whisper, stepping closer. “What -”
Suddenly the man slaps her face hard, while still holding her up so that she can't collapse.
“Leave her alone!” I shout, hurrying toward them. “You can't -”
Stopping in my tracks, I realize that both the man and woman have disappeared in the blink of an eye. I can still hear the scratching sound, though, along with rustled, whispering voices. Turning, I feel certain that someone is nearby.
“Martin's worried you might be going cuckoo,” a woman says suddenly. “You know, dementia, something like that.”
“Rubbish!” another voice snaps.
“That's what I told him,” the first voice continues. “I told him thirty-nine-year-olds don't go around getting bloody dementia, but I could tell he wasn't entirely convinced.” The voice fades for a moment, the words becoming indistinct, before briefly returning. “You haven't been going all doolally on him, have you?”
“Martin?” I whisper, stepping toward the riverbank. “Who are you? Why are you talking about -”
Before I can get another word out, I feel a sudden, sharp pain in my gut, and I drop to my knees.
“Help me,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes tight shut. I hold my breath, hoping to stifle the pain, but if anything it's getting worse and worse. Finally, I drop onto my side, landing in the cold mud and then rolling onto my back as the pain threatens to make my entire body explode. I try to call out, but I feel so hot and clammy, I can barely move at all.
“Catherine!” a man's voice calls out again. “Catherine, stop!”
He sounds so desperate, as if he's fighting for life itself. I want to help, to rush over and make everything better, but I feel as if I'm drifting away from everything. Even Auercliff itself seems far in the distance, and I'm shocked to realize that my body seems detached from the world. I no longer feel mud soaking through my nightshirt, nor do I feel sweat on my face, and even the sensation of nausea has faded. I try to find my body again, to locate its mass of jumbled impulses somewhere in the muddle of my mind, but I'm lost.
“Please,” I whisper, trying not to panic, “I want to go home...”
“Verity,” another voice says suddenly, a familiar voice this time. “Verity, Doctor Farrah is coming, he'll be here soon. Daddy has called to the village. Be strong. Just hold on.”
“Where...” I whisper, but the effort is too much.
Suddenly I feel something being placed over my chest. A bed-sheet, perhaps. I try to open my eyes, but the effort takes too much out of me. I try again, and finally I see that I'm back in the room in the house's western wing, and my mother is leaning over me with tears in her eyes.
“Your fever has returned,” she tells me. “I think you shall have to go into hospital, but Doctor Farrah will decide.” She places a hand against my brow. “I shall fetch you some water.”
As she hurries away, I realize I can hear the scratching sound again, as if it's hanging in the air all around.
A moment later, I feel a hand taking mine. For a moment, crumbly soil seems to be running across my palm, but then the hand squeezes tighter.
“It's okay,” Martin's voice says, with a hint of fear. “You're going to be just fine, Verity, I know it. They'll take you into hospital and then you'll be back here at Auercliff before you know it. A silly little cut from an old knife shouldn't make you this sick, but the infection will pass, I promise.”
“I heard them!” I gasp through gritted teeth, grabbing his arm and pulling him closer. I can see the panic in his eyes, but I don't care. “There are ghosts here, Martin! I've seen them! I was down at the river, I saw the knife and...”
My voice trails off, and for a moment I feel terribly dizzy.
My heart is pounding so fast, it hurts.
“You probably shouldn't stress yourself,” he says after a moment. “Verity, please -”
“I'll come back,” I whisper, falling back against the sweat-soaked pillow as the scratching sound continues to fill my ears. Suddenly I feel as if the sound comes from fingernails scratching against the outside of a coffin, and I'm on the inside, waiting to be lowered into the ground. I'm going to die. “I'll prove it to you,” I gasp. “If I go, I'll come back one day, before you die. I'll appear to you and you'll see, and you'll know not to be scared. The scratching sound... Don't you hear it? I'll come back...”
“Don't talk like that,” he replies. “Verity, you're going to be fine. You're going to go into hospital so they can sort out this beastly infection, and then you'll be right as rain. Talk of anything more serious is just poppycock.”
He says something else, too, but his words are drowned out by the scratching sound, and by the frantic thumping of my heart.
“I'm...” Pausing as another burst of nausea fills my belly, I tell myself that he might be right. “I'll see you again,” I whisper, tasting my own sweat and tears on my lips. “I promise, Martin. I'll see you again.”
He squeezes my hand tighter than ever.
He says something, but I can't make it out at all.
“I'll see you again,” I stammer again, as the scratching sound gets louder. My heart is pounding so fast, I'm worried it might burst, and I can feel the rush of blood being forced through my veins. “I'll see you again,” I whimper, as my body starts trembling. “I'll be back. You'll see. I'm not going anywhere, I just...”
The scratching, rushing, pounding cacophony reaches fever pitch, drowning out any more words that might fall from my lips and drowning, too, anything that Martin says in return. I can still feel his hand gripping mine, and I'm dimly aware of a voice echoing in the distance. I know he's still here, and I know I'll find him again one day, but for now...
I let out one final gasp.
Suddenly the sounds stop.
No more more scratching.
No more pounding of my heart.
The rushing of blood continues for maybe half a second, and then that too ends.
My body falls completely, utterly still on the inside.
Silence.
Beautiful, terrifying silence.
There's a moment, just a brief, airless moment that persists in this silence. A snatch of realization, an understanding that my heart has stopped and that any sounds and sensations are coming from outside, as if someone is cradling my body. But in this moment of realization, I know with absolute certainty that I'm dead.
My body is completely still.
This sense persists for a second, maybe two, until finally I manage to open my eyes. But instead of seeing the ceiling of this little room in the western wing of Auercliff, I see a beautiful, brightly-lit chandelier, and I hear voices drifting through from a distant place.
My heart has stopped.
Part Five
Lady Catherine Switherington - 1851
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Catherine! Catherine, where are you?”
Kneeling in the library, with blood soaking through the fabric of my dress, I stare down at Matilda's body. She finally stopped wriggling and squirming a few minutes ago, and that frightful whimper faded from her lips. Now the only movement comes from the slowly-growing pool of blood that has almost reached as far as the piano.
“Catherine!” Charles calls out, finally reaching the doorway and stopping. “What are -”
He falls silent, but I don't look at him. I don't dare. Instead, I stare at the corpse for a moment longer, before glancing at the bloodied knife in my trembling right hand.
For the longest time, maybe two minutes or more, the only sound comes from the dripping blood that falls from the knife's blade.
“You shall have to deal with this,” I say finally, my voice trembling slightly. “You shall have to, Charles. You just... You must...”
“What in God's name have you done?” he asks, sounding utterly shocked.
I hear him stepping closer.
“Catherine? What have you done?”
