by Amy Cross
She heads toward the steps.
I bark again.
“Hugo, chill!” she calls out, already walking up to the porch with the keys in her hand. “You're not exactly making this any easier.”
I hurry over to the steps and look up, just as Maisie slips the key into the lock. I hear the key turn, but then Maisie hesitates without opening the door. I wait for her to turn around and come back down the steps, but after a few seconds I realize I can hear her speaking quietly to herself. I make my way halfway up the steps, and then I stop again as I feel a sense of fear starting to ripple through my chest.
“You can do this,” Maisie is whispering to herself. “You can do this. Don't be a goddamn wimp, you're gonna do this and you're gonna do it now. Stop being such a baby.”
She falls silent for a moment.
I wait.
Please, just turn around and let's go.
And then, a few seconds later, I feel the pain tightening in my chest as Maisie reaches forward, and the old door creaks open.
Chapter TwentyEight
“I can't believe it's been left alone for all this time,” Maisie says as she steps into the cold hallway and looks around. “I kinda assumed someone would've at least broken in. Maybe used it as a drug den. Something. Anything.”
She looks over toward the stairs.
“There's some old mansion a few miles away,” she continues. “Stockingdale or something. There's a website and everything. People go ghost-hunting there all the time. If they go to that place, why don't they ever come here?”
Turning around, she seems lost in thought for a moment, and then she turns to me as I stand in the doorway.
“Maybe they sense it,” she adds. “Maybe there's something about a real haunted house that makes people keep well away.”
I let out a faint whine, hoping against hope that this will be enough to make her come back out. There's no need to be in here, and the house smells dusty and damp and old. After all this time, there can't be anything here that'll be useful for us, and I'm starting to feel again that I'm being watched. I look around at the doors – some are half-open, some are shut – and I don't see anyone, but I feel certain that somebody is staring straight at me.
“Mum and Dad really went nuts here, huh?” Maisie says suddenly, and I turn to see that she's walking over to the old study. She pushes the door open and steps inside. “I mean, they both got spooked by this house. Like, properly spooked. After that night we left, they were never the same again. It's like they were desperately trying to forget something, but they couldn't. It drove them nuts. It drove them to drink. I guess in a way, it drove them to...”
She steps out of view.
I hate the idea of being in here, but I instinctively hurry across the hallway and stop again as I spot Maisie running a hand across the top of Michael's old desk.
“Damn, this is dusty,” she says, before sitting down in her father's old chair. “I'm not blaming the house,” she continues. “I know it's just a house. Mum and Dad chose to drink the way they did, and they chose to drive home last year. Still, I can't deny that something about this place seems to have stayed with them. You should have heard them any time I tried to ask questions. They always shut me down so hard and so fast, I'm surprised they didn't start denying that the place even existed. And they never tried to sell it. It's like they didn't want to admit that it was real.
She picks up some of the old papers from the desk.
“Dad's stuff,” she mutters. “He wasn't a bad person. Messed-up, and a serial philanderer, but deep down he was okay.”
Reaching down, she starts opening the drawers one by one, almost as if she's looking for something.
“Nope,” she says, getting to her feet and heading over to the bookcase, where Michael had only begun to set out his books before the house was abandoned. “Maybe here...”
She examines the various titles, before sighing and turning to look back across the study.
“Where is it?” she whispers, before coming over to join me in the doorway.
I wag my tail briefly, to remind her that I'm here.
“If I have kids one day,” she continues, “I want them to say more than that about me. Okay isn't really much of a compliment to give him, is it?”
I whimper as she steps past me, and I reach out to paw at her leg. I'm too slow, however, so I turn and watch as she goes back over to the middle of the hallway.
“There's nothing here,” she says after a moment, turning and looking all around. “I can feel it. It's just an empty old house. I built it up in my head all these years, I guess I almost expected some kind of monster to leap out at me as soon as I came through the door. Or not a monster, more a...”
Her voice trails off, and slowly she reaches up and touches the side of her jaw.
“A woman,” she whispers, before turning sharply and looking at the empty staircase.
Her hands remains on the side of her jaw for a few more seconds, before dropping to her side.
“Funny the things you remember, Hugo,” she continues, as if she's lost in a memory. “Funny how coming back to a place can bring more things out. Maybe you don't have that, but I was only eleven when it all happened. I guess it's natural that I don't really have a very clear idea of...”
She pauses, before taking a step toward the bottom of the stairs.
Instinctively, I let out a loud bark.
“What's up?” she asks, glancing back at me. “Don't you want me to go upstairs?”
Looking past her, I see the top of the staircase. There's no-one up there, at least not that I can see, but I remember how sometimes people would appear here and I wouldn't smell them coming. I look around, but I don't see anyone watching us. At the same time, the hairs on the back of my neck are starting to stand up again, and I feel certain that we're not alone here. It's not that I think someone's watching us from one particular place. It's more that I feel we're being watched from all directions at once, which makes it impossible for me to work out which way I should be looking as I search for the threat.
“Hugo,” Maisie says, “I don't like it here.”
Looking up at her, I can see the fear in her eyes.
“Damn it,” she continues, as she sits on one of the bottom steps, with her back to the landing above. “Why am I such a pussy? I feel like I'm...”
She pauses, before reaching out and gripping the railing.
“It's just a panic attack,” she says firmly, clenching her teeth. “I've had them before and I'll have them again. I know what's happening, I just need to breathe regular.”
I can tell that her heart is racing, so I sit next to her and put a paw on her leg.
“Thanks, Hugo,” she says breathlessly, with sweat glistening on her forehead. “I'm okay. I just get like this sometimes, when I let everything boil over. I'll be fine, I just need to get my stupid head straight.”
She closes her eyes and starts whispering something under her breath. I can see beads of sweat running down the side of her face now, and she stays like this for a couple of minutes before I realize her heart-rate is starting to slow. Even then, she keeps her eyes shut for a few minutes longer before finally opening them and staring straight ahead.
“There,” she says calmly, as if something has changed. “Neat. Under control.”
She half-smiles with relief as she turns to me.
“See, Hugo?” she continues, wiping sweat off her forehead. “I can beat it. I guess I knew coming here might trigger an attack or two. Now we've got that out of the way, I can get back to the important things.”
Getting up, she heads over to the kitchen, and then she slips out of sight.
Although I still want to get out of here, I have no choice but to follow. Even losing sight of Maisie for a few seconds is enough to make me panic, so I feel a rush of relief as soon as I see her leaning down and picking something up from the kitchen floor. As she takes a look at the book, however, I realize that it's something I've seen b
efore.
“Cool,” she says, with a hint of awe in her voice as she flicks through the pages. “I knew it'd be here somewhere. I guess I thought Dad would've left it in his study, but obviously he was in too much of a panic when he left.” She looks through some more pages. “Who puts the pages of a Bible back in upside-down, Hugo?” she continues. “I've tried looking it up online, but I couldn't find many references. Just the idea that witches would do it to sabotage a Bible, to make it less pure and protecting. But why would someone do that here or -”
Before she can finish, there's a brief but loud bump from one of the rooms above.
Maisie immediately looks up at the ceiling, and then over at the doorway. And then, finally, at me.
“Great,” she says, sounding more scared now. “Just when I was about to fool myself into thinking that I've got nothing left to prove.”
She comes over to the door and looks out into the hallway.
“Hello?” she shouts. “Is anybody there?”
She stands in silence for a moment, still holding the tattered old book that I dug up all those years ago. Then, slowly, she looks down at me.
“I told myself that I have to spend one night here,” she continues. “To prove to myself that there's nothing to be scared of. To show myself that I'm stronger than Mum and Dad. I'm sorry, Hugo, but we can't leave until tomorrow morning. We're going to spend one last night here in Caldgrave House.” She pauses for a moment. “Oh and stick close to me, Hugo. I've seen enough horror movies to know the dog always suffers.”
Chapter TwentyNine
“Damn, why didn't I think about this?” Maisie hisses, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she shuffles across the bedroom. “I didn't think it'd be so cold here overnight.”
She sets the candle down on the bedside table, before sitting on the edge of the bed. The springs creak under her weight, but I don't let that scare me and instead I jump up to sit next to her. She starts stroking my back, and I can hear her teeth chattering slightly.
She seems lost in thought, staring across the dark room as the candle's light flickers.
“I remember her,” she says finally, and then she falls silent again.
She's staring at the open doorway.
“I remember a woman,” she continues after a few minutes. “Helena Waterfield, or at least that's who it seemed like. That's who it looks like, based on some photos I found. I remember her coming into my room and putting a hand on my shoulder. Her jaw was all bent and twisted, like it was broken. The thing is, I don't believe in ghosts so I know I must just have seen a photo of her on Mum's laptop. Something like that.”
She pauses again.
“Still,” she adds after a few seconds, “I have this very vivid memory of her. Or rather, I have several flashes of memory. She was the most terrifying thing I ever saw in my life. I remember feeling like my heart was going to shake straight out of my chest.” She turns to me. “Funny how clear these hallucinations can be, huh? Or whatever they were. 'Cause I'm sure not ready to believe in ghosts.”
She checks her watch.
“It's almost midnight, Hugo, and there don't seem to be any ghosts around. Not of the supernatural variety, anyway. Just memories. I didn't realize how much coming back here would make me miss Mum and Dad. We were here for less than a week, but somehow it feels like it was the most important time ever.”
I wait for her to continue, but now she just seems sad. Spotting tears in her eyes, I turn around and stand up on my rear paws, while pressing my front paws against her chest and starting to lick the tears that are running down Maisie's cheeks.
“Hey, I'm okay,” she laughs, taking the Bible and opening it yet again. “So from my research, Helena Waterfield was widely suspected of beating her daughter Elizabeth, but nothing stuck. Eventually Elizabeth disappeared, and maybe her bones are the ones outside in the yard. We'll bury those tomorrow.” She turns to another page in the book. “I think Elizabeth tried to use this Bible to push back against her mother. In turn, Helena turned some of the pages upside-down in order to rob the book of its power. It doesn't matter whether I believe that power existed. Helena believed, so maybe she killed her daughter and buried her, and then she tossed the Bible in after her because of some weird superstition.”
I lick more tears away from her cheeks.
“And then Helena, mortified by what she'd done to her own daughter, committed suicide.” She takes a deep breath. “What a monster, huh?”
I lick yet more tears.
“Hang on,” Maisie says, leaning past me and looking toward the open door. “Helena Waterfield!” she shouts. “If you can hear me, I just want you to know that you're a monster! If you're floating around, haunting the house, then I hope you're trapped in eternal damnation, because you deserve to suffer! What kind of mother murders her own daughter?”
She waits for a moment, as I lick the side of her chin.
“Oh right,” she continues, “you're not here, are you? You dumb old bitch, you're either burning in the pits of Hell, or you're nothing but dust! I hope you knew at the end of your life what a mean old cow you'd become!”
I try to lick her again, but she gets to her feet and steps toward the door, where she stops and leans out to look both ways along the landing.
“Nothing to say, Helena?” she shouts. “Ah, what a pity! I'd quite like to see your miserable, asymmetrical old face again, but I guess that wasn't even real. You haven't even got the guts to haunt a house properly, have you?” She turns to me. “I can't believe I spent the past five years being scared of his place in my dreams. I thought I remembered seeing a ghost here, and being chased, and hearing screams in the night, but it was all bullshit. Every part of it.”
She opens her mouth to say something else, but then she looks over at the Bible on the bed.
“And I know exactly how to end it,” she adds, hurrying back this way and taking the book.
She walks to the bedside table and sets down the cracked old plate she used to carry one of the other candles. She places the Bible on the plate, and then she takes the burning candle from the other plate and tilts it until the flame catches the book's edge.
Almost immediately, the paper starts to burn.
“Rot in Hell,” she says calmly, staring at the burning book as she lets go of its side and leaves it to spit and crackle in the flames on the plate. “I hope Elizabeth Waterfield is in peace, and I hope Helena's soul is being tortured.”
She stands in silence for a few minutes, watching as the Bible continues to burn, but finally the flames start to die down and eventually all that's left is a pile of ash.
Taking the plate, Maisie sets it down and then uses the heel of her right foot to crush the ashy remains.
“Good riddance,” she whispers. “Someone should have done that a long time ago.”
Sitting next to me, she leans back against the wall. I immediately clamber up onto her lap and start licking her face again, taking care to get rid of all the salty tear tracks. Maisie's still sad, I can tell that, but hopefully I can make her feel better. And then, just as I start to think that I might be succeeding, she bursts into tears and bows her head, and this time she pushes me gently away as she sobs.
“I'm sorry!” she gasps. “I just hate it all! I hate Mum and Dad for not dealing with it properly, and I hate myself for acting like it's all so important! It's just a stupid, empty house! What's wrong with everyone? What's wrong with me?”
I try again to lick her face.
Again, she pushes me away.
I almost try yet again, but she's sniffing back more tears and I can tell that she doesn't want to be licked right now, so instead I turn and look out the window.
The pale girl is out there.
I freeze as soon as I see her standing in the yard, near the pile of bones that I dragged out from the pit all those years ago. She's in a patch of moonlight, and she's as clear as anything I've ever seen in my life.
And she's staring straight
up at this window.
I immediately let out a loud warning bark, then another.
“What's wrong?” Maisie asks, patting me on the side. “Hugo, don't be weird.”
I bark again, still watching the pale girl, and then I feel Maisie coming over and peering out at the yard as well.
“What the hell?” she gasps, just as I bark again.
The pale girl is still staring straight up at us.
“Who is that?” Maisie asks, her voice filled with fear. “Hugo, who the hell is that girl out there? Why's there some random girl standing out there in our yard?”
I bark again, and again, but the girl doesn't react at all.
“Hugo,” Maisie says, placing a hand on my shoulders, “after everything I've just done, please tell me that little girl out there isn't the ghost of Elizabeth Waterfield.”
Chapter Thirty
I let out a loud, grumbling whimper as Maisie starts opening the house's front door. I don't know why she'd ever want to go outside in the middle of the night, especially when that odorless girl is in the yard, but so far she seems to be ignoring my warnings. Sure enough, she finally swings the door open and steps out onto the porch, and I have no choice but to follow.
The girl's still there.
Still standing at the far end of the yard, near the pile of bones.
“This isn't creepy,” Maisie says, and now her teeth are chattering louder than ever as she pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Hey!” she calls out. “Little girl! What are you doing here?”
She waits, but the girl doesn't respond.
“This is private property!” Maisie continues. “Can you go home? I'm sorry, but you're not allowed to be here!”
Still, the girl simply watches us.
“It's just some local kid,” Maisie says under her breath, before making her way down the steps at the front of the house. “It's just some kid trying to freak me out.”
I whimper again, before hurrying after her.
“Okay, the fun's over,” Maisie continues, walking barefoot across the cold yard. “I'll admit, your timing's spot-on, but I need you to get out of here now. Go on! Move your ass!”
